#fic: the prayer

[arrthurpendragon]

New (to AO3) Updates

Ch. 12 The Rain in Spain

Ch. 6 I Forgot to Remember to Forget

Ch. 10 The Tournament Begins

Again, these are just "new" to AO3. These chapters have all been on wattpad for a while. I just forget I was cross-posting! Oops! lol.

[stervrucht]

“We need to defrost the freezer,” Steve tells Eddie when he walks out carrying a tub of ice cream.

Eddie sighs, head resting on his hands while he overlooks the empty shop. “I wish someone would defrost my will to live.”

Steve finds it funny. In a guilty snort sort of way, because Eddie’s jokes are kinda dark and he isn’t sure if he’s supposed to laugh. But yeah, working at Scoops is a drag at times, and Steve understands it at some level.

It escalates from there. 

Steve will tell Eddie they’re out of hazelnut ice cream, and Eddie will get a look on his face that doesn’t promise anything good.

“I’ll hazel your nuts.” Eddie cocks his head, staring at him in that ridiculous sailor uniform with mischief painted on his face.

“What the hell does that even mean?” 

Steve tries to pretend he’s weirded out, but when Eddie laughs at him like that, Steve can’t help but crack up as well. 

But that’s the normal stuff — because sometimes Eddie’s comments are hard to play off, and Steve doesn’t really know whether he’s joking at all.

“Morrison really fucked us over with the new schedule.” Steve frowns at the paper on the wall because they got like four evening shifts that week, including Friday and Saturday, and it’s messing with his dating life — even though that’s barely hanging on by a thread right now.

“I wish you’d fuck me over,” Eddie says as he cleans the glass display window with lazy motions.

It makes Steve stop in his tracks; makes his mouth run dry and his heart rate pick up. But Eddie just stares at him, same smile as always, waiting for Steve to shoot something back.

“Maybe I should.” The words are out before he knows it and Steve feels a little mortified by how much he meant it. When he looks over at Eddie, his lips are slightly parted, cheeks a little red, and the hand cleaning the window has stopped in its tracks.

Steve thinks that maybe Eddie meant his words as well.

[fandomhorde]

In the beginning, there was an author with a dream.

But the dream grew legs.

And when it did, I grinned.

Oh, the way I grinned.

Mwahahahahahaha (Boss music starts playing)

[mead-iocre]

Now just imagine the looks on Leah and Alexia's faces when they realise that their girls are talking to each other and getting along like 'oh no, oh no, oh no'

The Leah noticing that spoiled!reader has moved Hermes for brat!reader and being all 'oh this is gonna be rough for us, she never does that? Do you know how often she does that?! I've had to sit somewhere else so her bag can be on a seat! We're doomed!' with Alexia becoming more scared with each word coming out of Leah's mouth

YES YES YESSSSS

leah would notice first because she's the type to periodically sneak glaces towards the stands to check on her sweet (non-football loving) gf.

she expected to find her busy on her phone or reading the latest issue of vogue, so imagine her surprise when she looks over to see her chatting with a woman wearing a barcelona shirt???

during a water break, she approaches mariona asking her if she recognises who the woman next to her gf is and mariona goes "oh that's alexia's girlfriend. she's cool" and leah's like she better be ffs. leah's a little overprotective about spoiled!reader okay, but she feels better knowing that it's not someone weird who snuck into the friends and family section. at first, leah thinks its a good thing. that maybe having more friends in the stands will make her girlfriend enjoy coming to football matches more.

leah goes over to alexia since the match hasn't resumed yet and points them out to the spaniard. and alexia's like "oh that's--what the fuck?!" and leah's like "crazy, huh. your girl must be really special since mine willingly moved her bag off the seat for her-- she never does that by the way. I've had to give up my own chair sometimes"

and alexia just raises an eyebrow at her, mentally thinking "shit. her girl seems like a handful". before looking back at the two still chatting animatedly, spoiled!reader's hands flying everywhere as she talks and brat!reader listening just as intently.

alexia goes "my girl is usually not one to make friends so easily..."

"why is that?"

and then they both speak at the same time, "cos she's crazy" "is she crazy?"

and then they have that moment of realisation and just kind of look at each other with wide eyes. they simultaneously look towards the stands at their lovers and then back at each other again as it dawns on them.

then the referee blows the whistle.

match resume.

[reveluvjay]

"He was shooting them buttery nuts all up in my mama" kay let's test if u can do that too but on me!

[marzipanthots]

Pet Laurent 🔥🔥✨✨😌

Adventures of Charles bonus 💕-

FAN FIC WRITERS OF CAPRI IF YOU CANNHEAR MY PRAYERS I BEG CAN I HAVE A AU/switch OF LAURENT BECOMING KING DAMIANOS PET!!! I NEED IT CARNALLY

as rabid and feral and naughty as possible !!!🔥🔥🔥 I find it interesting that this fandom has been around for almost a decade, but there’s less then 10 fics on AO3 about this AU. but understandable as there’s are just so many cool interesting ideas out there to explore with damen and Laurent world and supporting cast 💕🧎🏻‍♀️ BUT PLEASEE I NEED ITTT!! ILL DO ANYTHINGFF!!

I have one version of this AU idea where Laurent is a pet sent as a disguise he is really a spy to get more info of the rival kingdom as his cruel uncle send him to akielos to be torture used base of the rumors the new king damen obsession with blonds and is blood thirsty- in reality that’s Kastor, ) and of course damen is kind king but blind to his brother treachery. Laurent fall in love with damen as kastor want to own Laurent bc he hate his brother. Laurent help damen see the truth of kastor side . And they have endless nights of feral nocturnal activity together 😌😌🔥🔥🔥

I suck at writing but I will dream and hope one day🙏🏻🙏🏻😔😔🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

[fearandhatred]

the very first thing i did in 2024 was go insane aka i slept at 7am and among other things i drew these! they're unrefined and only two panels of a much larger thing i'm doing but since that'll not be done any time soon i thought i might as well post these first

panel 8 of panel 2

[happypeachsludgeflower]

Different first meeting au where Xie Lian became a shrine priest for the ghost king Hua Cheng in hopes that if Wu Ming somehow survived, he doesn’t think he did but he has hope okay??, he would be protected and cared for in ghost city. And Hua Cheng, who doesn’t take care of his own prayers and instead foists them off on Yin Yu because that would cut into his time to search for Xie Lian, doesn’t find out for centuries.

[subwhizz]

Minispoiler from a scene in my Uglydolls fic /// (i was desperate to draw it)

Bad timming to let your buddy know you took his mansion without asking-

So HI THERE, IT'S BEEN A WHILE!! I'm working again on some my Uglydolls projects. This one here belonging to a scene from my fic where due to new problems of the institute, Ox and Lou are forced to work together—and, well... They sure are trying- 

The story is uploaded on Wattpad, is in Spanish, but I´m gonna start uploading here some concepts and comics with both translations, cause im dying to draw them XD

And i finally have a little free time!! 🎅🎄It's the miracle of Christmas!

Versión en español

[arrthurpendragon]

This is the start of a one-shot for @nixdragon. It contains an OC from The Prayer that will be introduced later. Her name is Jourdynne and she is paired with Gwaine.

With her lady preoccupied, Jourdynne took the time to wander about the forests of Camelot.  A bit of fresh air always seemed just the cure to whatever ailed her.  Not that she truly had much that ailed her.  The biggest thorn in her flesh wasn’t a what, but rather a who. And a rather large who at that.

There were times when Jourdynne missed her life in Gaeafel.  Things there had seemed much . . . simpler.  Her lot in life never in doubt.  Life in Camelot was much more . . . complicated.  She didn’t regret her position in Camelot.  In fact, she rather enjoyed life away from the sea principality.  Well, aside from that dratted thorn in her flesh.

Truth be told, Jourdynne wasn’t sure what to think of him.  Yes, it most certainly was a him.  A tall, handsome, brave, and witty him.  A him who seemed relentless in his desire to court her.  But it just wasn’t done.  A lowly ladies maid and a dashing knight? Unheard of.  But Gwaine just wouldn’t seem to accept her rejections.  Rather, it was as if he saw each rejection as a challenge.

Perhaps it would be best to simply let him believe she relented and then avoid him at all costs.  But Jourdynne had a sneaking suspicion that Princess Nerissa whole-heartedly approved of the match.  And therefore with the princesses approval, thus gained that of the prince.  Drat it all. 

So, lost in thought, Jourdynne nearly missed the sound of twigs snapping and leaves crunching in the distance.  From the pocket slit in her skirt, Jourdynne reached for the sgian-dubh strapped to her thigh.  It wasn’t usual for a woman to know how to handle weapons, but that was one way life in Gaeafel had differed from everywhere else.  Girls were trained to know how to defend themselves.  Jourdynne had many weapons hidden upon her person.

Jourdynne stopped for a moment and listened.  The snapping and crunching noises seemed to have stopped.  She narrowed her eyes and glanced around at her surroundings.  Twirling the sgian-dubh in one hand she shouted, “I’ll have you know I’m not afraid to defend myself.”

Silence. 

She rolled her eyes in annoyance. “You should also know that I’m Princess Nerissa’s ladies maid and should something happen to me, you’ll likely face Camelot’s wrath.”

Still more silence.  Jourdynne turned to look behind her only to find a rather tall figure draped in a red cloak standing directly behind her.  How hadn’t she heard their approach?  She glanced up to see who it was that had followed her.

Jourdynne rolled her eyes and gave the knight a shove with her weapon-free hand. “I could have killed you!” she hissed.

“You look rather pretty all riled up like that,” Gwaine teased her, hardly budging from her shove.

She glanced at him rather incredulously.

He continued. “I mean it.  You’re beautiful enough in your own right.  But seeing you like that . . .”

Jourdynne shoved him once more for good measure and to keep him from finishing his statement. “What do you think you’re doing sneaking up on me like that?”

Gwaine shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, but the grin on his face told her otherwise.

“You’re the most insufferable man of my acquaintance,” Jourdynne retorted, shaking her sgian-dubh at him, for it wouldn’t be proper to return the blade to its rightful place with him able to witness the event.

“An honor I shall wear proudly,” Gwaine responded with a slight bow.

Her eyes widened in horror. “It’s certainly not an honor, I assure you.”

“Is there another man more insufferable than myself?” Gwaine paused and then grinned at her when she didn’t respond.  “Seems not, so it is certainly a badge of honor.  For you have never bestowed such a grace upon me before.”  

He bowed once more and Jourdynne rolled her eyes at him before drew his sword from its scabbard while he was distracted.  Gwaine seemed to stiffen slightly before he stood upright to find Jourdynne directing his sword and her sgian-dubh in his direction.  He grinned once more.

“Do you truly have a death wish?” Jourdynne scoffed at him.

His wicked grin widened as he stepped toward her with his arms stretched wide. “I’d gladly allow you to be the death of me.  Although, there are much more pleasurable ways you could see to my demise.”

“There is something seriously wrong with you.”

“Aye,” he laughed, stopping just short of his blade that she wielded. “You.”

[possibilistfanfiction]

caitvi: funeral :)

[i see u all trying to get me to write angst don't think i don't! but this is v little angst & mostly sweet, once again i love sisters. jinx pov, little continuation of this silly au if u are interested.]

//

‘are you attending some funeral i don’t know about, or —‘

vi huffs, straightening her collar in the mirror by the front door. ‘it’s a nice outfit.’

‘sure.’ to be fair, she is in nice black slacks — possibly her only pair of pants other than her firefighter uniform that don’t have a rip somewhere — and chelsea boots without too many scuffs, and those are fine on their own, but paired with a black, long-sleeve button up and a black trench coat — yours, thank you very much — she looks kind of ridiculous. ‘if you’re a caterer. or, you know, a pall bearer.’

she groans, flopping down on your couch in very overdone despair. and people say you’re dramatic. ‘well then you fix it.’

you’d known vi was nervous for days now, which you think is ridiculous. you’ve already climbed twice indoors again with caitlyn and jayce, so it’s not like they haven’t seen each other and subsequently flirted to no end; thankfully ekko had come the second time, so, along with jayce, you outnumbered them at least. vi had sent some monster stuff on lead, a great outcome of her nerves that was honestly sick to watch; she’s also showered every day and cooked you dinner when she’s not on shift, and she even got a real honest-to-god haircut at a real honest-to-god barber instead of your haphazard best with clippers and a pair of dull scissors every few months. she doesn’t look too different, really, a little neater if anything, but she carries herself with a self-consciousness — some mixture of deep care and a little embarrassment, maybe — that would be endearing and amusing if it wasn’t so tragic. seeing vi this stressed over a pretty (which you will admit aloud; you can see caitlyn) and cool (which you will never admit aloud) girl kind of makes your chest ache a little.

‘can do,’ you tell her, taking pity, and salute to off-set her frown. it works, just like it does every time, like it has since you were little, even if you feel kinda upset too. the idea of having to share vi with anyone, even if it’s a good thing and a good person, even if she definitely deserves to give her love — the best love — to someone, has been making you feel off, so you’ve been seeking out all the comfort you can. sometimes everything is too fast and too slow, the voices that have been so quiet these past few years, since vi got out of prison and you moved in with her and started university, knocking on your door, urgent. you’ve talked about it with your therapist and worked on adjusting your meds; you’ve tinkered in your room with the lights off when everything has been too loud; you’d sat in the park with ekko under your favorite tree, your head in his lap. you haven’t told vi explicitly, but she knows what’s going on, and she’s woken up from frequent nightmares before you’d been able to sleep lately, so you’d sat together on the couch, covered in soft blankets, and rewatched your favorite episodes of queer eye in the middle of the night, crying so hard you end up laughing as the sun comes up.

you have your own rooms now, after you upgraded to a bigger, much nicer apartment in a much safer area of town after she’d saved enough money and you’d gotten a work-study to help with the rent; she’d insisted on the smaller bedroom, because a lot of her shifts are overnight, but mostly you think it’s because she loves you and, in a lot of ways, is just trying to make up for lost time. you’d stopped being mad at her for getting arrested a long, long time ago, and, even though the voices are louder right now, they’ll fade, and you hope that knowing someone like caitlyn will help assuage vi of some of the guilt she’s always still carrying around.

you walk into her room first, scrounge around in her closet for the sweater you know she has because you bought it for her last birthday, hopeful for occasions just like this one, and emerge victorious. you put on your best tan france accent and pop a hip. ‘this, tucked into your pants, to match your eyes.’

vi nods seriously, even though she smiles at your impression. ‘good one, jinx.’

‘i know,’ you say. ‘i am the best dressed family member for a reason.’

vi is kind enough to not mention your current outfit of a ratty old fire department hoodie of hers that has long since been retired, sleep shorts with the elastic coming out of the waist, and mismatched socks, one slipping down your foot, but she does raise an eyebrow before shrugging out of the trench coat and unbuttoning her stupid shirt. the sweater you had picked out, and saved for, for months, is tight enough you can see her muscles, but loose enough she doesn’t look like an asshole; it’s a soft cashmere with a cool mock turtleneck you think fits her well. you nod in approval and venture to the coat closet while she tucks it in, and then bring her a leather jacket that had been vander’s once upon a time, you’re pretty sure, so it’s oversized on vi, but, ‘very cool,’ you say.

she looks at herself in the mirror and her shoulders relax; you know you did a good job, so you grin and pat yourself on the back. vi rolls her eyes but she laughs and wraps you up in a hug anyway.

‘are you wearing cologne?’ you mumble into her shoulder.

‘is it too much?’

‘no,’ you assure; it’s musky, with a little bit of smoke: warm. ‘it smells nice, actually. good taste for once.’

you feel her smile on the top of your head, and then she takes a serious breath.

you back up so you can really look at her. ‘caitlyn is, like, fine and all,’ you say, ‘and i will detonate a bomb if you tell anyone i said this, but you’re the coolest person i know.’

her eyes start to get a little watery so you wrinkle your nose and shove her; she barely moves, she’s so strong, but it does get her to sniffle into a smile. ‘you sure you’re okay with this? i know things have been harder for you lately.’

she wouldn’t ask if she didn’t really care, about both you and caitlyn. ‘yeah, sis,’ you say, and you mean it. ‘i’m sure.’

vi’s smile is too bright for you to feel otherwise, honestly. she putters around a little in front of the mirror again, and then you hear the buzzer. you scramble past her so you can answer. ‘come on up,’ you say, before caitlyn can even get a word in, and then buzz her in, grinning at vi when she sighs.

‘did you think she brought you flowers? oh my god, please.’ you twirl around.

‘you have a boyfriend; you and ekko go on dates all the time.’

‘i guess.’ you wrinkle your nose; it’s true, but, ‘definitely not quite like this though. wined and dined and all.’

caitlyn knocks on the door before vi can get another word in, and when you open it, a little too fast so it flings into the shoe rack, which makes vi wince, you’re very, very glad you made vi change, because caitlyn is in an understated, gorgeous navy blue dress and camel peacoat, her heels making her a good few inches taller than vi.

‘hello, jinx,’ she says, and then offers you a bottle of red wine and a carry out bag of — when you sniff it — your favorite chinese food. ‘as penance for stealing your sister tonight.’

you turn to vi. ‘keep her, please.’

both caitlyn and vi laugh while you scurry over to the kitchen island with your bounty, but you watch vi accept caitlyn’s offering of a single pressed flower in a small, simple black frame. ‘violet,’ she says, smiles crookedly, and vi grins, a little in awe, and kisses her cheek.

you’re ready for this, you are, because vi sets it down carefully on the entry table you’d fixed up together, and then smiles over at you, her fingers already tangled with caitlyn’s. ‘be good, jinx.’

you roll your eyes.

‘see you later,’ she says. ‘don’t wait up.’

‘ew.’ you uncork the wine; you’ll have to google the bottle later to see how much caitlyn really is trying to get on your good side. ‘have fun, i guess,’ you say, and they wave as they head out the door.

you do wait up, of course you do, playing video games and texting vander. when vi does get back in, her cheeks are flushed and her lips swollen.

‘went well, then?’

she startles a little, even though the tv is on and you’re clearly on the couch, her back pressed to the door like an actual teenager. ‘she’s … yes, it went well.’

‘make out in her subaru?’

when vi doesn’t say no, you roll your eyes. ‘gross. cliche too. i’m going to bed.’

vi laughs, happy. you’re happy too. ‘’night, jinx.’

‘goodnight, vi.’ the light from the tv is soft and she looks younger than you’re used to, her scars and everything behind them faded in the washed out, gentle light. ‘love you.’

her smile softens, just for you. ‘love you too.’

[lasagna-with-teeth]

Thinking about sitting next to a priest at dinner with others and running my hands along the inside of his thighs while he tries to get through saying grace.

[juustozzi]

demonic iruma? yes. very self-conscious demonic iruma? yessss.

[nyc-pizza-rat]

okay thinking about her

the tree bark at his back scratches him as he shifts. there are bruises on his skin that sting. he feels the slide of blood at his temple, unsettling and unfamiliar, even after all these years. castiel looks down at his hands, a little calloused, now, and wrinkling, and tries to center himself. there is dirt on his palms, under his fingernails. a small cut on his index finger that is loud and sharp. he curls his fists and tries to reach within himself. the well of his grace has been running low for a while, now, and castiel hasn't been sure of...well, anything.

it's harder to find his dimming grace within, here in purgatory. harder still to coax it to the surface. sweat beads at his brow but castiel keeps his fingers clenched, mumbles to himself in enochian — words to songs of praise and comfort and strength that mean so little now, and yet come to him easy.

there is a thin stream of silver light, and castiel heaves a breath, sinks further into the hollow of the tree. he unclenches his fist, and there are red half-moons carved into his palm. the cut is gone, but there is a scar, still, and castiel cannot stop looking at it. it looks like a thin tear in fabric, like the cracks in between the worlds that let them through. it looks like the beginning of the end.

he rubs his thumb over the scar, feels the slight raise of his skin. his thoughts begin to spin, and all he can focus on is the heat building at the back of his neck, the rushing of blood in his ears. suddenly, then, a ripple within. a breeze by his ear that pull at his core. that compels him to quiet, to listen.

someone, somewhere, is invoking him in prayer.

his grace surges now, easy as it hasn't been in a while, and while it doesn't heal him still, castiel feels more angel than he has in a long time.

Cas, I hope you can hear me... that wherever you are, it's not too late.

castiel sighs, something inside him relaxing. he hadn't even noticed the way his muscles had been pulled taut. hadn't noticed the tendrils of fear creeping into his heart. dean's alive. dean's alive.

I should've stopped you.

castiel swallows. digs his fingers into his thighs. his grace spins out, trying to find the source of the prayer. It's harder than it is on earth, and harder than it should be for an angel of his caliber, but castiel keeps trying.

You're my best friend, but I just let you go. 'Cause it was easier than admitting I was wrong.

castiel wishes dean would stop saying these things. he bites his cheek, listening, following dean's voice. he's always following dean's voice, even when he doesn't want to.

I – Ohh. I don't know why I get so angry. I just know – I know that it's – i-it's just always been there. And when things go bad, it just – it comes out. And I can't -- I can't stop it. No matter how –

dean breaks, and castiel pauses, stares at the blinking doorway that will lead them back onto earth. back into a battle that they are bound to lose. he thinks about jack, lost forever. about chuck, who cannot be beaten. about the pointlessness of what they are doing, the desperation with which he has been clinging to hope.

— how bad I want to, I just can't stop it.

he wishes he could see dean. there is something solid pressing against the back of his throat, like he has swallowed a rock, like it is blocking the air. his eyes sting. he wishes dean would just — just talk to him.

And — And I — I forgive you. Of course I forgive you.

castiel shakes his head. his wings are more bone than anything else, skeletons he lugs around because he cannot bear to sever them from his trueform. now they twitch, twined with his grace as they are. castiel lets them curl inwards, pretends he can feel them whole, their warmth, the comfort of it.

I'm sorry it took me so long – I'm sorry it took me till now to say it. Cas, I'm – I'm so sorry.

castiel forgives him, despite everything. thinks he'd forgiven him long before this, before dean ever thought to ask. he wonders if dean knows that castiel doesn't know how to loathe him, even if he wanted to.

longing surges out to him, the pull of the prayer strengthened by cords of need, of want.

dean thinks he's dead, and he's desperate for him to not be. castiel knows what dean can be like, when he loses those he considers kin, when he's even faced with the prospect of losing them.

Man, I hope you can hear me. I hope you can hear me.

longing can feel a lot like love.

angels were never meant to decipher the nuances of human emotion, and despite all the time he's spent on earth, even castiel is not all that good at it. so when prayer is made with longing, it can feel a lot like love.

and maybe it is. castiel doesn't know.

it's almost unsettling, the way warmth bleeds into his trueform, as dean finishes praying, as he makes his way closer. castiel tries to reign in his weak grace, pulsing away under his skin. tries to not let himself get carried away.

he looks up at the grey sky, the sunless world he is trapped in. he thinks about the empty. he thinks about his son.

maybe it isn't. human love is so complicated, after all.

somewhere to his right, footsteps. castiel breathes, wills his lungs to loosen, his heart to slow. he pulls the leviathan blossom out of his coat pocket. all that fighting and the fidgeting has smushed it a little. he rubs a thumb over one of its strange petals, and puts it back in his coat.

dean is getting closer. castiel can hear him breathing now. can hear the way his heart races.

he gathers himself and pushes out of the hollow of the tree. straightens a little.

"dean," he calls. he sounds tired, even to his own ears. human. god. "you made it."

[imagineitdearies]

~ A Flawed Eternity ~

(AKA drabbles set in the Perfect Slaughter universe.) Thanks to my new author discord community for voting on this one! 🩵

In which Tyrus walks in on Astarion's 'alone time.'

~

Even though they’d cleared the tunnel under the river, secured the fishing hut and passage to sneak into the House of Healing, and had a half-reliable map of the Gauntlet of Shar, the war council had delayed an infiltration for almost a tenday merely arguing over who would go.

With the colder weather creeping in and battles stagnating into standoffs, Tyrus supposed they foolishly thought they had time.

Morfred wanted a larger group to ensure they had enough support. Jaheira said no more than three highly-skilled individuals, to give them better chances at stealth. Ganyl simply wanted to go, even though his entire enclave was against risking their leader, and it took two meetings just to talk him down. Halfred didn’t think the quiet assassination plan of Ketheric Thorm was a good idea in the first place. They all worried that Ketheric’s brother, Malus Thorm, could be too tight-lipped or ignorant of the Gauntlet’s secret entrance to be worth the risk of fighting first.

Astarion had given up on attendance for the last two meetings. But as designated ‘Leader of the Vampires,’ however underqualified Tyrus felt he was for such a role, he felt obligated to attend. Just so he’d have updates to give Astarion and the spawn army below, really. He and Astarion had come up with the idea of a quiet assassination to avoid further bloodshed, so they were already guaranteed a spot in the party if and when it was approved. Halsin was a tentative third in Ganyl’s place, though Jaheira wanted it to be herself who struck Ketheric’s killing blow.

Now Tyrus felt close to giving up himself. He left the meeting before its scheduled end when Jaheira and Halfred started a shouting match about the risks of trying Ketheric's son at the Waning Moon Tavern instead, and Messaged Ganyl to send word if a decision had finally been made. Then he crossed the road past the armory, over the short bridge and around the small, cheery fountain in front of their temporary abode of late, the Last Light Inn.

Tyrus let out a plaintive sigh of relief the moment he was through the doors and could shrug off the sapping weight of the Cloak of Dragomir, avoiding the occasional beam of sunlight until he reached the stairs and could head down to the basement floor. Most of the rooms were used for storage—but at the end, built around the low docks the inn now used to receive war supplies from the east, were a couple of suites that looked directly out over the Chionthar.

He hadn’t expected to find Astarion in their suite, really. His partner liked to socialize a lot more than Tyrus ever did. In their short time here, he’d already been chatting with some soldiers at the inn’s bar, meeting more often with Halsin, and playing enough lanceboard he now could beat Tyrus if he focused hard enough. Astarion was used to crowds, to strangers, while Tyrus still found himself seeking the safety of four walls and a single locked door.

As he reached the door, however, Tyrus thought that safety must have been an illusion as his ears picked up Astarion’s voice, loud and seemingly in distress.

“Ah!—ah, gods—Tyrus!”

Tyrus wrenched the door open in a panic, hurrying inside—

—and was confronted with the sight of Astarion in a bath, pale face flushed, eyes squeezed shut, steamy water sloshing around the fast pace of his wrist under the water as he tugged at his pink, erect cock.

Tyrus stared. Even as Astarion’s eyes wrenched open bleary and wide, his hand freezing in the water, Tyrus couldn’t stop looking. He’d seen Astarion’s cock before so many times—but in his defense, it’d been months. Only feeling the shape of it in Astarion’s trousers when their kissing progressed further, only seeing Astarion’s bare body offhandedly as they dressed. Now Tyrus could also admire how much more lively Astarion’s skin looked despite still being pale, how his half-submerged, muscled middle had softened into looking less malnourished and dehydrated thanks to a healthy diet.

After another second, Astarion relaxed a bit. He waved toward Tyrus with the hand that had a moment before held a death-grip on the wooden tub’s edge, smirking as he huffed, “Could you close that, love?”

Tyrus’s momentary shock at the man’s beauty faded, then, in time for his rational brain to kick in. “I can come back later—?” he started to offer.

“No—no, I . . .” Astarion interjected, only to hesitate. His eyes trailed away for a moment, uncertainty lining his face. 

Tyrus retreated back to the door. “I don’t want to interrupt,” he spoke in earnest, and smiled at Astarion when the other vampire tentatively met his gaze again. “Truly—I’d much rather you enjoy yourself, like you’ve been wanting to.”

“Not quite like how I’ve wanted to,” Astarion scoffed, though a moment later the lines on his face faded. “No, stay here, darling. If you’d like to. I’m only imagining you here anyhow.”

“That’s quite different,” Tyrus pointed out, though he went ahead and shut the door, locking it for good measure before turning back to Astarion.

“Is it? I was just thinking of you interrupting me like this,” Astarion smirked, gesturing at himself. The hand in the water wandered back between his legs and began to lightly stroke as he sighed, “Though in my head I skipped the part where a whole conversation would be necessary for you to join. Bring a stool?” he nodded at the floor just next to the tub.

Tyrus didn’t hesitate to obey. He grabbed a small cushioned one in front of the sheet-covered mirror and placed it so he could sit just next to the tub’s head. His stomach swooped at being this close to Astarion—at watching him stroke himself again, bare and exposed save for the flimsy distortion of the sudsy water.

He wanted to touch him. He wanted to help, or at least kiss Astarion. But he wouldn’t dare do a thing without checking, given how impossible it’d been for Astarion to be sexually intimate since Cazador’s death.

And Astarion was such a pretty sight just to watch, with his eyes shutting again and dark lashes on display, pink lips slightly parted. Meanwhile, his small breaths and huffs of pleasure as he built back into a rhythm sounded sweeter to Tyrus’s ears than any melody. Even the smell of him was delightful. That smoky, musky perfume he always had a slight hint of at the palace was now much more refined and strong thanks to their shopping in the city. It was already a feast for the senses, if not all of them.

But when Astarion’s other hand extended just a bit past the tub, palm up, Tyrus was quick to take it and enjoy a sense of touch as well. Astarion hummed and pulled their clasped hands down into the water, flattening Tyrus’s palm to rub against his inner thigh. Tyrus gratefully mimicked the movement, and next let Astarion’s hand overtop his guide him to gently handle Astarion’s ball sack, eventually taking over to stroke his erection in tight, quick motions Tyrus still remembered the rhythm of well. 

Astarion’s hand stayed cupped around his throughout it all, continually guiding and keeping control even as he sighed, “Tyrus . . . uh, I’ve missed these hands . . .”

“Would you like it if I did anything else?” Tyrus murmured, after another minute of nothing but stroking and listening to Astarion’s heavy breathing.

Astarion’s eyes shot open, head lifting to regard Tyrus with a furrowed brow. His hand slowed Tyrus’s to a stop. “Such as?”

Tyrus bit back the assertion of Anything, anything at all. Giving actual ideas would probably be more helpful, if Astarion didn’t have his own. “Kiss you. Your lips, your neck,” Tyrus started with. “Or . . . here,” smiling as his thumb idly swiped over the head of Astarion’s cock and his partner visibly shuddered in response. Letting his voice go a bit lower, as he pointed out, “I don’t need to breathe, after all.”

“Fuck,” Astarion swore, then gave a short, barking laugh. “This is what four months of celibacy has done to my sweet, virtuous partner? I didn’t think you even liked that sort of activity, darling.”

“I haven’t ever tried it, technically. At least not of my own accord, so,” Tyrus shrugged. 

The air went somber ever-so-slightly at his words. 

"Shall I?" Tyrus asked in hopes of dispelling it.

“Not this time, my love,” Astarion sighed, starting to move Tyrus’s hand again around him. “But . . . yes—kiss me, please. I think I just need a little bit more of something—”

Tyrus wasted no further time. They’d kissed goodbye only hours ago when he left for the council meeting, but it’d been more than a tenday since Astarion had kissed him like this. One of their first nights in this inn, in fact, before he’d grabbed one of Tyrus’s wandering hands by the wrist and ended things rather abruptly. But whatever else Tyrus did or did not feel in the mood for otherwise, he never got tired of kisses—Astarion’s free hand cupping his jaw close, lips so passionately pressing and sliding against Tyrus’s, tongue darting out to taste and in return welcoming him in.

His instinct was to bury his free hand in Astarion’s curls, but Tyrus gripped the tub’s edge instead. He didn’t want to risk the wrong touch ending this lovely, easy moment. Not when Astarion was so clearly enjoying his other hand’s touch at the moment, hips bucking up and splashing the water a bit more.

Sometime later, a small moan escaped Tyrus when Astarion slid his hand back to tightly cup the nape of his neck, angling Tyrus’s head for an even deeper, all-consuming kiss. Astarion’s hand tightened a bit further around Tyrus’s in the water, so he sped up his movements even more—and groaned with Astarion as the other elf wrenched free of their kiss and threw his head back, shouting “Tyrus!” shakily, his cock pulsing in Tyrus's grip, his spend streaking in the water as the press of his bent legs made the wooden tub slightly creak in protest.

Tyrus kissed down Astarion’s neck and bobbing adam’s apple, slowing his strokes with the guidance of Astarion’s hand as Astarion breathed harshly through the aftershocks. When at last Astarion released his grip on Tyrus in the water, head resting against the tub again, Tyrus went back to gently stroking his smooth inner thigh. He rested his forehead against the other man’s clavicle, listening to them both breathe for a moment before whispering, “Alright?”

Astarion huffed—and then he began laughing. A soft, lighthearted, warm sound Tyrus couldn’t help but smile at, and hoped never to forget as Astarion’s chest lightly shook underneath him. Then Astarion’s wet arm emerged from the water and wrapped around Tyrus, pulling him in just a bit closer despite the awkwardness of the tub between them.

“Oh, besides a sore wrist of late,” he chortled, laying his cheek against Tyrus’s head when his giggling finally stopped. “I did start to find some enjoyment, even managed an orgasm the last two times, though. And this? Hmm . . . this is nice.”

Tyrus smiled wider against his chest. Of course, after another minute his back twinged and he regretfully had to pull from Astarion’s embrace—but was grateful his partner quickly dried off and joined him on the bed, despite the fact only Tyrus still needed a trance.

Once they'd both changed and his lover was spooning him snugly from behind, Tyrus thought to ask, “Have there been other things you like to imagine? Any specifics that I should take into account?”

The entire line of Astarion’s body froze up behind him. “I . . . I wouldn’t say there’s much I’m sure about acting on, darling,” he said in a slow, careful voice. “It’s been hard enough just to imagine sex without the thought of a customer, or him, intruding. Once that’s less an issue, I—I should be back to normal.”

“Normal,” Tyrus huffed, shaking his head and hugging Astarion’s arm a little closer to his chest. Being around relatively ‘normal’ people of late had taught Tyrus just how far off he and anyone else from the spawn colony were likely ever to be from such an ideal. “But hand jobs with you guiding me, would you say that goes on the safe list?” he stipulated.

Astarion was quiet for a moment. Then he kissed the tip of Tyrus’s ear, repeating, “The safe list, what a sad state of affairs—but yes, I’d call that a success. We’ll have to see about your mouth. And perhaps, if you’re up for it, I think I'd enjoy some unconventional stimulation, just skin-to-skin.” A beat of silence, then Astarion’s voice came out so soft and uncertain, almost afraid, as he admitted, “I . . . I’d still like a break from anything so performative as full intercourse, if that’s alright . . . and, if you can forgive it, I may still just need time, before I can offer attentive service to you, love . . .”

Tyrus twisted under Astarion’s arm so he could face him—but only to wrap his arms tightly around him, tucking his chin into the crook of Astarion’s neck. Declaring, gently but firmly, “There’s nothing to forgive, and no service to worry about. You have always been so giving, love." Even more softly, he coaxed, "Now, let’s take care of you for a while?”

Tyrus felt his partner’s body shudder in his arms. Then, increment by increment, Astarion melted into the embrace.

“Gods, I do love you,” he whispered in answer.

[bruisedboys]

jj maybank being the clingiest most touchiest boyfriend known to man. he has to be touching you at all times or he’ll die. you’ll be talking to your friends and he’ll just stride over and stick his chin over your shoulder, his hand squeezing at the bump of your hip. you’re sitting in the back of the twinkie while he’s in the passenger seat, and he’ll reach over the back of the seat to hold your hand (cue pope & kie gagging). his all time favourite is sliding his hand into your back pocket while you’re walking — it’s slightly inconvenient and he has to be careful he doesn’t step on your feet with his massive boots, but it’s worth it to see you get flustered like that.