#i hope you don't mind i continued this! it was very compelling!

[recre8ed]

@flybcll → continued ask.

The sensation of fulfillment sends shivers down Hakkai's back, pleasant goosebumps that wash over his body in a slow wave. He doesn't so much as twitch, of course. A sympathetic smile plays halfheartedly on his face, pathetically little heart put behind the expression. He almost feels guilty in the sort of way that might have made him back off—but the feeling starts and ends at almost. 

I'm sorry, Kai. But I'm really not that altruistic.

"You had better keep the rest of that for yourself, then." Hakkai nods pointedly towards the stolen drink, serene as ever in contrast to his companion's budding anger. "Family matters are complicated at the best of times, but yours truly do sound like they're on another level entirely. I'm sorry you've been subjected to connections with those sorts of people."

The role of a concerned friend has gone too far, Hakkai estimates, because there's yet another genuine pang in his chest for the injustice Kai has suffered. He swallows the bitter aftertaste of that feeling and tells himself that, at the very least, Kai could probably stand to feel a little more vengeful than he does now.

"It's not my business to comment, but... Ah, I just don't like seeing you so torn up. If she's going to be so coldly dismissive of your attempts to reconnect, then maybe she doesn't deserve someone like you in her life. And you certainly don't deserve the presence of someone who's done nothing but hurt you."

The irony of the statement isn't lost on Hakkai, who gazes resolutely at his own hands folded in his lap.

[mojavebluez]

Carve - the salesman x fem!reader

Chapter 4

summary - after your personal promise not to call him, a month passes with no sign of him. You really think that you might be free from his torture, until you wake up in his apartment all over again. He isn’t going to let your actions go unpunished - so he makes sure that to do something that you will never forget.

tags - knifeplay, degradation kink, praise kink, dryhumping, grinding, blood kink, sub!reader, dom!salesman, making out, sadomasochism, non-con, porn with plot

a/n - can you tell I was really feeling this one?? It might be a little while until I can continue due to general workload so I hope this keeps you guys satisfied :) dw though, more things to come!

Series masterlist

4.5k words

You had entered a new stage of your life. You had taken a conscious effort after your last meet-up to avoid him completely, and were feeling the effects every day. You felt lighter. Blissful. You smiled for no reason in particular - the knowledge that he could not touch you anymore no longer weighed on you. The memory of his face, smirking at the sound of your screams, used to hang over you like a raging storm cloud. Without him, the storm had cleared, and the days seemed brighter.

In fact, that night when you returned home from your meeting, you found his number and blocked it from your phone completely. The only reminder of him were the scars on your thigh and the marks on your neck, which soon faded. You chilled at the memory of his hand on your throat, pressing down until you saw stars. No more. He couldn't hurt you now.

Nearly a month had passed since you'd last seen his face. One afternoon on your walk home, you feel a strange compelling urge to keep aware of your surrounding. You glance around, shoving your hands into your pockets and lengthening your stride. After a minute of walking, you relax, telling yourself the feeling was just your imagination - probably some sort of trauma response after all you had been through.

You pass through a quiet part of town. Parked cars devoid of drivers sit on the curb, and you walk past empty shops with hatched windows. You pick up your pace when you see yourself approaching the entrance to an alleyway, suddenly very aware of yourself. You are contemplating crossing over the street, just to be safe, but it's too late. A hand darts out, grabbing you by your hood and pulling you into the alley. Immediately, you scream, kicking your feet and waving your arms. A hand claps over your mouth, muffling your voice, as well as an arm hooked around your body. The hold is unfamiliar. You almost laugh at the irony. Imagine you die now at the hands of a stranger, and not him. You can practically see him punching the air.

You thrash around in an attempt to escape the strangers hold. The person is tall, very strong, and much, much bigger than you. Still, you don't give up, not losing hope. You'd survived this long.

After a moment, you grow tired, and the person takes it as an opportunity to shift you. They tighten their grasp, holding you upward until your feet hover from the ground. You swing your legs, only moving yourself slightly, before they move forward and out of the alley. Your eyes widen when you see a car opposite, its door wide open.

You use one last burst of energy to throw yourself forward. You briefly escape, catching a glimpse of your attacker before being shoved through the door. All the air is knocked out of you and you collapse onto the back seat. The door slams behind you, plunging you into darkness. Your mind starts to race. You scramble over the seat to the front of the car, but you never see the face of the driver. Something hard strikes down on your head, and it all goes black.

You emerge from the darkness aching and with a splitting headache. Immediately, you shoot upwards and try to get a sense of your surroundings. It's not at all what you expect. There's something strangely familiar about the room that you find yourself in. The sleek, monotone colour scheme. The wide window spanning from floor to ceiling. The comfortable hardness of the mattress beneath you. There's no doubt about it: it's his apartment.

You press a hand to your forehead, bringing it away to see blood staining your fingers. You must have blacked out back there, but you caught a brief look at who attacked you. It certainly wasn't him - is he really getting other people to do his dirty work now? You underestimated the extent of his obsession. You almost feel flattered at his efforts.

The whole room is dark aside from long streaks of lights being cast across the floor. You recognise the coffee table and chairs from your first meeting. It feels like so long ago, when, in reality it has been barely two months. You feel your heart thud regularly in your chest, though louder than normal. You know something is wrong. You can't be safe here. You sit up in his bed, trying your best to ignore the pain at your bleeding forehead. Glancing around, you open your mouth to say something.

Before you can talk, he emerges from the shadows with his hands clasped before him. Your breath catches in your throat. You had almost forgotten what he looked like, partly because your mind had blocked the memory of him to keep you safe. He was just the same as usual: perfect, symmetrical, tall and imposing. His presence immediately darkens the room.

His suit is a deep red paired with a matching tie. The colour brings unwelcome thoughts, and you can't help but think it was a conscious choice on his part. His hair is gelled back impeccably, not a single strand escapes.

"Long time no see," you say, voice dry. You feel every muscle in your body tense involuntarily as he steps towards you.

Half his figure is bathed in a red glow coming from the window, the other half shadowed. You contemplate pinching yourself to see if you are dreaming. This whole situation seems like a twisted fantasy your mind has conjured up as some sort of personal torture. It isn't until he speaks that you know it's real.

"Indeed," is all he says. His voice is velvety, not at all indicative of his nature. You press your back against the headboard, preparing yourself for whatever he is planning to do to you.

"I'm sorry I haven't called, I just-"

"No apologies," he holds up a hand, stopping you, "you've been very busy, haven't you? It's exam season."

"How did you..." you trail off, registering his words. He must have been keeping an eye on you. You scoff. How naive of you to think you could have escaped him so easily.

"You really expected me just to let you go?" His mouth curves into an uneven smirk, lips peeling back over his pearly teeth. "Who do you take me for?"

"I don't know," you whisper, hanging your head. Humiliation twists your insides uncomfortably. This really is your life now.

He steps closer, standing beside the bed, his figure hovering over you. You feel insignificant before him and incredibly vulnerable. Here, in his own apartment, and on his own bed, you are utterly at his mercy. Any prospect of hope quickly drains out of you. You try your hardest to keep some sort of distance between the two of you. You press your torso flush again the headboard, holding your head back to keep him fully in view. You can't let him catch you off guard.

"I'll admit, I'm disappointed. After everything I've done for you?" His tone is horrifyingly parental. You feel like a scolded child. "Not even one call?"

"I haven't had time-"

"Oh, but you have," his eyes spark, "all those nights out. And all those dates. You've been enjoying yourself, haven't you?"

It couldn't be - is he actually jealous? You feel a sudden surge of power. It isn't just him pulling the strings anymore. "You've been watching me."

"I have," he smiles, placing his hands by his sides as though preparing himself, "and I will continue to until you learn your lesson."

"And what lesson is that?"

"This."

He lunges forwards, throwing his body over you. You gasp as he grabs both of your wrists and pins them over your head, keeping you stuck there. He lays his full weight over you, placing one knee either side of your legs until you are caged in by his body. You arch your back, trying to squirm out of his grasp. His face is barely centimetres from yours. You can feel the heat of his breath on your face, but you don't dare to meet his eyes. You already know how terrifying they are.

You throw your head back and forth against the pillow, squeezing your eyes shut. You twist your body away from him until you're practically writhing around. Still, he doesn't move. He watches you with an amused look, gelled strands of hair falling over his forehead and tickling your face. You feel repulsed by his touch.

"I really thought," he says between heavy breaths, "you would know better by now."

"Let go-!"

"And yet, you still tried to get away," he tuts, shaking his head at you. You thrust your head back, summoning a scream, but he just laughs blatantly at your efforts.

"You really never learn, do you?" He leans his head forwards, bringing his lips to your ears. You make a little noise at the dampness of his breath. "No one can hear you."

He moves back to watch your expression fall. He's right, of course. The last time you were here you screamed until you lost your voice, and yet help never came. He would never let you in his apartment if he had overlooked a detail like that.

"I meant to call, I really did!" You lie, voice a faint whimper. He pouts his lips at you in mock-sympathy.

"And yet, you didn't," his voice loses all amusement. Your breath catches in your throat as you watch darkness melt over his features. His eyes become two flat, inky disks, bearing into you until your blood runs cold.

"Did you lose the card?" He spits through gritted teeth. His lips curl, and he moves his face so close to yours that you flinch when he speaks. "Did you forget the fucking number?"

"Please-"

"How can I make sure you remember it forever, huh? What can I do?"

"Don't-"

"Just shut the fuck up!" He yells, making you recoil back into the pillow. He's never shouted at you before. You feel yourself begin to tremble under his hold. You press your lips firmly shut, not having any desire to see that side of him again.

Something sinister burns in his eyes. You watch it catch light and spark into a flickering, black flame. He releases one hand, keeping the other locked over your wrists, which stay above your head. He brings the other to the breast pocket of his blazer, dipping his hand inside and bringing it back out to reveal what is inside.

"NO!" You scream, kicking your legs out and thrashing around on the bed. He presses the weight of his body down onto you until you struggle to fill your lungs fully.

"I said be quiet," his voice is flat, monotone. It's a warning. He is much worse when his anger is under control.

He presents the blade to you. The sight of it is sickeningly familiar. Its smooth surface reflects your face, and agonising memories flash in front of you. The scars on your thigh serve as a reminder of that night - you certainly don't want any more of them. You close your eyes, trying to shut him out.

"You can't escape this," you can feel his lips brush the skin of your neck and you shiver. It's an unfamiliar action on his part.

"Don't hurt me," your voice is barely a breath. All hope has left you.

"Oh, but I have to," he says it like he is fulfilling a duty, "it's the only way that you'll learn."

He sighs heavily as he pushes himself upward. You feel great relief as the weight of him is lifted, but that is soon replaced by dread when he moves your wrists, extending your arms fully above your head. Your blood starts to hum in your ears as you watch him, knelt over you, bring the blade to the skin of your arm. You brace yourself for the agony. And it comes, even worse than you expected.

He plunges the blade into the smooth skin of your inner arm, carving a deep line into the flesh. You scream louder than you thought possible. You feel his breath start to pick up as he starts to carve the first digit into you. Blood pools at the site of the wound, before dripping down and staining his white sheet with speckles of an alarming red. The pain is overwhelming. Tears well up in your eyes, blurring the world around you into a blend of colour. His curved, suited figure swirls into a mix of crimson.

You continue to scream between sobs, the tears becoming unstoppable rivers now. Your back arches as he pulls the knife out to examine the first number. He makes a low, satisfied noise, swiping away the blood with the side of his hand. He bends down to press a kiss on the wound, and you shriek, the unexpected pressure agonising. His lips come away dark red, teeth flashing in an appalling grin.

"No more, please-"

"I've barely started," he coos, furrowing his brows in concentration. You watch him with a distant, pained expression, his body arched over yours and neck bent. Blood stains his fingers, dripping down to the cuffs of his shirt. He briefly leans back, his knees straddling your hips, to take off his blazer jacket. Your eyes are blurry, but you see the wide v shape of his torso towering over you. He is so handsome that it aches. He discards the jacket and leans back down over your arm to continue, ignoring your whimpers of protest.

You groan in pain and general bodily exhaustion as he plunges the knife back in. A strange tingling sensation has built in your arm, only slightly numbing the suffering you would have felt. You try to focus on other things. The softness of the bedsheets. The sound of his breath, ragged and heavy as though he were already fucking you. You take small pleasure in imaging that, in some distant universe, you were a normal couple who made love and slept and existed like anyone else. That was not this universe.

You snap back to reality when he pulls the knife back out after successfully carving the second part. A sheen of sweat has built on his forehead, and drops trickle down the side of his face. You sob. He was taking 'blood, sweat and tears' far too literally. You observe him examining the blade, titling it so the light catches on the steel surface. From this angle, you can see every detail of his face. One of his eyes is twitching involuntarily. The mask is slipping.

"You're doing so well," he mutters, bending back down to continue without even looking at you. Your whole body shudders. You silently pray that you might pass out so the whole thing can end. But no - every time he sees you slipping, he places a harsh kiss on your wound, jolting you awake.

Your screams fade to weak, shrill noises as he resumes with the fourth number. He adjusts his position, and you feel a distinct tent in his trousers brush against your leg. You take in a sharp breath. He said it himself: he likes to watch you bleed. You remember how he lost his composure last time he cut you like this. You catch his eyes and see that they're practically dripping with lust. His mouth hangs open as he draws blood from you, his breaths coming hot and heavy, stirring your hair that fans out on the pillow. He sees the lifeless look in your eyes and pauses, loosening his tie.

"You have to understand," he pants, "this is your punishment. You shouldn't have ignored me. None of this would have to happen."

You work your jaw, trying to console your anger. "Last time... you just left me there." You gasp as he digs the blade back in, resuming his work. You curve your body, raising yourself off the bed.

He seems to think about your words before responding. "Ah, yes... it was something very important. I don't expect you to understand." The words make you feel almost juvenile.

"I nearly fucking died," you hiss.

He hears your words and his eyes seem to glitter. Without warning, he goes faster, the cuts deep and jagged. He finishes the number without wiping away the blood and moves directly onto the next. You cry out, tears welling and falling in an endless cycle.

"Such a slut," he says through gritted teeth. He seems to lose all thought processes, the words falling from his tongue. "You nearly died with my cock in your mouth."

The words tumble out without him thinking. He's losing himself now, grasping at the final threads of his sanity. You whimper in fear, and he goes deeper, his hands shaking. Blood pours from your arm, the pillow beneath you almost entirely red. You choke with sobs, unable to sit up and control yourself.

It feels like an eternity before he finishes. By the final part, he is soaked in sweat and his pupils are so dilated that his eyes are darker than they've ever been. You can no longer feel the lower part of your arm, and your hand hangs limp above your head. His grip on you has loosened, but you are still stuck in a starfish position with his body over yours. Stars dance past your vision, and you feel your consciousness slipping.

"There," he leans back, using his tie to wipe away the blood. The first few numbers have congealed slightly, allowing him to see the desired product.

He lets go and you flex your fingers. Your arm aches and stings but you're used to the sensation. You move your arm and hold it above your face to see what he has done to you. When your vision comes into focus, your heart sinks. It's his phone number. Carved into your arm so deep that you are certain it will scar for life.

"Now you'll never forget," his voice is thick and dripping with arousal. You collapse back, letting your arm drop over your face, not caring about the pouring blood. He straddles your hips, then takes a hold of your waist, lifting you upward. You let it happen. His hands circle your torso, controlling you easily despite your body being deadweight.

He turns himself around, leaning his back against the headboard and extending his legs before him. He lifts you onto his lap, letting your head lie on his shoulder. Your breaths are shallow. You hook your injured arm around his neck, holding on to him despite yourself. Whatever, you think, nothing matters anymore.

He places fluttering kisses over your neck, creating a wet line down to your collarbone. You let him. The sensation is a welcome distraction from the pain. You lean into his lips, consoling the affliction and focusing your breath. Eventually, you pull back to meet his eyes. He stares back at you, two shining onyx stones set into his skull.

You watch him, thinking. Then all thoughts leave you, and something new and sinister compels you to crash your lips into his. You feel the world melt around you - the pain along with it. He kisses back, lips fighting against yours. You've never kissed him before. His mouth is hot and wet and tastes of your own blood. You don't come back up for air. Your bodies seem to bleed into one another; you share the same breaths, the same thoughts. Your hands move searchingly up his torso, and you fan your fingers over the wide plane of his chest. He winds his own fingers through your hair, pulling lightly at your head and making you whimper.

Your tongue explores his lips, tracing wet lines and dipping into his mouth. He makes deep, pleased noises in his throat as he tastes you. The passion of your kiss is unexpected. You can feel yourself unraveling; he is stripping you down to nothing but flesh and blood. He gasps for air between kisses, lips flushed and swollen, eyes fluttering open and closed to watch your face. You don’t open your eyes. You’re afraid that he might pull away, or tell you to stop. So you just keep kissing him.

“I need you,” you gasp, barely thinking, “I need you.” You repeat it between kisses, voice muffled by the force of his mouth on yours. The pressure of his lips begins to hurt. You straddle his leg, driving your hips into his thigh. The need for friction is sudden and intense. You can feel your body come alight with desperation.

“Show me how much you need me,” his voice is low, a deep vibration in his throat. You pull away from his lips and rest your forehead against his, grinding your cunt into his leg. His lips part, eyes glancing down to watch you move over him. You feel yourself getting wetter with every movement.

He listens to your little gasps and moans, leaning back to get a full view of you using him to fuck yourself. Your hand is pressed on the wall beside his head, and he takes it, raking his heavy eyes over the wounds on your arm. He runs his tongue over the jagged carvings, making you wince slightly in pain. The cuts are still tender and leaking a steady stream of blood. Once he’s done with you, the bed will look like a crime scene.

You go faster, trying to build up friction. The need for him to fill you comes on fast, and you grab his tie to steady yourself. “I need you to fuck me,” the words come out as a needy sob. He chuckles darkly.

Heat builds inside of you. You can sense yourself nearing your orgasm, and you throw your head back. Your arousal soaks the fabric of his trousers. He watches you, eyes heavy lidded, then grabs your arm with agonising force. You cry out, stopping the momentum of your movements, feeling your orgasm slip away from you. Tears prick your eyes at the pain he has caused you.

“Not yet,” he growls, slowly uncurling his fingers one by one. Agony thuds in your arm like a dying heartbeat.

You make a confused noise. He lets you go, moving his hands to your waist again. His hands are wide, and his fingertips almost touch around you. He shifts your position over his lap. You can feel the hard shape of his bulge agains you, fighting against the fabric of his trousers. You are strangely pleased with yourself that you have managed to get him this turned on.

“Say the words,” he slowly bucks his hips against you, and you moan softly. Eagerly, you grind against his bulge, your whole body quivering.

“I need you,” you say breathlessly, building momentum.

He brings his lips to your neck, sucking at the skin. The slight discomfort makes you grind harder. You can feel his erection growing stiffer as you do. You want to please him so desperately that it hurts.

You gasp little moans of yes, yes, nuzzling your face into the hollow of his neck. He barely moves, but every so often he shifts his hips slightly, breaths ragged. You need him inside you; you need to fill that deep desire. You remember how his cock felt, filling you up until you could barely stand it. He makes no move to fuck you, though, seeming content with you using him yourself.

“Please, please-“ you gasp. You aren’t sure what you’re begging for anymore. You can feel a patch of precum stain his trousers, and you remember how his cock tasted in your mouth. Salty and heady. You sob quietly.

Your arousal coats the crotch of his trousers, staining the dark red fabric even darker. You can sense his eyes on you, drinking you up. The build up is far slower than you would like, but you keep grinding yourself onto him, praying for release. Fire seems to build inside you, and your breath picks up as it does, until your sighing hot, shallow gasps into his ear. He chews his lip, fighting the urge to rip you apart himself.

Finally, he lets you cum. Your body shudders into him as you release. You feel yourself go limp, entirely loose, melting into him like wax. He draws slow, tortuous circles with his nails in your lower back, letting you collapse over him. Your head hangs over his shoulder, and you squeeze your eyes shut, denying yourself. This cannot be real, your mind says, this is all a dream.

He lets you breathe for a moment before swiping two fingers over your panties. They come away slick and gleaming in the low light. A breathy laugh escapes from him. You prepare yourself for the degradation, the scolding. But it never comes. He lets you lie over him, a blanket of empty flesh. The clarity is sickening.

You untangle yourself from him, limbs loose and useless, falling beside him onto the other side of the bed. His bed is huge, and you are immediately swallowed by the blood soaked pillows. Your eyelids feel heavy and useless, but you use your last moments of strength to look at him. His shirt is rumpled, some buttons undone, revealing the skin of his chest underneath. His tie hangs loosely, the silky fabric mottled with dark bloodstains. Finally, your eyes reach his face. Your heart shudders irregularly.

Your final waking memory is of him staring at you. The look in his eyes was inhuman. Dark. Animalistic. You don’t remember what he did to you after you passed out - all you know is that you woke up in your own bed hours later, every part of you aching.

You blink your eyes open and sit up, feeling discomfort flood your body. You are wearing the same outfit from that day, but this time a thick bandage is looped around your lower arm. You jolt upright, running into your bathroom and flicking on the light switch. The brightness burns your retinas, but you don’t care, gripping the sink with your bandaged arm and using the other to unfurl the bindings.

The exterior layer is clinically white, but the more you peel back, the deeper red the bandages become. By the final layer you feel as though you are pulling away your own skin. You nearly stagger backwards at the sight of what is underneath. In thick, pink, ragged cuts:

his phone number.

You sit on the edge of the bathtub and cry into your hands until the sun rises. You know something had changed that night. This isn’t just a game anymore - this is your life.

[cece693]

Hello! Could you write something about how Hannibal(Hannibal NBC) fell in love with a reader(preferably male, but female is okay too!)who is also a surgeon? Perhaps they could cross paths while working on the investigation of one of the cases? And what if the reader is cold, distant and paranoid, the one who keeps everyone at arm's length. I just absolutely LOVE this parallel between Hannibal and Franklin, because Hannibal would probably be "the Franklin" in this situation. It's okay if you're uncomfortable or don't want to write it! Have a nice day!🌸🌸🌸

Give Me Attention (Hannibal Lecter x M! Reader)

Hi, I absolutely love the request because it strays so far from what Hannibal is (and believe me, I did take advantage to write a needy and pathetic Hannibal who's down for the reader.) So this might not be the most realistic but it's fun! Hope you enjoy it.

tags: down bad Hannibal, Hannibal finds reader endearing, even if they're rude, open ending??

You always prided yourself on your surgical precision, the clean lines of your incisions, the careful stitching that spoke of a quiet dedication to your craft. But the work before you now—the dissected realities of crime scenes rather than the sanitized sterility of an operating room—was a grotesque mockery of your life’s work. When Jack Crawford had approached you, his eyes weary and voice heavy with unspoken desperation, you had felt compelled to help, drawn in by the promise of stopping a monster. Little did you know, you’d be working alongside one.

Dr. Hannibal Lecter was an enigma wrapped in a facade of impeccable suits and polite smiles. From the moment you met, his gaze lingered too long, his questions probing too deeply. You wanted a professional relationship, nothing more. Yet, Hannibal seemed determined to weave himself into the very fabric of your life.

“Dr. Lecter, I appreciate your insights, but I'm quite capable of drawing my own conclusions,” you said, after he had offered yet another piercing analysis of a body you were examining. Your tone was polite but distant, an invisible barrier you continually reinforced.

“Of course, my apologies. I find our collaboration most enlightening,” Hannibal responded, his voice smooth, betraying no hint of offense. “Perhaps we could discuss our theories over dinner? I believe a change of scenery could prove invigorating.”

You paused, the scalpel in your hand hovering above cold flesh. “That won’t be necessary, Doctor. I prefer to keep my work at work.” You didn’t miss the brief shadow that crossed his face before his polite smile returned.

“As you wish.”

Despite your refusals, Hannibal’s attempts at friendship only escalated. It started with chance encounters. You’d see him at the coffee shop where you grabbed your morning espresso, a polite nod exchanged, nothing more. Then it was the bookstore you frequented on quiet Sundays, Hannibal browsing the aisles, a thoughtful expression as he picked through titles you’d just glanced at minutes before.

But it wasn’t just public spaces. It was recommendations left on your desk, notes about books or wines he thought you’d enjoy, reservations made at restaurants you’d mentioned offhandedly during meetings. It was becoming too much, his presence too suffocating.

One evening, as you were leaving Quantico, you found him waiting by your car. The parking lot was nearly empty, the streetlights casting long shadows. “Dr. Lecter, this is becoming inappropriate,” you said, your tone sharper than before.

“My intentions are purely of a friendly nature,” he explained, stepping closer. “I find your mind fascinating. It’s not often I meet someone whose intellect I admire as much.”

“You need to stop this,” you insisted. “Whatever you think is happening between us, it isn’t. I'm not interested in becoming your friend nor do I find you interesting. Now, leave me alone." You hissed, unlocking your car and sliding inside before he could respond.

Hannibal stood silently, the sharp sting of your words cutting through the cold air between you. He watched as you slid into your car, his expression unreadable, a mask of calm painted over the tumult inside him. For a moment, he remained motionless, the weight of rejection settling heavily on his shoulders.

As your car's headlights flickered on, casting long shadows on the pavement, Hannibal's thoughts churned. Rejection was an unfamiliar and unwelcome guest in his life, one he was not prepared to entertain graciously. His eyes narrowed slightly as he watched you drive away, the tail lights blurring into the growing dusk.

In the solitude of the empty parking lot, Hannibal allowed himself a rare moment of vulnerability. "Not interested," the words echoed in his mind, a stark contrast to the usual praises and desires he elicited in others. His interest in you had been genuine, profound even, transcending the usual boundaries that defined his relationships. You were a challenge, a riddle wrapped in the enigma of your own moral and professional fortitude, and he had failed to unravel you.

Turning slowly, Hannibal walked back to his own vehicle, his steps measured, the grace of his movements belying the turmoil within. As he drove home, the streets empty and bathed in the glow of streetlights, he contemplated your words.

"Leave me alone." The finality of it should have been a deterrent, a clear signal to cease and desist. But Hannibal Lecter was not a man deterred by the conventional responses of others. To him, every human interaction was a complex dance of wills and desires, and he was a master choreographer.

In the quiet of his kitchen, Hannibal poured himself a glass of Chianti, the rich red liquid swirling in the glass, a dark mirror to his thoughts. He pondered the nuances of your rejection, searching for a sliver of meaning or a crack in your armor. Was there truly no interest? Or was it a defense mechanism, a wall built to keep the world—and perhaps him—decidedly out?

"You do find me interesting," he murmured to himself, the words a whisper against the clink of the glass. "You must. The mind like yours cannot help but be intrigued by the anomalies of human behavior, and I," he paused, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, "am certainly an anomaly."

Resolved, Hannibal set his glass down. Your rejection, while clear and stinging, was but another layer of the complexity that made you so fascinating. He would give you space, for now, to contemplate and perhaps to miss the dance of intellects that had begun to form between you. Patience, after all, was a virtue he possessed in abundance.

Tomorrow, Hannibal would return to Quantico, his demeanor unchanged, polite and professional. He would respect your wishes, maintaining a distance. But he would watch, and wait, and perhaps, in time, you would see that the dance was far from over. The game, as they say, was afoot, and Hannibal Lecter was never one to walk away from a challenge, especially not one as intriguing as you.

[greensagephase]

Hi, guys

Before you continue reading, I ask that if you disagree with my sentiments mentioned below, you refrain from sending/leaving hateful responses.

I will not tolerate that.

Be mindful.

Be compassionate.

Be respectful.

Be a decent human being.

Today is over a month since I was last here. I'm sorry for disappearing for the entirety of January, but I haven't felt mentally nor spiritually well to be on social media, even tumblr, which is realistically one of the very few apps I use.

I didn't plan on taking this break, which has been (I think) my longest break from this app by far.

I had originally planned to take a few days off to rest after the holidays and looked forward to getting back on the app a few days later, but as the days went on, I found myself with a feeling of impending doom.

I know it's probably not easy to tell through a screen, but I'm the kind of person who tries to remain positive and strong in the midst of hard times. I always try to be uplifting and/or offer comfort as best as I can to myself and those around me; family, friends, and even acquaintances and complete strangers, who strangely feel compelled to share with me the difficulties they are going through sometimes.

However, I've found it difficult to remain positive and strong these past few weeks, but especially the last few days. Some of you may know, or maybe don't, but I'm located in this country: 🇺🇸.

I won't go into detail, but there's a lot going on rn and so much of it has been affecting me emotionally, and it's the reason why I've been trying to avoid social media; to balance my consumption of news/updates. I've found myself throughout the days feeling an array of emotions: sadness, worry, anger, disbelief, disappointment, heartbreak, helplessness, surprise...

Although I've been experiencing pretty much every negative emotion possible, I'm trying to regain my strength, positivity, motivation, and hope. It's much easier said than done, but I'm trying not to let myself sink further into this negative bubble.

I debated taking a few more days off, but I've genuinely missed being here and I also didn't want those of you who care to keep up with my shenanigans to wonder about me and think that I'm abandoning the fandom, or something like that.

I'm still here, very much loving on our fav Spider-Man. I will continue to write -- something I haven't done since my last fic update in December, to be completely honest, but definitely looking forward to doing again -- and share it on here. I'll also try to be more active and catch up on notifications over the next few days at my own pace.

Thank you for reading this update. I hope you guys are doing well and taking care of yourselves.

Pls stay safe out there

Alondra❤️

[satorkive]

SATURN ᯓᡣ𐭩 SASUKE

you hate this place.

the large gate to the outside world; the stalls lining up for customers; the heads of the hokages judging you; the people bustling around; your friends murmuring and exchanging stories with each other; the tall tower where the supposed protector resides.

you really hate this place.

sun rays shine on your figure as you lay down on the grass, pointing the clouds with blank expression. the area is peaceful and you're the only one present in this peaceful place.

"what are you doing?"

or not.

you do not acknowledge the voice who calls out to you. you just continue watching the sky and hearing the background chirping of the birds.

"you gone deaf now, [name]?" he stands beside your supine position.

you look up to him and see his eyes staring at you. you don't explicitly show but his orbs creep you out. not in a weird or creepy way, but with how empty and soulless it looked.

"what are you doing here, sasuke?" you ignore his question to you and fire back to him instead.

he pauses for a second before imitating your position.

great. now your peace is disturb.

you hear him scoff. "can't i go here and enjoy peace now?"

"no."

you feel his eyes burning into the side of your face. that's the only thing he can do to you. he wouldn't be able to force you out of this illusion place where you feel at peace.

uchiha sasuke. your childhood bestfriend. well, your ex childhood bestfriend. both of your parents were friends so they compelled their cute little children to be friends with each other.

sasuke's parents are dead so he probably had no reason to tolerate your presence near him. since the massacre happened, he distanced himself from all the people who he grown close to. especially you.

you tried to express your support and care for him, but he pushed you away.

you don't see any reason why you should cling to the old sasuke when he dies along with his clan so you let him go.

so, what is he doing now?

"i'm going to kill my brother."

you still.

"and how would you do that?"

"i'm going to orochimaru in order to gain more power."

you hum and let the breeze flows his words to the depth of your soul.

you know his revenge is all he has. what happened to him was very unfair. you understand that this is his mission and no one can sway him away.

you meet his eyes for probably the last time. you will never see each other again, and if you will, both of are in opposing sides. he reciprocates your action.

"and why are you telling me this?" you whisper against the wind who carries your message to his ear.

"because i wanted to and you're probably the remaining family... i have left."

he considers you as family?

"then i hope you get the justice you deserve."

he stares at you for a while, eyes jumping from each of your features. he probably asks himself why you aren't questioning his departure. he will be considered a traitor of konoha.

and honestly... you would rather be labeled as traitor seeking true freedom instead of slaving and dedicating your life to a place who doesn't care about you.

"you think there is a place where we can live happily?" you raise a question, not fully expecting an answer.

"because i can..." you reply to your own thought as your mind wanders to a place where you are content with life.

is this your way of coping against challenges thrown in your way? what even is the purpose of this life? continue being a child soldier? killing people left and right for the sake of false peace? everything you do is for the village; not for your family, friends or even yourself. because if you put someone above the village, you're committing treason and showing disobedience. if you have the power to leave this planet, you will.

but the only way to do that is...

"... to die."

you give him a smile. "how about you, sasuke? do you envision a world you can be happy? where you and the uchiha clan are peacefully gathering? unfortunately, konoha doesn't want you to prioritize anything but them. you give your life to the elders just for them to throw it away. isn't that sad?"

you stumble upon a word where it defines as a planet and almost has a myth undertone.

"i'll probably be better on saturn, don't you think?"

[kairos99]

I've seen a few posts talking about how it doesn't make sense for romance to be added into the game because the characters are in the middle of an armed conflict and that they don't have time for that kind of thing, or that they're too traumatized to fall in love. I'd like to explain why I disagree with this position. Let me clarify though that this isn't me saying everyone should romance one of the Hex members. If that's not your thing then by all means, don't romance anyone, you're completely within your right not to. What I'm disagreeing with is that it doesn't make sense for romance to exist in this game and setting whatsoever.

The reason I disagree is that, put simply, humans aren't machines. We're not a set of directives that disregard anything that doesn't align with them. We're animals that have a lot going on at any given moment. We're driven by several purposes, some of which clash with each other. This creates tension, which is something storytellers have exploited in the name of creating stories about the human condition for millenia. Without it, stories are empty, sterile.

Here's an example:

You're fighting two factions that want to wipe out an entire city in order to save innocent lives. You've been doing it in a loop for a very long time, but that doesn't matter because saving civilians comes first. Eventually a powerful new ally from the future appears and helps you and your team change your fates and succeed in holding back both factions from overtaking the city. You're pleased and hope to continue working with this new person to keep on making sure no more civilians are killed.

Does this story sound compelling to you? Maybe a little bit, but it's missing something, don't you think? A little bit more flavor, a little bit of a spark.

Let's try that again:

You've been at war for as long as you can remember. You're tired, stuck on a loop that has no ending in sight, but you have to keep going for the sake of your companions and doing what's right. Enter a new person, a new variable in a sea of sameness. They're not just from the future, they have extraordinary powers that allow them to do extraordinary things, and they seem to be on your side. And they prove it by saving you and your companions from a terrible demise. You start to believe things might turn for the better, you allow yourself to hope for a better future. You wake up from your combat-induced slumber and you feel your attention drifting from the misery that blanketed your existence to things you'd neglected in the name of the common good, including your need for connection and belonging. Including your companions, who still struggle to see themselves as a team. Including your new teammate, who's interesting and merciful and just as starving for connection as you are. You're awake now, and you're going act like it.

Much better, don't you think? Does this story sound more unbelievable because the character has other needs beyond their main objective of saving their city? On the contrary, I think it gets closer to the human experience than the previous story. Your character, a random Hex member, gets interested in the new person, the Drifter, after being saved by them and the situation in the city gets under control, and thus reaches out to them and develops a relationship with them. And they do it because they finally have the space of mind to do it. And not just the Drifter, they also learn to nurture the bonds they have with the other Hex members, as is seen in the text messages when you rank up the syndicate.

What I'm trying to say is, it makes sense for the Hex members to get close to the Drifter, storywise. Hell, "love triumphs over indifference" is a major plot point! That's why it doesn't make sense to me when someone says the Hex doesn't have time for romance. It's like saying the Hex doesn't have time for friendship, or any relationship for that matter, and that goes against what the game's trying to tell you.

As for the characters being too traumatized to fall in love? I'm nowhere near qualified to be speaking about trauma, but what little I know is that traumatized people don't want to be defined by their experiences. They fight day and night to live fulfilling lives, and saying they can't fall in love because they're traumatized sounds downright disrespectful to me. Maybe trauma has permanently changed the way some of them relate to others, but this doesn't mean no traumatized person can ever fall in love as a rule. Everyone's experience is different, and we shouldn't generalize what a group of people are going to be like anyway.

This applies to other mental health conditions as well. Depressed people fall in love. Anxious people fall in love. People that worry about making ends meet fall in love. People that are burnt out fall in love. People at any point in their lives fall in love. There's always something else going on, whether that's something minor like a pending homework assignment or something major like a neverending war, but people still have time to feel all kinds of feelings in the meantime, including romantic love!

That's my take on things. Thanks for reading this far! If you disagree with what I'm saying here, feel free to leave a comment. It's healthy to consider other points of view. :)

[reallyhatethiswebsite]

I don't know if you're still taking prompt requests at the moment? But if so I had an idea floating around in my head.

Raphael is reading to Tav in that deep, soothing voice of his while she's lying in bed with the flu or something. She thinks he's being sweet (and in some way he is) but she finds out he's aroused by the very sight of her so weak and vulnerable before him and he can't help but indulge so a little smut ensues 🤭

Keep up the amazing work, I loved the eex pollen fic! 💕👻

I merged these together, hope you don't mind. Thank you Goof and Kat for helping me make this more coherent, and Kat for finding the translation of the rancid poetry ☺️ if you're interested you can read the full poem here

Read on AO3

-

Fiends were not kind, or selfless, or sweet. Perhaps a few might dare to skirt the lines, but her fiend, her Raphael (as much as he could be hers), was not one of them. So when he perched on her bed beside her like a doting devil-spawn gargoyle, promising to read to her as she lay stricken with a common seasonal ailment (that he, of course, was in no danger of catching), Tav was more than a little suspicious.

“Poetry,” he said when she groggily asked him what, exactly, he would be reading.

If nothing else, Tav thought, he could put her to sleep with his gaudy, childish rhymes. Not that she didn’t enjoy Raphael’s deep, soothing voice, but his literary endeavours left a lot to be desired. Still, the effort was appreciated. A nice surprise, even.

It was only when Raphael began to speak, plucking words from the pages of his secretive little book like pulling wings from flies, that she began to understand why he was doing it.

“My love,” he purred with all his usual swagger and sultry bravado twisting his next morbid sentences, “do you recall the object which we saw, that fair sweet summer morn, at a turn in the path of a foul carcass on a gravel strewn bed. Its legs raised in the air, like a lustful woman. Burning and dripping with poisons, displayed in a shameless, nonchalant way. Its belly, swollen with gases.”

Tav stared at him. Struck dumb by sickness and shock. He continued, focused, grave. Only a hint of amusement turned up his thin lips.

“The sun shone down upon that putrescence as if to roast it to a turn, and to give back a hundredfold to great Nature the elements she had combined, and the sky was watching that superb cadaver blossom like a flower. So frightful was the stench that you believed you’d faint away upon the grass.”

Disgusting. Compelling. Two words that described the poetry and the devil both, because as Tav listened, as she watched him talk, she saw the signs that answered her question. His expanding pupils, the glimpses of his fangs as he frequently licked his lips, the slight shifting of his legs, the flex of his wings and hypnotising sway of his tail…these things, she’d learned, were his displays of arousal. Her weakness, her vulnerability, excited him. She should have known.

What an awful creature he was. Yet it was more than the illness boiling Tav’s blood. Wringing the air from her lungs. A shame she was too weak to do much – not that it ever really dissuaded Raphael. It certainly wouldn’t now. Something slender, ropey, warm and firm slithered up her leg, underneath her flimsy nightdress. Wormed its way between her thighs. Kissed and caressed the sticky flesh. Dipped betwixt her mons to press itself against her tender sex, to roll and rub like a bitch in heat looking for attention. Teased her winking hole, let me in…

Tav inhaled sharply, her throat tight. Tongue thick and heavy. She’d wanted him to do this, use his tail this way, for some time. Of course he would choose this moment to indulge her fantasy. He grinned wolfishly when she spread her legs for it. For him. Worked her cunt until he could smear the first fresh musky slick of her interest around. Lather her clit to call it from its hood, come and play. Entered the snug cavern of her cunt to the symphony of her warbling whimpers – because gods his tail was thicker than his cock, oh the stretch was delicious and devastating and it just kept going – and his rancid words.

“The blow-flies were buzzing around that putrid belly, from which came forth black battalions of maggots, which oozed out like a heavy liquid all along those living tatters. All this was descending and rising like a wave, or poured out with a crackling sound; one would have said the body, swollen with a vague breath, lived by multiplication.”

Perhaps it was the delirium of fever. The cloying heat beneath all the layers of her skin she couldn’t escape. The swelling of her brain as it pressed against the walls of her skull. Maybe it was none of these things. But the devil’s tail wriggling and writhing in her cunt, slender and serpentine and slippery and scalding, was the best sensation she’d ever experienced. It reached places, touched spots, nothing else – not even her own fingers – could. Its control, the nudging of its wide blunt tip probing deep into her sex, searching for the opening of her cervix, was making her gnash her teeth and buck her hips, feet flat on the bed. Her fingers like claws gripping the sheets. Nails shredding. The noises she was making were obscene but she couldn’t be quiet. Couldn’t be modest with her pleasure. It was the all-consuming kind. The kind that made people do stupid, awful, dangerous things just for a chance to feel. The kind that split nerves and yanked tendons and rattled teeth. The kind so good it hurt, so good she didn’t care about anything else except rubbing and fucking and touching and cumming.

The kind so good she could die.

She would never be the same.

Through it all, Raphael kept reading.

“And yet you will be like this corruption. Like this horrible infection. Star of my eyes, sunlight of my being. You, my angel and my passion!” He knew the text by heart. His dilated glittering yellow eyes, pupils so huge like twin eclipses, wouldn’t look away from her. Wouldn’t blink. She, sweat-slick and undulating like a mad thing. He, enraptured, his leaking cock straining against the fabric of his trousers. His voice, deep and raspy in the grip of terrible, demented lust. “Yes! Thus you will be queen of the graces. After the last sacraments, when you go beneath grass and luxuriant flowers, to molder among the bones of the dead.”

“Raphael…!” Tav slurred. It was too much. He was killing her. His tail so long and alive and thriving in the hot and soft and spongy squeeze of her cunt. She dug her heels into the mattress and arched her back; to brace herself to accept him deeper or to make a feeble attempt to pull away, regain control, she didn’t know. She didn’t know anything except the agony and ecstasy of his play. The sick and succulent purr of his disturbing words. The things he said, his poetry so vile and so sweet, like the first sloughs of rotten flesh from a bloated corpse in the sun. She should have been horrified. Repulsed. She was, and she couldn’t get enough. He thrilled her in ways she didn’t understand. Ways that frightened her.

“Then, O my beauty!” Raphael, utterly impassioned, was reaching the crescendo of his piece and she, the crescendo of her rapture. The devil palmed and petted his erection, pressed a thumb hard into its damp head. Gripped its stiff shape through his clothes. He was going to make a mess. “Say to the worms who will devour you with kisses, that I have kept the form and the divine essence of my decomposed love!”

When Tav came, when Raphael finally released her from the torment of desperate want and need and desire by nudging the tip of his tail into the cradle of her womb – it hurt so good she bit her tongue her mouth tasted like blood she hated him she loved him she wanted to pull him apart – she screamed. Her climax, violent, unforgiving, shuddering, took it all. Her body responded to him, his cruel and feckless and greedy lust, by squirting her release over his tail. Over the sheets. A first for her. Powerful orgasmic contractions milked his tail for things it couldn’t give, but what it could do was squirm, leave her breathless and sobbing as it – he – drew out every scorching second of pleasure until she was a wet, babbling wreck.

“No more,” she begged. Wept. “Please…please, Raphael. No more. I can’t take it…”

“Oh, my little mouse,” crooned the devil, feasting on her with his hungry gaze. He’d come, she knew he’d come, by the familiar inflection in his voice. The flush on his cheeks. The dark wet patch between his thighs. Still, he fisted his cock. Not yet soft. Not yet satisfied. He let his tail slip from her twitching cunt slowly. Flicked her swollen clit as he went. Curled his devilish extra limb up to leer, to admire the shining coat of cum Tav had given it. Sleep, exhaustion, was taking her. Her eyelids were heavy. Closing. “My sweet little mouse…”

[lurkingshan]

Japanese QL Corner

In which I cling to the last vestiges of two of my favorite shows of the year, write a eulogy for one of the most disappointing, and rejoice over the entry of a new fav. These shows are available for weekly streaming on Gaga unless otherwise noted.

Mr. Mitsuya's Planned Feeding

Farewell to a wonderful show. @isaksbestpillow has posted all seven episodes as of last week, so if you've been waiting for a binge, now is your chance. I already said a lot about why I loved this one, so I'll just use this space to urge you again to watch! This show is a goddamn delight.

Takara's Treasure

The main narrative ended last week, but this week we got a sweet little epilogue and one more visit with Takara and Taishin. I enjoyed the brief glimpse into their near future and getting to see Taishin turn 20 with his very first fuzzy navel, though I was a bit sad we got a repeat of the finale's themes rather than treading new ground for their relationship (I could not have cared less about the fujoshi writing RPF). This was a lovely show and I will miss these characters.

Happy of the End

CWs: Assault, child abandonment, child molestation, childhood sexual slavery, dubcon (including between the main characters), human trafficking, rape, sexual coercion and exploitation, suicidal ideation/possible attempt, unsafe S&M practices, violence

A very rough week for this show in terms of the content--please mind the triggers above because these are explicit depictions and it can be hard to stomach. I am waiting to see where this show is going with its themes before I make a final judgment, but watching the fourth episode in particular, some parts felt like crossing the line into gratuitous trauma porn that provided little additional illumination. We'll see how it shakes out in the end, but please take care with this one. I continue to find the characters and relationship dynamics compelling, and I am invested in Haoren and Chihiro's attempt to have a relationship despite the metric ton of baggage they are shouldering between them. Neither is equipped to even have any idea what a healthy relationship looks like, but they see something in each other and they want to try. That tiny bit of hopeful but likely doomed thinking may be all we have to cling to in this story.

I Hear the Sunspot

Sigh. I am sad about what this show could have been. For me, the finale definitely did not succeed at sticking the landing and making the last six weeks of wheel spinning feel worth it, and this show is going down as one of the big disappointments of the year for me. As you know if you've been keeping up with this weekly post, I loved the first half of this show, and Taichi's original characterization, so much. And I don't understand what happened here. The second half has felt like a completely different, confused, demonstrably worse show. Taichi hasn't felt like himself in weeks, the plots with Maya and the job at Sign were poorly grounded, inconsistently executed, and offered little pay off either thematically or in terms of character development, and the romance writing was a complete failure. It was actually painful to see Kohei run after Taichi and confess to him again, and the directing and editing of that sequence was so muddled that I had no idea what I was supposed to understand about Taichi's emotional journey or why this was the moment he was suddenly able to reciprocate. After all that brooding and his big speech about communication, he did not communicate much of anything to Kohei in the end. And I'm supposed to be content with leaving them here? Deeply unsatisfying on just about every level.

I understand from @twig-tea that while the story followed the beats of the manga's first two volumes at a high level, this production chose to remove many of the contextual details that actually made sense of the characters' behavior. It also seems they didn't understand they were setting up character arcs that did not get resolved until a later volume the show will not cover, thus ensuring the story would end at the wrong place. Just a baffling set of adaptation choices, and so much wasted potential. It's a shame.

Love is Like a Poison

But at least we have a new favorite coming in hot a week sooner than expected! I absolutely loved this first episode, in which we meet Shiba, our cold-hearted lawyer with delusions of grandeur and a sexually charged fixation on his house plants, and Haruto, our flirty scammer who has his number. This show is really well written and packed a ton of story, comedy, and deep characterization into its first episode. It's a promising start! For now it’s only available grey outside of Japan; I am hoping it will get picked up for proper international distribution soon.

Tagging @bengiyo to add this week's anime update.

[intimacyequalsdeath]

Heat Wave William Afton x Reader

Hello everyone! This is my comeback to writing softly once more now that school has slowed down a bit, I hope you all enjoy my next few drabbles and bits and pieces <3

Notes: Minors DNI, Domestic fluffiness with an unsettling twist, No specific descriptions of reader or pronouns are used. Reader doesn't know the truth about the animatronics.

"Will it's so fuckin' hot"

"Language Bunny"

You groaned and rolled your eyes as you laid on the sticky feeling leather couch in William's office at the pizzeria.

"William, It is so very hot" William snorted at this but nevertheless continued to leaf through the paper work strewn about his desk.

"There fans out there with the animatronics Bunny, go steal one and sit in front of it"

"I'm not sure the animatronics will like that" You joke, Missing the dark look wash over William's face for a split second.

"They won't mind Bunny. They know better"

You nod and rise from the chair. You make your way out into the main room of the pizzeria, the three animatronics standing in their places looming over the room almost like guards to ensure everything is alright.

Your eyes make their way over all three of them one by one. In all the time you had known William you never could quite say why these robots were so important to him. A "Passion project" he would call it when you asked him, he had invested too much into it to just let it go and sell it.

Your eyes leave the animatronics and quickly scan the room, landing on what your looking for you head over and unplug the fan from the wall outlet. You pick it up and before you leave for some reason you are compelled to turn around and look back at the animatronics.

"I'm uh, just gonna take this for awhile, while we're here" You don't know why you felt compelled to say anything to a bunch of animatronics but you were, just to be safe.

You returned to William's office fan in hand. He looks up from his paper as you enter the room.

"I see you found what you were looking for Bunny, I take it they didn't give you too much trouble?" You looked at him confused.

"Who?"

"The animatronics" He states as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"Oh. Uhh no they were fine. I told them I'd bring it back before we leave"

"Good, they can get a bit restless in the summer without proper ventilation."

"Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Talk about the animatronics as if their like, actual people" William's head snaps up to look at you. He has an unreadable expression on his face as he stares at you a moment before smiling.

"It just sometimes feels like they are Bunny, They've been a part of my life for so long ya know?"

"oh yeah, I- I get that" You nod in understanding, William smiles.

"Good, That's my Bunny. Just be sure to put it back like you said before we leave. The animatronics don't like when promises are broken."

"Yeah I'll put it back for them, no worries."

William smiles once more before once again returning to his paperwork. You sit back down on the couch with the fan pointed on you making it much more pleasant. Sitting there though you can't help but shake the feeling that maybe the animatronics we're more than meets the eye.

Maybe there was a bigger reason why William talked about them as if they were living people. Though for now, your biggest worry was staying cool and not biting William's head off for not investing in central air conditioning.

[fangsandfracturedhearts]

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 6: Dancing with Darkness

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

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

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

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

Word Count: 6.9k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

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

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm.

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

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

“Have you completely lost your mind? You can’t be serious!”

Shadowheart paces in front of you; a brooding scowl darkens the delicate features of her face. This is the third argument with her in as many days about you moving back in with Astarion and the obtuse notion that maybe you could help him regain some semblance of his old self.

Gale was due to return home soon, and you’re not looking forward to repeating this argument with him.

“I need to do this, Shadowheart.”

“You most certainly do not! You don’t owe him a damn thing.”

“It’s my fault he’s like this. I let him down in that ritual chamber.”

I should have tried harder to talk him out of it.

“He let you down,” she sneers, “do not allow him to make you think otherwise. Gods, I requested you stay out of trouble, not go barrelling headfirst towards it!”

“Shadowheart,” you gently grasp her arms to halt her ferocious stomping, “look at me.”

She inhales sharply at your touch, and you recognize that look from when Astarion used to touch you before you were this walking corpse.

You drop your grip, “Sorry. I forget how cold I am now.”

Shadowheart grabs your hands, concern furrows her brows and creases her forehead, “It’s dangerous. He’s dangerous. Don’t do this.”

“I know, but I must try. If not for him, then for myself. I don’t expect you to understand.”

“Why would you agree to such a thing in the first place?”

You sigh, “I think you know why.”

“You’re still in love with him.”

There’s pity in her eyes.

“I’m not sure I will ever not be in love with him.”

Shadowheart scoffs at you, but her voice loses its serrated edge, “Do you think he is still capable of loving you?”

No.

Yes?

No. I cannot allow myself the luxury of that fantasy.

“No… I don’t know, but that’s not what this is about. Astarion would have done the same for me once upon a time.”

“There’s no talking you out of this suicide mission, is there?”

You give her a solemn look and shrug your shoulders. There was nothing anyone could say to put an end to this madness. Your decision had been made that night in the Crimson Palace when you had watched him battle with himself as you clung to him.

“What if this is another carefully orchestrated maneuver to regain control over you?”

You shrug, “Then I am a foolish woman.”

“I would argue that you’ve far surpassed simple foolishness. Good Gods.”

“He doesn’t need to plan such an elaborate ruse if what he wants is simply control. I’m his spawn. He has the ability to control me completely at his whim.”

Shadowheart’s eyes narrow skeptically, “Is that what this is? Has he compelled you to do this?”

Has he?

“No. He asked for my help, and I gave it freely.”

Did I?

She huffs, her eyes upcast in exasperation, “I will never understand your deluded loyalty to him. Hells, Gale is going to be furious."

Loyalty or love?

“One angry friend at a time, okay?”

She chuckles with an exasperated sigh, “Less angry, more worried.”

“Your style of worry looks a lot like anger.”

She scowls at you, but one side of her mouth is tugged up in a wry half-smile, “I’ve been told that before.”

Shadowheart takes a deep breath and sits down. Her heartbeat starts to slow, and you nearly want to praise the Gods on your knees for it. That thrumming in her chest clamoured in your ears and made your mouth salivate obscenely. It took every ounce of your control to be in such proximity to her without lunging for her neck.

Astarion has been keeping you fed while attempting to teach you how to hunt for yourself, which is the only reason you can bear to be this close to Shadowheart in the first place. Your lessons are not going well, although he seems to find the spectacle of your ungracefulness extremely amusing.

My, my, how the tables have turned.

“I can’t believe you’re willingly returning to that dreadful palace.”

“You’ll be happy to know that I’m not.”

Shadowheart leers at you suspiciously, “What do you mean?”

“Not living in the palace was part of my… terms. Astarion purchased another residence.”

Her eyes go wide with surprise, “He agreed to this?”

“Shocking, I know.”

“But you will be staying close by, I hope? When something inevitably goes awry, you can return any time.”

“We will be in the upper city, I believe.”

“The upper city?” Shadowheart giggles, “How very posh.”

“Not my first choice, but would you have expected any different?”

She laughs, “No, I suppose not. He always gravitated towards luxury, like an insect to a flame. When is this happening?”

“Soon. I was hoping Gale might be home before I left so I could tell him myself.”

She winces, “It might be best if I do it.”

“I don’t wish to put that on you. I’ll return to tell him.”

“Perhaps, don’t bring Astarion when you do. Gale may be a gentle soul, but his feelings for you might lead him to do something rather rash.”

His feelings for me... I had hoped those were long put to rest. It seems she knows something I don’t.

You sigh loudly, “I know.”

Your fingers shake as you pack what little things belongings you have. Fear coils tepid and stewing in your chest. Shadowheart is right. Astarion is dangerous. There is no telling what he’s capable of or what he might do to you when you inevitably make him angry.

Replaying your recent interactions with Astarion in your head, you evaluate what seems to provoke him. Every time you’ve disobeyed or challenged him, in some way, shape or form, he loses himself. This realization scares you more than not knowing and opens up many other questions. You know what happens when you make him angry, but what happens when someone else does? His new lover, his “business” partners, whoever and whatever they may be, or anyone else for that matter?

I will undoubtedly upset him. I will not be intimated into being his subordinate, not again.

You’ve landed yourself in a precarious situation, and your life, if you can call it that, hangs in the balance, but you’re not unaccustomed to fighting for your life.

I may have finally thrust myself into a battle I cannot win.  

Astarion comes to retrieve you in the early morning to escort you to the place you and he will once again be sharing.

“Well, what do you think?”

“It’s very… large.”

He chuckles, “Anything would look large to you after living in a bedroom for over a year.”

The manor is bright and airy. Heavy curtains are hung on all the windows but are pulled back to allow the sunlight to flood in. The shining radiance of the daylight you’re not used to hurts your eyes and causes your head to pound. You still fear the sun. Standing in it makes your stomach churn, and your muscles quiver.

This will take some adjusting to.

Nervously, you walk around the ground floor to familiarize yourself with your new lodgings while Astarion trails behind you.

Entering the large kitchen makes you wonder. In the time you had lived with him before, he would do the hunting for you as he did now and then drop you back off at your room and disappear. He had kept you corralled where he wanted you like an animal, and you had never witnessed him eat anything, blood or food.

I will not let myself be controlled like that again - no matter the consequences.

“Do you eat food now?”

“I can dine on both as I see fit, but I won’t if it bothers you.”

I miss food.

“It doesn’t,” you wave at him dismissively, “You can eat or drink whatever you please.”

Astarion gives you a sultry gaze, “Whatever I please?”

You ignore his provocative tone and climb the wide staircase. You peek into a cozy library. It seems Astarion has moved his rather impressive book collection already. The filled shelving reaches up to the high ceiling. The room has only one small window, which is covered to keep the sun’s bleaching rays from deteriorating the texts.

You continue down the long hall, which has multiple bedrooms off of it. You look into all of them curiously.

“Which room is mine?”

“Whichever one you want. There are several; take your pick.”

With all your charisma, you plaster an angelic smile on your face, “I want the biggest one.”

“I… uh-”

He’s still adorable when he’s flustered.

“Relax, Astarion,” you smile at him wryly, “I’m well aware that’s your room.”

“I could be convinced to call it our room.”

What? Nothing has been ours since he ascended unless he was saying candied falsehoods.

“That’s not what this is, is it?”

His eyebrow cocks, “What do you mean?”

“Trying to get me back into your bed?”

“To what end, my dear?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, “Power. Control. Possession. Pleasure. Take your pick.”

“I suppose I deserve that.”

You scold yourself inwardly while running your fingers through your hair. You were still angry with him, of course, but you were letting it get the better of you.

“Sorry. I’m still-”

“Apology accepted,” he halts you with a resigned sigh, “I am angry at myself most days.”

Who is this person?

“I have business I must attend to in the city today.”

Your eyebrow cocks, “Business?”

“Yes.”

“With that terrible woman?”

He chuckles, “No, not today.”

“Something is off with her, Astarion. Be careful.”

“Oh, pet. Your jealousy is utterly adorable, but she’s harmless.”

You pivot swiftly, scowling, and poke your finger into his chest hard, “You will not call me “pet” anymore. Do I make myself clear?”

“I… Yes, I understand,” he looks around anxiously, “it never bothered you before.”

“You mean when you were a spawn?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t own me then. Moreover, you didn’t want to. It became a slight as soon as you thought of me as nothing more than another pretty possession.”

His knows knit together, “I do not wish to own you.”

“You have held it over me on multiple occasions.”

Astarion’s red eyes shift around as if searching his memories, “I have, haven’t I?”

“Yes.”

“Apologies,” he bows shallowly, “I’ll work on it.”

I am sure you will.

“You didn’t bring many things.”

“I don’t have many things anymore. I left it all behind when I left…”

Your words trail off, but Astarion finishes your sentence for you.

“Me.”

You nod, “Yes.”

“I’ll have your belongings brought from the palace.”

What?

Your eyebrows shoot up, “You still have my things?”

There’s no way he kept them all this time.

“Of course, darling. One doesn’t simply throw away perfectly good magical items. It would be a ghastly waste.”

“I figured you would sell it all.”

“I admit, I considered it.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I’m… not sure,” he waves his hand dismissively, “I just never got around to it, I suppose.”

Too busy bedding the trollop.

Ugh.

“How far is your business in the city?”

“Not far,” his brows knit together, “Why?”

You point to the windows, “The sun.”

“Right, of course. We will have to figure out where the limit is.”

“Astarion?”

I need to know.

“Hm?”

“Do you control it?”

“Control what, love?”

“The sun protection. When you sent me away, you eluded that you have the power to grant me that benefit or not. I need to know if this is another thing you can control me with.”

Astarion takes your hand in his, a sincere expression on his face, “I wouldn’t let you burn.”

“You might if you get angry enough with me, which you will. It’s a certainty. Answer the question.”

“Yes.”

This does not bode well for me.

Pulling away from him, you step back from the sunlight spilling through the nearby window. You shiver noticeably as you try to swallow the harsh truth that you might very well end up as a pile of ash on these floors one of these days.

Astarion squeezes your shoulder reassuringly, “I won’t allow the sun or myself to hurt you.”

“How can you be so sure of that, Astarion?”

“I just am.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He shrugs, “It’s the only answer I have for you right now.”

You point at the room furthest from his, “I’ll take this one.”

“I’ll leave you to get settled then. I will inform you before I depart.”

The room is large, and the heavy curtains are already drawn, suffusing it in darkness. It’s furnished with a generously sized bed, a few wardrobes and several little tables with oil lamps and candles. A pair of plush chairs with a damask patterned fabric sit off to the side of the bed in front of a small stone fireplace with ornately chiselled dragons, vines and fire inlaid with gold and silver.

A small room just off the main holds a wooden tub and glass washbasin. You note there are no mirrors in this room, but you had spotted several throughout the manor.

Not that I need a mirror, but I imagine he can’t get enough of staring at himself now.

Crawling onto the bed, you wrap your arms around your knees and take deep breaths of useless air to try and settle the disquietude sitting heavy in your belly. Being here with him, knowing he was just outside that door and could barge in at any moment, was terrifying. You’ve been desperately trying to hide your fear from him since he came to fetch you this morning.

Shadowheart had tried to talk you out of this again before he had arrived, and you find yourself wishing you weren’t so mulish. You had been adamant with her that this was what needed to be done, but your resolve was wavering, especially with the knowledge that he did have control over your protection from the sun.

Had I known, would I have agreed to this?

Probably. Idiot.

Am I trying to get myself killed?

Maybe.

Rolling over onto your side, your eyes brim with tears. You have not known joy for so long, and you wonder if you simply agreed to this in the hope that he might end that suffering, whether on purpose or by accident. You push yourself into your meditative state to allow yourself some peace.

A knock jolts you from your trance, and for a moment, you panic, looking around the unfamiliar room. You never thought you would miss the smell of Shadowheart. She carried the fragrance of safety but also food. You console yourself with the knowledge that at least your friends are safe from your insatiable hunger.

Slipping off the bed, you unlock and open the door. Astarion is attired grandiosely, and you wonder what business he’s going to, but it’s none of your concern.

He’s so handsome it’s nigh on unlawful.

“I’ll be taking my leave now. The curtains are all drawn. I am unlikely to return until late.”

“Okay,” you look past him and around the dimmed manor, “thank you for letting me know.”

“You will be okay here on your own?”

“I’m not going to go chasing nobles through the streets if that’s what you’re asking.”

He chuckles, “Not what I meant, darling, but thank you for the assurances. I’ll see your delicious self later.”

Once you hear Astarion leave, you take another lap around the manor mentally making note of where all the windows are and inventory of all the exits.

Just in case.

In the kitchen, your eyes fall on a shelf full of extravagant and exotic wines, liquors and spirits.

Can a vampire spawn get drunk?

Fuck it.

Let’s find out.

You pick up whatever bottle your hands land on first, uncork it and gulp it down. You cringe at the taste of bitter, vinegary ash on your tongue. The liquor sits precariously in your stomach, a balmy tingle arising and spreading through your limbs. It’s been forever since you’ve had a drink, quite literally a lifetime.

You could never indulge in such stupidity when living with Shadowheart and Gale. Anything that could alter your mind or dampen your resolve was not a risk you could take, but here, the only person you were endangering was yourself.

An acceptable risk.

Finishing the bottle, you pick up another and take it to the large dining area, sitting at the dark wood table with delicately carved legs. You’re desperate to feel the numbing caress of the spirits as it fuels you with the courage you’re currently missing, even if that courage is nothing but a hoax being played on your dimmed mind.

Time passes by in a blur as you sit there encased in your own self-loathing and morbidity, and old memories you wish you could forget start to surface as the authority you have over yourself slips.

“Wake up, Astarion.”

You reach out but go to jostle him a little to pull him out of his trance, but his hand catches your wrist, and his eyes open in narrow slits.

“My favourite travelling companion, what can I do for you?”

“Keep your voice down, or you will wake the others. Get dressed and meet me at the edge of camp. Bring your weapons and wear your armour.”

Astarion sits up and peers around the camp. The others are all fast asleep in their tents around you. He cocks an eyebrow at you, confused but nods his understanding.

You creep as best you can through the camp away from his tent, but rocks grate harshly under your feet with every step. You stop and look around constantly to be sure you haven’t awoken anyone else.

“Gods, if you keep making that ruckus, you’ll get us both caught.”

Astarion’s sudden appearance by your side makes you jump, and he grabs you before you can clatter to the ground and muffles your breathy shriek with his hand tightly over your mouth. You pull his hand away from your mouth and scowl at him. You keep your voice in the quietest whisper you can.

"Not all of us are imbued with your talents, Rogue.”

“No, Sorceress,” he tuts, “that’s readily apparent. Do you trust me?”

“What are you on about?”

He smirks, “Don’t scream.”

Astarion sweeps your feet out from under you and lifts you effortlessly. He quietly carries you the rest of the way out of camp before setting you back down with a smug half-smile.

“You didn’t have to carry me.”

“Darling, I’m surprised you made it to my tent without waking the others. I heard you coming a mile away.”

“Why didn’t you say something then?”

He shrugs, “I wanted to see if you were coming to plunge a stake through my ribs.”

“And if I was?”

“Then I would have had to stop that pretty little heart of yours,” he pokes a finger into your chest, “Now, what are you waking me up for in the dead of night? I do need my beauty sleep, you know.”

“I’m going to go take care of the Gur tracking you. I thought you might enjoy the show, and if you care to lend a hand, I wouldn’t say no to the help.”

His eyes widen in surprise, “Why? You ever so vexingly made us walk away from him earlier.”

“Karlach and Wyll are not murderers. I didn’t want to stain their hands with blood against their will.”

“But you are? A murderer, I mean.”  

For you, yes.

“Sometimes… sometimes death is necessary, and I’m not afraid to do what’s necessary. I won’t allow him to make a deal with the Hag, hunt you down and take you back to Cazador.”

“How very… sweet.”

“Are you coming, or are you just going to stand there and stare at me like I’m your next meal?”

“A man can dream. Lead on, my dear.”

With only the two of you, the battle with the Gur is fatiguing and arduous. He is well-equipped and trained, but your magic is a draconic firestorm. Astarion took him by surprise, allowing you both to land several attacks before he could recover. You hold back and let Astarion land the killing blow, driving his dagger deep into Gandrel’s chest.

Regardless of your magical prowess, you don’t make it out of the battle unscathed.

“You’re hurt.”

“I’ll be fine. He caught me with an arrow or two.”

Astarion grabs your hands and shoves them hard against your wound, “Keep pressure on it. Hold on.”

He jogs over the Gandrel’s backpack and starts rifling through it. There’s concern inlaid in his features that you haven’t seen.

Well, other than for himself.

He returns to your side quickly and hands you a Potion of Healing, “Drink up. Preferably, before you bleed out.”

You roll your eyes at him but drink the potion happily, which eases some of your discomfort and refuels your body.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Astarion. Really, but you’re injured as well.”

“I’m already dead, my dear. Not to worry, I’ve been in far more dire straits. We are positively bathed in blood. We can’t return to camp like this unless you wish to appraise the others of our nighttime activities.”

“Well, what do you suggest?”

“There’s a river near that village. We can wash up there before I sneak us back into camp.”

You nod and start toward the river. The night is clear, and the moonlight is enough to light your way without the need for extra magical assistance.

When you arrive at the river, Astarion strips down without hesitation and wades into the running water. The pale light from the moon washes him in an otherworldly brilliance. A gentle breeze stirs his hair and casts frolicking shadows over him.

Gods, he’s beautiful. Mere words can’t do this man justice.

A haughty smile tugs at the corners of his lips, “Are you going to join me or just stand there gawking?”

“Right. Sorry.”

“Oh, don’t apologize. You know I am all for shallow praise.”

You strip off your trousers and blood-soaked robe but hesitate when it comes to your undergarments, feeling suddenly shy as his crimson eyes pour over your body.

“Bashful tonight, are you? You were not so reserved when we were getting lost in each other in the forest.”

A rush of heat washes up to your face at his teasing, and he chuckles. With a deep breath, you calm your flighty nerves, strip down and wade into the river.

“I thought you said one or two arrows caught you.”

You look down at your body and see several wounds marring your flesh where arrows grazed you. There is a rather deep puncture wound in your shoulder where you had to pull one out mid-battle. That one would have lodged itself right into your heart had Astarion not pushed you out of its path at the last second.

“Or three or four. Who’s counting?”

Astarion’s fingers graze over the wounds lightly, “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Are you concerned for me or at the waste of my blood?”

He shrugs, “Can it not be both?”

You huff an exasperated sigh and turn away from him, scrubbing the blood off of your hands, arms and body. Astarion’s chest presses up against your back, and his arm wraps around your waist carefully.

His lips ghost over your ear, “Thank you.”

“Drinking the expensive stuff, I see.”

Astarion’s voice nudges you out of your thoughts, and your eyes lazily drift to him leaning in the archway, observing you with an earth-shatteringly handsome smirk.

“I’ll pay you back for it.”

He laughs, “Your tab is running rather high these days - a rug, shirt, and now several bottles of imported liquor.”

“Sell my stuff like you were going to.”

“No, darling. I don’t need coin. Although, if you keep drinking like this, I may have to start picking pockets again.”

Astarion takes a seat at the table with you. Reaching over, he grabs the bottle and takes a long drink. He smells like his familiar self, but there’s a tinge of tangy blood, and it’s not his. He looks on edge, something frightening in his body language, and your throat constricts.

“How was your business meeting or whatever you’re up to?”

“Disappointing. I’d rather not discuss it.”

“You’re angry.”

“Yes.”

It comes out as a warning that makes your hair stand on end, and you fill your body with the weave, tugging on your inherent talents.

“Shall we go and get you some food and continue your lessons?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea tonight.”

He takes another swig from the bottle and sets it on the table. His finger taps the side, making the glass ting sweetly.

“I will change, and we can be on our way.”

“I said not tonight, Astarion.”

“I will not allow you to go hungry. We are going.”

“No!”

With a dark, dangerous growl, Astarion swiftly rises from his chair, grabs you by the throat and slams you hard against the wall. Your head bounces off of it with a loud thud, and stars burst in a spectacular light show behind your eyes.

Your head swims groggily, “Stop, Astar-!”

He increases the pressure on your throat, causing your words to cut off abruptly in a strangled wheeze.

“Or what, sorceress?” he laughs menacingly, “Are you going to burn me again?”

His eyes are once again listless and piercing, and he scowls at you grimly.

This is what I’ve agreed to. This is why I’m here.

I’m an idiot.

His grip on your throat stops you from being able to speak. If you’re going to get through to him this time, you’re going to have to resort to violence. It was something you didn’t want to do because violence seemed to escalate him further, not calm him down, but you can’t do anything pinned to this wall.

Thankfully, since Astarion has been keeping you fed, you’re stronger, relatively clear-headed, except for the liquor, and in control of your body.

Swinging your feet up in a swift motion, you plant them on his stomach and launch him backwards off of you. His grip is ripped away, and you clatter to the floor.

“You ungrateful petulant ingrate!”

“Astarion,” you croak, “I’m begging you. Listen to my voice and come back to me.”

“The Astarion you knew is long dead, pet. I should have let you burn!”

He’s taunting me, trying to provoke me. I have to keep my wits about me.

“Then why didn’t you?”

“I… I-”

You’ve got him fumbling. Righting yourself, you launch at him, wrapping your arms around his neck with your legs secured around his hips. You cling to him and bring your lips to his. It feels like kissing a stranger and makes you want to cringe. He’s rigid and tense. His mouth is set in a hard line under yours.

You squeeze your eyes shut and say a small prayer to any God listening, hoping this works. If it doesn’t, you’ve lost before you could even really begin.

You feel the shift in him start as he trembles savagely against you. His hand grabs a handful of your shirt in a tight fist, and he grits his teeth.

You shift your lips away from his and bring them near his ear, “I’ve got you, Astarion. Fight.”

Squeezing closer to him, you lay your head on his shoulder and close your eyes. All you can do now is wait and see if he can find his way out of the sadistic purgatory he retreats to when this thing, whatever it may be, takes over his control, compelling him to be this monster.

Your heart aches for him. All Astarion has wanted as long as you’ve known him was not to be a puppet, a slave to someone else’s whims and desires. The promise of power and eternal safety is what made the ritual so appealing to him. What a cruel joke it was to end up a slave to a version of yourself you don’t recognize.

Astarion’s hand snakes up your shirt and slides smoothly over the skin of your back, pulling you closer, “I’m back, little love. You can let go now.”

I don’t want to let go.

Releasing your grip on him, you slide back to the floor and step away, feeling unexpectedly shy.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t, but you’re afraid.”

“I have good reason to be.”

He nods, “You do.”

“I need your consent, Astarion.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“If this is to continue, I need to know you’re okay with the… physicality. I can’t fight you back. It only drives you further away, and it will end up getting me killed. The only way I’ve been able to break you free from the chains your thoughts hold you with is… well, you know.”

You shift on your feet anxiously with your hands wrapped behind your back while he stares at you.

“Why do you think I would not be comfortable with such an…. arrangement?”

“You know exactly why, Astarion. If this is to continue, I need your assurance that I’m not pushing any boundaries.”

“You have my consent; do what you must, but do not allow me to harm you. Fight me if that’s what must be done. Fight me with everything you have. Don’t hold anything back.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, Astarion.”

Even if I could.

The back of his fingers glide tenderly down your cheek, “Do what must be done, my love.”

No.

“Fine.”

He nods, and relief floods the vibrant red sea of his eyes, “If you do not wish to go hunting tonight, that’s fine. If that’s all, I will retire for the night.”

“Okay.”

“Goodnight, beautiful.”

“Astarion?”

“Yes?”

“What happens when someone else makes you angry? Someone that’s not me.”

His voice is dark, cold and grim, “They don’t survive.”

Oh… How many people has he killed? 

“I… see. Goodnight.”

Astarion doesn’t even look at you as he turns around and retires to his bedroom.

Withdrawing to your room, you lock the door and slide into the empty bed with a dismal sigh. He may not have said it outright, but the urging nature of his voice telling you to “do what must be done” was daunting.

Was he telling me to kill him if I must? Even if I were capable of it, could I do that to him? If it came down to my life or his, whose would I choose?

Too many questions, not enough answers.

You try to pull your trance over your consciousness to blanket it, but it doesn’t come. The events of the night weigh too heavily on your mind. Not only did you have to be wary of upsetting him, but you also had to be wary of anyone else who might aggravate him.

That’s why he smelled like blood tonight… Someone lost their life to his demons.

In truth, the people he was doing “business” with were probably hardly people who deserved to be saved anyway. Regardless, you worry that every time he gives in to these gruesome impulses, he might lose more and more of himself until there are no traces of him remaining.

A very fine mess indeed.

You toss and turn in your bed, trying to find a comfortable position. Your senses are all heightened and alert. You’re scared to sleep, to leave yourself vulnerable to attack with him so close by. A locked door will not keep him at bay if he decides he no longer wants to participate in this experiment.

“I won’t allow the sun or myself to hurt you.”

His words surface in your mind. How could he possibly know that? He just admitted that he kills others who provoke him, likely without remorse or thought. He had sounded so resolute when he said it as if it was just a simple matter of fact and not simply conjecture.

He hasn’t killed me yet, I suppose.

You spend the rest of the night flip-flopping around in your bed, lost in thought and unable to find any rest. 

You’re still wide awake, sitting in your bed when a knock at your door finally rings through the silence. When you answer it, the sun streams in bright and glorious, and you jump back, a reflexive habit, falling to the floor.

Astarion approaches you with sorrowful eyes, offering you a hand up, “You’re safe, love. I won’t allow any harm to come to you.”

You take his hand, and he hauls you up on your feet, “It will take some… adjusting to, I think.”

“Your belongings have arrived. Would you like me to have them bring it to your room or leave it downstairs?”

“Are they living or spawn?”

“Living.”

“Leave it downstairs. I can’t be trusted around them. I’ll bring it up myself.”

Astarion bows, “As you wish.”

He disappears out your door to give directions to whoever has been sent to fetch whatever belongings remain at the palace. Soon, you can hear hearts beating heavily with effort, and it sounds like a euphony lullaby. It marks your guts stir with well-known, unslakable sanguine thirst.

Crushing your eyes shut, you dig your nails into your palms harshly, causing shallow wounds that weep blood to give you something else to focus on other than the siren song of the living.

One day without food and I’m already losing it.

Astarion’s hands find yours, and you lurch at the sudden contact, “They’ll be gone soon, darling. Hold onto me.”

You need to anchor yourself on something, anything, and you fold your arms around him and hold on tightly, gripping handfuls of his coat. You put your ear to his chest and try to focus on the sound of his beating heart. His hand rubs your back comfortingly. It feels like forever to you before a voice rises from the staircase.

“Master Ancunin?”

“Yes?”

“We’ve finished.”

“Very good. You may leave.”

“As you say, saer.”

The door shuts, and the beating tune of hearts fades slowly. Your hands finally unclench and stop tugging on his jacket.

“Getting blood all over my clothing again, I see.”

Shit.

“Sorry. I… I wasn-”

A low laugh catches you off guard, “Don’t worry, my sweet. I’ve learned not to wear my fine clothing around you. You’re always bleeding on me, burning me, or throwing me across courtyards, after all. Look at me.”

Looking up at him, he brushes your hair back, “You didn’t sleep at all last night. Why?”

“How do you know?”

“I can hear you tossing around in here.”

Shifting away from him, you cast your eyes at the floor, “I’m not used to sleeping at night.”

Not quite a lie, but not quite the truth.

“You’re a terrible liar.”

How does he always know when I’m lying? I’m able to persuade most people, but not him, never him.

“I should get my things.”

“Would you like a hand?”

“No, thank you,” you smirk, “I’m sure Master Ancunin has more important things to do.”

He chuckles, “Cheeky pup, aren’t you? If you need help, you know where to find me.”

You have to make several trips to bring all your old things to your room, stacking boxes and crates in a corner.

I didn’t realize how much I left behind.

Astarion kept all your clothing, robes, quarterstaffs, circlets, and various enchanted rings and necklaces. It takes hours to unpack, sort through it and put it away.

Reaching into a long crate, you pull out the Cazador’s quarterstaff, Woe. You reflexively throw it to the ground, and it clatters on the wooden floor with a loud bang. You shuffle back away from it as fast as you can, as if it were threatening your life by simply existing.

Astarion appears in the open doorway to your bedroom, seemingly out of thin air. He perceives the horror afflicting your expression and looks around as if searching for danger.

“Are you alright? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you blurt out a little too fast, “Everything is fine.”

His eyes search the room and land on the quarterstaff strewn on the floor.

“Quarterstaff troubling you, my dear?”

“Why did we keep this thing?”

“It’s a decent item,” he shrugs, “I’m sure it has its uses.”

Images of Astarion completing the ritual and ascending froth over in your mind.

The red glow of his eyes. The sound of the other spawn and prisoners popping. The maniacal laugh that resounded from him.

You recoil, cringing, “I don’t want it. Get rid of it.”

He picks it up and turns it over in his hands, “Why? It could be useful.”

“I don’t care how useful it could be. I don’t want it. Sell or destroy it. I couldn’t care less but get rid of it.”

He cocks a brow at you, confused, “If that’s truly what you want. Perhaps I’ll give it to Elowyn.”

“Elowyn?”

“Ah, yes, you don’t know her name.”

The mulberry-haired woman.

A jumbled fusion of betrayal, anger and jealousy rises like bile in your throat, “Don’t you dare, Astarion.”

“Why not? You said you don’t want it, and I have no use for it.”

“She’s dangerous. Something is off about her.”

He giggles, “Jealous, are you? That’s very cute.”

Jealousy does not begin to describe it.

“You never listen to me. I said she’s dangerous!”

“Darling, she’s a mere human. She’s no more of a danger to me than a fly is to carrion.”

“You’re blind if that’s what you truly think, Astarion.”

“Care to elaborate on your analysis of my relationship?”

Relationship? Ouch.

That stings.

“I’m assuming she knows what you are.”

“She knows I’m a vampire. Nothing more.”

“Gods, for someone smart, you’re dull sometimes.”

He laughs, “Am I?”

“Give me the fucking quarterstaff. It’s safer in my hands than it is in hers.”

“No, you said get rid of it. I will oblige your request.”

You cast Telekinesis, ripping it out of his hands, and grasp it. It feels repulsive in your palm, and you shudder, fighting the urge to throw it to the ground.

You level a challenging glare at him, and the intonation of your voice is defiant and harsh, “I said it’s mine.”

You catch his eyes shift again. The telltale sign you’ve irked him in some form, and you wait for the inevitable strike. Astarion grits his teeth, but keeps his eyes open, staring into yours boringly.

“May I kiss you?”

“What?”

“Please.”

There’s urgency in his voice, and you watch as his hand balls up into a shaking fist.

He’s trying to fight it himself, but he needs my help.

“Yes.”

Astarion crosses the room quickly, ripping the quarterstaff out of your hands and throwing it to the ground. His lips meet yours with desperation, like you’re the single thing in existence that will keep him afloat.

His hands find your waist and tug you closer to him, crushing himself against you. Your eyes flutter shut, and you’re engulfed and consumed by the depraved thoughts swirling through your head.

His kiss turns rougher, more insistent, and you murmur against him. He takes the opportunity, and his tongue slips between your lips. Any rational thought you were capable of is blown away in a supernova of sensation and is replaced by desire and passion alone.

You want him. You want him with everything you have and everything you are so entirely you’re not sure you’ve ever wanted anything else more in your life.

Astarion grinds into you with a rumbling groan, and you can feel his pulsing erection. He guides your hips and rolls them against himself, eliciting a shuddering pant from you at the exquisite friction against the throbbing in between your thighs.

“Gods, you feel good against me.”

His voice breaks you out of your passion-fuelled delirium, and you push him away, taking several steps back.

“Are you back?”

“Oh yes,” he coos, “I’ve been me for quite some time now.”

“Great. Now, get out.”

“What? You can’t be serious. Look at you; you’re practically vibrating with need, as am I, quite obviously,” his eyes shift towards the bulge in his trousers with a devious grin, “We could assist each other.”

“Go get Elowyn to assist you.”

His brows knit together, “Is that really what you want?”

“What I want hasn’t mattered to you for quite some time, I imagine.”

“What do you want? Name it, and I will make it yours.”

You.

You point at Woe, “I want you to destroy the quarterstaff.”

“What?”

Will he? I’m pushing my luck.

“Destroy it. Snap it in half. You’re strong enough to do that, are you not?”

“Of course, but-” he sputters.

“No, “but,” Astarion. You either do as I ask, or you decline. The choice is yours.”

Astarion’s eyes narrow slightly and shift to the quarterstaff lying where he threw it. He picks it up, inspecting it raptly. His crimson eyes slither up the surface of it while his hands do the same.

With a growl, he easily snaps it in two. A bright flash of light emits as the magical enchantment is released, making that terrible, hideous thing nothing but an inert hunk of useless, gleaming metal.

“A pity,” he pouts, “I do hate to waste perfectly good treasure.”

He actually did it?  

“Thank you, Astarion.”

“I aim to please,” he bows shallowly, “Now get ready. The night is almost upon us, and I imagine you’re ravenous.”

In more ways than one.  

Thank you to everyone who reads/likes/comments/reblogs! I plan to keep updating as long as people seem to be enjoying the story.

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

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

AO3 [Crossposted]

[creedslove]

DESERVE IT - PART SEVEN

Javier Peña x f!reader

Summary: Javier got jealous of you and you boyfriend and that leads to an argument, but once he needs your help, you find yourself compelled to help him

Warnings: mentions of smut, angst, fluff and a lot of stuff, jealousy, argument, mentions of violence, blood, bruises, cheating (idk to me that's cheating, sorry not sorry Manu lmao)

A/N: alright, let me start by telling you all that I was planning this chapter to be like 2k long or so but instead I got so carried away with it as always because I don't know this Javi series makes me feel things and then I just write these things. A lot happens in this chapter and I know not everyone will be happy because some of you like my boyfriend DEA agent Javier Peña to suffer 😭 but i love the final result and I'll continue on the A/N under the chapter so there will be no spoilers here 😉

• PART ONE

• PART TWO

• PART THREE

• PART FOUR

• PART FIVE

• PART SIX

5.7k words

this chapter was made with all my love™ enjoy 💕

You woke up in a great mood the next morning. You were naked in bed and you felt the slightest hint of desire in your lower belly as you felt the presence behind your stir.

You giggled happily and sank your face into the pillow, thinking of last night and the flashes you had of his hands on your body, his lips, his mouth, everything… and the way the same lips trailed kisses down your neck.

"Mm Javi" you whimpered and bit your lips.

"What did you say?" Manu's voice snapped you out of your drunk feeling of sleep and post orgasm and you widen your eyes open. You closed your eyes again "shit" you mouthed and slowly turned to him, giving him a wide smile as if nothing happened

"I said good morning baby" you told your boyfriend and blushed softly, hoping he would buy it, after all you had whispered in a low voice, besides, who assure you you had actually said Javier's name? Maybe you were still sleeping after all. However, as much as you would love to trick yourself and pretend nothing happened so you wouldn't feel guilty, you had to face the truth. You literally fantasized about Javier Peña while having sex with your boyfriend. Not only that, you only came because you kept picturing Javier making you cum and wet his bedsheets with your squirt while Manu tried his best, because you were sure that your boyfriend wouldn't be able to make you do that, not even if he spent the whole day overstimulating you. Javi on the other hand, would be able to make you pour like a fountain in a blink of an eye.

Manu tried his best and you appreciated that… but then, that was his best? Which meant sex with him wouldn't be anything better than what you experienced? You guessed the expression you were looking for was just that. It felt so basic, so bland, and you felt so guilty about summing your relationship up to only that.

You finally had met a nice guy, someone who treated you well and you could feel safe with, so maybe complaining about sex was something shallow? But on the other hand, sex was very important for a relationship, so it was a big deal.

Manu grumbled and nodded "morning princesa, I'll make us breakfast" he kissed your shoulder and got up.

You frowned.

Princesa, he had called you princesa. It sounded so weird, usually Javier was the one who called you that and you loved it, but another man using the same word caused you a weird feeling.

You tried ignoring your own thoughts and went to shower, you wanted to get rid of the sweat, the sticky feeling on your skin and get ready for your day. You still needed to work on your potato salad and a batch of brownies for dessert, just like you'd promised Connie. You would meet up in a few hours for the barbecue, it would be in the patio of your apartment building and Steve was probably already setting up the grill outside, maybe Javier was helping him.

Javier.

He was back in your mind and you didn't seem to catch a break, you hadn't been that hooked on him since you realized you'd fallen in love with that son of a bitch nearly a year ago, and now, even if you had a boyfriend, you were going through a better phase in your job, he was still there, haunting you.

You rinsed your hair and grabbed the soap, washing down your body when you got distracted again.

Your mind went back to the night you found out about his involvement with Los Pepes, how desperate he got, the way he pressed himself against you and began kissing your skin. How got so close to your breasts and you once again let your mind wander and allowed yourself to imagine what would've happened if he pulled your bra a little further, if he'd seen your nipples hardening in front of him. He would massage your tits, you were sure of it, he would squeeze them, pinch your nipples before kissing each of them and lick them.

But he wouldn't be satisfied with it yet, you were sure of it. You just knew he would suckle on your nipples and make you whimper louder than one of his prostitutes.

An obscene thought occurred to you as you pictured Javi licking your tits: had he ever been with a pregnant woman? If so, had he ever tried her breast milk?

You didn't know where that came from and it got you even more weirded out to picture yourself, pregnant with his baby letting him try the warm droplets that dripped down your breasts.

You scoffed at yourself, Javier wasn't trust worthy to be fuck buddies, let alone the father of your child, and yet, the scenario made your clit throb.

And before you could stop yourself, you had your fingers inside of your slippery pussy, pretending they were his fingers instead.

Coming back to the other night, you enjoyed picturing that if you hadn't pushed him away and locked yourself in your apartment, you would probably get down on your knees and blow his cock.

You hadn't seen Javier naked, but you felt his cock a couple of times when he hugged you and accidentally let your body too close to his waist. His pants were tight and he was big, and you were suspicious you occasionally gave him a boner or two by accident. So you felt he was big, it seemed that way.

So you pictured yourself freeing his cock, watching his tip glistening with pre cum and taking it to your mouth, sucking his dick while he would grip your hair and you would stroke his base.

Then you just knew you would massage his balls and lick them too, his balls would be so heavy carrying all the thick load he would empty on your pretty face.

And with that dirty, obscene fantasy, you managed to cum, biting your lips so you wouldn't make a lot of noise. And without even knowing, Javier had sent you to a delicious orgasm for the second time in less than 24 hours.

When you came down to your senses, you sighed disappointed in yourself, feeling another wave of guilt. As if it wasn't bad enough you'd fantasized about the guy while your boyfriend was on top of you, now you were finger fucking yourself thinking of him, your boyfriend just a few meters away from you in the kitchen making you waffles for breakfast and you rubbing one off for the guy next door.

You stared at your own reflection in the mirror as you brushed your teeth.

Just as guilt came, it quickly faded. You didn't know exactly what had changed in this whole Javier-Y/N mess you'd been living, but after the Los Pepes night - you decided to call it that way - it was like you were letting your guard down around Javier, and in the worst way: sexually.

You felt so tired of behaving like a nice woman, like a decent person and there was a side of you that just wished you could drop everything you had in life and surrender to Javier. You literally felt like whoring around and of course, you'd learned from the best.

So what was really stopping you from knocking on his door and letting him fuck you?

Your boyfriend for instance, you reminded yourself. Manu was such a nice person, you liked him, but you didn't desire him.

And the way Javier looked at you and asked you if you were gonna care if he got killed made you want to slap him in the face. How dare he think otherwise? How dare he think you wouldn't be utterly broken? Yes, he was an asshole, but he was your asshole and you hated to even think of that possibility.

When Manu knocked on the door you finally went back to your senses. What the fuck was all that that crossed your mind? It was like you were put under a spell while in the shower.

How could you even consider going after Javier after everything? Or when you had a nice relationship right there?

You decided to lie to yourself some more, at least it was a safe space for now.

•••

Javier groaned as he stepped outside and immediately put on his sunglasses. The warm weather and the sun bothered him deeply, especially at the little sleep he got the night before.

Well, not exactly the night before, because he'd spent the whole night drinking his anger and jealousy away. After what he heard coming from your apartment, coming from your mouth, he couldn't bear being in the same place as you, and especially not being in the same place as your stupid boyfriend.

Javier wanted to kick that door open, get him away from you, but he couldn't do it. It wasn't his place to do it anymore, you'd made your choice and unfortunately he wasn't part of it. So he decided to go out and drink. Of course he could go to a brothel, find himself some company, but he couldn't even trust his own self with that, he'd been so disturbed by everything that went on that the last couple of times he tried doing it he just couldn't get hard. It felt like you were haunting him, your image always lingered around and he couldn't break free from your spell, your presence, your love…

But nothing really mattered anymore, you were with someone else, and judging by the noises you were making you were enjoying every second of it. It pained him, but at the same time he knew it was what you deserved it: someone to love you and make you happy.

Even if it was the right thing, it still hurt him pretty bad. It twisted his guts, left a lump in his throat and the rush of adrenaline turned into a blinding rage he could kill your boyfriend with just a few punches.

So Javier sat down at a dirty table in some sketchy bar and drank one shot after the other.

He managed to get home in the morning, god knows how, and blacked out on his couch.

He didn't sleep nor rested, he literally passed out. However, a shower and a cigarette later, he was ready for Murphy's barbecue. He'd rather skip it and avoid facing you and Manu, but if he did it so, he would have to explain to Steve why he wasn't there, or worse, Steve could just knock on his door and make things more embarrassing for him. So he sucked it up and went to help his friend with the grill and the burgers, greeting Connie on his way and complimented her looks, being just the tiniest bit of flirt, as usual of Javier Peña, just a respectful way to remind women how pretty they were.

You, on the other hand, managed to avoid Manu's kisses during breakfast and after putting the brownies in the oven, you got to the egg salad. He was all the time hovering around you, certainly wanting to repeat last night's activities but you weren't in the mood.

Correction: you weren't in the mood with him, but you couldn't simply fantasize about Javier to get started so your boyfriend could have a quickie when you were just a couple of hours away from seeing him. How could you even look Javier in the eye after all the dirty thoughts you had of him? How could you act normal knowing the only reason why you had two mind blowing orgasms was thinking of him touching you, making you his and treating you like a slut?

You sighed as you finished peeling the potatoes and felt relieved to see Manu had given up trying to make up with you and went to get changed.

As you got yourself into nicer clothes, you knew it was time to go and just hoped everything would be alright.

Manu helped you carry the dishes as you went to the patio and found Steve, Connie and Javi.

Olivia was playing with a doll and as soon as she spotted you, she smiled big, extending her little arms to you and wanting you to pick her up.

You placed the bowl with your potato salad down and went to pick up the little girl. You lifted her up and twirled around holding her making her giggle "hi princess!!! I missed you!" You said excitedly and tickled her small tummy, earning some other adorable giggles from her.

Javier watched you from afar. His gaze wouldn't leave you for a single moment, hidden under his sunglasses, he took in all of you, of your body, of your clothes and how carefree and happy you were around Olivia. The way you smiled and played with her, as you thought no one was watching you was making it very difficult for him to hate you. He scoffed at himself, he could never bring himself to hate you, but he was trying to keep himself angry, because that was the only way he could be away and not screw things up between you and your boyfriend again.

But you always made his life so damn hard, especially when you were all gorgeous in your summer dress holding a giggly little princess in your arms.

Javier suddenly was taken back to the green fields of his dad's ranch in Laredo.

He could easily see you there, playing with a couple of toddlers - a boy and a girl - as the three of you would feed and pet the horses.

Then, when the sun was setting, the kids would all run to him calling him daddy and fighting each other to be the first one to hug him.

And then you would walk to him, all sun kissed, smelling like jasmine and coconut and would wrap your arms around his neck, welcoming your husband after a long day of hard work. A golden ring around your finger would be more than enough to show the whole town you were Mrs.Peña.

Where the fuck was that coming from?

Javier nearly dropped his can of beer when he realized where his mind wandered, he couldn't believe his brain betrayed him like that.

Since when was he the kind of man who would envision himself as a good husband and decent father of two? That was bonkers, he never wanted to be tied down, let alone be a father.

You were standing a few meters away from him with your boyfriend, the kind of guy who would probably give you that lifestyle because Manu was that kind of guy. Javier wasn't.

"Y/N… can you help me bring some plates?" Connie asked you sweetly and you nodded, putting Olivia down and promising you'd be there soon to play with her.

You followed Connie upstairs and walked into her apartment, it was everything very organized and cleaned. You couldn't help but smile at the pictures on the wall of herself and Steve, on their wedding day, their honeymoon and also pictures with Olivia.

Connie separated the plates she wanted to take downstairs "so… new boyfriend?" She raised her eyebrow and saw you blushing softly.

"Yeah… it's very recent"

"Well, he is very handsome… not Javier handsome, but still…" Connie chuckled at how shocked and surprised you got.

"What do you mean, Connie?" You asked clearing your throat, trying to show your nervousness

"Well, it was pretty obvious to all of us you liked Javi… more than friends, and Javi likes you too, Steve told me so… I mean, Javier hasn't said anything but Steve sees a lot more than it seems and he is positive Javier has romantic feelings for you. Judging by the way he was staring at you earlier, I am sure he does too" Connie gave you a sweet smile "and I think you still like him… listen, Steve told me everything that happened and honestly I think you were very right to completely ignore him at first, but he also told me about Carlos and how Javier protected you" Connie grabbed herself a glass of water and downed in one sip, she was sweaty and you could tell she suffered a lot with the weather in Colombia.

"What I'm trying to say is that if you two like each other then sometimes it is alright to give in and forgive. Look at me and Steve, I thought I was doing what was best for myself and our daughter but it turns out all I did was waste precious time away from my husband. Sometimes we're too proud and we miss out on people we love, so maybe you should talk to Javier, see what really goes on between the two of you" she placed her hand on your shoulder and smiled.

You carried the plates silently as her words wouldn't leave you alone. She did have a point, maybe you needed to talk to Javier, the tension, the unspoken feelings, the fact that sometimes it was so obvious you had feelings for each other and sometimes you couldn't read him even if your life depended on it, was making you stressed out.

"I'm sorry honey, can you go grab some other silverware? I forgot to bring them downstairs" Connie pouted and asked you very nicely, you nodded and quickly made your way upstairs, you were lost in your thoughts and didn't really pay attention where you were going, so you only realized you were standing right in front of Javier was when he stopped literally inches before bumping into you.

You noticed how he towered you, he was strong and a bit intimidating even, being so close to him and smelling his cologne got you thinking maybe Connie wasn't so wrong and maybe you should talk to him. You realized you'd let your walls down a while back and you could no longer act tough and unbothered by him, instead, each time you two saw each other you couldn't help but smile brightly again.

"Hey Javi… you okay?" You frowned softly as you saw he was kind of pale and had dark bags under his eyes, maybe he was coming down with something?

He frowned and shot daggers at you, he'd removed his sunglasses inside.

"Sure, just couldn't get to sleep at night with the neighbor across the hall moaning louder than a pornstar" he spat and gritted his teeth.

You were mortified. You had absolutely no idea he could hear you from his apartment, you didn't know you'd been that loud, no wonder Manu wanted a second round in the morning, he thought all that was for him. If only he knew…

And Javier was pissed off too, that was unexpected.

"Oh god, that's embarrassing, I'm sorry…"

"You're right, Y/N, it's fucking embarrassing" he replied in a rude way which began bothering you, who was he to talk about that? He was the guy who used to have girls over nearly every week, it didn't matter if they were paid or not, but very often you heard noises coming from his apartment, so he had no right to complain about that. "You and that dick shouldn't be making that much noise, it bothers people. It's rude, it's not what decent women do"

You stiffened and returned him the same cold gaze, Javier Peña had such nerve it made you want to stab him sometimes.

"You're right, decent women don't do that, that's why this kind of noises always came from your apartment Javier and all the women you picked up, because you simply can't get in a relationship with someone slightly decent, your partners reflect your personality!" You took a deep breath "it hurts, doesn't it? It hurts to hear someone we like, someone we care about with another person. Thinking that you could be there with them, but knowing you are simply not good enough or not the best option" you said "I hope you heard me through the whole thing, I hope you heard me cumming for my boyfriend…" Well, that was a lie, but Javier didn't have to know about it. "... I hope it has hurt you, because that's exactly how I felt every time I saw women come and go into your apartment when you knew damn well I was in love with you!"

Javi didn't expect you to be so blunt about it, he thought you wouldn't admit it and you were right, it did hurt, it felt horrible, he didn't want to ever feel like that again, and now he was even more sure of the asshole he was to you this whole time.

"What's so special about him, after all? What makes you like him to the point of acting like a wh-"

He stopped himself right there before he could screw things up more than he already had.

"Like what, Javi? Like a whore?" You asked with hurt in your voice "I am not a whore, and you know that. It's not my fault if you're jealous because you lost me… why do you do this? Why do you try to push me away whenever things are improving between us?" You stared at him "you wanna know why I like Manu? Take a good look at him, he's the whole package. He's handsome, younger, stronger, taller, he's not a fucking dirty cop. I think the real question here would be asking yourself why did I ever like you, Javier!" You spat back at him, not having any of his shit.

You thought he would backfire at you, but instead, Javier looked down and nodded, putting his sunglasses on one more time.

"You're right, cariño" he said in defeat "you shouldn't like me, I'm no good" surprising you, he cupped your cheek with his big hand, stroking it gently, and against all odds you leaned into it. "I tried pushing you away because it hurts less when you're not around, I lost you Y/N and there's nothing I can do about it"

Javi turned around and grabbed his coat before exiting the building.

•••

The barbecue didn't go much further after Javier left. You guys sat down, ate and you helped Connie with the dishes, Manu and Steve chatted about business as Olivia played nearby. It could've been a real nice time among friends if you hadn't argued with Javier. But it puzzled you, it wasn't a normal argument, it was something else, it felt almost as an apology, or as a goodbye.

You shook that thought off immediately, a shiver ran down your spine as you couldn't even bear the possibility of that happening. Still, ever since he left, you had an urge to see Javier again. You wanted to check on him, make sure he was alright. You didn't know if it was a gut feeling, your sixth sense or just good old anxiety keeping you company, but you didn't like the way his eyes looked empty when he left, you would only calm down when you saw him again. You knew he was probably buried deep inside some Colombian prostitute, probably making her scream his name but you didn't care, you didn't feel angry after your argument, you felt just sad.

It didn't feel right to rub Manu on his face, especially because you didn't even like Manu that much, you just wanted to hurt Javier for being a cocky motherfucker and you felt really guilty about it. You didn't know if it made sense you felt guilty about it, but you knew you were past that point. You were caught in your own trap and at the same time you wanted to kill Javi, he was the only one you craved.

So after Connie's dishes were perfectly done, you half lied to Manu saying you'd need some time alone because you had a headache. You just occasionally didn't mention your headache went by the name of Javier Peña.

And Manu, being the sweetest and most comprehensive boyfriend on earth, gladly accepted your excuse and went home. He was such a great boyfriend it was starting to become annoying. Or you were starting to come up with reasons to break up with him, after all, you had a good deal with him and you had a bad deal with Javi and of course you were leaning towards the bad one.

So you spent the rest of your day by your door, you were completely silent, no TV, no music just you and a book you were too distracted and anxious to concentrate and actually read it, you just paid attention to every single noise coming from the hallway in hopes it would be Javier arriving home. You thought of using the spare key you had - and you still hadn't returned him - to wait for him in his apartment, but you stopped yourself at the fear of witnessing him arriving with another woman. That would break your heart again, not to mention it would be awkward to everyone as hell.

So you waited, and waited, and waited until you decided it was time to give up and go to bed, it would be another night of the countless you'd spent before hoping Javier would be in the comfort and safety of his home when in reality he was out whoring around.

You had changed into your nightgown and was ready to get under your blankets when you heard mumbling and stumbling coming from outside. Your heart raced and you could tell it was Javier's voice. He was cursing in Spanish and struggling to unlock his door and your heart clenched at the thought of him making out with a woman outside. For a moment you thought of not opening your door, but you realized you could hear only Javier and no one else.

Curiosity took the best of you and you stepped outside your apartment, freezing at what you saw.

"Javi!!!" You whined at the image of him covered in blood, bruised and beaten up.

You immediately teared up at the state he was in, he'd probably been punched a considerable amount of times, a cut right above his left eye was responsible for the amount of blood that stained his face and dripped down his neck and got to his cut.

You hated to see him like that, suddenly that horrible feeling that haunted you earlier made all sense and you ran to him. You'd much rather see Javier arriving home with a woman than all bruised and broken like that, at least he wouldn't be suffering.

You unlocked the door for him and helped him sit down on the couch, which he did with a groan of pain.

He looked at you in silence but smiled softly seeing your presence there, no matter if his whole body hurt, if he had been beaten up by one of the Los Pepes sicario, seeing you there made him better.

You didn't ask him any questions, you would have time for that later, instead you rushed to his kitchen, getting a bowl and filling up with water and ice. You had no idea if that worked for real, but you'd seen several times in movies and TV how someone would sink their face into water to prevent it from swelling.

You also grabbed some cloth and whatever you thought that could be helpful and sat next to him.

"It's okay Javi, I'm here don't worry okay? You're not alone" you reminded him and patiently instructed on what to do.

You didn't know how long you spent wiping all the blood off his face, but you were both relieved to see he hadn't broken any teeth nor his nose. Javi unbuttoned his shirt and removed it with your help, making visible a darkening bruise on his ribs.

You touched it as softly as you could but he winced in pain

"Sorry honey" you said sadly and grabbed the ice pad, letting him place it over so you wouldn't hurt him even more. You hope they hadn't broken any of his ribs.

"It's alright princesa, you're the best nurse in the world" he smiled sadly "you should go home now, I can handle from here, your boyfriend must be waiting, you're all dolled up for bed" he said finally acknowledging your nightgown. Even if he had just been beaten up, he still smirked at your choice of clothing. Manu was a lucky son of a bitch, he thought to himself.

You shook your head "no fucking way I'm leaving you like that Javier. He's not here, and even if he were, I wouldn't leave you" you assured him and saw how he opened his mouth then closed again.

He licked his lips and stared into your eyes.

"Sit on my lap" he asked in a low voice which made you frown in confusion

"What?"

"J-just sit on my lap, I wanna feel you close, cariño, please"

And there they were: his puppy eyes again. How could you say no to broken, beaten, bruised Javier Peña looking every bit vulnerable in front of you?

You didn't think twice before switching to his lap, sitting on top of him comfortably and feeling one of his arms snake around your waist, holding you in place at the same time he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

Javi didn't say anything, he just inhaled your scent quietly, feeling in peace and at home. His body didn't hurt as much now, his heart wasn't aching at that moment. You were pressed against him willingly, not because he grabbed you, but because you wanted to be there.

You took his big hand into yours seeing the dry blood on his knuckles and very softly you began wiping it.

"Looks like you threw a few punches too," you said with a small smile and felt him place his head on your chest. He was so close to your breasts, but he didn't make any attempt to touch you inappropriately, he just rested his tired head against your soft skin and watched as you devotedly wiped someone else's blood from his knuckles.

"I left earlier looking for trouble and found trouble with one of the sicarios from Los Pepes" he explained briefly "he got worse than me, I promise" he thought it was best not to mention the other sicarios shot him in the head right there, in front of him, because they had explicit orders not to hurt the DEA agent who was collaborating with them, so he only chuckled but earned a dirty look from you. He knew you were going to say 'I told you so' and probably lecture you again on how stupid working with these people were, but instead, your eyes softened up and he could only see compassion, affection and maybe, just maybe some love in them.

You wrapped your arms around him, pressing Javier against your body tight, closing your eyes and enjoying the moment.

You'd never been that close to him, it felt so intimate but it was good.

"You know, the guy who left you at the altar is a stupid dick" he suddenly let out, earning a scoff from you

"Your ex's fiancee's current boyfriend probably says the same about you, Javi"

"It's her husband, and he is completely right. I was a dumb dick and what I did was terrible, I didn't want to get married and instead of straight up telling her, I chose the cowardly path. But I apologized to her and she forgave me, because she said if it weren't for me, she wouldn't have met the love of her life and built her family" he smiled "maybe the same can happen for you" his hand stroked your side, as he still held you tight against him.

You couldn't help but laugh softly.

"Who knows, right? Maybe someday I will have a nice husband and a baby of my own"

"I just know I wouldn't make the same mistake twice, Y/N, if you walked down the aisle for me, I'd be happily waiting for you to be my wife"

Javier only realized what he'd said after the words were out in the open. He shouldn't have said that, just a few hours ago he was trying to push you away and now he was low-key proposing to you? Fuck him, he was stupid.

You giggled and stroked his hair

"Aren't you adorable when you aren't a dick?" You tilted your head and pecked his forehead, seeing how hot his skin was "shit, Javi. You're burning up with fever… let me find you some medicine" you tried getting up but he held you tight in place, which caused your hips to move against his rough jeans and you let out a soft whimper.

Javi frowned at first but immediately smirked, his hand cupping your cheek again as the other one rested on your neck, massaging and stroking your skin.

"Need a relief, mi amor? Go ahead, rub yourself against me, I'll be glad to help you… you took care of me and I take care of you" he sweet talked you, his voice was a low rumbling purr and it took you a lot of willpower not to accept his offer. But you shook your head

"I can't Javi, I'm not gonna hump you while you keep burning up" you replied with the same sweetness he addressed you.

Eventually, you convinced him to take a shower and in the meantime you had to rush back to your place to get a tylenol because of course his medicine cabinet was empty.

When he got fresh out of the shower, you gave him two pills and walked him to his bed. Of course Javier wouldn't bother putting on clothes so he just got the towel out of his waist and got under the blankets, giving you only seconds to turn around not to look at his naked body.

He chuckled at your reaction and raised his eyebrow

"What querida? Do I look like the kind of fucker who goes to bed in pajamas? I ain't no Steve" you both laughed together and he took your hand in his, he caressed your knuckles with his thumb

"Stay. Spend the night with me, just to sleep and nothing more, I need you here, mi amor"

_____

A/N: So let me just continue by saying that I had a major headache when I was writing it earlier today and then suddenly it went away because that's the power Javi holds against me. Now, this scene where he asks her to sit on his lap and they have this moment, it felt so intimate and erotic to me, I loved writing it and I hope you guys all enjoyed it as well, because it is probably my favorite scene so far.

I know some of you really love angst and want Javier to suffer but I am aching for a happy ending though I still have no idea what will happen in the next chapters or how many chapters there will be.

And also, please let me hear your feedback!!!!! Let me hear what you think of this chapter let me know if you have a favorite part, you can comment or send me an ask whatever i need to talk about javier 🤌🤌🤌

[rocks-in-space]

After the whole geas/music box shenanigans, can I just say that I still think (and hope) that Steel isn't up to any like ~great evil plan~ that goes way beyond the pale of anything we currently understand about her. I don't think she's some secret villain; she's just Suvi! She's Suvi if Suvi continues down her current Citadel path and doesn't step off it. Steel is kind, just, well-intentioned, open-minded as any Citadel wizard can be. It's also very likely that she's condoned, participated in, or even orchestrated atrocities.

I think it's important to see that these things can coexist. That the justification machine could work on anyone. No matter how kind you think you are, any of us given the right circumstances could probably fall victim to propaganda or indoctrination. You don't have to be finger-steepleingly evil or monstrous, just a person. Especially if the system in question has granted you privilege or comfort.

Steel has thrived in the citadel/empire, and that makes it especially easy for the justification to work, for her to not question too fundamentally the place that has given her privilege and power (though interesting that wizards like Stone have fundamentally questioned the Citadel and come back to it. I can't wait to find out more about why). Plus we know almost nothing about Gaothmai or Rhuv, and I suspect there are things that further explain how the justification machine is able to succeed.

We know she is extremely committed to the Citadel at the moment, but it isn't blindly. As she says in ep. 23, "It feels like every inch I move within this Citadel, someone has a great reason to protect people from accountability, from knowledge, and from clarity. Everybody's got a vested interest in putting up walls and fog in a place whose sole purpose is to bring light to the world." I think she's at the point that many many people are at IRL where they separate an institution's or structure's stated intent from its actual impact.

I think it would be very compelling to see that Steel is what you can get when you take someone like Suvi and not have the connections to others with very different lived experiences and have many difficult conversations and do a lot of self- and world-interrogation. I think we all want that for Suvi, and I think it's quite possible that rather than being a big bad, that's an option for Steel as well.

However, I have every confidence that these people will create an extremely compelling story no matter what happens.

[blackflash9]

Reflections of the Kenway Family

A fascinating aspect of the saga is how each Kenway encounters someone on their journey who mirrors another family member and their respective character arc.

Connor meets Thomas Hickey — a man whose vanity and hedonistic greedy nature are very reminiscent of Edward and are a dark look into what he could've been if he had given entirely into his selfish desires. The way that Hickey's cynical nature contrasts with Connor's idealism is also a very similar dynamic to Edward's interactions with other characters such as Adewale, Mary Reed, Anto, and Ah Tabai.

Edward meets Duncan Walpole - a disillusioned Assassin-turned-Templar, foreshadowing the fate that will later befall his son. Edward's act of killing Duncan and posing as an Assassin mirrors what Haytham will become in the future. Another notable parallel between them is the theme of betrayal.

Reginald Birch's betrayal of Edward transforms Haytham into a Templar, while Walpole's betrayal inadvertently turns Edward into an Assassin. Unlike Duncan, whose commitment to the Creed is nonexistent, self-serving, and morally compromised, Haytham's ideological convictions in the Templar Order are resolute, unwavering, and uncompromising.

Haytham encounters Shay - an idealist with unwavering convictions, dedicated to protecting the innocent at any cost. Shay serves as a dark reflection of what Connor might have become without introspection, failing to forge his own identity. This lack of self-discovery makes Shay's virtues easily manipulated by others. In contrast, Connor continuously grapples with the demands of the Assassin's Creed and the diverse intentions and motivations of the people he meets on his journey, questioning and seeking to understand the world around him. ______________________________________________________________ ['On Johnson's Trail' Transcript] Connor: I was hoping you could help me locate William Johnson. Samuel: Of course. I'm headed to a meeting with some men who should be able to help. Why don't you come along? It's good to see the people finally taking a stand against injustice... Connor: Says the man who owns a slave. Samuel: Who, Surry? I practice what I preach, my friend. She's not a slave, but a freed woman... At least on paper. Men's minds are not so easily turned. It is a tragedy that for all our progress, still we cling to such barbarism. Connor: Then speak out against it. Samuel: We must focus first on defending our rights. When this is done, we'll have the luxury of addressing these other matters. Connor: You speak as though your condition is equal to that of the slaves. It is not. Samuel: Tell that to my neighbor—who was compelled to quarter British troops. Or to my friend whose store was closed because he displeased the Crown. The people here are no freer than Surry. Connor: You offer excuses instead of solutions. All people should be equal and not in turns. ______________________________________________________________ ['The Midnight Ride' Transcript] Connor: I thought it might bring clarity. Or instill a sense of accomplishment. But all I feel is regret.

Achilles: Hold fast to that. Such sacrifices must never come lightly.

Connor: I had to do it. Not only for my people, but for all the others Johnson would have harmed. ______________________________________________________________ ['Alternate Methods' Transcript]

Connor: I have been reunited with my father, but do not yet know if this bodes well or ill. Our goals are aligned, at least so far as independence is concerned. But he continues to defend Charles Lee— the man who murdered my mother and burned my village... Still, he makes a point about Washington and those who back him. I hear much talk of freedom and equality, but it seems one must be a landed white man to benefit. What of someone like me? Or Surry? What role for us in this new world? Is my father right, then? There is so much I must consider and so little time in which to do it. ______________________________________________________________ In contrast to Connor, Shay falls victim to their own self-induced tunnel vision, becoming ensnared in fanaticism and operating under a pragmatic "ends justify the means" mentality that he turned against his own Brotherhood for harboring. This vulnerability renders him a perfect tool and pawn for the Templars, diverging sharply from Connor's path of self-awareness, principles, and independence.

[chemicallywrit]

Happy Audio Drama Sunday! I heard so many good shows this week, let’s goooooo

🥃 I started listening to @breakerwhiskey this week, and I’m on episode 21 (which is nothing, it’s microfic), and it is so compelling. Lauren Shippen said in episode zero that she misses the improvisational feel of early audio dramas and that really comes through in this show—the wandering of the story reflects the wandering of Whiskey herself. I can’t wait to see what happens next.

🎵I am not alone in my reaction to the new season of @hellofromthehallowoods, which I think goes something like, “Wh—who—but—Arnold?????” (Seriously, Arnold???) but I love a mystery, and I love how linear this season is starting out. I’m sure that it’ll all get more complicated soon.

💔 Have you all heard Josie’s Lonely Hearts Club? It’s a call-in advice show from a fictional radio station and it is HILARIOUS. Until this last episode, which got SAD. It's a partially improvised show, so the whole thing feels so incredibly human and it always hits. Please listen, more fictional advice shows all around.

🐺 The Midnight Burger/The Amelia Project crossover was exactly as delightful as I expected. We got two shows that love historical figures and putting people in the deep freeze. What could go wrong! Absolutely nothing. With a crossover episode I always wonder if there will be enough character interaction to slake my insatiable character dynamic thirst and for this one I definitely think there was.

🍺 Inn Between dropped an episode of Dragon’s Rest on their feed this week, and I'm here to say that we did that because it's frikkin hilarious. This last episode was so good, especially with Shax trying to talk to a bartender and the bartender getting mad that Shax was complaining about her friends and not having a professional business conversation. I love you, southern-sounding bartender, and I love you Shax.

🩸Hemophobia continues to scare the heck out of me. This series, Camp Havenside, ended exactly how I expected it to, with the extra twist of that horrible half-possessed state Sam is in. Lordt. Listen to this show. Mind the content warnings. Then like, message me about it, it has taken permanent residence in my brain.

🎭 Oh Malevolent, you never disappoint me. I adore the twists the season finale took, and the real danger Arthur and John were in had me on the edge of my seat. How are we gonna get outta this one boys! Frikkin Kayne.

💎 As it ever is, @kingmakerpod was a blessing visited upon my podcatcher. Oh man though, Lucas Lando, what a scuzbag. Like maybe the worst villain yet in this series for me, and I'm including the psychic child. Lando's just unsavory. The action scenes in this episode were excellent, and I love the use of Pocket Cinnamon. For a minute when they were looking for things in the barn that don't conduct electricity, I was very worried for the cows. Honestly now a little surprised they didn't explode a cow. Hey guys, why didn't you explode a cow?

🌈 I've been listening to this actual play, @ourstoriedinsight, and it's about all the typical actual play stuff--a party of misfit adventurers, thrown together by circumstance, trying to stop the end of the world. What stands out about this one is its wonderful sound design and its tone--it's so introspective and kind. The characters are great too. I would die for Vishakapar. If you like an actual play and you don't want to wait for it to get really good, please check out Our Storied Insight.

As for personal news, boy oh boy am I working hard on the Dead! Pray for our recording schedule these next couple weeks. As for Inn Between, we'll be putting up an episode this week that is a true banger, I hope you like it.

That's it for me this week! If you like what I do, send me a tip!

[corazon-calaveras]

The Crow Reboot Rant

NAH NAH NAH, WHOSE IDEA WAS IT TO MAKE ERIC DRAVEN LOOK LIKE A DISCOUNT VERSION OF JARED LETTO'S JOKER?!? IMMA THROW HANDS!!! 💀🔪

There's just so much wrong about this reboot and as a fan of the original crow movie and graphic novel I cannot even begin to express how much this disappoints me.

More to rant ahead, just know it's hella long.

I recently saw and heard more news about the crow reboot and upon seeing what to expect I no longer have any interest in watching the reboot, in fact I wish the fans continue to roast the hell out of it to show the people in charge of this reboot that this is NOT what the people want or need.

Now I just want to go on and say that I have no problems with Bill Skarsgard as Eric Draven. I think he's a hella great actor with lots of potential of doing a great job at being the next crow actor, but my issue is with the writers and the people who made the overall decision to make this cult classic "appeal to modern audiences" which that quote alone was enough for me to completely abandon all hope of this movie being any good. I was already skeptical enough about the reboot and my expectations were low but THIS...this definitely made my expectations drop even lower than they already were and that's surprising to me. Honestly at this point the three crow sequels were a lot better and that's saying a lot because if y'all have seen those you'll know they weren't that good either but at least they were entertaining. 😭 (In my opinion at least, feel free to disagree on that).

It gets even better when you find out that the inspiration for reboot crow was Post Malone and Lil Peep. 💀

Like...is that what appeals to modern audiences nowadays? Was that really necessary for modern day Eric Draven? Absolutely not! The original movie and comic took place in the 90's so LEAVE IT IN THE 90's! Not everything has to be modernized for the sake of appealing to modern audiences. What modern audiences need right now are original stories with good and compelling writing (which probably won't happen any time soon since Hollywood proved to be in the middle of an imagination drought).

Sure, one can argue that the original movie wasn't completely faithful to the source material, that being the graphic novel. However, Due to the unfortunate passing of Brandon Lee during the making of the film, James O 'Barr has stated that he had finished the film as a tribute to Brandon who was a sweet and caring man and so decided to write Eric Draven to have some resemblance to Brandon in the film as a way to honor him. With that in mind, it's no wonder people are much harsher about the reboot, myself included, and find that this reboot would be an insult to not only James O 'Barr but also to Brandon. (Those who know the tragic history of The Crow graphic novel would understand why that's the case but in short it was a way for James to deal with grief).

In my opinion, the original crow film does not need a reboot or a remake. It may not be the best or perfect movie in the world but it is a cult classic and is one of the most beloved movies that holds a dear place in people's hearts. Mine included. Which is why instead of making another movie based on Brandon Lee's crow, that the other crow characters get a shot at the big screen since Eric Draven isn't the only one who gets brought back to life by a crow. I can understand how this might potentially not gain enough traction because it's not the iconic Eric Draven, but I do believe that with good writing and loyalty to the source materials, that it can be very possible to make a good and fresh crow movie without piggy backing off of an already beloved and successful film with the help of the fans who most likely have read the other comics.

In my opinion, I don't think this reboot is worth anyone's time (at least for those who are hardcore fans of the Crow franchise) and I have no hope for this whatsoever. In fact, I'm gonna go rewatch the original movie for the millionth time and reread the original graphic novel because I've already accepted the fact that any potential of getting a good crow movie is officially out the window. Not only that but the book and film are my comfort watch and reads so there's that.

For anyone who wants to hear more details about the reboot I recommend looking up articles or watch videos about it on youtube since that's where I heard the majority of the news.

Brandon Lee will forever be the best Eric Draven out there, may he rest in peace.

[kattythingz]

Believe it / I'm in love and I mean it / Her name's Penelope and I need her to be mine

And the epic brainrot continues... This time thanks to yet another TOO DAMN ADORABLE animatic that I just had to redraw edling to, with the wonderful collaboration of @sirchenchen!!! She did Ling's design (that I had to crop WAY too much of... Full version under the cut) and I did Ed + the bg. Chen also does other art on her account so y'all better check her out 🔪🔪

Au details nobody asked for under the cut~

Ling has been the youngest king of Xing for some years now, and his council is nagging him to find a bride now that he's turned a very mature sixteen. There are many things Ling can and has fought his council on—but they won't budge on this specific matter. Thus, Ling resigns himself to opening his hand for neighboring nations.

Xerxes is one of the many nations to hear of this opening, so King Hohenheim drags his own children to the event in hopes of cementing an alliance with Xing. Al goes along with his father's will, ever the polite boy, but Ed is far from happy.

Right off the bat, there's a bit of a misunderstanding, as Xerxes arrives in their fanciest whites for the occasion... unknowing that white is Xing's mourning color. Ed is the only one to refuse to dress up like the rest, so he compromises with a fancier cut of his favored red-and-black instead.

This creates a laughable confusion as people assume Xerxes suffered a great loss. Only the First Prince seems unbothered, dressed boldly in colors not of supposed mourning.

Ling, bored out of his mind already, is naturally piqued by this rebellion, and he's compelled to talk to the First Prince—Edward—before the rest of the suitors.

("Wait. Are you saying you're only talking to me right now because you thought I was an insensitive jackass spitting on someone's grave?!")

("That does seem to be the case, yes!")

... Ling doesn't think he made the best first impression.

Edward's brother is much less of a riot, though perfectly pleasant. All the suitors are. They just... don't interest Ling. Not as much as Edward had just in that single conversation. Edward doesn't even participate in the bridal events, skipping every time in favor of hitting the town, chatting up the locals and learning their crafts. Or just finding the largest olive tree in the palace gardens and settling down to study in its shade.

Ling is in love.

Desperate now to right his wrong with Edward, Ling beseeches Athena help him court the boy of his dreams.

It's then that Athena so kindly reveals that Edward is one of the rare few scholars personally blessed by her. Xerxes has always been close to Athena, worshipping her moreso than the other gods, but Edward and Alphonse's minds are especially sharp, she tells Ling with an almost smile gracing her lips.

(He was almost made her champion; she's watched him long enough consider it. Upon further observation, however, he proved a little too soft-hearted.)

She supposes this wouldn't be such an awful union to see through. One of her brightest scholars, wedded to her chosen champion? The results oughta be fascinating, at least.

No amount of godly advice could save Ling from fumbling those first few wooing attempts, of course. But Ling is nothing if not dedicated to a good cause. And Edward might just be the best cause there is.

He's absolutely not subtle as he, too, begins sneaking away from the bridal events to seek out Ed and "run into" him several times a day. The locals have watched their young king grow since he was but a sunspot of a child. And that look right there in his eyes is positively moonstruck.

(Or perhaps... sunstruck is more appropriate to say?)

They wish their king the best of luck. Judging by Edward's impressive scowl at the mere sight of him... he has quite the challenge ahead of himself.