#if i ever have to draw it again just do me a favour and kill me

[ratsarecute4]

This is how Bury the Bully went, right?

[thestarlitmidnight]

✨ Rewrite the Stars ✨

Summary: Being mated to Feyre doesn’t stop Rhysand to seek comfort from his former lover Y/N. One more night, that became their mantra.

Fandom: ACOTAr

Pairing: Rhysand X Y/N

Warnings: Mention of explicit content, be aware of that and consider being 15+ before reading this.

Word Count: 2 695

Master List

Being held in his arms, having my face resting on his warm, broad chest, inhaling his mesmerising scent while his fingers were drawing precious little patters on my naked back.

It used to be shared moments, that never made me feel ashamed.

It used to be so easy.

But we could be like this only in the secrecy within the walls of my home.

There were mountains that we could not climb and things that we could not change.

But this, he felt like my home. Maybe a little broken and unstable, without any sense of stability, but still, he was all that was dear to me.

And I was selfish. I always was.

It was impossible to let go of him.

Even when he came back home after the whole fifty years of being away with the news, he found his mate.

Even when they accepted the bond.

Even when he made her his High Lady.

Even when they fought together in the war and he gave up his life for her.

It was impossible to let go of the heavy weight of centuries-long shared past.

And he had it the same.

It was beautiful and bittersweet at the same time.

Maybe when he would push me away, we would be able to stop this. If he would just leave me behind in favour of following the call of his mating bond, we both would not feel so guilty.

It was not like we did not try to end it.

We always promised each other that it was the last time we were together. Sworn that it would not continue. Not happening again.

There would be so intense arguments, where we would end up throwing things at each other, cursing each other’s existence, but then…But then we found ourselves in the bedroom, making the same beautiful mistakes all over again, assuring each other that it would be just one more night.

It was always the same. A night full of lust, passion, and hunger and waking up feeling guilty as hell.

Ever since the presence of the damn Cursebreaker, we became dysfunctional. Each time he would be leaving, I wished to die. Every time he came back to me, I wished to kill him. And when he was holding me, I wished him to kill me.

It was not right. Both of us knew that. Both of us were sick of what happened to us. Yet none of us could resist the cursed pull that kept both of us coming back for more.

What was worse was the fact that I was an active member of the Inner Circle. I always was... for three centuries, long before Feyre came.

Yet she seemed to perfectly replace me in every aspect.

From the always cherished, loved, and sought-out member of our family, I became someone who was kept around for the skill set and used as a tool.

I got used to it. I truly did, almost. Amren was one of those who was there for me.

She did not know wholly about what was happening between me and Rhys, but she suspected something and she never objected. No. She even came up with good reasons why Rhysand was two days away. Provided excuses, backed up both of us, and maybe she was the only reason why this whole mess was still even happening.

"We can't keep doing this," I breathed out, but my fingers slid down his belly, feeling the toned muscles.

"Hmm," he agreed, still drawing shapes on my exposed back.

"This was the last night," I whispered once more.

"Alright," he replied with a low voice, his fingers travelling to the swell of my ass.

I nuzzled closer into his embrace and inhaled his scent shamelessly.

We had this conversation a million times, but I never knew if it would truly be the last night we spent together, and I needed to save enough of his scent to last me a while if I would never get the chance to be this close to him again.

——

Rhys left late in the night, maybe early in the morning, it depends on the point of view.

With a heavy heart and burning eyes, I watched him disappear into the night and hoped that he would come back to me just as much as I hoped he would never show up ever again.

Waking up next to him was the luxury which no longer belonged to me. No, that was for his precious mate.

Viper. That's what she was. Stealing, pretending, inexperienced, amateur, simple viper who did not even care to consider that before her, there was someone else.

Three centuries. She lived for two decades. Not comparable. Not at all, yet then once again, that blasted mating bond.

Morrigan often spoke about Nesta like she was a viper. She never was more wrong in her whole life.

Nesta was the only sister of the three who deserved immortality. She fought with everything she had, and when she met the steel wall, she punched a hole into it and crawled through the remaining of what was left of her. Nesta Archeon was the only member of them who cared enough to become real access to the Night Court.

Feyre only mated into it. She was granted a position that was way too large for her. She was looked on like our savior when everything she did was to be a stupid, foolish idiot who was blinded by love to another male than her own mate.

Maybe I was just biased. I simply did not see any worth in her when everything she ever accomplished after getting involved with our world was cushioned and pathed out by Rhys and others.

I did not sleep that night. I showered, changed, and flew up to the House of Winds to sit on the rooftop and admire the night sky before the early morning training would begin.

Love is the death of peace of mind.

That much I realised in those past months.

When the night sky started to get a lighter shade of blue, I decided to stretch and get warm up before others would arrive.

I must have lost track of time because when I was practicing the swing of my left arm, I was interrupted.

"You are pretty early; lately, you have made it a habit," Morrigan walked through the door.

"Early riser," Cassian beamed, holding Nesta around her waist.

"To be an early riser, she would need to sleep in the first place," Amren shot me a piercing glare and went to sit on the bench by the edge of the rooftop.

"You were on mission?" Nesta looked me up and down, walking away from Cassian's side and she started to stretch herself.

"Something like that. I returned very late, and there was no point in going to sleep," I skillfully lied as I walked towards her and pressed on her back, forcing her into a proper stretch.

"Bitch," she cursed as I kept pressing her forwards.

"You will thank me when you will need to dodge something in an awkward motion," I assured her and patted her back, ignoring her curses.

"Without sleep, you will drop dead soon," Cassian remarked, starting his own stretching routine.

"I am used to little to no sleep. I am fine," I rolled my eyes at him.

"Nobody can sway others like you do. It would be a tragic loss," Mor sat down beside Amren and performed her own version of pretty sloppy stretches.

I did not say anything to that. It did not even hurt anymore.

We used to be like sisters. When she was concerned about me, she would always speak about how she would never be able to live without me in her life, backing her up with those damn idiots who surrounded us. How she loved me and other emotional blackmail one does to make sure your family member doesn't get hurt.

Lately, it was only how much of an asset I am to the Night Court, and that was it.

Not like we had three centuries of friendship.

"Nobody can bake the Illyrian bread like Y/n does," Azriel walked into the training space, sending me a little smile as a greeting.

"Because she is Illyrian, maybe?" Feyre landed on the rooftop, followed by Rhysand. "Good morning."

"There are many Illyrian females out there, Feyre darling, but none can bake like our Y/n," Rhys sent a charming smile to his mate, looking effortlessly beautiful as always.

"I am not baking you anything. Do not try to sweet talk me into it," I rolled my eyes at him and let go of Nesta, while helping her up. "You train daggers with me today."

With that, I led her into the rag where daggers were stored, so she could pick some while I plugged my own two daggers into the holder on my thighs.

"I wouldn't dream about such a kindness, angel," he send me a playful wink, leaving his mate go to Mor and he himself started to walk to his brothers.

Angel. Fucking angel. I would kick his ass for daring to use this old nickname on me when his little mate was present.

"How come we never tasted her baking before?" Feyre asked, following the lead of Mor, stretching in sloppy fashion, but nobody called them out on it.

Typical.

"Yes, you never baked since I met you," Nesta agreed with her sister, a rare occasion.

"I used to have bunch of begging monkeys around me, who nagged me into baking something for them all the time, now I do not have any reason to do it," I shrugged with my shoulders, replying to Nesta.

I did not spoke to Feyre if it was not an official matters of the court.

I refused to acknowledge the way my chest clenched painfully. No, lately, only Az is the only one who care enough to directly ask me to bake him his favourite pastry. Others are busy doting around Feyre and Elain.

And partly Rhys is sometimes bold enough to ask for his favourite cookies, when he comes to fuck me. But the love behind the baking is rotten, it's gone.

"Bunch of monkeys?" Cass wiggled with his eyebrows at me. "I consider myself Illyrian, thank you very much."

"Brute like you cannot be mistaken for anything else than elephant Cass, do not worry," I assured him with dry voice and gestured for Nesta to correct her posture with the daggers in her hands.

A laughter erupted from Cassian, who clapped with his hands, and others joined him, clearly amused by my dry remark.

"How come you can fly, Y/n? I do not mean to be rude, or insensitive, but Emerie is younger, but still..." Feyre, who else, chose to be curious about the worse topic one can get curious about with the three other Illyrians around.

"Because I did not allowed anything to happen to her," Rhysand practically growled, his jaw clenching at the memories that flooded to our heads. "We do not speak about this anymore."

"Let's say it was a close call and Madja had hands full for quite a while," Mor did not cared to consider that nobody wanted to say another word about it and still provided some kind of answer for her new best friend. "Ever since then, Y/n was permanently living in the Town House."

"Oh," Feyre huffed and I could feel her eyes on me.

But I started to ignore them all.

I focused on Nesta, guiding her to get her attacks right. I was for some time teaching her how to fight with the same style as I did. Many asked me to teach them, Az and Cass amongst them, but I didn't. It was a personal thing for me. My fighting style with daggers were forged from blood and pain, turning to be deadly effective. Nesta just seemed to be the right candidate for me to pass this little thing on. Even when she was not aware how rare it was. It was making it less awkward.

"You guys know each other for a long time then?" Feyre asked, not standing up yet, sitting beside Mor.

It speaks volumes that she needs to even ask that question. How long is she there? Months. I even saved her ass few times in battle, yet she still did not bothered to ask for any information about me. Did not cared enough. Probably too lost in another little drama she came up in her head, where she is the hero and needs to be tended to, while others feed her delusions.

"Y/n is with us for three hundred years Feyre," Rhys responded, his violet eyes travelling to look at me.

It made me loose my attention for a moment. Those damn eyes of his. Eyes that keep watching me while he fuck the living soul out of me, while mumbling my name as if it was a prayer.

The moment of lost attention Nesta properly used to her advantage and placed a hit to my left side, a victorious grin ghosting her lips.

"You are that old?" Nesta raised eyebrows at me, mocking me.

"Those idiots are older," I mocked back and went to grab some water.

When I was in the kitchen, holding my glass to be filled with the fresh water, I felt presence by my side.

"Y/n," Rhys purred seductively, while reaching above me to grab his own glass.

"Rhys," I nodded a little, aware that others could see into the kitchen from the rooftop.

Better to keep things formal and professional. They all were too nosey for their own good.

"I am sorry for Feyre, she did not realised it's a sore spot for us all," he stood so close to me, filling his own glass with the freshly pouring water.

"It's fine," I shook my head, not bothering to even dive into this conversation.

I had no interest to hear any apologies or excuses for the lack of manners from his mate. None. I cannot care less. I was so tired from all of that shit.

"The memories came floating back, making me wish to kiss those pretty wings of yours, just to wash away any lingering pain from that day," he breathed silently, his eyes glued to my wings, raw emotions showing for a moment on his handsome face.

"Rhys, we can't," I pleaded, but it did not sounded convincing even to my own ears.

"Y/n, please," his eyes, that would be the death of me, turned pleading as well.

"We promised that it was last night," I whispered and took a sip from my glass, trying to look as unbothered as possible, because it was my face that was facing the rooftop. His was facing it with his back. Smart idiot.

"One more night, Y/n," he had the audacity to send into my mind the desperate need to hold me, to kiss my wings and wash away the hunting memories of the day he took me away from Illyria. "Let's rewrite the stars one more time."

I gulped down my glass and pressed it into his free hand, while trying to keep myself in check. It was no longer my place to be flustered around him.

"Don't you dare," I growled and marched back to others, purposely ignoring the presence of one person that I cannot stand the most.

I knew he will come. Both of us knew he always did. Even when I threatened him, denied him, pushed him away. Sooner the night sky fall before he will let the go of me.

No matter how selfish or unfair it was.

And I will always end up welcoming him into my bed, getting lost in the haze of what was and what will never be again. Because I will never be able to resist him, always hoping that indeed, the stars will rewrite themselves and by some cosmic miracle, one day, things will be how they used to be between us.

Chapter Two

[celticcrossanon]

BRF Reading - 15th of May, 2024

This is speculation only

Cards drawn on the 15th of May, 2024

Question: Are Meghan and Harry actively trying to kill The King?

As I was shuffling the cards for this reading, two cards flew out. I was going to draw one card for Meghan, one for Harry, and one for them as a couple, plus the underlying energy, but those two cards told me everything I needed to know.

This is a two card reading

Warning: This reading contains some of the ugliest energy I have ever encountered in all my years of tarot reading. Please prepare yourself before you read it and do not read it if you are feeling at all upset/despondent/shaky/insecure etc. You need to be protected by God/Jesus/the angels/the universe/whomever you call upon to protect you before you read this reading.

Answer: Yes

Card One: The Three of Swords

This is the card that flew out of my deck as I was shuffling. One look and I had my answer.

The Three of Swords is a card of grief, heartbreak, despair. It shows King Agamemnon being killed in his bath by his wife Clytemnestra and her lover.

Clytemnestra brooded over past injuries done to her by the King until she decided to kill him. In this card she represents Harry, with his belief that the BRF has ''victimised' him (e.g. by taking away his military honours).

Her lover, Aegisthus, believed his family has been betrayed by the father of Agamemnon and had been conceived to take revenge on the family. He represents Meghan, with her belief that the BRF has hurt her (eg no one asked me if I was Ok, no one cared about my mental health, they are racist and all her other lies) and her desire for vengeance on them.

The picture shows the death of the rightful King by Clytemnestra and her lover. I am taking this as the death of The King at the hands of Harry and Meghan, in answer to my question. Harry and Meghan want to kill The King. They want to inflict the grief and heartbreak and despair of his death on the BRF.

Card Two: The Eight of Swords in reverse

The energy of this card is of stress. The reverse position has intensified the upright energy (as it sometimes does) instead of reversing the meaning of it. It also adds a delayed time element to the energy.

Harry and Meghan want to use stress to kill The King. They wants him to feel trapped, hemmed in, unable to move or escape, especially mentally. This card can represent someone who is trapped/paralysed by their thoughts and who feels helpless, and that is the energy of the card - what Meghan and Harry want to invoke in The King.

There is a very strong relentless energy to this card - Meghan and Harry will not give up until The King either a) abdicates in their favour (yes, I know that is not possible, but we are dealing with two delusional people here) or b) drops dead from stress - stroke, heart attack, cancer, they do not care.

There is a vicious energy to this card that lashes out repeatedly until the desired object is achieved - an energy I can only describe as stabbing, over and over again, until the person is dead. There is a chant going through my mind of 'stab stab stab kill kill kill' as I type this. The 'stabs' are emotional and stress wounds.

These two cards tell me that Meghan and Harry have planned to kill The King and they will not stop until it is accomplished - and then they will turn their attention to Prince William.

This is truly ugly energy - vicious, self-centred, and laser focused on their desires with no thought of anyone else.

Because it is so ugly I asked for a third card as confirmation, just to make sure I am on the right track about this, as it is a horrible thing to say about anyone.

Confirmation Card: King of Cups in reverse

The King of Cups is the card for Scorpio, and as such it represents King Charles, who is a sun sign Scorpio. In the reverse, it shows King Charles in decline, weakened, not strong and happy (that would be the card upright). The card represents King Charles in his role as a person, father/husband/uncle etc, and not in his role as King. To have it in reverse as a confirmation card is a definite yes. Harry and Meghan want The King to die and they are actively trying to bring this about.

Just in case there is any doubt, the card after this was The Seven of Swords.

The Seven of Swords - deceit, trickery, lies, scheming - with the pictures showing Orestes creeping into the city/palace to kill his mother for murdering his father. The card showing a son in the act of murdering a parent and the meaning of the card - thief, lies, deceit, scheming - confirm the message above and add to it - Harry and Meghan are trying to kill The King so they can steal what is his for themselves.

Notice that all the suit cards I am pulling are Swords - the suit of thoughts, plans, and strategies. Another confirmation. There is no emotion involved here (that would be Cups) - just a cold and merciless desire to remove someone who stands in the way of their plans.

This is revolting energy and I am going to stop now.

A note of hope - just because Harry and Meghan are actively trying to do this, there is no guarantee that they will succeed, especially if we pray for The King and for Prince William and his family and/or we send them protective energy. St Michael the Archangel is a good angel to ask to protect them if anyone is so inclined.

[beatricebat]

Ah, Floch. My best worst boy is divisive, to say the least. However, one thing most people can agree on is that the little coward was brave and badass in his last stand at the dock.

However, after watching that bit closely, I can confidently report that he gets way too much credit for that bit.

I mapped out what Floch clearly intended to do here, and it was a pretty simple plan: dodge Falco, run across the roof, dodge Pieck, shoot boat.

He had to travel in more or less a straight line. Avoiding getting killed by the Titan Shifters wasn’t nothing, but it also didn’t necessarily need him to grit his teeth and hype himself up the way he did. Our boy’s just a drama queen. A few episodes earlier, the cadets that Shadis rescued flew across a whole city luring Titans behind them, and none of them made half the fuss about it that Floch does here.

Now, obviously, the best laid plans gang aft agley. What Floch didn’t expect was a surprise attack from Hange, and despite making this face when he saw them coming:

Floch actually fought Hange off pretty well. It was pretty badass of him to defend himself from Hange’s sword swing by blocking it with the freaking explosive thunderspear strapped to his arm. The way Hange’s sword sparked up the metal casing, Floch was lucky they didn’t shear it off his arm completely.

The next thing that happened was so perfectly Floch. Part of what makes Floch such an excellent representation of a fascist is how he really only valued traditional strength and masculinity, but the things he was good at were not that at all.

Floch performed a perfect pirouette.

He stopped mid-run and span around on one foot while sending Hange flying with the other, and then set off running again.

Gorgeous. Gorgeous. Gorgeous little bit of ballet from Ymir’s favourite theatre kid.

For the record, I am firmly in favour of male dancers and I can fully appreciate the strength and grace it would take to pull off a move like this. I just also think Floch would be homophobic if he saw anyone else doing this.

ANYWAY, let’s move on as quickly as Floch did to get past Pieck, which should leave him with a clear shot at the boat, except …

Yeah. About that.

I will admit, it took me forever to work out what happened here. The animation is kind of confusing, and Floch flips around so much in this split second that I had trouble understanding where he was oriented in any given frame. As far as I can tell though, the thunderspear just…falls off his arm.

He definitely didn’t aim it, because it isn’t pointing at Pieck. If there’s a way to deliberately quick release a thunderspear, I don’t think we ever see it. Plus, Floch is clearly surprised by it, which I’ll get to in a second. The best explanation I can come up with is that Hange partially sheared the thunderspear off Floch’s arm when he used it as a shield, and then the air resistance on it as Floch span away from Pieck put enough stress on it to finish the job. Either that, or the thunderspear caught on Pieck’s finger as Floch zipped past.

So, how do I know Floch was surprised by the thunderspear falling off?

Motherfucker dropped his trigger.

This is such an incredible detail to include, because there are a LOT of budget saving frames across this little scene. They recycle pictures of Floch across frames, they draw hilariously spiky backgrounds to indicate movement, and it’s such a tiny little thing. Floch’s trigger is shown flying away a few frames later, and it would have been perfectly understandable to infer it had just been blown out of his hand in the explosion. But no. whoever drew Floch loved and hated him as much as me, and they needed us to know Floch dropped his trigger. I don’t think anyone else ever dropped their equipment, did they?

Oh…yeah…

Anyway, the explosion sends Floch hurtling into the air like a piece of confetti, completely losing his trigger in the process.

🎵Cool guys don’t look at explosions/they close their eyes and they scream in fear🎵

***

Part two coming shortly, because tumblr mobile will only let me add ten photos per post. :(

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Did anyone do the character ask game for Price?

Ha, Anon, I didn't. I had a few sporadic individual ones. I think people went: ahh, he's a Price guy, someone else will ask the Price guy about Price. But no. No.

Favourite thing about him

His disregard for bullshit rules. His frustration with the bureaucracy in the way of achieving just goals. I think he has a strong sense of justice (dictated by his own moral compass), and perceived injustice cannot stand. If you slight him, or the people he cares for, he's coming for you, and nothing on this earth or the next will save you from him. We share the frustration and the strong sense of justice in common. Mine gets me in trouble a lot, because I will absolutely tell people when I think they're being cunts or what they're asking me to do isn't right. I've landed on my feet most times, but not always. So, I guess I can relate.

What else? He's an overachiever and I love exploring where that drive comes from. I think I project a lot in coming up with the cause; disappointing your parents by being queer, so you work yourself down to the bone to prove yourself worthy of a love that will only destroy you in the end, because it's conditional on your soul bending in a way it's not meant to.

I love his fiery temper. Love it when he snarls and snaps. He's not the emotionless commander, blank slate protagonist who is perfect so we can project ourselves onto him thoughtlessly. Kind of linked to the rest of him: asymmetrical face, thinning hair at the crown, receding hairline, scruffy facial hair, strong build but not Hollywood ripped. He's an every man; flaws, freckles, n' everything in between.

Least favourite thing about him

He's intelligent and manipulative. He finds the broken boys, he tells them they can make a difference and all they've got to do is what he says, he puts the gun in their hands, points and gives the kill order. I think Price cares for them in his own way, but I also think he knows when someone is vulnerable to his particular brand of maverick justice. Price knows he inspires loyalty and devotion to an almost unhealthy degree, and he uses that to his advantage.

I say "least", again, but I think it makes him interesting. I think Soap throwing himself between him and a bullet would have profoundly affected him. Soap throwing his life away for Price - not the mission, for Price - was never part of the plan.

Favourite line(s):

"Haha, you think of ev'ryfin'."

"Ahh, sing it a lullaby, we gotta go!"

"Let's get evil."

"We fight not so that the world will remember us, but so that there will be a world to remember."

"This is for Soap."

Basically every time he opens his mouth, to be honest.

BrOTP

Price & Laswell; gay-lesbian solidarity. Price & Farah is also sweet.

OTP

Nik/Price, now and forever. Ghost/Price a very close second.

NOTP

Price/abuse. So, Makarov, Shepherd. Anyone who's gonna hurt him. Can't do it.

Random headcanon

I mean... I'm constantly writing them. But the one that comes up now and then is his accent. I think he trained himself out of it at Sandhurst because he wanted to be taken seriously. There's still a lot of snobbery in the British military at that level. Scouser Price is still very fun to write.

Unpopular opinion

That man has absolutely internalised a truckload of toxic masculinity that he needs to work through to heal.

Song I associate with them

Favour picture of him

Every artist that draws Price ever. But also...

QUOKKA PRICE!

[patchworkorphan]

The Hero and the Infant: Part Three

Read part one here

Continued from here

*~*~*~*~*

Hero threw their arms wide as they strut onto the roof in a gesture of questioning: “hey! What the fuck are ya doing?”

That got Villain’s attention. Violet eyes snapped to theirs, floating a couple metres off the roof. Out of reach for Hero.

“Silent treatment? Really? You just tried to kill a kid, Villain.”

“Superhero’s new sidekick. I did warn them about the mortality rate of such a job before I dropped them,” Villain said with a shrug. Hero looked back over their shoulder at the sound of the roof door opening and Sidekick stepping out, fury winding all of their limbs tight.

“See?” Villain said, getting Hero’s attention again. The Villain’s hand was spread to Sidekick’s appearance. “They’re fine!”

Hero rolled their eyes, scoffing. “Is that supposed to be a justification for attempted murder?”

Hero felt the strong invisible hand wrap around them and yank them up into the air straight into Villain’s awaiting arms.

“Maybe I just don’t like the company they keep,” said Villain, grabbing Hero by the lapels of their duster and pulling them close.

Villain’s nose crinkled up as they said: “you smell like whiskey and cigarettes.”

“It was never a problem before. In fact, I think I remember you enjoying the smell at one point,” said Hero with their dashing smile reserved for only Villain.

“Why are you running around with Superhero’s new scapegoat?”

“Why are you disturbing these good people just trying to do their jobs?” Hero shot back.

“I am a Villain, my dear. It is what we do.”

“And I am a hero, at your every public beck and call. To make sure you don’t do irrevocable damage. Such as killing a child,” Hero admonished and yelped as they felt Villain’s power vanish from under them and they were falling.

Villain held them with one hand over the precipice in their usual showmanship of power. Hero narrowed their eyes and shifted their weight, so they were almost a perfect 45-degree angle to the ground thirteen stories below.

A challenge coated their words as they spread their arms wide, “if you want to kill anyone Villain, do us both a favour and kill me.”

Villain searched Hero’s face for any weakness. Any sign that they were lying and found none. The next thing Hero knows wind is whistling through their ears, stopping only when their back cracks off brickwork and they crumbled to the ground hands catching themselves on the ground, gasping for the air that was wrenched from their lungs.

“Hero!” Sidekick yelled in surprise from the opposite roof.

Hero barely had time to force themselves to stand again before Villain was in front of them, fist bunching in the collar of their shirt. Villain threw a solid left hook. Hero countered, taking the brunt on their forearm before an invisible hand grabbed Hero’s wrist yanking it above their head and keeping it there. Hero’s toes barely scraping the roof below them.

“No fair,” said Hero with a grunt, levelling Villain with a knowing scorn.

Villain’s smile was more of a snarl as they said: “when have I ever played fair?”

Hero threw their other hand out, but Villain caught it and slammed it back against the brick wall, drawing another grunt from Hero. Villain stepped in close, close enough that Hero felt Villain’s breath on their face as those violet eyes peered down at Hero, tightening their grip on Hero’s wrist.

“You look good, Vil,” said Hero softly. “What happened that made you rage against these innocent people today, hmm?”

Villain’s free hand settled on Hero’s cheek and Hero leaned into the touch. “I don’t need a reason.”

“We both know you’re not like that,” Hero said, smiling sadly.

Suddenly Hero was released, and they dropped to their feet, knees bent. Villain was recoiling to the side, hand on their cheek as a once invisible Sidekick became visible again.

“You alright?” Sidekick asked as Hero straightened and nodded.

“Yes. Thank you.”

“You looked like you needed help,” Sidekick said, a little breathless and Hero searched the opposite roof wondering how Sidekick had got there so fast but didn’t question it. They could ask later.

Hero fixed their jacket, rolling their neck as Villain’s gaze turned to face the pair. “I had it handled.”

“Sure, you did,” and Sidekick was invisible again. Villain’s eyes burned like the cold fires of hell down at Hero and Hero shrugged with a smirk.

“Kid’s annoying,” said Hero. “But sure, what can you do?”

“Drop them off a building again. Maybe it will work this time.”

“Probably not,” Hero said with a flash of their teeth. “Not as long as I’m here.”

“Well then perhaps I will force you to watch,” said Villain as they shot their hand out. Hero sucked in a breath and felt the pop in their ears as they reappeared behind Villain. They whistled and Villain turned. Hero threw a punch which Villain caught, clenching their hand down around Hero’s fist and stepping forward, pushing Hero back. “You always did think I relied too much on my power.”

“Eh,” Hero shrugged with tired eyes. “It’s an off day.”

Villain’s eyes narrowed, their tone dipping dangerous as they turned Hero’s arm. “Maybe you should have answered my texts then and we could have arranged this on a non-drinking day for you.”

“Come on, Vil. You know me better,” Hero said with a toothy grin. “They are no non-drinking days.”

Villain pulled Hero in and brought a sharp knee to Hero’s stomach. Hero gasped, as Villain leaned in. “We’ll sober you up yet. Just like our academy days, huh Hero?”

The comment had barely registered when Villain squeezed Hero’s fist with their hand, their force backed by Villain’s unfair power.

“No wait, Villain—” Hero protested just before there was a resounding crack over the roof. Hero screamed bloody murder as Villain kicked them back, and unable to catch themselves, Hero stumbled back and fell, their head hitting off the stone roof. White spots burst behind their vision as Hero shuffled back on their good arm. “Motherfucker!”

Hero looked down at their hand, their index and middle finger bent backwards. A deep purple and black colouring the battered flesh. They had to get off the ground. Hero sucked in a sharp breath closing their eyes. Then a boot came to their chin and Hero cursed as their world rocked and their head hit the ground again.

A headache was already forming, and Hero just wanted to lie on the ground and give up then and there. Then he thought of Sidekick who would no doubt lecture them which would only make their headache worse. A rock and a hard place, headache, or worse headache. Before they could decide, Villain stomped on Hero’s ribs, and Hero’s eyes shot open. Their good hand pushing at Villain’s ankle to alleviate the pressure.

“No popping out if your brain’s clouded with pain, ain’t that right Hero?”

“Normal people just say: I missed you,” Hero hissed, they let out a harsh cough. “They don’t try and kill you.”

“What can I say? I’m not normal people,” said Villain with a smile of their own. Then their hand shot out on instinct and Sidekick reappeared two feet away, gasping on no air. Their hands went to their throat with wide eyes. Hero sat up suddenly, but Villain just put more pressure on their leg keeping Hero pinned. “No. No. Don’t get up. Stay.”

“Let them go, Villain!” Hero cried. Sidekick dropped to their knees, face going purple as they choked on nothing, hands clawing desperately at their throat.

Villain tilted their head at Sidekick’s struggles. Hero reached their hand into their pocket, taking out their lighter. “It’s not every day I don’t kill someone first try. The last, and not to blow my own trumpet, but only time that happened Sidekick was with…” Villain turned back to Hero. “Well, was you, dearest.”

Hero shot their hand out, setting fire to Villain’s trouser leg that was currently weighing on Hero’s ribs. Villain gasped, concentration broken, stepping back and Sidekick sucked in a lungful of air. Hero looked at Villain.

“I’ll be back,” they said to Villain as they lunged for Sidekick’s arm, hand clamping around their wrist. Hero closed their eyes, sucking in a breath.

Then pop.

*~*~*~*~*

[zhouxiangs]

(2/2)

And the clearest example is how he’s aware of Way’s feelings for him, has been for a while, but not only is he very dismissive of them (picture their hallway conversation when Way is clearly emotional and upset and for the first time actually addresses the elephant in the room (which takes a lot of courage), only for Babe to be all ‘yeah I know – ugh did you have to actually say it out loud?? - but, like…Charlie! Now let me caress your shoulder while I reassure you we’re still best buds!’ or the way he reacts like it’s all a bit tiresome whenever someone else brings it up) - Babe makes a conscious choice to NOT discuss it with Way, and more importantly to NOT draw any boundaries tween them. At best he’s just being extremely careless with Way’s feelings, especially when he jokes about them being bfs, but at worst, one could argue that his flirtatiousness is in fact an intentional manipulation of said feelings in order to keep Way where he wants him, which is at his beck and call. Babe doesn’t care to look any deeper because there’s nothing in it for him – as long as he has Way by his side, adoring him, he’s satisfied. Any awkward niggling thoughts about how actually this probably isn’t a healthy dynamic and this guy needs to get a life outside of me and in retrospect it’s a little strange that I know literally nothing about him get pushed aside in order to maintain that status quo.

Now, unlike half the characters in this show, I’m capable of self-reflection: I know that I could extend some of the sympathy I have for Way due to his shitty past (and present) to Babe, and speculate that Babe’s selfishness, his need to keep Way with him even if it’s detrimental to Way’s wellbeing, is merely a consequence of his own shitty past, his fear of being alone; that his inability to deal with this situation is a result of his own emotional maladjustment at Tony’s hands. That’s all very likely to be true. BUT! Babe has the whole internet ready to kill for him, so sorry but he doesn’t need me to do the same! What can I say - I feel obligated to stick up for the underdog, no matter how much of a fucked up wrong’un said underdog might be! (Of course there’s also the entirely plausible possibility that all this is just the fault of shoddy writing - as long as characters keep repeating that this really is a deep and wholesome and 100% reciprocated friendship then we the audience are duty-bound to believe it!)

In conclusion (if you got this far - apologies!): Way is a pathetic but tragic character who didn’t deserve the hand he was dealt (but does deserve lifelong therapy), whose motivations are much more complex and heart-wrenching than many seem able/willing to recognise/acknowledge. Babe is selfish and a shitty friend, but that is perhaps understandable given his experiences. SA (and mind-fucking your friend) is NEVER excusable, no matter how awful your life or how bad your daddy issues; neither is it EVER the fault of the victim. All of these things can be true at the same time, and it wouldn’t hurt to remember that.

Your Honour, I rest my case!

P. S. Internet, please don't be mad at me! Everyone's of course entitled to their own opinion (variety is the spice of life and all that!) and the remaining eps might totally destroy this interpretation, but at the end of the day, it's just a show, and I'm just a socially anxious contrarian overthinker with a penchant for well-acted morally dubious pretty boys!

i think i tend to be more positive/look for the more favourable explanation and so my opinion on the hallway conversation (which: hurty) is that babe is extreeeemely unprepared to talk about feelings. which is funny because his friendship with way reads as very intense to me, and they’re pretty dramatic with their words too? but it’s clear babe has no experience in this area, both talking about it and feeling it, and it shows precisely in how careless he is with way’s feelings. and again, the jokes about being bfs babe i will hunt you down you cannot be this dense! please! but also i don’t think he would see anything unhealthy in how powerful way’s attachment to him is because i think, up until charlie showed up, they both acted like that with each other. (my poor way…)

don’t apologise! this has taken me five million hours to reply to but it has been worth every. second. and honestly while as i’ve just said i don’t totally agree with your interpretation of babe and his actions and feelings towards way i do think you make great points and can see why you’re interpreting something in a different way than i do. also i love to read what people are thinking. meta is my favourite thing in the world, so unless it’s something horrifying to me i am going to enjoy it lol

[tieflingtareon]

My love, are you the devil? (Oh, call me a devil)

Chapter 28 | Words: 8.4k

Summary: Astarion found himself often surprised by his heroic companion. He had one goal. To become the favoured companion of the group, to earn the Tieflings loyalty, to make Tar'eons strength his own. Yet Tar'eon isn't like the usual target of his manipulations. Despite his naivety, he does not seem gullible. There is something very wrong with their 'leader' to begin with. Astarion isn't sure if he wants to control it or eradicate the threat it posed. But can he really do either when Tar'eon himself seems so...unwaveringly kind?

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50668558/chapters/127995079

Tar'eon wasn't sure what to do with himself. He had two options. Tell everyone he was a Bhaalspawn and hope they'd look past it, or keep it a secret, and hope it wasn't found out in a particularly bad way. On one had, if he managed to keep it a secret, he wouldn't lose his friends and would hopefully find a way to cure his urges anyway. But, if he was found out, they'd draw their own conclusions to why he kept it a secret in the first place. If he told them, they'd either promise their support, or try to kill him, and worse, they'd be divided and he'd have to watch a bloodbath nobody wanted.

He sighed and hung his head. He was starting to get a headache now. He didn't have to tell them right now. He could...give it a day. Really think about whether it was important enough or not. There was so much at stake...

When they left, waving to the others, Tar'eon focused on exploring, getting to know the town. He found a Ilmater temple, and seeing as he had prayed to him before, he decided to check it out. Hearing the priest had been killed, and a tiefling assumed the problem, he decided he could look into it, if only to help the refugees. If he could prove that it wasn't their fault, they may still get refuge from the temple. Which led him down a rabbit hole, a wall, and to a bunch of shapeshifters. They were plaguing the place, but he couldn't find anymore evidence despite his searching. Not in the temple at least.

He appeared outside a cave mouth, and once he stocked up on fish for dinner, he made his way to explore the shores, which lead him to another fight. He hadn't meant to start this one, to be fair. It just...happened. Apparently he was rude, but Astarion had a good time stealing everything, including more tadpoles. He wasn't sure how many they had so far, but it was slightly concerning the amount they had back at camp. Better in their hands then others though.

He felt like he had made a breakthrough when he stumbled upon a Gur camp though. The shocking part was seeing the Gur again.

"We...we did kill him, didn't we?" Astarion asked him, looking a little horrified to see the man again.

"Apparently not."

"No, I definitely did."

"Maybe another Gur found him and revived him."

"I didn't smell any other Gur." Astarion bit out before the man gave a jovial greeting.

"My friend from the hag swamp? You join us as we honour our fallen dead - you are a bright light on a dark day. Even you, my erstwhile quarry."

"...Maybe you scrambled his brain when you gouged out his eye." Tar'eon whispered.

"Shut up. Act natural." Astarion gave a charming smile and a smile wave as he wavered himself through a greeting. "Oh, eh...Hello again?"

"Isn't this the guy-?"

"Shut up, Wyll." Astarion cleared his throat. "I feel we're intruding, we should leave. Quickly."

"Calm yourself - you will not be harmed." Astarion grimaced just as Gandrel did. "Our leader had called off the hunt. She wishes to speak to you." The elder woman finished her prayer - chant? - and approached as Gandrel stepped aside.

"So, the impossible spawn walks amongst us in the blazing sun. We have been looking for you."

"What do you want with Astarion?" Tar'eon stepped forward to put himself ever so slightly in front of the vampire on instinct, just as he had when Gandrel met them in the swamp.

"The last time your friend came to our camp, he stole our children. Our future." Tar'eon looked at Astarion in shock, wondering if it was true. The vampire wouldn't look at him, glare focused on the woman.

"When I was hunting you, I was to bring you back here. To interrogate you, discover how to save our children, and then destroy you." Gandrel said it like it was simply a matter of fact.

"But things have changed. You have changed." The woman tilted her head. "Is it true you left your master? That you broke the spell that binds you to him?"

"Well, I mean...kind of? It's a long story, honestly." Astarion looked nervous. He wasn't fond of Gur, and perhaps being surrounded by them was making his danger radar ping like crazy.

"Yes. Astarion is free now." Tar'eon answered for her.

"Free? Not while his master still lives. But he has, perhaps, earned a second chance." Astarion looked pleased to hear that, unfolding his arms. "We have tried to save our children already, attacking Cazador Szarr's palace at first light. Even then, it was too well defended." She admitted bitterly.

"But, if his own spawn approached? Someone he thought he could control? He would throw his doors open and welcome you in. And once inside, you could do what we could not. You could save the children you damned."

"You don't know Cazador like I do - he's merciless. You want me to march into the lion's den and save your children, but I promise you, they're already dead." Astarion didn't exactly sound proud of it either. He likely brought Gur children on Cazador's orders. Or perhaps children in general. It wouldn't surprise Tar'eon to know Astarion picked Gur children over regular children, given his hatred for them.

"How can you be sure?" Tar'eon asked, and Astarion gritted his teeth.

"I spent two hundred years bringing him victims!" Astarion snapped, like it wasn't obvious he would know Cazador's ways. "Each and every one was whisked away to be fed on that night."

"But you never saw him feed yourself? He could keep prisoners for days before killing them." Ulma pointed out.

"I know our plight is grim, but if there is even a chance to save them, we must take it." Gandrel near pleaded.

"If our children are truly gone, then we ask for blood. I know you can understand that, spawn." Tar'eon grimaced at her tone. If what she said was true though, then Astarion had to make this right. To damn child to Cazador...they couldn't let that be. If they were already dead? Then blood would spill as the Gurs asked.

"You owe them revenge, Astar. If nothing else, you owe them that."

"I suppose...Yes." He sounded a million miles away before he smirked at Ulma. "Yes, revenge I can do."

"Thank you, from me and all my people. If you can do this, we will be in your debt." She smiled at Tar'eon before turning her hardened gaze to Astarion. "You have lived a life of violence and sin. You have stolen lives, broken families, and caused immeasurable grief. Doing this will not right those wrongs."

Astarion gave a half-laugh, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"If you're trying to encourage me, you're failing abysmally."

"But it will be a start. You may still be redeemed." She smiled now, and Tar'eon found himself agreeing. He liked her outlook. Perhaps he could adopt that himself. He had done so much wrong in his past but...perhaps he could still be redeemed, if we killed the elder brain and made all of this right again. It wouldn't bring the dead back, but it would be start.

"Please, go. Time is short, but we will see you again when it is done." Tar'eon bowed his head to her and lead Astarion away. The vampire looked worlds away.

"Are you alright?"

"Hm? Yes, yes, I...Just lost in thought." Astarion cleared his throat. "I suppose we have even more reason to kill Cazador now."

"Did we need more reason?" Tar'eon mused and Astarion laughed.

"No. No, we truly didn't." He smiled and they made their way back into town, where Tar'eon found himself truly looking at the posters on the walls now. He frowned as he looked at Enver's face on the printed page.

"Lord Enver Gortash..." He mumbled to himself. Personally, he thought he looked better in person than on paper. Then again, he shouldn't have an opinion on such things to begin with. His stomach turned, churning with nerves. He knew he needed to kill Orin. He needed Enver's stone too. Gortash's stone. Fuck, what was wrong with his head? Referring to their enemies so casually in his mind?

He hadn't realised how long he'd been staring until Astarion stood beside him, tilting his head.

"Is there something...interesting about this or...?" He quirked a brow at his lover and Tar'eon sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face.

"I...You know when you know you know somebody, but you can't remember anything about them outside their face or name?"

"Are you telling me you know this...Lord Gortash?" Astarion wrinkled his nose at even referring to the man with such a title.

"Well, no, I don't know him but...I think I used to? Maybe. Everything's all...scrambled up in there."

"Well...If you knew Orin who works with Gortash, then perhaps that's all it was. He's an arms dealer right? Maybe you bought some stuff from him. Not everything had a deeper meaning, you know?" Astarion was attempting to reassure him, but Tar'eon shook his head.

"I don't think it was like that. I think it was..." He thought back to the memory of that dark office, of the hand around his throat, and he swallowed hard. "I think we were close. Friends even."

"Friends?" Astarion frowned, looking thoughtful. "I suppose. If he's working with Orin in this Absolute business, despite their current possible falling out, and Orin seems to have ties to you, it's possible you had ties with both prior to their plans of world domination."

"I just don't know what to do about it." Tar'eon admitted. "Karlach hates him, and she has every right to, but...Something is stopping me from wanting to kill him as much as I do Orin. If he knows about my past, I might be able to learn something from him. Something that isn't all just...blood and guts."

"Blood and guts is fun though." Astarion patted his shoulder. "Look, if you ask me very nicely, I could always see about kidnapping the man and forcing him to answer all your questions."

Tar'eon grinned. It was a touching sentiment from Astarion.

"Thank you. But it's alright. I'll figure out what to do when the time comes. For now, I just want to get rid of Orin. She's the most dangerous out of the two of them."

"In time, my love." Astarion assured. Tar'eon finally pulled himself away from the poster and made inside the building. It looked like a postal service. After a chat with the man behind the desk, he promised to check on the missing pigeons. It was a merger thing for him to do, so it didn't hurt to look around. If they found something, they found something. He glanced off to the side and his eyes widened at the poster on the desk.

A coronation? Gortash was becoming Archduke? He picked up the paper and slipped it into his pocket. It even told him where the coronation would be. If he wanted to talk to the man, that might be his chance...

He spoke to some pigeons, but that didn't help him much. He was surprised to find messenger dogs in the yard though, in their cages, but only one whimper from Scratch at the woman in charge made him want to slit her throat. Her insistence on taking Scratch back...He could see right through her.

"I'll break every bone in your body before I let you hurt my dog." His sudden threat made her stagger.

"You- you'll do no such thing."

"It's not just Scratch. She's always hurting the dogs." Dringo spoke up and Tar'eons hackles raised with a glower, crossing his arms.

"Shut your mouth, Dringo." She raised a fist as if to hit him, but hesitated before looking at Tar'eon. "Last warning."

He would cave her skull in before he let her hurt another animal.

"You know...Lord Gortash and I; we're quite close." He thumbed at the poster folded up in his pocket besides the prism. "I know for a fact that he abhors animal abuse. Perhaps I should report you to him?"

"Fine. You think you can do a better job without me? Be my guest. They're a useless bunch of mongrels. You're welcome to them!" She stalked off with that and Tar'eon glanced at Astarion. The vampire quirked a brow and Tar'eon nodded him off towards the woman. Astarion's eyes lit up and he winked before slinking away, no doubt using the shadows and the illusion of the eye to slit her throat around the corner, lest she be a repeat offender. Tar'eon could tolerate much - but animal abuse? Not ever.

"You- you got rid of her." Dringo sounded so shocked, like he hadn't realised it was possible. "I'll do a better job looking after these dogs than she ever did. I promise."

"I know you will." Tar'eon smiled. "Because if you don't, I'll break every bone in your body." Dringo laughed nervously, like he wasn't sure if Tar'eon was kidding. He wasn't.

"Okay...Bye." He went back his duties with that and Astarion came back, wiping his dagger on his pant leg.

"Did I miss anything?"

"Not at all."

"Did you just sick Astarion on that woman?" Gale asked in disbelief.

"Yes." Astarion smirked. "I took great delight in her little whimpers as she died."

"Gods...Well, I suppose she deserved it." Wyll shrugged.

"...I want to say she didn't, but she definitely did." Gale agreed.

"Good, we're in agreement. Let's go." Tar'eon beckoned them all to follow him out of the postal office, looking off towards the giant robot at the gate. He frowned.

"What on Toril is that?" Tar'eon asked. Wyll grimaced.

"The Steel Watch. I heard some citizens talking about them. Lord Gortash is the one who makes them and they follow his orders."

"I see..." Tar'eon frowned, looking around the gate. "I don't exactly want him to know we're here yet, or for his Steel Watch to kill us so...we'll find a way around."

"I think I see one. A few scoundrels are using it themselves." Astarion smirked as he pointed out a ledge and a ladder.

"Lead the way." It took some grunting and heaving, but they managed to find themselves on the other side, activating another portal so the others could follow. "Well...time to explore I suppose."

"Oh, you'll like this side of town." Astarion laughed.

Tar'eon didn't ask.

****

He should have asked. He was not expecting to be dragged into a brothel. The name should have given him a hint, he knew that, but on the plus side, he found out that their favourite - note the sarcasm - devil was present. The talk with him hadn't lasted long. Tar'eon was not offering that cambion any more power than he already had, even if it meant a way to free Orpheus and ease the guilt over leaving the man in his prison. Raphael assured him that he'd be back, but he didn't intend on it.

"Oh look, an entertainment area." Astarion sounded almost giddy as he guided them past some curtains in the lobby. Tar'eon felt his cheeks warm as he watched a woman dance on the stage, an upbeat tune playing around them. "A den of heathenism. I feel right at home." Astarion laughed, a haughty laugh that lacked any real truth to his statement.

"I...do not." Tar'eon cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Ah, yes, I- I agree with Tar'eon." Gale scratched the side of his neck, looking uncomfortable as his eyes roamed over the people in the room.

"I won't say I've never indulged in my youth, but...it's not my preference to pay for that kind of intimacy." Wyll pursed his lips. A woman brushed a hand over his shoulder and he jumped a little, giving a charming smile that didn't really reach his eyes, taking her hand off him and guided her away to the next, more willing patron. She managed to graze a hand along one horn though, admiring, and Wyll's brows pinched.

"I feel like they assume I'm staff rather than a patron." Wyll frowned.

"This place is all about the exotic from what I'm seeing. You look the part." Gale informed and Wyll gave him an unimpressed side eye. "Uh, in the most - in the nicest way possible. They even have drow!" He gestured to a pair of twins in the corner.

"How observant, Gale." Astarion drawled. As if they could tell they were the topic of discussion, the two drow siblings in question turned their way, the woman's eyes gazing over their party, but lingering on Tar'eon. It was hard not to focus on him, being the largest of the part.

"A new face! Looking for another chapter of dirty lore for your biography?" The male drow smiled at Tar'eon, seeming to appreciate the whole package before him. "Sorn." He introduced himself with a wink.

"I can tell you're a special one from a single glance." The female drow stepped closer and smiled, demure and sweet. "I am Nym. You have but to ask, and we can grant you a moment of pleasure. Don't be shy."

Tar'eon blinked slowly, taking a moment for the offer to sink in. His eyes widened.

"What...kind of service do you provide exactly?" There was no way he was being propositioned right now. Astarion? That would make sense, he's gorgeous, even Gale had an almost rugged charm to him, and Wyll? Well, Wyll had a body to die for with his strict routine to keep in shape. Tar'eon was...well, Tar'eon. He knew he had his appeals, he was in shape, and Astarion assured him he was attracted to him, but he was more...useful and mildly terrifying, than attractive in his opinion. What with his unsettling glowing eyes and looming figure, the scars across one side of his face not exactly pretty, and the patches of discoloration on his skin not leaving him with a smooth, even complexion.

He was more beast than lover in appearance, though maybe that was the bigotry getting to him about his tiefling heritage. Sorn chuckled at his naivety.

"What do you think, silly? Love, of course! Hot and vulgar with me, or sweet and sincere with my sister." He was selling himself a lot more than her by his tone, and Tar'eon wasn't sure if that was sweet or if he was just really horny. "Trust me, you don't want to miss my signature Menzoberranzan Love Trick."

"I see...and you enjoy this work?" He felt the need to ask. He was constantly coming across people who needed help. He'd gladly assist them if he could.

"There are so many that come to me speaking of a fixation that no one else has ever been able to share with them...and never will again. A once in a lifetime moment of passion. Everyday. What could be better?" He seemed to really believe it. "In this field I can be myself boundlessly. We could easily take up other work if we wished, but we're quite happy here."

"Well, I can't judge you if you're happy." Tar'eon smiled. Astarion tilted his head at the drows, stepping a touch close to Tar'eon who still looked a little uncomfortable.

"Is that your partner with you?" Nym asked. "What a gorgeous couple...perhaps we could come to an agreement?" Tar'eon frowned.

"What are you interested in my partner?" He could understand, he supposed. Astarion was beautiful, but she seemed to know he was taken and was still propositioning them both. Was that normal in brothels?

"Well, there are two of us, aren't there? Use your imagination."

"Oh." Tar'eon took a moment. "Oh."

"Yes, 'oh'." Nym chuckled, amused by the tieflings shyness. Astarion cleared his throat.

"I- Sorry, love, I'm not quite comfortable with doing this again just yet." Astarion admitted, looking a touch upset with himself, like he was depriving Tar'eon of something because of his lack of desire to entangle with another - or anyone for that matter.

"I wouldn't ask such a thing of you, Astar. Not ever." Tar'eon assured. Did he think him so callous? The vampire made a sound of disgust.

"Don't be so nice to me! It makes me want to be," He looked pained. "Nice back."

"Is that such a crime?" Tar'eon asked, amusement twinkling in his eyes as he turned back to the twins. "I apologise, but I'll have to decline."

"Well, we'll be here if you change your mind." Nym smiled, peaking behind Tar'eon to Gale and Wyll. "Perhaps your companions might be interested in my brother and I?"

"Oh, no, no thank you, that's- you're both gorgeous, there's no lie there. I'm just not comfortable with that sort of thing." Gale smiled tightly.

"I- I agree. I want romance, not - not debauchery." Wyll fiddled with his gloves. "I value affection over fun, a lasting memory over a passing fancy."

"We're in agreement there." Gale chuckled, glancing at Wyll for a moment before he bowed is head to Nym and Sorn. "It's all a bit much for me. Thank you for the offer, but we'll pass."

"A shame. It's rare we see a man more exotic than us." Sorn chuckled and Wyll gave a thin smile.

"Temporarily exotic, I- Can we go, please?" Wyll turned to Gale who nodded quickly.

"Yes, I think- we've overstayed our welcome, we have much to do, much to explore." Gale placed a hand on Wyll's shoulder and slipped away past the curtain. Tar'eon frowned. Wyll was obviously not taking kindly to the spotlight, and this place attracted all the wrong attention.

"I wish you both the best luck in your endeavours."

"Do consider coming back. I would not mind showing the wonders of a drow lover." Sorn winked, voice sultry.

"He needn't a more wondrous lover than I, thank you." Astarion smiled wide, showing off his fangs as he lead Tar'eon out of the lobby. Tar'eon felt like he could only breathe properly once he was outside. "This wouldn't happen if you weren't so gorgeous, you know?"

"I- I wouldn't call myself gorgeous." Tar'eon blushed. "I think you fit that title much better than I."

"Please, you're six and half feet worth of pure muscle, yet you're as cozy as a fur blanket. Who wouldn't want you?" Astarion smirked. "It's good thing I got in first. Would have been a pity to not have you wrapped around my finger."

"I am very much wrapped around your finger." Tar'eon chuckled, leaning down to press a sweet kiss to his lips. "And I don't mind it one bit." His tail gave a happy flick behind him. With Astarion, it was easy to forget everything that troubled him.

"Yes, yes, I'm magnificent - we should go check on prince charming and his wizard."

"Worried?"

"Not even I enjoyed being gawked at when I started luring prey to Cazador. It's something you become accustom to over time. Doesn't make you feel any less disgusting about it." Astarion made a face like he smelt something rancid, moving ahead to approach the pair who were talking outside another establishment.

Wyll had his arms crossed over his chest as Gale spoke in a low voice, a small smile on his face as he traced a scar that travelled along Wyll's cheekbone, the warlock's eyes downcast. Slowly, his arms unfolded, smiling at the wizard in return. Whatever he had said, it worked like magic. Gale grinned, obviously pleased to have reassured Wyll enough for him to relax. He pressed a short kiss to his lips, the swordsman's expression full of fondness.

"Well? Everything sorted then?" Astarion mused and Wyll looked bashful before he stood straighter. Gale gave a boastful grin.

"Dandy as a dandelion! Where to next? I've heard there's quite a few shops around - perhaps we'll stumble upon a bookshop? I'm starting to run out of good books."

"That doesn't sound so bad." Wyll agreed. "Perhaps...we part ways for a couple hours? We can meet back here. I think we could all do with a wander."

"Alright..." Tar'eon frowned slightly. "Just be careful. We don't know what's awaiting us at any corner of this place. If things get messy, portal back to camp and we'll meet you there if you're not here by sundown."

"A good plan." Wyll agreed. "Well...We will reunite at sundown." Wyll offered his arm to Gale. "Shall we?"

"Oh, uh...of course!" Gale hesitated before taking the arm, obviously not used to being the one who took up romance gestures rather than gave them.

"You've lived most of your life in Waterdeep, I'm to assume? Allow me to show you my home." Wyll smiled fondly as he led Gale down the street, lips moving in idle chatter that Tar'eon couldn't make out. He smiled at the pair.

"Those two just wanted to go on a date." Astarion shook his head. "Gods, it's almost too sweet."

"Didn't you also want to show me Baldur's Gate?" Tar'eon chuckled.

"Well...I'm more familiar with the Upper and Lower cities than Wyrm's Crossing, but they do have a few things I enjoy. Good tailors for one." Astarion's eyes drifted to the building in front of them. "Ah. I've been here before. I wonder..." He frowned thoughtfully and took Tar'eons bicep, pulling him along to follow him inside.

"What's this place?"

"Fraygo's Flophouse. I've been here a couple hundred times, but I preferred the Elfsong Tavern. Better booze, and a continuous rotation of fresh faces who hadn't been warned off not to stumble into my bed. After all, all my lovers were just so heartbroken after a night of passion with me they fled the city before dawn." He sighed dramatically before smirking. That had been a reoccurring rumour he thought quite funny. Much nicer than the reality of what he was doing with his victims.

"I see." Tar'eon looked around the lobby curiously, but Astarion beckoned him up the stairs. He wondered if it was still the same old place he remembered it being, even if it had only a couple months since he last saw it. Just as he predicted, his siblings were in their usual hunting ground. Seeing them still out past dawn was strange though. Considering they were staying in the shadows of the room, curtain drawn tight on their side, they were obviously still cautious of burning to a crisp.

"I want someone there, ready for me. And once the Mass is done and our lord grants us our freedom, I can celebrate by drinking them dry."

"Cazador promised you your freedom? And you believed him?" Astarion laughed in their faces as their stupidity. Two centuries of torture and they learned nothing. It was pathetic how gullible they were. "You were never burdened with intelligence, Petras, but your load seems especially light these days."

"Astar..." Tar'eon sighed. Must he rile up everyone they happened upon?

"Astarion? It- it cannot be..."

"That's no way to welcome back a brother, Dal. Didn't you miss me?" Astarion asked, feigning hurt before he smirked, gesturing to himself in all his new glory. Let them envy him. It would be a nice change from the pity they once bestowed upon him, being Cazador's favourite screamer.

"Why would you come back? You got out - you were free." Dalyria couldn't fathom it. If it had been her, she would have made herself disappear for good, never to be found again.

"We're here to kill Cazador. That's the only way you'll truly be free." Tar'eon explained. It would be better to have them on their side rather than against them.

"You- you can't mean that."

"He's playing mind games. He can't raise a hand to the master, let alone kill him." Petras barely restrained a scoff at the very notion. Astarion had always been the jester amongst them, making up for any lack of charisma with humour, which worked just the same.

"You have no idea what I can do." Astarion's eyes grew dark, much like that of a predator as he stepped forward and grabbed Petras by the throat, dragging him over to the sunlight coming through the opposite window.

"Astar-"

"No!" Dalyria didn't make a move to come any closer despite the anguish in her cry, terrified of burning away like Petras was beginning to, his skin becoming grey and cracked, ashen beneath the sunlight.

"Where is he hiding?" Astarion rasped, a scowl marring his features as his 'brother' struggled against his hold. "Tell me!"

Petras cried out in pain, unable to speak through the agony.

"Brother, please!" Dalyria's begged, and Tar'eon pursed his lips. He didn't like watching this either - he didn't like the way the Urge stirred in delight at the sight of Astarion's chilling cruelty.

"Astar, stop." He spoke firmly, and Astarion sneered, glaring down at Petras before he relented.

"Fine." He threw him aside, out of the light, and Petras stumbled back to his sisters side, his hand clamped around her wrist like she might be able to save him from the wrath of the eldest. "You owe your wretched life to my friend. Now tell me what I need to know."

"The master is preparing the Black Mass. Beneath his palace. There's a defiled chapel - it was hidden there the entire time. Hidden from us all." Dalyria broke, not wanting Astarion to take back his mercy. "Do you really think...you can stop him?" The wisp of hope in her voice broke Tar'eons heart.

"I'm the only one who can. The sun can't harm me, Cazador can't compel me. I don't need to fear him anymore." Astarion smirked. "Now go, before I change my mind about roasting you, brother."

"This isn't over, Astarion." Dalyria assured. Tar'eon reached into his pack and withdrew a healing potion, offering it to Petras who looked surprised.

"I'm not sure how much it'll help, but...it looks painful. Please - don't give up hope. You won't have to fear Cazador any longer once we're through with him." The vampire spawn took the potion, Dalyria's eyes widening ever so slightly at the compassion being shown to them by their brothers companion.

"I...thank you. Goodbye, brother." Dalyria whispered and the pair vanished.

"You're really too nice to them. They've killed just as many as I have." Astarion scoffed.

"I don't care for their misdeeds of the past. They didn't have control over themselves - and neither did you. Sometimes one act of kindness can change someone's life forever."

"They're fools. They actually think Cazador will save them..." Astarion frowned, hands on his hips.

"I'm glad you spared them." Tar'eon smiled. "You didn't have to. It probably would have done us more good to get rid of one of them, if only to ruin the ritual. But you didn't."

Astarion laughed.

"You sound surprised," Astarion's eyes were full of mirth. "I am capable of doing the right thing from time to time."

"I know you are. Still - I'm proud of you."

"They're no threat to us, and they have no choice but to do Cazador's bidding. I pity them. Worst of all, they don't know their fate is already set. They're doomed." He let out a small laugh. "The only question is whether their lives will be sacrificed to a monster like Cazador, or serve a...greater purpose."

Tar'eon scowled. He knew exactly where this was heading.

"You really can't let it go, can you?" He shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Those sacrifices are your brothers and sisters. Are you really ready to doom them for your own gain?"

"Trust me, I'd rather slaughter someone else's family but...if that's what it takes." His words left a bitter taste on Tar'eons tongue. "And it's not like they're sweet innocents; they brought Cazador just as many victims as I did."

"Exactly. And you got the chance to be free of him. Don't they deserve that much as well?" Tar'eon challenged, and Astarion gave a loud sigh. This wasn't getting anywhere. They were going in circles.

"Never mind that. Now that we know he's skulking beneath his palace, we can take the hunt to Cazador. Now let's go. This place stinks of rat blood and despair." Tar'eon frowned and sniffed.

"You're right...I do smell blood." He looked upwards. It wasn't below them, or around them though. It was above. With a bit of sneaking about, they managed to find another room with help from the flower key they found in the temple, and of course, Astarion saw the blood first. The keen senses of a vampire, always drawn to the red stain.

Tar'eon pulled the body out from under the bed and frowned.

"Well...I have a good feeling this is connected to the murders."

"Shall I speak with him?" Astarion offered.

"Do you even know that spell?"

"Well, no, but...I did steal that lovely little necklace a while back from your pack that gives me the ability."

"I- I should have known." Tar'eon sighed and stepped back as Astarion closed his eyes, allowing the power of the amulet to run through him, the body rising. After a few questions, it was obvious these murders weren't just coincidental. Tar'eon swallowed when he heard the man speak of Bhaal cultists. No doubt Orin was behind this. All the more reason to sweep her off the board.

"Well then...I suppose we better talk to that flying elephant detective." Astarion mused. "I should have expected that Orin was going around with her own little murder cult. The woman is unhinged."

"Agreed..." Tar'eon could tell him now. Could tell Astarion the truth. That he had once led the cult himself, that he was a Bhaalspawn, but his throat clamped up shut. He couldn't do it. He was scared to admit it out loud. It would make it so much more real, especially if Astarion knew.

"Let's go speak with them. Then after...maybe we could go for a wander ourselves?" He offered and Astarion's eyes lit up.

"Are you asking me on a date?"

"I'm offering to pay for a visit to the tailors." Tar'eon smiled as Astarion laughed, clapping his hands.

"Oh, I knew I kept you around for a reason, darling." He saddled up to his side and took his arm, smirking up at the tiefling. "A new outfit is long overdue, I think. I know just the place; not as good as the Upper City tailors, but close enough."

If he was honest, the nicest things he ever wore were stolen, off bodies or from stores, or hand-me-downs from the favoured spawn Leon. He always got the nicest things - he was pretty sure it was only because he let Cazador sleep with him. Astarion could never go through with it, and he was pretty sure Cazador wasn't interested in him screaming in that sense. Strangers, he could manage, but Cazador? He would have puked on the man before he even undressed.

Most tailors were shut by the time he could leave the palace, so he only ever really got to admire fine fabrics through windows or on others. He had taken up embroidery after ten years with Cazador, so he could finally feel less like a wretched slave and more like a...well-dressed servant. It didn't matter the quality of his clothing; Cazador and Godey would bloody it or tear it eventually anyway. So, fixing his outfits himself had become habit. Now though, he could walk right into any tailors shop and pick the finest fabrics he desired without concern of them getting ruined. Outside of battle at least.

Astarion wouldn't say he enjoyed being on anyone's arm, he was not some damsel or courtesan, but he'd admit, seeing others envy him on the street because Tar'eon had offered his arm to him...Well, it was stroking his ego. Perhaps he was a possessive bastard, but did he not deserve only the finest things after everything he'd been through?

Tar'eon was by far the finest thing around, from what all the staring was telling him. He supposed with how tall he was, it was hard to miss him. Broad shoulders, his horns making him appear even larger and more devilishly charming, the scars on his face telling tales of bravery and battle - he was a hunk. Even if he didn't realise it himself. The slimming magical armour didn't ruin the appeal either.

Astarion hadn't really ever had a type from memory. There had been a few souls he brought back to Cazador that swayed his heart just a bit, but most of the people he brought back had been criminals or wretches, people who wouldn't be missed. They were usually terrible in bed, generally rude, and arrogant beyond belief. He'd been fucked with a blade to his throat or a hand around it more times than he could count. Tar'eon was a delight in comparison.

And he didn't mind that Astarion didn't want to fuck him. Or, well, couldn't for the sake of his mental health. He wasn't in this for his body. For some unfathomable reason, he actually liked him for his personality. Astarion's standards were getting higher, sure, but Tar'eons? They had to be on the floor to entertain dating a vampire with two hundreds worth of trauma and complete disregard of others. Even with their current disagreement on the ascension, Tar'eon did not withhold any affections from him.

It only made sense that he didn't want others to look at his devil. He'd scored something that was rare to come by. Thankfully, Tar'eon didn't seem to be looking at anyone else either. Not even lustfully. He did wonder how long it would be until Tar'eon decided he wanted to participate again in carnal pleasures, but Astarion wasn't sure when he'd be ready for that. Sure, he could suck it up and lay with the man occasionally, if only to keep him by his side, and it wouldn't even be completely horrible. Hells, it would likely be enjoyable for them both, but...he knew he wasn't ready yet. That all the disgust and loathing would crawl up on him the moment they were finished.

He couldn't betray himself like that, and he knew Tar'eon would beat himself up if he knew he was only doing it for his sake. So...he supposed if the time came, and Tar'eon did need that sort of thing, he'd allow him to bed another. He only worried that Tar'eon would discard him if he couldn't give that to him himself. If someone else could give him love and lust, why would he hang on to him, the wreck he was?

"Do you like it?" Tar'eon asked, drawing him from his thoughts. He blinked a few times and turned to look in the mirror. He couldn't see himself, but the outfit he was wearing was...gorgeous. Hand picked by Tar'eon, and suited to a prince from a story book. The suit was white, with golden embroidery travelling down the jacket, the collar high on his throat with lace cradling it to avoid the itchiness of the stiff fabric. To piece the look together was a red cravat.

Tar'eon reached around from behind and adjusted the red fabric, his eyes following his own fingers as he loosened it and retied it so it was straight, fluffing it out. He rested his hand on his shoulders and smiled softly. He wasn't looking in the mirror, but instead at Astarion.

"It suits you."

"I feel very...Lordly." Astarion admitted. "I like it. I just wish I could see what I look like in it."

"Turn around." Astarion rolled his eyes and turned to look at Tar'eon. The tiefling stepped back, standing at the bottom of the two steps, his eyes travelling over his body before closed them. Moments later, Astarion saw himself through the others eyes. The cravat was the exact shade of his eyes, and the white of his suit only made his curls seem brighter. Sunlight from the window behind him shone off the golden embroidery, and he practically glowed.

"You look beautiful." Tar'eon smiled, the connection fading. The back of Astarion's neck burned as he tucked his hair behind his ears.

"Yes, well...When aren't I?"

"Well, I might be biased, but never."

"Good answer." Astarion's eyes twinkled with mirth as he slipped his arms around his lovers neck, pressing a kiss to his lips. It was one of the rare moments where they were of equal height, if only because he was two steps higher than usual. "I'm afraid I didn't bring any gold with me..."

He pretended to be apologetic about it, looking away like he was saddened he wouldn't get his lovely new suit because of his 'forgetfulness', and Tar'eon laughed, more of a rumble of amusement than an airy sound.

"My treat. It's a gift, ph myirz."

"I do quite like your gifts." Astarion smirked, tugging gently on the ruby dagger dangling from his earlobe. "Careful now. Spoil me too much and you'll be stuck with me."

"Sounds perfect to me." Tar'eon squeezed his waist and kissed him again, lingering for a few moments before he pulled away. "I'll go pay. Don't forget your armour in the dressing room."

"Are you getting anything for yourself?" Astarion queried.

"Not today. I prefer to always be prepared for the inevitable battle." Tar'eon shrugged.

"Oh, come on. We're on a date. You should dress nicely." Astarion chuckled, picking dirt from under his nails.

"You look nice enough for the both of us, ph myirz." Tar'eon assured, kissing his cheek before departing to pay the tailor. It was pricey, sure, but well worth the smile on Astarion's face. He had a lot more gold than he let on. When weapons and jewellery were constantly being dropped at his feet after killing enemies, and books continuing to pile at their camp from the shelves he raided, well...sellers always wanted weapons, jewels and knowledge. They were willing to pay well for those things.

Astarion didn't wait for Tar'eon to offer his arm before he was taking it, an impish smile on his lips as they left the tailors. He stood taller now, dressed regally like he was from the Upper City. If Astarion thought they were getting stares before, it was nothing compared to now. He fed off the envy of the citizens around them, smirking to himself.

"You know what I could go for right now?" Astarion mused. Tar'eon hummed, waiting for him to continue. "A full-bodied red." He purred and the tiefling quirked a brow.

"I have a feeling you're not talking about wine."

"Why would I want that when you're just as sweet, darling?" His eyes gleamed, predatory, and Tar'eons heart skipped a beat.

"Well..." He bit his lip, looking around. "If you can find somewhere a little less crowded-"

"Perfect." Astarion grinned, dragging Tar'eon out of the street and into the shadows, his vision warring between greying out and keeping the focus on the colour of Tar'eons cheeks. He could hear his heart pumping harder, his blood rushing faster in excitement. It made him salivate.

"Are you sure this is-?" Tar'eon began, but Astarion cut him off before he could get consumed by his anxiety.

"The worse we'll be accused of is public indecency." Astarion chuckled as he pressed Tar'eon against the wall of the alleyway, pressing his body to his with a low purr of satisfaction, enjoying the heat that pulsated off his skin. It felt like far too long since he got to tease his beloved.

"As long as you're certain you can talk your way out of it should a guard see us." Tar'eon warned and Astarion almost giggled.

"Might be the highlight of their day - it would certainly be the highlight of mine." Astarion slipped his hand into the strands at the base of his skull, brushing the white ends out of the way of his throat as he guided his head back with a single thumb against his jaw. Tar'eon followed his touch, leaning back into it and baring his throat to his lover with practised ease.

"Good boy," Astarion praised and pressed a kiss to his throat, nuzzling the length of his neck. "You're surprisingly submissive, you know? Considering you look so domineering." He grazed his fangs over his pulse and delighted in the way it jumped.

"I...I like making you happy." Tar'eon tail swayed, brushing Astarion's leg before it wrapped around it loosely. Keeping him close.

"Well, you're doing a very good job, darling." Astarion purred before sinking his fangs into his neck. Tar'eon sucked in a sharp breath at the initial pain, the icy prick mellowing out into a hot sting, Astarion's cool lips soothing the pain away. He groaned softly and closed his eyes, one hand against the wall to keep himself steady, and the other hand on his back as Astarion drank greedily.

The first few gulps were always taken with greed, with fervour, like he was a man who had been dying for a cup of water after a hot summers day. Then, it slowed, the vampire savouring the taste with a low moan, his sucklings feeling more like kisses, smearing blood over his collar and licking up the steady fall as it trailed down his neck. He was being messy with it today, and Tar'eon couldn't help the way his breath caught and his stomach pooled with heat the more Astarion lavished his neck with his tongue.

His hand slipped up his back, cradling the back of his head, and Astarion swore softly against his jaw, nipping at the faintest hint of stubble. Tar'eon tried to keep himself clean shaven, he preferred the look, but the way Astarion nuzzled against his jaw like an affectionate cat made it tempting to let it grow out a few more days. He hissed when Astarion bit down again, higher than before, lapping at the wound. Not even his hair would be able to hide that one.

He had a feeling that was Astarion's goal.

The vampire licked his lips and pulled back, blood smeared across his lips and chin. His eyes were almost black from how blown out they were, licking his bloodied teeth.

"I don't what it is today, but you taste divine, darling." Astarion leaned back in and licked the blood from his throat, a pink stain on his skin, but that wasn't exactly avoidable now.

"I can tell. You bit me twice."

"Oh, did I?" Astarion hummed, playing dumb. "Apologises, my love." He thumbed at the blood on the corner of his mouth and sucked it off. "I'm terribly dirty; do you have a cloth?"

"I do." Tar'eon chuckled and put his pack down, ignoring his less than holy reaction to Astarion's feeding. He was a little woozy, but it was something that could be fixed with a spell later, or a long nights rest. He took out a carter of water and a rag, wetting it and wiping his neck off before he took Astarion's jaw in hand and cleaned him up too. The vampire pulled a face at being manhandled, but allowed it seeing as he just drank half of the man down. He wasn't naive either - he knew he riled Tar'eon up with his frivolous feeding. He wasn't going to say anything though, not unless Tar'eon did.

"There. How you managed not to get it on your new outfit is a miracle." Tar'eon remarked as he chucked the rag aside and put the water back in his bag.

"Well, I can't go ruining my new gift so soon." Astarion chuckled, looking up at the sky. "Ah, it'll be sunset soon. Best not to make the Blade and his wizard worry."

"Well, we found out where Cazador is, what Orin's cultists are up to, got you a new outfit and you had your dinner so...I'd say it was an eventfully afternoon."

"It really was, wasn't it?" Astarion laughed as he led him out of the alleyway. Tar'eon was hoping nobody would remark on the twin pin pricks on his throat, but he knew immediately when he saw Gale, Wyll, and surprisingly Jaheria, that they all knew and were judging him. His cheeks flushed.

"Would you like me to restore your blood, solider?" Jaheria sounded amused.

"Oh yes, it'll serve me well when I go for dessert later tonight." Astarion grinned.

"Your outfit is quite lavish, Astarion." Gale noted. "Did you pay for that yourself?"

"Well, with how much I do for this party? Practically paid in labour." Astarion inspected his nails and smirked at the wizard.

"Our leader is quite generous." Wyll chuckled.

"How did you like the town, Gale?" Tar'eon asked, wanting to change the subject before he became as red as the devil.

"Well, the shops were nice, nothing grand - I think once we get into the city, I'll have much more to explore. I see you two enjoyed your time out, but I'm afraid we were dragged into another battle with shapeshifters, the shifty bastards."

"We met Jaheria while shopping; she was on her way to meet her fellow Harpers, but unfortunately, only one fellow was left after everything."

"I should have expected them to be infiltrated." Jaheria sounded bitter nonetheless. "The boy - I was ready to let him go, but Wyll made some good points. We need all the allies we can get with Red Orin getting her bloody hands in our business. I will tell you more back at camp."

"I leave you lot alone for a couple hours and you pick a fight." The tiefling mused.

"Trouble finds us even without you around, you know?" Gale chuckled.

"Come on. I'm starved - what're you making tonight?" Wyll asked and Gale laughed.

"What do you feel like?"

"Ah, a man after my own heart." Wyll shook his head with a wide smile. "I'll see you back at camp." In a flash of ancient magic, he disappeared, Gale chuckling as he vanished as well. Jaheria gave the couple a nod before following, leaving Tar'eon and Astarion alone.

"Let's hope for a restful night. Especially for you. I know you haven't been sleeping well."

"It's all the usual stuff. Don't worry about me." Tar'eon squeezed his shoulder.

"How can I not?" Astarion tutted and flashed away. Tar'eon huffed out a chuckle and looked over into the distance. He pulled out the poster from his pocket and read over the details. The coronation would be tomorrow, in the Fortress. There, Lord Enver Gortash would become Archduke.

Tomorrow, he would finally face the man who plagued his thoughts and dreams.

Tomorrow, he finally got the answers to his questions.

[the-parentheticals]

"it can't be helped," from the scum who can't be helped

Warnings: mugging, brief thoughts about s/a but none actually happens

Summary: Koemi doesn't want to see her brother again. She never has. She never will.

Note: For @badthingshappenbingo, Banished / Cringetober day 15, song lyrics. Yes, this is based on The Purge March.

read on ao3

It's almost a blessing when Kiyoshi Nishimoto disappears the week before his eighteenth birthday.

She doesn't like him. She hasn't liked him in years. She hasn't liked anyone in this household for years, really, except for perhaps the goldfish.

Koemi's not an idiot. She knows what he was doing, despite their parents' best attempts to pretend otherwise. The jewelry that isn't their mother's, the late nights sneaking in, the discreet calls. Honestly, it's better that he left instead of disgracing their family that way when it inevitably came out.

"Good morning, everyone! It's the beginning of another wonderful day!"

Their parents had freaked out. Spewed the vulgarity that they had always warned her against. Her brother had it coming. She hoped he was dead.

"I know that this situation is a tragedy, but we have to stay strong for my dear brother's sake!"

Koemi doesn't quite believe in this one, but it's her duty to say the words anyway.

"We can't let our sadness control us! We have to move on and always remember him!"

As a terrible example, that is.

Her brother does not deserve her forgiveness. She knows what he was really like--not the hero he thought he was, not the good kid her parents thought he was. No, he was nothing less than scum.

---

Three years later, she's seventeen, and she's only further confirmed her belief that everyone else in this family was rotten.

It's not that Kiyoshi's disappearance had done her any favours when starting at high school. They mostly just thought she was weird. Or cursed.

That's the only reason she's walking home alone this late at night. The only one.

She doesn't even move when she feels the knife against her neck. She's grown up to be very pretty, if she says so herself, and she's not even surprised someone's taken an interest.

"You know the drill." The voice is deep and raspy, and she freezes for just a moment. It's a put-on. "Your wallet."

"Or what?"

The knife digs slightly deeper into her skin as answer. Not enough to draw blood, just to make a point.

"As if you could ever lay a finger on your little sister."

The knife pulls a bit, just long enough for a strand of blonde hair to be snipped off. It lies flat against her white sweater for just a moment, before he jerks his arm away and the strand falls to the ground.

She doesn't care for the face of the person in front of her very much, but she supposes she can't stare at her personal belongings forever.

"We're not siblings anymore."

"Of course we are. Unless you kill me now, I suppose, but like I said." She gives a self-assured smile. "You won't."

Kiyoshi looks at her with a characteristic coldness. He's a bit taller now, or maybe it's just his shoes. Not that it really makes a difference, with how short she always has been.

His clothes are surprisingly put-together for someone who's been living who-knows-where. He's still got his suit jacket, vest, and yellow shirt, dirty in a way that their parents would have hated but barely pings on her radar. His hair is messier and covers his right eye just enough that...oh.

"How is your eye?" Koemi smiles. If he won't talk, she'll just have to keep talking. "I suppose whoever caused it is dead now?"

"Why is that your first assumption?"

"I know you, that's why." She clasps her hands together and gives a little hum. He doesn't bother her anymore. Not the way anyone else would. "Pity they didn't take out both."

"My turn to ask the questions. How are our parents, then? Still holding you back?

"You don't know what they've done in three years. For all you know, they've become just like you, and my life's a living hell."

Kiyoshi raises an eyebrow in the way that suggests that he thinks his sister is an utter idiot but doesn't want to admit it just yet.

"They've been doing this for longer than we were alive. You were already in a living hell. But you can--"

"Pity they didn't take out your tongue too." Koemi's smile does not waver, 

Kiyoshi ignores her. "You think your rules will keep you safe from the rest of this world. Our parents, double standards..."

"It's worked, hasn't it?"

"You're just as rotten as the rest of us."

"How?"

"You think I'm scum, don't you?"

Koemi nods.

"Then do something about it."

"I could never." Koemi wrenches her arm away. In another universe, it would actually hurt. "That's the difference between us, brother dear."

"I don't make pitiful excuses for doing what has to be done?"

"I don't make people obey my every whim and call it freedom."

"I don't make them do that. I save them from themselves, Ko. I get them away from all the pain in their lives that results from them holding back against those that really want to hurt them."

"You destroy them from the inside. You make them do all the worst excesses we have good reasons for not doing. You make people live according to your beliefs. You're the worst one here, and you don't even know it. You're doubtlessly, clearly, absolutely, unequivocally, beyond any doubt, categorically, emphatically--" Koemi has to stop, because her face is red, and Mother, Father, would never have believed her if she had said it that way. She breathes in. Breathes out. Next--

"I'm sorry for leaving you with them."

She blinks. It's not true. That's definitely not something Kiyoshi would ever have said.  Her disbelief has to show on her face.

"I am. They shouldn't have been able to influence anyone like that, especially not you."

"You're sorry? I don't care!"

"I know."

"Remember my screams? My cries? My apologies?"

"I know."

"Don't come back to the house. You left me with them. This should be easy for you." She crosses her arms and leans against a lamp post. "And don't even try following me. I'll know."

"You won't. And I won't."

[thealwayshungrygames]

through peeta's eyes

the 74th games through peeta's eyes! ♡

[ chapter 1 ]

I hate today, granted I can't think of a single soul in panem who enjoys reaping day, excluding the capitol of course.

District 12, being on the outskirts of panem and as far away from the capitol as possible, is usually lifeless and dejected but every year on reaping day the whole place feels like its at a standstill, it's so quiet all throughout the district. There's never usually any customers on reaping day, maybe a few after the reaping is finished and sometimes a couple of kids trying to trade what they've hunted that morning for some bread. I don't like the silence in the bakery, there's nothing to distract my disquieted mind, all I can do is try and get ready while Effie Trinket's speech repeats in my head over and over again like a broken record, "may the odds be ever in your favour," I can't help but imagine her reading my name through that microphone, knowing that I more than likely wouldn't see my district, my family, my home ever again it terrifies me every year. I've managed to escape the hunger games for the past four years, I'm luckier than most kids in my district, I'm the baker's son. My family, despite having three kids to feed, has never really struggled for food therefore I've never had to take out any tesserae and get my name put into the reaping lottery more times than its required in exchange for a years supply of grains and oils. I know majority of the kids in my class and all around the district are forced to take out tesserae as it can be their only chance at survival, I could never imagine being in that position.

The constant thoughts of what would I do if my name was called out wont stop, I know my chances aren't as high as the other kids in the district and technically I'm in a better position than majority of the other boys but nothing is impossible and hearing "Peeta Mellark" could switch from an imaginative scenario to my reality. I need to stop, I can feel my hands getting sweatier and I need to cool off. I sit on the front steps of the bakery despite my mother telling me not to so I dont ruin my nice clothes. I just sit and watch the dust and leaves get taken by the hot wind, there's no kids or parents outside this morning, they're all inside trying to scrape up their nicest clothes and fixing themselves up for the reaping. I'm drawing little doodles in the dirt with a stick when I see these big, very worn boots standing in front of me.

"Is your dad home?" I look up and standing over me is this very muscular and big boned brunette boy, he hasn't gotten changed into his 'nice' clothes yet and he's holding a dead squirrel by its legs. I recognise him, his name is Gale Hawthorne, I don't know him awfully well apart from the fact that his dad was a miner and died in the big mine explosion that happened and ever since then he's hung around with the skinny girl with the brunette braid who sings from my class, even though he's a year older than us. They both see my father regularly trading all sorts of animals that they hunt and kill for food such as bread.

"Inside, decorating a cake I think, why?" Although I know exactly why, he's hoping that my father will trade this squirrel for a loaf of bread, maybe even more because its reaping day and maybe my father will feel compassion for him, I certainly would, I heard his name was in the lottery over 40 times, his age and hunting ability made him the main provider for his family after his father's death and he's had to take out tesserae under his name for each of his 3 younger siblings. Selfishly, seeing him standing in front of me with the squirrel and knowing his need for tesserae calms me down, knowing his name is in there so many more times than mine makes me realise how little my chances truly are compared to a lot of other boys.

"I want to trade this squirrel with him." He says.

I tell him i'll be right back and take the squirrel from him. As I'm walking inside with it I notice that it's been hit right in the eye, I knew he was a good hunter as he's often around the bakery trading something with my father but I hadn't ever seen such a clean shot on his animals. I give the squirrel to my dad and he gives me a loaf of bread and four fresh cookies, one for him and each of his siblings, out of the fresh batch he had baked just this morning. My dad usually bakes a big batch of cookies every reaping morning, his attempt at lightening the dampened mood in the household.

"Here." I put a half smile on my face, my own attempt at lightening the mood. "Good luck." I say, god knows he needs it more than I do.

"Yeah, thanks." He broadens his shoulders and walks away as if he's trying not to succumb to the mournful feeling in the air. As I watch him walk away, already taking a bite from one of the cookies, I think about what his chances of survival would be if he got reaped, they certainly would be a lot higher than mine.

I go back inside and try and fix my hair, the heat has made me sweat and it's starting to show in my hair. Mum slicks it back with some gel and then tucks my blue shirt into my shorts. Before I know it it's time to leave, I stare at myself in my mirror for a second and think to myself 'will this be the last time I see myself in these clothes?'

The town square is packed to the brim with nearly the whole of district 12. Every child aged 12 - 18 is here waiting to find out if they live or die. The same video from the capitol that plays every year before the reaping is playing, the video is glamorising the hunger games and trying to convince us that they aren't as cruel as we believe and are purely a result of the districts own actions from 'the dark days', a war that ended 67 years ago. It truly frightens me how cruel a whole population of people can be, so cruel that they find forcing innocent children to fight to the death every year as a spectacle, they celebrate it likes it some sort of holiday while families in the districts are being torn apart and peoples whole worlds are being turned upside down. Instead of watching the video I find myself looking around, looking at all these people I know and wondering if this will be my last look at them ever, my classmates, my brothers, even Gale. Maybe even myself.

The video stops and Effie Trinkets heels click across the stage. Effie Trinket is district 12's capitol escort, she is sent by the capitol to present our reaping day and accompany the two tributes to and through the capitol. She dresses in such bizarre and boisterous clothing I can't help but giggle at her huge wigs and crazy outfits. Effie tries to start her small speech before the reaping but Haymitch Abernathy, district 12s only alive victor, stumbles across the stage and steals the microphone from her, in a drunken rage he starts yelling sentences that nobody in the crowd can understand before collapsing and being dragged back to his seat, watching him always makes it clear why he is district 12's only victor since the 50th hunger games, because he is meant to be our mentor, that drunk mess is meant to guide the tributes through the games and teach them how to win.

Effies face slowly loses the bright red colour that Haymitch caused her as she tries to steer the reaping back on track and save district 12 from being the laughing stock of the capitol, once again.

"As always, ladies first." She makes her way over to the bowl on the right with all the young daughters of district 12s names in it, she waves her hand around before picking one piece of paper and reading it to the crowd, before sending one girl to die.

"Primrose Everdeen." Her voice echoes through the crowd, silence. I look up and see Gale put his head down in sorrow, the only time I have ever shown him truly let his guard down. I look to my right and I see little Primrose desperately looking around as if she's silently begging for someone else's name to be read out instead, I truly don't understand how someone can be so unlucky, she was only twelve years old and had never taken out tesserae, her name was in the lottery once and only once.

Primrose slowly starts walking out of the pack of girls and through the middle walkway, still looking around praying that this isn't real. Suddenly my head snaps around as I hear another voice yelling "Prim! Prim!" Her sister, Katniss Everdeen, the skinny brunette girl who sings at school. I have never properly interacted with Katniss apart from once, a few years ago, during a thunderstorm I noticed her sitting, leaning, against the big tree out the front of the bakery whilst I was baking more bread. She looked so lifeless, she couldn't even stand up properly, a result from constant starvation. I had noticed her around school before that and started growing curious about her after hearing her sing in the schoolyard, she captured me with her brown eyes and I wanted nothing more than to get to know her properly but why would she ever like me? I was the baker's son, for all she knew I had never struggled, her and I were in no way similar, I never stood a chance. After seeing her hunched over at the tree, so colourless and torpid, I burnt the loaf of bread I was meant to be baking, this angered my mother as food was scarce during the wintertime and we could barely afford to eat the food that we sold. She hit me over the head and pushed me out the front where she yelled at me to feed the burnt bread to the pigs and hit me one more time before storming inside. I noticed Katniss just staring at me, watching the whole encounter, I got embarrassed that she witnessed that. I started tearing off a couple of pieces of bread and threw them to the pigs, I looked over to the tree and she was still just watching me, I looked back at my bread and threw her the rest of the burnt loaf, she finally lifted her head and slowly moved towards the bread, she looked at me disoriented and puzzled, charity was not well known in district 12, in a world like ours it's all about self preservation.

"I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute." Katniss cries out. A volunteer? District 12 has never seen a volunteer in the whole 74 years of the games.

When the shock of Prim's reaping dies down Effie walks towards the bowl with all the boys names, I can't look up, every year I can never look up.

"Peeta Mellark!"

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

yay! finished chapter 1! this is lowkey so embarrassing if nobody reads this lolllll but oh well! here's a link for a tag list just incase anybody does read this and wants to know when I post a new chapter! (i hope it works, soo awks if it doesn't)

ps! I've finished and uploaded this at 3:22am so please if there's any grammar and/or spelling mistakes ignore themmmmm!!!!

[iviarellereads]

Harrow the Ninth, Act Two, Chapter 12

(Curious what I'm doing here? Read this post! For detail on The Locked Tomb coverage and the index, read this one! Like what you see? Send me a Ko-Fi.)

(Eighth House icon) In which we catch up after a short time skip.

SIX MONTHS BEFORE THE EMPEROR'S MURDER

Harrow has killed twelve planets, but the thirteenth is no easier. It's an ice planet, and Mercy is taunting Harrow as much as instructing her. She takes out her two-hander, not the rapier God would prefer she favour. She can only carry the great sword by modifying her exoskeleton but it keeps it nearby.

All the Saint of Joy said was, "I never needed the dramatics, but go on, and try not to do anything tectonic." As you had never done anything tectonic in the past, it was with an edge of resentful fury that you lifted the hilt high above your head. You drove the point of the bone-sheathed blade into the talc--obviously you never wanted it to have an edge of any kind, ever again(1)-- and using the sword as your focus, drove a killing lance of thanergy right into the planet's heart.

There's a lot of description of the process of killing the planet, and then the pseudo-Beast that arises from it. It doesn't go particularly well.

The Body shows up, is always present when Harrow returns to the physical realm after killing pseudo-Beasts in the River. Mercy says Harrow isn't doing well enough, because Harrow is hypothermic and Mercy isn't.

This is a consistent problem. For most of the Lyctors, when they drop into the River, their cav's soul takes over the body, like an AI running basic tasks. Harrow's doesn't.

=====

(1) There are a lot of comments like this, but this is the first one I really want to draw attention to: this is obviously someone talking to Harrow, describing the events of her life after the end of Gideon, but… this is a fascinating play with POV. You see, like a LOT of sffh really, Gideon the Ninth was written in the close third person, we witnessed Gideon's thoughts. This comment though… this isn't a thought Harrow would have. Harrow doesn't know or understand or particularly care about keeping a blade's edge, or she wouldn't do this, because she was bidden to keep and protect the blade. But the narrator knows. I'm not saying why, I'm just suggesting that any first time readers think about it, and any fully-spoiled readers enjoy understanding how deep the foreshadowing went even if you didn't notice it, and what effect it might have had on your perceptions and assumptions on your first run to notice, or not notice, this pattern.

[wolfraven80]

Ooo, I didn’t know you were in the AF fandom and wrote Artemis/Holly. I shipped that too as a preteen/teenager and I was blissfully uncaring about the age gap and unaware of any discourse. Those were the days. Nowadays, it’s both frustrating and yet also hilarious that people discourse about the age gap between Byleth and their students. Especially since nobody gets together until after the 5 year timeskip. People saying the teacher/student aspect is also too problematic make me laugh too. They never have anything to say in response to the fact that the lords are royalty and Byleth’s a commoner. Anyway, Edelgard calling Byleth my teacher is hot and I like it when she still uses that endearment after they get together. I saw an Edeleth fan say Edelgard shouldnt do that because that makes their romantic relationship weird but that’s coward talk to me.

Lol Yup I was writing AF while the books were still coming out, circa 2009 I guess? It's all still up there on ffnet. Back then there wasn't any discourse. You could PM people on ffnet and no one ever once sent me a nasty message. I used to message back and forth with several of the other AF authors. It was a lighthearted fantasy series and people enjoyed it and no one implied that what you read or wrote was a reflection of your moral character IRL. And no one was trying to draw analogies with the real world—like no one cared that Holly was a cop. (A magical fairy cop. The discourse would've sounded really silly. 🤪)

I think you're spot on that the 3H teacher/student thing seems silly to worry about when most of the students are nobles, so Byleth is the one who's vulnerable, not them. Like Edelgard is going to be the emperor. If Byleth gives her a bad grade… so what? And it's also funny when you think about the fact that Byleth was asleep for 5 years so she technically didn't age. That means Edelgard is actually two years older than her after the time skip 😂

I've seen posts that discuss the current discourse landscape far more elegantly than I can, but what it seems to come down to is that a lot of people out there understand that there are rules (like age gap = bad, teacher-student = illegal) but don't understand the underlying reasoning for the "rules" and thus can't adapt them to different situations—such as a fantasy world. The reason age gaps and teacher-student relationships can be dangerous is because it can create an uneven power dynamic. Teachers have power over students in our world, which mean they can abuse their power. With age gaps it's a problem for young adults because they're not experienced and may not be financially independent, both of which can make them vulnerable. But age gaps for older people tend to matter less because people are usually more financially stable and more experienced in life so the age thing itself doesn't skew the power dynamic.

So yeah, for me the main thing is Byleth doesn't have power over Edelgard. She can't pressure/manipulate/blackmail her. The power dynamic is very much in Edelgard's favour, not Byleth's so Byleth being a teacher just… doesn't matter? And the age thing is again harmless because her age doesn't put her in a more powerful position. Also… it's an age gap of three years. An age gap of three years only matters when you're a teenager. And back to the fantasy world thing… In FE everyone has way more experience than most modern-day kids; by the time you've gotten through a couple of chapters they've all fought in life-and-death battles and killed people on the battlefield. In the world of the game they're treated and function as adults, even if that doesn't line up with modern-day ideas of who's is and isn't an adult. In the modern world the Officers Academy would be completely illegal. Which again, is why it seems silly to try to take modern-day rules and plonk them onto a fantasy or historical setting: it fails to consider context and the reasoning behind our laws and social rules.

That got longer than I planned—sorry about that! 😂

[mephestopheles]

No no, I think he's onto something here. Okay imagine you're an all powerful immortal wizard like Aguefort and you're watching most adventuring parties crash and burn before level ten (not me casting shade that wotc doesn't create a lot of modules above level ten). And here you've made it to level twenty, something that is so rare you're pretty much the go to guy for saving the world on the reg.

How do you handle that and fix the adventuring party issue so you can a) keep folks from dying left right and centre and b) maybe get to take a nap.

Why, you open a school!

But not just any school, an adventuring academy.

One that isn't just a bard college, or a wizard school, but something that helps create cohesion with full parties, and teach them how to work together, and how to stay alive.

This got long so under the cut if you're interested

Next problem, how do you staff it? Well you've got that dragon that you're having trouble killing, making him a permanent vice principal is kind of the perfect torture. Add that he can't ever get his treasure back and that's just icing on the cake.

The rest don't have to be evil per se, however there is a bit of an adversarial relationship between teens and well everyone at some point. And by adversarial I mean challenging. Porter fills that role well, and while he isn't doing a good job with Gorgug that's mostly because he doesn't know how to engage with Gorgug, because Gorgug has been scared of his rages in the past (pure speculation on my part, but Zac has been doing interesting things with Gorgug and his reaction to rages which is another meta). But he did have a good point that rage is not always bad, or terrible, that anger is a necessary emotion.

Bobby Dawn is not an Aguefort original, he's a plant. And a wrench in the system. He's a malfunction inherent in that kind of proselytizing, and he intentionally exploited a weakness in the system to game it in his gods favour.

Jace may or may not be under one of those rage shards. I haven't figured out if he's a red herring or not. His interaction with Hopclap was odd, but there's not enough info yet whether it was sinister or rage induced panic after being given entirely too much power and responsibility all at once.

Grix may literally be an over calculation in too many rules from Aguefort running the school for so long, and it just frying his cortex. He needed to be stopped.

And I don't think Henry is doing anything nefarious by keeping his cpu, I think he's probably just keeping hold of it so he and Aguefort can go over it to see where it went wrong and fix that incase it's ever necessary again.

I think the one thing Aguefort didn't predict was Fig taking on her father's familial curse. By that time he was already trying to fix the time quangle, and did not anticipate that Gilear would end up as lucky as he got when the curse passed down. Because the only reason that the vice principal didn't take over was he won a surprise vacation and then kept winning.

I do think though, whether he anticipated it or not, an adventure school is going to potentially draw some interesting teachers, both in the "I want to help the next generation" kind, and the "I want to control the next generation" which is true for school in general.

And if the system itself is broken or falling apart, then that opens the door to more exploitation. Aguefort has been running the place for centuries right? So that opens the door to some high control groups trying to get a foothold, eg. Coach Daybreak and the corn cult from season one. Like the cult thing doesn't even have to get that sinister. I don't think that Bobby Dawn is meant to be more than a minor antagonist that saw his opportunity by following the rules, set Kristen up to be in a more vulnerable space to push her back into the church of helio. It benefits whatever is happening with copperkettle , but I'm not sure if he personally cares enough to work with his grandson's adventuring party to do extra shady shit. The bonus for him is that he might be able to convert more to Sol, and at least fuck over some other pantheons in the process .

One of the major issues with the school is that Aguefort made so many rules and loopholes and caveats to those rules, that Grix was unable to parce the complexities and got lost in the sauce. I mean they're having trouble trying to figure out who's in charge and it's coming down to Macie, the student president because of what they're convinced is a bit in a random email. The level of "this was never supposed to get this far into edge cases, because I ALWAYS have a contingency plan" is kind of fucked up anyway.

in between Kalvaxus/VP Goldenhoard, Bobby Dawn, Coach Daybreak, and possibly Jace Stardiamond, Henry Hopclap, and/or Porter Cliffbreaker, how much of the faculty at Aguefort is evil?

It’s getting a bit ridiculous tbh. Wizard man what were you thinking.

[sukirichi]

black magic [01]

REQUEST. arranged marriage + enemies to lovers (sukuna is a simp and lowkey a housewife)

CONTENT/WARNINGS. some suggestive scenes, but overall fluff and romance! slight crack fic, I guess? I was laughing when I wrote this lol

NOTES. I NEED A HUSBAND! SUKUNA I’M GOING TO CRY GOODBYE THIS HAS ME SOFT. also anon i’m not sure if you wanted something with more ~sexual tension~ since this is kind of just comedic, but I hope you like it anyway!

part one | part two (nsfw)

“This is new,” you comment with a glare, your ankle propped on Sukuna’s knee.

“Shut up,” he rolls his eyes, pushing your skirt aside to clean the wounds you attained through exorcising curses. You’ve taken a particularly strong curse today and you’re caught off guard, barely finishing the mission unscathed. Limping all the way back home isn’t easy especially since you live on top of the darned mountain, but if Sukuna’s going to kneel in front of you like this...maybe it wasn’t too tough a journey. “You should stop going to missions you’re not ready for. Look at you, all wounded and bloody.”

“You sound like you care.”

“You’re my wife,” he huffs while dropping the bloody towel on the floor. Sukuna wraps the bandage around your ankle and carries you bridal style even though you’re perfectly capable of walking, but he shoots you a silencing glare. You’d have knocked him in the face any other day, but he’s particularly warm and smells nice today – plus you’re beat – that you bury your face in his chest, ignoring that stupid fluttering in your stomach. “Of course I do.”

You snicker, mind tracing back to your earlier years of this dreaded marriage.

It definitely wasn’t the best – the memories blurring between strangling each other to making out as if breathing was never a thing – and it felt like forever ago when you first met him.

You’d never say it out loud, but... you don’t regret this arranged marriage. Not when Sukuna is tucking himself beside you on the bed, your head above his muscular chest a place similar to home. He covers both your bodies over with a blanket, pulling your body closer to him with a strong arm, his lips pressing onto the crown of your head.

Ugh, you think to yourself, giving in to the need to cuddle your husband after a long day of work. You still refuse to say it out loud, though, and you irk him further by muttering, “That’s not what you said two years ago.”

“I wasn’t in love with you then.”

 “I refuse to be married to you!”

Sukuna fights back the urge to cover his ears. Ever since your clan decided to visit his land and started exorcising curses one by one, his life has been nothing but hell. Not only are your relatives the most arrogant people ever with a consistent god complex, they just had to let their little mortal child be in charge of taking on the stronger curses. Seriously, what were they thinking, sending you – who’s barely even out of their training bra years – to deal with curses like him?

Everyone knows Sukuna is a no bullshit man. He won’t hesitate to cut your head off the moment you came raging at him, but then he sees how young you are and decides to send you back to your family.

Expecting that everyone would just call it a day and he’d get offerings for his unexpected mercy, Sukuna is beyond stupefied when they send you back to his temple, all dressed pretty with a basket of fruits and flowers braided in your hair. He remembers growling because you look adorable, but that’s easily wiped away when you open your mouth, your voice scratchy against his ears as you stomp your feet like the young mortal you are.

Sukuna pushes a thumb to his forehead to ease the impending headache, and that’s just from your presence. Something inside him tells that you’re going to be a bigger pain than you look.

“You don’t have much of a choice. You should’ve thought of that before deciding to run rampage over my land,” he reminds, turning boredly to his lone servant from above his throne. Sukuna isn’t impressed, to say the least, especially with your clan’s audacious proposition to gain his favour just this once. “Is this really the woman you bring me – the one they insist to be my wife?”

“She is their best fighter, my Lord.”

Well, he can’t disagree to that. You did, after all, single-handedly give him a cut on the cheek. “She’s feisty indeed.”

“Don’t talk as if I’m not here!”

“Mouthy too,” he mumbles to himself, but your sorcerer senses are sharp and easily picks up on it. He sees you flush angry again, looking immensely adorable with your tiny fists clenched like that and he snorts, waving a hand in the air. “Whatever. Get the wedding over with,” he nods to his servant, his sigh loud and tired as he makes his way to you.

You don’t stiffen at each haunting step, his eyes only glimmering harder with entertainment. It’s rare to find a mortal that doesn’t quiver at the sight of him, the urge to break you only growing stronger.

Even as he cups your face, making sure to not let his claws dig into your precious skin, Sukuna smirks. You’ll be entertaining indeed.

So Sukuna makes a promise, four eyes surveying the way your body is starting to fill in curves at the right places, the swell of your flesh just perfect in his hands... He chuckles to himself, daunting you further as he leans down to your ear, taking pleasure in the slight way your breath hitches. “Maybe then I’ll get to teach you a lesson or two.”

You’re definitely something else, taking advantage of each presented opportunity and not wasting any time before you make your move. Right after the wedding and everyone’s left, leaving you alone with your new husband behind closed doors; you push him until he’s on the ground, legs straddling each side of his hips while you growl above him – the sound similar to a battle cry.

Sukuna merely smirks, barely moving a muscle as his large hands come up to rest on your hips to steady you. “I’ve imagined countless ways you’d be on top of me like this,” his eyes light up with humour upon feeling the cold blade on his skin, “None of them included a knife on my neck though.”

“Shut your mouth. I will kill you myself,” you warn, pressing your knife harder until it draws a slight tinge of blood.

You hardly look threatening above him like this, dolled up to look the best in your wedding with this cursed being. If anything, you look more divine than deadly, and Sukuna thinks that perhaps your beauty could be your best weapon. You are bewitching, after all.

“I refuse to be your Queen and sit next to your throne.”

“Then why didn’t you stop the wedding?”

“I—”

Sukuna’s teasing grin grows wider when you pull back, trying so hard to not trip over your words. It takes all of his self-restraint to not take you right then and there, but he does a good job of holding back, enjoying this view above him instead. “Could it be you’re attracted to me after all, hm, little one?”

“Do not test me, Curse. I’m more than capable of exorcising you myself.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that. You’re the strongest in the Gojo clan, are you not?” he prompts to appease you, “I don’t even want to see what you’re capable of, but maybe, just maybe...” just as his eyes darken, the edges of his lips turning up into a smirk, Sukuna digs his claws into your thigh in a possessive show of ownership, a painful reminder that you’re his now. “...You could put on a little show for me?”

“I hate you!”

Experienced and strong as you are, you’re nothing compared to a thousand year old curse who’s killed a lot more people faster than you could blink. Sukuna immediately notices the animalistic way you draw your blade, arm swung back with rage written all over your face. Before you could so much as bat an eye, he easily switches the positions until you’re under him, using only one hand to pin your arms above your head, your blade effortlessly thrown to the other side of the room.

“As I thought, you’re a lot prettier under me like this,” he observes, roaming his eyes shamelessly over the fabric clinging prettily to your body. You’ve fallen silent at his unconcealed attention, your compliance enticing him to lean closer just to inhale your intoxicating scent.

“Not so feisty now, little one? Where’d all your hatred for me go?” Sukuna pulls back with widened eyes, “Oh? Am I hearing it wrong or is your pathetic human heart beating so loud right now?” You refuse to look at him, wriggling your hips in an attempt to leave, completely unaware that the mere movement is hypnotizing the curse above you. Sukuna grips your hips in warning, not wanting to destroy you – not now, anyway. “You know all you need to do is say it. I’d gladly take you right here and then.” His words spoken with that deep, throaty voice immediately sends a wave of heat down your core, but you turn away from him, breathing hard and nervously; something Sukuna picks up on in an instant. “Little one...have you never had a man hold you like this before?”

“N-no...”

“I see. Pure and innocent behind that ferocity, huh?” He surprises you by pulling away, smoothening his white robes down as he leaves you panting still on the floor. “Fine. I won’t touch you unless you ask me to.”

“I’d rather die before that ever comes out from my mouth.”

“We’ll see about that,” he smirks, winking at you before he shuts the door. “Little one.”

There’s a lot of weird – and utterly inconvenient things – about being Sukuna’s wife. The man eats everything, absolutely everything, and it doesn’t help that he sucks at hunting too. For a man so huge and burly, he sure is lazy, preferring to do the laundry in the riverside instead while you go out every day to prepare your meals.

You actually don’t mind, but it’s very fun to complain around him.

You’re on your way back to the temple when Sukuna grabs at you, making you drop the freshly caught birds onto the ground. Your brows furrow, about to scold him for being too eager again when Sukuna stares at your arm, his lips pressing into a thin line.

Following his line of sight, your lips form an ‘o’ shape. There’s blood trickling down your forearm from his claws accidentally cutting you, guilt written all over his face. Another weird thing about Sukuna is that he babbles a lot when he’s emotional, and you’re too tired to hear him beat himself over it that you just drag him inside your room, sitting his ass down before taking a clipper.

Sukuna scoffs when you start cutting his nails. It irks him that you don’t even bother wiping the blood off first and he tsks, eyes narrowed at you. “You should have thicker skin.”

You roll your eyes as you file his nails; you’ve been married to him long enough to know it’s his way of saying sorry. Not wanting to let him wallow in guilt any louder, you pad kisses over his knuckles before swiping the black ink off your desk, using a pen brush to colour your nails instead. Sukuna hovers behind you, head tilted to the side as he watched you. “Are you painting your nails black?” he utters in disbelief, trying to ignore the fact he feels...proud and even a little smug. “Not so fitting for the angelic sorcerer now, isn’t it?”

“I’m only doing this so you don’t feel left out.”

“Maybe I’ll add markings to your pretty face too,” he cups your jaw to make you turn to him, landing a solid kiss flat to your lips which makes you sigh, pretending to be annoyed but leaning over for another peck anyway. Sukuna laughs and pulls you onto his lap, kissing your neck this time around, a little annoyed that you don’t stop in brandishing your nails. “Wife, what do you think?”

“I have work, Sukuna. You flirting with me doesn’t change the fact I need to go.”

“Come home safe for me, at least?” he breathes down your neck, his touch sending shivers down your spine. You’ve definitely changed since the first time he’s met you, starting from a mean (although he stands strong that you are still mean to him sometimes) temperamental little one to a mature, stronger sorcerer who’s secretly weak for his wife.

Unable to resist him as always, you turn around once you’ve finished painting your nails, rubbing your nose over his until your strong, scary husband is turning into putty at your hands. “Of course I will,” you peck his lips one last time, Sukuna’s eyes closing as he dives in for a deeper kiss. “I’ll always come back home to my handsome husband.”

If anyone were to ask how it’s possible that the King of Curses is actually very soft for his sorcerer wife, everyone would claim it’s impossible and a heresy – but if you ask Sukuna, it’s probably just black magic doing its wonders.

[cheesus-doodles]

I’m bullying Mikey more, he deserves it.

Mikey:*comes back with bags full of teriyaki*

Me:Mikey where’s the stuff I told you to buy that was on the list?

Mikey: what you mean? You told me to buy teriyaki.

Me: Mikey, I’m this close to killing you.

Mikey: but your fingers are touching

Me:*smiles widely* exactly.

Mikey:*after a pause, drops bags and runs, y/n hot on his heels*

Link to relevant HCs

Masterlist

Mikey's been a bad boy, he deserves to be bullied >:(

‎

I think its not going to be just you bullying Mikey for the rest of the week, seeing that its everyone's meals that has been affected. The money you had passed Mikey was your cooking budget for a whole week, and if the blond boy bought nothing but taiyaki, well. The rest of the Toman boys get nothing but taiyaki everyday no matter whose turn it is for lunch with you, seeing that you don't have the money to re-buy ingredients and the budget only restarts on a new week.

Of course Mikey's not going to see anything wrong with having nothing but taiyaki, but he sure is going to be pretty unhappy with having to share his stash with everyone else who will be sure to spitefully eat their taiyaki in front of him. You just know the others would punish Mikey for pulling his little stunt by deducting his alone time with you - banning him from being anywhere near you for more than an hour a day. Gets lifted and dragged away from you once his time is up by a combined force of the four of the five Toman boys, while you are thrown over the shoulder of the remaining boy and carried off.

Comes crying to you that he's being bullied, but nothing you can do besides console him - you know its completely his fault for being in this situation, but you don't want to make things worse or upset him by saying it out loud.

Draken and Baji definitely say it loud and clear that Mikey brought this on himself, and make sure to remind him every time they have to take another bite of taiyaki. Pah just groans when he gets handled yet another piece, but still eats it because he knows you don't like to waste food, while Kazutora and Mitsuya start outright refusing to accept it, opting to instead return it to a bummed Mikey, who can't understand why the others don't like the king of food.

But as for you, with no other money and only with taiyaki, you bascially are on a starvation diet if not for your Toman friends pitching in and returning the favour - everyone takes turns to cook and bring a bento for you during the course of the week so that you have at least some proper food to eat. You even get invited over to Baji's and Mitsuya's place by their respective mums once they hear of what had happened, where they insist that you tuck in to the largest plate of food you had ever seen in your life. But none for Mikey, who have been banished to the corner to draw in the sandpit alone.

Your Toman friends make sure never to let you put Mikey in charge of the shopping ever again.

[dreamsclock]

“how’s it feel?”

sam grits his teeth. to his left, hanging over the spectator dome, dream is grinning behind his mask. “not here,” he says, “not now, dream.”

(mcc / dsmp crossover with c!sam and c!dream!! warnings: scars, death, trauma, torture, abuse, prison arc, permanent injury, long term injury, trauma response, c!sam crit, c!sam hurt, c!dream hurt)

“how’s it feel?”

sam grits his teeth. to his left, hanging over the spectator dome, dream is grinning behind his mask. “not here,” he says, “not now, dream.”

admittedly, it gives him a little comfort to see how stiff dream is around him, and how stiff he is in general.

the masked man looks completely out of place amongst the laughing, playful spectators, one leg favoured over the other, a nastily healed scar on his face only just covered by the mask. sam knows it well, knows exactly how quackity had given it to dream, remembers dream’s sobs.

that’s all that gives him the courage now to lean forward, clad in MCC uniform, and snap a very low, very strained, “people will hear.”

dream’s teeth bare. “hear what? two friends talking? that’s what we are, right? we’re friends here. everybody’s friends.”

sam doesn’t flinch, but his laugh is curt and unhappy. “what do you want?”

“how does it feel?” dream repeats, a hard bite of satisfaction in his words. “to have the roles reversed? you lying about scars while i’m the one who listens?”

oh. so it’s about this.

because it’s always about this with dream, like sam hadn’t suffered when dream had escaped, like sam hadn’t been the one suffering every minute that dream had been locked up! dream is selfish, and that smug selfish satisfaction now makes sam’s blood boil.

because yes, he’d had to lie about the scar down his face: to anyone in MCC who asked, sam blamed a red stone experiment gone wrong, which they bought with a rueful caution to be more careful—

his eyes meet the smiling ones of dream’s mask.

yes. he’d be more careful next time. if he ever got dream back under his control…

but it had been a horrible role reversal, lying about his own wounds while dream had been there. the other man had been hanging around him like his shadow, there at his every turn, watching him intently through every game.

it’s hard not to feel like a prisoner.

absentmindedly, sam’s hand comes up, traced the scar across his face. “you know how it feels,” he returns, keeping his voice as even as he possibly can, “you know exactly how it feels, dream. what, are you here to mock me? to— to take revenge?”

dream considers him for a moment. that low mean grin turns into something thoughtful, almost scornful.

“i’m here to watch,” he says at least, tilting his head as the decision dome lights up again, “and i’m here to watch you, specifically. to be fair, you’ve given me a show.”

the lies, the defensiveness, the way the other server members avoid him. heat like humiliation curls in sam’s chest.

“watch?” he says, defensive, snappish. “you’re gonna pretend like you can’t play anymore to try and gain sympathy points from me, is that it?”

dream’s body language stiffens, draws back. sam prides himself in that: at least he has some power still, at least he’s not completely helpless against dream’s attacks.

“sympathy,” dream repeats, contemptuously, “yeah, because that’s what i want from you. astute, sam.”

“what else would this be?” sam demands. “you love MCC. you wouldn’t—”

“maybe i’m still trying to figure out how to play properly after being tortured for three months and locked up for ten,” dream suggests sarcastically, “just a thought. just something for you to think about.”

it’s sam’s turn to scoff. “you played fine in may.”

“i played fine in may because quackity would have killed me otherwise.” dream sucks in a breath through his teeth, and rocks back on his heels. one of his legs doesn’t bend like it should. sam remembers hearing it shatter. “that’s not the point.”

“then what is the point?”

a few of his teammates look over curiously. lowering his voice fearfully, sam steps closer to the spectator stand, draws satisfaction when dream flinches back, however minutely.

“what’s the point, dream? what are you trying to gain?”

“i get to learn about your strengths. weaknesses. i get to watch you in a competitive environment and… you know… figure out exactly where your faults lie. and i get to unsettle you.” dream’s breezy laugh is only a little strained. “it’s… strategic. very strategic, sam.”

because dream is always two steps ahead, and this is how: he watches. watches everything going on, manipulates from behind the scenes. when the decision dome lights up with a game, dream and sam both glance over automatically, and a slow smile curls around the ex-prisoner’s lips.

“buildmart,” dream says, in a tone implying he’d known it all along, “i always hated that game. good luck, sam. i’d watch my back if i were you.”

“what the hell are you planning?” sam says, voice rising a pitch in sudden unease. “tell me.”

dream spares him a pitying glance.

“just… be on your guard. that’s all i’m saying.”

he pushes off into the crowd before he can be questioned, but sam still feels the cold smiling mask watching him throughout the game, never wavering, never ceasing. a cold shiver runs fear down his back.

what is dream planning?

it’s not until much later, after the event, after he’s back on the server, that he places the unrecognisable sound in dream’s voice when he’d been talking to non-dream smp members: the lilt, the hint of something secret in his tone.

wistful. he’d been nostalgic.

and then sam remembers the dragging limp of his left leg and the awkward position of his arm, and the tremors in his hands that make aiming a bow hard and the dizzying fear of respawns that had almost crippled dream in the last MCC.

“maybe i’m still trying to figure out how to play properly after being tortured for three months and locked up for ten. just a thought. just something for you to think about.”

dream’s voice had been more bitter than sam had ever heard it before, and for a moment he’s struck with doubt. had MCC become unplayable for dream?

he dismisses it, after a minute, burying his face in fran’s fur. he has to.

and even if it had become unplayable, good.

evil things like dream shouldn’t enjoy things, shouldn’t experience happiness like that. he thinks of dream, thinks of his body, broken, bloodied, and feels a wave of satisfaction.

justice. it’s justice being served, and he doesn’t regret it even a bit.