#gale truly ate with this

[sophsun1]

Queer As Folk – 1.02: Queer, There and Everywhere

[quinn-of-aebradore]

So I finally went back and redid the final boss as Rowen to see if I could get the epilogue party despite her save being old and! I was successful!!! The whole thing was so fucking cute, I’m obsessed. I recorded the whole thing and I will definitely be going over it later to pull out favorite moments but for now! Have some hugs!

[dekariosclan]

Professor Gale Dekarios of Blackstaff Academy: Now, class, I believe I’ve shared with you how I was kidnapped on a Nautiloid, hmm? How I teamed up with a group of adventurers, found the love of my life, saved all of Faerun? And how, through all of that, I still managed to focus on learning whatever new spells were made available to me, even if they required intensive study?

Students: *nodding*

Gale: Excellent. *shuffles papers in his hands, looks down at them, frowns* Then you’ll understand why I’m a tad irritated that half of you couldn’t be bothered to complete your assignments because *squints at papers* ‘your Tressym ate your homework’? *Looks up at class* Truly? That’s the excuse you’ve decided to go with? I myself used to come up with some very creative tales, but I know for a fact that you all do not have Tressyms!

Student: It wasn’t our Tressym that ate it, Professor Dekarios. It was yours.

Gale: …

Gale: *turns to shout over his shoulder* TARA! A WORD PLEASE

[leighsartworks216]

Screaming crying crawling up the walls for your top tier Astarion content

Idk if you’ve seen this, it’s floating around the internet (I think it’s a tweet?) it says something like “I want someone to grab my face and say ON PURPOSE, I WILL CARE FOR YOU ON PURPOSE” and I’d love to see our love-deprived bi-centurion react to something like this.

Like maybe he’s caught feelings for tav and is starting to feel bad for manipulating them and starts self-sabotaging by saying/thinking stuff like ‘you only THINK you love me but it’s not real, I’m sorry I made you feel this way’ and tav getting v v serious and replying “I never loved you by accident”.

Him being confronted by the fact that things never would’ve gotten this far if they didn’t let it, if they didn’t choose him, that they’re still choosing him and that it has nothing to do with the act he put up or the situation he constructed, if they wanted nothing to do w him they could’ve and would’ve dipped.

Idk I’m just spitting ideas, have fun babe ✌🏻

- 🦇

I wrote this at 2am but I did proofread it (it's almost 4 now 💀)

Also the original tweet is by Jenny Slate (@/jennyslate) and says, "I just want someone to grab my little face and scream 'ON PURPOSE, ON PURPOSE I AM GOING TO CARE ABOUT YOU'"

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: self-doubt, references to manipulation, self-deprecation, references to dissociation, dissociation mention, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 1,392

Main Masterlist

Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

It began one night, almost a week ago. Astarion had gotten into the routine of joining you in your bedroll after feeding, cuddling close and relaxing to the steady sound of your heartbeat. That night, a week ago, he didn’t. He delicately bit into your skin and pulled away before you were even slightly dizzy, murmured something about how you’d need your strength for a fight tomorrow, and slipped off to hunt for animals. Truly, you didn’t think anything of it, then. And maybe you got so lost, so caught up in your daily stress, that was why you didn’t register it for so long. Comments under his breath about manipulation immediately covered up with Gale requesting a magical artifact or Shadowheart and Lae’zel fighting.

So, a week went by. And the realization finally hit. Guilt ate away at your stomach, but wallowing wasn’t going to help. When night started to creep in, your companions slipping into their tents, you slipped into Astarion’s. Sitting in a pile of pillows, he looked up at you with a smirk and a ‘Hello, darling’, but it didn’t reach his eyes. They were dark. Distant.

“I’m sorry I haven’t given you the attention you need,” you start. A baffled look flickers across his face, but it is not given the time to settle.

There is a twitch at the corner of his mouth, like it’s a strain for him to keep smirking. “It’s perfectly alright, darling. You’ve been busy running around camp, helping people - I understand.”

With any other person, this would have seemed a perfectly reasonable response. An apology accepted, a mutual understanding - the relationship goes on. Except, this was Astarion.

You sit down nearby, close enough to reach out and touch. Any closer and you worried you’d overcrowd him. You always tried to let him come to you first, though he usually struggled to initiate anything.

“You’ve been distant, too,” you point out. He begins to form the words to apologize, but you shake your head to stop him before they can build a sentence. “I’m not upset, I don’t need an apology. I just wanted to know why.”

To be honest, he didn’t expect you to notice. He assumed, quite stupidly, all things considered, that you would be too preoccupied to notice him slowly slipping away. Late night cuddles dashed for hunting, hand holding forgotten as he trails along at the back of the group, kisses never lingering and the ones that did lacking any emotion behind them.

“Is something wrong?” you prompt gently. “If it’s too much, we can work out what would be better for you.”

Guilt stabs at his own non-beating heart like a wooden stake. He’s drifting and you still throw him a rope, still ask for him to grab on and pull himself away from his past, from dissociating with the slightest hint of affection.

He smiles wryly. “I can’t hide anything from you, can I?” he teases, but it comes out a little too strained to be a joke. His fingers fiddle with the corner of the page of his book. He finds watching the paper fold and bend is much more interesting than looking into your eyes.

He sighs. “I’m sorry, my dear,” he says, but the endearment feels like fire on his tongue, “but it’s not real. This isn’t real.” Your brow furrows as you stare at him. He can’t bear to see the realization cross your face. “Two hundred years of manipulating - of course I would trick you, too. It’s instinct, darling, I don’t blame you.” Red eyes finally meet yours. You look confused, of course, but there’s an air of determination, like you’re ready to fight whatever plagues him. “But this… love… it’s not real. And for what it’s worth, I am sorry I made you feel this way.”

He expects anger. He expects tears, even. Crying and shouting and ‘How could you?!’s and ‘I can’t believe you’ve manipulated me all this time!’ But it never comes. You frown, sure, but it’s leagues away from being angry.

“You think… you manipulated me into feeling this way?”

It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. Admitting it feels bitter. He blames it on his growing fondness for you, but he knows it cannot possibly be returned in any genuine way. Not with his underhanded tactics surfacing at every passing glance, soft brush, and gentle smile. “Come now, darling,” he smirks again, building a wall to separate himself from the shitshow that must be just ‘round the corner, “who could really love me?”

That only succeeds in making you frown further. “Astarion, I’m not with you because you’ve tricked me.” The baffled look from earlier surfaces again, but it lingers, mixed with doubt. “I understand that you started this to manipulate me into protecting you, but I’m not here because you successfully influenced my emotions - To be perfectly honest, I could tell from the start.”

He laughs dryly, suddenly, like it startles him. “And here I was thinking I’d learned some subtlety.”

You don’t laugh with him. You don’t even smile. “I chose you, Astarion. I still choose to be with you. Because I want to.”

Any lingering mask of confidence fell from his face. The creases around his mouth became more prominent as he frowned. His eyes darted around, glancing around your face for any tells of deception, any hint that you’re making this up to make him feel better. “How can you be sure? How do you know you’re choosing me and not just buying into another act?”

“Astarion.” You get on your knees and hold his face in your hands. He stares up at you with big, round eyes. “If I wanted to, I could break up with you. I am not staying because I feel stuck, or because I feel obligated to. I love you. On purpose. On purpose, I am staying with you. On purpose, I choose you.”

He opens his mouth, but no words form. His mind is reeling, chasing to catch up and process everything, all the while jumping and flipping, trying to find excuses or reasons why you shouldn’t care for him. He swallows the lump building in his throat. He speaks in a whisper, too stunned to speak louder. “Are you sure?”

Your whole face softens. Determination turns to fond affection, frown lifting into a soft grin. “Yes. I’m sure.” You press a kiss to his forehead, and he closes his eyes to savor it. It’s been a week without allowing himself your love - he deserves to enjoy it once again, even if he feels guilty for it. He wishes his thoughts would just shut up and let him have this. “If you still need space or time, I’ll be here. I’m not leaving. Just,” you pull his face back, “please talk to me about this next time. I know things have been hectic, but I’m never too busy for you.”

He sighs, slow and soft. Relieved. “Of course, my love.” He adores the way you smile brightly at the endearment. He turns sheepish. “Ah, could I, possibly, join you tonight? It does, admittedly, get rather lonely passing the time alone.”

You kiss his cheek. “Of course you can. C’mon, I’ll even play with your hair if you’d like.”

He chuckles, genuine this time. “I very much would.” His book is set aside, the page he left off on lost as he takes your hand and follows you from his tent. He can’t help himself from squeezing your hand in his, like he can’t quite grasp the fact you are physically holding onto him. Even when you lay down first and he settles in next to you, arms wrapped around your middle and his head on your chest, it still feels hard to believe. But the way you wrap your arms around him and gently detangle his curls and scratch lightly at his scalp cannot possibly be from his imagination. Nor the way you press kisses on his forehead and temple and hair with sweet praises and words of affection. His mind is not kind enough to imagine such tenderness.

Laying there in your arms, listening to the steady beat of your heart and even breaths that fill your lungs as you slip into sleep, is the closest he has ever been to true contentment.

---

Tag List:

@hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @lynnloveslokiredacted @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @kindadolly @bloopthebat @pandimoostuff @chesb0red @black-star1472 @sessils @olitheghostboy-blog @puppyg1rl666 @maruichio @cyber-dump-171 @katharynmarie @twinkliker3000 @cherifrog @catching-fire-in-the-wind @phantoms-fandom-blog

[thewritetofreespeech]

Could I request Astarion with a chef s/o who loves sharing her cooking with everyone?

He wants to like this. Truly.

The first few decades of being a vampire Astarion missed the taste of food. Disgusted that he had to resort to rats. Feast on blood and death. When he was allowed out, he would always try to sneak meals out as Cazador never allowed him anything but the rats and vermin, but he soon realized that he had no appetite for it. Blood was all he craved. Even the rarest meats just tasted of nothing in his mouth as he chewed. He also realized very quickly that what he was missing was not food but the memories of it he could never capture again.

Astarion knew that [Y/N] was an excellent cook.

They boasted a resume of some of the finest restaurants and taverns in Baldur's Gate and Faerûn. Claiming they were a 'culinary adventurer' before all this mess started. The rave reviews from the public and their camp left no sense of exaggeration on their skills, so if anyone was going to cook something for him, he would like it would be [Y/N]. With their clever cooking skills and all the love they poured into it, surely this would fill him up, right?

Yet still, nothing.

"Everything alright Astarion?"

The vampire looked up to see [Y/N] clearing their mains. His own plate embarrassingly full compared to the almost licked clean ones of their camp mates. He really tried. But all he managed to muster was a few bites and to push the food around. "Oh yes darling. Delicious as always." He replied though. Charming smile in place as he handed them back the food. Guilt coiling into his stomach along with the few bites he ate for wasting it.

"Well, I hoped you saved room for dessert. I tried something new today."

"Dessert? My, what decadence." Shadowheart commented before sipping her wine.

"Sweets are for children. I won't be having any."

"Can I have Lae'zel's then if she's not going to have it??" Karlach asked as the githyanki folded her arms in full resolution against sweets.

[Y/N] came out of their prep area they had made in camp with a tray. Lined with small bowls and handed one to all around the fire. "Pudding?"

"What's so special about pudding?" Shadowheart asked as she poked at her own bowl of goo.

"First of all, it is not 'pudding'. It's sanguinaccio dolce. A southern sweet cream based dish made with bitter chocolate and pigs blood. There's a lot more work in that than just 'pudding'."

Astarion looked up from his bowl with about as much surprise as everyone else. "Whoa whoa whoa. There's blood in this?!"

"I mean, yeah. It's where the 'sanguin' part comes into play in the name Karlach."

"I'm not eating blood!" The tiefling remarked, with a level of disgusted that Astarion felt was warranted but still hurtful.

"There's blood in the roast you just ate. You had no problem with that." [Y/N] remarked.

Karlach seemed to start back tracking. "Well...yeah but...that was cooked...."

"So is this. Try it. You might like it."

"I've actually heard of this dessert before." Gale commented as he examined his spoon full of pudding critically. Like it was a science experiment. "It was mentioned in a few books I read. Not often mind you. It is certainly an acquired taste. More of a traditional dish than anything."

"Look. If you guys don't want to eat it...."

"No, no. I'll give it a try."

"Once you've had a tadpole in your eye I suppose...." Shadowheart said, before swallowing a lump in her throat just before the pudding.

They all took a bite in unison. The expressions of the others lost to Astarion as his eyes lit up. This was actually very good. Really good.

His mouth was filled with blood and dark chocolate. A sensual taste and sensation as his tongue was coated with the velvety soft dessert. And he could actually taste it. Was this what people meant when they said food was better than sex? Because he could almost believe it now.

Astarion ate his dessert with gusto, while the group continued to in trepidation, as [Y/N] came over to sit beside him. No dessert. Just observing their handy work. "What do you think?"

"It's delicious." It might have been the first time he meant it. "It's certainly a...unique concept. What inspired you to try it tonight of all things?"

"You never eat my cooking." Astarion was taken aback. Although honestly, he couldn't be that surprised. They had eyes. They knew he never cleared his plate like the others. "So I wanted to make something I hoped you would eat."

Astarion was surprised. All this effort just for him? No one had ever put in this much effort for him. Or any effort at all. He felt incredibly moved. But of course, he couldn't let them know that. "I eat you darling." Astarion quipped as he slid closer to them. "Isn't that enough?"

"It's not the same." They told him. "Cooking is my life. It's my passion. I wanted to share it with you."

"Are you suggesting our relationship isn't passionate enough?"

[Y/N] chuckled. "Not like that. But...I want more than that. Sharing our interests and hobbies. Not just our bodies." Astarion sat there for a moment. Contemplating their words as he stared at the now empty bowl.

He had heard the phrase before of ‘food nourishes more than just the body, but the soul’. He thought it was some other ridiculous saying like the food was better than sex comment and shrugged it off. But now, Astarion thought he could understand it.

He felt full for once. Not just by the small dessert, but for with the effort, the time they put into it, the thought. He knew very soon his usual instable hungry for what really sated him would be back, but for now he felt….content.

“I suppose I’ll have to start developing some hobbies.”

[Y/N] chuckled. Then gave him a kiss before they took his bowl and went to clean it. He licked his lips once they were gone. Still tasting sweet chocolate and ruby red on them. Already hungry for more.

[bakersgrief]

WARNINGS: Angst with a happy ending, gn reader, author's first time attempting to write angst. 😅

Kenshin hated this. He hated his inability. His inability to sympathize with or to comfort his lover in this time.

Their grief was his grief. As they finally took the time to mourn the loss of their past life, the friends and family they would never see again, Kenshin could only watch in devastation.

It wasn't a mere afternoon of sadness and crying. Of course, there was crying.

Kenshin held his lover close as they sobbed into his chest, the realization of what they had left behind coupled with the guilt of what they were feeling causing the tears to flow without end.

"I shouldn't feel like this." They sobbed. "I chose to stay, and I'm happy here, and I love you so much, truly-"

Kenshin silently held them. What words could he possibly offer? They would never see their family or enjoy the comforts of home again.

Kenshin could barely begin to imagine their grief, or what they had lost. These were things he had never had to begin with.

...No. These were things they had given him. A love and joy so immense he felt as if he could barely breathe in the face of it all.

The thought of losing his beloved and all that they had given him was too crushing to even ponder. It was something that was always on his mind in the first place.

So, pushing those thoughts aside, Kenshin held his lover in his firm arms, becoming their anchor in the gale of their sadness and despair.

It was the most tortuous week of his life. His sun and moon was wasting away in his eyes. They slept more and ate less, often gazing into the reflection pond in contemplation.

That made Kenshin's blood run cold. Did they regret their decision? Surely he wasn't making them happy enough if they were so distressed about what they had given up.

Kenshin let himself fall into his own pit of despair at his lover's state. He rarely ever left their side, insisting he be there to give them support when it was needed.

A reminder to eat, a gentle hand helping them bathe.

And slowly, slowly, they began to recover. The light began to return to their eyes.

Kenshin could mark the exact moment they gave him a truly happy smile again after dealing with their grief. And his heart finally stopped feeling as if it was at the bottom of a cold pond.

The sky cleared and his beloved moon and stars were shining brightly at him again.

Brief bouts of homesickness were sure to happen. But the sudden shock of loss was gone, replaced with a hearty joy of their new home, new friends, and new family.

"I would always choose you... again and again." They reassured Kenshin from within his crushing embrace.

"I just wish... I could have said goodbye."

Kenshin nodded silently.

"But it's okay. Even if no one I knew can find peace after my disappearance... I'm sure they would understand if I told them I found the love of my life."

They looked up at him, gifting the melancholy god with a sweet kiss. Kenshin reveled in the taste, in the feeling and their warmth.

"I love you." They whispered.

It was a mantra of strength, of determination. Of rebirth into their new life with him, away from everything they once knew.

The God of War only had one reply.

"I love you."

A/n: I'm not experienced writing angst, ESPECIALLY when it has a happy ending. But I hope it was okay?

Thank you for the request @oda-princess ! The original ask got deleted, sorry about that ^^;

Taglist: @shadowylakes @floydsteeth @sh0jun @rou-luxe @letter-from-afar @mxrmaid-poet @anonymousnamedhera @kanatashinkaifr @rookkunt

Kenshin tags: @oda-princess @cherrykasugayama

[mssr-crumpled-paper]

Peeta and Gale: being a character

Consider this post a continuation of this.

So, as I've said, I had a really hard time relating or believing in Peeta as a character when reading THG. This post aims to point out some of the points why I believe Peeta is more a concept than an actual character (and how that's incredibly unfair for Gale).

On Peeta:

The first, and most obvious point, is that the purpose of Peeta's character is to represent Katniss's conscience, but also to be the "better" choice. Idk about everyone else, but it was always glaringly obvious to me that Peeta would be the endgame for Katniss, one way or another. He was made with the explicit intention of being the perfect partner for Katniss, and a perfect person in general. Notice how he has no substantial flaws of his own, is distinctly devout to Katniss even without knowing anything about her personally; and every mistake that he does make can easily be chocked up to his care for Katniss or trauma from forces he can't control.

We know virtually next to nothing about Peeta as well. Please be kind and name me 1 instance where either of Peeta's brothers' names were mentioned anywhere. Like in the books, not on a wiki page. None, no names for his dad, for his mom, for his family. Barely know any of his friends, except for Delly.

We also do not know his relation to District 12 or the Seam. Now, many people will argue that this would be pointless, but I believe not. Peeta, for him to truly be able to exist as a character in his own right, needs to be considered within the context of his community. And since we don't get ANY, it makes all his talks of "people are starving," and "kids in 12 are struggling" seems unconvincing. Like was he poor? Absolutely. He also ate bread regularly, never had to take out tessarae, never had to hunt or kill, and he was a merchant's kid. Half of the people from the district, who are so closely or at least somewhat related to Katniss, we never see him interacting with ever.

In combination, all of these elements make it so that Peeta is basically devoid of an actual character other than "good guy with bread." Readers are free to project whatever image they see fit onto him, the perfect boyfriend, the perfect husband, the perfect brother. He didn't even mention his family twice after losing them, and I won't assume the pain wasn't horrible for him, but he quite literally said "No one needs me." Of course they need you Peeta, they're your family? He felt almost disconnected from the context surrounding him, making it hard for me to truly buy into his character.

On Gale:

The first thing we know about Gale is that he is Katniss's best friend, the person who knows the real her, the one who she can let loose with. Immediately this is a lot of information to work with. Considering the fact that Katniss up until this point didn't seem too fond of people in general, Gale is set up to be a good guy with a sense of love and respect for his friend. And since we meet him in the forest, one can assume that he's struggling as well, or at least rebellious. It's also very obvious within the first chapter that Gale is a flawed character (re: him snapping at Madge, which he acknowledges as a tactic of the Capitol).

This fact is elaborated on right after, when we are told that Gale is also a fatherless hunter running around in the woods. His family is poor, and he's the sole provider for the family. He has three younger siblings, one of which is just a baby, and a mom. Like Katniss, he's put his name in for tessarae for a long time, and provides for a 5 persons household mostly on his own. We know the name of Rory, of Posy, of Hazelle, his mother who does laundry for work, who later works as a house-keeper for Haymitch. We know that Hazelle placed a lot of trust in both Katniss and Gale. We know that Rory has to eventually put his name in more times to get tessarae.

We know Gale's relation to the District. He's generally popular with kids his age at school. He banters and interacts with the people at the Hob. He hunts for game and provides for the district. He holds a hatred for the Capitol that was larger than himself and Katniss. He understood their methods of systemic oppression. He was generally class conscious about his condition, and his thirst for righteous revenge stems largely from the suffering that people of the district and he himself go through. He saved his district to the best of his ability when it was razed to the ground, and he joined the rebellion effort because he genuinely believed that would liberate his people.

There's a lot more I can say about the wider context of Gale as a character, but on a whole he feels real. Very flawed, very angry, and very real. SC makes no pretense about Gale being someone who cares deeply for his district, for Katniss, and for his family. That's a sense of solidarity that I can cling onto. He exists within that general context that he was put in, and therefore makes more sense.

[astarionfreak]

For the smut game

1 and/or 13 with A.A. x Gale please?

Oh, fuck. Great idea! Yes. 🧛🧙

1. "I need you inside me."

13. "Please, please let me come."

!! Warning: This deals with chronic pain (Gale still has the orb). Ascended Astarion appears soft on the surface, but there is some sketchy shit going on behind the scenes tbh.

Snippet for the smut ask game. | Previous answers here.

There was no denying that the ascension changed him. Gale sensed the difference immediately. Astarion seemed sharper, leaner, hungrier.

There was also no denying that Gale found him very attractive. Before the power, but even moreso now.

Astarion walked in the sun without fear. The appetites of man returned to him. He ate food in addition to blood -- and although he often chastised Gale for cooking, "There's no need for you to ever lift a finger again, my love." -- Gale found pleasure in the small act of service.

Gale busied himself in the kitchen, putting together one of his favorite meals, when pain got the better of him. He stumbled back from the stove and gestured for one of the many servants to come take over. Wordlessly he retreated to his chambers.

As luck would have it, the aching void that gnawed away within him had remained relatively stable. However -- to put it simply -- it hurt. Some days were worse than others. Today was one of the more difficult ones.

Gale only intended to stay in the Crimson Palace for a tenday, two at most. Just until he located the Netherstones. Then he would return to Waterdeep, where he planned reforging the crown. For himself. Obtaining his own power.

He promised to make a place in the Heavens to share with Astarion. Together, they would be Gods. Better than the ones who had turned their backs on them.

Better than Mystra. Stronger.

Unfortunately, despite numerous attempts, they had been unable to locate the stones. 

Meaning the orb remained. An ever growing threat and -- quite literally -- a painful reminder of his shortcomings. Each day it got worse. The fetid thing was hungry again.

And while Astarion could not hide his displeasure when Gale consumed magical artifacts -- he did continue to provide them when necessary. For that, Gale was extremely grateful.

He would be lying if he said he wasn’t jealous. Astarion had power in abundance while the cursed magic that lived within Gale slowly robbed him of everything.

Gale stumbled into their bedroom, stripped himself of his robes, and lay, clad only in underwear, between soft, silk sheets in their bed. That is where Astarion found him hours later. Curled up into himself, in the quiet, dark room.

Astarion slipped between the sheets. He pressed his firm chest against the other man’s back, one arm snaking over Gale’s body to pull him close. Astarion pressed a ring against Gale’s chest. “I stole this from a patriar today. The absolute fool had the gall to demand I bow. Can you imagine? Me? Bowing to anyone? At least he was considerate enough to be wearing this ring when I cut off his fingers.”

Gale held his breath as he let the magic flow through him, feeding the angry pit. Just enough to settle the storm inside. It wouldn’t be long before it demanded more though.

More. More More. Always hungry. Never sated.

“His mistake is my gain, I suppose,” Gale mumbled. It took him a moment to settle back into his body, the pain subsiding enough to allow him to breathe through the fog. “Thank you for this.”

Astarion’s hands wandered down Gale’s body, beneath the hem of his underwear, fingertips dragging across his skin as he approached his cock. “Well, I simply can’t have you wasting away in bed all day now, can I? It’s unbecoming.”

Gale sighed softly and pressed closer. “I am beginning to suspect something is wrong with me beyond my . . . affliction.”

Astarion bit gently at Gale’s earlobe. “There is one thing we’ve yet to try. I’m positive I could get past the taste if you would just allow me —”

“No, Astarion.” Gale rolled onto his back and met Astarion’s eyes. “We have truly no idea how the orb would react to me becoming a vampire — a spawn, no less. I will forge my own path to immortality.”

“Yes, the Netherstones. You have all but dredged the Chionthar and yet — nothing. Aren’t you a bit curious as to why?”

“Curious? What are you saying?” Gale stiffened as Astarion’s fingers curled around his cock. His lips parted and he gasped as Astarion’s deft hand pumped once, twice over his length. “Is there something you aren’t telling me, Astarion?”

Astarion propped himself up on an elbow, staring down at Gale with a smirk. “I have my . . . theories. Perhaps I’ll divulge them after we’ve indulged in each other.”

Gale tried to study Astarion’s face, searched for the man behind the mask — but it was hard to think when Astarion’s hand was on his cock.

It became even more difficult to think when Astarion pressed his lips against Gale’s. Despite the orb’s increasing instability, he still had this. No amount of excitement seemed to trigger an explosion.

There was little hesitation between them, much unlike the first time they kissed. Now, when they were together, it was with total abandon. As though nothing else mattered. Perhaps that was true.

Gale found himself gasping into Astarion’s mouth when he shifted to straddle him. Then he kissed, down Gale’s jaw, his chest, his stomach. Lower, and lower, tugging his underwear down past his thighs to expose him completely.

Astarion’s eyes were dark with lust. “One rule, darling,” he purred. “The same rule as always. Do you remember?”

Gale curled his fingers in the sheets, prepared to hold himself steady. “I shall not come without permission.”

Astarion smiled, breath warm against Gale’s erect cock. “That’s my good boy.”

Astarion always made unraveling Gale seem so effortless. In this bed, the very words he relied on often failed him. Astarion always reduced him to a whimpering, submissive thing. Tonight was no exception.

Even when the head of Gale’s cock was bumping up against the back of Astarion’s throat, Gale knew he was not the one with control. He would not break their rule. Even if the threat of punishment did seem alluring, at times.

When the sweat dripped down the back of his neck, when his breathing was labored, and when the sheets had become a tangled mess from his squirming, that’s when Gale finally broke. That’s when he began to beg.

“Please, please let me come, Astarion,” he choked out between moans.

Astarion dragged his tongue across the head of Gale’s cock, then looked up at him with a devious grin.

“Perhaps I will. Perhaps I won’t,” Astarion teased. “I could be convinced if you tell me what else you need.”

Gale licked his lips, staring down at the flawless man before him. He knew what Astarion wanted to hear. He wanted it too. “I need you inside me,” he whispered.

“Then you’ll get everything you need, my love,” Astarion purred.

[evercelle]

Hi, Gods, can I just please say how much I love your Gales of Song animatic? I really loved the transition from wisp to Barbatos, the way you draw braids (Clever! I've always struggled with them, but your method is so helpful!), the use of colours and greyscale, and your *wings*, gosh I feel it is so rare to see well drawn wings, especially ones that don't feel flat! Wings are one of my favourite things to draw, and yours are such a treat! I won't lie, I cried quite a bit the first time I saw it, and I still frequently return to it months after. I truly thank you for creating it 💚

man... making that animatic truly felt like I had been possessed by the spirit of Loving Venti Barbatos Genshinimpact (': it ate up all my spare time for one week to learn how to use AE and do all the drawings, and there's parts i wish i timed better now, but I'm really happy you still rewatch and enjoy, every so often...!

venti's deep care for mondstadt, and the way he cherishes the ideal of freedom the bard taught him, are both inextricably tied to the love and loneliness that defines his existence... it's that part of his character story that's really moving. glad it moved you, too. tysm for your kind words!!

[spicedrobot]

GIVE ME THE BLOODWEAVE!!!! 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🥵🥵🥵🍆🍆🍆💦💦💦

yessir!! I tried to keep this Act 1-centric since you're not that far in the game. <3333

-

Gale stirred the porridge bubbling over a low fire. He had taken on the mantle of camp cook, a position that hadn’t been delegated to him, but one he performed regardless. Most of his fellows hadn’t the skill for it, and he was always awake well before the rest. 

Dawn touched the horizon. The air still had a bite to it, the grass cold and dewed at Gale’s feet. He huddled closer to the fire and added a few spoonfuls of pulped, fresh raspberries. As he mixed, a sweet, subtly tart aroma rose, melding with the warmth of cinnamon and cloves. He smiled. Cooking was a pleasant distraction, and he was good at it, not just by his own estimation, but by those of his companions.

Well, most of them, anyway. The only one who hadn’t yet partaken was the mysterious Astarion. The man often stayed in his tent past breakfast, and he always had one excuse or another not to eat a single bite when he did grace his peers with his presence. 

It had become something of a game for Gale, trying to find something the man would eat. The porridge was a bit of a change in tactics. It was a humble dish, to be sure, but hearty, easy on the stomach, and delicious, too. Each portion would be topped with crushed, roasted almonds and fresh honey that Tav had harvested the day before.

Your move, my pale friend, Gale thought, as he called his companions to eat. 

-

The days passed. Gale cooked and schemed, but Astarion never ate. 

Then they found the boar. 

That night, as Gale lay awake, sleepless as always, he heard something outside his tent. Familiar voices: Tav and Astarion, one’s gasp, another’s worried swear. 

He wasn’t sure if the encounter was friendly, but as Gale reached the flaps of his tent, he froze, awestruck by what he saw. In the fire’s light, Astarion’s sharp teeth, his crimson eyes, his hunger, revealed him for what he truly was. Obvious, so obvious, in retrospect. Gale felt fearful and foolish—miffed too, truth be told. Vampires were known for their killing and cruelty. How could they trust him after he attempted to hide his true nature? 

But anger fled with a sudden thought and a cold smile. Wasn’t Gale doing the same? Though if the sleeplessness, the hunger, had anything to say about it, his own predicament would be revealed sooner than than later.

His companions seemed to have come to an understanding, so Gale laid back down and gave them privacy. He tossed and turned, longing for sleep to come. His only comfort was this: at least he now knew why Astarion had been so unwilling to eat the meals he prepared.

-

Gale was no stranger to hunger. He was a man of robust appetites, a gourmand, an avid reader, a lover of magic, of power. In the end, it was the latter that had gotten him into this mess. Saddled with a hunger stranger than one for blood, a hunger that could no longer be satisfied with the threads of weave that had used to feel like feasts. 

Sleep was more impossible than before. And a certain calm despair rose in its place. Listening to the sounds of the night, hour after hour, knowing respite was out of reach. Especially when his companions snored. Or when they met together in the dark. It should’ve been the quiet sighs and moans that drew his attention. But mostly, he perked at the quiet words of Tav and Astarion as they met for the vampire’s nightly sup. Astarion made it a performance as he did anything else, flirting and posturing, the act akin to a mealtime prayer. Tav was a quiet, contemplative man by nature, but Astarion sometimes managed a laugh from him. It was easy to picture Tav’s scarred smile, and the flash of Astarion’s eyes, the sharpness of teeth as they sunk into dusky, freckled skin.

What wasn’t easy to imagine was the bite itself. What did it feel like? It must hurt, though Tav never made a sound. The bloodletting was an exchange of power, an extension of trust, though they had only traveled together for a few weeks. Tav had bouts of foolhardiness, but he wasn’t stupid.

Perhaps, Astarion could be trusted. Gale had already made it clear he didn’t want to be on the menu, so to speak, but… the thought lingered. Curiosity was its own kind of hunger. 

Try as he might to ignore it, it did not let him go.

-

“You look ill, friend,” Gale said. He had pulled Tav to the side after breakfast, not wanting to alarm their more… suspicious companions that might take any sign of sickness as the beginnings of transformation.

“I’m okay,” Tav replied. He smiled, but it was strained. It was a look Gale knew well.

“What you’re doing for Astarion is admirable, really. But it is taking its toll on you.” 

Tav’s eyes widened, then he looked away. He watched his raven companion clean its feathers in the morning light. “You’re right, though there’s nothing to be done about it. I won’t force him to feed on animals. Astarion is stronger now. Happier.”

It wasn’t selflessness that made up Gale’s mind. He wished it was, wished that he could be more like Tav. Iron-willed… kind-hearted. It was Gale’s nature, to chase knowledge, learning well but never learning his damn lesson. 

“If you would let the burden be shared, I would be more than happy to offer my aid.”

-

Astarion seemed almost mystified at the prospect. Then that pretty smile, that cutting wit smoothed over his surprise. “I would be delighted to have a taste of you, darling.”

Gale rubbed his hand over his face. “Do you have to say it like that?” 

Astarion’s grin widened, and his fangs gleamed. “Yes.”

-

The evening’s meal had long since been stored away. Gale had retired to his tent, as agreed. He waited as his heart pound away in his chest, his ears perked for any wayward sound of approach. 

Ah, and there it was. The rustle of fabric, the chill of night air slipping in with his guest. Gale sat up quickly, wincing as Astarion gestured him to ease.

“Ssh, there’s no need to be nervous. Just lie back. Get comfortable. It’ll be over quickly.”

“How can I not be nervous? A vampire is going to put his very sharp and deadly teeth to an extremely vulnerable place on my person.” 

Astarion knelt down next to him. The flickering glow of candlelight played on his face, cutting his cheekbones into ravines. His eyes were as bright as embers. “Oh, I’ll be doing more with my teeth than just getting close.”

Gale clicked his tongue and angled his face away. After a moment, he tucked his hair behind his ear. Fully clothed and within the safety of his own tent, he felt horribly exposed. But he was getting what he wanted. An answer. Knowledge. Or a gruesome death! Which, on reflection, would solve the other problems he’d been dealing with. 

Astarion’s breath was hot against his neck. His hair was soft, ticklish. Gale felt his skin raise, blood and thoughts racing.

It hurt, just like he thought it would. Twin punctures that coalesced into a heavy ache that throbbed to the beat of his fearful heart. He fisted his fingers into Astarion’s hair, just for something to focus on, anything—until the pain lessened—until it changed. There was heat, prickling like the beginnings of sweat, a sensation, primordial but so unlike the weave. 

He groaned and immediately choked on the sound, embarrassed. Astarion’s mouth moved, not just to draw more blood, but to smile as he did so. It was enough to mortify, to keep logic centered in Gale’s mind, even as the sensation of the feeding continued to shift and grow. The heat became dizziness, exhaustion, bone deep and whole like a moonless night.

And, just as Gale began to pull at him, to fight him off, Astarion let go. The sound was obscene, a wet sucking sound as his lips parted from his neck, as if his very body had been loathe to give up its meal. 

Astarion tossed his head back, languorous upon his knees as he licked the blood from his lips. Gale watched, stunned.

“My dear,” Astarion breathed. Then he smiled his viper’s smile. “You taste awful.”

“Well, I did warn you!” Gale sputtered. He gingerly touched the bite, shivered, turned away. “I suppose a bit of thanks is too much to ask?”

“Not at all. Thank you.” Gale could picture the theatrical bow Astarion was surely doing as he spoke. “Or were you expecting a more… physical display of appreciation?”

“I would appreciate some peace and quiet now,” Gale said quickly, tugging his bedroll over him and closing his eyes.

Astarion’s chuckle rose the hairs on the back of Gale’s neck. “Of course, darling. See you in the morning.”

The rustling of the tent flaps, the brush of night air. All at once, Gale was alone. He released a shaky breath, tugged his blanket tighter. His hand stayed on the bite. He traced it with his fingers as he lie there, willing his heart to calm, his breath to even.

He felt drunk. He felt scraped clean.

Gale woke to the smell of roasting meat. He jerked to full alertness, wincing as his head and neck throbbed. He rubbed his sleeve over his cheek and realized he’d been sleeping in a pile of his own drool. 

Light and voices filtered in from the outside. Someone laughed. Tav’s raven cawed. 

It was morning. Gale had overslept… he had overslept! He still felt terrible, but it was less terrible than he had been. As he changed, he inspected the bite mark in his small hand mirror. It was just as neat as Tav’s was, though the skin surrounding was starker, more bruised. He pressed his fingers to the bite once more, then he pulled high his shirt collar and left the tent.

-

There was a strange sort of coziness to it. If you ignored all the potentially life-threatening ways things could go wrong—and surely would, given enough time. Gale revealed his secret. It went better than expected. Tav fed Gale artifacts, and they in turn, fed Astarion.

The vampire seemed enhanced by his new food sources, not just in battle, but in visage. His skin glowed, glass-like, his eyes shone like rubies. His nails were lacquered and as sharp as knives. His body had filled out, muscles pronounced, the harsh lines of his face easing. His smiles, however, were softer.

Gale should enjoy it, shouldn’t he? Helping just because he could. Even simple appreciation of how the… feedings were good for him too, helped him sleep. But that didn’t feel like the whole picture. He was missing something. 

And that something gnawed.

-

Astarion recounted a sultry story over the campfire one night. Tav laughed unexpectedly, and how Astarion did preen at the sound, just like Tav’s raven.

And that something gnawed.

-

Gale was not jealous. He did not love Tav nor Astarion. He barely knew them, and his romantic proclivities were… complicated, to say the least. He knew what love felt like, and it wasn’t this.

But still that something gnawed.

-

“Oh, darling, back already? And I thought I was supposed to be the hungry one.”

“Be quiet,” Gale said, pushing his way into Astarion’s tent. “Let’s get this over with.”

“But it’s not your night…” Astarion said lightly. Gale’s nape prickled. “Did you forget?”

Gale was hungry, no, ravenous. The artifacts weren’t enough. His sleep had grown thin and troubled. But this was not Astarion’s fault. Gale sighed. “Well, I’m here already, aren’t I?”

“Of course. Why don’t you get comfortable, and we’ll get started.”

Gale laid on Astarion’s bedroll. It smelled like him, a floral, ancient scent alongside the smell of leather and rotting leaves. He pulled his hair away from his neck and closed his eyes.

Astarion was a reassuring weight behind him. A promise of peace, short-lived though it was. When had Gale lost his fear?

He sighed at the depression of teeth. He was tender, being fed from two nights in a row. The extra sensitivity was… nice. He tried not to think about why that was, and then, minutes later, he didn’t have the capacity to care. 

Gale didn’t know when the feeding had stopped. The pressure was gone, but the sweet ache remained, pulsing along with his heart. And the ache wasn’t the only thing that lingered.

They laid, bodies pressed together. Astarion’s breath was warm against his neck. 

This was right about the time when Astarion would start with his barrage of double entendres, not really looking for anything more, Gale realized, but simply to mark the return to normalcy, or whatever served for it on this strange journey. But Astarion was quiet. His breathing was even. Not sleeping, he didn’t need to, but perhaps in stasis.

Gale allowed himself to bask in it, if only for a few minutes. Then he began to get up.

Astarion caught his wrist. Several heartbeats passed in silence. Then,

“It’s late, darling. You’re apt to wake the whole camp if you go trundling out of here in that state.”

“Well, not all of us can be delicately-footed assassins, now can we?” Gale grumbled.

“A special skill, I’m afraid.”

Gale relaxed once more into the bedroll. Astarion released his wrist, but left his hand on top of it. The touch was grounding, like the bite was grounding. 

Like Astarion was grounding.

Gale slept.

[wheretheharekissesthefox]

Tav’s sex parade – Chapter 12: Mate me, mark me, make me yours (Halsin x Tav)

(Trigger warning (18+): graphic description of sex, smut, cunnilingus, biting, the feels)

Notes:

To avoid confusion: In one of my other fanfics, Halsin and Tav had named the owlbear cup Naïlo, which means 'night breeze' in the Elven language.)

Chapter 8 is mentioned.

The snowflakes twirled through the cold air of the grey day, covering the world in its first fine layer of this year's snow like powdered sugar.

Tav was sitting in the living room, composing, while Gale wrote letters to scholars, Astarion rested in reverie, and Shadowheart was at Morena's place to help her heal some clients. Gale's mother appreciated an extra pair of hands at this time of the years when the townspeople ended up with runny noses and coughs. Scratch and Naïlo were sleeping in front of the fireplace, tightly entangled. The owlbear had grown a lot and barely fit through the doorframe anymore, but he still behaved like an over-excited puppy. It was adorable and gave them 'scary dog privilege' when going on a walk in the park with him.

Tav was in the middle of figuring out what rhymes with 'apple' when there was a knock on the front door. The bard wiped her ink-stained fingers on a cloth before getting up and opening the door.

"Oak Father preserve you, my heart. How are you?"

"Halsin!" Tav fell around his neck, beaming. "I missed you. I'm alright, and you? Come in, love."

With a chuckle, the druid entered Gale's tower house and shook off his coat and boots.

"Nature's preparing for her hibernation. The snow will cover her like a warm, protective blanket soon."

"You're always so poetic," Tav smiled. "We truly must write a poetry book together. Maybe this winter? Will you stay longer this time or did you plan to travel during the winter season?"

"I'm not sure yet," Halsin answered as he was ushered into the kitchen to sit down. "It depends on how much it'll snow – and how long I can stand the city."

"I see. You can decide spontaneously," the human bard told him. She put the kettle on the stove and piled cookies from a ceramic yar onto a plate. She put it down in front of the druid. "Here, eat some. Gale baked all of our favourites."

Halsin looked at the plate and pointed at the vanilla shortbread.

"Let me guess; Gale's favourite?"

Tav nodded grinning.

The druid chuckled, studying the assortment again. He took a crescent-shaped cookie and sniffed it.

"Cinnamon, hm... Shadowheart? She strikes me as someone who likes exotic flavours."

"You're right, kudos."

Smiling softly, Halsin grabbed a pale star-shaped pastry and took a bite.

"Lemon? That's your favourite? I wouldn't have thought that. You look more like someone who likes raisins."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Tav asked, pursing her lips.

Halsin chuckled and leaned his head back to look at her.

"Your welcoming, open-minded, flamboyant nature reminds me of the people in the south - even though your skin's so pale it would burn down there. When I'm in wildshape, you smell like raisins. Somehow, I can picture you between the vineyards and the olive trees."

"And the citrus trees," Tav added. Then, she sighed. "You're awfully observant. It's almost a bit scary."

When the druid looked at her confused, she sighed again, explaining: "I am from the south and did grow up next to a vineyard."

Halsin's eyes widened in surprise and Tav chuckled. She kissed his temple and muttered: "I do like raisins, but lemons are my favourite. When I was a kid, I ate them like apples."

The druid shook himself at the thought, making his lover snicker. The latter stole a lemon cookie from the plate and shoved it in her mouth. Halsin pointed at the sticky clusters, asking: "And what are those?"

"Walnut-honey cookies. Gale thought you might like them since you love honey."

Halsin blinked at her dumbly.

"Gale baked cookies for me?"

"If course! You're family after all."

"Oh."

Touched, the druid gazed at the plate and welled up a bit. He gently took one of the misshapen cookies and took a bite. He closed his eyes and moaned as the taste of flowery honey and earthy walnut exploded in his mouth.

"Good?" asked Tav, rubbing his shoulder blades.

"Mmh, definitely my favourite," sighed Halsin. "I must thank Gale properly. They are divine."

"He should have become a cook or baker instead of a wizard," Tav agreed, stealing another lemon cookie.

Halsin did the same, happily munching on the sweet treats. The bard walked over to the stove and brew tea. She filled two cups, placed them on the table, and sat down next to the wood elf. They silently enjoyed the beverage and the pastries for a while.

"What do you think was Astarion's favourite cookie?" Halsin suddenly asked. "Maybe something with exotic, expensive spices?"

"Or cherries?" Tav wondered.

"No, peaches," the vampire spawn revealed as he strode into the kitchen. "Hello, druid. Nice to see you again."

"Oak Father preserve you, Astarion. How was your rest?"

"Good, but I'm peckish now. Can I take a nibble?"

"Sure."

Astarion stared at him in surprise.

"Really?"

"Mhm," Halsin answered with a shrug.

Licking his lips, the vampire spawn moved closer, stroke a finger along the druid's thick neck before biting down. Halsin gasped, squeezing his eyes shut. He still wasn't used to the feeling of being bitten – other than Tav and Gale. Shadowheart refused to let Astarion feed from her and he respected her boundaries. The vampire spawn drew back, licked the wound clean and then his mouth. He swayed slightly, drunk on the druid's blood, again.

"Thank you, darling," Astarion slurred and kissed him sloppily before staggering out of the kitchen to lay down in front of the fireplace.

"Your blood has an interesting effect on him. I wonder why," Tav mused.

"Me too. He only gets drunk when feeding on me," Halsin muttered. "He says I taste like a bear."

That made Tav giggle.

"And what a lovely bear you are," she teased and leaned over to connect their lips. "I'll run you a bath."

"Mmh, thank you, my heart."

They kissed again before the bard left the kitchen and the druid finished the plate by himself. Then, he got up to seek out Gale in his study. The wizard was hunched over his letters, conferring with Tara.

"Oak Father preserve you, Gale. How are you?"

"Oh, hello Halsin. It's a pleasure to have you back. How was the journey?"

"Good. We'll talk about the details over dinner."

"Of course. Excuse me, I have to finish these letters first before I can start cooking."

Gale turned his attention back to his work.

"It's good to see you again, Mr. Halsin," Tara said and purred as she accepted the druid's caresses.

"It's nice to be back. Thank you for the cookies, Gale. They're delicious," Halsin said, smiling.

"Oh? I'm glad you like them," the addressed replied with a sigh of relief. "I didn't know what you prefer, but when Tav said you like honey, I remembered this recipe."

"Thank you, from the bottom of my heart," the druid told him. He didn't know how to show his gratitude or how to repay the favour, thus, he did the only thing that was able to express his feelings; he gave Gale a tender kiss. The wizard gasped in surprise, but placed a hand on Halsin's chest immediately. When they parted, they leaned their foreheads together.

"Thank you," whispered the druid. "You have no idea how much this means to me."

"Mh, I can only assume," mumbled Gale, still slightly overwhelmed by the sudden kiss.

"Halsin! The bath's ready!" yelled Tav from the bathroom.

Halsin smiled and kissed Gale again before he left the room.

"What a lovely way to show his gratitude," purred Tara, highly amused.

Gale hummed, dazed, and went back to work.

At the dinner table, Halsin told them about his journey. The former Shadow-Cursed Lands had recovered and the wildlife was returning, slowly but steadily. Soon, the area would be suitable for people again, but Halsin was torn.

"It had been my home before the Shadow Curse claimed the lands. I always dreamed of returning, but now, that I can, I'm unsure about it. It feels so different now. The energy's not the same, nature has changed, and it doesn't feel like my homelands anymore." The druid sighed melancholically. "But I'm sure the lands would serve the refugees well. They're not welcome in Baldur's Gate and are forced to live in misery. Maybe, if I'd guide them to Thaniel's Realm, they'll find new hope and a new home."

After said gloomy words, Halsin changed the topic and handed Gale a set of ceramic soup bowls that he'd bought in Mirabar. The wizard marvelled at the craftsmanship and gushed over the design; dark blue background with yellow stars, moons, and suns.

"You were in Mirabar again?" asked Tav.

Halsin nodded.

"I saw the beautiful ceramic ware last time, but didn't buy anything. Winter Solstice is near and your hospitality's always wonderful, thus, I thought I'll bring you a gift to show my appreciation."

"Thank you, Halsin, but you're not just a guest here, you're family," Gale told him, looking serious.

The druid was taken aback and averted his gaze.

"Am I? Hm... thank you. That's... an honour, truly," he mumbled, blushing slightly.

"Of course you are," Gale replied with a smile. Shadowheart, Astarion, and Tav nodded in agreement and the latter placed her hand on Halsin's.

The druid welled up a second time this day.

The conversation had lit a fire in his belly, something he'd never felt before, and it overwhelmed him. Halsin possessively placed a hand in Tav's neck as he kissed her hungrily. Even though he'd had dinner, he was starving. With a growl, he grabbed the bard's buttocks and hoisted her onto his hips. She immediately wrapped her arms and legs around him.

"What's on your mind, love? You're acting strangely," Tav panted.

Instead of answering, Halsin kissed her again. He didn't want to talk, couldn't put into words what he felt. He dropped his lover onto the bed, hastily removing her clothes before stripping himself. Tav stretched an arm towards him to caress his cheek.

"Halsin, talk to me. What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Quite the opposite actually," he answered.

Before she could keep pestering him in concern, the druid bent down and started to eat her out. Tav moaned, bucked her hips up, and sunk a hand into his hair. Halsin focused on drowning in her taste and smell. He didn't want to think anymore. He just wanted to be. The bard mewled and came across his tongue, and Halsin moaned at the familiar taste. He didn't give her time to rest and entered her immediately. Tav whimpered but pulled him into a messy kiss. Halsin squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head away. It was too much, too intimate, too loving. Tav was warm and welcoming, trusting him completely. He smelled her skin, felt her breath on his cheek as she panted, her strong arms around him. Halsin drew back and looked at her. Dazed, she gazed up at him.

"Halsin, love, what's –"

The addressed pulled out, flipped her over, and pushed her head into the mattress.

"Stop talking. Please," he pleaded, desperately trying to gain control over his emotions and the scratching beast inside him.

Tav nodded silently and he grabbed her hips to pull her up onto her knees. Halsin entered her again with a groan and leaned over her. His thrusts were hard and fast, making the bard whimper and sob in ecstasy. The druid kissed her shoulder blade. The bear inside him spurred him on to mark his possession. To mate and mark what was his. Moaning, Halsin licked the bard's sweat off, grazing her rosy, freckled skin with his teeth. The beast roared and the druid growled irritated.

"Do it," Tav told him. "Bite me, Halsin. Mark me and make me yours."

The wood elf growled again, grabbed her broad shoulder to pull her closer, and listened to his natural instinct. He sunk his teeth into the nape of Tav's neck, biting down until he could taste blood. The bard gasped and groaned, but kept perfectly still. A shiver ran down the druid's spine, it felt like he was lit aflame, liquid fire running along the bones. A mating bite. Marking someone as his. His.

Mine, Halsin's brain screamed and he moaned as his climax hit him like a boulder. Colours exploded behind his closed eyelids and his ears were ringing. His legs gave out and he collapsed onto Tav who got squished into the bed under his weight. At the moment, Halsin neither noticed nor cared, his brain was still caught up in the fact that he'd marked his lover. It hadn't been a new feeling, he'd had the urge to bite for as long as he could remember, but he'd never acted on it. Halsin had never marked a lover before. It had been a big no-no, too animalistic, even for his taste. Something he'd been ashamed of and had always controlled – until now. Halsin finally unclenched his teeth and lazily tongued the bleeding wound and rolled off of Tav to let her breathe properly.

"I'm sorry," he croaked out huskily.

"Don't be," she replied, way too calmly for someone who'd just been mated and marked like an animal.

"Why aren't you freaked out by this?"

Tav just shrugged nonchalantly.

Halsin's non-bear brain started panicking.

"I- I bit you. Marked you. I left a mating bite on you!"

"I know," the bard replied, stretching languorously.

The druid stared at her in disbelief and repeated: "I left a mating bite on you."

Tav looked at him with a smile and stroke his cheek.

"I know," she said and kissed him sweetly. "I'm yours."

"You're mine," Halsin whispered, pulling her into another kiss.

The beast in him was sated, satisfied, and the druid felt as content as he hadn't in a long while. Tav was his, and now, the entire world could see it.

[masterangst]

Don't Worry, I Got You

Summary: Astarion is taken over by an unfamiliar sickness, which leads him to a doctor who wants to see him get better. So they say.

Warnings: Mentions of Astarion's past, blood, hurt/comfort, angst

Word count: 3.3K

Notes: There is my Tav at the end and mentioned. This is also for Whumptobers thermometer/ delerium / "They dont care about you" prompt. And set after the events of the game and Astarion is not ascended.

For someone who hasn't written a lot since till recently. I feel like Astarion is a good character to start with since he's so complex.

The night started off strange..well, stranger than normal. For once, after his meditation, Astarion felt. To him, he's not sure how he would describe it. Woozy? Heated? His skin felt hot, and his head felt off.

Gale made a joke, when he saw the sweat beading down Astarions face, that he looked pale. A hilarious joke. Though Astarion couldn't help but wonder if he did look more pale than normal. Something felt off.

Of course, Astarion assured himself he was completely fine. Perhaps something he ate had lingering effects.

He joked with Shadowheart. A thin veil to hide his worries and curiosity. Lead her to the edge to see if she jumped off. It came to no surprise when she took the bait.

"Sounds like a fever. I didn't know vampires were capable of experiencing that. No matter. Keep your distance if that's the case." Used her spells to help relieve himself, after some painful persuading. When Astarion got back to his bed, the symptoms returned.

His lover, Axel, was out tracking down some beast with Haslin, Jaheira, and Minsc. Some creature that is tied to druids. Hence the company he brought along.

That also meant one less person Astarion could confide in. Even worse, Axel is the only one Astarion can truly be himself with. No hidden meanings or parading.

Sickening when he lets himself think about it. How pathetic has he become to rely so heavily on another. Astarion has never needed anyone. The company he has gained was by choice.

Whatever this is, Astarion can handle it on his own.

After a couple days, his body started to feel worse and worse. The hunger that he learned to control and cage inside him was slipping through the cracks like the very blood it wished to consume. It grew and grew each minute it was ignored. Astarion would look at his companions and only imagined sinking his teeth in them. Could feel the way their body stilled and grew cold as he consumed the last drop of their essence. It felt like he was getting lost in a mirage within a drugged mind.

Astarion needed blood.

He slipped out, once everyone retreated to their beds, and pulled a hood over his head. He normally didn't cover his face, but with the way his face felt he didn't want anyone to see it. The carefully curated illusion was falling apart. His sense of control even on his own body was slipping. What was happening to him? Was he finally going mad?

Astarion shook his head and refocused his attention on a wild boar on the outskirts of the city. It was easy prey. But it wasn't enough.

Astarion walked back to the city, with his nails digging into his palms. The monster wasn't sedated. It needed more. More. More.

The yelp and scream of a young woman perked his elvish ears. Normally he would pass by and ignore it, but this time he let himself be moved by the sound. By the music of the drums in their veins.

A larger man, larger than Haslin, had his hand raised after he had used it to smack a young lady to the ground. She held her lip with tears brimming her frightened eyes as they looked up at her attacker. The man's rage was pungent even from the alleyway, from where Astarion watched.

It happened before Astarion realized. The man was no longer looming over the woman, now instead he was being cradled by Astarion in the shadows. His blood coated Astarions insides. Made the poisonous creature inside Astarion crackle. It drank and drank until there was nothing left.

Astarion bit and bit, searching desperately for more, but there was nothing left but putrid flesh.

The high was exhilarating. After two days of shit, Astarion felt alive again (or as close to it as he could). He no longer felt weak and for a moment he basked in the glory of it. Smiled up at the starless sky and sighed.

Then a sharp pain ripped through him. His insides felt hot and the blood turned rancid. Turned to poison.

A scream bubbled up his throat, but it was cut off by the vomit pouring out of him. Every last drop of what he had just consumed had now painted the man and himself in a revolting shade of red. The smell was overbearing. Astarion needed to crawl away, but the smell was on him. In him. The horrible thing inside him still laughed and mocked and every memory of Cazador flooded back to him.

The tears felt unbearably hot against his cheeks. Was this more torture? Had he not escaped that fate? Whatever was happening to him also kept him from retreating into that safe space in his mind. To forget himself. It had saved him so many times before but that power was gone now. Just like everything else leaving him.

"Are you alright?" A voice broke through the haze. In the fog of tears, Astarion could make out a small shape. A woman.

"Leave me be!" He pulled his cowl taut so she could not see the horror.

"I can help you. Here." Astarion did not dare look. Help me! You can not. The last time he accepted someone's help in an alleyway, he spent 200 years as a slave.

"Someone else may find you, and they won't be as kind." She's right, but why would she be so kind?

When he looks up, peeking over his cowl, he realizes it's the girl. The one the man had attacked from before. She looked a lot different when she wasn't frightened and groveling. Though, she has every reason to be afraid. She should be afraid. Astarion opens his mouth to spit the words out, but the dizziness fogs his brain.

She scoffs and forces him to his feet. His body is too weak to protest. He has no choice but to allow her to lead him away. She could be leading him to his death, but what could he do to stop it?

After a blur, she gently cradles him down onto a bed and starts taking his clothes off. Astarion isn't surprised. He should have seen it coming. A part of him thought maybe all the blood would dissuade someone from being lecherous, but he should have known better. He simply closes his eyes and waits for it to be over.

But it doesn't come.

She just starts to sponge the blood off and then covers him with a blanket. She presses a cool rag on his head and offers water to his lips. Water is not what he needs, but his throat feels raw like it was shredded apart like butcher meat. He accepts the offer, because if nothing else it'll help his throat not be so dry too.

"My name is Cita. Thank you for helping me, before." She said as she stirred the coal in the fireplace. The shadows bounce around the room like dancing devils. Astarion fears one will awaken and reach out to him with slashing claws. It's too hard to look at them for too long, lest his mind starts to become too active for his own good.

Instead he focuses his strength on his words. "I'm," he swallows down the dryness and grimaces, "My name is As-astarion."

She stands and folds her hands shyly in front of her. "Do you need anything else?"

Astarion just needs to rest. To get back to the group and his own bed. He wishes for Axel to hold him and nurse him back to health, but another side of him wishes to never be seen until he is better. He wants everything and nothing at the same time. Is that among this girl's capabilities? If so, then her company is more dangerous than he thought.

Astarion settles with a head shake and closes his eyes. If it were up to him, he'd also roll over and away from her peering eyes, but he doesn't get a choice here. His body is in control, not his mind, and it's too weak to even move a muscle.

He hears her shuffle the distance between them, then flinches when he feels her cold hand on his cheek. "You are burning up. I'll need to find some herbs to help regulate your temperature before you burst into flames."

Astarion swallows against knives. "Why would you do that?"

"Because I'm a doctor." Astarion opens his eyes in disbelief. She chuckles and shakes her head. "I mean. I want to be. I've been studying and practicing. After the attack on the city, there were a lot of folks who needed help and couldn't afford it. I try to help where I can."

How noble, his brain spits. Another hero to save the day. How lucky he was to have been picked up by a novice. Makes him so happy he could cry.

With a huff, Astarion turns his head. He just needs to meditate and gain enough strength to move around again. If she wishes to help him, then he'll accept it. He'll be another test subject for her studies if that's what it'll take for him to be rid of this affliction. It doesn't matter. All that matters is getting back.

….

Mediation doesn't come easy. His mind is too alert like a caged animal. He closes his eyes and wills his body to relax, the sweet embrace of relaxation teases him and then he's awake again.

"Astarion." Astarion could have sworn that it was Gale's voice.

Astarion opens his eyes to see Gale's face hovering over him. A part of him is relieved to see a friendly face, another makes him say. "Your face is quite a horror in the morning, darling." Though the impact feels less satisfying when his voice sounds as raw as his throat feels.

"Even sick, you're still attempting eloquence. I applaud you for never losing sight of who you are, even in moments such as this."

"How," he swallows, "did you find me?" Astarion must keep his eyes closed unless the world starts spinning, but when he does he becomes more painfully aware of the amount of heat and sweat his body is producing.

"The girl, Cita, found us. Brought me here. I didn't believe her at first when she said you were sick, but you are indeed sick. How strange. I didn't believe it was possible for vampires to get fevers. Perhaps that means we are all doomed then." Gale chuckles.

Astarion rolls his eyes. "Take me back."

Gale clicks his tongue and the look on his face makes Astarion's stomach twist; and not because of his sickness.

Gale drops to one knee and the look in his eye seems foreign on the soft wizard. It's steel and even amusement lingering there. Gales fingers move away hair glued to Astarions skin with sweat and then pierces Astarions heart with a cold gaze. "No. No, I don't think I will."

A wave of dizziness washes over him, but he bites down and focuses. "This-this isn't funny Gale."

"I agree. Which is why I mean it. I believe it's fair to say everyone's grown tired of you. Of your quips and groans. Of your evil stench. I know I have." Gale stands up just to drive the stake further into Astarion's chest. "Which is why I'm going to leave you here. I wanted to see your face as I said goodbye. It really is such a sweet look. Don't worry though! I'll be sure to tell Axel you died. He'll be distraught, but he's strong. He'll pull himself back together."

"You," something bubbles up Astarion's throat and spills over the edges. It tastes like rot and iron. Blood. He's spitting up blood.

"Goodbye Astarion." Astarion can't even protest, his chest heaves and he coughs and coughs, but his eyes watch as Gale leaves.

He wants to tear him apart. Tear himself apart. Wants to burn the world and watch it crumble to ash. Astarion thrashes in his new bed in anger and heartache. He swears he can physically feel the remainers of whatever was left of it tearing apart.

After everything he did. Everything he survived and suffered. After all the bullshit and the fighting and trying to set things right, this is how he'll face his end? Sick and weak, tied down by his own body in a foreign bed! He'd weep with rage if he had the energy for it, but his mind finally collapses and forces him into a dreadful sleep.

…

This time when Astarion comes to, opening his eyes feels like getting drunk on a pirate ship during a storm.

He can barely keep his eyes open long enough to make out anything but the shadows of the fire.

The cold hand on his cheek shocks him, but she seems weirdly distant. The world is distorted like a strange new nebula of reality.

"I'm so sorry you were abandoned. I can't imagine how hard that is." Her face morphs from a young pretty girl to a monstrous hag and then back again. Is it just his eyes playing tricks on him? Nothing looks right to him, so maybe it is. Thoughts don't come easily to him. They whisper and then fade away too quickly for him to be lured.

"Don't worry though. I'll make you better. Drink." Astarion weakly shakes his head, but the girl shoves the cup between his lips and downs the water into his throat. Astarion chokes, but she covers his mouth to force him to keep it all in. He has no choice but to swallow now.

She smiles, but in his distortion, it's unsettling instead of comforting. "Good boy." Her fingers pet his head. "They don't care about you." Maybe they don't. Maybe no one does. How can he blame them?

"I do." She continues. "You are my pretty little thing. You take the medicine so well. It makes you better." Or it makes him worse, he thinks. His mind tells him to run, but he can't. Astarion has been trapped and brought back to a new master. How long will this service last, he wonders. Another 200 years?

"Don't worry though. I will take good care of you. I am a doctor after all." Everything that comes next is a blur. She sponges him down, takes his temperature, changes his blankets, and spoons blood into his mouth like hot soup after giving him "his medicine". Astarion isn't sure how many times it happens. Has no idea if this all occurs in one night or if a year has passed.

At least he has the sweet memories of his mad love. His Axel. Perhaps Gale did Axel a favor in setting him free from Astarion. Perhaps the woman was right when she said they don't care about him. Did Axel ever really care about him?

It doesn't matter anymore. Nothing matters.

The routine goes on and on and on. She speaks to him like he's her journal and he sits in the shadows in his mind, waiting for it to end. His body has given up on trying to even move. What's the point? Everything seems useless now.

Once he tried to sit up without her permission and she waterboarded him with her "medicine" and strapped him down. The leather bruised his skin and he learned his new master's lesson to not move.

"Time for your medicine." Astarion squeezed his eyes shut and waited for it to be over. Instead, there was a loud crash and then a cut off yelp, and then a new pair of hands were on him.

Calloused fingers pet his head this time and then Astarion was being carried away. His body didn't let him be awake for much longer to see what new horrors await him.

…

Astarion woke up this time with a sense of clarity he hasn't felt in who knows how long. The roof he gazed up at was different and recognizable. The same beams he has seen countless times.

To his side, Axel is hunched over asleep in a chair by Astarions bed. How did Astarion get here? How did Axel find him?

Astarion groans when he tries to sit up, more than fed up with laying down, Axel springs awake. The half elf's silver eyes swell up with worry. "Astarion. Oh, Astarion. " Axel cups Astarion's cheek. "I was so worried. When they told me you disappeared and they couldn't find you. I tracked you down and found that hag. Did she do anything to you? If so, I'll raise her from her grave and kill her all over again."

Astarion finds himself laughing. He holds his hand over his lovers, clinging desperately to that familiar warmth. "Only drugged me. Kept me sick. You should ask Gale where I was at." Astarion curls his lip up. He'll never forget, or forgive, the way that wizard looked at him.

Axel has a sweet look of confusion on his face. "Gale? Gale's been with me the whole time?"

Astarion scoffs and pushes the heat away. "Clearly, not the whole time."

"I don't understand."

Astarions chest twists when he thinks back on the wizard's words. "He left me there. Found me and handed me over to that witch." He spat out.

Axel shifts and sits beside Astarion. He wraps his arms around Astarion's shoulders and pulls him in for a hug. "I don't know what happened." He said. "But I do know that Gale has been with me the entire time. He hasn't gone anywhere. In fact, Gale is the one who sensed the witch's magic. I wouldn't have been able to find you without him."

Was it all a mirage? An illusion by that hag to break down his walls. It doesn't surprise him. Thinking back on it, Astarion doesn't think Gale is capable of being so cold. That man is kind even when he's angry. A feat Astarion will never understand.

"Well, how kind of him." Astarion said weakly. The anger he felt is hard to let go, even if he knows it's not right.

Axel shifts once more so he can look into Astarion's eyes. "Are you alright, my love? I'm so sorry this all happened."

Astarion still feels weak, and his opinion about himself isn't any better either, but he can't say he isn't relieved. His inn bed has never felt so good. Knowing that there are people who will look for him; save him. Reminds him of how much he's gained.

"I'm fine, my love. Nothing I couldn't handle." Astarion smirks.

Axel smiles softly. "I'm sure that's true. I'm just glad we were able to find you after three days. Three days too late though. Forgive me." Axel cups Astarion's hands between his own and kisses Astarion's knuckles.

"You are exceptionally foolish." Astarion scolds. Then he can't help but smile, "But perhaps I should be thankful for that."

Axel kisses Astarion's wrists. "What can I do for you? Do you need anything? Do you wish to sleep?"

Ah, the freedom to choose. He'll never let anyone take it from him again.

"Will you just lay here with me?" Axel is quick to nod and spoons Astarion's body against his own. Astarion is still too exhausted to freely move around, but being held feels nice. Hearing the steady drum of Axel's heart is soothing. It grounds him, reminds him that this is his reality. Being around friends and being held by a lover who sees him as an equal. He may not be a god, and though a part of him wishes he was so he could have the power to avoid that again. To have the power to protect himself and his friends. But Astarion has enough power as it is. He will do better in the future, that much he promises himself. For now, he's just glad to be free. Everything else can come second.

[jomiddlemarch]

A damned saint, an honourable villain!

John Blackthorne discovered, to more than a little dismay, that he was a knave.

There might have been excuses made for his infidelity to Mary, whom he’d left in London with ill-concealed haste, her belly swollen with his babe, Tudor clutching his mother’s skirts with his free hand, his thumb plugged in his mouth. Mary’s mother did not bother to hide her relief at his departure, as she’d never taken to him, and feared he would bring some foreign illness back from his travels along with his full purse, but Mary had had tears in her green eyes and he’d made any number of promises about his return that neither of them believed for a moment. 

Neither of them believed he’d keep solely unto her over the next year or however long it took for him to come back, but both of them had only considered he’d dally with doxies, satisfying his appetites without truly breaking the vows he’d uttered.

It was unclear to him what the Japans considered he owed to Fuji-sama. She was his consort, given to him by his Lord, and she was clearly a lady of high status and regard, for all that her previous husband and son had been struck down for her husband’s impetuous outcry. She had the running of his household, including an extensive staff, and Mariko had explained she could not sleep until he did, but he had not been bound to her in Christian marriage. He might be a knave but he was not a bigamist.

Still, he felt he must be loyal to her, though she was not obligated to share his bed and showed no desire for his attentions. It troubled him that she was his and there was no way for him to bring her joy. He had not mistaken her expression when he had Mariko give Fuji his weapons, her confusion unleavened by delight or wonder. She’d been mildly pleased that he had offered her something of value to him, but she did not want him, nor his house. A child of his would be a burden to her, a grave insult to the memory of her firstborn. Within himself, he was compelled to find some way to care for her that she would accept and yet he failed in this endeavor daily.

Hourly.

Because he was a knave.

Because he loved Mariko.

She was widowed when he permitted himself to admit his affection, his attraction immediate, the bloom of a flower, but his fondness of a deeper, more tenacious nature, the oak tree rooted, its strength equal to gales. He had never loved a woman as he did her, for her mind and soul as well as her heart and body, for her rejoinder and her demurral, her serenity, her pride. He longed for her when he ate his morning meal and when he went out among the people, all strangers. He dreamt of her in the night, such teasing, tormenting visions of her joy found in his embrace, her ecstasy brought by his touch, his praise and devotion. 

She would not consider him because he was English before he was hatamoto.

She would not consider him because though Papist, she was Christian, and she knew of his living wife, honorably bound to him.

She would not consider him because he was temptation and betrayal, a burden she would bear rather than a boon. He had made it clear he wanted his ship and his men, he wanted to leave and never return, and he had said it again and again because he could not say he wanted to stay with her, when there was no place for them, no time in a time of war and chaos. He wanted her alone with him on a ship he would sail into the dawn, sails full, a cabin snug against any storm.

He wanted to be with her in some endless afternoon of conversation and love-making, the sea carrying them away from any obligation. He wanted to see her in the moonlight and to have her explain the Japans science of the stars.

He wanted the impossible, when he had been practical, driven, in service of his Queen and country. He’d abandoned Mary with the excuse he was a servant of the court and he made no effort to tend Fuji-sama beyond the most basic gestures, the ones he performed for Toranaga and for Mariko’s eyes. 

He was a knave and worse, a pilot who had no idea how to find his way. He wished for Mariko’s faith, which told her her Lord would guide her, or for her upbringing, which told her she must find her purpose in her master’s. John’s was an independent soul, given to argument, and he found that left him adrift.

Even if his Portuguese were better or she spoke his tongue, he would not have known how to convey it to Mariko, though he wished, most ardently, for her understanding.

He walked around the house he’d been given and thought of Mary in London, Fuji in the next room. He lay down and wished to discover some new truth, to put his hand to the rudder of a great ship and crest through the narrows to the open ocean.

He was a knave. He lay his head on his arm and closed his eyes.

At then, Fuji-sama might sleep. Mary might be right when she told Tudor that papa was abed and so must he be. Mariko might be his, in this smallest way, her name on his lips, ready to be spoken.

[prismaticpichu]

ANGST TIME, folks! 🩸

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence/Character Death

Characters: Zack Fair, Sephiroth

Summary: Splayed, drenched black hair; blood-splattered cheeks and arms; a soaked, reddened uniform peppered with bullet holes—dozens of holes, maybe even more—each one leaking with coppery fluid that trickled onto the grass, staining the blades deep red, his lifeless figure crooked against a rich, gleaming blossom of crimson.

It was Zack.

(You can also read the fic on AO3 here!)

~

One Less Star

The world was titling

His body carried itself in a nebulous, drunken rhythm—his boots sinking, then lifting, then descending unevenly into the slanted canvas of earth, advancing him with liquid limbs.

 “…N-no.”

Whatever buzzing had been infesting his mind was a different entity now, honed into an eerie ring that tore like a blade through his ears, pulsing like a heartbeat as he waded on through the mud.

“…No.”

Every step was growing thicker, more difficult; his boots sank deeper with every footfall, deeper into the slush, leather treads now caked with a viscosity that glistened like oil under the jungle’s humid night.

“…”

He opened his mouth to speak, to utter the breathy denial that continued to shiver against his lips—

Masamune dropped, splashing in red.

—and the words died in Sephiroth’s throat as he stood over the body, almost reeling with the world.

Splayed, drenched black hair; blood-splattered cheeks and arms; a soaked, reddened uniform peppered with bullet holes—dozens of holes, maybe even more—each one leaking with coppery fluid that trickled onto the grass, staining the blades deep red, his lifeless figure crooked against a rich, gleaming blossom of crimson.

It was Zack.

The man’s knees were what sent him buckling to the ground, completely impervious to the arctic chill of bloodied mud against his clothes, his leather shape arching like a shadow against the bruised indigo sky. His lips parted in some ghost of a sound, but not enough to be audible—hardly even a whisper, a breath. It was  more akin to a throaty crack as he sank beside the young SOLDIER, whose life had been brutally extinguished behind his very back.

They… they were all dead, each and every one of them. Each and every one of the SOLDIERs that had attempted to gun them down, to bring them back to the chains he and Zack had unfettered themselves from only days before, was dead. Their bodies were strewn behind him—beside him—slashed down in bloody heaps or killed with magic; the latter had been what destroyed the helicopters, pillars of smoke still dancing in the air behind him, ballooning the thick scent of nature with ash and smog. 

And he… he had been so angry…

Trembling, Sephiroth’s hand felt bloodless as he lifted it from the ground, floating like a ghost across the darkened air, and gingerly placed it on Zack’s wounded chest.

“…No…” The word finally resurfaced on Sephiroth’s lips, a cold and frigid denial, shaking his head slightly as he felt nothing beneath his palm—no pulse, no song, no rhythm… “No, no, no…” His breath accelerated, sharpened, and he floated his hand from Zack’s chest to his cheek—cold. Cold and wet. Cold and wet and streaked… 

He had been crying.

Sephiroth would never be able to articulate the feeling that tore him asunder at that moment, that breathed unbearable gales of ice into his veins, that slashed and clawed and ate at his chest until there was utterly nothing left.

Zack hadn’t just been shot, killed in a matter of seconds with a round of bullets.

He had bled to death.

He had been forced to the ground, paralyzed in pain, and bled to death.

And Sephiroth had let it happen.

You belong to me, boy.

Sephiroth’s ears went numb at the voice, the bitter cut of memory.

Did you really think that you could just run away, Sephiroth? Did you TRULY think that you are anything without me?

Sephiroth’s eyes grew distant.

After all I’ve done for you, boy… After all this company and I have given you. You best believe there will be consequences for this disobedience—this selfishness! Now… give me your sword, boy.

Sephiroth’s free hand sank into the dirt, balling.

Do you know how disappointed your mother is no—

Red. Deep, blazing red. Everything had flared red when his blade came down, cutting the professor where he stood, red splattering onto his blade and cheeks and engulfing his world in a blinding inferno of Fury. He couldn’t hear a thing after the fire ignited, lost his twisted art, his teeth pulled back, his eyes needled, his hair dripping. He could hear nothing but the faint, squelching sounds of his blade cutting, and cutting, and cutting, and cutting, and cutting—

Only when he turned over his shoulder, sparing a single glance behind him, did he finally let the shredded resemblance of a body crumple.

And that’s when his world has turned to ash.

Absentmindedly, Sephiroth moved his hand to the back of the SOLDIER’s head, peeling his sopping form off the ground, still struggling to speak. Zack’s body was completely crumpled, contorted. It was as if he had tried to get up—to walk…—but had ultimately surrendered to his wounds, not a single Cure anywhere to be seen on him.

Not a single Cure… when Sephiroth had a mastered one.

“No…” Sephiroth finally repeated, this time in a breathy snarl, the poison and hate spearing into nobody but himself. “Please… please, no…” But his voice was quickly whittled down into cold, broken desperation as he brought Zack’s dead body into his lap, struggling to digest his shredded state, cradling him. “Please… Gaia, please… come back…”

His mind roared at him, saying that it was too late, that there was nothing he could do, that not even a Phoenix Down was going to restore a the rhythm of a stagnant heart. 

That didn’t stop him from trying.

Hazily, he lowered his head until it was mere inches from Zack’s, his temple pressing against his dear friend’s, stained silver falling against his face.

And his voice cracked.

“Please… please, I’m right here… I’m here now, Zack…”

His only response was an echo of his own words, whispering tauntingly through his mind from months prior.

You’re late.

Teeth gritting, his breath growing jagged, Sephiroth held his friend closer to his palpitating chest, his own heart selfishly hammering against one that would never throb again.

The only one alive amidst a massacre of troops.

“What if… what if they catch up to us…?”

Zack had looked quite small when posing that dangerous, frightening possibility, sheathing his sword with a slight tremor in his arm, sapphire eyes looking up to him in search of comfort. What remained unspoken between them was perfectly clear: Genesis and Angeal had had them to ensure their safety when hounded down, to cement their escape… There would be no one left after this to do the same.

And yet, Sephiroth wasn’t disheartened.

Dismissing his own weapon—the sword he had learned to master more than any other blade—he glided across Lazard’s old office to stand in front of the boy, his green eyes softening as he placed a firm, resolute glove on Zack’s pauldron.

And Zack had looked up at him, blinking with a youth and vulnerability that he had long thought to be smothered.

And he had looked down at Zack, his chest budding with a fondness and instinct that he had never experienced quite before.

And he gave a small, promising smile.

“Then I will protect you.”

Presently, Sephiroth’s hand slipped from his friend’s shoulder, wrapping around the back of his dampened back to hold him close, pressing his shaken expression in Zack’s hair.

“I… I…” Sephiroth nearly retched as he spoke, whispered. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

He didn’t know how long he kneeled there, repeating the words into his friend’s miry hair, unable to stop, unable to forgive himself. Time didn’t matter anymore; it had shattered, splintered into insignificant pieces. All he knew was that they had been close—less than an hour away from Gongaga, Zack had jubilantly alerted him—before the monstrous whir of a helicopter had intervened, had stopped them in their tracks.

Now… now what difference did time make, when they were never going to make it there together?

Sephiroth quivered against his cherished friend, nearly coughing, his throat too dry to even properly breathe anymore. He felt so numb—so utterly, wholly, unbearably numb—and the only thing his body could do was tremble, subdued into quavering silence. He didn’t even realize when it had started raining, the needles of liquid rolling dully off his back like unheard, useless words.

“I’m here… I’m here now…” It was all Sephiroth could manage to say, comforting an empty husk that couldn’t hear his voice, that would never hear his voice ever again. “I’m here…” He couldn’t block out the images, the sounds… The sounds of Zack’s weakened voice crying out to him, realizing he had been fatally wounded, crumbling to the ground… He didn’t know what his last words were, if not an anguished plea for help, trying to break through the inferno to no avail—unable to reach him… Gaia, oh Gaia… he couldn’t even hear his best friend’s voice… And he never would again… He would never hear his laughter, his jokes, his kind, caring comforts that somehow made everything in his cynical okay… He would never again play ludicrous games with him, or spar without rivalry, or look at the stars even when the smog shielded them…

You’ll love Gongaga, bud… You’ll see the stars every night!

Trembling, Sephiroth lifted his gaze, rattling slits looking upwards, searching…

The rain had extinguished every star.

Sopping hair wilted over his face as he looked back down at Zack, watching the rain roll down his cheeks, sending thin streaks of blood down his face like hellish rivers… like tears. Like the tears that he had once cried into his arms shortly after his mission to Modeoheim, when he needed someone close… When Sephiroth had realized for the first time that he was grateful to have him in his life, still by his side…

When Angeal was no longer there to look after him.

Swallowing, Sephiroth hazily glanced at the Buster Sword, only inches away from Zack… completely painted in blood, caked in mud, a distorted reflection of himself rippling in the reddened mirror—only it wasn’t distorted at all; it was the truth, a real reflection, a fact…

Because what kneeled in that reflection, his face masqueraded in spattered crimson, was a Monster.

A Monster…

You’re not like them, pal… Don’t you ever worry about a thing.

His breath hitching, Sephiroth buried his face back into Zack’s hair, holding his best friend close, the bittersweet truth whispering through the air like a ribbon of the Lifestream.

“At least… at least you’re with Angeal now.”

He’ll take better care of you than me…

.

.

.

.

.

“Breeeaaaakkkfassst in bed for the greatest Seph in the world…!”

Sephiroth’s eyes snapped open with a strained, serrated gasp, jolting upwards against his bed frame, viciously jerked back into  consciousness by the jubilant, ringing voice that had come from—

“Seph?”

—……….the doorway.

For a long, heavy moment, his eyes struggled to digest the world around him, the feline pupils throbbing as they adjusted to the sunlight gushing through the window, to the sight before him…:

The sight of Zack, alive and well, standing in front of his bed, a youthful smile melting off his face as he held a play of bacon, toast, and what suspiciously looked like at an attempt at scramblings eggs.

And Sephiroth’s breath finally began to quell.

“Sorry, bud,” Zack laughed, making his way over to the bedside with his lovely presentation, “didn’t mean to wake you. You just slept real late today, so I thought that I’d surprise you”—he smiled down at the food, placing it on his lap—”taddaaaaah!”

His heart still pulsing, Sephiroth’s eyes floated down to the food, only semi-digesting its presence as he swept a hand over his eyes.

“…Gaia.”

Zack’s smile arched into a gentle frown, noticing his unease. “Hey… you okay?”

“Yes—yes…” Sephiroth peeled his hand from his eyes, letting out a gusty sigh, turning his gaze back to his best friend’s with as much steel as he could muster. “…I’m fine.”

Zack studied his expression a little bit longer, unconvinced… and it was only a matter of seconds before his eyes softened with kind, aching sympathy, realization dawning on him like the early sun.

“…Another nightmare?”

Sephiroth’s lips parted, having half a mind to speak, to protest…

…Before realizing just how futile protesting would be, and responded with a vague dip of his head.

“Yes,” he admitted somberly, almost immediately followed by his best friend’s hand squeezing his bare shoulder.

“…Same nightmare?”

His hair wilting over his eyes, Sephiroth nodded.

…How many times had been now? Three times, four times? He had been plagued with the same horrible dream ever since they had arrived in Gongaga… since Zack’s parents had finished setting up his room for him, since he had stopped sleeping in a sleeping bag by his side. Of course he knew just how childish such a realization was… And the fact that he needed remind himself of what was real and what was his mind’s twisted Hypotheticals.

They had made it to Gongaga, trekking here from Midgar before their scheduled mission to Nibelheim… when he expressed his qualms about ShinRa, that he may desert, and Zack encouraged them to leave together that very night. They had made to the outskirts of the village before the troops had caught up to them… And they had survived—both of them. He hadn’t failed to protect his friend; he hadn’t been lost in anger, swallowed in fire… He hadn’t even been the one to cut Hojo down where he stood.

They had—

“Hey, bud. Look at me.”

Blinking, Sephiroth was brought back to the present by his friend’s soothing voice, lifting his chin, and he gazed into the starry sapphire eyes that no force in the world could ever hope to extinguish.

“…I’m right here, Seph. I’m right here. We made it.”

And as soon as he said it, Sephrioth knew it was true.

“Yes…” he finally allowed himself to smile, bathed in the warm sunlight of his Home. “We made it.”

[chaos-grimlin]

Intro:No one truly knows what happened that night in Woodsboro, California. All the public knows was that two teenage boys, Billy Loomis and Stu Macher, went crazy. That the boys killed with no motive, that it was a case of crazy and peer pressure. Sidney Prescott, the "girlfriend" of Billy Loomis,Y/n L/n, the girl both boys were deeply obsessed with, and Gale weathers, a news reporter, where 3 of 5 witnesses that were willing to talk and tell their sides of the story to the public while Dewy Riley, the deputy sheriff of woodsboro, and tennager Randy Meeks refused to talk to law enforcements at the time. All the stories told to law enforcement seem to differ from person to person, but...in this tale, we will focus on Y/n, the obsessions, side of the story...

Marked (Poly Billy Loomis and Stu Macher x Reader)

Word count:935

Chapter 21- please come get me

~~A flash back~~~

"She's going to ruin our plan Stu" Billy said harshly as he grabbed at his brown hair.

Stu sat on the couch, one that sat in front of the TV in his huge house. He seemed to be thinking.

"But she is cute" Stu said with a giggle. "Shs going to fuck it all up!" He huffed out grabbing onto the back of the couch tightly. Billy's jaw tightened and his teeth grinded together. "I don't care if she's cute or not!" Billy said louder, almost screaming.

Stu leaned his head back. "I careeee" he whined. Billy hit stu in the back of the head, making him groan out in pain. "I'm not letting some bitch fuck up my plan to get my revenge" Billy said.

Stu rubbed the back of his head and pouted. "Dosnt mean we have to kill her" he muttered.

Billy raised his eyebrows and looked at Stu. "Then what else can we do?" He asked. "Break her so she can't" he said and with that, a smirk played its way onto Billy's lips.

It wasn't a sassy smirk, but a smirk that was devilish and unnatural on his normally monotone face...

~~~present day~~~

^^^3rd person P.O.V^^^

When Y/n jumped up and ran, she ran to the office. Hot tears stung her eyes as she did. She felt all eyes on her as she ran. She wished everyone would go away and leave her on this world alone.

Soon, she busted through the doors of the office and looked at the lady behind the front desk. "Can I use the phone?" She asks as she uses the sleeves of her t-shirt to wipe the salty tears off of her face. The lady looked at her, she knew what had happened.. and nodded

Y/n snatched up the phone and with a shake hand she pulled out the crumbled slip of paper with Dewys number scribbled on it.

Slowly she punched in the numbers and pressed the hard plastic phone to her ear and heard it ring.

1 ring....

2 ring......

3 ring...

"Hello this is Dewy" his voice rang out as he picked up.

"Dewy.." y/n choked out as she gripped the phone with both hands.

She opened her mouth to speak but all that came out was sobs.

"Y/n? Oh god what's wrong?" He says, his voice gental and soft.

"Please..please come get me" she says, her voice cracking.

"I'm on my way"

With that he hung up on her.

"Hey sweetie if you want to stay here till who ever you called comes you can" the front desk lady said.

Y/n nodded before sitting in one of the seats. She shifted and shifted, feeling uncomfortable in her own skin the longer she sat there.

Y/n dug ger nails into the soft wood of the chair, more tears filling her e/c eyes.

Her face was red, her eyes were puffy and she looked like a mess, everyone around her couldn't help but feel bad for her, no body deserves that...no body.

The lady behind the desk looked at y/n and felt pain in her heart just looking at her. She didn't know what to do as she watched the little girl cry.. so, she picked up a small candy dish and held it out to her "get you some candy baby" the lady said ( lol this has actually happened, I Stan most front desk ladies)

Y/n looked at the lady and wiped her eyes before taking a f/c (favorite candy) "thank you" y/n said. The lady nodded as Y/n ate the candy and wait on whoever she called.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After less then 7 minutes the sherif rushed into the office, worry painted his features but they softend once they landed on Y/n.

"Y/n" Dewy muttered before crouching down in front of her and putting his hands on her shoulders "What happened?" He asked, his voice soft.

Y/n looked at him, her eyes glossy and her bottom lip quivering. "People" she whispered, her voice sounding dry.

"What did they do please talk to me" Dewy said as he used his thumb to wipe away stray tears that ran down her face. "They dressed like them.... and... attacked me" she said, struggling the force the words out of her throat.

Dewy nodded before standing up and helping Y/n up to. "Ma'am make sure who ever did that gets punished. It's not funny to torment a victim of something as bad as this" Dewy said before walking out eith Y/n by his side.

Y/n stayed closed to him, scared, terrified, shaking, thinking the killer would get her

.. that they'd hang her from a tree or slice her stomach wide open for the world to see what the inside of her torso looked like.

She didn't want her body to be mutilated or tortured, she just wanted to rewind time, redo it all...

Dewy walked Y/n to the police cruiser and helped her get in before shutting the door and walking to the driver's side.

"Do you know who did it?" Dewy asked as he buckled up. "Alex Johns" she says quickly. "I know his father. He'll be getting a call from me later on" Dewy said as he put the keys in and turned them, allowing the engine to roar to life and soon they started to dive away from her own personal hell on earth..

(Sorry if I'm not active)

[dabbles-in-drabbles]

Soulmates

My "Appreci-May-tion" for BG3 XD I completely skipped over the fact that it was for other people's Tav's. I already started writing and couldn't stop XD

Pairing: Astarion/Tav

Tav: Andan, Paladin (Oath of Vengeance

Andan stared into the fire of the camp, content as the rest of their group milled about. They were so close to Baldur’s gate, merely a day away. Spirits and nerves were high. Wyll and Gale were cooking, Shadowheart and Astarion giving unhelpful advice with some gossiping on the side. Karlach and Lae’zel were sharpening their weapons. The tiefling was multitasking, getting some horn polish ready off  to the side for both her and Wyll.

The paladin smiled, things were content. Eventually, her eyes met Astarion’s, the vampire shooting her a wink.

Red… a sharp smile, soft eyes. Joyful in the light. Her burrows furrowed slightly, where have I heard that before? Her gaze turned back towards her book, looking but not reading. Her mind began to wander back to her youth, the thoughts finding a familiarity to what had once been spoken to her.

-

Andan stared at the paper, brow furrowed and lips pursed. What if..?

“Andan, dear child… I can hear your brain working from here. What are your thoughts?”

The half-elf glanced up at her mentor, Hilor. The older elf stared at her, an almost fatherly curiosity in his golden eyes.

“So… you know how you know how people will die?”

He raised a brow at her, flipping a page in his book, “What of it, dear one.”

“If you can tell how they die… can you tell when their life would begin? Like… love?”

“A Soulmate?”

Her ears perked up, whipping around towards him, “Yes! Can you?”

Hilor barked out a laugh, “What makes you think that, Andan?”

“Well… I don’t know. It was merely a thought.”

He let out a low chuckle, closing his book before he set it off to the side. His private writing room was lit dimly with candles, gold crowned bookshelves lining the far wall from floor to ceiling with hundreds of books. He stood from his plush seat near the fireplace, making his way over to his mentee. The old elf kneeled down with great effort in front of her, the young half-elf sitting in his desk chair.

Andan blinked at him, cocking her head to the side, “Hilor?”

“Hush, dear child.”

She clamped her mouth shut, waiting as patiently as she could. She always had to wait long when he told her to be quiet. Whether he was testing her patience or was truly thinking was still a mystery to her.

It felt like hours before he spoke again.

“I see… red. A sharp smile, soft eyes. Darkness, the light… joy. Two-… oh. How interesting.”

Hilor said nothing else, standing and returning to his book in his plush chair.

Andan sat there, blinking, “Is- is that it? Red? Sharp smile, soft eyes? Dark, light, joy? What was there ‘two’ of?”

He sat there, smiling softly at the young twenty-five year-old half-elf. There was joy in his eyes, yet also a great sadness.

“Hilooor! Please!” Andan jumped from the seat, sliding in front of him to grasp at his knees like a child would to a parent, “What was the rest!”

“Were you not penning a letter to request Selunite archery lessons, ni leshere?”

She pouted, glaring up at him, “Yes… but I’ll get the answer out of you, yet Iar adan.”

Hilor merely smiled, patting her hand gently before resuming his reading. 

-

Andan’s mind returned to the present, ears flicking to the sound of a deliberate step to her unblinded side. It was Astarion, a hand raised in a gesture of peace.

“Are you alright, love? Has the tadpole eaten the rest of your little brain away?”

She rolled her eyes, setting her book aside, “I ate two tadpoles, Astarion. How many did you eat again?”

He glared at her, a sharp grin coming to his face, “Careful, love… would hate to have the rest of our worm stash in your bedroll. Would truly be a waste of that lovely little brain of yours.”

She barked out a laugh, letting him settle in next to her. They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the rest of the camp bustle about before she began to speak.

“Do you believe in soulmates, Astarion?”

He paused, glancing over at her, “No, why do you ask? Do… you believe in them, Dani?”

“I see… red. A sharp smile, soft eyes. Darkness, the light… joy. Two-… oh. How interesting.”

A smile threatened to cross across her cracked lips, but she managed to hold it back. Instead, she let her shoulders shrug.

“No reason other than curiosity. It was something I liked to ask Hilor about when I was younger and I wanted your thoughts.”

He turned towards her fully now, “Oh? Did he tell you anything, or- Wh- Dani! Andan where are you- woman! Hold on!”

Before he had even finished his sentence, she stood. Her well-muscled legs leading her towards the fire.

“Andan!”

“I’m going to eat dinner before Karlach eats it all! I have some Githyanki blood in my tent if you’re interested!” She grinned back over at him, watching him puff up like a hissing cat.

“You absolutely terrible woman! You didn’t let me finish my question!”

Andan let her grin spread, watching his irritation spread. She could have let him finish, but it was so much fun to ruffle him up like this.

Once she grabbed her plate of food, she turned towards her vampire love. He was angrily sipping on his goblet of blood next to Shadowheart, nit-picking the half-elf on the black roots starting to show in the cleric’s white hair.

“Salen aestar!”

Astarion glanced at her, raising an annoyed brow at her.

“To answer your question, my dear. What Hilor told me is one of the reasons I like the color red so much.”

His own red eyes widened, blinking at her. His eyes had widened in surprise. They were… soft.

Soft, red eyes. A smile that was normally so sharp, was lax in surprise.

She took a few steps over, landing a kiss on his cheek before she went to join the two other front-line fighters. Astarion took a few seconds of stunned silence before he began to sputter again. Andan took her seat gracefully between Karlach and Lae’zel, listening to their conversation as her beloved vampire began to vent to white-haired cleric.

A grin graced her lips as she watched him out of the corner of her eye.

Yes, Astarion. I do believe in soulmates.

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