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sundayworshipper · 3 months

Text

*~Orthodoxia

«Sunday x Gn! Reader»

🪦| SFW, Angst, Undefined relationship, can be read as romantic/platonic (bed sharing, cuddling)| WC: ~11K

⚰️| CW: Inspired by the song Orthodoxia by Guchiry, misplaced religious worship (fictional religion), Sunday is a priest and cult leader, Small town cult setting AU, Third person prose (reader is referred to as [Name]), Major character death, Minor character death, Murder, SH? (Sunday), Allusion to suicide, Graphic descriptions of violence, Non sexual grooming, A bird dies, Ena=God, Gopher sucks ASS, mostly Sunday angst with reader being there sometimes, English isn’t my first language, non chronological, first fic ever （╹◡╹）

Credit for the commandments to Guchiry

A/N: This is so long 💀.. There’s a few plot holes? and the writing is kinda repetitive but i spent too long on this not to post. Extra warnings, beta read but not proofread, reader char is intentionally bland, not canon compliant/OOC-ish ∩^ω^∩.

EDIT: Oh god this got much more attention than I was expecting. I am (slowly) working on rewriting it 🤍

1. God’s great grace is given to those who are completely faithful.

Sunday inhaled deeply while tugging at his pristine white glove in an attempt of straightening it. In his mind, he looked like a complete mess, completely unfit for a High Priest. His Master and founder of the One True Religion, Gopher Wood, had recently taken his last breath, finally succumbing to the horrible illness that had tormented him for years. As his adopted son, the gray-haired halovian was to take on his duties post-haste. The young man only took half a day to compose himself enough to make a public statement. He probably would have taken longer, had he actually cared to pretend to grieve.

Upon deciding he was satisfied with the state of his attire, Sunday stepped out of the sascrity, taking his place at the pulpit. The gazes of all of his Master’s- no, his own followers, locked onto him, confused and impatient to hear the reason for Mr. Wood’s absence at yesterday’s service.

The man smiled, hoping that the way it didn’t reach his eyes wasn’t very obvious. After a few moments, he just decided to close them.

The fear of rejection by his followers felt as if it was rapidly piercing holes trough his insides, however, he knew that THEY wouldn’t fail him when he needed THEM most. After all, the first ever thing taught to those interested in the religion, is that good things come to those who believe.

2. Only the high priest is permitted to take God's name in vain.

“Fuck! God fucking damn it!” An unfamiliar voice screamed from an alleyway, which Sunday was just about to pass while on his routine walk. His wings twitched, and the ones on his torso tensed. He contemplated if this even counted as a violation of the second commandment, as the use of the words ‘God’ and ‘Lord’ had less restrictions than the uttering of the true name of the one they were referring to. He also thought about the possibility that ‘God’ was the three-faced idol the next town over worshipped, that maybe one of them had snuck in. He ultimately decided that using any heavenly title accompanied by such words was disrespectful, and he’d try to steer the speaker onto the right path, be they a follower of Order, Harmony, or something else entirely.

Despite the amount of information he mulled over, he really didn’t spend long thinking before rushing into the alley.

“Are you alright?” He inquired to the person that had emitted such obscene words just moments ago. Their clothes didn’t reflect those of a citizen in this town, nor the neighboring one’s. They whipped around to face him, wearing a frightened expression.

“Ah..Huh?” The emotion of surprise seemed to overshadow that of fear. Sunday gave an amused smile at this.

“Do not be afraid. I am Sunday, messenger of Ena. I heard you…Cussing, earlier. Judging by your attire, you are a foreigner, which explains that. However, I feel as if I should inform you that such an act is quite worrisome here.” He could no longer suppress his giggle, which confused the stranger.

“What’s so funny?”

“Hmm..Do not worry. Mind telling me how to address you? And, if you’re comfortable, what brings you here?” Sunday stepped closer, and leaned in towards the person.

“I’m [Name].” They replied, taking a step back. After spending a moment deciding whether or not to reveal the circumstances that led up to them ending up where they did, they concluded that he was trustworthy.

Sunday listened, and considered their words carefully.

“I see. Since you have no home, would you like to live with me, for the time being? I’ll help you find a job. All I ask is that you attend church and clean up after yourself.” He offered his hand, wings relaxing.

[Name]’s breath hitched. It wasn’t like they had many choices… If they stayed on the streets, they’d most certainly die. If they went with Sunday, the outcome had a slightly lesser chance of being the same.

After thinking very carefully, they took Sunday’s hand wordlessly.

3. Those who do harm to God's messenger, the high priest, will be expelled.

As much as Sunday wished he could forget the worshippers of Xipe existed, trade between the two towns was beneficial for everyone. After the death of Gopher Wood- who refused any sort of contact and terminated the transaction of goods-, Sunday begrudgingly sent one of his trustworthy followers to request that the old commerce deal be reinstated. And so, it was.

To the average citizen, all seemed well. However, Sunday could notice the way everyone that interacted with Xipe’s Worshippers on a regular basis attended church less and less often. He tried to brush it off as them being busy with such an important new task. This was until, on the seventh day’s service, the holiest of all, one of the traders defied the rules and interrupted Sunday’s sermon by standing directly next to him. The halovian’s heart skipped a beat, but he simply smiled.

“Good sir, are you not feeling well? This is not an appropriate place for you.” He placed a gentle hand on the trader’s shoulder. His kind act was met with a harsh slap which resounded through the entire chamber. However, his smile did not falter.

[Name], who had been sitting in the front row of pews ever since Sunday ‘rescued’ them, stood up, as did the woman next to them. They wanted to separate the two, but the priest extended a hand towards them as a sign to stop.

The atmosphere was painfully tense and uncertain, until the merchant reached into his pocket to retrieve his dagger. He then pressed it to Sunday’s throat, finally causing his expression to shift.

“You bastard… You rotten, filthy, deceptive scoundrel! You lied! All you and your good-for-nothing father have ever done is lie! You will pay for this.” The trader hissed, preparing to slice the man’s flesh. Sunday’s eyes narrowed as he effortlessly ripped the knife from his hands by the blade, cutting deep into his own palm. He then tossed it to the side, and grabbed the traitor by the neck.

“Tsk..What a shame. You were quite valuable.” He shook his head disappointedly before dragging him outside.

No one dared to follow… Except for [Name]. Before anyone could tell them not to, they sprinted after Sunday, finding him kicking his attacker in the stomach repeatedly just outside church doors. [Name] gasped, but they were cut off by the disgusting feeling of bile rising up their throat. This caused Sunday to turn his head. His eyes were wide, however, a disturbingly sweet smile stretched across his features. He delivered one final kick- to the chest this time- and quickly closed most of the distance between him and [Name].

“You shouldn’t have followed me. But, I suppose it’s my fault for not teaching you what to do in such situations.. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

[Name]’s eyes darted between the priest and the corpse he had just created. They soon murmured the first thought they could muster:

“Your hand..”

“I will be fine. Go back inside, and stay put. Service will resume shortly.” He smiled before promptly walking out of sight.

[Name] considered running for their life as far away from this town as geography would allow. However, something was holding them back. After taking a minute to process, they re-entered the church, earning dirty looks from the other members. Only the woman that had stood up alongside them earlier spoke to them.

“Don’t do that. No one wants to see what happens to those who get ‘expelled’.”

4. It is the high priest who is the rightful successor to God’s will.

Despite it not feeling like such, Sunday was once a child. He had a family as well, more or less. Although thinking of Gopher Wood as his parent made him feel sick to his stomach now, a brief period of time where this wasn’t the case existed.

After the traumatic loss of their parents, Sunday and his dear sister, Robin, were sent to an orphanage much like any other unfortunate soul in the same situation. Robin thought they’d be adopted within the year, but Sunday was already planning the way in which he’d make a living for himself the moment he became an adult. He’d save up any and all money he didn’t use strictly on survival to be able to sustain his sister when she reached the age of eighteen as well, he thought.

In a surprising turn of events, a man from a small, far away town, visited the orphanage only three months after the siblings’ arrival. He smiled the instant his gaze landed on them. Originally, Sunday thought it was because of their shared, relatively uncommon species, but he’d later come to convince himself that Gopher Wood saw something in them that day.

In what had to be record time, he had legally adopted them. As they rode the horse carriage to their new home, Robin snuggled close to her brother, and whispered an optimistic ‘I told you so’. Sunday simply smiled, for the first time since the death of their mother.

The first day felt like the most fun a recently orphaned child could have. They were given various sweet treats by their new neighbors, and a tour of the town. Everyone seemed to dote on them, which almost made the young boy finally lower his guard fully. He thought he was safe at last, and could heal.

Big mistake.

That very night, Sunday was ripped from bed by his eerily silent ‘father’. Before he could even ask what he was doing, a hand had been slapped over his mouth. He, being docile and untrained at the time, allowed himself to be molded like clay.

In less than an hour, Sunday had been exposed to things that would shatter the mind of most children into pieces. At the end of his extensive explanation, Gopher took Sunday to the dark, empty church, where he forced him to kneel in front of the altar. Because he hadn’t succumbed to the information that he had to forcibly ingest, Gopher considered him a worthy heir, and introduced him to Ena as such.

And yet, that was not the point where he stopped seeing that man as family. In fact, he never saw anything wrong with that behavior. He always felt so proud to be chosen, entrusted with such an important position.. Gopher said he was special. Smart. Nearly perfect. He was everything he could’ve ever wanted in a son. The knowing glances they exchanged as Robin discovered the surface rules of the religion at the pace that everyone else except for him did made Sunday feel good.

For about a year, Sunday loved his life. He felt as if he finally had a purpose..

On the night of a seventh,going into first day of the week, in the latter half of November, Sunday found himself choking back tears on the bathroom floor, knees hugged tightly to his chest along with his discarded shirt. Gopher Wood, that monster, sat behind him, trimming away at the child’s lower wings. When he was done, he’d move on to permanently tainting them black, like his own.

‘The truest act of devotion’ he called it. To prove their loyalty to Ena, high priests had to discard something they held dear at a young age.. For halovians, their wings were naturally their pride and joy, so, the dark haired man picked those for him. Sunday asked to be allowed to choose something, anything else, but his request was declined.

Of course, this wasn’t any form of religious practice. Gopher had made it up to further mold his poor victim into what he needed him to be. Every time the boy dared to show any feelings regarding that action, he reminded him that as the high priest, all his actions were carried out trough God’s will.

Sunday never wore a base layer of clothing that didn’t almost perfectly match his new wing color after that. He felt hideous, and he’d rather have people think he lost his wings completely than show off the cruel defilement he’d endured.

Since then, Sunday could no longer see him as a father. Of course, he still respected and obeyed him, as not doing so would be disrespectful to THEM, too. After all, priests were naught but a mirror of their God’s desires.

5. God’s teachings are the divine providence of this world.

Sunday tossed in bed, wings wrapping around his face as he groaned quietly. He was tormented by thought, and couldn’t sleep.

Upon the passage of one hour, he rose from his spot, and slowly stepped out of his room. [Name] slumbered on his couch, as they had since the first time Sunday brought them home. He felt bad for not being able to provide them a proper bed, and made a mental note to work on that soon. After all, it wasn’t like it cost much, or… anything at all. He was just a very busy man.

The priest then stepped on the single creaky floorboard in the entire house, alerting his roommate.

“Sunday..?” They yawned, rubbing their eyes as they blinked them open.

“Ah. I’m sorry that I woke you.”

“It’s alright,, but what are you doing up so late? And why are you going out?”

“Mm. I need a walk, to clear my head. I’m finding it hard to rest well tonight.”

“Me too. I barely even fell asleep a few minutes ago, and it was so light.” [Name] stretched their back as they spoke.

“I see. Do you want to join me?” He offered, and the other person excitedly accepted, standing up and almost stumbling. Sunday caught them, helping them to stand better. They gave a grateful look in response.

The two then exited the house, the cold night breeze gently biting at their skin. They set a comfortable pace as Sunday directed them to the woods across the river that served as town border. [Name] hadn’t gotten the chance to go there yet, as it was ill-advised to venture too far from the town.

“Are you sure we should be doing this?”

“Don’t you trust me? Do you think I’m going to murder you for your sins?” Sunday smiled, turning his face away so [Name] couldn’t see.

“I do! It’s just that… Wait, have I sinned?”

“Of course you have. You are still new to our religion, you’re bound to make mistakes. Even devout believers sin sometimes, but God forgives all, therefore so do I.”

“Do you sin?”

“Me? No. Sinning would be disgraceful to our Lord. I mean, if even the high priest doesn’t carry himself as THEY intended, how would any normal person be inclined to either?”

“True.. Doesn’t it get exhausting having to be perfect all the time, though?”

“Not at all. Do you know the fifth commandment?”

“God’s teachings are the divine providence of this world?” [Name] cocked their head at him, almost tripping on a fallen branch in the process.

“Very good. As the high priest, I have to know these teachings better than any other mortal. The stronger one’s knowledge, the stronger they feel God’s love.”

“Oh. I never thought about it like that.”

“Well, now you have.” He halted, left arm occupying its spot behind his back as usual. [Name] stopped as well, confused.

“Why’d you stop? Aren’t walks supposed to be continuous?”

“Yes…Would you mind pausing here for a moment? If I’m not mistaken, this is the clearing I used to come to for respite when I was a child. I have no time for such things anymore, but it brings me a sense of nostalgia.”

[Name] nodded, and awkwardly walked closer to Sunday. There didn’t appear to be any sitting spots, so they just took a moment to appreciate nature’s beauty.

Not much time later, Sunday decided it had gotten far too late to be outside any longer. As they trekked back home, the priest noticed [Name] become slower by the second. He offered to carry them, and in a moment of exhausted weakness, they accepted. They’d soon fall unconscious in his arms.

The following morning, [Name]’d find themselves in Sunday’s bed, with him nowhere to be found.

Confused, they stepped into the living room. Sure enough, the man was curled up on the couch.

6. To disobey God is to deviate from Paradise.

[Name] was integrating nicely into the town already. While trying to decide what job they should try land, they picked up gardening as a short pastime. Sunday had graciously lent them a patch of his backyard to plant things in, so long as they managed to keep it free of weeds. They agreed, and were doing a great job so far. The first thing they tried was strawberries, as it was the optimal season for planting them.

[Name] decided to ask the neighbors to see if anyone had any runners they could borrow.

“Hello!” They waved at an older lady who was conveniently planting something in her own garden. She lifted her head, smiled, and waved back.

“…Ahem. I was wondering if you had any strawberry runners? I want to grow strawberries… I don’t have any money right now, but I’ll pay you for them someday!”

“Ah, such nonsense.. Since Mr. Wood saved us, money is obsolete.”

“Huh? Then why do people still have jobs?”

“So they don’t get bored, of course! If you’re worried about payment, pay with a favor. Give some to Mr. Sunday when they’re ripe. I’m sure he hasn’t had strawberries since Miss Robin… Ah, nevermind, I’ll fetch ‘em for you.” The lady hobbled into her house, leaving [Name] confused. They made a mental note to ask Sunday about this ‘Robin’ someday.

The woman soon returned, and handed the runners to [Name], eagerly.

“Here you go, dearie. Give some to me too, if I’m still around by then…” she chuckled, trailing off into a cough.

“Don’t say that.. But, I will! Thanks so much!” They waved again, and sped off to plant the strawberries.

About three months later, the fruits were ripe. [Name] was utterly delighted… They looked absolutely perfect, as if it was obvious from a glance that they had the perfect texture and amount of juice. They quickly collected them all in a basket, and ran inside, where Sunday was actually home, for once. [Name] was happy about this, and hurried to separate the basket’s contents into bowls. The priest tilted his head at them, curious.

“I see you’ve made good use of the land I gave to you.” He hummed observantly.

“Mhm! I couldn’t have done it without the grandma across the street, though. I have to give her a portion back, but.. She asked for something else as payment.”

“Oh?”

[Name] handed Sunday a full bowl, happily.

“She wanted me to give this to you! She said you probably haven’t eaten any since some Robin something something..”

Sunday froze, and his breathing paused abruptly.

“Who’s Robin anyway? It sounds like you know her…”

“Robin is a sinner who denied our Lord’s presence in her life. She is where she deserves to be right now.” His voice had a weird edge, almost as if it was breaking.

“She’s not someone you should concern yourself with again. Ahem; thank you for the gift. It was very thoughtful of you. Send my regards to the neighbor, too.” He left, strawberry bowl in hand.

[Name] frowned, dejectedly dragging themselves and one of the remaining strawberry bowls to the neighbor’s house. She was in the yard once again, so they just walked up to her.

“Ma’am! I picked the strawberries today!” They handed her the dish.

“Thank you, dear. You gave them to Mr. Sunday too, yes?”

“Of course. He said to give you his regards. But, something weird happened. When I asked him about Robin, he just said she was a sinner. That wasn’t much of an answer, so could you tell me more, please?”

“Really? Hm. I wouldn’t expect him to be that cold towards the memory of his own sister…”

“…What?”

“I’ve said too much. Please leave.”

[Name] frowned, but did as asked. It was taking them some time to accept the fact that there were certain topics everyone seemed to get tense around..

7. To harbor doubts about God is to suffer the disintegration of thought.

Gopher Wood always despised the neighboring town, in which he was born, raised, and first established his religion. He hated not having control over every single atom there, so, he left. However, he wasn’t always completely unwilling to maintain a cordial relationship with them.

When his daughter, Robin, reached the age of twelve, he assigned her the role of ‘peacekeeper’. She was to befriend politicians and people of note, engage in the culture there. and report any intel she could’ve gained back to Gopher, who would then try to usurp the town and convert its residents to worshippers of Ena, ergo himself, by commandment fourteen.

By her 13th birthday, Robin’s reports suspiciously all turned into ‘They didn’t tell me anything’. The high priest soon grew skeptical, and ordered Sunday to get an answer out of her by any means necessary.

And so, he did.

He approached her door, taking note of the unfamiliar tune she appeared to be loudly humming. Due to growing older, they now had separate rooms. This didn’t help their relationship whatsoever, as their paths in life were already pulling them apart.

“Sister?” He knocked.

“Come in!” She called out, ceasing her singing. Sunday did, avoiding her gaze.

“I need to talk to you about something.”

“Sure. Sit down.” She gestured to the empty spot on her bed, next to herself. Sunday shook his head, which felt like a dagger being pierced trough robin’s heart.

“Oh. Okay… What did you want to talk about?”

“Master ranted to me earlier about the lack of new information regarding the neighboring town lately. I found this weird, so I just wanted to ask you about it. Please be honest with me, are you hiding something?”

Robin’s eyes widened, before drifting downward. She dipped her head in a slight nod.

“Brother… I’m sorry, I meant to tell you earlier, but I feared your response. I..” she inhaled, then exhaled. “…I worship the Harmony.”

Sunday stared at her with the most disgust his face had ever held. He began to slowly shake his head.

Robin stood, paced over to him, and grabbed his hand, holding it close to her chest.

“Please, just listen to me. I discovered something that will change your view on-“ She trailed off as she met his gaze. It was evident that there was no possible way to reason with him. At that moment, it didn’t feel like she was even looking at her sibling; but rather, at the man that destroyed him.

Defeated, she let go of his hand, and sat back on her mattress. As she watched her beloved brother leave her room, she accepted that her days were now numbered.

8. To blaspheme God is to deny one's own existence.

Robin wore a gentle smile as she was walked down the path to a completely empty plain by her brother. The girl was dressed in pitch black robes, a symbol of her betrayal and a way to make her death far more painful. And yet, she didn’t seem all that bothered.

“Sunday..” she hummed.

“You’re not supposed to speak.”

“I’ll be dead soon either way. What’s one more sin?”

“…”

“I love you. Please don’t blame yourself, I forgive you.”

Sunday didn’t reply to this, and pushed her towards her final resting place.

“Press your back to the stake, please.”

Robin obliged, placing her hands behind the wooden pole as well, without even having to be told. Sunday, under the watchful gaze of Gopher Wood, tied them together, then her torso to the stake.

A citizen then dumped the wood Gopher had hand picked the day prior as the fire fuel to Robin’s feet, before backing up. As per the high priest’s request, Sunday was to light it.

The heir felt nothingness rip and tear away at his being. As his Master placed a flaming torch in his hand, Sunday thought about all the things he wanted to do right now. He wanted to cry, but that would be ‘disgraceful’. He wanted to grab his sister and run, far away from here, and start a new life together, but they were just children, with a horde of angry, violent adults behind them. He wanted to fall to his knees and scream in despair, but the raven-like man behind him would definitely punish him severely for that. As his legs trembled, threatening to give out, Sunday wondered what the worst consequence could even be. Upon remembering the ruined state his wings were in and that he had another pair in an incredibly visible location, he took several deep breaths to calm himself down.

“I’m sorry.” He mouthed, before pressing the torch’s tip to the firewood.

9. God sees, but THEY never save.

Sunday inhaled deeply, eyes shut. The winter air numbed his lungs, allowing the cold to overwhelm his body. He felt no pain, or any physical sensation at all. He simply felt like pure consciousness.

“Brother!” The worried voice of his sister called out to him. Alarmed, he exhaled, and ended his meditative state.

“What is it?” He questioned, tone unusually flat.

Robin held her hands out to him. They contained a baby dove. It was barely even covered in pin feathers, meaning it couldn’t have been more than seven days old.

“I was walking to Mr. Gary’s farm because I promised to help feed his animals, but i found this hatchling crying by a tree… I can’t find its nest, or parents, b-but it’ll freeze to death if we don’t do something!” She sobbed. Sunday examined the tiny avian closely.

“Yes…I do suppose the best course of action would be to raise it ourselves.” He crossed his arms.

“Why do you sound so hesitant..?”

Sunday was worried about what his Master would do upon discovering the animal. He wondered if its wings would be clipped, like his own were. The boy pressed a hand to his mouth in thought, eventually settling on the conclusion that there would be no reason to commit such act, as it was only done to himself so he could prove his worth to Ena.

“Fine. Give it to me.” He demanded, and the girl obliged.

The siblings rushed back home, where Robin filled a shallow bowl with warm water. Sunday placed the chick in it, but held on, just in case. It let out chirps of increasing volume, which the boy found endearing. He soon let go, stroking under the bird’s chin instead. Robin gasped, and leaned in closer to observe this. Her brother interacting with animals was a truly beautiful sight.

“How long will it take until it’s grown? I can’t wait to teach it how to fly!” She smiled widely, blinking up at Sunday.

“Huh? Why would we do that..?” He raised an eyebrow.

“So we can release it?” Robin now looked confused.

“What? You can’t be serious. What even is the point of saving it now if you just want to send it to die later?” He pulled the bowl closer to himself, protectively.

“It won’t die! It’d just be cruel to keep it inside for the rest of its life!” She argued, straightening her posture.

“It will.”

“No, it won’t!” The girl gripped the edge of the table. Sunday pinched the bridge of his nose, and turned his back to her.

“Fine. If you insist, you’re now responsible for its well-being until the end of the next week, when you must release it into the wild.”

“Fine.” Robin huffed, and pulled the bird and its makeshift bath back towards herself.

Seven more days passed, in which the dove grew out all the needed feathers for flight. Robin was absolutely ecstatic, and dragged Sunday outside.

“Okay..How do we do this?” She asked.

“What, you made a decision that could be the difference between life and death for another living being without any research?”

“Well, when you put it like that-“

“Do you admit defeat?”

“No! I know it’ll survive! Just tell me how to help it fly.”

Sunday simply shrugged, which upset Robin. After some contemplation, she placed the dove down on the ground, and held her breath waiting.

The bird soon spread its wings, and departed from the ground. The young girl squealed happily, and watched with wide eyes. She then turned, grinning triumphantly at her brother. It was then that she noticed the tall, dark figure looming right behind him.

“Master? What brings you here?”

Gopher Wood simply smiled eerily, and Sunday grimaced, eyes fixed on the now flying dove. A chill of deep dread struck Robin’s spine, making her turn again… Just in time to see the razor sharp talons of a raven dig into the body of the smaller bird. Right as its beak was about to rip flesh off, the girl ran into the house, sobbing loudly.

Sunday and Gopher kept watching. The scene was horrible, gory and disheartening, to say the least.

After a period of silence, the boy spoke up.

“That was a trained raven.”

“What a keen eye.”

“…Why? Robin didn’t have to see that. She’s just a child.”

“I disagree. It was her choice to free the dove, wasn’t it? She has to learn that her actions have consequences, and that defying the concept of order won’t get her anywhere.”

Sunday wordlessly nodded, before walking off.

On the way to the clearing he’d claimed as solely his- which he only turned to when he was having ‘sinful’ ideas that he felt too scared to even think about in the confines of the city- he wondered if Ena would really want one of THEIR creations to suffer, just to teach another a valuable lesson. He then considered that THEY might not truly even care about anyone and anything at all. If he could see and intervene in anything happening in the world, Sunday would try to save every being. But, in the end, he was not God, and THEY were.

10. God listens, but THEY never speak.

“Father..” a weak voice on the other side of the confessional threatened to break. Sunday straightened his posture, as he instinctively always did when spoken to, even if he couldn’t be seen.

“Speak your sorrows, child of the Order.”

“I can’t take it any longer. It feels… It feels like my prayers are falling on deaf ears. My life has only been spiraling into misery… Hell, even a sign would help loads!”

Sunday closed his eyes, thinking deeply.

“I understand how you must feel. However, you should know THEY don’t often give ‘signs’. You may share your troubles with me, and I promise to try my hardest to help you.”

“You’d really do that?”

“I would.” He nodded. He’d trained himself to be aware of his body language and what every single difference in stance could be interpreted as. So, he applied that even when alone, hidden, or in an otherwise casual situation.

“Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you… May I ask a question first?”

“Hm?”

“Do THEY give you signs? Speak to you? Anything at all?”

The halovian fell silent. He didn’t know. Ever since he’d taken over Gopher Wood’s duties, he felt like a failure for being ‘spiritually disconnected’ from the Lord.

“The answer is what you think.” Was what he settled on.

The person on the other side sighed. The next time they spoke, their voice sounded muffled.

“I’m a murderer. I don’t deserve to live. Do you think THEY would forgive me if I..”

“Don’t say that. You are stronger than you think. Why do you consider yourself a murderer?”

“I had an argument with my little sister. It was over something so stupid, I don’t even remember what it was. I was so angry that I pushed her. She hit her head on the kitchen counter, and… oh god. There was so much blood. I saw her brains, Father. I will never forget the sight. I see it every time I sleep, every time I close my eyes, every time I see things that remind me of her. Please, how do I make it stop?” They sobbed.

Sunday was silent, eyes unfocusing as the vivid memory of Robin’s body being charred alive by flames tore its way out of the corner of his brain he’d banished it to.

“Father?”

“…Apologies. That is a lot to process, I was thinking of the optimal way to help. How long ago did this accident happen?”

“I don’t know. It could be anywhere from a few days to several months. After I buried her, everything’s been a blur. She was everything I had left… i hate to think that if I treated her nicer, showed her how much I appreciate her; if I tried to understand her better and didn’t let my emotions get the better of me, she’d still be here.”

“Yes.. You said you buried her body?”

“I did.”

“Where?”

“…”

“I see. You don’t have to tell me. I can feel that you are genuinely remorseful. Fear not, the Lord will forgive you, and I’m sure your sister would too. As for the mental scarring, I can only hope that your confession has lifted some weight off your shoulders. You are not alone. If you ever feel as if you need to take drastic measures, I hereby permit you to seek me in my free time. Your life matters, and I’d rather a slight inconvenience to myself than lose another life. It gets easier, I promise. Hardship is the key to happiness.” Although he was saying all this, he barely even believed or understood himself. He’d never had anyone comfort him when he was in a similar situation, nevermind attempt to help him. When he tried to turn to Ena for solace, he was only met with silence… Which was to be expected. However, the toll it took on him was greater than he could’ve ever expected. In any case, he hoped he’d helped the member of his community, even slightly.

The sound of the fabric belonging to the other person’s clothes could be heard- presumably them standing up. It was then followed by footsteps. Sunday groaned loudly once he figured they’d have long exited the church, and placed his face in his hands. This was going to be a long day.

Upon returning home way past midnight, Sunday looked uncharacteristically horrible. His eyes were bloodshot, his wings drooped pathetically as he slouched, including his ‘deformed’ second pair, which usually stayed tucked into his coat.

“Sunday!” [Name] ran to the door as soon as it opened. As they bore witness to the state of the halovian, they fell into baffled silence. He blinked blearily, far too tired to be embarrassed.

“I’m sorry. Go to sleep.” He mumbled, trying to push past them and towards the couch, as the two had traded sleeping utilities after their late-night walk.

“No! Are you okay?”

“Excuse me?”

“You look horrendous. I’m worried.”

“Thanks.” He deadpanned.

“I obviously didn’t mean it that way. It’s just not like you to be so… improper. Woah, wait, you have four wings!?”

“I don’t want to talk about either of those things. Please move, I’d really like to sleep.”

[Name] frowned, and instead of letting Sunday go to sleep on the near back-breaking couch when he was clearly in no condition to, they intertwined their hand with his, pulling him towards the bedroom. Before Sunday had the chance to protest, they’d reached their destination.

“What are you doing?”

“What, you said you wanted to sleep.”

“Are you implying you want to… share a bed?”

“Yeah! That’s not sinful, right?”

“I suppose not.” Sunday gave up.

“Great. I’ll let you change, call me back in when you’re done.”

Sunday didn’t know what had happened to him by the beginning of the next hour. He found himself cuddling his housemate, face buried in their chest as their fingers carded through his hair. If he wasn’t so far gone, he would’ve felt shame to the depths of his bones.

As [Name]’s breathing and heart rate slowed steadily, so did their hand. Sunday smiled, slowly shifting their position until they’d fully swapped roles. While he appreciated being on the receiving end of affection for once, it was just his nature to want to return any kind act done for him.

He draped a wing around their body, figuring he’d finally found a use for the unsightly body part.

11. God knows, but THEY never teach.

Sunday’s hands balled into fists at his sides. He’d been staring at the glass casing containing the stone slate which the commandments had been first carved into for what must’ve been many hours now. He read them over, and over, and over, and over… Despite the fact that his mind was already similar to the slate, in the sense that the words had been permanently etched into both. Every day, he could feel himself growing more and more…Hateful. And so, he decided connecting with the Lord again would be the best course of action.

Unfortunately, he was wrong. As he obsessively examined and carefully thought over every word of the sacred obligations, he could only form more and more questions… More anger. More doubt. The contradictions between several entries now seemed painfully obvious. For example, it was specified that the high priest was the exception to commandment two, but no such thing exists for the numbers nine, ten and eleven… But, communication between God and the high priest was supposed to be the basis of the religion.

As the gears in Sunday’s brain turned, he began to laugh. How could he have been so foolish? These were all just lies. Lies made up by a selfish man who desired nothing more than to rule the whole world by himself. As his laughter grew, so did his fury.

Sunday dug his fingers into the side of the glass; fragile, as all things in this forsaken town. If everyone was under the permanent illusion of safety, why was there any need for precaution? It was so bad, that nobody locked their doors anymore. No one would want to break into your house and kill you, after all. The most likely murderer was the person you trusted enough to live with. As these realizations plagued his mind, Sunday’s hands only gripped the long since shattered shards of glass tighter, and tighter. It hurt so pleasantly right now. Although, soon enough, he dropped them in favor of grasping the stone tablet itself. As he turned around, his eyes darted through the church. He needed something to break it with.

After looking for a considerable amount of time, Sunday decided he’d just fling it at the wall.

As the glorified boulder was about to leave his hand, he hesitated. What if he was wrong? This definitely had to be a misunderstanding. Maybe he just wasn’t open minded enough to understand the deeper meaning of the commandments. After all, every older resident seemed so happy living the way they were. The younger generation- including himself- would grow into doing the same, surely… God is good, Sunday thought.

God is loving.

The priest lowered his hand slowly. He rotated back to his original position, regret filling him at the sight of the broken display and bloodied glass scattered across the floor. If he were to look into his hand, he’d notice the crimson seeping from his open wound was quickly transferring to the commandments.

Sunday closed his eyes, breathing deeply. He just had to clean this up, find a replacement case, and no one would ever know. His sin could stay between him and the Lord, forever.

As for understanding all the contradictions, he was now sure that he just had to try a little harder. After all, God doesn’t teach. For a start, this probably meant THEY wanted THEIR subjects to learn from their and others’ mistakes throughout their life.

Yes, this had to be the solution. This was nothing but another trial for Sunday to overcome; a test of faith.

12. The entire Word of God is passed down through THEIR oracle, the high priest.

In an extremely rare occurrence, Sunday had found himself with a few hours of free time on his hands. He decided to spend one of them browsing the local grocery store, deciding on what snack to purchase for [Name], as a token of appreciation. He hadn’t asked them about their tastes outright, so he was attempting to piece them together from the few, yet valuable conversations they’d had. This was proving to be a more challenging task than expected, but he wasn’t about to give up.

“I believe this is what you’re looking for.” A voice coming from Sunday’s right spoke sweetly. He turned his head, confused. Before him stood a person, with an appearance so strikingly out of place that he managed how they even managed to make it into the city. They had white hair, parted into short twin tails on either side of their head. They also had long curtain bangs, however, the upper part of their hairstyle didn’t even utilize as much as half of their locks. The expanse of white fell down to the floor, dragging along it whenever they moved. They wore simple, yet eye grabbing make up, which nicely complemented their tanned skin. Their eyes appeared to naturally stay shut for the entirety of Sunday’s examination of them, not displaying any of the twitching that the eyes of a normal person forcing them to stay closed would. What was really out of place, though, was their clothing. They wore a tight, black dress which was about as long as their hair. It was rather revealing, especially in the chest and leg area. Whilst the town Sunday lived in didn’t exactly enforce ‘purity culture’ anymore, it was still unusual to dress immodestly. Additionally, the sort of corset piece wrapped around their midriff and neck appeared to be real gold, solidifying their status as an outsider. The followers of Order weren’t exactly wealthy, as money had not been used since the founding of the religion, and Gopher Wood considered the concept to be inherently unfair. Of course, this didn’t stop him from continuing to hoard any currency he came across, to be able to afford imported garments and accessories of the finest quality for only himself and his children.

“Pardon?” He narrowed his eyes, inspecting the item. It was one of the choices he’d been considering for [Name]’s snack, although he was still second-guessing himself.

“This is their favorite.” The foreigner extended their hand further, as if urging him to take it.

“What are you talking about?” Sunday was becoming uncomfortable.

“[Name]? Your.. Friend. This is their favorite. You are looking for something to get them, no?”

“Hah..I see. You’re one of Xipe’s slaves.” He chuckled bitterly, and grabbed a duplicate of the item they were holding off the shelf.

“I’d strongly urge you to return to your home, if you know what’s best for you. Good day.” He turned to leave, but a hand as cold as death itself gripped his wrist with a hold that would be sure to cut off his circulation if it was kept too long.

“Is this all the thanks I get? You would’ve spent another hour deciding if it weren’t for me.” The person pouted in mock offense.

“Stop. Get out of my mind, please.” He tried to pull away, to no avail.

“And what if I don’t? Are you going to call upon Ena to save you? Oh wait..” They laughed.

“Tsk…Do not use THEIR sacred name with such mocking purpose.”

“I really don’t get what you see in THEM. I mean, THEY’RE such a deadbeat! The Great One would never let THEIR subjects suffer.”

“Says the one whose idol abandoned THEIR town without leaving as much as a divine messenger.”

“Hm? But I am the High Priest.”

“High Priest? My a-.. ahem… That does not sound very likely. Clearly, you’re blessed in some form, but knowing Penacony, they would hold a week-long festival in your honor if you gave substantial proof of this. Who are you, really?”

The person smiled, and let go of his now bruised wrist. They’d still not opened their eyes once.

“Oh, would you look at the time. Well, I should get going. Until we meet again~” they waved, and walked away, humming an awfully familiar tune.

Sunday would then stand in the middle of the aisle, snack in hand as he tried to make sense of what had happened. He wondered if the person was trying to convince him to turn to the Harmony, or just teasing him. What’s worse is that if it was the former, he believed he might’ve actually considered.

The halovian soon dragged himself home, deep in thought. As he opened the door to see [Name] sitting on the couch as they had been doing more often lately, Sunday smiled. He sat next to them, far closer than usual.

“…I got you something.” He handed them the snack. [Name] gasped quietly.

“Ohh.. Did you know this was my favorite? Thank you so much!” They hugged him.

“Really? Must’ve been a lucky guess. In any case, consider this payment for the strawberries.” Sunday shut his eyes. Perhaps the worshipper of Xipe wasn’t all that horrible.

13. God’s aims are the aims of the world

Lately, Sunday had been frequenting the church in the dead of night. Since the meeting with the strange worshipper of Harmony, he’d been questioning his faith more than ever before. A part of him struggled with the same urge to run that he’d felt in Robin’s final moments. However, instead of his fear of angry, violent adults holding him back now, it was the fear of repercussions for becoming one.

He considered himself weak minded. He knew very well what he was getting into before accepting the position of high priest. He knew he’d have to murder and hurt, and yet… He never truly could. A secret Sunday swore he’d take to the grave, was that he never truly punished traitors as God commanded. Even after the incident with the tradesman, the worst he could muster was kicking him into unconsciousness and dropping him off into Penacony’s territory. That very night, he prayed to the God he himself had just betrayed, that the man was taken to a hospital. In his heart, Sunday still believed that if he were to implore the Lord to forgive those who turned away from them, THEY would.

Sunday had what one might call a heart of gold. He wanted the best for everyone, even if it directly contradicted the teachings of his Master, and the undeniable holy rules given to the world by God. However, his constant desire to help came at the cost of his own sanity- fact which he was acutely aware of. He considered it a small price to pay for the joy of others.

In his mind, he was responsible for the actions of each and every one of The Order’s followers. If they sinned, it was purely his fault for not managing to stop them. He’d be the one spending eternity in the burning embers, while any who sinned under him and died before he did, would be forgiven and led to the peaceful afterlife they strived for all their lives. If he’d explain this to any sane person, they’d most likely immediately pick up on how specific, flawed, and barely comprehensible his logic was… Unfortunately, he never would.

“You look tired.” The sickly sweet voice of the strange worshipper called from behind Sunday, making him halt.

“I know for a fact that I locked the gates.” He crossed his arms, but didn’t give the person the pleasure of looking at them.

“What can I say, I have my ways… Anyway, I don’t think burying yourself in your delusions is very healthy. You should rest.”

“I must say, you’re very bold. You simply can’t hold yourself back from insulting the Lord in front of THEIR messenger, hm?”

“I am simply stating a fact. You’re starting to doubt THEIR very existence, and you know that. If you acknowledge your situation, why do you still choose to indulge?”

Sunday did not speak for a long period of time.

“If you truly were a High Priest, you’d understand. God is all I have. I’ve invested so much time into becoming what I am now, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself otherwise.”

“And you still don’t follow the very principle that supposedly founded your religion. Clearly, deep down, what you want is to help everyone. You’d be well suited for the Harmony…”

“No. The harmony dictates that everyone must live through trial and error. That’s such unnecessary suffering, that can simply be avoided by protecting everyone.”

“Learning through mistakes? Isn’t that what you ultimately decided Ena’s ideal was, when you noticed people making mistakes over and over again, even when the whole point of this religion is to establish ultimate control and peace to the point where people will actively seek out pain to break the monotony?”

“…Then, I was mistaken. I never saw the similarities to the Harmony before. I pray THEY can forgive me as I try to truly understand THEIR commandments once more. Thank you for telling me this. I shall… Become a better fit for my role, through any means necessary.”

“Really? Or will you do as you’ve always done, and continue to refuse to harm anyone as your God dictates?”

“…Even if I were to do that, which I will earnestly try not to, the spiritual consequences would fall onto me, solely. I’m the one not doing my job, I-“

“Sunday! When was the last time you’ve uttered or thought something that makes any sense, at all!? Look deeply within yourself, you’ll realize how absurd you’re being.”

The halovian simply smiled. Perhaps, long ago, that would’ve been true. However, that was no longer a possibility. Any time he’d come to the same realization, his being would instinctively suffocate itself with a half-hearted explanation that would seem plausible enough at first glance, until he’d begin to deconstruct it, at which point the process would repeat.

The stranger’s expression shifted into a sorrowful one. They’d really tried to help him, but he was truly too far gone.

“I see. I hope your soul will someday be able to find peace.” They left, giving Sunday the opportunity to continue destroying himself in peace.

14. God and the high priest shall be regarded as one and the same.

Gopher Wood’s amber eyes intently observed Mikhail. His head was informally resting on the table, wings fluttering in anticipation as he waited for his ally to finish reading the documents he’d presented him with.

“So? What do you think?” He finally spoke, having grown impatient.

“I’m not done yet..”

“Well, you’ve read most of it. What do you think so far, then?”

“I didn’t know you had such little patience, Mr. Wood.”

“Yes, yes..Well, now you know.”

“I don’t consider it appropriate to share my opinion on something that I don’t fully understand. I ask that you continue waiting.”

“Fine.” Gopher scoffed, and stood up.

“I’m going to get another drink. Want anything?”

“No, thank you.”

Mikhail sighed as he continued reading. Him and Gopher had met just over three amber eras ago, under inexplicable circumstances. At the time, it seemed they had similar ideals for the future of Penacony- a beautiful town, ravaged by an unfortunate dispute. The two quickly struck up a friendship, or at the very least, a cordial working relationship. At first, they agreed that their end goal was to join The Family, a union of towns and cities who worshipped a god known as Xipe and believed in the concept of Harmony. The men slowly gained the respect of most Penaconians that, too,wished for peace, who allowed them to become something akin to a two-person government.

After all that, they successfully completed their goal. Although, soon after, Gopher began acting unusually. He distanced himself from Mikhail, only talking to him to ask odd questions, such as ‘if he ever wished the entire town’s residents could be puppets’. The blue-haired man grew incredibly concerned for his partner’s wellbeing, but could never reach Gopher to speak to him about this topic.

A few days prior, he had invited him out to drinks to discuss ‘an exciting new discovery’. They now found themselves here, Gopher having handed Mikhail a folder full of papers, detailing the proof of the existence of another deity before Xipe. THEY were known by the name of Ena, and represented Order, which was awfully close to the concept of Harmony, besides the awfully concerning attitude towards those who desired to follow their own path in life.

Just as Mikhail finished reading, the halovian returned.

“Are you done yet?”

“Yes…?”

“Wonderful! So?”

“I’m… Not quite sure I understand. Do you want to leave The Family and pursue this religion? Do you even have any current proof this, ‘Ena’ even exists..?”

“Oh, THEY don’t!” He giggled, joyfully taking a sip of his wine. Just as Mikhail was preparing to open his mouth, he continued:

“Not anymore, at least. But if we can make people believe THEY do, we’ll have them wrapped around our fingers. They’ll just do anything we want under the guise of religion. Doesn’t that sound wonderful? There can truly be peace upon Penacony.”

“…How drunk are you?”

“Plenty.”

“You’re not thinking straight. That would never work, it’d just be defying human nature. Besides, if the ones who continue trying to end our lives for opposing them can’t even agree with Harmony, what makes you think they’d want to obey the words of an imaginary God?”

“Oh, them? They have no place in Penacony either way. If I were to execute my plan, I’d be doing a great favor to everyone.” He grinned.

“That’s enough. Get up. I’m taking you home, and you’re going to sleep off all that wine.” Mikhail stood, tossing the documents into the nearest trash.

“I know what I’m doing, my dear Misha. I’ve been fantasizing about this since before we even met… It’s my greatest wish, and what’s the best for Penacony- no, the world, even! Why must you be so cruel~?”

“…You’re not who I thought you were. Why.. Why would you even say that?”

“Mm.. Tell me one thing, then.” He rounded the table, until he was face to face with Mikhail. He then grabbed the collar of his shirt, and pulled him even closer, grinning. “How long do you think a society under the Order’s rule will last? Hell, even with the most haphazard basis I can throw together in one night?”

“Don’t-“

“Answer me.”

“…A decade, at most.”

“Very well.” Gopher hummed, and let go.

“I say… Triple that, before it spreads to Penacony. At least a century after that until the downfall.”

“What are you planning to do..?”

“You’ll see.”

“You’re,, a psychopath. This will never work! Even if it somehow lasted for your entire lifetime, you’d never find a successor gullible enough to extend your little cult’s existence for that long.”

Gopher’s smile widened sinisterly.

“Cult? I prefer the word social experiment. Anyway, I should get going now. I heard the next town over has little contact with outsiders, and I’d like to get there before that changes.” He turned, and began to walk.

“Until we meet again, Misha.”

15. God is absolute.

After his second encounter with what seemed to be Xipe’s chosen one, Sunday felt completely drained. He hadn’t fully felt like a living, breathing entity since he was maybe six years old, but the mental haze that affected him worsened with each significant event that happened to him. He stumbled home at the same time that the sun began to peek over the horizon.

Despite the fact that he returned to sleeping on the couch after the night him and [Name] cuddled, he didn’t feel like sleeping alone at this moment.

Following several minutes of hesitation, Sunday opened the bedroom door, cautiously stepping in. Of course, his friend was sleeping peacefully, and luckily for him, deeply. The man stalked over to the closet door, which had been divided into halves to accommodate both his and [Name]’s clothes. He quickly discarded his current outfit, changing into a simple t-shirt and sweatpants. The shirt rode up his stomach slightly, as he hadn’t ever found the time to poke wing holes into his casual garments; therefore, his wings were just hanging naturally.

He slowly sat down on the unoccupied side of the bed, pausing to see if the sleeping person would wake. When they didn’t, he made himself more comfortable, even pulling half of the blanket over himself.

That action caused [Name] to turn. Sunday was preparing an apology speech for waking them, but they were unbothered. They grabbed his arm, snuggling it. The halovian took a moment to process, upper wings tensing in surprise. He was still not used to being touched, but he’d feel too bad pushing them away. So, instead of getting any rest, he just awkwardly stared at them for hours, frozen in place.

Finally, [Name] yawned, attempting to stretch. They were stopped by the sensation of a warm, solid object being held between their arms. When their eyes shot open, they barely stopped themselves from screaming at the sight of Sunday, who looked at them with a tired frown.

“Sorry,, I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just feeling unwell, and I thought…” He didn’t finish his sentence.

“It’s alright. I’m just, a little surprised. You don’t really seem like the type of guy who’d enjoy this kind of stuff.”

“‘Stuff’…?”

“Yeah. You know, like, closeness.”

“Really? Hm.” He turned his head away, deep in thought.

“I guess you’re right.“ He nearly whispered, pulling his arm away.

The silence that followed was painfully awkward. So much so, that [Name] decided to speak the first thought that came to mind:

“Can I touch your wings?”

“Sorry?”

“I want to touch your wings. They look super fluffy.”

Sunday narrowed his eyes, wondering where they obtained such courage. A halovian’s wings were just about sacred, and most only allowed those closest to them to do as much as stare at them for extensive amount of time. And still…

“You may. But, please be careful. They’re very sensitive, and tear easily.”

“Wait, really? I wasn’t really expecting you to let me..” [Name] was dumbfounded.

“I suppose so. The idea doesn’t make me uncomfortable, as I… Truly appreciate you. It feels like you’re the only person that has seen me as human in an embarrassingly long time. This is the least I can do to express my gratitude.” He leaned in closer, extending the wings on the side closest to [Name]. They didn’t speak, only reaching out to pet the wing sticking out from under his shirt. Sunday was surprised, as he figured they’d first pick the carefully preened, pristine, and intact wing on his head.

“It’s so soft..” they gasped, brushing a finger along the trimmed edge of the appendage. They then moved on to his upper wing, scratching behind it like one would with a cat.

Sunday metaphorically melted, gently collapsing onto [Name]. His eyes closed contently as his roommate continued their exploration of his features.

Unfortunately, their happiness didn’t last long. The distinct sound of wood being axed through snapped both people out of their relaxed state. Sunday jumped out of bed, and out the bedroom door. The sound was coming from the front entrance- which was stupid, as it was unlocked, much like any other door in the town. He crossed his arms, glaring at the widening hole in his door.

Upon completely decimating the wooden structure, a furious mob of followers of the Order barged in, carrying pitchforks and unlit torches. Sunday blinked in disbelief, if only for a couple seconds.

“You liar… Murderous whoreson of a cunt! How could you… How? Do you even realize how many people have lost or wasted their lives on your fuckass cult!? You will pay for this!” A man near the front screamed, spit flying onto Sunday as he did so. He wiped it off his face, giving his subjects a tired smile.

“My children, please. This must all be one great misunderstanding. I urge you to lay your weapons down, and explain to me what crime exactly you think it is that I committed.” He clasped his hands together, eyes closing inoffensively. Once again, his communication attempt was met with a slap.

“Misunderstanding? Hah. Tell that to The Devil! Tie him!” The man ordered, in response to which, the follower of Harmony stepped forward, rope in hand. As they stood parallel to Sunday, they opened their eyes for the first time. The blue outer ring transforming into a deep purple one didn’t look the least bit human, and neither did the grey sclera. If anything, such colors more closely resembled the written description of Ena, if only reversed.

It was then that it clicked.

Sunday began to twitch, in what seemed like the unfortunate moment where the psyche of a tortured man finally shattered. Hell, maybe that was accurate. He soon began to laugh, louder than he ever had before.

As he found himself preoccupied with that, Xipe gave him one last pitiful glance.

“I’m sorry.” THEY mouthed, beginning to bind his arms and wings.

[Name] gripped the edge of the bedroom doorframe. They had been observing for the entirety of the conflict, frozen. Perhaps, if the sea of people didn’t extend well past the confines of the house, they would’ve tried to help Sunday.

“See? He’s gone far past mad- Wait, should we do something about [Name]?” A villager questioned another, causing Sunday to cease his laughter.

“Absolutely. Burn the entire house down, everything he’s touched is tainted.”

“Are you insane? They’re pretty new. What do you think are the chances that they knew?” A third chimed in.

“[Name] didn’t know. It… It was all on me. I’m the one who lied to you. I deceived each and every one of you in pursuit of control. I corrupted the pure intentions of Gopher Wood, and, I ended his life via poison. I am the only culprit.” Sunday tensed, frantically looking around to see how many people believed his faux confession. Of course, only the first sentence was even remotely true. However, if he were to die today, there was no reason to drag the dead and the innocent along with him.

The villagers fell silent, looking between each other in a silent discussion.

“I believe him.” Xipe said, tugging on Sunday’s binds as THEY lead him towards the door, clearing a path through the mob.

The crowd followed, much like a herd of sheep would. This left [Name] alone, and confused.

When the silence became deafening, they hurried to follow. They figured that even if they couldn’t physically be that close to him during whatever was going to happen, then being there at all might make Sunday feel less alone. Even if what he’d confessed was true; which they didn’t fully believe, he did save their life. This was the least they could do for him.

Tears rolled down Sunday’s face, shining golden from the bright sunlight seeping into them. He was awarded the courtesy of choosing when he’d be ended, and he picked sundown. He’d been nailed to a cross, through his hands, wings, and shoulders. The fallen priest was in utter agony, and yet, he was quite alright with this.

Xipe took the same role Sunday had all those years ago; the killer. The villagers were seething, and craved nothing but blood. So, they all collectively decided Sunday was going to be nailed, burnt, and finally shot in the neck. Xipe offered THEMSELVES as executioner. No mortal deserved to have to live with the fact they were the direct cause of another human being’s untimely demise…

As THEIR lit torch approached the kindling, Xipe gazed into Sunday’s eyes once more. They smiled. It was barely visible, yet earnest.

Sunday returned the gesture, inhaling the last breath of fresh air he’d ever take.

[Name] kneeled in front of the charred, bloodied, and decaying corpse of Sunday. They didn’t even think he saw them in his final moments, ergo, they exposed themselves to his disgustingly brutal end for nothing.

They dipped their head, placing the bouquet of wild flowers they’d picked from the clearing which Sunday introduced them to, at his feet.

“Do you want to bury him?”

“…What?” [Name] turned, recognizing the voice as Sunday’s executioner.

“You cared about him. I doubt you want him to publicly rot for..What, a decade?”

“Yeah.”

“Stand. And take the flowers. I’ll carry him.”

And so, they did. In the same clearing the flowers had been picked from, [Name] and Xipe had buried Sunday. They didn’t mark his grave, deciding to finally let him rest.

“So? What will happen now? To everyone in the town, I mean. I don’t know about anyone else, but I have nowhere to go, and a town without a leader is a town without laws. But they’re all so violent…”

“Hm..Penacony has a place for all. Even with their violent tendencies, they can learn and grow.”

“So, why couldn’t Sunday?”

“Despite not knowing what he even believed in, Sunday thought he was nothing without Order. No matter what anyone could ever try, he’d refuse to change. It’s unfortunate, but, he should be allowed to make his own choices.”

“…But that’s so unfair.”

“Being forced into obedience would be equally unfair, no? Sunday died on his own terms.”

“I guess. It’s just, sad.”

[Name] received no reply. They felt as if the other presence had suddenly vanished, but didn’t bother to confirm this.

They laid down next to Sunday’s resting place, closing their eyes. They still struggled to comprehend how their life had taken such a horrible turn so quickly.

It didn’t matter now. [Name] yawned, rolling over onto the side they were most comfortable on. Upon waking, they’d set off to Penacony, where they would find a job and make a living for themselves. But tonight, they just wanted a semblance of a proper farewell to the cozy lifestyle they had grown so accustomed to, and to the man that made it all possible.

#sunday x reader #sunday x you #sunday x y/n #sunday honkai star rail x reader #sunday hsr #sunday hsr x reader #honkai star rail fanfic #sunday fanfic #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader

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gwyns · 7 months

Note

E/riel’s call Elain introverted, quiet, and shy, but she’s the opposite. Before she became Fae she loved balls and social settings. She would dance with and personally greet each person. Nesta even says that Elain used to love balls in Silver Flames. In my opinion, I think Elain is traumatized. This is understandable, she’s been through a lot. The only reason E/riel’s try to make Elain shy and quiet canon is so they can make her and Azriel more alike. But at the same time I’ve also seen E/riel’s talk about how Elain is exactly like Mor.💀 Extroverted, ray light/sunshine, and loves parties. Like which one is it? Shy, quiet, and introverted, or outgoing, social, and bubbly? They like to pick and choose what fits their narrative for their ship, characterization and canon be damned.

that's just it, elain was literally raised to be the perfect lady and she thrives in that kind of setting. their mother kind of put all of her stock in nesta, yes, but nesta didn't truly like that society. elain did, she had friends in those circles, she was good at organizing parties and being a hostess. she truly shines in that area and it's sad that her supposed fans think she's better closed off and shy and unsure of herself. that's not a healthy elain

it drives me insane when e/riels say elain is the sunshine to az's shadows, no!!!! elain herself needs sunshine, she's been described as a flower throughout the series and her mate is sunshine personified. az doesn't need sunshine, something that chases his shadows away. he needs moonlight, that's a shadow's true companion and isn't it funny that sjm introduced a character that fits that aesthetic in acosf?

as sjm once said: it's obvious

#antielriel #anti e/riel #acotar #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #elucien #azriel #gwyneth berdara #gwynriel #asks #anonymous

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decafdoodlez · 3 months

Text

Fic Submission from @skuppenish 🖤

Note from @skuppenish: HEY SO I AM HOUSE SITTING, and the last time I was house sitting I wrote you a thing, so here, have another thing! Wooo! Warning: it's just straight PWP, whoops. 🫠 Also, it has minimal editing! DOUBLE WHOOPS 💀

word count: 2.9k

warnings/tags: NSFW | Dubcon, PWP, 100% Smut, written with AFAB OC x Canon in mind, captive/captor themes, power imbalance, age difference (all adults are 25+), nipple play, degradation, breeding themes, rough fucking, drawing blood/marking, overall Fox being a dirty old man with his sweet little babydoll, Rina~

“This is meant as a punishment, you know.” The words pour out of him through sharp, gritted teeth, through a moan, through a snarl. Despite the violence building up behind them – despite the need, and the hunger – he speaks slowly, each and every one delivered at a punishing, even cadence that matches the rhythm of his hips as buries his cock inside of her. “A pun-ish-ment,” he reiterates, drawing that particular one out as he slams his hips forward into her soft, plush ass, his steadily thickening cock filling her weeping cunt.

Marina doesn’t say anything. Marina buries her face in the soft, tangled sheets and cries, and cries, and cries, and it doesn’t matter how all those layers of fabric muffles the noise. Fox’s ears prickle, quirking at the sound, a wide and leering smile splitting his face. She can try to hide it as much as she wants, but he can hear it clear as day. There, now: there’s the music of her sobs, working through her body in waves. And there, there in a moan of her own is her voice pitched high and sweet like the peal of a church bell.

He hears it as clear as any sinner would on a sunbright, Sunday morning. There’s no escaping it. Not that he’d want to –

Not that he’d ever want to.

It fills the room, no matter how she tries to smother it. It fills his ears, and his head, swelling up and building in his chest until he’s laughing, until his laughter joins her precious, mewling chorus. The way she cries, it’s a psalm, a hymn – a promise of heaven he’s far too rotten to ever deserve. Fox has a place waiting for him in hell, he’s sure of it. Once, he might have regretted that. Now, he acknowledges it gladly, and with all the eager selfishness of any of God’s own damned.

Until the fires come to claim his black-rot soul, he will live this life on earth to its fullest.

He will take what is his to take.

“I’m sorry!” Her cheek is pressed into the bedding, now. He can see her face through the spill of her hair, fair skin flushed red through a spill of her pale gold hair. “I’m sorry – I’m sorry!” Now it's her turn, crying out her repentance in a sin-soaked rhythm. Now those words break off in pieces, shattered apart by each unrelenting thrust as he bottoms out in her tight pussy. I’m - so - rry! I’m - so - rry! The syllables are fragmented, choked and halting between sobs and hiccups. Cheeks gleaming in the low light, her face is wet and sweet with tears. Fox can imagine how they taste. Salt, salt, and more salt, so sweet, somehow, on his insatiable tongue.

He holds her hands behind her back, his fingers biting and vice-like around her wrists. With her pinned down and bent over the edge of the bed, he can look down at her and survey what’s his. Against his own legs, he can feel her own tremble, watch them, savor the sight of her thick, beautiful thighs as they quiver with each thrust. They’re white too, so pale, like snow, like cream, and a shudder works its way through his whole body as he reaches out with one clawed hand and buries it into the perfect curve of her hip.

White skin, pink scars – and now red, red, wet and red.

Like knives, his claws sink into her. Around them, Marina’s flesh gives way, soft and easy like her battered cunt does around his cock. He isn’t looking at that, though. He isn’t looking at her thigh. Rather his eyes are fixed on her face, savoring the way her head tilts back, the way her eyes, already closed, squeeze tighter. Transfixed and frozen like an addict before his favorite vice, he cannot look away from the way her sweet mouth parts around a broken shriek of pleasure-strangled pain. Whether it’s because she’s come to like the way his nails run ragged down her already-scarred flesh or because the way he’s angled his hips to drive the head of his drooling cock against a particularly sensitive spot within her is anyone’s guess – and Fox doesn’t particularly care. All that matters to him is that she’s unutterably lovely. All that matters is the hot, wet sensation of blood against his palm, and the even hotter, wetter sensation of her cunt fluttering around his cock.

“Oh, babydoll,” he says, shaking his head, clicking his tongue against his teeth. It’s an effort to maintain this veneer of calm; watching her is tearing him apart at the seams with each and every passing second. “You know sorry isn’t enough, don’t you? Don’t you?” Against her thigh, his fingers tighten, his nails digging ever deeper. That desperate scream in her throat has given way to another moan, another messy, pleading mewl, more tears, more hiccuped cries. He wishes he could bottle them up. He wishes he could bend down and take her beautiful face in his blood-wet hands and milk those cries out of her, tease and torment them out of her, filling her up again and again with his cock and with his cum –

Until she is emptied out of all of that pain and full of nothing else but him, and him, and him.

This is meant to be punishment. It is. And Fox wants it to be, he does, he really does. Wants it to hurt. Wants her to cry. Wants to rake his nails across every inch of Marina’s trembling form until every part of her perfect body is made even more perfect by his perverse adoration for her. Red wounds gone pink, pink scars gone white – and god, he thinks, fucking Christ. Her body is a masterpiece all on its own that he wants for himself. He wants to make it his in a way everyone can see, make every delicate and feminine curve of hers a roadmap of where he’s been and where he’s going –

Until everything is taken, conquered, claimed.

But she’s just so beautiful. Everything about her is. Beautiful and innocent somehow, no matter how he ruins her, no matter how many scars he gifts her, no matter how much she bleeds, or cries out, or cums like a whore on his cock. He calls her terrible things. He marks her, with wounds and his own cum, again and again, morning and day and night. Her pretty cunt is always so swollen. It’s always red, always puffy, always so tender, because he’s just so hungry, because he can’t stop fucking her, because his hunger for her is a terrible, brutal thing in him that can never be satisfied. Just one more time, he tells himself, every time. Just this one last time. Just this last taste.

The spell will break, and it will be over, and he will be free.

But Fox is an addict, and as an addict, it only ever gets worse. He only ever wants her more, and more, and more. And when Marina looks up at him with her wide, glazed eyes, lovely as lavender, cut-gem amethyst made luminous with tears – when he feels her cunt fluttering around his cock as he fucks her for the third or fourth time of the day – it’s like the first time again. It’s like the first time with her, every time.

Furiously, he grips her shoulder. He should fuck her like this, he tells himself, angry at his own lack of self-control. Keep fucking her like this, bent over the bed, like an animal would. Savage her. Break her. He’s broken her so many times before, broken her, put her back together, broken her again. She deserves it. She deserves it.

But god – god, he wants her. He wants her.

With his hand on her shoulder, his fingers wet and slick with blood, he wrenches her over and around until she’s on her back. There’s red on her thigh, and on her shoulder now, too. Red on his hand, copper scent heavy on the air, pennies on the tongue. That’s sweet, too. The sweetest perfume, the smell of her blood, the smell of her needy, wet cunt as he pushes himself back into her again, driving himself down until his balls slap at her ass.

Marina cries out. Maybe it’s the way his nails snag in her shoulder. Maybe it’s because of the frenzied way he’s humping into her, his cock swelling, his lips pulled back from his sharp, sharp teeth in an expectant, awful grin. Again, it doesn’t matter. What matters now is how badly he wants this. How badly he needs it.

How badly he wants her. How badly he needs her.

He wants her like a starving man wants for meat. Like a man suffocated needs air. He wants to fuck her. Needs to breed her. It’s a screaming, desperate sensation inside of him, millennia upon millennia of evolution, pins and needles in his extremities, a howl in his chest that claws its way up the length of his throat and snarls behind his teeth. It demands to be let out.

It demands to be sated.

Fox looks down at her and watches her as he bullies his cock inside of her. With each and every thrust, there, there, there: her perfect tits bounce, nipples swollen, budded tight and no doubt aching for him. His mouth waters as he watches them, and inside of her, his cock twitches, drooling the same way he does.

“It’s your fault,” he hears himself saying, his voice ragged, gone even more savage. “It’s your fucking fault, looking like this. God, you’re like a whore straight out of a hentai. Big tits, thick hips made to breed. God, Rina, you’re a perfect little fuckdoll – an onahole, the best little onahole, made perfect, made just to be fucked, made to be bred, made to take cock, again, again – fuck! – again!"

Again, Fox keeps saying, snarling. Again, again, over and over, in time to each devastating thrust. The hand at her shoulder lets go, moves down, catching her under her knee so he can pull her leg up and away. The other takes hold of one fat tit, his fingers spread out wide so he can savor the way her flesh pushes up between each of them. He cups it, cradles it, pushing it up even as it spills around his hand, her skin so soft, flesh so warm.

It’s meant to be punishment. It is. It’s meant to be about his pleasure, and not hers, meant to make her feel bad because she’s been bad – because she’d had goddamn audacity to talk to someone when they’d been out shopping. Fox is too selfish to allow that.

Fox isn’t willing to share.

And Marina likes it like this, he knows. On her back, with him looking down at her, with his eyes bright and hungry, fixed on her own. She likes it when he touches her this way, his fingers full of her tits, his fingers inching up, taking hold of her swollen nipple, pinching it, rolling it between his fingers until she’s writhing for more reasons than the way his cock fills and stretches her.

But he can’t help himself. God help him, he can’t help himself.

Dipping his head, his hand moves just enough to give ground to his mouth as he takes her abused nipple between his lips. Hot and starving, his tongue laves over it like the feral animal he is, sucking the tight little bud into his mouth with an undisguised moan. Around her leg, his grip tightens reflexively. Against her cunt, his hips stutter, driven by that instinct, his thrusts shallow and frantic for all the way he’s already buried deep inside of her.

Because at the base of his cock, there it is: his knot, grown heavy, thick and engorged and every bit as demanding as he is.

It’s always like this. Always. He cannot resist her tits. The way they feel in his hands, and in his mouth – the way she whimpers when he works his teeth and tongue over her nipples, so sensitive, so tender – the way she cries when his hot breath ghosts over her savaged flesh, made wet with his saliva, wet with her blood.

“Always so sensitive, Rina,” he coos, saccharine and slick as too-sweet syrup, his mouth moving against the flesh of her breast. At the shudder that takes her, Fox laughs, grinding his hips forward, always forward. “You’re like a fucking perma-virgin, every time. Little virgin slut. Pretty little onahole.”

And god, she is like a perma-virgin. Even with her cunt as wet and needy as it is – even as her own arousal coats her thighs and his invading cock both – it takes no small amount of effort to work that thick knot into her. With every new centimeter he manages to claim, she’s thrashing under him, burying her whimpered cries behind the knuckles of her hand, her fingers a convulsive tangle in the sheets of the now very unmade bed. “Take it,” he says, low and raspy, cruel with his own vicious need. His teeth latch onto her nipple, and he bites down, earning another beautiful cry. “Take it, take it,” and now it’s a hiss in his blood-filled mouth.

And there: finally. Not a second too soon, his knot is inside of her. Fox shudders above her, sucking in air through his red-wet teeth at that delicious, wonderful tightness. Beneath him, Marina trembles through her own shudder, petal-pink lips parted around a panting gasp. His knot isn’t done, they both know that. Any later and he wouldn’t have been able to fit it inside of her. Any later, and it would have been too big to manage.

Now it’s still too big, but inside of her. Now it’s too big, and there’s no getting free until he’s done.

With his hand pushed up and under her knee to give himself more room, leans over her, sinking as much as he can into her. There’s no pulling out, not even if he wanted to. Held fast inside of her by his still swelling knot, there’s no real space for leverage, and so he can only thrust forward. Quick. Needy.

Desperate.

It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t have to do much. He’s already so close.

Still, he takes her nipple into his mouth again, coaxing it up between his lips with his hot, wet tongue. And with his face buried in her soft tit, growling against her, suckling, teasing at it with his teeth, he feels that incessant and demanding pressure that never leaves him when he’s with her finally, finally give.

And god, it pours out of him. He feels it, every twitch, every throb, every convulsive pulse of his cock as it empties out all of his lust and his need for her. It fills her like his cock does, like his knot does, hot and potent, backed up and trapped there behind the too-big seal of his knot. His hips jerk and stutter like he’s a nineteen year old boy and not a forty-seven year old man – like she’s his first ever girlfriend, like she’s the first girl he’s ever touched, ever lusted over, too pretty and too perfect for him to have ever hoped to score on his own. He moans around the flesh of her tit, drool coating her skin until it’s slick like her face is with tears, like her thighs are with pre-cum and her own arousal. He moans against her, and he humps into her, all instinct again, the way his hips move – trying so hard to drive his cock deeper into her despite him already being as deep as he could ever really hope to be already.

There’s no real thoughts anymore. Nothing coherent. That’s instinct, too. Breed her. Fill her. Fuck his cum into her. The way she cries and the noises she’s making, it’s a siren song in ears. Even if she were telling him no – which she doesn’t, not anymore, not since he’d made her his good little pet – he’d know by the noises she’s making that what he’s doing is right. That what he’s doing is meant to be. That she is made for this, made for his cock, made to be fucked, again, again, again.

“Rina, Rina, little fuckdoll, little onahole.” The words are slurring, now. His tongue feels thick in his mouth like his cock feels thick between her legs, filling up her puffy, over-stretched cunt, that tight, perma-virgin cunt he can’t ever get enough of. “Rina, Rina.” Crooning her name, his hips push and push, trying to fuck his cum into her, deeper, deeper. “You deserve it. You ask for it, looking like you do. You were made for it. God – Rina. Rina.”

Half-lidded and heavy, he lifts his gaze and then his head, staring down at her through red and silver lashes. His hand slides up her thigh, up, up, trailing over the soft curve of her stomach. As if he might be able to feel the hot cum he’s pumping into her beneath it, he lays his palm there with all the reverence of someone touching something holy – –

Of some unrepentant sinner savoring the prize he has stolen out from heaven itself.

“Mine,” he says. He says it lazy, almost, lazy and tired and drunk, but no less menacing for it. There is blood on his teeth, after all.

“All mine.”

#submission #OK IM INSANE #THANK YOU SO MUCH SKUPPY I LOVED THIS I WILL BE THINKING OF IT FOR WEEKS TO COME #allie’s fic collection 🤍#tpof #tpof fox

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thebottomfromhell · 11 months

Note

I was wondering if you could do some headcanons for the upper moons realizing they’ve fallen for a human! My preference is for a male reader, but you can leave gn, no problem. What do you think is most likely to happen to the human? To die? Get eaten?! Forced to become a demon? All in peace?!

Ok, I will try to stuck as close to canon as I can in this one, since I can sense the direction this is meant to take. I will say now, this post is a reminder of what an Uppermoon is.

I always make reader to be the one making the first move, to be lovable for the Uppermons for them to actually fall in love in a stable state or the ideal state they will be able to handdle this freaks. I will also try to make it a bit funny in what is possible.

Uppermoons reaction of falling in love with Human Male Reader

Warnings: Manga spoilers, Reader's death, Cannibalism, Yandere behavior, Mentioned torture, Non consented body modifications, Coerced body modification (becoming a demon), Implied non-con sexual content, Predatory animalistic behavior, Münchausen syndrome, Vore elements (it's not kinky, but some of theses guys do consume you), Implied child abuse, Every damn of this mf are their own warnings.

Gyutaro (ft Daki):

It takes Gyutaro a while for him to realize what exactly he feels, but the second he has the slightlest idea, he is afraid.

Not of being attracted to a man, of course, 'Is normal for men to lust after other men, ne. Just look at the actors and servants in the threater. Ne. Recently they hide it a lot more, for some reason." 💀

He doesn't like liking a human, of all things. It's scary, a weakness both demons and slayers alike might abuse.

That and the fact that he is very insecure, how could you love him back? He isn't even trying, what is you decide to abuse it too? That is the closest thing he knows he could get to being with you. He is not stupid, or clueless at least, he knows he can't say "no" to the ones he cares about. (Daki, himself and Daki. And now you.)

He starts a hot and could routine, going from avoiding you completely to yeatning and searching your company. He hates it, he starts to resent you for ir. Why must you have this amount of power over him.

He also protects you. Makes sure you are ok. He will most of the time be like a shadow, not getting close or risking you getting too far.

The dynamic becomes unhealthy, obssesive, Daki also starts to resent you for it. And it's visible, she insults you, destroys your things, and even tried to harm you several. Gyutaro is the one to protect you from her.

"I HATE YOU! YOU HAVE RUINED MY ONII-CHAN! HE DESERVES BETTER THAN A PATHETIC HUMAN!"

Unless you make a move on him or reject directly, you can expect this to last until one of you die. The thing is, while is hard not to notice what Gyutaro is doing, you can easily live and get away with this. You have the protection of Uppermoon 6 in exchange of your mere presence. He doesn't force more than that on you.

Gyokko:

Gyokko figures what he wants from you almost instantly, even before fully knowing how he feels exactly.

5 weeks, give or take. That's the most you can realistically get.

He doesn't care you are a man, of course not, if he wants you why would that matter? His taste, what he defines by beauty, is his own law. Men can be beautiful, and humans can be art.

Gyokko is going to be "nice" at first, he will show you his pots, bring you eyes, hands and skin from his victims, try to teach you the right path of art.

You are a man, men can learn art, erudites are artists. You can learn, as hopeless as it seems.

Anger him once- lose a foot in his mouthes. Then the same leg to the knee, then the thigh.... you only have so much to fail. And you will. Gyokko is meant to neither get bored or tired, because as a human you just can't understand the beauty of mutating a human body against it's will, painfully and messy into a new final product. Just a shadow of a the humanity left.

Now, once you have no legs, you have two choices. Die. Or beg. Beg for hin to let you understand, to make something sublime out you.... beg and he will.

You will be awake, he will carefully, almost lovingly, open your chest, take out your heart, maybe take a bite, and he will bleed into the wounds.

Become a demon for him, to him, all his.

Hantengu:

At the slightlest possibility of falling in love with you he cowers away.

Hantengu? Hantengu? Where did he go? What do you mean you haven't seen him in 3 months? >:v

He will come back, he will always come back and grab you. He will scratch you and sob, and sob and sob-

He has never been interested in men before, he had several wives in life, but not men. Men were always scary, strong and big, he was scary once too. He is scary now, but he still feels so scared. He touches your arms, shoulders, legs, all too masculine to be soft and comforting.

He will dissapear and come back to that routine, sometimes you wake up at night with him over you, crying.

Sometimes he is scared of you, sometimes he is scared for you. You can't talk or reason to him. You try, but you are a human. He doesn't have to listen to you. You are beloved, you are food, you are big, you are handsome, you are useless, you are mortal, you are nice, you are-

He can't deal with it. He genuinely tried. He tried and failed. He needs to get rid of you, you are too much. He is so sorry, he sobs, so sorry about this. Over you at night, you were sleeping the second he stabs you chest with a knife. Once, twice, thrice, and more, more, more. And he is so sorry-

S O R R Y

Sekido:

Run....

No, really, run. He realized after a while and he is NOT happy about them. "WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO ME YOU PIECE OF SHIT?!"

You still have a chance to survive, but you must run. He must calm down and you need to get away from him before that. He will realize it's nobody's fault, but until then he will attack. Get Karaku, that is your best bet.

He doesn't care you are a man, but the fact a puny and frail human makes his hesrt beat faster, face heat up, and invade his mind to the point he is always coming for you.... he hates it, it irritates him. He is just so angry.

If you survived this part, probably with the help of the other clones, who would see it as a waste you dying right now (specially Karaku, he would do anything to annoy Sekido), he will talk to you.

"You will die. I want to spend more time with you, and that means you will die. I will get angry and kill you." He will, unless you turn into a demon, he has thought about it. That is your choice.

You might actually have a... stable relationship, if you accept. Sekido will hold you through all the process as he bleeds into a bite he himself did in your shoulder, taking a bite before forcing you to fade into something else.

He is not planning to let you go now that you are his.

Karaku:

He already knew he lusted you the first night, nothing new. You take that as a chance of survival, for YEARS [you are living a lot more as a human than anyone else].

He both takes you and let you take him, sometimes he is very insistent. "C'mon, don't bore me. Have fun with me or I might get rid of ya."

He also openly flirts with you, not csring for your gender, gets you gifts, kisses you, takes care of you. He makes sure to be worth the while. He is careful, you always feel pleasure with him, even when you don't want to.

"You are so handsome, so good for me~ yes, you are a very good boy. I want to be like this with you forever."

It takes him years, he realizes it's not normal lust, there is more. He wants more. He should have already getting bored of you, but he didn't. He never will.

For the first time he actually hurts you during sex, he bites your neck to the point you bleed, moaning against the taste, you get tired from the effort and blood loss. Everything gets numb, heavy, and you close your eyes as you are deep within him

You will open them without any memories, just a new, hungry and bloodthirsty body. And him offering himself to a new you.

Urogi:

Urogi doesn't want to hurt you, that is good.

Urogi wants to play with you and have your constant attention... that is not so good. Because he will hurt you.

He scratches, bites, pushes you around, forces you to run as he chases through the sky. How are you supposed to last in anything against him. But again, he doesn't want to hurt you, so he doesn't get angry of this.

He more often than not licks the blood and the wounds he caused, then cuddles into your lap. Smell your masculine scent from your scrotch when he uses your legs as a pillow and from your neck when he sits on them, he likes being over you.

But again, Urogi is meant to get bored of your limits while playing with you. You were actually already expecting it the night he decides to make a drastic move.

That night be hasically bit your wrist off, tasting your flesh, moaning as he enjoys the taste. You don't get to run away again, too tired and hurt, as he finishes the meal before forcing his own flesh in your mouth.

If you have trouble biting, the he will bite a part off and chew it for you before feeding you mouth to mouth, force both blood and tissue into your throat with his tongue.

You will become a demon you you can both play more.

Aizetsu:

"It's so sad, pitiful, that I'm attracted to you. A human of all things." ..... that was hurtful.

You made his heart beat slightly and gave him a knot on his throat. His honest thought was "WHY a human?" Something that he is meant to lose, no matter what. That is so sad.

He pities himself more than he pities you, but that doesn't stop him from keeping you around. He is gentle and soft, if it wasn't because of his nature it would almost be endearing. You talk, you walk together, sometimes he even holds you.

He doesn't mind that you are a man, but he can't take the thought of you leaving him. He makes sure to be pitiful around you, to manipulate you into letting him take advantage that you are weak in every sense. Soon, you are the one cuddling and comforting.

He kills you at the first problem to arise, Sekido using you to threat him into "becoming more useful". Better know than waiting to become even more attached, that will only make it sadder. He is so sad already, but he wants to evade being too miserable.

He will kiss your first, thank you for everything, let you have your last words and last wish. Then he will make it fast, painless.

He will kiss your corpse again before making himself a memorial for you. So sad.

Nakime:

DENIAL IS A RIVER IN EGYPT-

She is in love with a MAN? Like... a man?(PTSD of dead husband. She killed him.)

I'm sorry, you have at most an hour left to live, she is not dealing with so much. (Ok, let's be real, she might actually kill you, so just give her space.)

[Only one that actually reacts to your gender, like... why a man?]

She is as chill as she can be, so as long as you don't look at talk to her, look at her and evade her the best you can she will just let you be.

You being a man is an annoyance, even if that is the first though of you, it's easy to get over. You being a human... she is very loyal to Muzan (she doesn't count him as a man, he's god to demons, ofc), she would never put you over him.

She will actually talk the issue to you once she is ready, make the offer. Let you become a demon. She will transform you herself if you accept, if not then the will just throw you out her realm.

You will never hear a whisper of her again, she won't kill you herself, not waisting her time and effort in you. Her husband didn't deserve it, and she is seeing you like that too.

You should be able to live your own life as long as you don't ever cross any interdimentional door again. If you do...

Dead end.

Akaza:

Slow burn what slow burn? He falls fast and hard, too fast and hard for his own liking. So what if you are a man? He was never picky.

"BECOME A DEMON SO WE CAN BE TOGETHER FOR ETERNITY!!" Dude, chill! You both just met an hour ago! He is obssesed. Too obssesed.

Akaza will hurt you, will show you how weak you are, tease of how you could be more. He wants you, he wants you a lot, too much for his own good. It pains him.

He will bring you to the brink of death, while not really trying to kill you. Similar to a cat with a mouse. He will let you in the brink of death once and let you heal, sometimes even heal you himself (talk about Münchausen syndrome). He will do it again, and again, and again.

If you don't accept from all the torture, the now broken and useless limbs and bones, senses wrecked, constant pain in your body and a giant exhaustion after all the times he had his ways with you.

He even starts taking care of you, Akaza cleans the house since you can't even stand anymore, he cooks and learns your favorite recipes, he washes your clothes, takes you out to walks at night in his back, gets money (you don't know how and you are too scared to ask), he nurses you,

He won't turn you unless you consent to it, even if every day it looks less like a choice and more like the only way to get out. Sometime you wish he didn't make you have to choose.

If you never become a demon he will keep you like this until you die of... pain? Age? Exhaustion? Who knows? But you will die with the responsible of your state tending your wounds.

Douma:

Ok, listen, whatever you do, don't make any sudden movement, your situation is pretty delicate. There is still a chance of getting out alive NO, THAT'S A LIE, JUST PANIC AS MUCH AS YOU WANT, YOU'RE DEAD

Douma thinks he is feeling hunger around you as he craves and lust for you💀💀 he also thinks you're funny and dummy.. Like hell he can name whatever he is feeling but IT'S NOT SAFE

He wants you around, but he is always sure you will try to leave like Kotoha did. This has already happen once. Does he regrets his actions? Is he even able to regret besides sometimes wishing she was still around?

You are nothing like her. You are not even a "her", so he doesn't even understand why he compares you both so much. But he sees it. You will try to leave, no matter how nice, how kind, how generous, how serving he is with you. You will leave if he doesn't do something about it.

Transform you into a demon? So you could actually get the power you would need to run away? It would only take one Uppermoon meeting and you would be gone by the time he was back home. He is not dumb enough to think anyone would help him find you.

He eats you, taking his time with you. He will start hugging and kissing you, not caring if you want it or not. He will first bite you mouth so you can talk, can't ask for help if someone hears you scream (his followers would take his words over your, how would they take some non-intelligent screams over his voice then?)

Then he would rip your legs so you can't run, before eating him in front of you, praising the taste, kissing you to share it, commenting on hiw your skin and tissue feel in his mouth. After the legs, he waits for you to "calm down" (you are actually dying, losing blood) before finsihing without any rush.

He would keep talking to you even after your heart stopped beating. Be as gently as he can. Once he finishes, he will be satisfied. Not only his stomach is full, but you will be forever inside him. Lovely.

Kokushibou:

.... he barely realizes.

This is a married widow samurai, his priority is his sword to surpass his long dead brother

But he likes, he thinks you're handsome. Attractive. Not that he would ever try to put it into words. (Someone tell this guy that no, not EVERY man is attracted to other men but marries a woman they don't even like because of obligation. That some people are ACTUALLY attracted to their opposite gender and spouse.)

[His wife though he was gay once he heard Michikatsu left her and their children to follow another man. Like bitch, did he even explain they were brothers?]

But again, beside just looking at you, does he even care? Does he even have anything in his heart besides this desire, this craving, this greed for power? To be more powerful than his own little brother? To take the place he was promised as the warrior, the gentleman of the gentry, that he was so afraid Yoriichi would take away?

It's never about you, even when he is with you. He will stay with you in silence, sometimes watch you from the distance, but it's never about you.

It's about himself. It's always about himself. You are only a pleasure that, like those days he visited his little brother, so lonely and weird, a freak that barely reacted to anything in his cage, (are those his thoughts or just the resentment inside him? Is it even real or Muzan somehow made it worse?) will fade away, and he will hate those moments and you.

You are a human, you are meant to die. He likes you, so he will keep you around, but nothing else. Kokushibou loves you know, and he will hate you in 100 years more, once you are gone. Simple as that.

He will cry and hate you the second your corpse touches the ground. Like Yoriichi did.

#demon slayer #kny #upper moons #kny x reader #karaku #urogi #gyutaro #sekido #aizetsu #hantengu #gyokko #nakime #douma #akaza #kokushibou #this is royally fucked up #i had fun making this #top reader

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bigfemboyenergy · 3 months

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oh no not again sighh

welcome back to another case of I REMEMBERED HOW MUCH I LOVE BILL CIPHER AND GRAVITY FALLS

im already swamped with things in my brain and i feel like unproductive shit bc i havent spoken to anyone in hours but! thats okay ig i dont n e e d human interaction right.. haha??

bill cipher though. he has a canon human design (which i assume is mostly a joke but HUH) which is crazy and nightmarish and disgusting (creativity be damned, its horrific, love that for him)

and like ive been desperately waiting for the book of bill for several months now

AND AND topic change!!! i really love writing dipper bc hes a nerd and im a nerd and i genuinely adore his character (sorry mabel likers /j) so i want to write more BUT ITS PROBABLY CRINGE IF I ADD ANYTHING “flavorful” TO IT 💀💀 but uh i think i might just self indulge in a dip & dan just randomly meeting thing i came up with in a comic forever ago mmm

anyway, it goes like this;

Dipper, tired of the repetitiveness of his days working in the Mystery Shack, decides to take a short walk. Just for..”some air”, as he told Mabel, but deep down he knows that isn’t true. He has this yearn for adventure that he wants to fulfill, but he wants to do it alone- a bit unusual for him, he thinks. Alas, he leaves the Shack, determined to find something of interest. He takes with him his very own journal, formatted just like Ford’s, tucked safely under one of his arms.

Walking through the familiar forest around the Mystery Shack, Dipper takes his time to look around. The tall, thick oak trees, the weeds growing from all around the worn, dirt path he’s walking down..it’s very beautiful, but as it grows dark, it feels much more mystical. He takes a small, stable breath as he chooses to stray from the path, the sun lowering in the sky, leaving the moonlight to guide him. This is when Dipper realizes..he forgot to bring a flashlight.

With a slightly-frustrated sigh, he turns to head back home to the Shack, but finds himself a bit lost. Giving up quickly, for the sake of his unparalleled desire to explore, he pushes onwards into the woods. It isn’t long before he wishes he had gone back. The darker it gets, the harder it is for Dipper to keep himself calm. He’s always been fairly paranoid, but in a forest as enchanting and mysterious as this, especially due to the dark, he’s finding it hard not to worry.

As his anxiety builds, fear flowing through his veins as the sky continues to darken above him, the trees towering over him growing thicker as he continues to walk deeper into the woods, only making it harder to see..he finds a light. A soft, calming glow, almost calling out to him. It’s a peaceful green, a bit bewildering, but it does wonders for his anxiety in the moment, before he realizes that something is clearly in the forest with him. However, despite his earlier fear, he can’t seem to feel nearly as scared, the soft light almost comforting him. Taking a second to think, though not nearly enough to make a rational decision, he heads towards the light. Slowly and carefully, he walks towards it, watching as he starts to make out a figure, the supposed source of the glow.

As he continues his slow approach, he stops every few seconds to hide, not wanting to alert the being to his presence. At least he is wary enough to know he could be in danger, though Dipper somewhat laments his lack of thought earlier.

Once he’s close enough to really get a good look, Dipper feels his heartbeat speed up with both excitement and terror. The being looks so human, and yet it all feels so fascinating, as he knows it truly can’t be just that. They appear to be a boy not much older than him, with white hair and..glowing green eyes! Now knowing the source of the light, Dipper feels rather accomplished. He decides that, once he gets home, he’ll postpone everything just to write a bit about this in his journal.

In his excitement, however, Dipper hears a twig crack beneath his feet as he takes a step forward. Without a moment’s hesitation, the boy’s head turns to face his direction; though, luckily, Dipper had already hidden himself behind some close-growing trees, and therefore hasn’t yet been spotted. The boy slowly moves towards Dipper, his feet making no sound, the crunching of the grass and crackling of twigs that would normally come with walking through such a forest..surprisingly not present.

Dipper bursts into a run, panic setting in. He wasn’t thinking for just a second, and now he’s alerted the person to his presence.. he can’t think, he can’t stop, his brain is just telling him to move, his fight or flight kicking in, leading him to run and run with no end in sight. After a long while, with a bit of tripping and getting caught on branches, he finds himself at the edge of the treeline, back at the Mystery Shack. It doesn’t look like the boy followed him. With a long, shaky sigh, Dipper cracks a smile. He did ask for an adventure, and that was just what he got. Entering the Mystery Shack, he immediately heads up the stairs and to his room, eagerly flipping open to a fresh page of his journal, not hesitating to write things down.

Not sparing a detail, he describes the mystery person; a boy of white hair, green eyes, pale skin, and with an eerie, ghastly glow, who makes not a sound when he walks through such an undergrowth-heavy forest.. It intrigues Dipper to no end. He can’t help but want to learn more..

Next time, he thinks, he won’t forget to bring a flashlight.

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mahi-wayy · 4 months

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𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 | 𝑫𝑯𝑹𝑼𝑽𝑨

• General • Romantic [both sfw and nsfw]

A/n : these can be requested for a particular character through my asks!!

I - GENERAL

Dhruva has a canon habit of fidgeting other than that he doesn't like his hands empty and over time starts wearing rings (yes more than one) to fidget with when he can't find a pen.

He does not enjoy going out of his circle, rarely seen at social events unless it's absolute nesscary or his team was dragging him along.

Adores house gatherings, just him and his friends chilling after a long day, week or month of a case.

Can handle his drink, had a smoking habit in his college days but got rid of it before it got bad.

Developed insomnia thanks to his overworking ass, Karan and Ranveer have found him passed out on his desk several times.

The level of sarcasm he uses is unreal 😭💀🤚🏻

Does not and absolutely CANNOT live without his coffee.

Overthinks everything damn thing, refuses to budge from it until he gets a outcome he wants.

Has slight anxiety thanks to the said overthinking.

Very irritable during a particular bad insomnia episode.

Lost in his own thoughts even in a party where the speakers are damaging ear levels of volume.

God level concentration/observation powers.

Dumb when it comes to emotions.

Has absolutely NO IDEA how to deal with his own feelings let alone others.

Suffered heavy depression after Gautam's death and the whole Siddharth case but refuses to see a doctor.

Developed a degree of separation anxiety when it comes to his friends and partner.

Under no circumstances should be left in closed spaces without a purpose, has claustrophobia to a extent.

It triggers his anxiety.

Doesn't remember much of his childhood memories, the ones he does are majorly blurry.

Not much recollection of his parents, except that his dad was in police too and his mom was a homemaker.

Religiously visits temples on Tuesdays and Saturdays.

DO NOT go near him when he is working, he snaps very easily, especially if it includes drugs.

Has some level of PTSD which he again refuses to admit.

Passes out of exhaustion very two weeks.

II - ROMANTIC

SFW

Will never make the first move, his partner has to be the one to do it.

Catches on very quick about them liking him but plays oblivious.

For the longest time he didn't and still somewhere doesn't understand the concept of love.

Has had male crushes through out his college.

Yes Gautam was one of them at one point.

Doesn't talk about his feelings, has to be coaxed by his partner.

Takes forever to accept that he is infact attracted or in love.

Toxic levels of devotion can be observed once he does.

Enjoys in home dates instead of going out.

Cooking together>>> Date in restaurant.

Enjoys quite evenings of just reading to his partner.

NSFW

He is a sub in every way possible.

Service top dhruva >>>>

Cries because he feels so good.

Slips in subspace very easily.

Soft moaning and deep groans.

Needs to get his brain fucked out once a month. for his own good.

Can't take orgasm denial.

Cries but secretly enjoys overstimulation.

Has a praise kink size of a mansion.

VERY MINIMAL degradation when he is being a brat.

A very light pain kink.

Blindfold? Yes. Hands tied? Yes. Gag? Yes.

Enjoys sensory deprivation.

Did I mention crying easily?

__________

tags : @voidsteffy @warnermeadowsgirl @mayakimayahai @vijayasena

#dhruva #dhruva movie #dhruva x reader #headcanons #mahi rambles

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expired-monster-craft-smp · 1 year

Text

Leon Kennedy headcanons because he has infected my little homosexual monkey brain like the plague

- Bites the skin on his lower lip as a habit and picks at it mindlessly

- Like he won’t even realize his lip is bleeding

- Leon has sharp canine teeth and is constantly accidentally biting his tongue, the inside of his lip, and the inside of his cheeks like, exceptionally hard (almost always has a small open wound in his mouth, lots of scars)

- Prefers plain mint gum over spearmint gum, usually only chews sugar free gum as well

- Super flexible (which is canon tbh) and he loves doing stretches

- He sleeps and sits in strange positions because of his flexibility so things that are super comfy for him might be damn near impossible for others to do

- (slight chreon) Chris has definitely gotten distracted by Leon stretching because goddamn why he is so flexible???

- Leon prefers thicker soups over thinner ones

- The least picky eater imaginable oh my god he’ll literally eat nearly anything if you tell him it’s edible I stg

- (RE2 Leon and a bit of RE4) A little insecure about his babyface, like if he walked into a bar he would definitely get carded and he’s just kinda like “man :(“

- Used to be a dog person but now he’s kinda afraid of them due to the trauma he has with dog B.O.W.s

- Leon is often compared to a cat by Chris (he thinks the man is very cat-like, especially with how he likes to sit/sleep and his personality)

- Doesn’t smoke but has hit a younger coworkers vape once and his eyes teared up from him trying to hold in his coughing (he liked the flavour though, it was strawberry kiwi ice)

- Prefers pistols and close-combat weapons (such as his knife) over semiautomatic weapons

- Leon is autistic. That’s all I have to say about that

- Violently bisexual but in denial about liking men (he’s already bad with women, he doesn’t wanna think about how it’d go with men 💀)

- Like to sit in ways that stretch out his legs, likes to stand/lean against walls so he can stretch his legs. He takes up a lot of room because of this but he will move if needed

- The only reason he’s still allowed to have his license is because he works for the government

- Usually though the government will provide him transportation for everyone’s safety

- Can only cook really simple meals and can never eat/deal with meat a few days after a particularly rough mission

- He more often than not has nightmares and is an extremely light sleeper

- Leon really doesn’t get a lot of sleep and has to resort to sleep pills fairly often

- His one-liners and jokes keep him grounded as he does missions

- It’s also why he prefers to wear fingerless gloves! The gloves protect his palms but being able to feel things directly to his fingers can be helpful in keeping him grounded and focused on the mission

- HATES insects and will kill them but will gently take spiders out of the room and outside with the cup and paper trick

- If he’s drinking to relax he’ll have a fruity cocktail or something sweet but if he’s drinking to forget/cope he’ll choose something that’ll burn his throat going down

I have way more so I’ll probably make another list at some point <3

#resident evil leon #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #re2 leon #re4 leon #leon headcanons #leon kennedy headcanons #chreon #just a smidge #as a little treat

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teashoptiramisu · 2 months

Note

hello! this blog seems pretty inactive so im sorry if this is annoying, but i dont know who to ask 💀 do you!! have any fic recs? (I really really wanna see more zuko + gaang found family stuff and also anything with an azula redemption arc would be very cool but I dont know how to find good stuff since im very new to the fanbase so.. hope this is ok! (I am literally always late to fandoms it’s so sad)

also, if there’s any place, like a discord server or tumblr community where I can ask for recs, that would be very helpful to know!! the brainworms must be fed

I haven't been maintaining my queue but I'm around (well, sometimes)! And no worries, if I found asks annoying I would turn them off.

As I said last time, it's been a while since I read a lot of ATLA fic -- but I still have my old favorites! That post also has advice for finding fic recs (particularly geared towards fans of muffinlance but I think it's solid advice in general) -- unfortunately I don't know of any dedicated fic reccing community, just specific people you can follow such as @/captainkirkk and @/royaltealovingkookiness

But yeah look through my bookmarks, look through muffinlance's bookmarks, look through the bookmarks of authors whose fics you like!

Some specific recs:

[my eternal faves are all works by muffinlance and The Dragon-King's Temple -- but you probably already know about those]

The Best Path by EudociaCovert -- I know you said Zuko+gaang but my favorite found family fic is this one, which is Zuko, Jet, and Smellerbee canon divergence from "Zuko Alone". I think it's a little off the beaten path (heh) these days so I wanted to give it a shout.

close your eyes, make a wish by atleastwestoletheshow (Silverwolf329) -- canon universe gaang-bonding-with-zuko-while-fighting-together fic

definitely not suspicious at all in the least by presumenothing (justjoy) -- kinda similar to the above, more of a heist maybe

Big Damn Heroes by Damkianna -- the GAANG in SPACE!! very fun AU, good Zuko content

How It's Done by ryfkah -- the gaang forms a pro-bending team (like in LoK season 1, but you can probably read this even if you haven't seen Legend of Korra)

Tea? by thesometimeswarrior -- Iroh and Azula post-canon, start to an Azula healing arc

and it's my whole heart (weighed and measured) by agentcalliope -- another Azula post-canon fic I found interesting

#fic recs #also @followers if anyone has any newer fics to rec please share!!#I like hearing about new stuff in the fandom even if i'm not reading as much atla fic these days #zuko #the gaang #azula

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chaoticbardlady99 · 10 months

Text

Lethal Woman- Chapter 6 (GN! AFAB! Reader x Astarion) 18+ MDNI

Author note- work has kicked my ass left right and center. I also deleted my draft of this chapter like three separate times until I finally wrote something I loved.

CW- mentions of still birth, mentions of miscarriage, smut, fluff (I think? Any emotional intimacy is fluff to me 💀), mentions of torture, mentions of rape/sexual assault, mentions of physical and emotional abuse, violence. (I think that may be all? Also this all looks not awesome, but I promise it’s a lot more awesome than you think and not Uber grotesque.)

It’s been mostly edited and I definitely have chapter 7 basically done so I’m anticipating being happy with my draft by Sunday. Happy reading! Thank you for everyone who likes my little self indulgent angst fic!!!!

Also- please remember I take creative liberties. A good chunk of the Nightmasks are dead canonically (RIP my guys) but for the purpose of this story, they are alive. Oh and the names are hard so forgive me for the lack of consistent spelling lmao

Chapter 7

“Ugly, wretched little thing.”

Dahlia’s term of endearment sticks to your brain like- well- an illithid parasite. You are sitting with Karlach and Shadowheart, each of you on your fourth glass of whatever alcohol you could find as the Tieflings jovially celebrate around you. You want to feel the same warmth and happiness everyone else does, but you are too busy trying to ignore the fact that Alfira and Astarion have been talking since the beginning of the party- Alfira immediately walking up to him with her stupid, beautiful face. And her stupid kind heart and pretty voice.

You liked her enough to be her friend, but now? You are struggling not to haul her off by her horns and kick her into the river in the stinking Owlbear den.

Get yourself together Rowan, it was never going to happen anyway.

“Soldier, you might want to stop burning a hole through the Bard with your eyes- Astarion can’t tolerate fire remember?,” Karlach jests and you give her a sour look.

You hadn’t really talked to Astarion since earlier in the day when he had come to your aid when Priestess Gut had a firm grip on your mind, then he fought by your side while you freed Halsin. You had split up after that, him going to help Shadowheart and Karlach and you off to support Wyll and Gale’s group. The fight against Dror Ragozlin and his crew of misfits was easy and Lae’zel evidently enjoyed getting to fight next to you for once. You wanted to enjoy the moment with your companions, your victory just in your grasp, but you had been somewhat distracted during the battle because Minthara’s thoughts had been so Gods damn loud.

You appeared to be the only one experiencing this problem- you assumed that she is specifically targeting you for a reason, but you couldn’t figure out why until she showed you a different image than the fight in front of her.

It was you, standing over a drow female in Menzoberranzan. The alley way is dark with her blood dripping into the cobblestone. You could feel Minthara’s rage- you had killed her lover.

You remember that contract now- It was one of the few you had received where it was required that the target be mutilated and you hated every second of it. Minthara was one of the few people who had ever managed to almost catch you, but you had evaded her successfully. The picture changed, she showed you a flash from Shadowheart’s perspective- it’s you and Astarion, talking in hushed voices and close to each other by the fire. The scene is far more intimate than you realized and certainly incriminating. Her voice boomed in your head.

You killed my lover. Now I’m going to kill yours.

A scream pierced the air as Karlach cried out for Shadowheart. You watched in horror as Shadowheart hit the stone wall hard and dropped flat on her face- unmoving. Karlach was at her side within seconds, trying to get her to wake up. Then Karlach pitched forward after a spell hit her. Karlach was screaming in terror at the top of her lungs and rolling around in pain. You stared at the scene for what felt like hours- rigid and mortified- until Minthara caught your attention again.

Minthara showed Astarion- fighting for his life against her as her blade nicked him and cut him superficially. Thankfully he is a lot faster than her, but your feet were moving before your brain had time to process your actions. Your rage is all consuming- every part of your body feels like it’s on fire.

Between the use of Ghost Step and Spider Crawl, you made quick work of sneaking into the battlefield. You waited for an opening- Minthara and Astarion were neck and neck, blow for blow before Minthara managed to break one of his daggers and slam the hilt of her longsword atop of his head.

Astarion stumbled backwards and fell over on his side. You tried to suppress your own nausea as you watched him struggle to get up as Minthara began menacingly moving towards him. The bloodlust in her thoughts- you could taste it on your tongue. Vengeance is in her reach, but you are not the same you when Tessa died. You will be damned if this bitch of a woman was going to torture two of your closest friends and kill the one person who has made your barely beating, locked away heart a little less heavy to carry.

You cast Evard’s Black Tentacles and manipulated them so that one vine grabbed Minthara’s right hand and ripped it away from the left- her long sword fell to the ground. You picked it up as she screamed profanities at you.

You manipulated another to wrap around her throat and it pulled her down on her knees- she faced the bridge with horror on her face as you stalked towards her with your vampiric stare. You watched as she confronted her own mortality with angry tears- her tadpole hurled profanities at you in Elvish, Drow elvish, and Common. You just smiled at her, sweetly, slowly, like you had perfected for years now.

Minthara’s tears were running down her face and she fought against the tentacles as they squeezed tighter around her throat and wrists.

The next words you had spoken in Elvish- “Say hi to your lover for me”- before you cut her head clean off her shoulders with her own weapon.

You hadn’t looked at Astarion after you had killed Minthara- you were actually too afraid to see the way he may look at you. Would he be repulsed by you? Afraid? You didn’t want to know.

So now, instead, you are stuck watching him flirt with the feminine, beautiful tiefling that you want to go and feed to the resurrected harpies (they aren’t resurrected- yet). You know it isn’t her fault- you just never stood a chance.

“Roo, really, he is barely focusing on her,” Shadowheart says with a roll of her eyes, “he keeps looking over here at you anyway.”

“Oh I’m sure he is after I brutally murdered someone in front of him,” you cross your arms, your tone laced in venom, “yeah that’s a real attractive quality to have- I am capable of brutal MURDER.”

Shadowheart goes to protest, but Karlach beats her to it.

“I don’t know Soldier, he looked pretty dazzled to me.”

You bust up laughing, choking on some of your wine.

“Dazzled, you say?”

“Razzle DAZZLED!” Karlach offers big explosive hands with her statement, “and I mean- he’s into blood so it’s not like you beheading something is all that damning. Maybe he’s really into it.”.

You choke on your wine again, this time it comes out of your nose. You are both dying laughing now, evidently the alcohol had gotten to your heads. It wasn’t because you were making fun of him- it was just the whole idea itself was so ridiculous and the fact that you can nonchalantly talk about beheading a person as an endearing prospect with these two individuals is so bizarre. Shadowheart was laughing despite herself.

Eventually the three of you make your way to the firepit and join Halsin and Gale while they smoke something out of Halsin’s pipe. You ask to try it and it burns your throat as you cough harshly. Halsin laughs hardily and says you’ve passed initiation. Shit, you don’t even remember walking over to the campfire anymore.

Another hour or so passes, Astarion is out of sight and the high has worn off. You feel pleased to see Alfira standing and talking to her friend dejectedly. Maybe he rejected her? You might be a terrible person, but you feel like you already knew that.

You feel overwhelmed all of a sudden by the proximity and warmth of everyone around the fire. You wait for the right moment to remove yourself from the situation- desperately needing a moment of peace and quiet.

If anyone notices you get up, they don’t say anything. You quickly steal another bottle of wine from beside Gale and Halsin and sneak off into the woods.

You crack open the bottle and slowly sip on it as you meander through the woods, finding the secret path to the beach that you have come to adore so much. You had been eyeballing one specific cliff edge ever since you and Astarion had found this place. It wasn’t a massive cliff, but the pool at the bottom of it is deep enough for you to jump into the water without injury. It was something your father used to do with you when you were a child. There was a river that ran outside of your little town and as you moved further into the woods, you could find a waterfall with a deep pool at the bottom. He would teach you flips and different jumps. He had deemed you the world’s finest diver right before he died- cheering you on from the ground below.

You feel warm and melancholy from the memory. Gods you miss your parents.

You drop the bottle of wine and strip down to your underwear and make your way towards the top of the waterfall.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Astarion had finally managed to get Alfira to leave him alone. She is an adorable little creature, but she is not the one on his radar right now. Adorable does not compare to the vision you are- nor the protection you provide.

Astarion had spent the last painstaking hour and a half watching you laugh with quite literally every person in camp who has a crush on you- Shadowheart, Lae’zel, Gale, and even Halsin is fucking smitten now. Gods could you just stop being yourself for five minutes? Astarion needs (and silently wants) your attention to only be on him. It is absolutely crucial to his survival. Speaking of which, where the hells were you?

You were no longer by the fire where he had last seen you before he snuck into Gale’s tent to steal one of the nicer bottles of wine he hoards away from everyone. Astarion had planned on using your shared connection to ask you to meet him at your spot, but now you are nowhere to be found.

Astarion fights the urge to scream out of frustration as he treks through the woods towards the spot on the beach hoping by some miracle that you may already be there.

Astarion stops as your scent hits his nose. He walks around the corner of the rock that you both use as a landmark and freezes when he notices your clothes are sprawled across the ground and a bottle of wine is a third of the way empty. He tries to ignore the ache that is starting to consume his chest. Did you bring someone else here? Shadowheart maybe? You were sitting rather close to her earlier…

Did his three days of stubbornness really just allow you to fall into someone else’s arms?

Astarion’s sinking feeling gets worse when something flashes out of the corner of his eye.

He sneaks around the corner- reminding himself that he is merely just making sure Shadowheart isn’t being… Shadowheart?

Imagine his shock when Astarion doesn’t see Shadowheart at all. Instead, he witnesses you complete a perfect aerial twist before graciously diving into the waves below. He feels completely frozen until you break the water and laugh wildly. Astarion thinks his own heart might start beating from his chest being filled with the sound.

You jump out of the water and race back up to the top of the rock using Spider Crawl- something you had promised to teach him when you found out Cazador had never actually made him privy to the entirety of his capabilities as a spawn.

Astarion grins as he watches you once again go flying into the air, doing a backflip before straightening out, disappearing once again into the water below.

You break the surface and get back onto the shore. You pretend to bow and wave saying “thank you” and “I’ll be here all week.” It’s silly and he’s enjoying every minute of watching you just be yourself.

Astarion knows you aren’t a serious person, not really, but you pretending to bow for an imaginary crowd of adoring fans in a (not) private moment? It feels authentic to your silliness- not just when you and Karlach are joking together.

You are funny, kind, and entirely too cunning- despite what he said three days ago. Your prowess in combat is second to none and you speak a couple different languages- infernal being one of them when he noticed you and Karlach speaking it back and forth like it was also your native tongue.

Elvish is the other one and he only knew that from overhearing what you said to Minthara while he was too busy experiencing shell shock from how quickly you had gotten over to him. Oh and the hit to the head didn’t help either.

Astarion’s thoughts are interrupted when you make eye contact with him and freeze.

You look down at your semi-exposed figure and then up at him.

Astarion flashes you a flirtatious grin and sweeps his eyes up and down your body as you look at him. You are a work of art and the blush that creeps up your neck is an added bonus.

The scars on your body are numerous and varying in degrees of severity. It doesn’t make you any less attractive to him or revolts him by any means; It makes you more real if anything.

“Well hello there, beautiful,” Astarion says melodically as you walk over, “I was hoping I might run into you here.”

“Oh is that so?” you say and put your hands on your hips, teasing him “and to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Astarion smiles widely at you. He holds up the bottle of wine.

“I was hoping I may be able to drink with my most favorite companion at camp,” he looks at you with a sly grin, ��but I didn’t think I’d be getting a show. You are delightfully talented in multiple faucets, Darling.”

You smile shyly at him while adorably scrunching your nose.

As you bend down to grab your shirt, you look at your bottle and scratch the back of your head awkwardly.

“I might need to apologize considering I already started without you.”

Not telling me to piss off so that’s an optimistic start.

“Hm,” Astarion hums, cracking open his bottle and taking a drink, “I’ll allow it this once. I suppose I do owe you for my… words the other day.”

“I’ll forgive you,” you say with a mischievous grin, “but for a price.”

“Oh?” Astarion purrs, “and what is your price, my dear.”

“I demand at least half of your spoils in loot.” you say with flourish and over exaggeration- you aren’t even remotely serious.

“No, no, no, “he emphasizes, his finger waving around in the air, “Never. Going. To. Happen.”

“Ugh fine, I guess I’ll just have to accept that you saved my life earlier.”

“I still think you are ahead on that front, but who’s counting really?”

“Definitely not me,” you say and cough a number under your breath.

Astarion playfully glares at you and you giggle in response.

You close the gap between the two of you and gently grab his hand, pulling him to sit down next to you at the edge of the water. Astarion pushes down the giddy feeling that arises- hoping you didn’t notice he flinched when you first went to grab his hand.

You look at Astarion and then your clasped hands- you definitely noticed.

You begin to pull away and he feels his body protest, grabbing your hand back and interlocking them again. Astarion drinks out of his wine, refusing to look at you- this is entirely too intimate. Entirely too much like the lovers he used to hate and envy in Baldur’s Gate, but he can’t bring himself to let go or stop the slight smile that creeps on his lips.

You drink out of your bottle of wine and put your feet in the water. Astarion glances at you and notes the growing grin. He feels a twinge of guilt when he thinks about his plan and how fragile your heart probably is. Astarion pushes it away. Astarion needs his plan to work and so far, it’s working.

The space between the two of you is silent- nothing but the ocean waves roaring in his ears. It’s not uncomfortable, but Astarion doesn’t necessarily know where to start. He wants to begin the process of seducing you, but he’s also unsure of how well that would play out- considering what he’s seen thus far in your memories.

“My dad taught me how to cliff dive,” you say in a melancholic voice, interrupting his thoughts “we would go all the time over the Summer when we lived outside of Daggerford.”

“I was wondering how you had managed to pull off such an impressive feat.”

You guffaw at him and then pout with a glint of humor in your eye. He rolls his eyes at you.

“Fine Darling,” he muses, “I suppose you are rather impressive in all facets.”

Your face is practically burning with his compliment. Astarion has decided he will leave out the bait and let you take it. If you give him any signal or specifically say “I want to have sex” then Astarion will pleasure you and you will see how useful he can be in return for all of your gifts- your blood, your protection.

Your company.

Whatever feelings Astarion felt over the last three days- he never wants to feel again. You have been the one and only person to be kind to him, protect him in 200 years. You treat him with respect and like a friend- not the monster he absolutely is and that you should hate him for being. It had been a very lonely three days without your company-besides, no one else is nearly as fun to converse with. Astarion hears the whisper of a previous conversation in the back of his mind.

“So what does boar taste like?”

“I don’t really have much of a reference, but better than rats and flies,” he scowled.

“Gods, how filthy was that palace?” you murmured under your breath.

Your comment had caught him off guard and he couldn’t help but bark out laughing. You had felt horrible for it- you thought he wouldn’t be able to hear you. In your defense, you had spoken very quietly. Astarion assured you that he found your observation quite peculiar and hilarious.

Astarion likes that you point out the small things and allow him to decide how much of the larger things he wants to tell you. You never push him and Astarion isn’t used to it, but he knows he never wants it to go away- to be treated any other way ever again.

“What else did your father teach you?” Astarion asks softly.

You smile, “My father followed Ilmater. He was a ranger. He dedicated his life to helping others.”

A daughter of Ilmater worshippers turned into a half-dead creature who is forced to kill by an evil vampire, Astarion thinks, I guess even the Gods have a sense of humor.

“What happened to him?”

The pause is pregnant and loud. Astarion notices the single tear that manages to escape your eyes. You clear your throat.

“He’s dead,” you whisper, “a group of Ravagers destroyed our village. They didn’t like that it was a mix of humans and Drows escaping from Lolth- and they especially hated us ‘filthy half breeds’. Made the women and the children watch as they beheaded their fathers and husbands.”

Astarion doesn’t know what to say to something that horrific. He just merely looks at you- waiting for you to continue speaking.

“He just kept telling my mom and I how much he loved us. How he’d always be protecting us,” you manage to choke out, “I can’t even tell you how many times I have prayed to Ilmater for help- only to be reminded how alone I am and that, despite being the God of Compassion, Ilmater doesn’t care.”

Astarion knows that feeling all too intimately, but he wants to hear more.

“How old were you? What happened to you and your mother?”

You are looking at him wearily now, so he gives your hand a squeeze.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to Darling.”

“I want to, I’ve just never talked about it before.”

“Well then,” he states in a flattered tone, “I’m honored to potentially be the first and only keeper of your deep, dark secrets.”

You laugh breathily while you roll your eyes at him. The smile on your face is replaced by an unreadable expression. You take a deep breath before you turn your gaze back to the ocean.

“I was 5. They sold us to a mine outside of Westgate. It was run by a group of fanatics that I can’t even remember the name of anymore,” you shake your head in disgust, “all I knew was that they were terrible people. They threatened us children to get our mothers to do anything they wanted. One of them raped my mother and ‘blessed’ her with a child.”

Astarion squeezes your hand as he feels you tense. You look at him with your teary, angry eyes and the intensity of your emotions- your grief- are written into every crack and crevice of your face. Astarion notes that you look uncomfortable, but he gives you a soft smile, encouraging you to continue. You take a big swig of your wine- he shortly follows.

“I don’t know what happened, but the baby… didn’t make it and mom developed a blood illness. It was the week before she had planned on breaking us out. I didn’t know she was dying- she told me she was going to be okay. I should have known- She gave me everything for the escape and had explained the plan to me so many times in that week she was dying that I can still recite it to this day.”

You chuckle to yourself before pulling your knees up to your chest.

“I asked them if I could have a funeral for her. They took me outside and made me watch while the pigs ate her. They told me that’s the only funeral a Drow deserves.”

“What a bunch of racist assholes,” he states.

“Oh, they were only the biggest.”

“You escaped a prison by yourself then or?”

“I did. I was 9 years old and probably one of the only people who has ever escaped that mine. I haven’t seen anyone from my village since. I went back to Daggerford one time and it was still decimated- no one ever came back to rebuild it.”

You both sit in the heavy silence. Your thumb begins to absentmindedly rub circles along his thumb- the gesture is simple, but it’s probably the softest touch he’s felt in the last 200 years that was not filled with the anticipation of sex.

“I’ve only ever had one failed escape,” you sigh harshly, “I was going to run away with Tessa because I didn’t want to go through the ceremony to be a Deathbringer, but Dahlia didn’t care what I wanted. She was too busy trying to win Obarhk’s favor.”

“How did you end up with Dahlia then? If you didn’t want to be a Deathbringer?”

You scoff and he sees the resentment behind your eyes.

“I was 13 and had been living on the streets for a while by then. I had my little tent and I had managed to convince one of the local inns to let me clean the rooms,” you scrunched up your nose, “it was gross, but decent work and they fed me once a day; let me use the baths. Sometimes they even gave me extra food and if it was cold out, they’d let me stay in a room if there was one available. I didn’t have to steal food anymore which was nice. I was actually very happy. I was saving my money so I could travel to the Underdark and hire a sword to go with me- to my grandparents- like my mom had told me to do.

“Then one day, a few of the other local boys, also urchins, had watched as I was given a decent amount of gold and a burlap sack of food. They followed me to my tent. I had offered to share and to give them some gold to help, but they didn’t want just some of it- they wanted all of it and all of me too. I thought I was going to die- the fight was brutal and they were so much bigger than I was, but I wasn’t as easy to take down as they had thought.

“Right as they had slammed my head into the pavement, right when I thought it was over- an Ilmater Priestess had appeared out of no where. She had killed them all. She came up to me, was kind to me, promised she would protect me, give me a home, teach me how to be stronger than anything else in the dark while she helps me travel to the Underdark. I was thrilled. I thought Ilmater had finally heard all my prayers. Then she took me outside of the city- I thought we were maybe going to a temple. I was so naive and stupid.”

Your voice breaks and you struggle to compose yourself- taking a shaking breath.

“She changed- the kind Ilmater priestess I had just been following to safety ended up being the Queen of Venom and a Sharran priestess nonetheless,” you spit out with disgust, “Dahlia stripped me of my clothes- she beat me, cut into my skin, threw me around. Dahlia kept telling me how ugly, wretched, small, and weak I was for hours- how she would be the only person to ever love me from now on. Then she chained me down to the floor, unmoving for I don’t even know how long in the dark. I just know when she finally came back, I was on the brink of death. She starved me and refused to give me water until I stopped asking her to leave. I stopped, but then I learnt how much worse it could be. I also began to accept that I would probably never be free again.”

“Are you free now?”

“Barely. A bit over a year ago I was assigned to the Faceless himself.”

“What changed?”

“I won the Deathbringer Tournament and Lady Thistle Thalaver, the fucking consort of all people, said that she wanted me to be assigned as her personal Deathbringer. Thistle made the point that we are close in age and it would make her happy to have someone she can talk to and protect her. News flash- I was more horrified by that than Dahlia. How the fuck does someone who is a literal husk of a person become the prize comfort pet of the Consort that is the reason you were even kidnapped to begin with,” you say, throwing your hands up in frustration, “Dahlia hated her. She was envious of her already and boy, when Thistle asked for me? I thought Dahlia might kill me and Thistle right there if Obarhk hadn’t stepped in.”

“She sounds like a sore loser.”

“ Oh she is, this grudge has lasted a little over a century or three supposedly. I can’t ever seem to get the exact date right, but Dahlia had allowed Obarhk to change her and became one of his Nightmasters because she had hoped to be his Queen and consort,” you shake your head, “it was childish- supposedly. Obarhk was going to go through with it initially, but then Thistle’s father had extensive debts to the guild and offered his only daughter as payment.”

“What a shitty father.”

“Oh the shittiest,” you agree pointedly.

“If she wanted you to help her gain his favor, why did she hide you away?”

“There are rules within the Guild for how recruits are to be treated. Obarhk plays with his cards very close to his chest and he has an absurd amount of political pull. He doesn’t want word getting out that the Nightmasks beat their assassin’s and thieves, but not their Deathbringers- it’s bad for recruitment. Guess they used to do that and damn near went extinct, not everyone is into becoming half-vampire” you shrug, “Dahlia had ‘presented’ me to gain Obarhk’s favor- not his consort’s. She lied and said I sought her out days ago, begging to get a chance to become a Deathbringer. When I was asked if it was true, I said yes, the alternative was whatever hell awaited me later. At least if I didn’t survive the ceremony, I would be laid to rest.

“Except Thistle won. Obarhk may not be particularly loving towards Thistle, but he won’t deny her what she wants if it’s reasonable. I was still under Dahlia, but now if I disappeared for days on end or came back beaten, it was noticed. A year ago, Lucia and Ghost found me bleeding out in a street with Dahlia over me- it was the first time she had done serious harm to me since the ceremony and the first time she was caught,” he watches you smile despite yourself, “Thistle wanted her to be tortured for what she had done- for creating the infamous ‘Hollow Deathbringer’ as I was called when I first started, but Obarhk doesn’t interfere with religious affairs and Dahlia claimed it was for her Sharran worship. So the solution was that I would report directly to him, Phultan, Lucia, and Lady Thalaver only. If Dahlia attempts to hurt me again, I am allowed to end her life and if I attempt to attack Dahlia, she is allowed to end my life. She isn’t allowed to send her assassin’s after me either or there will be consequences. That’s the same day I found out Dahlia had been lying to me- she is Obarhk’s spawn, not a Master Vampire. She never would have been able to get away with half of her threats if I had known, but I’m sure that’s partly why she isolated me from the Guild until I was old enough and skilled enough to compete.

“We’ve been in a very strange stalemate over the last year. Unable to find each other, but I don’t even know if I could kill her anyway. At least, not by myself.”

It was a lot to take in at one time. Your entire world is so heavily influenced by vampiric beings- no wonder you were so nonchalant about him being a spawn and him feeding from you.

Astarion will admit though, he isn’t necessarily thrilled to find out another sociopathic vampire might be hunting them- specifically you.

“Darling, if Dahlia ever darkens your door step ever again,” he leans toward you and speaks his next words with conviction, “I’ll rip her throat out myself.”

You smile at him and squeeze his hand.

“ Thank you Star, but you don’t need to do that. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t listen to hypocrites- Miss ‘I’m going to put Cazador’s head on a pike and we can parade it around the city’”

You gasp, “how dare you! I felt like that would be a fun leisure activity.”

“Oh believe me, it will be very fun,” he says with a malicious grin,” but someone needs to keep you humble, my dear.”

“Oh okay,” you roll your eyes, “because I’m the one who needs humbling here. Thank you for your service kind sir, I will never be able to repay you.”

He can tell that you are done with the previous conversation- he’ll have to thank you for sharing later and ask follow up questions. Astarion has a plan to execute.

“Well of course,” he lifts your clasped hands and kisses the back of yours, “ I live to be a hero for the common folk.”

“You’re lucky you’re a beautiful bastard.”

“Why thank you, my Dear. I am rather beautiful, aren’t I?”

You turn, facing him now and you move closer- giving him a light shove. One of your eyebrows is lifted in amusement- a lopsided grin on your face. This is most definitely the moment he has been waiting for.

He leans in, your faces near inches apart and he savors how your heart begins to race.

“I must admit, I was lying to you before,” he muses, “I maybe would like to do a little more than just drink wine with you tonight.”

“Y-you do?”

Astarion smiles at the way your breath hitches.

“Well of course, I believe you may be one of the most bewitching individuals I have ever had the pleasure of meeting,” he says while gently brushing your hair behind your ears, “but only if that would be okay with you.”

You look at him- there is lust in your eyes and you worry your bottom lip with your teeth. One of your canines graze your lip and a bit of your blood begins to paint your lips- Astarion fights the urge to smash his lips to yours. You search his face for deception.

“I want to. Very badly,” you pause, “but I need to be open with you. I’ve only ever been with one man before and it wasn’t my choice. That was over 10 years ago. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to go completely through with it or give you some wildly fun time… it would probably be vanilla at best even if I can get through it…”

You trail off and look at the ground, gently pushing his hand away from your face. Astarion frowns.

“If you want someone who you can actually have fun with, it might be better to go find Alfira again,” you whisper woefully, “I would absolutely understand. No harm, no foul.”

Astarion’s heart breaks for you. He gently guides your eyes back to his. You look sad and dejected -like you are ready for him to get up and walk away. You are expecting him to confirm what Dahlia has always told you- that you are an ugly, wretched, little thing. Unloveable at best and absolutely unforgivably intolerable at your worst. Astarion has slept with plenty of virgins before- he knows how to say all the right honeyed words to get them to bed, but this is entirely different. This is you and your first, consensual time with a man if you choose. If you don’t, then he won’t press the matter, but leave his door wide open. Astarion is not Cazador or Dahlia- he is not going to force you.

“I don’t care about any of that Darling,” Astarion assures you quietly, “I want you, not Alfira. We only have to go as far as you are comfortable with- if you want to.”

Your eyes are wide and searching for any hint of insincerity.

“We could even try multiple times if needed,” he says jokingly, but he knows that you can tell he’s serious.

You beam at him and your posture straightens up- a new found confidence in your eyes.

“Okay,” you finally say, “I trust you. I want to try.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

You would be lying if you weren’t feeling slightly anxious. The last person you had been with was Tessa and she’d been in the ground a little over 8 years now. The two of you had made a lot of groundwork in your last year together before she died. You had attempted to be with others before, but it never felt right so you could never go through with it.

This feels right. You just aren’t sure what your reaction will be, but you want him and Astarion wants you. You trust that he won’t hurt you.

Astarion pulls you up off of the sandy floor and gives you a smile, “I promise you, you do not want to try this in sand. I happen to know a very nice spot, but we are going to have to make a brief stop first.”

You smile enthusiastically and allow him to take your hand in his as he leads you back to camp.

The walk is a blur, you barely notice that Astarion had grabbed a blanket, taken you quite far from camp, and without warning, Astarion pulls you in for a breathtaking kiss.

You have to fight the urge to collapse completely into him, your arms snaking around his neck as you kiss him back. The kiss is slow, melodic and soft. Astarion’s strong arms hold you close to his chest as he picks you up before laying you down on the blanket.

You help him discard your clothes and your wet under garments. Astarion quickly discards his shirt and pants before he returns to kissing you sweetly, softly. You let your hands glide up his torso to his shoulders and let your hands fan out as you try to memorize every inch of his body. He groans with approval at the touch and when you go to touch his back- you find if you go a little too far over where there is raised skin, he tenses up.

You stop and look up at him- he doesn’t seem like he is all there.

“Star, are you okay? Are you sure you want this?”

Whatever trance he is in, he seems to snap out of and he kisses you sweetly before placing his forehead against yours.

“I assure you that I want this, that area is just… it has some sensitive spots.”

“Okay,” you whisper, “I’ll be mindful of that and try to avoid them. Is it mostly in the middle of your back?”

Astarion stares down at you and for a moment, you think he might start crying. Astarion’s face looks so raw and appreciative in that moment- as if you are the first and only person to ever take the time to listen. Maybe you are. Maybe this is just as much of a fear of his as it is for you.

“It is,” he says huskily,” I- thank you.”

You beam up at him and gently cup the left side of his face with your hand. He leans into the touch and you stroke his cheek bone with his thumb.

“Of course Astarion, I want you to feel safe too.”

Astarion kisses you with a neediness that wasn’t there before. The kisses are still soft and innocent, but a bit more urgent as his hands begin to slowly roam your body. Everywhere he touches leaves you feeling like you are on fire and you find that you never want it to stop. You are intoxicated and so wrapped up in his cologne, his lips- everything. Him.

Astarion’s lips leave yours and you breathlessly look at him. He smiles down at you and slowly moves his hands up to your breasts.

“May I?”

You shyly nod in approval. Astarion slowly begins to pinch and tease your sensitive buds with his fingers- you arch your back and cover your mouth as you whimper needily at the touch. It’s embarrassing how touch starved you are. Astarion pulls your hand away from your mouth and he stares at you through hooded eyes.

“None of that, my Dear,” he commands, “I want to hear every little sound you make.”

You blush and then are quickly squirming underneath him again as he gently takes one of your nipples between his mouth, sucking, licking, and teasing it while he rolls the other between his thumb and forefinger.

You are a complete mosning mess underneath him by the time Astarion’s fingers move from your breast to your throbbing clit- earning a loud, despairing whimper from you. You need so much more- you can feel your own slick coating the inside of your thighs, weeping in anticipation.

“My, you are a very needy lover,” he chastises you as he slides a finger in,” Gods you are so wet for me already. If I had known you wanted me this badly, I would have said something a long time ago.”

“Astarion-“ you gasp as he enters another digit inside you, causing you to arch your back keening as he teases your G-spot. His other finger continues to play with your now very swollen clit and with every moan you make, he praises you. The praise alone is enough to send you over the edge.

“You are being such a good girl for me,” as he enters another finger inside.

His mouth hovers over your clit, “I’m absolutely certain the Gods sent you to ruin me.”

“You taste like the heavens,” after his tongue has been flicking inside of you in tandem with his fingers.

You come undone underneath him- your hands have made purchase in his hair, and struggle to be as gentle as possible. He groans as you gently tug him up to your mouth, kissing him, tasting yourself on his swollen lips.

“Do you want to continue Darling?” Astarion whispers as he kisses up your neck, along your jaw, and slowly nips at your earlobe.

You need him inside you and you want him to be as close to you as possible. It’s like a Dam had broken open inside you and you never want it to stop flooding.

“Fuck- Astarion,” you pant, “please continue.”

Astarion kicks of his undergarments and dips his fingers between your folds and coats his cock with your orgasm. You are speechless as you watch him slowly stroke himself, looking at you.

Astarion puts himself in between your legs and you feel him tease your entrance.

“Before I start,” he says, “you need to tell me if it’s too much and if we need to stop. You will not offend me nor hurt my feelings. We can try again another time if you want.”

“The same goes to you.”

There was that look again. Astarion grabs your bottom lip between his teeth, the neediness has certainly grown since the last statement.

You feel him begin to guide himself inside you, slowly moving until he’s bottoming out- curse words and your name leaving his lips like a prayer. You feel the tears prick your eyes at the pinching and pressure as you adjust to his size. He slowly rocks himself in and out, barely making any movement, but enough to stimulate you more.

“Are you okay?” He says with alarm, wiping your tears.

“Yes- I promise,” you say between panting whimpers, you press your ankles into his lower back to keep him there. It’s beginning to feel better and you open up through the tadpole to show him you mean it. The thoughts were probably far hornier than you meant to show him and he smirks at you.

“Cheeky pup.”

Astarion begins to make his thrusts longer as your moans became louder and more euphoric sounding. You kiss him with fervor as he pumps in and out of you, keeping a slow pace.

“You can speed up now,” you whisper between kisses, “you feel really fucking good inside of me Star.”

Astarion moans against your mouth, the kiss becoming sloppy as he teases your bottom lip between his, pulling slightly. You feel his hips begin to snap slightly harder against yours and you cry out as he begins to hit that perfect spot faster and slightly harder.

“You are so beautiful,” he says while grazing the sensitive skin on your neck, “and you feel so fucking good around my cock.

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to stand any of our other companions looking at you sideways ever again.”

“Then give them a reason not to.”

That seemed to be enough for Astarion as he immediately goes to work leaving hickeys along your neck, your shoulders. You will have to ask him how he’s able to do it so gently.

Astarion’s thrusts inside you are getting sloppier and you have your hands dug in the earth as he slightly lifts you off the ground to get more leverage. You moan his name in between curse words and whimpers as another powerful orgasm rips through your body. You feel him stutter as you tighten around him and finish inside of you. Astarion’s pace moves to a slow rhythm before coming to a halt.

Vampire and half-vampire perks- the whole kid thing? Basically not even remotely possible.

Astarion lays gently on top of you, kissing your neck lazily.

“How was that, Darling?” Astarion asks as he looks into your eyes with concern and worry.

You gently grab his face with your hands and leave a chaste kiss on his lips.

“It was absolutely perfect,” you say, your brain foggy and swimming in the throes of bliss and your deep fondness of the man above you, “you are absolutely perfect.”

************************************

You had fallen asleep quite some time ago in Astarion’s arms. The concept of what happens after sex (normally) was quite foreign to him. Usually he was dragging people to their death after sex, but now he gets to sit and enjoy you- have you all to himself. After it had all been said and done, you had curled into one another, practically nose to nose and just talked. You caught up with each other about what the other missed over the last three days, picked the next ideal type of book to read, and how disasterous the Crèche is likely going to be considering Shadowheart is insisting on going. Lae’zel is positively miffed about it. You laugh and he asks about Minthara. You tell him about the vision she showed you, but he could tell you were holding something back. You don’t push him- he won’t push you.

You tell him about your mother- a former Lolth sorceress who didn’t align with the Spider Queen’s ideals. She was shunned by her parents when she denounced Lolth and she moved to the surface- meeting your dad. Your mother was practical and pragmatic- calculating and protective. Your father, on the other hand, was like a warm breeze on a perfect sunny day.

Astarion tells you about what little he remembers of his life as a Magistrate and his parents. You both ponder what they could possibly be doing in the world right then- pretending there is a possibility that you could find them together when this was all over- even just so he can know.

Astarion’s head is swimming with confusion. It was all very different than when Astarion had gone out hunting for Cazador.

You and him had spent at least a two and a half weeks getting to know each other extensively, spent quality time together over mutual hobbies, and you’ve even seemed to meld together as a fighting duo. You are friends- Astarion expected it to be maybe slightly different, more enjoyable than usual.

Astarion was quickly proven wrong.

This was eons different. Despite the feelings of it being tainted to some degree due to his past, it had been jaw dropping, sweet, simple, and, dare he even say it, intimate. Astarion finds that he actually craves more of you this way, but he also still wants you the way you had each other before. The shame and self-loathing are choking him. There is no way you’ll see him as something other than sex now.

Right?

Astarion honestly isn’t sure and that terrifies him. You were so kind to him tonight while you were in his arms. You respected his boundaries; you avoided that part of his body even though he didn’t tell you not to; you wanted him to feel safe with you too. You took the time to talk to him and play with his hair while he spoke about his parents, becoming a bit emotional.

Vanilla is hardly the word to describe what just happened between the two of you- it was wonderful and frightening. Astarion questions if it’s selfish to want more, to abandon his plan all together.

Astarion stares down at your sleeping face as your limbs are tangled with his. He wants to stay, but he wants to run away from you too. Except Astarion needs your protection- that’s what this was all for, wasn’t it?

That’s what compels him to leave soft kisses on your forehead and to hold you a little tighter- it’s why tears fall from Astarion’s cheeks onto the blanket beneath you when he thinks about the day you’ll end up letting him go.

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