#if he still had his long hair i would honestly just. Ascend

[banqanas]

I miss them (their long hair) 😔🙏

[thedemises]

——— COLD HANDS。 ★ sunday.

note; I don't think I wrote my boy sunday good enough to the canon..... anyways I took inspiration from the fact that my hands r always cold so why not 😈 (I totally didn't take a week to finish this hahahahah this turned out a lot longer than I expected,,,, over 2k.... 😦)

tagging; @aventurineswife :3

you could've barely noticed it at first, but the tips of your fingers were slowly growing numb as time passes, likely due to the cold humidity in the room. however, you hardly care, letting yourself sink into the serene stillness in the party car of the astral express.

it had always been a normal occurrence for your hands to feel much colder than anyone else's, and it was a bother at times when you would unintentionally graze your own hand against a part of your body — however, you managed to find a small advantage in it; often pressing your icy fingers against your friends' necks as a small, playful prank.

you can remember the priceless expressions on your fellow express members' faces whenever you pull such an act on them without their awareness and the thought of it barely makes you chuckle to yourself on any occasion. heh, the corner of your lips quirk up into a sly smirk without your intentions.

though you wouldn't recommend doing that to the conductor of the train...

pointer fingers lightly tap on each other with hands clasped together, you stay seated with legs crossed as your eyes occasionally scan the room carefully for a potential candidate to interact with. member or guest, you just want to talk to pass the time. (shush isn't really fun to converse with, in your opinion; other than those jokes, he's a gentleman but not quite interesting enough in your eyes. though you're curious about shush's creator; the one who made the mixologist).

the top of your shoe taps against the polished floor, in a steady rhythm made up by your mind — or coming from a song you had in your mind for a while now — while you eventually spot your victim possible conversationist.

a young man standing at the farthest corner of the cart, in a bicolored tailcoat and small wings behind his ears which are of similar tone to his muted blue hair as a golden halo floats behind the head. they flap and twitch from time to time and he is merely unbothered by the silence in the area (besides the sound of glass cups clinking from shush cleaning them and that lady in a purple veil looking over some tarot cards floating in her hands), the halovian simply stares about at the space outside the cabin with a sort of... longing look in his eyes.

...

ah, sunday — former head of the oak family and older brother of the interastral famous idol; robin. honestly; you weren't really involved in the whole penacony catastrophe since you, alongside dan heng, decided to stay behind in the express until you made the decision to go and went along with the archivist (and a certain galaxy ranger who was practically hijacking the parlor car, and with a gun pointed at the reserved train guardian no less) and then assisting the others in taking down that damned giant mechanical monstrosity and that damned giant mechanical monstrosity's sea angel-looking things.

and now with that event taken care of and calming down, it's a bit of a surprise when the guy who tried to basically kill the other astral express members aboards the same train that railed him over a couple times and is now trying to redeem himself from the goal where he tried to turn everyone's dream into a complacent bliss by taking everyone's free will & future in the process.

instead of the one who (though, unintentionally) almost ascended to aeonhood, sunday is reduced to a mere passenger on the express train you too aboard on. what a life turning of events.

and with the idea of spooking him as well settles at the top of your mind.

the mischievous thought solidifies, and your eyes gleam with a subtle spark of excitement. sunday seems like the perfect target — a mix of composed and distant, a far cry from the usual express members who might anticipate your pranks by now; considering how long it has been since you've been a member.

your cold fingers itch with anticipation, the chill now feels like an asset rather than a hindrance — and it feels like the oh-so perfect moment to do so.

you rise from your seat slowly, careful not to make a sound that would alert him to your approach, as your steps are light, muffled by the carpeted floor of the party car. the young halovian seems deeply engrossed in the view beyond the window, the distant in his gaze making you almost reconsider — just for half a second. however, the faint smirk creeping up onto your lips reminds you of your current goal.

and who are you to shy away so quickly from an itching opportunity to fill your satisfaction?

as you inch closer behind with the quietest of steps, his ear wings twitch slightly, making you pause your movements. they’re... quite delicate up close than you realized, the translucent blue edges of each pale feather shimmering faintly and you were almost distracted by them. almost.

why yes, you were curious about his halovian features but now's not the time to ponder, you...

with deft fingers, you gently brush aside a curtain of his muted blue hair, exposing the nape of his neck. it's quite warmer than you expected — soft, almost inviting — and, while at the back of your mind you were a bit baffled how sunday barely even noticed what you were doing, it takes every ounce of self-control not to giggle at the thought of what’s about to happen.

“ah, what’s the point of hesitation now?” you mutter under your breath before plunging your frozen-like fingers onto the bare skin of his neck—

—the reaction you got was instantaneous. sunday’s breath hitches audibly and a low, startled gasp escapes his lips as his entire body jolts from the sudden, icy shock at the nape of his neck; his posture was rigid as if struck by lightning as his ear wings snap open instinctively, flaring out like a startled bird's — the sharp motion sends a soft, fleeting breeze through the air, ruffling your hair slightly.

“by the stars—!” he gasps, eyes wide and glimmering like fractured glass as a hand flies up to cover the assaulted area as if to guard it from another ambush from your shenanigans. his intriguing golden halo hovering behind his head wavers slightly, tilting as though reflecting his momentary loss of composure, and his cheeks flushed a light peachy red from the heat of surprise.

the young man spins around after a small beat of silence with a sharp intake of breath, his expression a mix of shock and confusion, the serene mask he wore moments ago completely shattered.

your hands had already retracted when sunday covered the back of his own neck, and you can't help the laughter that spills out of you; unrestrained and shameless.

“wo—ow!” you manage between bouts of mirth, a hand barely covers your mouth to partially drown out half the noise you were making within the usually quiet cart. “that... that was... absolutely priceless, sunday...!” your voice wavers and slightly cracks at the end of your sentence, still carried by the remnants of your laughter; the amusement from the entire situation clearly written all over your face.

for a moment, he just stares at you, caught between the bewilderment and indignation of your little prank... then, his brows knit together in a way that’s almost endearing, and his lips press into a tight line. “what… was that for?” his careful voice carries the faintest tremor, as though he’s still recovering from the shock of the chill.

eventually, you've recovered from your little laughing fit enough to answer sunday properly this time, as a hand of yours reached up to wipe off a small tear from your eyes. “oh, come on,” you lightly tease, leaning against a nearby chair with a smug grin. “you were just.. idly standing over there, looking all broody and mysterious; I couldn’t resist.”

sunday exhales sharply, visibly trying to collect himself. his wings fold back into place with a soft rustle, and his hand lingers protectively over his neck before letting it hang by his side.

“I was merely... thinking.”

“hm? about what?” asked you while tilting your head.

the halovian hesitates as the faint blush lingering on his cheeks gradually fades, leaving his complexion noticeably paler. “nothing that concerns you.”

“huh, is that so?” you drawl, tapping your chin as if in deep thought. “perhaps I have just found a new mystery to solve — cracking sunday’s enigmatic shell.”

“i— don’t even think about it,” he mutters, though there’s a flicker of something in his tone — a hint of amusement, perhaps? the left wing behind his ear twitches subtly before steadying behind him, but the slight folding of both ear wings toward his face betrays his embarrassment.

amused by his actions, you chuckle to yourself again and fold your arms over your chest. “you’ll have to lighten up eventually, y’know sunny. can’t stay all reserved and quiet forever.”

“don't—” sunday abruptly stops himself, then he sighs in exasperation of your antics. “you’re insufferable. but please refrain from calling me that in the future.”

“and you’re fun to mess with.” you flash him a cheeky smirk, already contemplating your next move. after all, what’s life aboard the astral express without a little bit of mischief?

“also, why not? but, however, if that's what you want...”

as sunday just turns away to the side just a bit, you straighten up your posture, still all smiley and smirking whatnot. you can’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment; breaking through the usually quiet halovian's composure felt like a minor victory in itself. the quiet hum of the astral express fills the air again as the moment between you fades into the serene stillness of the party car.

still, something about the faint blush lingering on sunday’s cheeks keeps tugging at your thoughts. veneath the cool exterior and formal demeanor lies a person who, much like everyone else aboard this train, carries their own scars and stories. you might be good at teasing and poking a bit here and there, but you’re not oblivious to the weight he seems to bear — especially with what happened in the recent events.

the mood shifts slightly as you observe him quietly — he has resumed gazing out the window, though his expression is much softer now, his wings no longer bristling but relaxed. the golden halo behind him stabilizes, the light coming from the lights inside the party cart casting a faint glow that makes him look almost ethereal.

“you know,” you say, breaking the silence. sunday still gazes into the galaxy beyond the window but he secretly listens to whatever you're about to say. “I’m not always about pranks — however, if you ever feel like talking about whatever’s on your mind, I can lend you an ear too.”

the young man turns his head toward you, his brows raise up a little in mild surprise. for a moment, he seems to study you, as if trying to gauge your sincerity — finally, he exhales, and a small, almost imperceptible smile touches his lips.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

the response is brief but carries a surprising warmth that wasn’t there before. you nod in response, satisfied, and let the quietness stretch out again. maybe there’s more to sunday than meets the eye, and perhaps, in time, he’ll let you see a little more of what lies beneath his enigmatic exterior in the near future of trailblazing expeditions.

the sliding doors to the party car slide open suddenly, and ever-so bubbly march 7th bounces in as her ever-cheerful energy fills the space of the previous serene atmosphere. “hey! what’s going on in here? did I miss something fun?”

you almost can’t resist glancing at sunday with a small mischievous glint in your eye, the latter in question softly groans and shakes his head to himself.

“oh, really nothing much. I was merely giving our newest passenger a warm welcome.”

the bubblegum-haired girl glances between the two of you, a bit curious what the two of you were doing a bit earlier. “huh.. really though? because it looks like you were up to no good again.”

“awh— wait, me? never,” you tilt your head slightly as your voice takes on an exaggerated tone of mock-innocence. behind you, sunday exhales sharply and his eyes narrow as he pinches the bridge of his nose. march 7th crosses her arms, arching a brow before both of them briefly exchange a shared look — one that speaks volumes about their exasperation.

as the conversation shifts to lighter topics, the laughter and camaraderie in the room slowly build, filling the once-quiet space with warmth and life. even the young halovian seems to ease into the dynamic, his reserved nature softening just a bit as he listens to the banter around him.

in this moment, you realize that life aboard the astral express isn’t just about the journeys or the destinations — it’s about the people you share them with, the stories you create, and the bonds you forge along the way.

and as the stars continue to streak past outside into the milky way, you can’t help but feel that this is exactly where you’re meant to be.

© thedemises 2024. all rights reserved. please do not plagiarize, copy, or feed my written works to ai.

[astarionancuntnin]

Die For You

summary: the ascension changed the person Astarion was, or so you believed. you broke up and parted ways after defeating the netherbrain, thinking it was for the best, but when you see him again 6 months later at the reunion, you realize you never truly moved on.

and it seems neither did he.

rating: E

word count: 3.9k

pairing: astarion x you (fem!reader) (fic wide), shadowheart x you (chapter 1 specifically)

cw: 18+. angst, smut, porn with plot, porn with (some) feelings, ascended astarion, bad breakup, awkwardly avoiding your ex, alcohol induced sex, rebound sex (in the sense that youre trying to forget about your ex but you might have feelings for that other person too), oral sex, fingering, stalking, kidnapping, mild violence.

a/n: i have been working on this for over a month now, i have 2 other chapters also ready BUT im undecided on which ending i want for this, so yall get chapter 1 as a teaser, let me know whatcha think :eyes:

a/n²: this is the start of a long fic (my first one, phew)! i intend to update it weekly-ish, i GREATLY appreciate comments as it helps me test the waters on whats to come with it

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I like (I like) what you like (what you like) Long hair (no bra) that's my type (that's right) You just told me, want me to fuck you Baby, I will 'cause I really want to

-

The ascension was complete. He actually went through with it. 7000 souls, gone. 

Astarion, The Vampire Ascendant.

He convinced you that it’s what was necessary. You thought this would bring him peace. It’s what he wanted. You loved him, and you would’ve gone to the ends of the world for him; in your eyes, after everything he'd been through, it's what he deserved.

“I can hear it at last, how all the lowly creatures of this plane are begging to serve.”

But now that it was done, you couldn’t tell if he was still him. If the vampire before you was still the same you spent that first night in the woods. That same one who admitted to have fallen for you. The same one who thanked you for taking a stand against Araj at Moonrise Towers. And if he wasn’t, who was he now? Did he have anything left from his previous self? And could you still love him if he didn’t?

"The world will stir in fear."

The walk back to camp that day was dreary. As Astarion walked ahead of everyone with his newfound confidence, you were dragging your feet behind the rest of your party. The weight of what you had done, slowly setting in. Your friends asked about your well-being and you reassured them all that everything’s fine! It was just a big day! And you simply couldn’t wait to finally rest. You didn’t have the heart to admit that you were regretting what you had encouraged Astarion to do.

Back at the Elfsong, you wave to your companions an early good night as you are heading to bed, before Astarion pulls you aside.

“My consort, we are so close to our triumph, I can almost taste it.” Even his tone was different. What you used to qualify as theatrical was now leaning towards dramatical.

You freeze and look at him dead in his eyes. Every part of you is looking for any proof at all that he was still himself. After all, you had no way to know if the 7007 souls sacrificed also included his own.

“I think we need to talk,” your voice comes out colder than intended.

“Little love, whatever could be the matter?”

“Just– what in the Hells happened to you in there?” The words come out of their own, tainted with sadness.

“It's quite simple, really: I became a better version of myself. The very best, dare I say. And I have no one else but you to thank for it.”

You cross your arms and evade his eyes, your shame for your actions creeping up on you. “I don’t feel great about it, honestly.”

“Well, what’s done is done, and there’s simply no point in dwelling on the past, is there?”

His disdain for the enormous sacrifice that was made makes you scoff, incredulous. “You’re nothing like the Astarion I knew before.”

“I know. I’m better, stronger than he ever was. Finally free of my past.” He smiles, satisfied. “I’m who I always wanted to be. I have everything I ever wanted, except you, by my side.”

His hand reaches out to you and you quickly understand the offer he’s making: to make you a spawn, his spawn. The whole situation is bittersweet to you; of course you’ve always wanted what he wanted, what was best for him, and you would've spent your lifetime with him in another context, but with how he turned out following the ascension, this future isn't something you can imagine yourself in. Now that this choice is given to you, you know better than to accept. 

You shake your head as you step back, “No… I won’t do it.”

He sighs, dropping his hand to his side, “Seems I misjudged you. I thought we might have a future together, eternity, even. Perhaps you’re not worthy.”

His condescending tone sparks a fury within you. “We’ll defeat the elder brain together. But after that, I want nothing to do with you,” you say as you try to contain the anger rising in your chest. His brows furrow, matching your energy. “So be it. You will regret leaving me, more than anything you live to regret.”

You give him one last angry look before walking to your bed, muttering to yourself as you feel tears swelling up. 

“I regret letting you go through with that damned ritual.”

—

You follow through with your promise. With the Netherbrain gone and your tadpoles vanished, nothing kept you together anymore. You parted ways with all your companions, going out on your own, wherever your next adventure guided you. Finally, a normal life, or something closer to it, anyway. You did miss most of them, for what it’s worth; you considered them your family. You often wondered how Wyll and Karlach were faring in the Hells, and how Lae’zel’s quest to take down Vlaakith was going; you even considered offering your help at one point, but after ending things with Astarion, you needed to be alone. The breakup hit you harder than you expected, it left your heart with a void. He looked happy following his ascension, so why couldn’t you be happy for him? Why was this so hard on you? It’s not something you had ever experienced in your past relationships, usually able to move to the next one rather quickly. You didn’t naturally get attached to people, you used to think that nothing lasts forever, and relationships weren’t an exception. This damned vampire proved to you once again that you were right, although you wished for once you weren’t. He took up all your thoughts, and you had to do something to wash him away.

You occupied your time best by helping people in need, taking bounties left and right, roaming the lands and fighting monsters. When you could afford it, you’d spend the night at the local inn, drinking to numb the feelings. On nights when you were most drunk, you ended up sharing someone else's bed, whoever proposed it to you on those nights. With the alcohol in your veins and your eyes closed, your mind let you believe that you were in his arms again. That it was all a bad dream, and you would wake up next to him, only to be hit by the harsh reality the next morning.

You did anything that you thought would help keep your mind busy. It did work for some time; as long as you were actively doing something – focused on the task at hand – you didn’t think about the past, but the moment night fell and you laid to rest alone, you were back at square one. 

You felt guilty about Astarion’s ascension. Guilty of the impact it had on him and your relationship, guilty of the power you let him have and the consequences that it meant. Even guilty of how you felt about it; it was a vicious cycle that plagued you.

It had been your one and only mistake. You let yourself be blinded by the rose-coloured glasses of your love for him, and although you meant well, you’re very conscious of the damage this decision had on him and potentially the city, but also the 7000 souls sacrificed in the process. Granted, they were already spawns and there was no way to save them from this fate, they could’ve at least have had a chance at living in the Underdark. Yes, you had saved the city – damages aside – lifted a curse, freed everyone and yourself from the Absolute, defeated the chosens of the Dead Three, bla bla bla, but your mind always drifted to Astarion’s fate. What if you had stopped him? Surely, your life would be different now. You would be roaming the streets with him, probably. Maybe living together in the Underdark. He would’ve stayed himself. You would’ve been… happier.

When you receive Withers’ invitation to the reunion, it’s the first time in months you’re actually happy, excited even, to see your friends at long last, but also anxious. Your mind drifts to the vampire you used to love. Would you see him at the reunion? Would he have changed at all? How has he been?

Did he still think about you, too?

Looking forward to the night, you treat yourself out to a nice outfit from the local seamstress. You settle on a simple, yet elegant, black long dress with an open back. The summer night is nice and fresh; you’re glad you went for a long sleeved dress. Your hair, which you decided to let down, also partially covers your exposed back, covering you from the breeze. You reach your old campsite to find out you’re the last to arrive, as you see all your friends already mingling. You decide to talk to Shadowheart first, as she was the one you missed the most, as you had grown particularly closer to her during your adventure. In another life, you would’ve been together, you think. You felt bad about not contacting her sooner, but her joy upon seeing you washes away all guilt. She greets you with a smile and a large embrace.

“Come here you! Gods, I missed you!”

You hold her tight, enjoying her strong hug. 

“Tell me everything! How have you been?”

“Oh you know, a few killings here and there, little shenanigans all around, I’m sure whatever you have to share is much more interesting.” You wish you could say something different, but your adventures really had been that bland. 

She rolls her eyes playfully at your deflection, “And how have you been feeling?”

“Greaaat, every day is a new adventure for me to discover.” You give a poor excuse for a laugh as an attempt to convince her.

She tilts her head forward and raises her eyebrow at you. She knew you better than you gave her credit for. “You know what I meant.” Her gaze points to the side behind you and you give a quick glance to see Astarion disdainfully looking at his surroundings, a silver cup in hand.

You sigh as you turn back to her, the facade falling at once. “I try not to think about it. I… hated what he became, and felt guilty about it. I did take part in it, I could’ve stopped it, but I didn’t.” You cross your arms, recollecting your thoughts. “But I’m starting to think that maybe I jumped to conclusions too quickly when I left him. I miss him and it’s… frustrating. Maybe I shouldn’t have come. Seeing him again so soon is more difficult than I originally thought.”

“Did you talk to him?” “I was actually trying to avoid him,” you confess.

“And you think that's healthy?” “It's the only way I'll be able to move on.”

“And how’s that been going?”

“I–” You’re unable to answer her, the truth being that it was going horribly.

She grabs you by your shoulders, bringing your attention back to her, “Hey, you know if you need anything, I’ll be there for you.” You smile, sheepishly, as she brushes your hair behind your ear, softly cupping your cheek. “And if you’re looking for some company to take your mind off of a certain vampire, well, I would be glad to offer mine.” You get lost in her eyes, with her hand soft and warm against your skin. Her invitation is tempting, and your gaze falls on her lips as you speak up.

“Yeah,” you breathe out. “I wouldn’t mind the company.”

“Come meet me when the party's over.” She smiles back, giving you a quick peck on the cheek before walking away. 

You spend the rest of the night catching up with all your friends, always keeping an eye on Astarion, who you notice has been eyeing you as well, as if he was expecting you to approach him, but you never do. You’re convinced nothing good will come out of it and even if you did talk, you’re not sure where you would even begin, so you keep your distance.

As the night settles down, you bid your close friends farewell and sneak out two bottles of wine to share with Shadowheart as she walks you to the inn she’d been staying at. The road is peaceful, and you reminisce about the past with the cleric, indulging in the leftover drinks you stole from the party. When you finally reach the inn, you're both a giggling and stumbling mess, empty bottles of wine still in hand as you enter her room.

As she closes the door behind her, you hear some patrons through the walls yell at you to shut up – it was late and your entrance had been pretty noisy – and you mockingly hush your friend, pressing a finger on her lips.

“Shadoooow, shhhhh” you whisper, your speech slurred. “You’re bothering people.”

“Oh, I’m bothering people? Care to remind me who stumbled their way up the stairs?” She says, laughing, her cheeks blushed by the alcohol.

“Hey– it’s not my fault their steps are so high and your room is so far,” you pout.

“Oh, my apologies,” she takes on a chivalrous tone. “Does my lady require assistance to reach her bed for the night?” 

You answer, matching her tone. “That would be most welcome, dearest.”

You squeal as she picks you up in her arms with an impressive strength, and carries you to the large bed. You giggle when she drops you off, and she leans over you.

“Is my lady satisfied with my service?”

You fail to keep a straight face when you answer. “Most definitely. Thank you, my liege.”

She smiles back softly before crashing next to you, both of you staring at the ceiling, taking in the first moment of silence of your night. A second later and your mind is already thinking about Astarion and you sigh heavily. Your companion instantly notices your change of mood.

“It’s him again, isn't it?”

You groan, grabbing your hair in frustration. “Was I wrong? To let him go through with that damn ritual? Why does he get to live his best life and I’m still feeling awful abo–”

She cups your cheek and pulls your face close to hers, cutting you off with a kiss. 

“How about we get to work on ‘forgetting about him’, hm?”

You nod slightly as you stare into her eyes, and she grins, her hand curling around your neck before crashing her lips against yours once again. You moan into the kiss, feeling the heat spread across your face and to your chest. Her kisses travel from your jaw down to your neck. She pulls your dress down, gradually exposing your flushed chest, before pulling back to take a good look at you, her own face matching your colour.

“You blush so beautifully.” Her voice is soft like velvet, each word making your heart pounce, as she continues to kiss her way down your navel, eventually discarding your dress on the floor.

You hide your face between your hands, trying to conceal the warmth coming from your cheeks and she comes back up to take your hands in hers, revealing your flustered state.

“You’re too pretty to hide yourself like that,” she reassures you with another kiss. “Let me admire you.”

You struggle to keep eye contact as one of her hands makes its way between your legs, teasing your entrance. Her fingers slide easily between your folds, earning her a moan out of you. She finds your clit and rubs you softly, your entire body twitching in reaction to her touch, and you shut your eyes to focus on the feeling, throwing your head back. Shadowheart takes this chance to trace the curve of your breast with her tongue, closing her mouth on its peak and sucking over it. Her tongue works wonders on you, and you whimper as she lightly bites you. 

“Keep singing for me,” She says between kisses, her voice thick with lust. “I love the sound of your voice.”

Her name on your lips is like a prayer as she ravishes your breast, leaving a few love bites over your chest. She pulls back temporarily to remove her own clothing before climbing back in bed, resting between your legs. You barely manage to raise yourself up when she pushes you back down against the bed.

“Lay down love, and let me take care of you. Just the way you deserve it.”

She throws your legs over her shoulders and kisses the inside of your thighs, leaving more love bites and she makes her way to your cunt. Her tongue finally finds its way between your folds and she laps at your juices, making sure to lick you clean.

“Gods, you taste divine.”

Her hands dig in your thighs as she devours you and you arch your back at the sensation, taking in the feeling of her tongue entering you. Your hips soon follow the movement, wanting more contact, and she takes the hint, moving to your clit to give it the attention it deserves. You whine when she enters you with a finger, and a second one, slowly thrusting into you, as her tongue circles your sensitive bud. Your chest rises higher and faster as your breathing quickens, and she knows you're close. Your eyes are long gone, but she looks up to you, admiring your state before she speaks up.

“Let it go, love. Come for me.”

She sucks once more on your clit, her fingers pushing harder against that sweet spot inside of you. You throw your head back, grabbing the bed sheets at your sides as you scream her name with the remaining air in your lungs and a crashing wave of sensations washes over you. For a moment, your mind goes blank, there's nothing but pure bliss. You want to stay like this forever; finally at peace, content. As you come down from your high, your legs give out and you pant excessively, trying to catch your breath.

You feel the bed shift beside you and open your eyes to see Shadowheart lazily making her way next to you.

“But– what about you?” you ask, breathless and tired.

“You don’t think I enjoyed myself just now?” She laughs and kisses you. “You’re simply adorable.” She cups your cheek lovingly, brushing your hair away. 

“Tonight was all about you. Plus, I doubt you'd be able to accomplish anything in the state you're in. You can always make it up to me another night,” she grins and boops your nose, smiling tenderly, before snuggling against you.

You watch her as she drifts to sleep next to you, moments before you cave into your own exhaustion. For the first time in months, you get a good, restful night of sleep.

When morning comes, you’re awakened by a god-awful headache, the consequences of last night’s drinking catching up to you. On the bright side, you find Shadowheart wrapped around you from behind, with her face nuzzled in your neck. You smile and hold on to her arm around your waist, linking your fingers with hers. She awakens soon after and greets you with kisses on your shoulder. You turn around to properly kiss her good morning, but the pain throbbing in your head has you groaning and holding your head instead. She catches on quickly and casts lesser restoration on you, fixing your headache instantly.

“Thank you, doc.” You sigh, content, and turn your head to face her. “How will I ever repay you?”

“I'm sure you'll think of something.”

“Mmh, I might have an idea.”

“Oh?” She chuckles. “Colour me intrigued.”

You flip yourself above her, pinning her down before kissing her lovingly. When you pull away, you find her looking at you with the same lust she had for you the night prior. Her eyes fall on your lips before she speaks again.

“You should follow me on my next adventure. I think it would help you clear things up.”

You pull back, now sitting on her, as you take a moment to answer. “I have a few errands to run, but I might take you up on that offer.”

“I still have the room for a tenday,” she raises herself up on her elbows and gives you a pensive look before continuing her thought. “Let me know when you make up your mind.”

You get dressed up and kiss her goodbye, eager to go back to your own inn to get changed and take a much deserved bath. Since the room you had rented was yours for a few days, you might as well take the chance to shop around while you were there; you were in dire need of new equipment for your next adventures. You spend those days getting upgrades for your gear, and visiting the city. Day after day, something felt odd; you had the weird feeling that you were being watched. Every time, nothing would happen, and neither did you see anyone suspicious, but the feeling never left. One night, as you were making your way to your inn, that feeling only got stronger. The streets weren’t busy per say, but everyone you could see was minding their business, discussing amongst themselves. You pressed ahead to reach the inn faster; maybe it was all in your head, but just in case your intuition was right, you didn’t want to take any chances.

As you turn the corner to take a shortcut in a back alley, two figures block your path. In the dark of the night, you can’t make out their identities, but their threatening auras are enough to make you back away. You bump into two more imposing shadows, somehow having managed to sneak up behind you, who quickly grab your arms before you can think of escaping. You try to fight against them but their combined forces pin you down almost completely. You were strong, you shouldn’t have had any issue fighting them off, but their strength almost felt… surnatural. If you had learned one thing during your misadventures, it was that when brute strength wasn't an option, you had to aim for their egos.

“Come on, four against one? How's that fair? Are you so weak that you can't face me alone? Let me get the chance to fuck you up, one after the other.” You smile cheekily, your blood running hot, ready for a fight. Karlach would be proud.

The bandits remain unphased by your taunting, with only one of them answering to your banter.

“We won't fight you. Our Master requested that you be brought alive.”

“Aw, poor lil pup can’t do anything without its master's permission,” you say, mocking them, and you laugh disdainfully at them. “You’re fucking pathetic.” 

The figure moves towards you and you’re slapped with a strength that would’ve made you fall to your knees, had you not been held by the two other goons.

“ENOUGH!” Another figure speaks up. “Remember the Master mentioned that she be left unharmed.”

You lift your head back up, your breathing ragged by your furor. “How about you bring me to that master of yours so I can show him who he’s messing with?”

You wish you could take back your words as another figure appears, stepping out from the shadows, this one all too familiar.

“Hello, my sweet.”

-

I bet they planned it all out like the shows Went everywhere I go Walked in the store right behind me Stood in line right beside me and followed me to my home I'm sure they figured it out early on That I would never run That they could shoot, but that's no fun 'Cause then they're killing the stolen son, oh

[moonselune]

hiii it's revivify anon again (can I be 🐶anon?)

ahhhh your takes for the male companions reactions are so real!!

as a galemancer myself, I absolutely see him going the god route to bring them back. he's probably spin it as something like, "it was my ambition to bring you back. Therefore, i am allowed" (honestly, I could see him becoming so much darker if he brings back his fallen love. He'd probably keep them in a gilded cage of sorts. Always saying that he has their best interests at heart, that he's better and more reliable than all other gods. That no one, god or mortal, could love you better than him, so you should worship him just as much as he worships you... man... the potential.)

Thinking about astarion losing his love just hurts because like... they came and healed his heart only to shatter it all over again? If it was BEFORE the cazador fight, I think he'd definitely ascend himself. Why worry about losing your soul when you've already lost your heart? If it was after the cazador fight, I think he'd just kick himself for letting you convince him not to do it, and eventually circle back to the idea that he should've ascended. Maybe then, he could've saved you....

Oh, Wyll.... I get what you mean about not wanting to immediately go down that route of trading his soul to another Patron. I think if Mizora caught wind, she'd absolutely taunt him with it. Always hanging around like a bad smell, dangling the chance to bring his love back as long as he signs away his soul in a Pact eternal with her. I think as long as he had his friends around, he would be able to stand firm and remember that his lover would've shattered at the idea of him sacrificing himself. I'm not sure if I'm misreading his character or not, but I'm pretty sure he wouldn't take another lover. He'd probably 1) blame himself for the loss of their life, and 2) think he isn't worthy of love again, and 3) probably love them until he dies tbh. He wouldn't want another lover, because they wouldn't be his lost love :'(

DARK HALSIN!!! Girl... your mind.... you are so onto something. I could totally see him going shadow druid tbh. He'd probably stop and be like, "you know what? Maybe they were right. Maybe I should've embraced the shadows. Maybe I still should..." or like, if people venture far enough into the woods, they might come across a corpse perfectly preserved as if theyre just sleeping, reeking of druidic magic. There's tons of plants surrounding the body. Some consider it a holy site, some consider it cursed. But all agree not to linger too long, lest the beast that guards it finds you...

CW: Dark Content

Of course 🐶 nonnie !

Oh my god yes yes yes yes, I have done a galemancy run and it was one of my favourites. The way this man would be like "I am doing nothing wrong" and there's just a pile of bodies behind him because he keeps messing up this necromancy spell that requires a sacrifice. Oh my lord and when it finally works and you are alive, back and well. He is overjoyed and is like my love! You have returned! Don't look at all the blood and bodies, just come this way my love! No the outside world will harm you, my love, just follow me! Look at this room it has all your favourites! Those windows have never opened my love, here's your favourite tea!

And he is NEVER going to let it go that he brought you back- ever. You are his masterpiece, the fruits of all his labor, the perfect embodiment of his ambition. He is your creator, you, the perfect creation. You belong to him. You will watch him ascend and you will take your place below beside him.

Resisting is pointless, you wouldn't want to go back to that cruel afterlife. Maybe if you are being particularly ungrateful, you would like a taste of what he rescued you from? Sending you into a spiral of nightmares until all you can do is cling to him in fear. He strokes your hair as you cry and murmurs how all he did was save you from this and you want to defy him? Hurt him by saying all those cruel words?

Well shit this is gonna end up as a fic isn't it?

YES, pre cazador, definitely would ascend and I can go see him going after people who look like you but as soon as they do/say something that is out of character for you, he just murders them. Justifying it by saying if you don't get to live, then neither do the poor imitations of you.

If he didn't ascend I reckon he would make a deal for him to get some sort of power, as you said, his heart died with you, what does he need a soul for? And then that takes us back to his ascended behaviour.

Oh baby boy Wyll, I agree, I do not think he would take another lover, but he would move on, I can see him becoming Grand Duke and shaping Baldur's Gate into a City that you would have survived in. He would name so many things after you, you liked books? He would build a library in your name? You always said you wanted kids or a big family, he builds an orphanage for you, telling the children stories of you. I think eventually as Wyll gets older and Mizora still tries to tempt him, he eventually enjoys her presence - as every time she tries to lure him into darkness, he can hear his beloved guiding him back to the light, and that he would never give up. Mizora is like wtaf, fine, you will never see me again, and then she's bored and shows up.

Dark Halsin !!! We love you !! He would have such a guilt complex about the shadow druids, how they were right etc. AND YES OMG you read my mind, parents warn their kids not to play too deep into the forest and for those wayward ones they come back, trembling with fear as they say how the beast roared and swiped its sharp paw at them. (Halsin would scare them away, I can never imagine him being violent with kids). But for those trying to prove their strength and valour by rescuing the beautiful maiden - they are never seen again.

Oooooo I cannot wait to sink my teeth into this!

[rainy-writers]

When are y’all gonna get it through your heads that no one actually cared if the Velaryon boys were bastards or not? They could have come out with white hair, violet eyes, the whole shebang and the rumor still would have been spread because it was meant to undermine RHAENYRA and her claim, nothing else!!

It was a misogynistic attempt to paint her as reckless and irresponsible and another way for the greens to push for Aegon. It was fear mongering, meant to say “Hey! Choose Aegon because you guys don’t want a bastard on the throne, right?” And it didn’t fucking work, save for on the idiot audience that still eats this shit up and genuinely believes that the dance happened bc Harwin and Rhaenyra weren’t married, rather than realizing the whole theme is MISOGYNY!! ITS ABOUT USURPING A WOMAN NO MATTER WHAT SHE DOES, SOLEY BC SHES A WOMAN AND NOTHING ELSE!!

If she had no kids = Vote for Aegon cause she’s barren!!

If she had kids = Vote for Aegon cause they’re bastards!!

If she has kids that look exactly like her = Vote for Aegon bc her kids are clearly Daemon’s bastards am I right? Vote Aegon bc he’s clearly the more responsible of the two with his trueborn kids!!

It. Does. Not. Matter.

And it makes me so mad, especially when people say that the realm wouldn’t have accepted Jace like DUDE. Nobody is just casually going around saying these kids are bastards, save for the people that KNOW they can get away with it if they’re caught bc Viserys wouldn’t dare punish them. Aka:

Alicent, Otto, and her nightmare kids. That’s it. No, some random Lord in the Reach wasn’t preaching about Jace, Luke, and Joff being bastards. I sincerely hate to burst your bubble (NOT!) but you guys as an audience care more than the actual people that live in this world and it’s so funny.

Basic media literacy will tell you that NO, Westeros did not care. How do I know? Well it’s simple really. If they cared then majority of them simply wouldn’t pledge to support Rhaenyra, clearly knowing that Jace is her heir??

I mean, these are all of the houses that supported Rhaenyra AND Jace:

I mean do yall honestly think Cregan Stark thought Jace was a bastard when he swore an oath in BLOOD with Jace, marched PERSONALLY to the south AFTER Jace was dead, and tried to literally kill the CHILDREN of the Lord’s who rose up against him and Rhaenyra?

Do you think Lady Jeyne gaf when she personally pledged to support him? Lord Manderly? Hm.

No, they didn’t lmao.

So please, kill this narrative that “There was going to be rebellion if Jace ascended the throne” and “The realm wouldn’t accept him bc all of them secretly knew he was a bastard despite having no proof because his father, his grandfather and THEIR KING never said otherwise.”

It would not have happened y’all. And one day you blood purist, Velaryon boys haters are going to get it through your head that YES !! They were legitimate because no one ever said otherwise. It was never proven. Rumor isn’t proof. Hair isn’t proof for fucks sake. You need actual words from Laenor himself saying that RHAENYRA cheated and those boys are Harwin’s. You need Corlys passing over Luke for Driftmark and outright saying it’s because he’s a bastard to even get a SHREAD of doubt from the great houses.

One day you guys are going to realize that those boys were loved and no matter how much you try and discredit them, they will always be legitimate. Whether you like it or not, Viserys was content with Jace being on the throne after him, THE REALM was content, and Corlys Velaryon was ready to die peacefully knowing Luke was going to be after him. Hell, he damn near handed that boy the keys so don’t you dare say Luke didn’t deserve to inherit anything.

And sorry for the long post but some of yall are really starting to piss me off. Never mind that this is fiction, your attitude towards these boys is disguising and saying that they don’t deserve a good life, that they dont deserve things that were literally GIVEN to them with no complaints, and even going as far as to call them dirty or saying they deserve to die all because their mommy and daddy weren’t married is fucking disgusting.

This “bastards don’t deserve anything,” attitude needs to stop being preached by real life people. Hell, some of the people saying this are literally in the wedding photos of their own parents wedding LMAO. It concerns me on how much disregard you guys have for adopted kids (which is basically what they are to Laenor), and I’d hate to see the shit you preach in real life. Acting like blood actually matters in order for someone to be considered family.

Because regardless of what you believe, had their mother not been usurped because she was a WOMAN, Jace would have ruled, Luke would’ve gotten Driftmark and, yes, the world of Westeros would’ve kept fucking spinning.

By law these boys were legitimate and people seem to forget they came out of Rhaenyra’s coochie so REGARDLESS, they are Targaryen. Like unless Viserys or Daemon was their father, they were always going to be half NOT Targaryen lol…Just like Alicent’s kids. It just so happens that they’re half Strong, but again, it doesn’t matter, because Jace gets his claim from RHAENYRA, not his father, so even if Harwin was married to Rhaenyra he still would’ve been the heir?? Even if it wasn’t Laenor who was his father, he’d still be heir because of his mother and being married to someone does not change that.

Some people even go as far as to argue that they’re not Targaryen so Jace shouldn’t be the heir which is stupidest thing I’ve ever heard and the most blatant case of misogyny ever. Like unless your father cloned himself then you STILL get half your genes from your mother dumbass. They are as much Targaryen as the Hightower kids with their DARK HARIED PARENT, it just so happens that their Targ side is from a woman, not a man. Which, like I said, if you don’t consider them Targaryen just bc they don’t get their claim from their father then we know what you are. 🙃

But anyways, to make a long post short, yes these boys are legitimate, they were recognized as such by:

The King himself (who they’d be inheriting from)

Rhaenyra

Laenor (their father, who they’d be inheriting from and wanted Luke to have Driftmark)

Corlys (their grandfather, who Luke would be inheriting from and wanted Luke to have Driftmark)

Rhaenys

The Realm

History

And if you still don’t believe me, here’s the official Targaryen family tree from Fire and Blood which all of Westeros sees :)

You see how they’re listed as Velaryon? You see how they’re directly linked to Laenor and there’s no little astric saying how they’re bastards? Yeah me too.

PS - Read Fire and Blood as well. This whole argument about them being bastards is literally stemmed from no more than two paragraphs, IF that. And their legitimacy is never brought up again.

[johnbrand]

Smoking Pays

With @aismoker

What? Can’t you see I’m in a rush?

Oh so you heard about the promotion. Yeah it was no surprise really, anyone could have predicted it.

Sure I have only been here for a year, but I came in with the qualities the boss was looking for. 

Honestly, I am a bit embarrassed for you. You’ve been around since what, when the company started? And after all that time you’re still some boring office drone, while I am quickly ascending the ranks.

What’s my secret? No, I didn't bribe the boss to get this position. And before you say it, I didn’t blackmail him either. I just did my research beforehand, I figured out what would help me and the boss click on a more personal level.

Smoking obviously. Speaking of which, you’ve held me up long enough that I have to light up another one. Yeah, this is my third this morning , and I’ll probably chain my way through a pack tonight. I'll likely have some coughing ahead but there’s no better way to subdue the hacking with many more reds. 

How long have I been smoking? Hmm...I guess a little over a year. When I applied for this company I picked it up, thinking it would give my resume that extra push. And boy was I right! When the boss first met me and noticed my carefully placed pack of Marlboros, he ushered me directly to HR for an immediate hire. Said I was “the type of man the office needs.” And now look at me, making six figures and not even 30!

I don’t know what smear campaign you are referring to, but I have not made any sacrifices since I picked up smoking. In fact, I would say I have only benefited from it. The smoking areas in the office are full of real men, dedicated to becoming the best version of themselves. I’m talking mentally and physically, sculpting their minds into commanding personas and their bodies into perfect shape. It was inspiring, and once you get used to all the smoke, the cravings ignite you even further.

I mean look at me. I’m in the best shape I have been in in my life. Super athletic and toned, eventually the muscle will start piling on. My voice is already lower and grittier than it was a year ago, demanding an actual presence. And sure, my hair is thinning but bald men are the true alphas! Once I’ve gone full cueball like the boss, that’s when I’ll start growing out my beard.

And as I continue this transformation, allowing smoking to shape and define me, the higher-ups will notice. The boss will notice. They may not directly see it, but subconsciously it will register. Who better to take his place than him, or at least, a copy of him? In this day and age, smoking is associated with masculinity and success.

You think I’m joking? Look at the people passing us right now. They aren’t looking at two businessmen having a conversation on the sidewalk. No, they are checking out the successful, suited stud with the Marlboro at his lips. Their eyes are gleaming with awe and wonder at the man radiating achievement and supremacy. And their minds simply disregard you, erase your existence through nicotine-fueled admiration and lust.

Look, I really gotta go. I cannot be late to my first meeting as a project lead. I’m working on that new defamation push against vaping. Our main tagline is that vaping shrinks penises. Is it even true? Well I can’t say that, but I can tell you something: smoking certainly does the opposite. Heheh…that was an improvement I had not expected to happen. So technically, it's not false as long as we compare the two.

Alright, seriously, I’ll talk to you later. Or probably not honestly, unless you decide to be a real man and do something with your life. Here, I’m about halfway through this Marlboro, so you can finish it off and I’ll light up a new one for the rest of my walk. Smoking pays, man, smoking pays.

[noisycroissant]

Meus Amor (Part 2)

Read part 1 here

SoftDom! Ascended Astarion x Reader

"The Master has sent a note, my lady," the servant girl says holding out a folded piece of parchment, "He informs that he will be joining you an hour after dusk."

You wait for her to leave before you open the note. As you open it, your heartbeat goes up a notch as you take in the two words written in Astarion's slanting handwriting:

Meus amor

It had been a week since you'd agreed to wear the circlet he'd made for you; and you hadn't seen him since. He'd been away, travelling to find some rare tome, one of those journeys you don't make together.

But he's back.

An hour after dusk...

*******

You hear him enter the chamber, the heavy door closing with a loud thud.

"My darling, you would not believe the kind of journey I've had. I honestly believe I can no longer slum it on the road like we used to all those years back," he says, his voice getting closer and closer to your canopied bed.

He draws the canopy's curtains open and the soft candlelight illuminates you.

Bare and kneeling in the centre of the bed with only the circlet on, firelight glinting off the locket.

You look up through your lashes, body growing warm as you feel Astarion's eyes take you in. A beat passes, then two, you were ready to combust from embarrassment when Astarion says in a low voice, "You're always so perfect for me, my love."

You smile, still too bashful to look him properly in the eyes. "Were you hiding? I never thought you'd hide from little old me," he feigns dramatically.

"I was just too..."

"Too what?"

"...shy," you admit, finally looking him in the eyes. Your heart beats harder as you see the unbridled lust and hunger in his eyes.

Astarion lifts your face upto his, his lips a breath away from yours, "I swear you will drive me to lunacy, and I'll thank you for it." He gently licks the seam of your lips, coaxing you to open up. His kiss is hungry and depraved, you feel the longing in his heart and the restraint he's using to hold himself back.

"Turn around for me, love."

You do as told and face away from him. He moves your hair over to one shoulder and gently kisses up and over your shoulder, moving to your neck, before gently tugging the lobe of your ear.

You feel your skin tingle. "Do you have any idea what I can sense right now?" Astarion whispers to you, "Your heart is rocketing to the sky, I can smell your blood heating with desire, and I can almost taste the sweetness you have hidden between your legs."

You gasp at the words, desire tightening the coil in your belly. He moves to cup your breasts and toys with your nipples, pinching and rolling them to the point of sweet pain. As you loll your head back to his chest, he moves and kisses you again. All tongue and teeth, you hear him groan as you move your ass slowly over his erection.

His hand leaves and snakes it way down between your thighs, finding you embarrassingly drenched. He simply slides his fingers between your folds and plays with your clit. You moan and toss your head back, but he holds you tightly to his body while he continues to rub circles faster and faster at your clit.

The sounds of your wetness and the soft clinking of the locket fill the chamber.

"Give in to me, my love," Astarion says, pressing kisses into your hair, "Give in, sweet girl."

Your pleasure crests over and you go stiff in his arms as you cum around his fingers. He holds you till you get your breath back and slowly moves you onto your back.

"Look at you. Such a vision. My vision," he says taking in your wild hair, flushed cheeks, and soft pants.

"Astarion, please ... I need you. I've missed you so," you plead.

"Where do you need me, my amor? Tell me. I need to hear you say it."

You spread your legs and gently part yourself, slick sticking to the lips, "Here. Inside me. Please Astarion, I need you so badly."

Like a man possessed, Astarion wordlessly moves to push his cock into you. Both of you groan in ecstasy as he stretches you out, pushing himself to the hilt.

His eyes never leave yours the entire time.

He lifts one of your legs onto his shoulder, opening you up, and starts moving deep inside you.

You are lost to the pleasure. You can feel his cock deep inside you, stretching and filling you up.

"You're always so good to me, my precious. My good girl," he tells you as he pumps into you, "The sweetest thing I've ever had. I'm never ever letting you go."

He pulls out abruptly and your pussy gapes at the loss. Quickly moving you onto your chest, he enters you again, groaning at the way you take him.

"Missed you so fucking much. Must have been mad to leave behind such a good girl," he mutters to himself as he thrusts into you.

"Astarion, please ...please let me cum..please I need to cum so bad," you cry out, tears welling up in your eyes.

His body covers yours as he moves your head to access your neck. He gives a warning lick to your jugular before his fangs sink into your soft flesh.

Ambrosia. Food of the gods.

No.

No god would ever get to taste what is his.

Primal need takes over as he continues to pound into you while your sweet blood fills his mouth. You cum with a cry, black gathering at the edges of your vision, pussy tightening around his cock.

You hear the locket jingle as it hits against the circlet, a lone metronome in the dim light.

"I'm going to cum, sweetheart. Going to cum so deep inside you," he says, your blood dripping out the corners of his mouth.

You feel him throb inside you as his cum flows into you. His tongue lazily lapping at the stray drops of blood on your neck.

You're so ...tired. Sated. Your bones feel liquid and your heart beats slow and steady.

You hazily see Astarion laying you back against the plush pillows and cleaning you up with warm wash cloths. You feel him pull you to his chest, kissing your hair, whispering how much he loves you.

"I love you too, Astarion, so so much," you mumble as sleep pulls you down finally.

[knight-a3]

Hazbin Sketchbook Tour part 3

Masterpost

I started some preliminary sketches of Charlie to get a feel for her. I wasn't exactly happy with them. I did like how Alastor turned out in the dancing one, just...not the rest of it.

Before going back to Charlie, I had a couple ideas for a Vaggie redesign I wanted to sketch out. She'll go through a few minor tweaks over time, but overall not bad for a first pass. (There's also a stray Emily)

This is when I started seriously redesigning everyone. I would search up other people's redesigns for inspiration, then move on from there.

More design notes under the cut, and a couple fun Bible facts!

Vaggie: First, I doubled down on the moth theming. I wanted it to be more obvious than it is in canon. It also serves to show that Hell is corrupted, and it makes everyone more inhuman. All the angels will look more human, because "Biblically accurate angels" is not actually all that accurate. After she Falls, she becomes more moth-like, and is not truly an angel anymore.

[I've got this whole idea concerning the blood colors of the various groups. Maybe I should make a dedicated post to explain, but here's the rundown: There are three main groups: Hellborn, Earthborn, and Heavenborn. Hellborn have black blood, and Heavenborn have a glowing white. Earthborn have 3 subgroups: Living, Sinner, and Saint(aka winner). While alive, Earthborn have red. After death, the color depends on if they Fall or Ascend. Fallen Earthborn become Sinners and the blood darkens to purple. Ascended Earthborn become Saints and it lightens into golden yellow. When a Saint Falls, it darkens to purple. When a Heavenborn falls, it darkens to orange. Ascended Sinners will gradually lighten to yellow(albeit it won't ever be quite as bright as the other Saints). Hellborn cannot Ascend.]

All that to say that Vaggie does not have pure angel blood anymore. And I'm trying to decide if the Exorcists are Heavenborn or Earthborn. I'm honestly favoring Earthborn right now, since that's what Adam qualifies as.

Even when she gets her wings back, Vaggie's form is still corrupted and they come back as moth wings, to fit her theming. I wanted to get her long hair out of the way of her wings, and figured that since her hair is sorta moth themed anyway, why not make them the same thing. It works cuz...magic. I also really do not like the floating X over her eye, so I made it a broken eye spot instead.

Charlie: I knew I wanted more goat themes. So the ears were an obvious place to start. I also made her ponytail to look like a goat tail. But I saw a few designs that gave her snake hair and I thought it was great. But I didn't want to draw so many and decided to just give her one. Then named him Hugh. Short for Hubris aka Pride. I designed the Morningstar family around the goat and snake themes, where Charlie gets the goat traits from Lucifer, and the Snake traits from Lilith.

Lucifer: Canon Lucifer has way too many different design motifs. The Biblical Devil is associated with snakes and goats, so I wanted to narrow down on those rather than the forbidden fruit(which is never confirmed to be an actual apple, by the way) or ducks. He can still likes duck, but it doesn't go further than that. Since canon Lucifer is not exactly evil like the Biblical version, I decided it would be thematically appropriate to have his Fall turn him into a scapegoat, of sorts. Which would also mean that Lucifer is not the True Devil. The real Evil is the darkness trapped in the abyss(should I call it Abyss?). Lucifer, as a Fallen Angel, actually created Hell to prevent souls from getting lost in the abyss. So as bad as Hell is, it's actually a relatively good thing. Oh, and he lost his wings during his Fall. (Fun facts: the Devil isn't actually called Lucifer in the Bible, that was a translation quirk basically referring to the fall of the Babylonian king. Similarly, the number 666 probably refers to Roman Emperor Nero)

Lilith: Because I committed to Lucifer as a goat, but still wanted to implement the snake theme, I gave it to Lilith. I wanted to give her snake hair, but also maintain the flow of her long hair. So I decided to give her 7 snakes, each to represent one of the deadly sins. The top one represents pride. They're all named, like Charlie's.

Pride=Vani(Vanity), Greed=Ava(Avarice), Lust=Libby(Libido), Envy=Desi(Desire), Gluttony=Tony(Gluttony), Wrath=Irene(Ire), and Sloth=Sloth(...)

Overall, I haven't fully decided what I want to do with Lilith. It would probably help if we had more canon info on her. Is she secretly an antagonist? Or is there something else going on? Regardless, I enjoyed designing her.

I had this whole tangent about the mythological origins of Lilith, and how she's not actually a biblical character at all. It got too long winded so I cut it. But basically, liliths were a type of demon in Middle East/Mesopotamian cultures. Then a satirical Jewish story written in the medieval era made Lilith Adam's first wife, then she ran off with the Great Demon and started having 100 demon babies a day. She had to promise three angels that she wouldn't hurt any human newborns if they had a special amulet. She was associated with seduction and child-killing. She wasn't a feminist figure until the 1970s. She was just evil before that. Read HERE if you want more info about it.

[yanderes-galore]

Some hcs/concept on Cahara when he Ascends? I don't think it would be nice to see him like that especially if you had already escaped him in the dungeons

I'll try my best, we don't know much about him in this ending to this is me doing purely HC. This doesn't follow canon at all, obviously.

Very loose continuation of the Cahara Concept.

Yandere! Ascended! Cahara Concept

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Possessive behavior, God x human, Kidnapping, Isolation, Violence, Blood, Murder, Trauma, Stalking, Biting, Forced relationship.

Cahara's New God form is probably the most normal looking of the four playable characters.

The crest on his leather vest is now burned into his skin.

His hair is longer and he has a clouded gaze.

It's hard to tell what his goal is at this point.

Although, since his goal as a human was about finding and creating family...

Maybe that's what he's looking for...?

After all, by this point Cahara has become obsessed with you after finding you in the dungeons.

He has forgotten about Celeste by this point once he achieves this new form.

How could he when his last human moments were filled with you?

Before he ascended, he had managed to get you all to himself.

He wasn't expecting to ascend, really.

All he was focusing on was making you his.

By the time you both got to that golden throne, the blood of your comrades was starting to stain and dry you both.

It was a miracle you managed to get away, honestly.

While Cahara was preparing to become a New God, you had run away.

Leaving the dungeon was a miracle, yet you know you'll never be the same.

To you, Cahara is dead.

He had tried to follow you yet you managed to injure him enough to leave.

Even decades after you doubt you'll ever be the same.

When you sleep, you still imagine the blood on your clothes and skin.

You still feel Cahara's touch, his bloodied face, his crazed eyes.

You still remember the moments you shared in those dungeons.

You don't look at them fondly.

I imagine this could occur two decades later.

Usually a New God would show up much later.

Yet... you kept experiencing strange events.

You swore you saw Cahara in your dreams, or even in public.

You keep telling yourself he's dead.

It's just the trauma...

You're going to be alright.

However, you feel like you're being watched.

You feel as though someone is following you.

You try to ignore the feeling but it never goes away.

It's an odd presence... comforting yet foreboding.

You feel like something is going to happen.

You try to seek help, it doesn't work.

By the time your anxiety hits its peak... That's when you finally catch the presence.

Cahara, the man you were with in the dungeons, has decided to reveal himself to you.

He's much different now.

While it's been decades, he doesn't look like he's aged besides his long hair.

His shirt and tunic are gone, a crest on his front.

He stands in front of you, a dangerous aura radiating from him.

Despite the clouded look in his eyes... he smiles.

Smiles like he's seen a long lost companion... or lover.

"It's been too long, my consort."

His words don't hold much room for argument.

It's like he's decided that's what you are to him.

You will be his consort, you must be.

After all, in his eyes, you two were together in the dungeons.

He's a god now, once capable of protecting you.

He's capable of giving you your greatest desires.

He wants a family, and has for who knows how long in The Void.

But now, now he's back to you...

Now you can be all his, and he can be all yours.

Good luck getting rid of Cahara at this point.

Perhaps in the dungeons, when he was human, you could.

Maybe you should've killed him in those dungeons.

Unfortunately, it's way too late now.

The new god shoves you into your home, pinning your smaller body to the wall.

His eyes hold a hungry gaze and a twisted grin.

For decades he's been wandering aimlessly, wandering forever alone.

Yet soon, his wandering took him back to you.

Why do you look so scared?

Cahara simply wishes to protect you.

As a god, he can give you everything.

You're mortal, but that means nothing to him.

For the rest of your life, maybe after, Cahara wants you to be his.

You're never alone now, everyone else can't even get close.

Cahara's presence drives off anyone else.

You're manipulated to stay in your home.

He traps you there, keeps you in your room.

His touch is familiar yet rough.

It's possessive... like he's claiming you once again.

His kisses are tough, he even bites at your skin.

He's missed you, his beloved consort....

No other mortal shall have you now.

He'll kill them if they do.

Blood coating his skin is a familiar feeling.

For you, he'd do it without hesitation.

After all, he's a god now.

Cahara can do whatever he wants.

What he wants most... is a family...

Which he intends to get from you one way or another.

[mehmetminded]

White and Black and Gold

(Part 2)

By: MehmetMinded

Potential spoilers for Beware of Chicken and Cradle!

[Iteration 873 Scale]

Lindon was very confused as he sat at the broad table laden with food. The thing this “Jin” had told him had pushed what little composure he had managed to maintain to its breaking point. Was this man just casually admitting to a violation of fate? Or was he really not aware? Question after question whirled in his mind as he sat. He could feel his madra tremble in his channels, ever so slightly. A non-ascended being would never notice, but it was a bad sign.

[For someone with a reputation as a ‘strong silent type’ you sure do worry a lot.]

Worrying is what’s kept us alive so far, Lindon thought, I’d rather not lose the habit now.

[Sure! Sure! Just so long as you can keep that ever present anxiety from swallowing your every waking thought! You can do that right? How hard could it be? I can’t wait to find out!]

Dross wasn’t helping, but he was trying and that on its own helped center him just a little. Heavens, Lindon had even lost his breathing technique. It wasn’t as though he needed to breathe at this point, but the rhythm was so ingrained into him it took a real shock to knock him out of it. If this man had truly come from another world then that would be a violation of fate. While it wasn’t exactly Lindon’s job to correct such deviations, NOT doing so when presented with the opportunity would raise some eyebrows among the court. The last thing The Reapers needed right now was MORE suspicion-

Lindon’s thoughts were interrupted when another presence made itself known. Down the stairs came a small woman with short greenish hair and amethyst eyes that reminded Lindon of Mercy. Though, where Mercy’s eyes were bright and filled with joy, this woman’s gaze was sharp, her not insignificant willpower honed to a wicked edge. Jin’s will had been a large, diffuse thing. Heavy as a mountain, but spread out across the surrounding lands. This woman’s willpower was dense. Honed into a scalpel that lanced into him, attempting to peel open his soul as a soulsmith did a remnant. A few years ago, Lindon would have been pinned to the spot by her gaze alone, but he had grown since then. Her razor sharp will found no purchase. Lindon was as wintersteel before her, even weakened as he was. He stood calmly from his seat and bowed to her in the manner of his homeland.

“Greetings, my name is Lindon. I was invited in by the master of the house.”

The woman glanced at his dreadgod arm and sniffed once, before meeting his gaze a moment longer. Her willpower faded away like a dream as she sighed.

“Meiling.” The woman said as she seemed to let go of her tension, “If my husband trusts you, then I suppose that’s endorsement enough. Can I get you some tea?”

Though he wasn’t much of a tea drinker he was not so uncouth as to decline.

“Gratitude. Tea sounds lovely.”

_________________________________________

Honestly I had no idea what to make of this Lindon guy. Given how shit I was at qi sensing I couldn’t nail down his power exactly, but it reminded me of gramps. His intent spanned the horizon and the heavens themselves seemed to still in his presence. Long story short, he was strong. Really strong. Like stronger than me, gramps, and the Cloudy Sword Sect put together. But he seemed nice enough. He was polite to a fault and carried himself with the slight awkwardness of someone who hadn’t had a lot of friends as a kid.

“So,” I said, setting down the last of the food and taking a seat next to Meimei, across from our guest, “You’re one tough cookie, bud. That can’t have come from nowhere, what’s your story?”

Lindon looked taken aback by the question.

“You don’t want to know why I’m here?”

I shrugged. “None of my business what a man does with his time.”

The indifference was an act of course, I was dying to know what this guy was doing here, but I had a feeling he wouldn’t want to talk about it in front of a bunch of people.

“Very well,” Lindon said, “I was born in a distant land known as Sacred Valley…”

The story we were treated to was as xianxia as you could get. A boy cast off by his culture, defying his fate with the help of the heavens, eventually destroying the tyrants and monsters that ruled his homeland and ascending a hero.

Lindon seemed to relax more and more as he told his story, speaking with fondness of experiences that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. I mean seriously, his description of what he did to refine his body was downright disturbing. From what he told us, his whole existence is centered around cultivation. He lives and breathes self-improvement like some kind of gym-bro from hell.

There was clearly something deeply wrong with this guy, but he seemed like a good egg. A bit thick headed, but he seemed to mean well.

“…and after excavating the last of The Labyrinth, Blue, Orthos, and I narrowly managed to ascend. The state of The Heavens being what it is, it's a miracle we made it in one piece.”

By now the rest of the house had moved on to start the day’s work, so Lindon and I sat alone at the table. As he finished his tale he seemed to be judging my reaction. I said just about the only thing I could after hearing that.

“Holy shit…”

____________________________________________

Do you have anything for me Dross?

Lindon hadn’t been idle as he told Jin his story. He had Dross rifling through The Way, searching for anything in the past, present or even any potential futures that might explain who or what this man was. Dross could read his fate simply enough. The man was still a mortal after all.

Rou Jin, born Jin Rou in Crimson Crucible City, trained by a wandering expert and admitted to The Cloudy Sword Sect. There he was nearly killed in a duel and left to become a farmer. It was all there for him to see.

And yet.

His mannerisms were odd. He had a way of speaking unlike anything Dross could find on this iteration. And he had known. He knew Lindon wasn’t a native immortal, returned to the world.

And he had implied that he was the same.

[I have literally everything for you Lindon. Every detail of his entire life down to the second. Unless you meant in regards to why his spirit is like that. In that case, I’ve got nothing.]

Dross had drawn Lindon’s attention to it almost immediately. There was a nearly imperceptible flaw in Jin’s soul, a tiny thread of gold that bound the two halves together.

Keep working on it, Lindon sent.

“Jin,” Lindon said aloud, “may I ask you a question?”

The man shook himself out of his stupor at Lindon's question, “Huh? Oh! Sure, ask away!”

“Why farming? Someone with your obvious talent could have gone far. You may have even ascended to the heavens. Even if you wanted to give up cultivation, why settle for such a humble life?”

Lindon had a guess, but seeing how the man responded would help Dross build his model.

“Well, to be honest, I kind of did give up on cultivation. I was fully ready to pack it in and be a farmer for the rest of my life. The fact that I got this strong was more or less an accident…”

The man repaid Lindon’s story with his own. It wasn’t the facts that Lindon was interested in, he had those already. He wanted to see what mattered to Rou Jin, what events were important to him. He spoke with a detached fondness about his birth family, their deaths were old scars now and he had made his peace with them. He talked for a long time about his adoptive grandfather, the wandering expert Shen Yu. He spoke of his adoption by the old man, the beginnings of his training. He complained only half seriously about the “old bastard” abandoning him to the sect that nearly let him be killed. He spoke little of his actual time in the sect save for the time he had spent refining his plant bolstering technique. He glossed over the duel that had almost ended him, mentioning only that a senior disciple Lu Ri had returned his exit fee. From there his tale grew stranger. There were spirit beast attacks and a desperate trek north to be away from it all. He spoke of the Azure Hills and of his new home. He talked with pride about each and every member of his odd family, as though their achievements were his own.

The sun was high by the time Rou Jin finished his story and Lindon held a newfound respect for the man along with a more complicated emotion.

[Is that the beginnings of jealousy I’m detecting? Need I remind you that you can crack planets in half with a punch?]

He’s content Dross, Lindon thought, he’s genuinely happy where he is. I’m not made of stone.

[No, you’re much much tougher than stone. I can feel you about to correct me but I got it. Just don’t forget about what you have while you pine after what you don’t.]

Dross was probably right, but Lindon couldn’t deny the small thread of envy that wormed its way into his heart. Some part of him longed for the peace Rou Jin had found on his small farm. He took a sip of the now cold tea to try and drown the feeling.

“So,” Jin said, “how long before your boss comes down here and drags you back to work?”

Lindon spat tea everywhere.

_______________________________________

Part 2 is finally done! I totally didn’t completely forget about this project for half a year! Part 3 soon! (I hope)

[owlespresso]

bedtime stories IV. luocha. I honestly don't know how to tag this. This one kind of got away from me. There are a lot of darker undertones here and a lot of it is left ambiguous, for you to interpret and figure out. It's different from the really fluffy tone of the others.

Nighttime presses in on all sides, when it’s on the beach. The white sands go black with shade. The sea churns inky dark. The sky, tonight, is illuminated by a pale sliver of a moon, curved like a talon. You can taste the salt in the air.

This part of Sene Verde is empty of tourists. The jutting peaks at the center of the island cast it in near permanent shade, blocks the warm air from the other side. It’s colder here. More desolate. 

The sea breeze is frigid. Goosebumps erupt along your arms. It cuts through the thin fabric of your sleep shirt. Looking out unto the tides, you feel a sense of calm wash over you. The chill shocks the panic frozen. Your breathing begins to steadily. Your pulse quiets. The cold, packed sand is making your toes number with each step you take back inland. 

The merchant waits for you at the top of the rickety, wooden steps. His long, blonde hair tossed by the wind. The slight moonlight casts his white jacket in pale silver. His green eyes gleam, appraising you as you ascend. He gives nothing away, expression tempered and gentle. Eyelids hung low as the moon in the sky.

“Why did you run?” he asks, curious more than upset. 

“I didn’t know you were coming. I panicked,” you say, sounding as ragged as you feel. Your eyes hurt. The wind whipped them dry as you threw open the door to your cabin and rushed down the slope, bits of shell and twig scraping the soles of your feet as you blindly fled towards the sea. The churning gales are brutal, this time of night, this time of year.

Luocha coos at you. “Why? I’ve never given you any cause to fear.”

“There’s something wrong with you. No sane salesman would come to this part of the island to peddle. Unless they were desperate, which—” you pointedly look him up and down, taking in the fine make of his clothes, the gleaming bits and silken sashes which emblazon his garments. “—you clearly aren’t.”

“I didn’t come to sell anything. I just wanted to see you.” he says, letting you walk past him. Your feet pad across the worn wooden planks. Wet and crusted with cold sand. There’s an underlying creep you’ve felt, all day. Like a horse sensing a storm which has yet to roll in. A buzzing rumble which had you pacing up and down the main hall of your hollowed home. All day, you’d insisted it was your own, petty anxiety getting to you—but you were right. You’re always right. These feelings, at the end of the day, are always right.

You’re more upset with yourself than him, you realize, pressing your fingers to the space between your brows, eyes crumpling shut as you cross the threshold into the living room. You press your back to the wall and tilt your head back, listening to Luocha’s boots scuff against the boards until he, too, is inside. He shuts the door. Tenderly clicks the lock shut.

“You look like you’ve had a rough day. Have you been sleeping?” 

No, you haven’t.

“It’s none of your business,” you gripe. The feeling of the dried sand stuck to your skin grates you in all the wrong ways. It’s sudden, how quick the aggravation piles high. The entire walk back, you hardly paid it any note. But now—it makes you want to writhe out of your own skin. 

You wipe them on the welcome mat to get the worst of it off. The bristled fabric grates on your soles. Luocha’s gaze weighs on you, unreadable yet heavy, but you do your best to ignore him and all the space he takes up. A few lightbulbs framed by rounded, hanging bowls of glass light up the hallway dim as you stumble off to the bathroom. The tide still rings in your ears. Your skin still prickles with the cold. Your eyes still hurt.

The downstairs bathroom has a rickety old chair set up against the wall, opposite the sink. It’s a decently-sized space. A line of dusty lights hangs above the old mirror. You make a beeline for the shower, twisting the knob to turn on the spray. The water pelts the tiled floor. You shed your sleeping gown. The flimsy white thing crumples to the floor in a heap of useless, thin cloth. You step underneath the spray without checking the temperature, and flinch as the searing water runs down your back. 

You stand there for— well, you don’t really keep track. You shut your eyes and let the sound of the water lull you into a hazy stupor. The world outside seals itself off. There is nothing beyond the four walls of this room. Nothing besides the scald of the water, the steam that churns in the air and fogs the glass. Eventually, you wash off with trembling hands. You just took a shower this afternoon, but you lavish yourself in rose-scented soaps anyways. The smell is soft, grounding. 

You remain even after the suds have long swirled down the drain.

A knock at the door pulls you from your piece. You blink blearily, and shut the water. The temperature drops immediately. A horrid shiver rolls down your spine and you stumble towards the door, legs shaking like a newborn fawn. Water drips onto the floor and puddles onto the pale blue tile. Your floor mats are still in the wash. By some manner of miracle, you manage not to slip. Your hand closes around the knob and you pull the door open, looking at the man on the other side with bleary eyes. Bare from head to toe. It somehow doesn’t bother you.

Nor does it phase him. Luocha takes in your state impassively. His gaze sweeps up and down your body, taking in fresh bruises and old wounds.

“You’ll catch a cold, like that,” he sighs. He walks past you, and you’re not sure why, but it feels like a rejection. It stings. You don’t want his attention, especially not like that, but it still stings. You shut your eyes. The outside air sweeps into the room and chills your skin in an instant, goosebumps crawling up your arms and legs. You keep dripping on the floor.

Warm cloth drapes around your shoulder. You stiffen, spine setting rigid. The cushiony cloth wicks away the moisture, swept across your cool skin by hands much too gentle. The beast at your back bundles you in newfound warmth, a hum low in his chest.

“Can you make it upstairs on your own?” he asks. He knows where your room is. Because he’s been in there before, but it still unsettles you. 

“Yeah,” you mumble, clutching the ends of the towel together to your chest, fruitlessly attempting to preserve the modesty you have nothing left of. Awareness creeps back to you in slow stages, but you’re not sure if it’s even worth it to care, anymore. He’s seen all there is to see. Today and the last time he came. Whenever that was. It’s hard to keep track of the days.

“Then go,” he lays his hands upon your shoulders, gloved hands squeezing through the towel. His fingers rub small, soothing circles over your now-covered skin. And his voice, gentle as the seabreeze, coasts over the top of your ear. “And change. I’ll make you some tea.”

And the warmth at your back disappears. It’s jarring, because you hadn’t released how close he’d come in those fragile, few moments. You brush off the discomfort, the emptiness at your back—because you shouldn’t feel so comfortable with him. 

The wooden steps creak underfoot as you ascend the first floor. The sound reverberates through the cavernous hall below. The gales beat against the side of the house. Vicious, this time of year.

A few minutes later sees you hobbling into the kitchen, clothed in a sleepshirt, shorts and a robe thrown atop of it, tied around your waist with a blue sash. 

The kitchen is a small space with a window side table surrounded on either side by two wooden chairs. It’s a pitiful thing compared to the massive dining room it sits next to. More of a hall than a room, a great and cavernous space you hardly ever use. Large spaces frighten you, these days. It feels too empty, too cold. Empty spaces riddle you with a horrible sense of uncertainty. Long halls with high ceilings that distort in your field of vision, becoming endless tunnels unto forever. Just more nothing.

The kitchen is much better. Made smaller by the counters which box in what little walking space already existed. There’s room for two people to stand comfortably in front of the stove, three if you squeeze. Its dark wooden cabinets and counters are contrasted by the aged white refrigerator and microwave. None of the other appliances really match, either. They’re old, out of fashion things you picked up here or there. And the kettle—it’s a sorry, banged up thing that hardly sees any use.

Luocha looks laughably out of place in his crisp button-up and slacks. He’s draped his jacket over a chair. His gloves lay abandoned next to the sink, sleeves rolled up to the elbow. And a while you were gone, he tucked his boots by the door, right next to your sandals and sneakers.

“Made yourself comfortable right away, huh?” you say with a bit of bitter humor.

Luocha looks over his shoulder at you, not a shred of irony in his expression as he speaks. “This is home.” he says softly, before turning back to the counter. “I know where everything is, and I know what you like to eat. It would have been remiss of me to simply twiddle my thumbs and wait.” he reasons. The scent of something toasting wafts in the air, a familiar smell that softens you.

“We should bake a loaf or two later. The ones from last time froze well, didn’t they?” Luocha hums. The toaster pops. Two flat slices of Senerian rose loaf, tinged pink with deep brown crust. Luocha plucks them between thumb and forefinger, gently depositing them onto a ceramic seafoam plate. You purchased it from an artisan market on the other side of the island.  It was the only purchase you made before getting overwhelmed by the crowds and the heat.

“I don’t have enough flour,” you murmur, hardly loud enough to hear. You hover in the doorway, cheek pressed to the cold, glazed wood. 

“You’re running low on butter, too. Shall I bring you some tomorrow?” he turns from you to slather some onto the slices. Pale white smears across the crisped surface, immediately beginning to melt. He glides around your kitchen with an agitating ease. He knows where nearly everything is. Not that it’s too difficult. The layout has remained unchanged over the course of his many visits. 

“That’s alright. I’ll go myself.” you insist.

“When?” he presses.

“Sometime this week,” you raise your chin, voice just a little sharper than you meant it, leveling him with a flinty stare. He seems to weigh your answer for a moment, which both unsettles and annoys you. For who is he to doubt you in your own home?

“Perhaps I’ll come with you when you do.” he muses, looking remarkably skeptical. You try not to let it bother you.

He gently places the plate atop your tiny table, squares of butter glistening under the dim kitchen light—little more than a bulb in a fishbowl hung from the ceiling. It flickers intermittently. 

“Come and eat,” he beseeches, countenance softening. His lips worry into a slight from when you stay exactly where you are, numb gaze frozen on the plate. Hunger blisters deep in your gut, a familiar ache. It’s much too easy to forget when you’re lost in your work, or in your head, or in the shower staring at the drain.

He says your name cautiously, like you’re a cornered animal. You know, better than to believe that tender falsetto. He talks in warnings never in pleas. It kicks you into motion, ferries you across the threshold and into one of the rattan chairs, plucking one of the thick, cotton soft slices off the plate. Your reward is a pleased smile and a glass of cold water. 

He doesn’t sit down with you. He bustles around the kitchen, pulling open cabinets and drawers with furrowed brows, obviously taking stock of what you’re missing. It pisses you off.

“Quit snooping,” you bark at him with a rotten glower.

“I’m just checking what else you may be low on, lest you come home from shopping only to realize you have to make a second trip,” he points out.

You lapse into silence, focusing on the taste of the loaf—sweet and rosy—a perfect juxtaposition to the salted butter. It’s a bit more fragrant than you’re used to, something earthy seeped into the grain.

“You’ve been taking wonderful care of the garden,” Luocha says—and he’s suddenly sat across from you, moved across the kitchen in a blink. Or had you simply not been paying attention? You look at him through bleary eyes, but his inscrutable gaze is fixed on your hand, gently cradled in his now. The tips of his long fingers slide across your palm, and fan out to tease the webbing between your own.

“Was I just supposed to let it die?” you scoff.

“You could have. It would have been well within your right,” Luocha hums, sounding a little amused. His palm comes to cradle the back of your own, and you would rather he just hold your hand than whatever he’s doing now—toying—playing with apart of you without asking just like the seeds he’d sown out back, nestled beneath the evergreens in your yard. Fragile little herbs and florets that would have easily withered during the darker months. Yet, you unearthed them, sheltered them within the sanctity of your home, uprooted them with your hands and sweat and saw to it that they grew—

“It’s not their fault that they were born.” you repl ycoolly.

“You’re so kind,” Luocha coos sympathetically. The rest of your time in the kitchen is spent in peaceable silence.

After your impromptu snack, you take care of the dishes, brushing off his lingering hands with a steely look and a wooden spatula in hand. He slithers upstairs, and you meet him only after the the dishes have been squared away and the counter cleared of any crumbs, and the entire room meticulously combed over to—to settle something within you. To make sure nothing had been moved or changed. The last reserves of your energy begin to sputter out, so you drift out the kitchen and down the hall. The wall is cool and coarse against your fingers.

You ascend the stairs, reach the second floor, a straight shot hall with several doors and branching, dead ends. Some rooms are connected. Some aren’t. You’ve long given up understanding why it had been built this way.

Luocha is in your bathroom. He’s climbed out of his day clothes, now clad in a black nightgown that reaches his knees, the waist cinched by a pale, purple sash. He’s applying some sort of cream, slender fingers coated in a milky white substance. He rubs it into the flat of his cheeks, moisture making his skin glisten beneath the dim lamplight. You hover in the doorway, feeling floaty and simple. 

“Can I try?” you ask, for no reason at all.

Luocha blinks, as though he hadn’t realized you were there, but he doesn’t afford you the time to feel any trepidation or doubt.

“Of course, of course—come here,” he urges, and you huddle in the tiny space alongside him. “It’s a moisturizer. I picked it pu during my last trip to the Xianzhou. It’s gentle, with all natural ingredients. Nothing you’re allergic to—I checked.”

The cream is chilly and moist on your skin as he heaps it on, spreading it delicately across your cheeks with his middle and pointer fingers. Your nose wrinkles and your eyes flutter shut. It smells good. Subtle. 

“Cold,” you mumble, and he laughs, tracing it across your forehead and over your temples, a steady and massaging rhythm that leaves you swaying. You are alone, in the near dark with a man you hate, preening beneath his ministrations like some domesticated creature. You’re too tired to care when his thumb brushes over your chin, teasing your bottom lip.

“All done,” he says softly. He leans down and presses a kiss to your pouting lips. It’s too firm to be chaste. His hand reaches up, like he’s going to cradle the back of your head, but he doesn’t. He steps away and smiles. “You’re so patient, now.”

“Not like I have another choice,” you murmur. He turns from you, plucking your toothbrush from its stand. Your eyes go glassy.

You blink, and he’s holding it in front of your face. A dollop of white and blue toothpaste sits on the pearly bristles. He stops just short of brushing them for you. Instead, he watches you do it, unreadable. It kind of pisses you off, as is typical with most things he does or says. Saying anything now would be meaningless. You’re too tired to argue for the sake of arguing, the most bitter of your demons quelled by the soft siren song of approaching sleep.

“You should come with me, tomorrow,” he says while you rinse out your mouth. 

“To where?” you spit into the sink, watching  the water swirl the drain.

“To the markets,” he reminds you. “It’s supposed to be clear skies all weekend with low humidity.”

You hum absentmindedly, pretending to give it thought as you bumble out of the bathroom. His footsteps are nearly inaudible as he tails you, quiet as a ghost. Silent to the undiscerning ear. Not to you, though, who has spent long enough in these halls to know their every sound and tone by heart.

“And the tourist season ended a week ago,” he comes to walk at your side, still wheedling. “The crowds will be thin.”

“Which means there’ll still be too many people,” you remind him sharply, shouldering past and into a room adjacent to your own, as though hoping to lose him. “I thought you hate it when I talk to other people. Make up your mind, already.”

“Never have I said such a thing,” he pesters you through the thin walls. The door to your bedroom opens and shuts. You can hear him fussing with something inside, pulling aside blankets and turning on the room’s standing fan, because you can’t sleep without the white noise.

Unable to stand the crowds, but uncomfortable in the peace of near silence, the distant crashing of the waves. 

“It would be good for you to stretch your legs—and it’ll be much easier for me to buy everything you need if you’re there.”

“You already snooped through the whole kitchen, didn’t you? You should already know what I need,” you insist through the door. You do need groceries, but the idea of stepping foot outside familiar ground is more than frightening—it’s paralyzing.

“Ah, but I’m unfamiliar with the brands on this planet and which you prefer. If faced with a choice, I may just purchase every option available.” he teases, but the threat is very real. Having to eat twenty loafs of bread before the expiry date is not something one forgets.

“Fine, fine,” you nearly snarl as you shove the adjoining door open. The room is low lit. He’s already shimmied beneath the covers, cheek nestled in the cradle of his palm. He smiles at the sight of you, lips pulled into the sort of soft, sleepy grin most reserve for their lovers—which you are most decidedly not. His charity remains unwarranted and you will do your best to curb the amount of money he’s so keen to waste. No amount of bounty or tribute will earn what he is so determined to pry from you. “I’ll humor you. But I’m not paying you back for any of it.”

“Knowing you’ll have enough to eat while I’m away will be enough,” he says. “Now please, dear. Won’t you come to bed?” he asks, and his eyes are half-lidded, face gone soft with sleepiness. Blond hair furls in wisps around his face, knocked out of place by the bedding. No matter how many times he stays, the sight always disarms you—whisks you back to chilly nights on your family’s old farm.

Your parents let him sleep in the guest house, when he happened to come by—and you (black sheep, albatross)—jumped at the chance to avoid family dinners by bringing a helping to him instead, where you’d linger with him. Until the fireplace dimmed and its warm light caught on his low lashes, fighting sleep to speak with you just a moment longer.

Back then, you feared you had encroached on his space and time for your own selfish diversions. You fear nothing, now. You flop onto the mattress and wriggle beneath the sheets, like a particularly graceless mole. The sheets are cool, buttery soft where he hasn’t touched them. The fresh scent of something earthy hangs in the air. Wet charcoal, the outside after rain. Which is quite peculiar, as it hasn’t rained since last week. Something you would fret more over if the hour were not so late and you were not so tired, wrapped in the sudden melancholy of those far off memories.

“Luocha,” you mumble as you shuffle close, lingering a precious few inches away. A plush pillow is tucked against your chest, as though it would stop him if his intentions drifted towards something less than pure. He draws as close as he can, shimmying down to be at eye level with you.

A question lingers at the tip of your tongue. Or rather, a potential question—a vague idea of a question that your sleep addled self cannot quite put together. You almost feel guilty in the silence that settles. He looks so intent, so ready to listen. Like he would answer whatever inane query you posed to the best of his ability.

In the end, you're too fragmented to give him the pleasure of it.

“Thank you,” you say, and are almost astonished to find that you mean it.

“I’m only taking responsibility, and I’m happy to do it.” he hums. “Though, I would be happier if you accompanied me.” he tacks on. And there is surely something to be said about how easily he moves you, but the sanctity of your bedroom is no place to broach the subject. Despite the frustration, the fear, the resentment—you can’t help but want his approval. Frayed edges of you which long for outward approval. It’s all at war inside you, armies which claw and writhe for claim of what little mental space remains free. The last empty stable at the back of that dusty barn.

“I’ll think about it,” you murmur, and close your eyes.

[thechaoticdruid]

The Bite Scene

Pairing: Named F!Tav x Astarion

Notes: Felt bad about not posting a fic in a while and had this old draft lying around so I thought I'd share it with everyone. Before actually posting anything on Tumblr I was working on a long fic about my Tav, Winnie but eventually I ended up abandoning it because I got frustrated feeling like I was rewriting most of the in game dialogue and also ended up getting focused on The Spawn Vs The Ascendant. So basically this is a rewrite of the bite scene with Winnie!

C/w: Blood, blood drinking, suggestive content

That night Winnie tossed and turned on her bedroll, sweat beads dripping down her forehead as her mind raced with memories of horror and death. Terrified faces of people she once knew were etched into the back of her head. Then suddenly she awoke in a pant, barely having enough time to compose herself before a new threat made itself known.  A figure stood over her, red eyes glowing in the dark. 

“Astarion?” A look of shock spread across her face as she glanced up to see her rogue companion, his mouth wide open and a pair of long pointed fangs were clear as day. It all made sense now. Astarion was a vampire!

“Shit……” Astarion backed up as he noticed Winnie was now wide awake.  “It’s not what it looks like I swear! I wasn't going to hurt you! I just needed….Well blood….” 

“Well that explains why you murdered the hunter.” Winnie narrowed her eyes at him slightly, “I can't believe I didn't realize it sooner, gods I feel so stupid.” The red eyes, the pale skin, all the hungry stares, it all made sense. Hells they had even found a dead boar a day earlier with holes in its neck! Winnie honestly felt like a fool for not noticing those teeth on day one!

“It's not what you think! I'm not some monster. I feed on animals, boars, deer, kobolds, whatever I can get, but it's not enough. Not if I have to fight. I feel so weak. If I just had a little blood I could think clearer. Fight better. Please.” Astarion looked into Winnie’s eyes with such a sad, pitiful look. 

Is….a vampire literally giving me puppy dog eyes as he asks to drink my blood?

“You could have told me about this.”  Winnie frowned. Despite everything the druid still wanted to trust her companion. She had grown fond of him even if he was an asshole. He was clever and witty and gods damn it was so hard to find someone who appreciated her dark sense of humor instead of just backing away slowly.

“Honestly I didn't think you'd take it too well. At worst I was expecting you'd ram a stake through my ribs.”

“Oh no I would never do that. I'd decapitate you. I'm nothing if not accommodating.” The human female gave a playful smirk. 

“Ah….How thoughtful of you…” Astarion said with a nervous laugh. 

“Luckily I trust you but I wish you'd trust me as well. We do need each other after all.” Winnie stood up, crossing her arms. The vampire blinked in confusion. The druid's response was pleasantly unexpected. A small smile spread across her silver haired companion’s face.

“I do trust you. And you're right we need each other. I need you alive and you need me strong. And there is no better way to keep me strong than to make sure I'm well fed.” 

“My blood isn't something I can just give away carelessly. I kinda need it, you know…” Winnie looked off to the side, a little unsure. Accepting that your companion is actually an undead creature of the night is one thing, but letting him drink your blood was a big risk. Winnie trusted him not to harm her on purpose but she knew well enough vampires couldn’t always control their hunger and a starving vampire would surely prove even more unpredictable.

“I'll only need a taste. I swear.” The tone of his voice sounded soft, almost sweet as he looked at her with round pleading eyes. Winnie bit her lip and her heart sank a little. Gods damn him and his stupid pretty face. 

“Fine, but don't go too far.” Winnie said.

“Of course, I shall only take as much as I need.” Astarion grinned, red eyes trailing over Winnie’s neck. “Let's make ourselves comfortable shall we?” Winnie before laying back down on her bedroll. A shiver went down her spine as he slowly knelt over her, eyes filled with hunger. 

A cool palm cupped the druid's cheek, tilting her head up and exposing her neck. Astarion's mouth watered at the sight, his tongue flicking over his fangs as he leaned in closer.  

Winnie closed her eyes and braced herself, her body shaking with a mix of fear and excitement. 

She waited anxious for what felt like hours before finally a sharp icy pain pierced through her neck.

“A-Ah…” A soft cry of pain left her lips as his fangs sunk into her flesh. Winnie’s left hand gripped onto his shoulder, her teeth gritting until eventually the initial pain subsided, replaced by numbness. The druid's heart was racing and the only thing she was able to process was the sound of sucking. She felt very conflicted, despite the pain she'd been enduring she also felt this pleasant feeling. An intimate feeling. Almost as if he was merely kissing her neck instead of feasting on her very life force.

Astarion was swept up in the moment. Her blood was absolutely intoxicating, so sweet and rich. The vampire had never tasted anything like it. It was pure ecstacy. So wonderful. Gods, he never wanted this perfect moment to end. 

“S-Stop…..” Winnie spoke up, she was beginning to feel dizzy. Astarion however seemed lost in bliss and continued his onslaught on her neck. “That's enough!” She said sternly, mustering what strength she had to grab hold of the back of his head and yank hard on his hair.

“Hmm!?” Finally the druid was able to get his attention. He pulled back with a gulp, “oh…o-of course.” Breathy pants left his lips as he savored the taste of her blood. “That…..That was amazing..”He breathed, eyes dazed as he ran a finger over the blood trailing down his chin, collecting some and sucking it eagerly off his digit. “My mind is finally clear. I feel strong…Happy…”He let out a bliss filled sigh.

“Well I'm glad I could help…..Ugh…” Winnie groaned, feeling her head spin. “Hopefully you'll be in a better state to fight soon then?”

“Shouldn't take long now, so many people need killing. Now if you'll excuse me, you're invigorating but I need something a little more filling.” Astarion glanced back at the human with a sly smirk before stepping off to walk off into the dark. “This is a gift you know, I won't forget it.”

The druid could barely sit up as she watched him stalk off into the night seeking his prey. As his form faded from her vision so did everything around her. Darkness taking her in it's sweet embrace.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Note from TheChaoticDruid: I had another part written that takes place just before this. If you'd like to see it posted let me know!

[beautifulgazelle]

So, I didn't like the new Nosferatu movie a whole lot. (SPOILER WARNING)

There were a lot of elements I liked, the cinematography was amazing, the costume and set design were great, and many of the actors (particularly Willam Defoe) gave fantastic performances. Still, if I were to put all the Nosferatu films on their list (excluding Shadow of the Vampire, as I've yet to see it), the 2024 movie would be last.

The main issue I had was that it didn't really scare me. My favorite Nosferatu movie is Nosferatu: The Vampyre from 1979 and what I love about it is how tense it is, there are so many long scenes that emanate this amazing sense of dread I never really got with this movie. I think the main reason for this is the weird pacing.

Nosferatu movies all have a bit of a pacing issue in the fact that the scenes can drag on a lot. However, the 2024 movie is weird in the fact that it has that issue in scenes where I feel like it could hurry things up a bit but moves way too fast in scenes I think would have benefited from being a bit slower. A good example is the scene when Thomas is in the castle, and Orlock approaches him, it moves so fast that I don't really feel any tension before it cuts to the next scene. I feel it would have worked better if we had gotten a long shot of Orlock approaching the audience until his cloak completely covered the camera in darkness, then a cut to Thomas' terrified face as the Count's shadow grows closer until he is consumed by it.

As much as I loved the film's dream-like editing, I think it was a bit much at times to the point of eliminating some of the horror, an example would be the scene of Orlock's shadow opening Ellena's door. In the original, that scene was great because it was basically just two long shots of his shadow walking up the stairs and reaching for the door handle. I think if the new movie has done something similar; like having a long shot of Orlock's shadow slowly ascending the spiral staircase before transitioning into the scene of his shadow opening the door (which was a really cool piece of editing), I think it would have worked better.

The movie honestly kinda grossed me out more than it scared me, it had a lot more sex and violence than the prior movies (not necessarily a complaint as both the other Nosferatu movies and the Dracula novel had a lot of sexual undertones it simply expanded on, and the lack of violence is likely in large part due to the era they were released in.) but because it didn't scare me those scenes just felt...weird. If it had the tension of the 79' movie, I feel those scenes would have worked a lot better to elevate the horror rather than trying to induce it where it was lacking. Even the few attempts and jump-scares didn't get me, I think the only one that made me actually jolt a bit was the scene on the ship.

The last (but probably least) of my issues was the pretty divisive design of the count himself. Obviously, the mustache is a bit weird, and while it does have a precedent from the novel, I personally am still mixed on it. What annoyed me more than that was the weird tuft of hair they gave him. I did like how they made him very corpse-like as it makes sense with him being undead and all, and the burns and scaring on his body gave his character a good sense of history like he had been in hundreds of battles over his long life. I remember seeing a piece of concept art where they made him completely hairless I think would have worked WONDERFULLY. But overall I thought his design was still good and Bill Skarsgard did a great job with his acting.

This is a little bit of a side note, but a lot of the scenes had a weird, CGI-iy feel, even when I don't think CGI was used. I feel like the movie may have gone through a bit too much post-processing.

I almost feel bad about the fact that I didn't like it as it clearly had a lot of heart put into it, and a lot of people online really seem to enjoy it, which I'm glad for! But I think I still personally prefer the 1922 original myself

[readychilledwine]

Long post ahead lovelies!

We hit ✨️100✨️ friends!

Thank you to all of the beautiful humans who've taken the time to interact with my posts, with me, and to follow me.

In celebration- Part 2 of Slow Hands will be posted soon. Here's a little preview of that:

Lyria sighed softly as Azriel's hands ran along her back. He was being so gentle with her, and she appreciated this, even if it was clear he didn't exactly know what he was doing. She moaned as he applied more pressure to a tighter area, causing the male to grin with satisfaction. "Like that, little fox?"

"Just like that," her voice had become breathy, eyes fluttering shut. He was doing the best he could to remember her motions from the week before, copying them as closely as possible.

Azriel was almost desperate to see her fall apart the way he had. He was desperate to repay that favor. He allowed his shadows to begin exploring. Watching as they played in her hair, down her back, over the perfect ass he'd been dreaming about. His goal was set as she moaned again. Lyria was going to cum for him tonight, and he honestly did not care how.

I have a dark Eris piece I am working on, along with other Eris week pieces. I do not want to preview it yet since I am still in what I call my rough write process. I am going to try to get it ready by the time I am posting all of my "Here's to 100" pieces, though!

And, as promised, here's a sneaky-sneak at 5 little pieces I have written. Take a vote below on which one you'd like to see. The top 2 will be posted in celebration of 100+ people taking a shot following me for their entertainment 💜

Option A - Cassian x Illyrian Female OC - (domestic Cassian Fluff) - Cassian, ever the morning person, found himself madly in love and mated to a female who hates the world before her morning coffee

Cassian adored mornings. He loved watching the sun as it began its ascend over the mountains. He loved the crisp chilled air. He loved breakfast. Early morning training. Cassian was an early bird.  His mate, however, adored their nightlife. She was the last to rise out of bed. The last to leave the table at Rita's with Mor. The last to bed. She loved dinners, the stars reflecting on the Sindra. She worshiped the moon, and he, the sun. 

The one thing the two truly shared in common, though, was their love and need for coffee. Cass was approachable before his first cup, chipper even. He glanced over his shoulder where his mate sat, her wings wrapped tight around her. Her hands held her head. Her long dark hair was falling over her shoulders. "Almost done, babe."

"Fuck. Off." His mate? Not so much.

Option B - Lucien Vanserra x Archeron reader - pure smut set during ACOTAR. Takes place the morning after Calanmai. Y/N is set for an interesting morning after breaking Lucien's rules regarding fire night.

"Lucien," I whispered softly. "Please, bed."

He chuckled darkly against me before pulling away enough to speak to me, "Such a picky demanding little human." He tutted me, squeezing my ass tighter in his grip. "After your little slip up last night, you will take what I give you. Shut your mouth like a good little girl, and let me enjoy my early morning treat."

Option C - Rhys x Night Court OC - angst, angst, angst - post UTM - Rhys and Aelia are married and when he arrives home, the first thing he tells his wife is he found his mate. (Very much the opposite of my previous multi part fic)

"You found your mate, Rhys. That's going to change."

His eyes were squeezed shut as he forced her into his chest. "No, it won't. I'll reject the bond." She shook her head softly. Azriel would murder her if she asked this of Rhysand. Azriel had dreamed of finding his mate. He had begged them to think getting married through, but they impulsively had. And Rhys had sworn her in as High Lady. And now they had a son together. A son who was 60 and would understand exactly what all of this meant. 

Option D - Eris Vanserra x Winter Court Reader - Autumn Equinox themed due to having extra Eris Week Pieces - NSFW at all - sex pollen/magic - 4some with 2 Autumn Court Ocs - takes place during an orgy - Reader is a Winter Court Emissary invited to the Autumn Court during their equinox celebration. Little did she know, Eris had other hopes when he brought her here.

"What happens during the hunt?" Eris kissed below your ear, causing a haze to set in as you relaxed and sighed.

"My father will shift into something different and more animalistic. He will go through the forest to find his fawn for the night and bring her here. They begin coupling, and we all will as well. It helps us thank the land for a successful harvest and keeps the population of Autumn higher than other courts."

"So this is a breeding festival?"

"Yes, little moth, it is." You watched as his friend smirked, repositioning the pretty female in his lap so she was straddling him and facing him before kissing her deeply. Eris began to roam his fingers along the neckline of your dress. "And we can just watch them all if you'd like, we can play if you'd like, or I can winnow you to the Forest House and find myself a new little moth. It is all your choice."

Option E - Azriel x Archeron Sister OC - set before they are made by hybern - NSFW - Body Worship, Dom/sub dynamics - ends with angst - Kaylee is the youngest of the Archeron sisters. After her older sister returns home with 3 attractive men, everything changes for her.

Her skin was on fire with every touch of his hand, only to be instantly cooled by his shadows. "So fucking beautiful," Azriel groaned into her neck. "Look at yourself in the mirror and say you're beautiful." 

His hands roamed lower and lower, finger tips leaving goosebumps in their wake as he continued to kiss her neck. "Az-"

"I gave you an order, little one," he bit harshly at her pulse point, soaking in her gasp and moan. "I expect you to follow it."

[citizen-khen]

Sleeper, wake up.

Chapter 61 - Home

Chapter Summary: Lem and Sleeper have a long-overdue talk. While they have only just accepted the inevitability of their death, Sleeper finds themselves considering the long-term future once more — and what to do next.

Rating: Mature Length: 158K+ words; Chapters 61/??

Excerpt below:

That following cycle, Lem’s back at your door. His previous visit was cut short by Bliss pinging him with a sudden rush job, and your friend had apologetically promised to return with Mina before running off to catch the Ascender Car.

He didn’t have time to say whether or not he forgave you. You doubt he has, and yet why was he here?

...and why does he come back?

You’re surprised to see that it’s again just him, this time. 

“Where’s Mina?” you ask, motioning him inside. 

“She’s having a girls’ day with Esther,” he says, easily. “I told her we were going to catch up.”

You smile, uncertain. 

“Yeah?” you say. 

“Yeah,” Lem grins, the smile lines around his eyes wrinkling as he approaches you.

“Well, in that case…” you move to the kitchen, opening up a cabinet that holds what little consumables you have. You hold a bottle of Tala’s girolle up to Lem with a smile. 

“It’s from our first batch,” you explain. “Might be a little…” you pull out the stopper and you both reel a little at the burn in your respective senses. 

“Wow,” Lem laughs after a moment. “Maybe just a little.” 

You pour a finger of girolle into two glasses, doing your best not to shake as you do so. 

Lem didn’t just come by here. 

Lem came back here. 

You pass him his glass and he takes it carefully, making the mistake of sniffing it and coughing in his regret. 

“Reflex,” he clears his throat. “I bet it’ll be great.” 

You both take a sip, and Lem’s eyes widen in surprise. 

“Oh,” he says. “That’s… actually pleasant. ” 

You laugh. 

“Good to hear you have faith in our skills,” you tease him. He hums enigmatically at that as he looks for a spot to sit. 

“The couch! You got it together,” he says approvingly. 

“I did, and the Stray immediately decided to sharpen her claws on it,” you grouse. 

The two of you sit on opposite ends of the couch. Despite the affable welcome and the comforting warmth of the girolle, you feel the tension filling the air once more. As much as you can make an educated guess about where you and Lem both stand, you’re as afraid to be correct as you are to be incorrect. Either way, you know that he’s certainly still hurt. 

You wouldn’t blame him for that.

Still, you keep conversation light, chatting about work, about Mina. You go on a tangent about the girolle-making process that would have made Tala proud, but you start to notice Lem’s eyes starting to glaze over in a way that can’t simply be blamed on the drink. 

“Sorry,” you apologize sheepishly. “I got carried away.” 

Lem shakes his head, smiling into his glass. 

“Don’t apologize, it’s nice seeing you happy like this,” he says. You think about that. You don’t feel especially happy these days. There’s so much clawing at your brain in the wake of the Yatagan mess — Rabiah and Sabine; Ethan and Maywick; Yannick and all of it... not to mention your limited vials of stabilizer. 

But right at this moment, on this couch with Lem… 

...yeah. 

You’re happy. 

“I just can’t believe you’re here,” you admit. “You look well.”

Lem smiles. It’s true — there’s a healthy color and softness to his cheeks, his eyes are bright with the bags beneath them somewhat faded, and his hair is combed and neat. He moves easier, too, no longer wincing as he stands or favoring his right shoulder as you have seen many times before. 

“Well, I don’t know if you’ve heard,” he sets a conspiratorial gaze at you. “But I started a crazy, amazing job up in the Hub. Pay is honestly still shit, but I get to fix up ships without the weight of it on my back.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Word has it that I was recommended by a prominent figure, here on the Eye.” 

You feign a curious hum at that, but then you freeze at the sad smile twisting upon his lips. Lem finally moves down the length of the couch to sit beside you. 

“Listen,” he says softly. “I know it was you. I knew it as soon as I walked — floated — into that bay.” He chuckles, eyes shining at you. “Who else would have oddball friends like those in such high places?”

You smile back ruefully, taking another bracing sip of girolle. “I thought I might have overstepped.”

Lem sighs. “I won’t lie — I did think so at first. But at the time I had the shittiest work week, and I couldn’t afford to ignore a new lead for something different.

“The commute was a bit crazy, but I only needed to take one trial shift with Bliss before I knew it was worth making it work. So did Bliss, I guess. She hired me for real before the end of the cycle,” he recalls wryly. “She never said your name, but she couldn’t help but talk about you, you know? Especially with Moritz. They would go quiet whenever I was within earshot.”

“I’m glad it worked out,” you manage to say. You take in the sight of his face, his presence, his weary smile. 

“Me too,” he whispers. You pull your eyes away, moving to refill both your glasses. When you settle back down, you realize sheepishly how much closer you are to him. Warmth radiates off his body and the arm draped across the back of the couch, and you want nothing more than to lean into it in a way that was once so familiar… 

“Can…” Lem looks down at his glass, smile fading. “Can we talk about the Sidereal?” 

You knew this was coming. Your heart falls, but you nod, draining your girolle and pouring another for yourself. Lem takes a sip before setting his glass down. 

“You didn’t have to tell me about the deal,” he says softly. “You could have just let it be. Let things go as they would’ve anyway, since I already knew we weren’t picked for the drawing. Maybe I could’ve lived with that. But just… it hurt worse knowing we did have a chance.”

“I shouldn’t have decided for you,” you assert. “Even if I still had to beg on my knees for you to stay… I should have given you that choice.” 

Lem purses his lips, but nods. 

“That just about sums it up,” he admits. “It… it means a lot that you’ve been thinking about this too.” He looks away from you, out the window. “Do you think you were right?” 

You were so happy to have Lem near you again. But now you want to be anywhere but here. 

“Not about deciding for you. But if you’re talking about the whole program as a whole… I don’t know,” you whisper. “The person who made the deal for us wanted to track the ship by using me as surveillance. I like to think that gave me a hunch about what I’d be enabling, but… on top of that I think I was already scared.”

“Of what?” Lem asks, but not as a challenge. 

“Of being trapped,” you say. “I was afraid you or Mina might never see the outside of a ship again. You might not ever get a chance to feel rain after all. And I was scared… because if you and Mina had gone ahead into the ship, I don’t actually know for certain if I would have followed. Maybe I could have. But I don’t know if that would be me being brave or me running away from my responsibilities here. I didn’t want to be used as someone’s tool, yes, but… maybe I’m also afraid of change. I have so much yet to do here — people who rely on me. I was afraid I’d run out of stabilizer just a couple months into the journey and leave you both alone.”

Lem looks at his hands. 

“Stabilizer… right,” he grimaces. “How are you doing on that?”

You think about those five precious vials, clinking gently inside of that box small enough to fit in your pocket. At the time you received them you kept a brave face, rationalizing to yourself you could stretch it for months, but that would only be if you stayed in your apartment; half-aware in stasis, waiting for the end.

And that’s not how you’ve been living. That’s not how you ever wanted to live.

“My cycles are ticking down,” you admit. “But it should be time enough to find a solution. Sabine — the doctor — they gave me some leads on where to look.” You take a preoccupied sip of your girolle. “Although… I have a sneaking feeling they were just trying to give me hope. So until then, I can patch myself up with scrap to help the stabilizer last longer.”

Lem eyes you dubiously. “You don’t seem upset about that. Aren’t you?”

“I’m… not. And I don’t know why,” you huff a laugh. “Maybe after everything that’s happened something is broken in me; keeping me from panicking like before. But I like to think that maybe… maybe…” 

You swallow, realizing you haven’t said this aloud to anyone else, or fully admitted it to yourself. 

“...maybe I’ve accepted that the end will come soon. And if it does, I have people who won’t let me be alone. A hug from Tala, a hot meal from Emphis, some good laughs from Bliss and Moritz…”

You trail off, avoiding Lem’s eyes as the obvious omission goes unsaid.

“It sounds like you’re giving up,” he says quietly.

“Maybe I am,” you shrug. “But I got what I needed — freedom, purpose, friends… some answers.” You sigh, taking another sip. “I’m honestly afraid to expect or ask for much more, so I’ll treasure what I have while I have it.”

Lem seems to mull that over, his brow furrowing unhappily. And then, after some hesitation, he takes your hand, squeezing it gently between both of his own.

“Listen, Sleeper. This whole time we’ve been here, I thought that all Mina and I had was each other,” he says softly. “I had no other connection to this place. I hated it. I felt trapped here and worse that Mina would be trapped here too. But then I met you.” His smile is wistful. “You were a true friend. Mina loved you. I didn’t even consider that you wouldn’t come with us. I didn’t consider you had your own universe too.

“Sleeper, I grieved for that future. But now I realize I haven’t lost anything at all. We have all we had before. We have more, now. I’ve got a sweet gig, Mina just loves her school. I guess the only thing certain in this life is uncertainty. If here is where you want to be, then here is where we’ll be too.”

Why? You want to ask in disbelief. He can't have possibly forgiven you...

As if in reply, Lem's thumb strokes briefly over your hand. “You ever heard of the three-body problem?”

[theobsessedbrunet]

Let you go

One-shot, Pairings: Evan Buckley x You

  You stared at the person who stood before. The person who you thought you knew completely, the only one person who would never let you down. The only person you could count one. Hair in a complete mess, lips slightly swollen from last night, eyes brighter than ever and skin glowing. 

  You were like a completely different person. 

  As you pulled your hair into a ponytail and washed your face with refreshing water, you leaned against the sink and contemplated on your sanity. What the hell did you do? This isn't like you to just lose control and sleep with a stranger.

  But there was something about that man. He was so genuine and yet still so enticing. Typical playboy but what made him different was how he opened up to you after the sex. You stayed up so long, talking about life. Your hopes and dreams, fears. Honestly, it felt good.

  That scared the hell out of you so you did the only thing that was logical after that. You sneaked out before he could wake up.

  Days had gone by and you still found yourself getting lost while reliving the night. The kisses, whispers you shared, his fingers grazing your skin. You got goosepbumps at just the thought of them. 

  "Who's picking you up today? Your dad?" You asked as Christopher walked beside you towards the entrance of the school. Christopher was usually the last kid to be picked up. Secretly you liked that, he's such a good kid. Cristopher loved bringing joy to everybody and he was the life of the party at school.

  "Bucky will pick me up. Dad is working." Christopher said as we ascended the last steps of the stairs. 

  You placed your hand behind Christopher, ready to catch him if he lost balance with his walking sticks. In this profession of the things you learn that the kids can handle themselves and should be given more credit. But there was a parental part of you that wanted to be ready and help if needed.

  "Who's Bucky?

  Bucky had tried to convince himself that you were just one of his many one night stands. One that would be a memorable one but he quickly realized that wasn't the case. He found himself thinking of your laugh that rang through the quiet room in the night, of your eyes as they turned a shade brighter when you talked about your slight obsession on Brooklyn 99. 

  When he saw you ascending down the stairs he couldn't believe his eyes. There you were, laughing at something that Christopher had said. This had to be destiny right? 

  "I am. Hi." Bucky shyly smiled as he pushed his hands into his pockets

  Soon Bucky's happiness changed to insecurity as he saw the look on your face. You wanted to turn around and run in the opposite direction and he could see that. He didn't know what reaction he was expecting but it wasn't that terror on your face.

  "Hi." You suddenly blurted out as you quickly turned to look at the boy next to you. You placed your hand on his shoulder and smiled, desperately trying to mask the shock in your voice and face.

  "I'll see you tomorrow Christopher. "

  "Byee." Christopher smiled and waddled over to Bucky who welcomed him with open arms. 

  "Hi buddy! Could you go and wait in the car? I'll be right over."

    Crap. You pressed your lips together as they started to tingle at the sight of his own. He was even better looking than you remembered. Eva- or Bucky, whatever his name was. He had a beautiful model smile and height that left you feeling small. But what stood out was his eyes. They were so bright and genuine, just like you remembered.

 "Hi." He said once again to steady himself. Kind smiles were shared. 

  "I thought you were Evan." A laugh escaped out of him as he quickly glanced at the ground, taking the opportunity to let his eyes travel from your shoes to your eyes.

  "I am. My name is Evan Buckley but friends call me Buck or Bucky."

  You smiled at him, professionally. "I see."

  This was very awkward. Silence surrounded you two as you both tried to wrap your heads around the situation. 

  "So I just have to say this." He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to find the right words. "I don't want to let you go." 

  Your eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me?"

  "No, I mean that, umm." Bucky laughed, hand running through his hair as he collected himself. He had asked women out many, many times. Bucky 2.0 just wasn't very suave anymore with women who were out of his league anymore.

  "Are you trying to ask me out?" You laughed as you looked at the suddenly very nervous and flustered man before you. He visibly relaxed under your gaze as you took the words right out of his mouth.

  "I am. " 

  You pulled out your calendar from your bag and quickly scribbled your name and number on an empty page. You walked down the last step and approached Bucky with confidence. This was your cliche movie moment and you owned it with pride. 

  Bucky's eyes traveled your movement as you approached him. He was very into his, into you. This was why he couldn't stop thinking of you. You went after what you wanted. And currently, you wanted him.