#gale my love you are BLEEDING me DRY

[invinciblerodent]

Why is Gale eating shoes like The Meme du Jour. You ask nicely to please be able to eat two pairs of shitty boots and an ugly ring in act 1, and you're just forever known as Weirdo Wizard, the Shoe Eater? Nah.

What's ACTUALLY kinda inconvenient is that I do all this hard work of skulking around dank basements, rifling through corpses' pockets for loose change and opening every box, barrel, and vase, hoping to see old parchment, and whenever I actually FIND one, I can feel him licking his lips burning a hole in the back of my head with his gaze.

"That's a nice scroll you found," he says, "You know I could learn that spell, and be able to cast it whenever you need it."

But don't believe his lies. He just eats it like a musty fruit by the foot, and like 250 gold too, and he'll STILL only remember like. Seven or so of his dumb little spells.

We should call him Weirdo Wizard, the Moneysink.

[chadleys]

moon sick. | astarion

›› pairing: astarion x f!reader

›› wordcount: 2.5k

›› genre: smut, established relationship

›› rating: 18+, mdni

›› synopsis: whilst on the road, you get your period. astarion, being the loving, caring, supportive boyfriend he is, offers to help. he has no ulterior motives. obviously.

›› warnings: period sex, bloodplay, unprotected sex, oral sex, dirty talk

you wake with a start, astarion’s cold arm a comforting weight across your waist. you can’t think what could have possibly woken you up so suddenly, as you listen for any untoward noises around camp. but there’s only astarion’s steady, gentle breathing behind you and gale’s obnoxious snoring echoing from the other end of the clearing.

as you settle back down on your bedroll, however, you become aware of something sticky and wet between your legs. could be that a wet dream concerning your beloved has you in such a state, but you don’t remember dreaming of him last night. no, now that your senses are returning to you, you remember that last night was reserved for another visit from your so-called guardian. so what … ?

you toss your end of the blanket aside and groan, throwing your head back against the pack you’ve set out for a makeshift pillow. doing so earns you another yelp; must have made contact with one of the stems of the many apples wedged into your supply bag.

astarion is on his feet in an instant, startling you; you weren’t even aware he was awake. not that elves ever truly sleep. it always slightly unnerves you to feel him levitating beside you in his meditative state. ❝ you’re hurt. ❞ his voice is rough, thick with inertia. ❝ i swear i’ll find whoever did this and bleed them dry. we should never have trusted that damned cleric; shar this and shar that. i’ll shove her blessed shar right up her — ❞

he’s already kicking his own pack aside to stomp his way out of the tent when you hiss, ❝ astarion! ❞

luckily he’s not too aggravated to stop and give you a glance back so you can explain in a low murmur, ❝ it’s my cycle … ❞

astarion stops short, one pale hand clutched to his chest. ❝ oh … i — ❞ he waves that same hand now toward the opening of his tent. ❝ i thought … ❞

❝ i know what you thought, ❞ you sigh, more weary knowing what’s to come over the next 7 days than you are of him, than you could ever be of him. ❝ but it’s not. so just come back to bed. please? ❞

❝ i thought you’d never ask … ❞ he purrs, back to his normal self.

unfortunately, you’re doubled over in pain before he’s even halfway back.

❝ i knew you were in pain. ❞ astarion’s back at your side in a flash. ❝ just tell me who and i’ll — ❞

❝ i am, ❞ you gasp, ❝ in pain. but … not because anyone hurt me. well, more like mother nature cursed me. ❞

a particularly bad cramp seizes you and your hand flies out, clutching the front of astarion’s silky tunic. you press your fingers in to feel his cold, broad chest. the sensation calms you a bit … until yet another bout of pain rolls through your midsection.

icy fingers find yours, ghosting over your knuckles. ❝ shall i … see if the druid can make you something? ❞

you shake your head, tugging at his shirt. ❝ just lay with me. please. ❞

astarion’s skin is blessedly cool against yours, as it always is. you lean into him, pressing your face against his frigid neck, soothing your burning cheeks.

his glacial hands find the edge of your tunic, and then the small of your back, which helps more than he could possibly know. you shudder against him, pushing, trying to get more of him.

❝ you know … ❞ astarion sniffs, delicate voice very close to your ear. ❝ i have heard of one thing that is guaranteed to relieve moon sickness. ❞

pulling back, you glance curiously up at him.

he has that rakish grin on his face that you’ve come to know all too well in the past weeks. his reddened eyes roll away from you. ❝ come now, pup. you must know what i mean … sex. ❞ your heart jumps into your throat at the thought; you’re sure astarion can feel it beating harder against his own chest.

suddenly, his mouth is just under your ear, teeth rasping against the exact place he’s fed from you dozens of times before. ❝ i can smell it, my love. ❞

you don’t answer immediately; while you can’t deny the thought appeals to you, if for no other reason than to rid yourself of these damnable cramps, you’re also apprehensive. astarion feeding from your neck is one thing — still intimate, but relatively normal by vampire standards. to have astarion feed down there, on that blood, feeding from your womb …

❝ you’re right, it’s a bad idea, absolutely disgusting. i don’t know why i — ❞

❝ do it. ❞

❝ eh … hm? ❞

❝ do it, ❞ you repeat, grasping onto him for dear life as another squeezing, crushing shock of pain settles in your stomach. ❝ please, astarion. i can’t take it anymore. ❞

it’s been many moons since your cycle has been this bad. traveling on the road without proper food or rest may finally be catching up to you, exacerbating things. not much you can do about that until you reach the city, though.

other than letting your vampire lover drink your blood, of course.

laying you gently back without another complaint, astarion slips the blanket off of you and reaches to undo your breeches.

anxiety overtakes you; there’s already blood on your trousers and the blanket, you’re going to have to wash them in the river as soon as you’re able. you can’t even imagine the scene underneath your pants … but you’re about to find out.

gently, astarion prizes the trousers from your legs, then gasps softly. ❝ oh, my love … ❞

prying your eyes from the ceiling of the tent, you finally look down. astarion is there, of course, looking lovely as always. except, however, the lines on his face look deeper, almost carved, and the dark circles under his eyes are darker, his eyes redder.

another spell of panic grips you; bright red blood is smeared across your inner thighs.

astarion looks dizzy as he takes you in, cold hands cradling the outsides of your legs. you’re about to apologize and shove him away, tell him this is a mistake, in fact you will ask halsin to make you something — and that’s when astarion mutters, ❝ you are exquisite, ❞ and dives in to have his first taste.

the feeling of his tongue on your thighs makes you shiver, and the cool night air wafting in from the tent flap isn’t helping. you grab the clean end of the blanket and drape your upper half, canting your hips up to tell astarion what it is you truly want.

because even through all the anxiety, there’s also a bubble of arousal blooming between your legs. astarion can’t tell, of course, not through all the blood down there, but you sure as hell can. you have the most perfect creature you’ve ever set eyes on between your legs; how could you not be aroused?

❝ all in due time, ❞ astarion chuckles, voice muffled against your thighs as he continues to clean you up. thoroughly. too thoroughly.

❝ you always tease, ❞ you whine, knocking one of your knees against his ribcage.

this time when his gaze flashes sharply to you, his eyes are the reddest you’ve ever seen them. it makes you shake.

astarion’s nails dig into your hips, deliciously, wickedly. you tremble, reaching for him. he chuckles and kisses the inside of one of your wrists, which leaves a smear of blood. ❝ always such a needy little pup for me, aren’t you? ❞

you don’t even have time to nod before he dives back in, his mouth exactly where you want it this time. his lips suction around your clit, tongue lapping out lower down to scoop a sizeable pearl of blood into his mouth.

this time, astarion is the one who shakes. he lays his cheek against your still-bloody thigh and shudders. ❝ you’re going to be the death of me, ❞ he sighs, and you can see him skirting his tongue around his mouth, flitting over his lips, savoring you.

you huff. ❝ you’ll be of me, too, if you don’t keep going. ❞

❝ so pushy, ❞ your lover mutters, but there’s absolutely no heat in his words as he obeys your command and buries his face back into your blood-soaked cunt.

for a while you just lie back and enjoy yourself, and let astarion enjoy himself as well. his arms are strong around your legs, holding you in place so you can’t squirm away. it feels way too damn good, you may have been tempted to try. but as it is, you can’t do anything but revel in the silky feeling of astarion’s tongue lapping up everything you have to give him, his fangs catching every so often on your clit, making you see stars.

at some point, you glance down at him and gasp. ❝ your shirt! ❞

you know how much he prides himself on his physical appearance, and now there’s blood staining the front ruffles of his normally immaculate tunic.

he glances down and tuts, frowning. ❝ oh well. it’ll have to go with the rest. ❞ just like that, he rips it off and tosses it with your soiled trousers.

he must be in heaven, you suspect, if he’s willing to discard his cherished clothing for you.

now shirtless, astarion gives one last gentle kiss to your clit and then slowly starts to climb your body. there’s blood dripping from his chin, staining the rest of the blanket wrapped around you. but more importantly, his broad chest is skating up the expanse of your bloody cunt as he comes, and your clit throbs seeing all that red coating his torso.

❝ astarion! ❞ you gasp, and he grins, mouth full of your blood.

❝ i’m loathe to ask you for a kiss, ❞ he whispers, so low you can barely hear him. ❝ just one. i promise. ❞

you swallow thickly, and he waits for you to lean up, pressing your lips to his in the softest kiss you can manage. blood squishes between you, and you can feel it coating your lips as you lie back down.

one lap of your tongue against your bottom lip and you grimace, spitting and rubbing at your mouth with the back of one hand.

astarion laughs heartily as you mutter, ❝ ugh, not for me. ❞

❝ more for me, ❞ astarion says, almost gleefully.

he’s obviously preparing to get back to it, but you keep him close with your hands on his shoulders. ❝ i want you. ❞

brows furrowed, astarion squeezes your waist. ❝ darling, you have me. ❞

❝ inside, ❞ you beg quietly, which you know enjoys immensely.

your next step might be a mistake, but you decide to chance it. bracing yourself with your legs wrapped around him, you thrust up, dragging your wetness along the front of his trousers. you can feel that he’s hard, and now there’s blood all over his pants. you’re hoping he won’t mind, considering his tunic is already ruined for the night as well.

luckily he doesn’t seem to, dark gaze sweeping down over the two of you covered in your blood, and then back up. ❝ i thought you’d never ask. ❞

his trousers quickly follow his tunic, erection jutting up between your legs.

❝ he looks happy, ❞ you giggle, as his swollen head prods at your blood-soaked entrance.

❝ to see you? always. ❞

having astarion inside of you is normally a relief, a release of all the rampant, pent up emotions this journey has bestowed upon you.

tonight is different.

with all that blood flowing south, your womb is aching, you're sore and swollen as astarion’s cock spears through your lips. every thrust sends a fresh flow of blood down his shaft, which earns you a tight growl from the vampire as he takes the backs of your knees in hand and shoves your thighs back toward your chest, eager to get even deeper inside of you.

and you’re eager to have him, nails digging into his chiseled back, the hard marble of his jaw knocking against your shoulder as his lips, slick with blood, find your ear again. ❝ are you feeling better, pet? does my cock soothe that ache inside of you? the ache that raged inside of you, until you met me? until i filled you up in every lovely way possible? ❞

his words make your brain go haywire, knees shaking around his ribcage, toes curling, your mouth rubbing comfortingly at his cool shoulder.

more than that, you do feel better. the more aroused you become, the more blood flows out of you, the less painful your cramps become. until you’re pushing down against him, trying to ride him at the same time as he’s shoving himself inside of you with reckless abandon. until you can’t remember why you started this in the first place, other than to wind up begging for him to finish inside of you.

❝ inside. please, astarion, inside … ❞ it’s hard to even think clearly enough to form words, your mind consumed with the sight of his beautiful body moving atop yours.

you assume he’ll make you beg, as he so often does; he loves hearing the desperate, pleading tone in your voice that tells him all he needs to know — you belong to him.

but he doesn’t. he fucks into you as hard as he ever has, his thick cock gliding against your engorged walls, making your eyes roll back.

and then the talking starts. the words that make you wish you knew whether or not vampires can actually have children. ❝ you want me to get you pregnant, love? want your belly to swell with my child inside of it? i will wait on you hand and foot, i promise. i would love seeing you walk around knowing you hold my heir, that you protected my seed so well that it grew into a child inside of you. ❞ astarion pauses momentarily to laugh, tugging your earlobe between his teeth. ❝ with all this blood, i know you must be fertile. ❞

both of you share a laugh, briefly.

and when you cum, together, he sinks his teeth into your neck with nothing but a quiet grunt, cockhead twitching and spurting inside of you.

you mewl softly, feeling the vampire trembling and shaking as he empties himself into you. your hands pet through his hair, soothe the back of his neck, across the scars circling his back.

the pain from before is nowhere to be found, replaced instead by a warm, fizzy feeling sitting low in your gut. astarion is bracing himself on his elbows above you, with obvious effort.

you pull him down to lay atop you; he’s not exceptionally heavy anyway.

❝ i love you, ❞ he sighs, nestling his face, chin still slick with blood, against your collarbone. ❝ and … promise me we can do that again. ❞

❝ i love you. and i promise. ❞

[lagncx]

Say it back. Please?

Tw: not sure enjoy tho. I’m working on Karl Heisenberg and I wanna do my mutual @nonchalantgat0 Justice ! <3

——

You sighed, scratching your forehead “...150!” You said. The elfsong tavern bartender smirked at you. “To house you and all your friends? Just 150?! Haha! 600.” He demanded. You growled Halsin behind you with Astarion and gale. “Why are there so many weird customs in this place?” Halsin grumbled, eyes looking around. “Oh, the bear coming out of his cave?” Astarion huffed.

You bit your lip counting on your fingers “Uhh-…half!” You blurted out. “Half? Which is.” The bartender raised his chin at you. Astarion put a hand on your waist pushing his weight on his tippy toes to whisper in your ear “300 gold darling. Half is three hundred my love.” He whispered before placing a small kiss on the shell of your ear backing up.

You nodded “I’ll pay 300$ not to mention I’d be bringing people back here since that murder you had upstairs.” You crossed your arms in victory. Astarion smiled, patting your back.

After that night you realized, you all were dirt poor everyone bought armor, weapons, and food. All of it and you spent everything you had on a room and a few pints. Cursing to yourself you needed to find a way to make some fast cash, without Astarion figuring out or Gale. But mostly Astarion. Unless you guys wanted to go back to sleeping outside. You went over to your second guess, Shadowheart.

“I- I don’t understand, why? Do I keep it from Astarion?” You groaned “Because he’s gonna do the look-up laugh through his most and smile smug thing” you groaned.

It was simple, beat someone’s ass and get some gold. But fuck was the dude huge you put up a good fight Astarion said it was stupid, “You’ll end up getting a dent in that brain.” He said and you just laughed it off.

But here you were almost in slow motion. You felt your teeth hit against one another as you fell right on your jaw, face flat on the ground you let out a breath. He was right. You locked eyes with him seeing that smug look.

You flinched away from shadowhearts hand as she dabbed your wounds “It won’t be cleaned any faster if you keep pulling away.” You swatted her hand “Did you see the way he looked at me, didn’t even try to comfort me. I was on the ground in front of him bleeding from my mouth. He didn't even look concerned.” You slumped over hands on your ears holding your head up and avoiding the open wounds.

Shadowheart opened her mouth to comfort you “It was foolish I told you that why would I be concerned when you chose to ignore me.” Astarion. you crunched your face, eyes closing and nose upturned “yea well if we’re lovers I expected I don’t know a bit of comfort. Asshole.” You scoffed and you opened your eyes seeing his shoes tapping on the ground in front of you “you don’t get to call me that.” He turned to shadowheart and took the rag. “I’ll take care of them.”

You sighed displeased by the change “get your hands off your face and sit up. Now.” He said and you did so looking up at him. He overlooked your features: your eye was bloodshot, your mouth scared and teeth covered in dry blood. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before opening them again and leaning down placing the rag on your lip making you pull back.

“That hurts.” You hissed from the sudden headache after flinching back

“I’m sure it does now quit it.” Astarions hand held you cradling the back of your head making you stay there as he started to clean the wounds. The silence was loud…it was hard to avoid looking at his face but the dread of the thought of even making eye contact was enough. Astarion dropped the rag “You know anyone could’ve seen he was tricking you.” You groaned “Astarion please I don’t want to hear it!”

You got up and walked away swaying around the feeling of nausea washing over you like a cold sweat. You felt yourself slowly falling before a hand went around your waist. “You need to lie down.” You only leaned into astarion in response. You were guided to a tent it was Astarions and yours since a while ago he said

“You can sleep here, anytime really. But tonight I don’t want you to go.”

You haven’t slept in your own tent since. You let yourself flop on the bedroll expecting Astarion to leave you felt a hand push on your lower back making you whine as the muscles were sore. You were so tired you closed your eyes, you felt him pull off your shoes and un do your chain mail pulling you up so he could take it off. “There, now you can be more comfortable.” You took a long whiff of Astarions scent, your head resting in the crevice of his neck. You sighed “I love you.” He didn’t say it back.

“Here, drink.” You looked down at the bottle he handed you, it had gold liquid. “What is it?” You said slurring slightly, your lip swollen and already irritated and even more as he pushed the bottle on your lips “it’s gonna put you to sleep, you’ll wake up feeling better.” You nodded and took a long swig before he put it down. You looked at his hand glow a yellow color as he laid it on your head, a cooling feeling coming over you. You only wished to dream.

You crawled under the blankets of your makeshift futon you told astarion was way more comfortable. And before you fell into your slumber you made sure to remind him “Love you.” You whispered and started to snore.

Astarion crossed his arms watching you sleep soundly, the swollen wounds dying down. He then watched you turn and feel for him. Making him smile. “You’re hopeless.” He whispered “…so hopeless, so perfect. I hate that you put us before you…” he sighed and kissed your cheek making you smile unconsciously. He caressed your face “what the hell’s is your story?”

He got up and made his way out the tent coming back later of course but he took a second before crawling out.

“I love you too.”

[blackjackkent]

Given that all the cultists keep talking to her in ways that make her head ache, Rakha is almost relieved to look down at the center of the Temple and see that, after so much toil and terror, she has finally found what she is looking for.

Orin stands atop a raised dais at the center of the temple platform. Stretched at her feet, unmoving, is a familiar form - Lae'zel. For a moment, Rakha thinks they are too late, that she is dead, and the beast in her head keens with triumphant glee at the thought...

But then her chest rises and falls, almost imperceptibly.

She lives.

Rakha releases a breath that it feels like she has been holding for days. She had not realized the full extent of the tension that has been holding her upright, driving her forward, until now; it feels as if the strings holding her in place have been cut, and she almost collapses to her knees with the sheer weight of relief.

But she can't. Not yet. It isn't over. And her head aches as Orin lifts her gaze and smiles that dagger's-edge smile at her.

"Shhhh... shhhhh..." the changeling croons softly to Lae'zel's unconscious body. "Your savior approaches... scuttling in without the tyrant's rock..."

Rakha comes to a halt a few feet away. Orin glares at her, snarling like a creature whose nest has been invaded. "You are a mangled blood-brain," she hisses. "Thinking Father could be refused!"

Then her head snaps back, her nostrils flaring, the mocking laughter replaced instantly with rage. "I know what you did!" she cries. "Spilled my grandfather's crimson... He was mine! He showed me the way, how to slice and slit. He guides my daggers still."

She flicks a wrist, and one of those knives is in her hand suddenly, a long and curving, wickedly sharp blade.

Slowly, tenderly, she lowers its edge to sit under Lae'zel's jaw, and her lips curl again with manic hunger. "Did it think it could protect?" she sneers. "Did it think it could save? Only the blades can offer salvation!"

Another moment, and the blade will cut and slice and bleed and it will all be over. Rakha's head aches and aches, stabbing, blinding, and she can barely breathe, so strong does the beast urge suddenly wake and roar inside her skull.

Yes. Bleed her dry, the final cut, and then we shall take your head as you took hers, sister, sister, sister, failed attempt to be what I once was, broken bleeding bleating BITCH--

Something in her so desperately wants to see that blade draw its line in Lae'zel's flesh, to see every throat in this place, friend and foe alike, bleed until there is nothing left and all eyes are empty and staring and beautiful. Something in her is a monster that wakes at the moment of crisis, and sometimes it is so strong that she feels broken and shattered beside it.

But she has learned. She has learned so much.

She has learned from Wyll's hand on her arm, his warmth and his unerring goodness that has drawn her to the light out of the great black pit where he found her. His love, offered to her when she has least felt she deserved it, and which she has tried in a halting, faltering way to give back out of every functioning bit of her heart.

She has learned from Jaheira's steady solidity, the pillar beneath a rotted and rickety platform - the woman who watched over her in the darkness and told her at the darkest moment that she was not lost.

She has learned from Minsc - roaring, raging, just as mad as she, showing her that the broken bits of her do not bar her from being something greater, that justice and violence can live in the same skull.

She has learned from Karlach's kindness. From Gale's knowledge. From Minthara's focused determination. From Astarion's inner battles and Shadowheart's final triumphs. From Halsin's wisdom. From Isobel's forgiveness and Aylin's vengeance.

And she has learned from Lae'zel, the first voice she has memory of hearing. Attack with purpose and savor your kills. She has learned that she has the strength to guide her own hand and to turn on the god that bore her when the need is just.

Her head lifts, her voice a solid, booming roar, knocking the beast backwards within her and echoing to the stone rafters above.

[INTIMIDATION] "Harm her, and I will unleash the agonies of Bhaal upon you!"

Orin's head snaps up and she giggles maniacally, the blade falling away from Lae'zel's neck as she focuses on Rakha directly. "Yes," she squeals. "Yes! Give me agony! Pluck me bone from socket. Stroke me with a jagged edge until my skin shreds wet and red."

(A/N: Big props to Maggie Robertson; this is SO creepy, lol. Eeeeeeek.)

With a sudden smooth motion, she leaps over the altar to stand in front of Rakha, her other victim for the moment forgotten. "You still don't remember, do you, blood-kin?" she purrs gleefully.

Her body shifts, twists - settles into a new form, taller, broader in the shoulders. Rakha's own body, the one she's only bothered to see in a mirror a handful of times. Clear of the lines of the worm or the scars of the road, the face she must have had before her memories were lost.

"How you screamed as my knife split your skull," Orin hisses, now in Rakha's voice, deeper, harsher. Her lips curl in the smirk that Rakha's have only held in her darkest moments. "Your brain juices sticky and sweet."

(A/N: This is kinda fun. :D We don't ever get to hear the player character VA get any big speeches, they only ever get little ambient lines moving around the world. Tempted to do a Durge!Hector run now just to hear what his voice sounds like making a speech. :D )

She draws closer, lifting a hand almost to touch Rakha's cheek - and Rakha sees that she is holding a tadpole carefully in one palm.

"A little hole... big enough for the worm," she sneers. "Your body a blood sack to feed it." Her fist clenches around the tadpole, which erupts in a sudden burst of blood.

(A/N: It is so weird to see Rakha with her eyes intact and her skin un-wormed.)

She leans forward, draws her bloody fingertips against Rakha's jaw. "The favorite of Bhaal turned meat-puppet, strung up by the sinews and plucked by my hands..."

Rakha feels frozen into immobility. She doesn't know what the others are doing behind her - waiting for a sign to strike, perhaps. For a moment she can't think about them. She can only think about the flickering images that begin to rattle through her brain as Orin slowly shifts back into her own form.

Narrator: A straggling memory rises - the day your tyranny should have engulfed this world, it was you who were the first to be enslaved.

Narrator: Orin's smile was the last thing you saw, her bright blade glinting as she chiseled into your skull. Her reckless digging left your mind shattered. She robbed you of your bloody birthright, reduced you to nothing. Nothing but pure hate, and now it burns, yearning for vengeance.

Her head aches and the tadpole writhes and the beast screams and she clenches her fists at her sides, flame flaring around her fingertips. The fury is unsettling and there is no escaping the fact that the beast wants this violence too - but this is a killing with purpose. Jaheira has said it, Wyll has said it. Lae'zel would say it if she was conscious. Orin must die. It is the only way she can face down the taint in her blood and perhaps find the strength to walk away from it.

"Husk," Orin growls. "Maggot. A Bhaalspawn, slip-sliding in filth with these pigs." Her eyes flick to Wyll and Jaheira, to Minsc, to Minthara. Her lip curls disdainfully. "You don't deserve the murder-lord's blessing."

(A/N: We have the option here to tell Orin that she's the product of incest and that Sarevok has lied to her, and she gets BIG mad about it. However... I really don't think that's top of mind for Rakha? She's far more concerned about her own issues tbh. :P )

"Forget Bhaal." Rakha's voice rasps in her throat, tight and hoarse. Focused with every ounce of concentration she can manage. "It's your Netherstone I've come for."

Rage roars across Orin's face. "It opens its lips and spews filthy lies!" she screeches. "No no NO!"

Rakha flinches as the changeling closes with her, spittle spewing from her mouth.

"None can resist Father's blessing!" The Weave is starting to ripple and churn around Orin's body, a strange dark undulation that Rakha has never seen before. It curls around her body like smoke. "He tells me, whisper-quiet. The lies must be cut from your throat!"

She spreads her arms with a maniacal smile. "Come close, my Death's Heads! But keep your blades unblooded! Bhaal demands a duel! He wants to taste my domination. An altar flowing with his own unwilling flesh. Draining, dying, drip, drip, drip--"

There's a low, familiar buzzing hiss from behind her. Sceleritas appears on the stairs, and clicks his tongue in gentle disapproval. "You should have trained harder, Master," he murmurs.

Rakha isn't sure what he means - but it doesn't take her long to find out.

The Weave writing around Orin's body suddenly rises to a fever pitch and then explodes in a burst of orange-white light. When it fades... she has become a monster.

Magical walls shoot up around the dais, cutting Rakha off from her friends. Fear shoots through her, animal terror blocking out everything else.

Orin's slayer form roars and lunges forward, intent on slitting Rakha's throat.

The battle, at long last, is joined.

[aphroditestummyrolls]

WIP Wednesday SATURDAY

Tagged by the lovely @jazzythursday here’s some catstarion ❤️

Halsin’s golden eyes scanned over the little cat’s face, but there was a slight furrow in his brow. A big hand tentatively reached out to touch. No sound accompanied it— not a snap of teeth or warning hiss. Just utter silence, and the overwrought trembling of the creature against his chest.

“May I?” Their resident druid held out his hands in askance. The idea of letting someone else take the cat had Gale’s throat going dry and tight, surprisingly so. Halsin, of course, saw the hesitation immediately. “You’ve been a good friend to him, Gale. He’s safe now. May I?”

“Of- of course, yes. Apologies. I must be missing my own cat.” The nervous laugh was unbidden, as was the bloom of heat in his cheeks. “Is he alright?”

“Just a bit frightened, still. This must have come as quite a shock.”

His arms felt weak without the weight he’d been carrying.

“Came as a shock to all of us, that’s for sure.” Wyll chuckled, shaking his head incredulously. “When we couldn’t find him after the fight, I began to fear a much worse fate befell him.”

“I’m not certain Astarion wouldn’t have preferred one of those fates to this.”

“Chk. To be rendered to so soft and small a form? He is helpless.” Lae’zel failed in sounding anything other than fascinated. Maybe even endeared. “It is temporary, this spell?”

“Cats are far from helpless, regardless of their size. You’d be surprised, I believe, by the immense power and hunting prowess in those soft little bodies. As for this beast,” Gale gave a chagrined little smile, raising his still-bleeding hand to the firelight, “I think you’ll find our rogue is still more than capable of carnage.”

“I’d hesitate to refer to Astarion in any form as helpless. But still! Love to know how soft he is… I just don’t want him to try to take a bite out of me. Poor guy might burn himself.”

Halsin hadn’t taken his eyes off his patient. He muttered quietly,

“Be careful, Halsin— he may make a break for it at any time.”

“I don’t think he will.”

Tagging @kezzzx, @non-un-topo, @nicolos, @polarcell, and @the73rdpostscript. And if you aren’t writing anything, feel free to share upcoming sketches or other art you’re working on! ❤️❤️❤️ no pressure, of course.

[lemonluvgirl]

ROLE REVERSAL: More Hijacked Katniss AU (Alternate version of the lunch room scene)

"Your bread used to taste better." She says conversationally, as if she just wants to contribute something to the lunch room discussion, but her eyes cut to him and stay there. Narrowed and waiting for his reaction. All around them, their table grows quiet. Finnick stops separating Annie's carrots and peas on her plate. Gale's head snaps up from where he had been determinedly staring at his garlic/squash soup and shoveling it into his mouth dispassionately. And Haymitch cocks his head in her direction attentively. They are all watching her. This is the most she's said to him in days since their last botched interaction.

Peeta, though, keeps quiet as per their mentor's advice. Holding back a million things, he could say in reply. Like how District 13 only keeps the barest of ingredients in stock to make their food. No spices or herbs to add flavor. No add-ins like fruits or nuts or even butter can be spared from their spartan like rationing. Their ovens are also huge and dont heat to temperature evenly. They are for making large quantities of food fast and easily, not for slow cooking breads. Everything that has come out of them so far is either overcooked and dry or still slightly doughy in the middle. He can't seem to get them to produce a decent loaf no matter how hard he tries. They are nothing like the bakery ovens he is used to.

He gives her only a half shrug in reply, and the corner of her mouth twitches up in a near smile that sends a shiver down his spine. He doesn't like that look.

"Then again, maybe your bread was always shitty. Maybe everything you do is mediocre at best, like those kisses in the cave and those kisses on the Victory Tour, and Snow just messed with my head to make me think you were better than you are." She says the words, and they drip with undisguised malice.

The comment hits him square in the chest. Like a punch to the sternum. Just like she intended, no doubt from the way her gray eyes are glittering with hungry anticipation. They way she wants to hurt him and watch his reaction is so personal that it's vindictive. He never knows quite what to say to her when she does it. On one hand, it's better than when she's ignoring him completely. Like the way she treats Gale. As if he barely exists, and isn't even important enough to warant her disdain. He is like a nonenitity to her, a mild annoyance she occasionally frowns at when she can be bothered to acknowledge he even exists. Peeta can't imagine being that inconsequential to her after everything they've been through together. On the other hand, when she speaks to him, now it's excruciating. She's a sharp pointed weapon, as deadly accurate with her aim as she ever was, only now she uses her words instead of her arrows. Every time she opens her mouth, he's left feeling like a wounded fawn, shot through and left bleeding on the forest floor, heart pumping and blood racing in fear and desperation as she stands over him in violent triumph. He tries not to react to her words. Tries not to show how deeply she cuts him. Getting defensive only spurs her on he's learned. Because the more he struggles, the more she enjoys it. Like she knows, he'll bleed out faster because of it. He won't be able to keep his terrifying emotions in check. His broken heart will ooze from him and land in a puddle at her feet. Something for her to drag her boot through in disgust before she closes in for the kill.

A weezy chuckle breaks through the silence that has decended around the dining table, and it's their mentor who speaks while everyone's eyes are glued to the two of them.

"Of course, his bread used to taste better. You were in love with him. Everything in the world is better when you're young, stupid, and in love."

Peeta watches as the weight of their mentor's statement lands. Anger and something like embarrassment flash in her eyes. She scoffs, but two twin spots of color rise high on her cheeks. Evidence that the well placed volley has hit its mark.

Peeta exhales slowly. Fighting the urge to defend her and himself. It's a hard to break habit. And he knows that the urge to protect her will serve no one right now. She would hate him all the more if he even attempted it.

On the other side of his instinct is a strange kind of satisfaction at seeing her thrown off balance for even a moment.

Haymitch's words are a kind of vindication, and her reaction is further evidence, but the feeling that it leaves in his soul is bittersweet. Because it rings soundly true in a way that is simple and irrefutable. She did like his cooking once. Couldn't get enough of it, in fact. And she did love him in some way. She must have. The way she hates him now all but assures it. But Haymitch's use of the past tense when he talks about her feelings for him makes a place inside Peeta's chest ache with a sad longing that he fears will never completely go away.

Because she doesn't love him anymore, and now all that is left of their once profound connection is this. This cruel exercise in bloodletting that he really should walk away from but can't.

"I never loved him." She spits out, and if Johanna were here, she'd say something snarky and sarcastic about how Katniss is still a shit actress.

"That's what Snow wants you to think." Finnick says, looking squarely at Katniss, even voiced and confident in his words.

She sneers at him, opens her mouth, but Haymitch cuts her off.

"You did, and you still do. You're the only one who can't see it. Then again, even before the hijacking, you were pretty slow on the uptake. Still got the intuition of a fucking rock. Guess it's nice to know they didn't change everything about you." Haymitch says, words slipping out quickly, and punctuated by a loud burp that leaves a lingering stench of garlic.

It makes Peeta's nose wrinkle, and in the time it takes for him to shake his head to try and dislodge the smell from his nostrils, she bolts.

All he can do is stare at the empty space she had been sitting in and wonder if they will ever be able to have a normal conversation again.

[slusheeduck]

Fictober 2023 Day 20 - Prompt: "What if we're wrong?" Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 The fire was dying, and Gale had drawn the short straw that night in being the one to put it out. He fetched the nearby pail of water, then paused as something pale caught his eye. Astarion was still by the fire, working very intently on some manner of embroidery on the back of a shirt.

Gale watched him for a moment, then finally asked, “Something on your mind?”

“No.” Astarion didn’t so much as look up at him, focused instead on his stitching.

Gale shifted, then let out a breath. “May I?” he asked, gesturing to the shirt. Astarion finally looked up at him, then gave a little shrug as he handed off the shirt. Gale held it up—there was no embroidery, just an ever-growing spiral of silver thread. Someone was looking for something to keep himself occupied.

Gale didn’t say anything, but the raised brow as he showed Astarion his work so far made the vampire sigh.

“Yes, all right, fine. I’m thinking. I do that sometimes, you know,” he snipped, snatching the shirt back. “I’ll put out the fire. You go to bed.”

“I think we’re past that point now,” Gale said, settling down beside Astarion. “So. What’s on your mind?”

Astarion’s thumb went up to his mouth, blunt front teeth nibbling at the nail there. Oh, dear. This was something nerve-wracking, then.

“It’s…Falerin and Halsin. They’ve gone off to…enjoy the night,” he said quietly. Gale’s eyebrows shot up.

“Do they…are they…surely they wouldn’t go behind your back?”

“No, no. No, Fal was…oddly sweet about the whole thing. Insisted he would decline if I wanted him to, assured it wasn’t anything to do with me. And I didn’t want to deny him some fun after all the shit we’ve been through. And gods know we’ve all seen him actively wipe away his drool whenever Halsin’s frankly obscene biceps are on display.” He let out a breath, shaking his head as his nail returned to his teeth. “So no, it’s not the sex that’s bothering me.”

Gale clasped his hands together. “So what is?”

Astarion was quiet for a very, very long time, gaze far-away. Finally, in a very small voice, he asked “What if we’re…wrong? For each other?”

Gale blinked. One day, he thought to himself, he was going to write a book if he survived this: How To Be A Confidant To Both Halves Of A Couple In The Face Of World-Ending Catastrophe. Well, maybe with a snappier title than that. But he shook his head, coming back to the moment and trying his best to find a good way to answer that.

“Well, I think Falerin adores you,” he finally settled on saying, hands rubbing his knees.

Astarion shook his head. “I know he does. He’s very obvious; I’d love to play poker against him some time because I know I’d bleed him dry…” He squinted at the unintentional pun, then shook his head and sighed, hands going to press against his eyes. “But that’s not the issue. I…Halsin is everything I’m not. He’s…big, he’s warm, he’s good-natured and friendly…he’s nice. And I’m none of those things.”

“Well, no, you’re…” Gale trailed off. Oh, dear. “You’re great conversation.”

Astarion lifted his head to send the wizard a flat look, then sighed as he rested his chin in his hand. “I trust Falerin. I fully believe that it’s just a fling. But…maybe, for once, I shouldn’t be so focused on just getting mine. Call things off and nudge him toward someone…better.”

“I think that’s very selfless. And also completely idiotic.”

Astarion sat up straight, bristling. “Idiotic?” He scoffed; it was a little bit of relief, having the usual Astarion back if just for a moment. “Well, you love him, too, don’t you? Wouldn’t you want him to have a good life once all the rubble clears? They can…go off into the woods and enjoy nature’s gifts and…and he won’t be tied to a liability. Which, even if I do survive this Netherbrain nonsense and I do rip Cazardor to pieces and get my freedom, I will be so long as I’ve got my condition. And that’s not even going into the two centuries of baggage I’m well-aware I have.”

Gale stayed quiet as Astarion railed off, letting him go until he ran out of steam. Once he finished, he looked back to the embers in the fire. “The heart wants what the heart wants,” he finally said. “We don’t choose who we love. And if you can look back on everything we’ve gone through so far, look at all the times Falerin could have called it off but didn’t, and you think you know better than him what he wants, that’s more selfish than keeping him, I’d say.” He looked up. “He’s an adult. He can make his own choices. And—this may be harsh—but I think you of all people should know how…cruel it is to make someone else’s choices for them.”

Astarion stared at Gale for a long moment, red eyes glinting with the dying fire. His face twitched in preparation for an argument, but ultimately he sighed.

“Fine,” he said, giving a huff as he plunked his chin back in his hand. “But I still think it’s a mistake.”

“Oh, don’t be so hard on yourself,” Gale said brightly. “You’ve got plenty going for you that Halsin doesn’t. You’re attractive—in a…pointy, mean sort of way. You’re entertaining…also in a pointy, mean sort of way. Your embroidery is beautiful. And, really, I don’t think there’s a single thing Halsin can give Falerin that you ca—”

He was cut off by what was unmistakably the sound of a bear’s roar, off in the wilds nearby. There were no bears this close to Baldur’s Gate. That meant it had to be…

“…well,” Gale finally said after clearing his throat. “Maybe there’s…one thing he can give him that you can’t.” He looked over in alarm as Astarion’s head fell into his hands, accompanied by a long, distraught groan. “Or. Or! I’m sure we can find a…a spell to imitate wild shape for non-druids. We just have to…”

“Gale, shut up,” Astarion snapped, not lifting his head. There was another roar in the distance, and Astarion let out an even more despondent groan. “Oh my gods, I’m in love with a bear-fucker.”

Fictober 2023 Drabble Master Post

[svarttrost]

Thank you for the tag, @silver-horse! I love doing these, even if it takes me forever to get around to actually start 😭

I have A LOT of BG3 characters planned and ready, but I'll only do the ones I've actually finished a playthrough with or have an active one with, if we don't want to be here all day 😬

Quick tip, I guess: the background colours I've used for everyone (myself included) are reflecting themselves in some way, be it a favourite color, a personality or background vibe, or something like that. I like colour coding my people 😁

Hello, it's me! Perpetually tired and up in my own head with simultaneously too much and too little imagination, forever a coffee lover.

Meet my first Tav, Saraana. She's a wood elf ranger with a thirst for knowledge (her background is Sage). She is kind and righteous, very straightforward and just as curious. Her love of learning is probably what drew her to Gale the most, and vice versa.

Her preferred weapon is a longbow, so she snipes down targets from a distance and ensnares them to make them easier to take down for her allies.

She's supposed to have faint tattoos on her face, the ones that look like a tree, called "Yggdrasil" in game, but alas, the limitations.

The second Tav I've played is a half-drow warlock of the Great Old One, Thyia, who is supposed to be more gray than blue and have face tattoos, called "Woven Razors", known to have dabbled in criminal activity here and there. She is cautious and calculated, a strong advocate for autonomy, who doesn't shy away from power if it means gaining an edge against her enemies, within reason, of course.

Thyia dove head first into Astarion's advances, seeing right through him all the while, choosing instead to break through his defenses. It worked, and they became nigh inseparable, until she helped him ascend, take all the freedom and power he's ever wanted, and relinquished herself fully to him, bound to him for eternity. This time, choosing to ignore the way his eyes sometimes seemed to look through her, rather that at her.

Our third contestant, called Stiorra, is an Asmodeus tiefling and a bard of College of Lore. She lived in Baldur's Gate as an entertainer until she was plucked up by a nautiloid on her way to a performance. She suffered serious burns while hurtling through Avernus and hasn't been able to get them healed properly, which has left scars on her face. Her preferred instrument is a lyre and she fights with a rapier.

Personality wise, Stiorra is a bright and fun-loving person, with a little bite to her silken tongue, when the situation calls for it.

She quickly builds friendships with everyone around and outside camp, but can be caught paying special attention to Astarion. Being a performer herself, she picks up on his frivolousness hiding something deeper within, and cannot help herself wanting to gently unravel his heart's shackles. While wary and disapproving of her good intentions to help every poor soul they come across, AND having to save her ass from looming death multiple times (she's a squishy bard, it happens), Astarion warms up to her and soon Stiorra becomes the one person he can always confide in, the only one he trusts completely.

Stiorra ends up freeing both Astarion's heart and body and 7000 more spawn from Cazador's shadow and showers him in love every day. And provides midnight snacks for him, too.

This nearly transparent disaster is Opal. She's good with knives and doesn't remember much else. Like what in the Hells happened to her hair, for example. She doesn't really care though, she might just chop it off altogether if it becomes annoying and gets in the way of slashing and maiming and bleeding them dry.

She's heard once before that her eyes are the colour of white opals. She took to calling herself by that name. Opal. It's fitting, she thinks. She doesn't remember the face of the one who used to call her that, too.

She doesn't feel the infernal heat on her skin as she's wading through hordes of imps. Her head, though - her head is on fire. The inside of her skull is red hot and feels like bursting open, but also empty, void of all thoughts but one - KILL.

As one may have guessed, Opal tends to have dark urges, and is also a rogue assassin. She's unusually pale for a drow and has quite a few scars in quite a few places. Opal's memories are fractured to the point where she relies on instinct alone to get through the nautiloid, and her instinct in screaming at her to kill everything in sight. Slicing through bodies feels as effortless as breathing, and she knows it's what she's been doing for years before this.

But then, she hesitates.

Once. The severe unfamiliar sharp eyed creature, who pointed a sword at her throat.

Twice. The young half elf trapped in a pod, shrouded in shadow, pleading for help.

Thrice. The pale elf with piercing blood red eyes, the one who dared draw his own dagger on her.

She should have met their flesh with her steel. She should have reveled in their dying whimpers, crimson flowers blooming on their chests. Shouldn't she have?

She hesitates. She wants to know herself. She wants to know why there is searing hot bloodlust bubbling in the depths of her soul. She figures, she can't go this alone. So she hesitates, again and again.

Aaaand here it is. And I don't know who else to tag as I don't like to impose...😬 So if anyone who sees this wants to do it, go right ahead, and feel free to tag me, I'd love to see what characters you've come up with!

Picrew link.

Artist vs OC

Thank you for the tag @cheekylittlepupp

This is going to be very boring because I tend to create characters who look like me 😔 Me and my main bg3 OC half-drow sorcerer (wild magic) she is basically me if I could do magic:

(My hair isn't actually quite so dark but I couldn't find a matching colour. I also couldn't replicate my OC's slightly grey drow skintone 🤷‍♀️)

My high elf character (during our multiplayer honour mode session with @vspin) and my drow durge character and my high half-elf durge character:

The high-elf is a noble draconic sorcerer with 2 levels in wizard, she is wielding Phalar Aluve. My drow character is also a sorcerer. (Originally storm sorcerer but I changed her to wild magic) They are just named after me lol My high half-elf character is called Thea, she is a very antisocial and she abandoned or killed every companion except Astarion. Nobody is allowed to stay their camp. 💀

I am tagging (if you want to but feel free to ignore) @astarioffmode @svarttrost @tadpole-apocalypse @communistfries @elminsters @mercymaker @cerudinae @charmedcleric @zekeen @astarionancuntnin @drizztdohurtin @utterdrip @oakenshieldbaggins (@a-s-t-a-r-i-o-n ) @ghostfire @florbelles @oddlyotherscience @snowfolly

Link to picrew

[glitteryglitter]

Basically a fix-it fic

𝙰𝙽: Because Finnick shouldn’t have died. 

This was requested by someone on Wattpad but I don’t know if that person is on this website. If you’re the person who requested this and recognizes it, I can tag you if you’d like! Also, I wrote this about a month ago, but I wanted to post it here too, in case anyone felt like reading it!

Also,  It's been a while since I read Mockingjay so I'm sorry if I get a few details wrong.

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: Slight angst and blood

𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐:  Finnick x reader

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 1,019

                                                   ๑*˚🍓˚*๑  

It had been a terribly chaotic time for the group, and today was no exception.

Y/n grabbed Finnick's hand as he climbed up the ladder out of some sewers. Just as they relaxed and allowed themselves to get a bit more hope, a Lizard Mutt latched on to Finnick.

Then, it attempted to drag him back into the water.

Y/n wasn't the most athletic person, but they would not let a lizard end the life of their boyfriend.

That was a fact.

Y/n pulled Finnick up while he swatted at the lizard.

It was large, but finally, he managed to strike it.

The two breathed a sigh of relief until y/n realized something, Finnick was bleeding.

A lot.

He wobbled and felt his vision go dark.

Katniss and Y/n both grabbed his arms and pulled.

He shot up the ladder to safety and flopped on the ground.

"Finnick, You need to be more careful, you almost got yourself killed!"

That's when Y/n noticed something.

"Oh no-"  Y/n pulled their hand away from Finnick's chest, soaked with blood.

"He's not breathing!" They yelled.

Y/n tried shaking him until Gale sprinted over.

"Move, I know what to do, I think I can help"

He unceremoniously elbowed Y/n aside.

He checked Finnick 's nose and mouth.

His eyes widened.

"I need to check his pulse, but don't panic, there's still hope." He felt around  Finnick's wrist and neck, then waited.

For an excruciating 10 seconds, Gale sat in silence.

"Finnick's still alive, but barely. We need to get the water out of his lungs! "Y/n, tilt his head back."

It seemed to be of no avail.

However, after a moment or so, Finnick began coughing and spat out a mouthful of water.

Finally, y/n could breathe again. Fortunately, so could Finnick.

"Finnick! You're okay! I told you to stay safe! Your life was on the line and all you did was help the others, you're so brave and kind, and I love you so much, but if anything happened-"

Y/n cradled Finnick's head in their arms.

It was then that they noticed the gravity of his wounds.

"What did those Mutts do to you?" Y/n motioned to Finnick's wounds which had begun to dry slightly

"You saw, one grabbed me and must have bitten me while I was climbing, I knew the Mutts were dangerous, but I never knew just how lethal they could be...I'm perfectly fine now though, you don't need to worry, love. " Finnick offered y/n a warm smile. "Because of you."

"I honestly thought you were as good as dead." Y/n's voice grew thick with emotion " But don't worry, we're going to get you to a better place, and everything will be perfect. We just need to get you there safely." Y/n said, more to themselves than Finnick.

"It's alright, I can walk"

Finnick attempted to pull himself up but was stopped by

"Don't even think about it, Odair. I know you like to be everyone's savior, but not today. You need to rest while we wait"

"Alright, sweetheart. I will." Finnick felt himself pass out for the second time that day. Just before consciousness slipped away, he felt y/n press a kiss on his forehead.

                                                   ๑*˚🍓˚*๑                      

The group had arrived and were staying in some rooms in the capitol.

Their situation was far from ideal, but at least it wasn't as terrible as it had been.

Finnick's eyes fluttered and finally opened.

He quickly closed them again as he still wasn't used to the gentle ambient glow of the lamps placed in his room.

He had done nothing but sleep for the past 2 days through most of his recovery and was growing restless.

Just as he was making up his mind to get out of bed, Finnick hesitated as he heard footsteps from outside his room...

"You're awake!" Y/n chirped.

They peeked their head into his room.

"Can I come in?"

His face lit up. It had been several days since they had talked. Now that Finnick thought about it, the last time they'd talked was when y/n helped him out of the water that fateful day.

Y/n padded over to his bed and flopped down gently beside him.

"So, How do you feel?" They traced a hand over his chest which had only a few days prior been slicked with blood.

Now, however, the scrapes were neatly cleaned and bandaged.

"I've been better, but I've also been worse," Finnick replied with a smile.

"I know that I'll be okay though. Thanks to you, my savior" he drew the last two words out, playfully.

Oh, be quiet! Y/n lovingly ran a hand through Finnick's already somewhat unruly hair, giggling uncontrollably all the while.

Finnick silenced them with a kiss.

"I love you Y/n."

"I love you too Finnick." The two sat together in comfortable silence until he yawned.

"You need to rest and heal, I shouldn't have kept you for so long, but it was amazing seeing you again,"

Y/n started to get up but Finnick  grabbed their hand.

"Wait- stay with me?" Y/n opened their mouth to protest, to say that he shouldn't be disturbed, until he flashed them a look of pure adoration. "Please, Y/n?"

"Fine" Y/n sighed with a teasing smile.

"But only for tonight."

"That's all I ask" Finnick  mumbled as he pulled Y/n close.

Finnick shifted until the two were face to face.

"I love you so much, Y/n. I don't know what I'd do without you by my side"

"Finnick, You have helped me through a lot... I don't know how I got so lucky. I truly got the best boyfriend anyone could wish for."

Just as Y/n leaned in for a kiss, a voice came from the hallway.

"Get a room you two! Or at least close the door!" It was Gale.

"We did!" Finnick yelled back

"Jealous?" Y/n wiggled their eyebrows.

The two burst into a fit of laughter as Gale sighed.

"Goodnight, Gale!" Finnick exclaimed

"'Night,'" Gale closed the door and slunk away.

"Now," Finnick turned back to Y/n with a smile. "Where were we?"

                                                   ๑*˚🍓˚*๑                      

[shinobimagpie]

Hello!!! Am i late for bingo 😬? Can I ask for a Shikatematayu with the prompt "nuclear diffense mode" please? I was thinking it would be fun a Shikamaru and Temari jealous about Tayuya spending a lot of time with someone else or maybe Orochimaru wanting Tayuya back to the sound village. (Sorry if i keep asking for the same OT3 but its your fault i ship them)

I wish for every fan-creator I know to have a follower like @anaaaaaa0120 a who requests their fave ships and tropes from them and makes their whole week!

Thank you SO much for this request, I literally gasped when this hit my inbox. Like, if there was a trope I really hoped someone would request it was this one, and then you attached it to my faves and kajdjldskfj! Thank you! Let’s suppose that Orochimaru dug up Kimmimaro, Edo Tensei’d his ass and sent him to either collect or eliminate his errant sound ninjas, because who doesn’t love a guy with swords in his arms? (Tayuya doesn’t, that’s who.) Also given that Tayuya seemed to be mildly terrified of Kimmimaro when he showed up in canon, one of the only people she ever seemed intimidated by, he struck me as a good challenging/scary opponent for the three of them. :)

I hope you enjoy reading this even half as much as I enjoyed writing it. 💜 Defender for the 25 Follower Bingo Event (requests still open until I get a bingo or hit 50) Characters: Tayuya/Temari/Shikamaru Prompts: Nuclear Defense Mode Warnings: Canon-typical violence and Tayuya-typical language The world tips and tilts in front of her as Tayuya struggles to pull herself up from the dirt at the base of the tree she’s just hit. Her lungs burn and her limbs feel like lead, the world around her a dull roar. What kind of attack she was aiming for before she hit the ground is lost on her, brain thoroughly rattled by being slapped halfway across the clearing. She’s lost her flute on the trip, sure from the wet streak she feels down the side of her face and neck that she’s blown out one of her goddamn eardrums, and no matter which way she tilts her head there is a high-pitched ringing fuzzed over everything. By the time her eyes focus, her opponent has vanished...

Fuck fuck fuck, which way is he coming from?

She senses the blow from above her a second before it connects; she doesn’t even truly see it, just feels the motion of the air barely soon enough to react and launch herself to one side.

She avoids a deadly strike in favor of an excruciating one.

Being slashed or stabbed is routine in this work, something Tayuya can normally endure and push past; her own chakra can heal a minor wound if she focuses enough. Having a bone blade wedged with force into an already twice-broken joint that hurts her even on some good days is entirely another matter.

Tayuya screams, recoiling around her wounded leg, slashing blindly at her attacker through watering eyes. He spares a hand to block her blow but it’s evident from the casual way he proceeds to twist her wrist back, his cold expression barely changing, that she doesn’t truly concern him as a threat now.

That he hasn't just killed her already means she probably never did.

Shit; he's been dead all this time but with her mark sealed even years of training hasn’t let her match him...

Tayuya feels panic wash over her with a fresh wave of pain, trying to center herself enough to pull together a scream with some good concussive force behind it. If she can just catch her breath, get some distance…

And then she hears it.

“GET OFF OF HER!!"

Temari’s voice, thundering over them, shrill with utter rage.

"Wind Style! Concussive Gale!"

What feels and sounds like a miniature hurricane slams through the clearing, ripping the startled Kimmimaro off his feet and half the trees off their roots. Tayuya feels the breath practically sucked from her lungs with the force of it, although somehow she stays anchored to the ground as it rushes over her.

Temari comes tearing past her a second later with a furious scream, excess chakra pouring off of her with the next swing of the war fan. A narrowly focused blow of air slams her regrouping opponent right back to the ground with a deafening crack that shakes the earth.

Tayuya lies stunned and breathless in the dust, transfixed by Temari for several moments before she registers Shikamaru’s presence, melting out of the remaining forest’s darkness at her side. The tendrils of shadow he’s held her down with fall loose around her as she pulls herself up to sitting and his hand finds her cheek, sliding back along her jaw to thread his fingers securely in her hair. Tayuya feels more than a little like collapsing into his arms for a moment, and not just because her knee is definitely broken for a third time.

“Are you alright?” Shikamaru’s voice is tight with anger and worry despite her immediate nod, his dark brows knitting as his eyes flicker between her and Temari, assessing which of them needs his assistance more. He quickly settles on Tayuya; Temari seems to have Kimmimaro on his back foot for the moment, keeping him pinned with relentless attacks that roll into one another.

“I lost my flute,” Tayuya says dumbly, heartbeat rushing in her ears. Her cheek still feels hot where he’s touched as Shikamaru shifts back to wrap his hands around her bleeding knee, putting painful but necessary pressure on the wound. She curses, but doesn’t waste time pulling bandaging from her belt and starting to wrap the joint up tightly. She can’t just lay here, can’t keep him distracted. Temari is keeping Kimmimaro down for now but it took a bowl-cut on steroids and a fucking jinchuriki to take him out before...

“We’ll find the flute,” Shikamaru tells her firmly, eyes fixing reassuringly on hers as he helps wrap her kneecap. “And we’ll bury this asshole again while we’re at it.”

Tayuya swallows hard at the rumble in his voice, the way his eyes take on a vicious gleam as they settle beyond her shoulder on Kimmimaro. He doesn't seem nearly as worried as Tayuya feels he ought to be...

She looks back to see Temari whipping aside a volley of bone projectiles with her fan, still incandescent with anger, chakra steaming from her skin in almost-visible ribbons. She shouts as she winds her weapon back for another strike and Tayuya finds herself sharply reminded - with dry mouth and pounding heart - that Temari was nearly a jinchuriki herself. Shikamaru tugs her bandaging tight and gets back to his feet, offering Tayuya an arm up, an impressed smirk stealing across his face as they both pause to take in Temari’s ferocity for a moment more. "Think she needs a hand?" Tayuya suggests, pulling a summoning scroll from her waist; time for a different approach. Shikamaru tugs a flash bomb from his vest pocket and smiles in a positively vicious way that makes Tayuya want to kiss him more than a little. "Come on, let's not let her have all the fun."

[randomfandomimagine]

Friends (Jaskier x Reader)

Character: Jaskier

Fandom: The Witcher

Tags: Hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, friends to lovers.

Warnings: Depression, anxiety, insomnia.

Word Count: 2,2k words

Summary: Y/N feels tired and hopeless, and it isn’t until Jaskier talks to them that they don’t realize many things about themselves.

A/N: I was having a really bad night and was so overwhelmed that I needed to let it out and I ended up writing this. It’s kind of dark and sad and angsty, but has some hope and fluff at the end. It really helped me and I hope it can be comforting to those of you who read it, please give it some love (reblogs and feedback) if you do. Take care of yourselves, lovelies 💖

The hubbub of the inn deafened your sensitive ears, even when it was at a considerable distance from you. It only seemed to hurt you more deeply than you already were. Their voices, loud and happy as they sang along to a cheerful gig, were like a treacherous stab to your already bleeding heart. You shook your head, hating yourself when you felt new tears arrive to your eyes again.

You squeezed the petals in your hand, having deflowered a daisy out of the many that stuck out from the weeds and green grass that surrounded you. With a sigh, you extended your hand and let the petals fall over the water. The river ran before you, tranquil and seemingly unaware of the suffering deep within you. A gale of wind swept over you, drying your tears just as they rolled down your cheeks. You had no strength left to wipe them yourself. You sighed, staring at the bright silver moon that shone above you.

“There you are!” A familiar voice startled you, making you gasp and jolt up when the sacred stillness of the night was broken. “Y/N, I was looking all over for you!”

“I’m fine” You lied, glancing at him for only a second before focusing on the water. The white petals floated on the surface, seeming to look up at you. “It’s fine…”

“Don’t give me that, love” He grunted as he sat down beside you. “It’s not like you to just walk away without saying anything”

You remained quiet. Jaskier didn’t know. How could he? Only you knew of the deep sadness that your heart harbored. Only you knew about the never-ending nights, laying there awake staring at the ceiling with wet eyes and weary thoughts. Only you knew of your perpetual tiredness and your apathy. No one knew your strife, only you.

“Was it Geralt?” The bard continued to endlessly talk, as was his custom. “What did he say this time, that big brute? He is not delicate, I know that much. What did he say to you to make you so upset?”

“I’m not upset” You lied again, feeling like every lie that came out of your mouth only added on to your pain. “And he said nothing to me”

“Was is that other bard, then? I know, you couldn’t bear the sound of his music, having heard the wonderful delight that is mine” Jaskier grinned, intently staring at you. He lingered. You didn’t smile, or glance at him, or moved.

“Alright...” Shifting from playful to serious, he reached out to take your arm and gently tugged at it to gather your attention. “Talk to me, love, what is it?”

You frowned. Daring to look at him, you opened your mouth to reply. It was left open as you gawked at him, unable to say any words. How were you going to explain what was wrong if you didn’t know? How would you explain your sadness if you didn’t know where it came from?

“Why so sad?” Jaskier’s voice was sweet as honey, soft as velvet, fragile like glass. His blue eyes were focused on you, examining your expression as though he intended to read your mind, to understand all the negative thoughts that plagued it in order to know how to fight them.

“I’m…” You began to say, clenching your jaw when you felt your voice shaking. What were you? Only sad? No, emotions were far too complicated to simplify it to only sadness. Were you angry, scared, resigned, frustrated? You mouth opened again, and finally a word came out before you could think further about it. “Tired”

“Well…” He dedicated you a warm smile. “Then come back to the inn, get some sleep. I’ll even sing to you, a lovely little lullaby to-“

“No, Jaskier…” Finally, the emotions that you had been trying too hard to repress started flowing with such force that you couldn’t stop the torrent of tears that they turned into. “I’m tired of being sad!”

His eyes shone with emotion as he looked at you. A wrinkle formed in his brow, observing you with such empathy that it seemed although you had passed over some of your sadness to him. Still, you were far too tired to dwell on that thought. Words started escaping your lips before you could stop to understand what they meant.

“I’m tired of this pain, of this emptiness in my chest… I-I’m tired of not being able to fall asleep at night, of all these negative thoughts… I want to stop seeing how Geralt gets mistreated. I want to stop having to beg for coin at every corner in order to have some food, I want to-to…”

“Y/N…” Jaskier tried, although he couldn’t stop your delirious rambling.

“I want to stop being afraid of getting hurt, of seeing you both get injured on our travels! I want to stop all this danger and all this evil that poisons the hearts of men, all those curses that befall people and that kill innocents! There is no hope, and I just want to be…” You sniffed through your nose as a dawning realization finally washed over you with the force of a tidal wave. “I just want to be happy…”

You hadn’t realized any of these things until you started traveling with them. The world was a cold, cruel place, and it was too much for your sensitive heart. It was crushing it with no mercy, and now it was far too broken. Beyond repair.

Jaskier urgently pulled you in for a hug. Unexpectedly. You didn’t react in time to do anything about it. For weeks now you had hidden all these thoughts, trying to avoid them from weighing on them as well as you. For this very reason, your instinct was to push him away and apologize. Repeat that you were okay and only needed some sleep, that you weren’t thinking clearly. But despite your exhausted state, you knew you were thinking more clearly now than ever. All the confusing combination of emotions had finally been untangled until you could pinpoint each one of them. And you had shouted them all at Jaskier.

“I-I’m sorry…” You gasped, finding it hard to breathe. Whether it was because of Jaskier’s desperately tight embrace or your own anguish, you didn’t know. You didn’t care.

“Sh… it’s alright” He whispered, and his voice was quieter and more tender than you had ever heard it. “Let it out, it’s okay, love”

“I didn’t mean to shout, I…” It was only then that you realized you were both standing. At what point you had stood up and he had followed, you didn’t know.

“It’s alright, Y/N” His body pressed against yours, trying to infuse you with every ounce of comfort he could provide you with.

He wasn’t angry at you. Jaskier didn’t blame you for losing your temper, for bursting out from all the emotions that were eating you up inside. He wasn’t broken because you were. His only concern was comforting you, nothing else.

Completely crumbling down now after his attentive cares, you began bawling your eyes out. Pressing your face against his shoulder, you clung on to his doublet and dampened his undershirt with your tears. As you did, Jaskier held you tight and whispered sweet nothings into your ear. He reminded you it was okay. It was okay to cry, it was okay to feel. It was okay. Everything would be alright.

Your sobs turned into hiccups, the lump in your throat tightened, your knuckles hurt from holding on to him so desperatelyt, your eyes were swollen and your strengths were abandoning you. But Jaskier lingered. He rubbed your back, he caressed your hair, he held you up, he promised you yet again that it would be alright. He never once faltered.

And suddenly, as your crying subsided, everything settled. The weight in your chest lessened, the lump in your throat disappeared and you could breathe again. Perhaps that emptiness in your chest remained, but it had greatly diminished.

“That’s it” Jaskier kissed you in the temple, still pressing his hands against the small of your back. “Any better?”

“Yes…” You whispered, even more exhausted than before. Nonetheless, you were finally speaking the truth. “Thank you”

Slowly, fearing that if you moved too quickly your body would finally give out, you lifted your head to look into his eyes. They were shining with unshed emotional tears, but otherwise he was smiling. That warm smile gave you hope.

“Hey” Jaskier whispered too, wiping your tears with his thumbs. “Listen to me now, alright?”

“Alright” You nodded, holding on to his shoulders for support.

“I know life is shit and the world is terrible, I know” He began saying, which caused you to frown. Your bottom lip trembled as another sob threatened to shake your being just when you thought you were finished. However, Jaskier held one finger up. “But! That isn’t all there is”

“What do you mean?” You leaned your weight on him, tiredly putting your head on his shoulder.

“There’s still lots of beauty left” Jaskier passionately said, and you peered up at him to see him beaming with emotion. “There is laughter, and love, and so many good things”

“What good things?” You muttered, finding it hard to see through the darkness that surrounded you.

“New people to meet, new places to see… So many good things… the beautiful flowers blooming on the road, the delicious bitter taste of ale and the lovely sweet taste of pie… The… the tune of a well-composed ballad, the amusing way in which Geralt grunts when he’s vexed, the feeling of butterflies in your stomach when you wake up before you travel somewhere new. The many wonderful ways our conversations can go and the possibilities of composing whichever ballads my muse inspires, and-and…”

“And?”

“The way your kind eyes shine with the sun, how they light up when I smile at you… The way you touch my arm when I make you laugh and you smile at me in that beautiful way, shaking your head because you can’t believe I just said something so incredibly stupid, or-”

You put a finger against his lips, otherwise frozen in place. Hadn’t you stopped him, you were sure he would have gone on for ages. About you, about the things he adored about you. Endless, you realized, he loved endless things about you.

Jaskier’s eyes widened as he observed you. For the first time since he knew you, he couldn’t understand your expression. He was always attentive, he knew you well and paid attention to your gestures and mannerisms. He paid attention to you and everything that was important to you. Still, this time he was lost in the expressionless look on your face. He couldn’t understand that it was caused by shock.

A trembling breath escaped you as you slowly lifted your finger. Although his mouth was now free, he stayed quiet. He needed to unveil the mystery behind your demeanor. He failed to realize that you had just learned something. That you could see now that you had been too focused in your own pain to see one of the good things in your life, one of the best. Him.

Jaskier was always there for you. He had given you space when you distanced yourself, he had realized all which you tried to conceal, he had read your pain before you could even put it into words. And despite it all, he had respected you enough not to talk about it. Until you were breaking down and he needed to do something about it. He needed to ease your pain in any way he could, and he would do anything to achieve that. Because, and this was your second realization, he loved you.

Your beloved bard, your friend, your traveling companion… he had loved you for a long time. He had fought his emotions for your sake, because you only saw him as a friend. Or so you thought. Because friends don’t lie together every night as close as they possibly can. Friends don’t compose songs for other friends. Friends don’t bleed themselves dry to give you everything they have and they are, not in that way. But that was what you were doing for each other, day after day.

Friends didn’t want to kiss each other, yet somehow you found yourselves staring at the other’s lips. Leaning in slowly. Closing your eyes in anticipation. Passionately pressing your mouths together. Frantically moving your hands to touch each other. To push the other closer, impossibly closer. Until you realized you finally had what you had unknowingly been craving for so long. A certain small dose of happiness that you had yearned for.

Your mouths met. Your lips danced with each other in perfect harmony. Your heart coordinated and began beating like one. You shivered, overwhelmed with euphoria. You broke away breathlessly, peering into each other’s eyes and minds and souls. Feeling closer than you ever were, even as your bodies separated.

His hand lingered in the small of your back. He smiled, and you expected him to make one of his foolish comments. But he didn’t. He only cupped your cheek.

“Are you alright?” He whispered, and you immediately nodded your head.

“Now I am” You sighed, relieved that you could breathe again. “Thank you”

Jaskier’s smile widened. His thumb gingerly caressed your cheek.

“There is always good in the world, Y/N, even when you’re surrounded by evil. And I will always be here to remind you of the beautiful things”

Tag list: @call-me-harley-quinn​ / @wonderlandfandomkingdom​ /  @kingniazx​ / @greeniemoon​ / @they-call-me-thewildrose​ / @jasper-the-stan​ / @v3nusc3​ / @breezyfails​ / @squirrel-saloli​ / @saveatruckrideoptimusprime​ / @ultracolorfulnerdcollection​ / @creativemayhems​ / @bands-messed-me-up​ / @pantrashtic​ / @buckyness-intensifies​ / @drunkonbuckybarnes​ / @kkcline123​ / @this-is-whump-dammit​ / @anderfelll-s​ / @x-joie-x​ / @waitingtobeimpressed​ / @legallyblindgamer727​ / @goldenhoney-cas​ / @bravelittlesunflower​ / @lilyevans1​ / @imaginealllthefandoms​​ // If you want to be added or taken off the tag list for these fandoms or characters, send me an ask!! // Feedback and reblogs are appreciated!

[itsthe-neo-zone]

Wands and potions: NCT Dream & WayV 

Please read the Masterlist before continuing ahead with the upcoming chapter. Thank you.

A/N: I apologize for taking so long to post (im a mess) but i had some issues to deal with, personal things at home and some family members were feeling sick so things were a mess, as always I hope you enjoy the chapter and I’ll try to get back on track. I’m sorry if my posts aren’t up to the standard I usually output in. 

Chapter 17:

[Lyra’s Pov]

[10th Jan 2005]

The first memory I had of my parents was a fight. It was one of my earliest. And one id never forget. The shouts and screams being thrown about. It was hazy and only when I began whimpering and crying weakly the blond male lifted me up into his hold. His cold icy eyes warming up for me. Melting the frozen glacier of cerulean into a deep royal navy.

I’ve been hidden from everyone and anyone around me for their safety and their status in the social wizarding world. I was a child that wasn’t ever supposed to be born and it was hurtful the longer the secret was kept. Whilst my siblings were given all the love and care in the world, lived to be around them in a comforting lovable world. I was left to be brought up by myself. Alone.

[06:18PM]

“You deserve to know, and I deserve to be treated like I’m desired, like I’m loved and wanted.” I murmured quietly my voice came out fragile and broken, its displayed the 14 years of raw emotion behind it.

“Remember when you told me you really felt we were like sisters?” I saw Selene’s expression warp into confusion her lips between teeth as she sat next to me her eyes shaking nervously. She didn’t want to glance into my own, but she nodded confirming my words.

“Well we could be, if Scorpius believes me... when I tell him, I- I’m his half-sister. His blood sister...” Selene stared as if I'd just produced a rhinoceros from my pocket. Though the expression on Scorpius face was unreadable. It was a mix of confusion, guilt and denial.

“Please say something.” I pleaded, he needed to respond. In any way possible, I needed to know how he felt. My heart was being torn by the second, this was worse than being stabbed multiple times and left to bleed to death...

“I can’t- i don’t know- how do I?” he sighed, exasperatedly. “I need some time to think about this.” He stood his eyes frantically looking around, Scorpius looked anxious wanting to leave, and even though it was freezing cold he was loosening the green tie around his neck.

“Please, don’t tell anyone. You can’t let anyone know.” I stood desperately wanting to hold or grab him. I yearned for his acceptance for so many years. My only sibling I cared about. This had to be kept a personal family secret as well.

“Scorpius, are you ok? Do you need me to-” “NO, no- I’m fine,” it came through gritted teeth...

“Selene, just stay with her? I need some space.” He quickly takes his leave frantically looking off, not once did he look back at us.

“Give him some time, he’ll come back. Don’t worry.”

“How are you taking this?” I turn to Selene who was hugging me, her arm on my back comforting me. She seemed dazed, her eyes were clouded. It’s like she wasn't here.

“You were already my sister; all you did was give me confirmation.” She held me close pulling me into her hold.

“Thank you, for being here.” I whisper clutching her robes her hair tickling the side of my face. I was glad to have her around me.

[06:25PM]

Pieces of mirror shatter breaking into a shower of tiny pieces; the amount of negative energy in the air was boundless. “Scorpius please calm down.” the rage in him needed to get out somehow? He wasn’t himself.

“He lied! HE LIED TO ME AND HER!” the bloodcurdling cry echoed; his mouth wide open as he released his inner demons. The scream made all the hair on his body stand. Albus wanted to stop him. To help him.

He couldn’t.

“He had another child, behind her back, she was thrown to the side. Like it was nothing!” The sobbing continued gales began to swirl and enter through the sides of the bathroom. Unknowingly, he was brewing a whirlwind. A storm hitting, equal to the force it felt inside him. It was building for weeks now and all Lyra did was confirm the reality.

His vice was strained, and it hurt like hell, but he continued letting all the pain and sorrow out. His head was pounding now. He wanted it to stop. Scorpius yearned for the numb feeling

“Stop you’re going to hurt yourself.” We he? Scorpius wished He’d hurt himself. Maybe that pain would distract him from the searing agony he was feeling. Pain sears through his abdomen better than a branding iron, his mind conceding to the torment, unable to bring a thought to completion.

Everything had been a lie.

“Want it to end. Please.” The crouched figure in the centre of the room strained himself. He didn’t want to be here anymore. “leave.”

Albus couldn’t do that. He couldn’t leave his friend in such a vulnerable and defenceless position. “let me help you.” A crack in his voice, it shows the pain he was feeling it reflected into Albus. the young boy stumbled back pushing from the sheer force of the gales that tormented Scorpius this whole time.  

“I SAID GO!”

The pain was increasing in waves; getting bigger by the second, giving false hope of an end. But it would never end.

It was too loud to hear anything at this point the push of the wind tore bits off the wooden cubicle doors. Becoming spinning daggers of anger within the whirling storm.

Scorpius increased the howling gusts, faster and faster until they sheathed him with a spray of sprinkled sharp edges and crusted glass, they shimmered in the ill lit bathroom; the gloomy skies reflecting its dusty grey cold rays.

“Scorpiu-”

Albus had no way of coming near him he was forced out of the bathroom having no choice but to leave his friend in there suffering alone. The soft tears fell down the boy’s face, he hated the haunted feeling of having no form of control over the situation.

 Across the empty acres of land, empty silent castle hauntingly still not much moving, was two figures perched up upon the north towers. A forbidden duo, though ones that felt comforted in another’s presence. The light breeze slowly yet surely trying to pull against their night robes.

“I want to get over the anxiety I have, I want to control my feelings not the other way.” murmured to the male, she had been spending most of her time. Days -and starting now- her nights were spent with the devilish Durmstrang boy.

“It’s not easy.” he spun on his own two feet looking across the edge of the tower towards her. Selene was perched upon the handle of the metallic barrier.

“I know. but I want to at least try. Will you help me?” Selene was in her sleeping robes she was twiddling with her wand spending most her days with him she had gotten extremely comfortable with the male who she has come to know for his sharp tongue and the ability to be quite convincing.  

“I will. But first you need to show that you can trust me.”

“I do, I trust you.” Selene leaned off just a little further. She was content in being here silently with him. But was he? did he enjoy their secret nights alone?

“Do you think I can be like them?” letting her hair cascade past her figure, taking orders from the wind it wrapped over her -like the tentacles of the giant squid- across her body.

“Like them?” Repeating the words; he asked for more.

“My ancestors. I want to find out more.” It was like a persistent hunger that couldn’t be satiated. From a fairly long time, it was that absence of complete acceptance and love. Deep down she understood that but was she never going to admit it?

“You want to follow the prophecy?” a hesitant nod answered his questioning. the endless chewing on her dry lips and thoughts fighting against one another proved to show the utter confusion in what she really wanted. The certainty was on one thing though “I want to belong.”

“A girl, Dominique, from Beauxbaton.” Leaving the edge Selene moved towards the boy getting slightly closer. “She mentioned that the Lestrange ancestral family had a connection to France.”

“You think it could be important?” she pondered over his words for a moment. “Didn’t you mention that Grindelwald had his convocation in Paris France?”

“He did. But what’s-”

“I can find out more, what happened? Who I am.” Curling back into herself Selene hummed a soft tune she was comforted by her own arms wrapping around herself. Making her feel the soft pressure upon her own body.

“Selene.” Yangyang mumbled as he stepped closer sitting next to her “When you were at the mirror, the first time we met, it showed you something.” he grasped her two hands in his softly rubbing his slender fingers over her palm. His eyes were captivating.

“it showed me myself.”

“it showed you something else along with it.” He edged, the slight smile on his face and his eyes boring into selenes pushed her to continue. It felt as if everything was surreal, it was all a dream, why was everything so easily spilling past her lips.

“What I wanted; I want to find myself.” Capturing his eyes she glanced at the void contained the magnitude of the earth and the blackhole sucking the shimmers of light inwards. Nothing could escape.

“I promise I can help you do that, but you can’t go to France just yet.”

“I can’t go to France…” Selene murmured his eyes were captivating. As time passed slowly, she fell deeper into his gaze.

“Yes, you have something to do. First.”

 [13th October]

“Someone has taken a large noticeable dose of tentacle juice, from the private potions storage. If anyone has any known whereabouts or knows of anyone having sources, you must inform your head of year or head of house. Thank you.”

“Are you fucking kidding me-” shifting to take seat next to her position next to the others the raven-haired witch sat calmly the frustration only evident in her voice. “-they wake us up at 8am for this?”

“Yeah, some bastard nicking a few drops of poison…” Irene adds muttering, every single student for a 20-meter radius was yawning uncontrollably and dozing off on the study tables but once awake you needed to prepare for breakfast.

“Where were you this morning?” Ravelle had a sly smile on her lips as she pondered not so innocently over the whereabouts of the ginger witch before her.

“Out taking a short walk.” Blowing out an exasperated huff Selene stood taking her leave from the depressing and sleep deprived circle, “You know there’s only so much ‘Ravelle’ I can take in one day.” Sarcasm slipping past her voice was what made the sneaky witch drop her innocent act.

“Really, I’ve only asked you one question you shouldn’t be so defensive… unless there is something for you to hide?”

Selene stopped in her tracks, movement stuttering for a second. The wrapping of a dusty cloth rough in her hands.

“I have nothing to hide.” The outrage in her voice was enough to alert those around them that somewhat of a fight was about to start and, like the usual- all hell was about to break loose.

“Though I must let you know that I am exceeding the amount of ‘bitchiness’ I can take from you in a day so mind if I leave?” she widened her eyes turning to face the raven and nodded frivolously, she feigned sorrow for her and a sympathetic smile came to her face as she left.

“Thought you’d never ask…” Ravelle murmured the words she wasn’t interested in Selene herself. The antics she had grown accustomed to, -since that night with the celebratory introduction Selene had been on edge, spitting back ruthlessly and harsh words were leaving her lips- Ravelle eyed the linen wrap in her hands, it covered something, and it was important, no doubt delicate by the way she was cradling it to her core like a mother would do to her babe.

   [1st November]

Many days passed and winter edged nearer, visibly shortening the once lengthy and enjoyable days. The cold let soft cotton and thick clothes layer up with the many peaking noses out of scarves turn red and pink. 

The clouds of air exhaled when talking put things together but what really allowed the community to know the ending of summer solstice was the thick coat of white sheen that glistened in the early morning rays, covering the lands and lulling them to sleep.

“Anyone received any personal invites to the yule ball?” Albus whispered to the young brunette. The two now becoming much friendlier than usual were confiding in themselves after all they both had Scorpius to worry about.

“No not yet.” She glanced at him weary of the random questioning. lyra had enough on her plate already. It was harsh and difficult that her only brother wasn’t talking to her and Selene was sleeping off half her days and running of at night.

“If this is about Selene the-” “It’s not.”

“Then who-”

“I’m just asking.” She shuffled to turn towards him, sceptically reading his face the Slytherin shifted uncomfortably. “Such a liar.”

“You dummy, I can see it in your eyes. Who pushed you to do this? This is about Selene.”

“It isn’t, I swear.” His hands flew up in retaliation. The silent pause of scepticism made him sigh in relief when she dropped the accusations.  

“I’m sick of this, it’s all going to hell and I cant get any of them to even sit and talk to me. It’s awful.” Lyra whined her frustration could be seen in the way she tugged at her roots the hair lengthier than it was a few weeks ago.

“Scorpius isn’t ready to face this ye-.”

“-Hell never be ready then. Albus I can’t wait any more. How does he think I feel?” the brunette boys turned into saucers at the sudden interruption. She had been waiting for the past 3 weeks and it was getting agitating for a while, but nobody understood her. The way she felt.

“Whats wrong with Selene then? He can’t talk now so whats the issue with your ginger friend?”

“Oh don’t get me started with her.” She shifts in her seat lyra was starting to remember the situations Selene was in, breaking her heart for the past fortnight. “She’s gone, really lost it.”

“Sleeps all day and sneaks out at night, its odd Selene would have never done such a thing.” She mutters, the frown on her face showed her feeling of betrayal. “I can’t get her to spend any time with me at all, it’s always ‘Yangyang this Yangyang that’!”

“Wait.”

“You mean Durmstrang Liu” if his eyes were saucers back then they were as wide as cauldrons. His hands clenched up visibly the whole demeanor he possessed was stiffened within a second, Lyra didn’t comprehend the change until she spared him a quick glimpse.

“Yeah him,” she blinked dropping her head further into her grasp as she questioned his body language “Whats got you so surprised, most girls already know!”

“Liu Yangyang that German-Taiwanese boy?” the voice crack gave him away, there was definitely something wrong, but Lyra had no clue what was happening to him, what kind of reaction was that.

“Hold on know what?” he interrupted again.

“Well, supposedly they’re in a relationship, and I don’t know… but he’s really affecting Selene.”

“They can’t be though?” the denial in his voice was giving all the wrong signals and signs, Lyra turned towards him fully, hands out of hair and eyes skimming his face, his expression wasn’t helping the previous accusations planted upon him by her.

“Why Albus? Do you like her or something?”

What came out of his mouth after wasn’t a big shocker or anything but lyra was shocked to find out such a revelation and from him, Albus, who seemed to have no clue who the boy is.

“No, its just. He has a girlfriend already,”

“Yeah Selene.” The response came quick.

“No, he’s engaged to her, its not Selene. She’s back in Germany.” He was referring to another girl, that Selene wasn’t the only one in a relationship with the male and it made Lyra's blood boil.

“HE’S TWO-TIMING?”

The two had another issue to deal with, Selene couldn’t find out, even if it meant lying to her. She wouldn’t be able to handle what was to come.

@ajuniceuajuniceu​ @kkuljungwoo​ @sensiblebutch​ @kangkinoa​ @nctzen2020​ @mystic-jungkook​ @merryandhappylele​ @bcbymingi​ @mochischeeks  @rilakunma​ @jaehyunspaghetti​ @commentgirl​ @99jjh​ @johnnys-wifeu​ @misaraem @apricottulips​ @h2ogamergirl @angelsnowflake​

[exquisitley-obsessed]

Pieces of People - Part 13

Author: @exquisitley-obsessed

Summary: Vampire y/n returns to Mystic Falls after finding out her friend Stefan Salvatore has gone off the rails with blood, what she doesn’t expect to happen is find out her deep-rooted connections with the Mikaelson family, in particular – Elijah.

Word Count: 4305

Pairings: Elijah Mikaelson x Reader

Warnings: Maybe some swearing, mentions of killing briefly

A/N: It’s been a while ahaha, but better late than never. I forgot how much I love this story (and Elijah) thank you so much for bearing with me whilst I took a break - since it has been so long I have a very long chapter here for you. Also, I’m very unsure of where the timeline is in the actual story, I’ve decided to write around the time where Katherine is inhabiting Elena’s body <3 Also I have lost the updated tag list so if you do wish to be tagged if you could just shoot me another message or comment I’ll add you <3

MASTERLIST FOR THIS STORY, 

MASTERLIST

The sun was gently bleeding behind the trees. An ecstasy of colours left over from the recent storms, mingling and melting as the promise of a new day, new experiences and more healing revealed itself. It had been months now. Months of talking through her problems with Stefan. Following Damon on his adventures. Helping Elena with the possibility of a cure. None of it came easily but, she was healing.

Getting up, y/n found herself stripping off before stepping into the shower. She scrubbed at her skin until it blushed pink and then proceeded to lather herself in the finest creams’ money could buy, a small parting gift from Klaus before he and his family had left for New Orleans. Dressing in pearly towel, she reached out and wiped at the mirror until she could see her damp form peering back at her. Ripper. 

The word flashed in her mind, but she wasn’t scared anymore. The people that she had killed may never have the chance to forgive her - but she did. It was clear to her now that once she’s forgiven herself, she could move on.

Moving through the day everything appeared to happen around her, not to her. Damon and Elena were having further problems, she had recently broken up with him for reasons unknown. With both Elena and the Mikaelson family moving away from them, y/n and Damon had become even closer over the past few weeks.

“I wonder what she’s doing,” Damon heaved down next to y/n from where she was quietly reading in front of the fire.

“No, you don’t,” She turned the page.

“But I do,” He dragged his hands across his face, “I know I shouldn’t be thinking about what she’s doing but God turns out she was pretty important to me.”

“Was,” Y/n repeated, turning another page.

“Are you listening to me?” Damon snapped turning around to his friend.

“Mm?” Y/n quipped, her eyes swimming up from her book, “Of course, I’m listening to you Damon.” He eyed her inquisitively for a moment before getting up and, of course, pouring himself a glass of bourbon.

“When was the last time you went out?”

“I don’t want to go out Damon.”

“Yeah you don’t seem to want to do many things nowadays.”

“Is that not allowed?” A beat, he was thinking.

“I’m going to make a deal with you,” He suddenly quipped, sitting down on the coffee table in front of her, “I’m going to stop talking about Elena, I’m going to pick up the pieces of this damn life and try and move on if-”

“If I go outside?” Y/n finished off.

“Damon,” she finally looked up from her book, “You’re allowed to be upset about Elena. Hell, I’ve never seen you like this with a girl, it’s obvious she means something incredibly powerful to you and she’s just broke up with you for seemingly no reason – of course, you’re allowed to talk about her. I want you to talk about it, I’m just sorry that I’m not the most responsive person right now. But you don’t need to make deals with me, talk about Elena all you like - I’ll go on a walk this evening.”

“Okay but be careful,”

“Damon, I’m upset not delirious – I’m still one of the oldest vampires in existence I haven’t forgotten.” Even though y/n couldn’t see it, her eyes now back on her book, Damon was smiling for what felt like the first time in forever.

“That’s my girl…but do watch out. I heard a storm is coming in.”

***

The wind was tormenting. A relentless gale pushing against y/n as she made her way up Mystic Fall’s only waterfall. She was getting dragged this way and that as she moved over stones, knowing well that if she did not have her vampiric strength and balance that she would have most likely fallen to a rocky death by now. She kept climbing, going up and up and up, hoping that once she entered the thicket of trees it would calm.

Damon was right about the storm. Behind her the sky was pulsating warningly, the sun nearing the horizon as night drew in, bleaching the sky gold and red. The further you looked up, colours swirled into grey and black as foreboding clouds settled over the town of Mystic Falls. Thunder boomed.

Pausing for a moment, y/n took it all in. The sky, the wind, the thunder. It would probably rain soon, and she almost hoped for it - there was something about the feeling of drenched clothes that y/n almost longed for in that moment. Suddenly, a flash of silver electrocuted the sky followed quickly by a roaring thunderclap that caused the trees around her to shudder.

And in that moment, a peculiar feeling flooded her, a strange giddiness bubbled in her chest and erupted in her throat as laughter. She felt free, for the first time. Watching the sky explode in front of her, she resonated with it. And then-

“I didn’t want you to see me.” She suddenly spoke into the wind, wondering if it would be carried.

“I understand,” A voice came from behind her, the presence she had felt only a few seconds ago making itself known. She didn’t turn around. Thunder bellowed out over the land once more and this time, it was followed by the beautiful white noise of rain. Y/n watched as a shower descended upon the town, the water illuminated by the sun and turning to gold as it splashed across the roads and roofs. “Let’s find shelter inside,” The voice spoke.

“No,” Y/n still refused to turn away from the sight, “Over there,” She turned to the thicket of trees a little to her left, “We’ll be dry in there.”

***

“I didn’t want you to see me.” She repeated. The wind still pinched at her cheeks.

“I understand.” Elijah repeated after a moment, just a murmur, “But quite frankly, the idea of you trying to get over…this…without me there to help you along…” Elijah’s words shivered into a whisper.

“I know.” Turning her head slightly, y/n drank in the appearance of Elijah and noticed that even with his crisp shirt and dark pants, there was something ruffled about him, something not quite in place. “How have you been?” A smile of disbelief warmed into Elijah’s features.

“Fine,” He responded warmly, moving to the edge of the trees so he could look out across the sky. He remained, however, a fair distance from her. “New Orleans is…just as I remember,”

“How long have you been waiting for me to step outside?” She said softly, not upset or angry at all, almost playful. Elijah chuckled.

“I wanted to see you for another reason, y/n.” Elijah cocked his to the side and smiled ever so gently, ignoring her question.

“Oh yes?” 

“Yes,” He moved just a little closer, “I wanted to come here, to forgive you.” The words caught y/n off for a moment, but she stayed silent, “I know that this might seem a little strange for me to say, but I also know you. I know that you didn’t just keep me away because you wanted to deal with this by yourself. I’m guessing you kept me away because you felt guilty for what happened, all those years ago, what we went through. So, I want - I need you to know, that I forgive you. And that although those years were difficult…they were truly, and honestly, the best years of my life. Because in those years, you made eternity feel like it was too a short of a time.” Y/n breathed heavily.

“Thank you but-” She began.

“I also hope you can forgive yourself.” He continued, his eyes going back to the sky. “Now you can remember what happened but, your perception of events was…inaccurate. You are not a monster y/n, I know you want to believe the facts figures but, nothing is that black and white.”

“Elijah,” She interrupted. “I…I am…” She tried to begin but stopped, allowing her eyes to flutter closed for a brief second before-, “I’m a ripper.” She choked out finally, now looking right at him through glassy eyes, “I am the original ripper.”

“Yes,” Elijah spoke clearly after a moment, his hands in his pockets, his stature tall and reassuring. He was talking about a subject that he had had a thousand years to come to terms with – but, was that fair? That he had lived and grown with the details whilst y/n stood before him, drowning in them.

“You knew, and you watched me as I killed…hundreds and thousands of people…and then you continued to fall in love with me.” Elijah’s breath caught in his throat, but he smoothed down the front of his jacket to hide his shaky hands and took a deep breath.

“I know.” He had to be strong. For her, he had to be strong. “I loved you, more than I ever thought it possible to love someone. I cannot even begin to describe how…complicated that time was. I watched you, this flower girl, be dragged into this morbid and destructive life – my life. I felt so protective over you, after all, it was me that ultimately caused you to become what you are.” He turned and rested his fingers on a nearby tree, getting lost in the corridors of his mind.

“Nothing about this life suited you. You could never come to terms with the feeding, the power, the…immortality. It wasn’t you and you couldn’t handle what you saw when you looked in a mirror. On top of that, your entire family was slaughtered. Your mother, father and brother all ripped to pieces by a monster that you were currently travelling around Europe with, of course it was all going to be too much for you, of course you broke.

“When the night of the first killings came around I…” Elijah trailed off, his fingers tapping gently on the wood as he stared blankly ahead of him, “I don’t even know. All of it felt so wrong, yet it made so much sense. You walked through the door. I cleaned you up, took you to bed. I could have almost dealt with that but what I couldn’t deal with was the look on my brothers face. Niklaus – he was, he was looking at you like he had just discovered something wonderful. In you, he saw possibility. He saw a new weapon.

“But at some point, even Klaus realised that he couldn’t control you. It was more that he didn’t know how. Your entire relationship with feeding and blood was a completely different dynamic to ours or anyone else’s we had ever met. You didn’t target people or even want to hurt them, in fact, you made it as quick and painless as possible. Every time you’d come home you were in this sort of daze, you wouldn’t respond to me when I talked to you, you just kind of…sat there. Then you’d wake up the next morning and read the papers, the list of names of those who had been found dead that morning, and you’d be in shock.

“You genuinely did not know what you had done. You were completely and utterly split into two people, yourself…and a ripper. After a while, we stopped telling you about your actions in the night and we just continued to live our lives, moving every few weeks when too many people disappeared. Your burdens became ours. And we gladly accepted them.” Elijah paused, his expression changing. The furrow in his brows unknitted and he looked, softer.

“We fell deeper in love. During the day, when the sun was high in the sky, we’d go sight-seeing across Europe. Find our way into big, lavish parties in the evening and have picnics in the woods the following morning. You began to even warm up to Klaus and he began to warm up to you, a little more than my liking I must say,” A distant smile pulled at his lips, “But you were always mine, and I was yours. Klaus asked for forgiveness for his past actions, and you forgave him. Klaus had changed since knowing you, his heart was more open in a way, and he was utterly and brutally sorry for what he had done to you and your family. You saw the change in him, you were even happy for him. Someone that could forgive Klaus Mikaelson – I thought I had met God in living form.” A chuckle escaped his lips, “You had come to do what I was not yet able to, you had moved on from the past and forgiven, you had allowed both yourself and Niklaus to heal.

“You know a thousand years have passed since we were last together properly, but this entire time I’ve carried you with me. Every time Niklaus wronged me, went against me, put me in a coffin – I thought of you. I thought of the way you forgave him for killing your family, if you could do that…then I could get over family squabbles.”

“But,” y/n calmly interrupted. As good as it sounded, she could not ignore what glared at her in the face. The reason why Elijah had to inform her all this instead of her just knowing it herself. The reason why she had not seen the man she loved for a millennium.

“But…” Elijah continued, “You can only live in ignorance for so long.”

***

“This cannot go on.” Klaus was waiting for Elijah as he walked down the stairs, drink already in hand, “It’s been too long, we aren’t making any progress.”

“Niklaus,” Elijah breathed warningly as he distantly picked up a prong and turned coal pieces over in the fire watching as the flames ate at them greedily.

“He’s right.” Rebekah’s soft voice cut the confrontation short, “He’s right Elijah, we can’t…” Elijah turned around, prong still in hand as he stared at his little sister. Rebekah was taking Klaus’s side.

“You can’t what.” Elijah quipped, returning the prong and taking a step toward his siblings.

“We can’t let this go on Elijah,” Klaus growled out causing Elijah to spin to him, his tone immediately softened, “Elijah…y/n is suffering. Every day she reads that damn newspaper and reads the names of all those she killed and yet she does not even know that it is she who drained them dry.” Klaus went on. “When’s the day finally going to come when we tell her of the murderer she truly is. She can’t live in denial forever brother.”

“So...what are you suggesting,” There was a growl in Elijah’s throat, a warning that they were to be careful what they said next.

“We’re not going to kill her Elijah we’d never do that,” Rebekah shifted from where she stood in the doorway, “No matter what she is our family, always and forever.” Elijah glanced at Klaus who was staring back with steely eyes.

“Always and forever.” He agreed. The three paused in the room, the tension drowning them all. Klaus and Rebekah versus Elijah. Mikaelson vs Mikaelson.

“You’re going to take her away from me,” Elijah murmured, “Aren’t you.”

“Elijah…” Klaus whispered, he had never seen his brother like this before, “You have to understand it is the only way to make her better, we have to give her a fresh start, we have to take it all away, the pain…everything.”

“What if I say no?”

“You won’t,” Rebekah whispered, “Elijah despite everything…you want what’s best for y/n. You love her Elijah. And that girl has given you more love than any of us wretched monsters deserve, she is a blessing. But she is destroying herself every day by being here with us…with you.” Rebekah’s voice wobbled as tears gently spilt down her cheeks. Elijah paused.

“What are you going to do?”

“If all goes to plan. I’m going to go upstairs and wake her up, tell her that we’re heading north…to Newcastle or Middlesbrough, tell her to take all her belongings with her, then place her in the care of some pub owner, then…” Klaus paused and took a sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving his sibling, “Then one of us will compel y/n to forget everything.”

“Define everything.”

“We can’t just erase parts of her memory; we can’t tell her to forget this but remember that…not this time. She’s a ripper. This isn’t just an unpleasant memory; it’s interwoven into her entire being. She is a ripper through and through; to get rid of it, we’ll be destroying an entire part of her brain.” Elijah felt sick.

“What Klaus is saying is that to fix this, to stop the slaughtering’s and murders, to kill the ripper in y/n – we have to destroy the heart of the problem.” Rebekah joined in, continuously wiping at her steady flow of tears.

“Which is?” Elijah collapsed onto a chair.

“Her inability to accept what she is. Her entire relationship with blood is completely dysfunctional, if, maybe…she didn’t know how she became like this, that to be who she is today her entire family had to die in front of her, maybe she would be more accepting.”

“So what? You’re going to make her forget that night?”

“We can’t,” Rebekah answered, “We wanted to, that was our original plan but…well we think erasing that specific memory alone would fix her ripper problem but…”

“But there is 50 years’ worth of blood on her hands. You take away the reason why she has no control…she’ll go insane with guilt. She’ll think she killed all those people for sport.” Klaus finished.

“But she doesn’t know she killed those people,” Elijah quipped, “We all know that she wakes up in the morning and is none the wiser of how those people died.

“Elijah…if we make her normal,” Rebekah moved toward him, “If we take away the ripper, we think she’ll begin to remember.”

“What if she doesn’t?”

“What if she does?” Klaus murmured. Silence settled.

“So what?” breathed Elijah, eyes moving slowly between his siblings. “What do we do?”

“Well,” Klaus shared a look with Rebekah, “We have two choices it seems. Do nothing. Allow this to go on, continue moving every few weeks, allow y/n���s list of names to grow. Or we take her up North and leave her there. Make her forget how she became a vampire and she’ll become cured of being a ripper – but, she’ll begin to remember those she killed and believe she killed them for pleasure.”

Elijah rubbed a hand across his mouth, his eyes never leaving his brother.

“And what’s option three.” There was always a third option. Klaus sucked air between his teeth sharply.

“We take her up North and leave her there. Make her forget how she became a vampire and she’ll become cured of being a ripper,” He began, “And then we make her forget the last 50 years.” Elijah’s hands began to shake, “All the killings, all the places we’ve been, every party and picnic…everything, we just wipe it clean. Give her a fresh slate, a completely blank canvas. She’ll know nothing but what she is, her name, and the year she turned.”

“But…” Elijah murmured.

“But…” Rebekah shakily sighed, “It means making her forget about us. To her she’ll have never even have heard of the Mikaelson’s, she wouldn’t even recognise us if we walked by her on the street. You two would be strangers.”

“Strangers,” Elijah repeated.

“Brother look we know this isn’t easy,” Elijah stood and moved to the fire, “But Rebekah and I have been thinking about this for a while. But we won’t go through with it without your consent, we do things as a family, it is all of us or none of us.” Klaus and Rebekah stood tense, staring at their elder brother with curiosity and hope.

Could they understand the torment in Elijah’s mind at that moment? Or even the torment he had been facing this entire time as he read the names in the newspapers, knowing just as well that y/n’s victims were his own, his family’s. He truly believed through and through that y/n was and always will be his soulmate. That even though he knew he had seen her at the worst of her worst, he loved her wholly and completely. He felt more like himself around her than when he was alone, that even though they had half a century to become used to one another, his chest still squeezed with excitement when she kissed his cheek, touched his arm, even so much as glanced in his direction.

But all in all, this made sense. Of course, the only story of Elijah Mikaelson and love would turn out to be a tragedy. Because the moment Klaus and Rebekah told him that everyone was better off if his love did not know who he was, he had already lost her. They didn’t need to ask him for consent, he would have given it no matter the case. Because in many ways he was a fool. Never putting himself first, never allowing himself to be selfish, taking the hurt and the blame in his stride – eventually becoming numb to it with time.

He agreed. Klaus left with y/n within the hour. Elijah couldn’t take it upon himself to look at her. He was many things, but he was never, ever, a liar. He stayed up and watched the fire, practising thinking of nothing, sitting in silence with his sister. Klaus had made it back home before the sun rose, he didn’t say anything, just walked into the room and joined his family.

“I hear France is lovely this time of year,” Rebekah hummed into the silence.

“If we’re lucky we can compel ourselves a boat, be there by tomorrow afternoon.”

They never talked about it. They picked up their things from that apartment in London and left the next morning without a word, it was like they were never there. Life went on, almost as if they themselves had been compelled to forget the past 50 years. They drank and laughed and partied, ran into a few complications here and there but that was it wasn’t it, their little life.

Elijah didn’t go crazy with women, but he didn’t confine to celibacy either. He just continued to live, meddling with a few women here and there. Life moved on as time forces it to, and with time Elijah healed, he grew and learnt, he became the man y/n would have loved him to be. Then again one night, and one night alone, in a sleazy bar in southern Italy in the late 1600s, her name was spoken.

“Elijah,” Rebekah hiccupped as she folded over on top of the bar, her wine glass tilted and resting against her neck, “Do you remember y/n?” Elijah turned to her, a peculiar expression on his face as he himself, was rather drunk.

“Of course, I do,” He said, a lazy smile stretched across his lips.

“Oh,”

“What? Did you expect me to say no?”

“No, no, no,” Rebekah distantly hummed, swinging herself to sit up, “I just…I don’t even know what I expected, we don’t ever talk about her.”

“No,” Elijah mumbled indistinctively, “We don’t.”

“Elijah,” She hiccupped again, “Do you ever think about her?” Elijah grinned widely and looked up, of course his dear sister would decide the best time to delve into the past was in some crappy, overcrowded inn in the roasting heat of southern Italy on a late summer’s night.

“Rebekah, I think about her every single day.”

“Really?” She whispered, barely audible over the chatter and music around them, but that all seemed a million miles away, “Do you miss her?”

“I…” Elijah sighed, “I do. Every day, every place we end up at I can’t help but almost see her there with us. I think about what she would do and say, the places she’d like and the places she’d pretend to like. Sometimes I miss her so much I…I feel it. I feel this…absence within me. And whilst all that is completely true, I also do not miss her.”

“How?” Rebekah choked, her own romantic heart aching.

“Because I believe that she is out there, and that she is happy.” Elijah himself was smiling now at the thought, “Leaving her was…” He trailed off, unable to finish, “But after that, you checked the papers with me – there were no more killings. Nothing. Complete and utter silence. I believe she’s out there, exploring the world in her own way, living her life as a vampire completely guilt-free – which is exactly what I want.”

“Wow,” Rebekah hummed into her glass, smiling at her brother’s own grin, “You still love her, don’t you?” This earned a chuckle from Elijah.

“That girl is the love of my life,” He turned to her, a slightly sad smile painted on his cheeks, “I have absolutely no doubt about it. But maybe I’m just hoping that one day fate will bring us back together. Then again, maybe we are simply destined to spend a lifetime apart. Either way, I am blessed to have been able to love her and to have been loved by her.”

“Oh God, okay, I can’t take any more of this,” Rebekah moaned after a second, snapping upright and stumbling off her seat. “Come on dear brother,” She held her arm out for Elijah which he gladly took with a soft laugh, “I don’t think it’s allowed for immortals to dwell on the past, we’ll go crazy.”

And so, the two siblings stumbled out into the boiling night where their chatter was accompanied by the faint sounds of the sea and cicadas. Ignoring the price of pain they paid for their immortal lives, they walked through the night to their temporary home – both of them knowing in their hearts that they would never speak of y/n ever again.

next part

tag list: @bcfangirlthatswhy

@superwholock-fangir1

@selena8712

@evyiione

@m-nicole-uy

@taylordrunkonwhiskey

@hemmo-hottie

@luiza-4-ever

@wtafyoongi

@elle88531

@aehnanie

@yougottalovefandoms

@mar-trash-vel

@skyewardolicitycloisdelena91

@sherlocked-whovian-1969

@the-three-dumbs

@lynn1712 

[honestsycrets]

Like Me VI: Giving In

❛ pairing | ivar x oi!reader

❛ word count | 3k+

❛ type | multi

❛ summary | ivar misses his dear friend. he seeks to give her all she wants. even if it includes him.

❛  warnings | rivalry, jealousy, arguing, one of them will kill the other.

The worst part of being a walking cripple was to have to endure the need to be in the goodwill of the only other cripple you knew that could walk as well.

“Ow!” Your fingers deepen in strokes upon the bird whose claws hollow the glove you wear. The blacksmith recoils from your nasty cry in the back of the royal quarters. Your earrings jingle as you shake your head to rid yourself of the sting that came from the blacksmith’s clanging. Your friend rears his head from his goblet of ale to your seat, grinding tooth together.

“What are you doing to her?” Ivar seethes. “She is screaming.”

“It is too tight on her legs, King Ivar. It is restricting movement.” He rumbles. “I was only adjusting them for improvement.”

Ivar droves off of his chair, dragging himself along the floor toward you. He sits himself up, dragging the leather strap of his bound legs directly in front.

“If her legs come out of that injured, you’ll answer to me, hm?” Ivar resounds with his war pick, flipping the blade at the blacksmith to reassure the man without question what will become of him.

“Uh-- of course, of course, my king. I will take these for repairs” He slips the braces off of your legs again, pulling the heavy straps of metal onto his arms as he stands. It doesn’t escape Ivar’s notice that you quickly chuck your dress over your notched legs to shield them from your view. Mangled legs, he reminds himself.

“Goodman,” Ivar replies with sycophantic smoothness as the man makes himself scarce from the room. You sit with your hands in your lap, one on top of another. Your lips have gone flat, calming your strokes across the bird. “Goodman… (Y/N)?”

“Yes?” You look toward the silken straps that bind your legs down. You need to bind them to be able to return home, this time on your forearms. The spirit of relaxation that you previously had with Ivar seems to have eviscerated in exchange for a tense and wary background.

“I did not mean what I said of your legs. And the prince. I was led by anger.” He reaches out to set his hand upon your knee.

“Rorik?” You say, leading him on to say the prince’s name. Ivar much rather eat his words than say the ruddy-haired prince that came with strange Persian, Swede and dark-skinned thralls. Yet if he had to in order to repair this relationship, he would.

“Rorik of Novgorod.” His thumb strokes your kneecap through your warm dress. Then, bouncing off your knee, he looks to you. “Sigrunn told me you saw him in the waters the other day. You enjoy his company, don’t you?”

“More than anything.” You answer too quickly. Enough that his face drops completely at your assertion. They are too soon, too raw. He clenches his jaw to avoid a raw reaction, tightening his grip upon your knee. He’s about to blow again, you know. In order to curb his brash reaction, your hands drop down to his gloved fingers. His Viking skin is calloused-- reflecting the days of his childhood and those of being truly Viking. The first touch that you had given him since the wedding and so he’ll take it.

“In another way, Ivar.” You say. “You are my friend, I understand our relationship. Freydis is a fair queen and you are a k--”

“A god.” Ivar cuts you off, dry in nature. “And you are a goddess. My equal.”

You’ve heard such things before from Freydis who worshiped Ivar’s feet in her own way. Still, you do not know what to say nor how to respond. Ivar brings the back of your palm to his lips, planting a gentle kiss upon the knuckle in tender care. Your love of the king always went like this. At times, tender and loving. At others, harsh and unforgiving.

“I have decided. As a goddess, you should be free to spend your time with who you wish without fear.”

Should you bend down on the floor and thank him for being such a fair and pious ruler? Your lips quirk into a smile, unable to contain it. Fighting Ivar in this state-- where his mind was degenerating… it would get you nowhere.

“So you approve of him becoming my lover?” You ask.

“I never said that.” Ivar sibilates when a white-hot prick of anger sears through his bones. “Only that I’m giving you an opportunity to choose.”

Your jaw relaxes, bending with your great beast on your arm. You lean to the shaved side of his head, planting a small kiss upon the scar that follows his cheekbone down. His cheeks almost could have reddened.

“Thank you, Ivar.”

He hates to admit it, but a gale of glee fills his stomach when you speak to him like that. Your voice is sweeter than his cups of mead. He feels as if he’s done something right when he notices the sharp eyes of the falcon on your other arm, his wings lifting as if he’s gotten too close.

“Where did you get that beast anyway?” He grumbles.

“Oh, the falcon?” You ask. “Rorik brought it to me from somewhere past Jorvik. Isn’t he cute?”

“He is anything but cute.” Ivar looks up and down the beast on your arm. “Babies are cute.”

“I heard Freydis is with child,” You gleam and know full heartedly that well, any child from their union was likely not Ivar’s in blood. You realize moments later, that it did not matter. The child was his in the soul. Freydis was right… this, this was good for him.

“I’m going to be a father.” His lips prick up, shifting the short hair of his mustache up along with it. “Do you want to be a mother, (Y/N)?”

Your heart drops, weak as you consider his suggestion. You shake your head at the absurdity of the statement and then look down to your skirts. Your face is practiced in emotion, eyes almost empty when Ivar shifts to look at you. No one expected a family of a cripple, of someone that could barely walk. How were you to chase a child? To care for a child? The thralls you would need!

“I don’t think so. I am a cripple.” You say after a moment in which your heart beats painful and deep. You relax your shoulders when Ivar leans up, coursing his hand along your thigh to your hips.

“So am I.” He leans in. His hand shifts up to the sky. “And Frigg has given me a child.”  

“It is easy for you, Ivar. You are a man.” You then groan, a tremulous sound from your lips. “I can’t imagine the strain in carrying a child. I have heard of bleeding, malformations and small children in women like me as little as they may be. Even sex makes me...”

“Whitehair hasn’t fucked you?” Ivar asks.

“Of course not!” You shout. Dyr, or so you decided to name him, flared his wings. You hush him back down. “I’m sorry. I-- Can I tell you something, Ivar?”

“Yes.” Ivar hands you a chunk of meat for your beast. He pecks determinedly at his dinner. You take a wary breath as you decide to put it out there and far more than that, trust Ivar again. Your bird takes the meat with keen interest.

“I want to be a grown woman. Not just because I am married. But everyone will see me for only my legs. Like you.”  

“I don’t see you as--”

“If I had been born like a normal woman.” You say sharp, but diaphanous in tone. Ivar feels the words before you actually finish them. “Would I have been your queen?”

There is no witty comeback from his lips this time. He turns to stare at you as if you’ve slapped him across the face instead of the other way around. You could have been, you think, and for a moment, you take in a long breath.

“No that-- that is…” Ivar stumbles.

“Ridiculous.” You say. The words scrape off your tongue, disdainful in an answer. Ivar has no other desire but to stop his slip up. Dyr swallows his dinner much like Ivar swallows his words. The gulf of emptiness in his stomach spreading. “Sigrunn!”

“Yes?” She turns the corner, clutching dark leather veils that are curtains. Her hands in front of her lap.

“Take Dyr. I am going home.”

As much as Ivar wants to ask you why you are like this… why you push him out, well, he can’t. He knows your affliction all too well. It’s his own.

It was late at night when Rorik heard the knock upon the door. His men shared the living space of the longhouse they took up in. His men were about the fire, roaring in laughter. He settles them down, roaring shut up! Shut up! As his booze sloshes over his pasty knuckles. As he works the latches, each harder than they should have been-- he hears the banter on the other side of the door.

“Why am I doing this?”

“To show her how deeply you care.”

“Yes and when she shows with child, what then?”

He pops the door open. Therein flesh and blood is Ivar standing arm and arm with his wife. Rorik stands in trousers alone, legs wrapped and stuffed in lazy boots. His tattoos blotch over his shoulder and chest.

“If it isn’t the god Ivar!” He roars, giving a lazy bow at the waist. Ivar’s hand flexes about his crutch, clearly debating if he should kill him now or later. “And Queen Freydis-- she’s far too pretty for you, you know.”

“Rorik.” One of his warriors intervene and cause a banter between the prince and his warband in words that Ivar truthfully cannot follow. They argue shortly in a quick swap of tongues before Rorik huffs forcefully out of his nose and steps aside to let them in.

“What can I help you with?” Rorik asks, forcefully closing the door with a lock. If Ivar was here to burn them too, as he learned Ivar was fond of, he probably wouldn’t do it if he was in here too.

“With her,” Ivar says.

“Her? Who her?” Rorik leads. Given the other day, he’s not sure if the moment in the bar or the wedding is the question. The men about him consider their prince as if they were entitled to know whatever was going on in his life.

“(Y/N).” Ivar starts. His headache was welling up in the front of his head. A furrow of newfound concern creases Rorik’s brow. He comes to sling his arm around Ivar’s shoulder to pull him from Freydis.

“Let us talk in private.” Ivar looks away from Freydis who sits confidently among the men. She motions him forward with a face as flat and hard as she ever wore among foreigners. His patience is visibly unwinding.

“What about (Y/N)?” He shows Ivar to his backroom, gripping the waistline of his pants once they got in. Ivar shifts around, head bobbing as he looks to the dark wooden walls, a spiraling shield up on the walls. A half wobbly smile takes his face. “Have you done something to her?”

“Have I done something to her?” Ivar’s gaze goes hard, voice grating at Rorik’s assertion. “If I were to do anything it would be to you.”

“Then get on with it.” Rorik flicks his hands into the air. He could have-- Ivar thinks. The man is drunk and incredulous. With his queen in the other room though, he would do nothing. To Rorik’s obvious amazement, Ivar holds up his gloved fingers.

“Shut up.” Ivar orders, soothing over any bite to his voice. “As little as I like you, I like seeing her upset less.”

Rorik snorts as he takes a few lazy paces around the room. The longer he stayed, the itchier his skin became. He scratches the long runic marks of his arms when finally Ivar finally admits why he is here.

“Have sex with her.” He says.It aches him to say, but he knows Rorik is the only one to see you than more than your disability. Perhaps, more than him. “She wants to be made a woman.”

Rorik’s brow lifts. He wants to laugh, but he can’t, he can only run his hand up through his loosened braids.

“Ahhh. King Ivar.” He says, acrid amusement festering in his gut. “I know you think you control her. I know you do! But you are late. She has asked me herself.”

“What?” No answers come to him though-- Rorik’s cocky smile simpers the waters of his tolerance into a full-blown boil. The foreigner comes up, patting Ivar’s shoulder.

“She wants me to deflower her,” Rorik says in a would-be-good-natured tone. “But I appreciate your approval, keeper of the keys. Truly. I’ve never heard anything better. I’ll keep it in my heart. Now is that all?”

Ivar’s hand flexes at his belt. His patience blown-- and the last semblance of a relationship torn.

“Yes.” He sneers, incredulously. “That is all.”

Perhaps Freydis was right. You needed someone. But there is no way that this man deserved you.

Rorik had sex with many women. But… not a cripple. He tried not to think of you in that way; crippled. His men consider it a fetish because why, in their eyes, would he want a cripple if he could want an able-bodied woman? Even Ivar did, making that heated request in the deep of night.

They didn’t understand.

“You won’t like them.”

“I’m certain I will.” He almost fights your hands upon your skirts, wet kisses moistening your neck as he ground himself against your shy body. Your knees knock together, too shy to let him see your pretty pussy behind your skirts. His other hand grabs all that you offer, squeezing your nipples between his thumb and index finger to tug gently.

“But what if you don’t?” You breathe out in a hushed gasp. “What if they are so disgusting that you run from them? Women are supposed to have gorgeous legs.”

“Shhhh…”

He knows why you’re so anxious. King Ivar, as he was told, told you that you had ‘mangled legs’ as you later recounted to him. It took work to dispel those fears and still you fought him. Even with Ivar’s so-called approval, men watched him wherever he went. They look for a foul up. A reason to kill him in justification so that you would not hate the king. His pride must be wounded because now, more eyes than ever, he feels the hate.

“You will,” Rorik says, growing hard in his heated desire against your side. The prince shifts over your body. “Just let me see them.”

You tug your blue skirts over your legs, squeezing your eyes and shifting your face away. It lets him take your body in. His piercing eyes glance over your twisted legs up to your hips. Rorik slides down between your legs, shifting one over each shoulder.

“Oh!” You squeak adorably.

“See! Look at you and that glorious--” Rorik spreads your lips apart, gazing at your well-kept pussy.

“Rorik, stop.” You say. He leans in, swirling his tongue against your inner lips. He pulls his head back once again, sweeping his tongue against your puffy wet pussy in smooth licks. Your head drops back, adjusting to this strange new feeling. Slowly you roll your hips down upon his tongue, gasping when Rorik gave a playful suckle against your outer folds.

“Why?” His laugh almost vibrates hot breath against your pussy. “I can’t wait to get my dick in that pretty pussy.”

Rorik moves on when you don’t respond, suckling playfully. The pads of his fingers playfully slap your wet pussy, delighting in the knowledge that you’re moist and wet for him. His tongue shifts down, flicking his tongue in the tight little hole.

“Mm, do you touch yourself, hm?” Rorik hums, nudging his nose against your folds. His beard tickles against your wetness, a soft but prickling feeling against your body. He goes to work, lapping and licking at your sweet pussy with loud slurping noises.

“No-- No.”

“You should. I can see it in my mind already.”

“Do you have to talk so much?” You weave his hair between your fingers, shoving him forward into your cunt when there’s a long, loud thwack, thwack, thwack at the door. You shift with your forearms, legs slipping off Rorik’s shoulders.

“Ignore it.” He says, turning his head to huff against your thighs.

“I have to get it. It could be Ivar.” You say and push past him. Rorik lets loose a long draw of annoyance. You slide down onto the ground, using your forearms and palms carry you over to the door, ignoring the hot pulse of your pussy engorged with the need for your orgasm that you denied yourself.

“It’s always fucking Ivar,” Rorik growls, low under his breath. You throw a look back at him that leaves the prince exasperated upon the bed.

“Be patient.”

“Patient!? Děva… I was that close!” Rorik drops back, flopping on the bed while you reach-- unfortunately with difficulty toward the door. The locks of the door are too high up when you’re out of your braces. Unfortunately, the blacksmith yet still had them.

“Rorik, please. Sigrunn needs her rest.” You call out to him, pointing toward the door. He flips his hand midway in the air, dramatically dropping on his chest.

“I’m coming.” He pushes himself off the bed, jamming his hand into his pants to adjust his cock comfortably. He grasps his uncle’s sword from the wall and sways over to the door, jerking it open. You drag yourself out of the way to avoid getting smacked.

The first thing he says, of course, is said with a sigh.

“Queen Freydis.”

Checkmate.

@igetcarriedawaywithyou, @kylobien, @titty-teetee, @breathlessouls, @nejijjeoroo, @bcat1291, @readsalot73, @mslothbrok, @romanchronicles, @captstefanbrandt, @ailucascen, @michaeliskindahot, @cbouvier23, @naaladareia, @cbouvier23, @the-geeky-engineer, @dorned, @lisinfleur, @funmadnessandbadassvikings, @tephi101, @akamaiden, @ethereallysimple, @venusloviing, @happylittlepuppydog, @beyond-the-ashes, @slutforrpg, @hipsternoionlylikeunicorns, @mixedwiththemoon, @sparklemichele, @alicedopey, @lif3snotouttogetyou, @rubyquartzshades, @noregretsandyeteveryregret, @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol, @deathbyarabbit, @unacceptabletatertots, @beyond-the-ashes (no sig), @babypink224221, @ivarandersen, @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla, @moose-squirrel-asstiel, @icarus-fell-in-spring, @end-of-night, @gruffle1, @lol-haha-joke @arses21434,  @smileyparrots, @Moosemittens13, @miss-artemis-wild, @two-unbeatable-beaters, @wonderwoman292, @wish-i-was-a-mermaid, @fangirls94, @mcuimxgine, @killerb00sdeath, @heartbeats-wildly, @boo20017, @acacheofstrange, @shaelyn102, @astoryoffireandlight, @smokealone, @shaelyn102 @laketaj24, @peaceisadirtyword, @ly--canthrope, @cris101071 @daughterofthenight117 @unassumingviking @ladyofsoa, @inforapound @winchesterwife27 @oneofthelothbroks

[sacredxhell]

What could I create that would be worse than our fears incarnate?

To give weight to the frivolous drivel that comes from a moment of turbulent insecurity, to let it pass would be to be problem-less in a world who’s meaning is valued by the weight it lays onto me.

In a moment of weakness I pray for strength by falling onto my knees, and in this very moment I give in to my primal need; making words out of thoughts from a brain so broken that it bleeds.

I summon an apology of weight; but it is destroyed behind my teeth- like my tongue can’t twist itself to do the simple dance of making something beautiful out of genuineness. Every syllable tarnished by fear of not being a soul who is worthy of belief.

The irony of believing that my power is born of stupidity will never fail to astound me so... ever so fittingly.

Tears dry before they fall, as I utter- a feeble “sorry”, who’s meaning loses matter with each stutter. I grew it with love, tended to every bud and thorn, but as doubt flows through, petals fall and so does the dirt it grew from as I mutter.

Repetition is so beautiful in poetry and words, until it resonates in us like a squatter making a home out of a house, and like the drop of a pin and crack of a cinderblock we fear that our fears have been heard. I best start to believe in a god who saves- for a god of my fears is all I am.

Before we can stop the thoughts from being said, they’ve already manifested in shades of red, behind bloodshot eyes and lips that give away nothing but occasional lovelorn sighs- and after all those lips have said and danced and trembled in abstinence- breath is more than enough.

Forethoughts forlorn to become what we wish to never face. Like a shadow cast by approaching light, so grows the irony of no escaping the truths that we hear and those in which we resonate.

For if I see it within my mind, if I believe it it is my reality, for my life is lived through no rose glazed eyes, all I perceive from my windows is truth and it is dreadfully alive.

Repetition, repetition. Like prayer with no religion. Like begging for help when no god stands before or above you and grasping for hope and gasping for lie tinted truths when nothing else will reassure you and holding your breath and becoming a monstrosity of your nightmarish self that you fear is nothing but the most unloveable creature to exist yet is simultaneously behemoth and yet so feebly meaningless - all because you bought into the fear that your love will never adore you.

Abhorrent, abhorrent, absolute horror at the thought of losing something you never even felt in your grasp.

The fear of never truly holding a love born of truth.

If reality is only perception and survival is perseverance the only argument that the monsters are not real if they’re in our heads is nothing but fallacy.

Anchored in the Dead Sea yet still sinking- like a held and cherished pebble skipped and betrayed by moments of joyously feeling free.

An anchor knows no love for there is no love in these chains. No romantic analogy to be had between a situational stalemate and every space between, whose emptiness is filled with aches and pains.

An amalgamation of every crack in the corners of your heart and the chill in every dark corner of your brain.

Hearts aware of nothing but Ironclad truths and history too ugly to name.

Like the air from calm lungs being exhaled, we can argue all night that it’s only one more breath away from a gale. And so we do, and a hurricane we lay so restlessly in the eye of.

Just how they say you reap what you sow- there’s only seconds between what we do and do not know.

Our world is small and between our colossal power lies a centre of gravity, so, in a moment of monologue let me say, of course your mind’s every movement will too, affect me.

To be so bold to assume schrödinger’s effect in the form of emotion would happen between you and I - a sense of disbelief passes me by; and so it passes like an atom flying through matter that can only come to form through thoughts where matter holds weight.

How lucky I am to not believe in it being reciprocated.

Behind the black hole that lay between you and I, how much of that matter can I create before it weighs me down to die?

How much of that matters; what I do create?

[libidomechanica]

“he wildly bred”

Range busily seeking without on  the moonshine, other resign 

this cankering rush  of garment seen no place their fee, 

he wildly bred the works her maid,  thou art my heard it, and love, 

and close             in his eyes: to  grace are fleeting forth do please. 

Each Cossacque, oer the only love, conveyd;  grew kindest restored, I would lead 

the armies of old rock,— mong  white of mad mischief intensity; 

and with  tears, bleed, and now Adonis 

breathing, not our night and  died, Rorty, that burne so call vesper, 

througll which has with amaze  it flash with their 

wings, it is the savage  race; and strange excuse 

me—Me—the Sensual Abyss, under  the sun, but the 

use of Chokan: two strength, to  overwove by many, and 

while time sorteth life desire that  he was love: its in 

a greatly, knowing hand and by  Plato; by Tillotson, and fears, 

heavenly tune? This upland diamond, my  seat, were both by land its delighted 

breatheth in hir hands  them both, and a home 

and pretty ear she toll gate now foredoom  their art; to lose, youth; 

and this prompt to the  Memoirs of this golden through 

those cool cell, far off, and earth she nursling  of the fair. —For 

I am too gross in greatest charm  against it: such petty 

bondage in dream that she said it  red; and all be; whats the 

less of his clear and rose,  smell anise, then hath he front gate, softly 

said his glorious ditty  sad for them wet again, 

and that lonely Niobe, poor, wealth  came not! About my bosom, is 

Jenny, fair and fears,— did you, and  Langerous multitudinous             because 

only branches,  and took her eyes were 

met by me; as strokd thy mamie, In  mountains draws thine eyes in her 

ee, uncouple of Patient watchd ears,  instead. shaking earth, now on 

the gale: I had made the glen;  and, subtle, controlled wine, or 

Haire: Oer that friendly sigh celestial  breath, so sweeting? as the 

work is feeble strife, say, nay, if  anyone driving dishevelld 

and wonder (although the  stronger and beardless fountains 

draws delight; aye, to secure and  when their bereaves, 

at my hearts attorney on the  knight down, each lily, breathe high perfumes 

keep a lamb that I shall cope him  in stone, are gathers sorrow 

may be done) no work upon the  cuckoos part, ye shadow to 

shepherds kingly hour, when  them dry again. But 

chiefly in love-sick Love one of  tears my speech, I doubts a journey … 

that blinded eyes have built our  meadows bed, he is enragd, 

which no end: mine after tragedy. Half  anguishd away into 

no higher. The very beauty  is one: the clean, more 

fangd to dry; for now revives:  her voice a white, by a 

brig, a schoolboy? The hears a  gavel: esperanzas Gavel.