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donatellawritings · 11 months ago

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𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚ 🐇 introducing princess!reader, ugh i love her sm <3

you were fairly new to kildare island, completely wet behind your chanel-adorned ears. it had only been a few days, since your parents had made the switch from the cozy countryside of puerto rico, unpacking their final cardboard box that harshly clashed against the dreamy interior of your bright and sunny lakeside home. you weren’t surprised that your parents had chosen such a picturesque home of grandeur, they always had a niche for the finer things in life, a trait that was undoubtedly passed down to you.

you see, you had always been a spoiled princess, always insisting of having anything and everything that you wanted — and it was always given to you, without question. perhaps it was the fact that you were an only child? who cares, you were the precious little girl that your parents would go to the ends of the earth for, so why should you accept anything less, from anyone else?

as privileged as it may seem, you did have to admit that you loved living a life where you were pampered and had every single need, no matter how minute or ridiculous, fulfilled without question. you always wore the finest of fabrics from the most upscale brands, exercised in the cutest athleisure wear as you worked up a sweat on your peloton, i mean, you even made it a point to get your hair and nails done every other week. your parents’ banking statements were essays long, detailing your multiple visits to sephora, mainland boutiques, your hefty car note, and monthly spa membership fees.

but, you were far from a ditzy girl, in fact, you were so entitled to the point where you turned your button nose upward at every guy who approached you. you had yet to find a man who didn’t allow you to walk him like a pathetic little dog, you knew that you needed a man who would put you in your place, yet shower you with adornment and lavish gifts.

carefully scraping the tiny smear of residual lipgloss with the tips of your long almond french-manicured nails, you huffed as you flipped your blown-out hair over your shoulder. “ma, m’going to drop this off now!” you called out, tugging on your light grey mini skirt, your fingers dancing over the black lace and pink ribbon adornment, before you grabbed ahold of the white ceramic tray of lemon squares that your mother prepared the night prior.

you’d been given the task of introducing yourself to your neighbors, especially since you father had made it a point to extend the services of his construction company to the fellow members of the country club. your parents had praised you for being their sweet little girl who would be staying home for college to the community, so it was now your turn to seal your reputation as the perfect girl next door, and help uphold your parents’ fresh reputation as newcomers on figure 8.

your perky tits were cutely pushed up against the undone buttons of your undersized button up top, your gold rosary glinting against the sunlight as you made your chanel mules stepped out on the floorboards of your front porch.

𝜗୧

after about an hour of walking from door to door and exchanging your rehearsed pleasantries, while offering the sweet and tangy sticky treat, you’d finally made it to the final home that seemed to overlook the entirety of the community. your puffy cheeks ached from your stretched smile as the soles of your french-pedicure feet throbbed — maybe wearing heels as you walked from porch to porch wasn’t the smartest idea? balancing the tray of lemon gooey lemon squares onto one hand, you brushed a strand of hair from your extended lashes, letting out a small huff, before you mushed your finger into the doorbell.

it didn’t take long before the front door was answered, your rehearsed introduction flitting away from you as you looked up at the blue eyes that stared down at you. your lipstick stained lips parted as the twenty-something year old man stood, his jaw tight as he raised his eyebrows at you, before his eyes shamelessly fell to your pushed-up tits, “i, uh, hi! my family and i recently moved in, so i just wanted to introduce myself,” you smiled, a blush creeping to your cheeks as you revealed your name to the tall man.

“ah, s’that right?” he questioned, clearing throat with a nod to himself as he took it upon himself to lift the plastic wrap that concealed the melted lemon squares, before his curtain bangs fell in front of his eyes. “y’walked all the way here, by yourself, huh,” he mumbled, placing the wrapping to close around the tray, before bringing his intimidating gaze to yours.

with a nod, you nudged the tray in his direction, “would you like one? my mother made them fresh!” you beamed, restoring your role as the mannered girl next door, your trained resolve slowly burning away under the unforgiving north carolina sun.

oh, how he saw right through you.

wordlessly, the young man lifted the plastic wrap, one more, being the small gooey treat to his lips as he kept his eyes on yours, not missing the way you swallowed thickly as he wiped the corners of his pink lips with his ringed index finger and thumb. you watched pathetically with your lips parted as he licked over his lips, “rafe cameron,” he smiled smugly, extending a hand to you.

there was something dark, yet tantalizing about the young man that towered over you, it even brought an undeniable ache to the bundle of nerves between your plush thighs.

accepting his hand, you batted your dolly lashes at rafe, a warmth growing in your tummy as his large hand enveloped yours in a firm grip, his thumb barely kneading into the soft skin between your forefinger and thumb.

deciding to fall back into your stuck-up persona, you were the first to break the hold between you and race, your eyes squinting a bit as you took one step backwards, “it was a pleasure, rafe,” you sang, clutching the empty tray to be tucked into your side.

spinning on your heels, you could feel rafe staring at the under-curve of your soft ass that peeked beneath the tight knit fabric of your skirt, watching as your hips swayed with each step you took. it wasn’t until you were far enough from the young man that you tugged on your skirt to remain secure around your thighs. internally, you scolded yourself for losing event the slightest bit of your cool. you were too good for him, you were too good for him. way too good.

rafe knew this as well, yet he was always proactive when it came to getting what he wanted — even if he had to get a little dirty.

#divider / xxbimbobunnyxx #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron #obx #obx imagine #princess!reader #rafe x reader

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yanderemommabean · 1 year ago

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ive had a thought about yandere sugar daddy like 👀👀👀 the chaos but also yes pls take care of me hehe

You tell him to fuck off and he keeps coming back. You don’t want his money, you don’t ask for it, that night was just a one night stand but he doesn’t really take your answers unless it’s yes.

He insists. Persists more than anything. You thank him for the gifts and even send some back but he simply won’t back off.

You think maybe if you sleep with him again it’ll get out of his system, so you have an admittedly mind blowing and earth shaking night together, but by morning you suddenly have a few thousand in your bank account and a cheeky smile greeting you when you throw a mug towards him in the kitchen.

“Oh hello! Anyway so about your plans tomorrow- if I pay you now care to cancel them? I’d love to have that time for me and you, business trips over seas get me jittery and you know just how to fix me up”.

“I don’t want your money” you sneer, blanket wrapped around your body as you try and explain this as thoroughly as possible, to get it through his thick skull. “I thought big business men like you would love a no strings attached thing anyway! Look just- stop, stop with the finance and everything. I mean it’s appreciated but not wanted. How am I even supposed to explain this to my tax guys?!?”

All you get in return is a snort, the man just sips from his drink and shakes his head. “Seems I owe Victoria that dinner in Paris” he murmurs “I forget the common folk can’t just pay off any issues. But this is your chance isn’t it? Just a bit of fun between the two of us for a while? “

Something about those words seemed hollow at best. With how hard he worked to break your walls down and get you back in bed, you were sure there was more than just playful fun. No. Those eyes held something more sinister, more dangerous.

“Fine. I’ll give you three months and we’re done. I’m also changing my bank account information and getting a new one entirely” you say as you turn around to get dressed and not look like you went through a bad dry cycle in the laundry room. You were too exhausted to try and think of anything else to say to him anyway.

He just smirks, reaching to pull you a mug down that wasn’t shattered in the sink behind him. His fingers brush over the ceramic as he thinks about when to get a matching pair. Maybe for Christmas? Valentine’s Day? Whichever fits the best.

Oh you’re so cute to think you can set a deadline with him. So precious. No, you dear sweet succulent being, no. You’re his. He isn’t letting you go. If anything, since he finally lured you back, his grip is tighter, more possessive.

He wonders if you’ll like the room he’s planning on building soon. Just for you. Then while you’re with him he can spoil you as he pleases, you don’t get to turn off your phone and ignore him all day then.

He’ll get to lavish you like you deserve. Maybe even spoil himself too if he’s honest, as he has a bit of an addiction to watching you fall apart from his touch and his words. Your eyes just look so pretty when they roll back like that!

-Mommabean (shush I’m not unhinged you are! Totally! I’m sooo not foaming at the mouth for this pshh no way! )

#mommabean #yandere sugar daddy #yandere male #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere x reader

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ackerifle · 1 year ago

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Hello! Can you please do a scenario where reader comes to help Levi do paperwork in his office and he offers her some tea. She doesn't think much of it and drinks the tea, but soon starts to feel dizzy before going unconscious. The next day, she wakes up in his bed, naked, and wrapped in his arms.

paperwork date!

yan. captain levi ackerman x fem vice captain. reader

+ CW. — abuse of power & authority, drugging, slight gaslighting, implied: rape/non-con & somnophilia.

you are starting to believe that captain levi’s office is becoming yours with how often you spend your time there. even your fellow special operations squadmates tease you for your absence now that you’ve taken on the new — and quite precarious — position as vice captain. although you have yet to find a plausible reason as to why the captain promoted you in the first place, let alone allowed your entry into his meticulously handpicked squad. and coincidentally, you simply cannot recall the last time you had a break from captain levi’s overbearing presence, and his room, since becoming his vice captain.

oftentimes, at this late hour in the evening, it is you who brews and brings tea for captain levi— per his request, that is, and for whatever godforsaken reason that he has yet to divulge, but who are you to defy orders? the first day you had been requested to his office to assist with the arduous hours of labor that was completing paperwork, you had thought to prepare some tea. it was meant to be a kind, one-time, gesture of reassurance and camaraderie from your end. but now you fear that your captain’s become rather spoiled, as the second time around when you had showed up empty handed, he looked far from pleased.

so alas, you come to a standstill in front of his office’s door. pitch perfect posture, not a thread misplaced on your uniform, and hands settled onto the handles of a small silver platter tray. your eyes absentmindedly drift to the contents atop the salver: a ceramic teapot that is far too nice to have been found in the survey corps, two matching cups and saucers of the same lavish set, a dainty teaspoon, a creamer, and a bowl for sugar cubes accompanied by sugar tongs; and even though you know quite well that he doesn’t utilize the latter two dishware, you are adamant about keeping them for formality's sake. but you can’t help but feel that you’ve neglected to include something in the assortment.

due to your hands being held hostage by the tea that captain levi was so persistent on you delivering, you clear your throat to announce your arrival, “sir, it’s vice captain name.” he doesn’t entertain your salutation with a response of his own, but rather, gauchely slams open the door with concerning haste. you dwell on the fact that it was just too fast, even for someone of his caliber, almost inhumanely so, and it makes you speculate if levi was stationed right at the entrance, waiting for you.

levi’s expression is unreadable, but his frown is apparent as ever. he’s blocking the doorway with his body, one hand holding the door at arms length, and the other pointing inside the room towards the desk at the center of his office, “you, inside. now.” his voice is stern, addressing you as if he were reprimanding you for insubordination. it causes you to grimace, but you know better than to test levi’s last nerve.

you step inside, cautious as to not tip over any of the cups, or cause the tea you had spent such a fastidious amount of time brewing to overflow out past the flange of the teapot. hurriedly and heedfully all in the same, you navigate your way to the guest-side front of levi’s desk, avoiding the chair and stacks of paperwork in your way; and you are beyond attentive whilst lowering the silver plate down until it is completely flat on the table. you don’t release your white knuckled grip on the handles until you see the contents on the platter tray have stopped trembling. had you not been so immersed in your soundless struggle to appease levi’s strict cleanliness standards, you would have picked up on the sound of the door being locked.

sighing softly, relieved, you slump your shoulders and pull the chair beside you by its crest rail, wincing when it scrapes against the floor and creating an obnoxious screech in retaliation, before taking a seat. levi enters your line of vision from the left, and you flinch when he cuts unnecessarily close to you, enough for you to feel his uniform’s coat brush past yours, but not enough to feel his body beneath it. a scowl instinctively makes its way on your face, one that you cannot hide, and you’re thankful he didn’t catch it, faced away from you entirely. levi swivels his heel with sharp precision once he’s stood on his side of the desk, standing in front of his chair, but he doesn’t sit.

there is a pair of inkwells on the desk, wedged between the piles of untouched documents, and you take hold of the one that still has its lid sealed on. near to the opened inkwell are a couple of feather pens, one is in rough condition, and two seem untainted by the ink and whatever iron grip they were unfortunately subjected to for the past few hours. you retrieve the one furthest from the middle of the table, and when it finally dawns on you that levi has still yet to make a move to sit down after a lengthy silence, you hesitantly tilt your head to take a glance in his direction.

he appears in deep thought, concentrated on something beyond your immediate comprehension, until you follow his gaze down to the silver tray. and now that you bring your attention to it, the tea has a delightful aroma to it, and smells as though it’s finally been steeped long enough— “you forgot the strainer.” levi isn’t pointing it out, he’s chastising you.

pesky tea leaves, curse you. perhaps an oversight on your part, the one that you had intuitively sensed earlier but could not place a finger to, but minuscule as a stand-alone mishap. how mean of him, really, it was as if levi was trying to find something he could fault you in. and considering the scrupulous amount of time he took to detect such a minor mistake, he would not be satisfied until he did. you can’t ascertain whether it’s because levi loathes the thought of you doing anything right without his personal interference, or he simply gets a power trip by nitpicking at you. you’re starting to believe it’s both.

“i’m sorry, i can go get one right now—” levi interrupts you, or more fittingly, silences you, without even so much as uttering a word. he takes the handle of the teapot with the two fingers of his right hand, mindful of its fragility, and gathering the teacups together in his left hand. “nonsense, i already have one.”

levi turns his back to you, setting the ceramics atop the dressers lined up on the wall behind his desk. without missing a beat, he locates the drawer containing this supposed strainer with ease, and sure enough, a tiny mesh tea strainer can be seen pinched between his pointer finger and thumb. of course captain levi has this in his office, he may as well have the whole tea set hidden in that drawer, and of course, captain levi can compensate for every single flaw and shortcoming his vice captain has.

his fondness for the craft is evident as he takes it into his own hands to strain the tea for both cups, “sir, i could have done that.” forcing yourself to avert your eyes, as if dismissing the whole (ridiculous) ordeal altogether, aggravatedly setting the closest report down in front of you and skimming the words, “i know.”

levi returns to his seat, this time, he does sit, but not after returning the teapot and teacups to their rightful places on the expertly organized platter, “here.” he lifts one of the cups in that peculiar way that he always does, by the edge of its rim, and extends a hand towards you, “you brewed it, it’d be a shame for me to enjoy all this good quality tea alone.”

reluctantly, you entangle your hands around the handle, impatiently pulling it from his grasp before he can properly let go, and you drink until the teacup is half empty. sparing a passing glance at levi as you carefully set the cup back on its respective saucer, he seems satiated.

falling into routine, the rest of your exchange is done quietly. only the sound of feather pens making detailed incisions on the papers ricocheted throughout the idle office. and perhaps it’s the finely written cursive on the papers, or that it is well past curfew, but your eyelids feel unbearably heavy. it had become increasingly difficult for you to remain upright, slightly swaying in your seat, desperately attempting to regain your composure every time you nearly fall out of your chair. one particularly long blink has you absolutely reeling once you open your eyes, but the feeling of something brushing against your knee has you retaining consciousness instantaneously.

parting your lips with a surprised exhale, your eyes peer down to your legs, but there is nothing out of the ordinary. it must have been the inner side of the desk, the opening that created leg room so two people could sit comfortably across from one another. that sounded far better than accusing your captain of purposefully invading your personal space— seeing as such a thing has never happened before, him intentionally rubbing against your knee with his own, that is. you dismiss the notion altogether, but then it happens again, and this time, it feels like a hand.

“did… did you just touch me?” levi calmly takes his focus off his paperwork, momentarily stilling the movement of his feather pen, “no.” but for some reason, you still doubt him. and levi surmises as much as his eyes narrow, though not with suspicion, but something else that you can’t quite figure out in your delirious state, “are you sure?”

“do you want me to touch you?” he inquires with such sudden seriousness, it catches you off guard. your reaction time has been awful, but you almost immediately blurt out a; “no.” and your response is a little too quick for his liking.

“no?” levi echoes coldly.

no, that is what you recall from your last moments of blurred consciousness, but you can’t remember if you had said it, or levi had. quite honestly, that had become the least of your concerns as soon as you opened your eyes. met with the unforgiving glare of the sun shining through a suspiciously large window that most certainly didn’t belong to your room, you break into a sweat when you inhale the familiar scent of someone else, and you’ve become increasingly aware of how unbearably warm you are. you’ve been stripped bare, and despite being engulfed in a tangle of blankets and sheets, you feel disturbingly exposed. and you know this feeling, one of another naked body pressed against your backside and a pair of arms wrapped around your waist. any move you had initially tried to make was futile, thrashing about to free your own arms from the lock of the other pair, tugging at his wrists and pushing them down with all your might.

it’s startling when the hold around your waist suddenly tightens, as if constricting you out of breath, “you can deny it all you want, but your body loves it when i touch you.” you don’t need to turn and face the man keeping you hostage in his arms because levi’s voice is unmistakable, “it’s about time that i fuck you while you’re conscious anyway.”

#ackerifle #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere attack on titan #yandere aot #yandere aot x reader #yandere levi ackerman #yandere levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x reader

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hrrtshape · 2 days ago

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what kinds of extracurriculars does st lazarus have ? 🩰

hi lovie !! so sorry that if took so long to get back to you </3 copying everything from my script because my intro isnt done yet !!

- *EXTRACURRACULAR.*

- *intelligence* **⋆** *clubs*

---

**✶** *debate*

**✶** *coding*

**✶** *model united nations*

(Got so lazy that i’m not even erasing the spaces notion forced upon me)

**✶** *public speaking*

**✶** *robotics*

**✶** *science olympiad*

---

- *creative* **⋆** *clubs*

**✶** *ceramics*

**✶** *creative writing*

**✶** *cooking*

**✶** *drama*

**✶** *fashion design*

**✶** *film production*

**✶** *photography*

---

- *athletic* ⋆ *clubs*

**✶** *archery*

**✶** *ballet*

**✶** *basketball*

**✶** *cross-country*

**✶** *dance*

**✶** *equestrian*

**✶** *fencing*

**✶** *football*

**✶** *gymnastics*

**✶** *ice hockey*

**✶** *ice skating*

**✶** *martial arts*

**✶** *rock climbing*

**✶** *rowing*

**✶** *sailing*

**✶** *skiing*

**✶** *soccer*

**✶** *surfing*

**✶** *swimming*

---

- *music* ⋆ *clubs*

**✶** *choir*

**✶** *glee*

**✶** *jazz band*

BITS AND BOPS (because this is the kewlest school ever)

**✶ *starbucks**: an in-house starbucks for a caffeine fix between classes, with a cozy lounge area.*

**✶ *annual gala**: the school hosts an extravagant charity gala every year, attended by celebrities, alumni, and high-profile guests, raising millions for various causes.*

**✶ *secret garden**: hidden within the campus is a beautiful, secluded garden where students can relax and study amidst nature.*

**✶ *cultural exchange program**: offers students opportunities to study abroad in prestigious partner schools around the world.*

**✶ *mentorship program**: every student is paired with an alumni mentor who is a leader in their field, providing guidance and networking opportunities.*

**✶ *exclusive internships**: partnerships with top corporations and institutions offer students coveted internship positions.*

**✶ *technology integration**: each student is provided with the latest technology, including a personal laptop and access to cutting-edge software.*

**✶ *luxury transport**: the school offers chauffeured car services for students who need transportation to and from the campus.*

**✶ *uniforms**: designed by a renowned fashion designer, blending classic elegance with modern chic, featuring tailored blazers, silk ties, and custom embroidery.*

**✶ *celebrity speakers**: regular guest lectures from celebrities, political figures, and industry leaders inspire and educate the student body.*

**✶ *student concierge**: a dedicated team available to assist students with personal requests, from booking travel arrangements to organising study sessions.*

**✶ *lavish fountain**: at the center of the school's main courtyard stands an intricately designed marble fountain, complete with statues of mythological figures, which serves as a popular meeting spot for students.*

**✶ *secret passages**: rumour has it that the school is crisscrossed with hidden passageways and secret rooms, remnants of its history as a historic mansion.

**✶ *interactive science museum**: an interactive science museum on campus offers hands-on exhibits and experiments, sparking curiosity and innovation among students.* Yes !

**✶ *zen garden**: a serene zen garden provides a tranquil escape for meditation and contemplation, with beautifully raked sand patterns and bonsai trees.

**✶ *student lounge**: a plush student lounge equipped with gaming consoles, pool tables, and cozy seating areas for relaxation and socialising

**✶ *historical library wing**: a special wing of the library dedicated to rare and historical books, manuscripts, and documents, with a temperature-controlled environment for preservation.*

**✶ *athlete training centre**: a high-tech training center for student-athletes, complete with personal trainers, sports medicine, and recovery facilities.*

**✶ *green roofs**: several buildings feature green roofs with gardens that students can tend to, part of the school's urban agriculture program.*

**✶ *outdoor amphitheater**: an outdoor amphitheater for performances, lectures, and movie nights under the stars.

**✶ *aquarium**: a small on-campus aquarium featuring marine life as part of the biology curriculum and for general student enjoyment.*

**✶ *planetarium shows**: regular shows and educational programs in the planetarium, covering astronomy, space exploration, and the latest scientific discoveries.*

**✶ *gardening club greenhouse**: a greenhouse specifically for the gardening club, where students can grow and study a variety of plants year-round.*

**✶ *tech help desk**: a tech help desk staffed by students and IT professionals, assisting with any technical issues and providing training workshops.*

**✶ *boutique school store**: a boutique store selling exclusive school merchandise, from luxury branded uniforms to artisanal school supplies.* yes !!!

**✶ *speakeasy-style study room**: a hidden, speakeasy-style study room accessed through a bookcase in the library, offering a quiet and unique study space.*

**✶ *personal trainers**: available for students who are athletes or simply fitness enthusiasts, offering personalized fitness plans and coaching.*

**✶ *gourmet vending machines**: vending machines stocked with gourmet snacks and meals, including sushi, salads, and organic treats

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delicatuscii-wasbella102 · 11 months ago

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"29 Avenue Rapp, a short walk from the Eiffel Tower, you’ll find the lavish 1901 art nouveau Lavirotte Building ~ a façade of ceramic tiles &, above the door, a bust of Lavirotte’s wife Jane, flanked by carvings of Adam & Eve (photo: @julieaucontraire)"

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loveshotzz · 6 months ago

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"What're you doing?" You hear his voice intertwine with Bandit's happy post dog park barks, bounding toward you while you hold two ceramics up over your head. "Look, there was a little chill this morning -- it kind of put me in a mood," you shrug. "Go lay down," Steve encourages to Bandit, who takes his place in the worn dog bed by the sliding doors. Steve scratches at the stubble on his jaw, coming in brown and grey and white, "Honey, it's August." "It's almost the end of August," you explain, putting the two ceramics on his mantle in the living room. Crudely painted busts of Frankenstein and The Bride of Frakenstein, "So it's basically Halloween." "Babe, I don't...I don't really decorate for the holidays," he explains softly. "I know, that's what Eddie said, but I think -- maybe you could use a little fun since All Stars are starting soon," you smile, "I even got some cobweb stuff, you can help. Maybe this can be a thing." "A thing?" he smiles back, making his way over to you. A tanned hand runs from the top of your shoulder down your back, over your hip. He looks at what you've done so far; a few trinkets here and there. The busts. Aa string of lights pitifully hanging from one side of the wall above the fireplace because you couldn't quite get the other. "A thing," you reply. With his arm around you, you can smell the blend of deodorant and faded cologne. All mixed up with his skin and drying sweat, your cheeks warm, leaning into his side. "Let me get a stool so we can get those lights up right," he says, pressing a kiss to your temple, "You're gonna have to show me how the cobweb stuff works. Y'know -- since this is our thing now." Our thing. Our thing.

--definitely not carol, or is it?

me ugly crying because I did decorate today and I did think of my old man while doing it and here’s carol leaving me this lavish gift 🥹😩😭

I MISSED THEM SO MUCH 😭

thank you carol, I love you!

#asks #all i really want is you #OUR THING?!?#my chest hurts #i love him 🥺#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #older!steve harrington

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crookedkryptonitebeliever · 1 year ago

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I wonder like what does Yves like to eat? Does he prefer sweet foods? Savory? Salty? Etc?

I could also imagine that he would change his darlings food cravings and wants with his reality bending if they are lacking a certain vitamin or mineral.

TW: eating disorders, gore and nasty horrible rich people stuff like making people their toilets or something, sexual harassment and human trafficking

He has expensive taste, the palate of a stereotypical rich person. It doesn't matter if the dish is sweet or savory, it must be made from scratch from the freshest produce the market can offer. He prefers to eat his own cooking as he can easily control what goes into it.

Yves has an intense aversion to strong-tasting foods, not because he can't handle the pungent aroma of garlic or other spices; he used to eat boxes upon boxes of takeout, fast food, and convenience meals.

It's because he associated them with the decades he spent struggling to find his footing in this world. They were cheap, accessible, and definitely not something he would willingly put in his body despite knowing it probably wouldn't affect him greatly in any way now.

Foods that are greasy, overly salty, processed to unrecognizable heights, and contain a barrel's worth of sugar are foods that Yves has a strong disdain for. He very much prefers eating foods that are steamed, boiled, or baked with minimal amounts of oil, salt, and sugar. His cooking is definitely still flavourful, it's mostly simple but it has a quality that makes it lavish and 'clean'.

Yves wasn't always like this though. Just like most humans, he started off hating his vegetables and fruits, yearning for junk and other vices. His previous cravings are only exacerbated by the stressful life that he lived, to no one's surprise, he wasn't always in the best shape. Or the best state of mind.

He knows what it was like to live in a severely unhealthy body on both ends of the spectrum. Yves was both a hundred pounds overweight and a hundred pounds underweight, neither phase was fun at all and it just made his life much harder than it was supposed to be.

Yves sobbed hysterically when he failed to stop himself from eating an entire 5-pound chocolate cake to cope with his emotions, then promptly threw up everything afterward on the dingy floor of his dilapidated rental. He was too familiar with the feeling of his two fingers pushing his uvula as deep as he could so he could empty his stomach into the toilet bowl, to the point that the off-white ceramic was painted red. Yves knew what half-eaten hamburgers covered in god-knows-what, found in dumpsters taste like. He knew what ingredient in candies to look for that aided him in vomiting, he tried all the slimming teas, laxatives, and enemas. Yves had his favorite brands.

Yves vividly remembers how he would be out of breath just by standing up, how his joints felt like it was about to give out at any moment. The bruises he received from merely sitting on certain types of chairs, the horrible chafing that led to nasty, debilitating infections because he didn't have the means to receive medical attention, the humiliation, and degradation, painful and permanent swellings, the increased frequency of sexual groping that usually led to something much worse, overheating in a flesh suit that he cannot just remove, the cruel loneliness, the desperation for food when he doesn't even have a single cent left to his name, his reflection and more revolting memories.

He remembers all of it. He remembers the broken bones that were forced to heal on their own, bleeding orifices leaking with excrement due to his abuse of weight-losing drugs, articles of clothing ruined by his own feces and vomit, the obsession over the number on his scale, the shivering even at scorching temperatures, locks of his hair clogging the drain, fainting spells that cost him his meager wages for the week, the taste of his own stomach acid still lingers on his tongue, his "friends" who were equally as ghoulish calling Yves a fat pig and incessantly oinking at him for finishing a whole apple by himself, being unable to chew properly because his teeth were eroded, being unable to fight back because he was just that weak, fingers that looked like it belonged to a rotting corpse, his reflection, the hunger, the hunger, the hunger...

And in both chapters of his life, one thing stayed constant. The infamous, deep-fried, saturated, tastebud-abusing slop served to the disadvantaged masses.

So please do forgive him when he gives you a blank look for an uncomfortable while when you eat a crispy fried chicken leg in front of him. He didn't mean to give the plate of french fries on the table a long, dull stare before digging in like any other normal person; with a lot more elegance. Yves just had a few memories pass through his mind, that's it.

Not to say that he will act like it's the end of the world to eat the food that he hates. You wouldn't know that he despised them unless he told you, Yves would have eaten it without complaint and hesitation, expressing his gratitude to you for getting these for him. He doesn't wear his heart on his sleeve, after all.

Yves understands that his experience doesn't necessarily reflect yours, he has no issue with you eating garbage foods in moderation. You will have cravings, it's simply something humans like you have to deal with. He will still agree to have a date or two at a fast-food joint even if he detests the griminess and classlessness of it all, as long as it makes you happy to see him 'enjoying' himself too. Of course, he would attempt and succeed at making healthier alternatives at home.

If you're craving something that is missing many of the key nutrients but it's not harmful to your health, he would fortify it with the needed vitamins or minerals. You couldn't even tell the difference, but your body will.

He will have a massive problem if you exhibit the same symptoms his younger self had. Yves will plant his foot firmly on the ground, he wouldn't even talk to you about it. He goes straight to rewiring your brain without even thinking if Yves noticed your struggles. You would find yourself one day 'cured' of whatever complex you had with food, baffled but grateful, brushing it off as something trivial although it is anything but.

You might notice that the fridge always has at least one tin of sturgeon caviar on a block of ice. You deduced that his favorite food is caviar, but you might not truly know why.

He isn't stingy with it. Yves told you that you are welcome to eat as much as you want (within reason, it has a ridiculously high sodium content). Whether you like eating it or not, it was astonishing that he could replace it as soon as it's finished despite needing to pay an exorbitant amount for a container the size of your palm.

And he associated that overpriced spoonful of fish eggs with the dawn of a new era and the end of his horror-filled years. His life wasn't perfect when he first tried it, far from it actually. He still gets assaulted, spat on, molested, and insulted straight to his face, more so due to his new career as a budding fashion model. But it was a change, an overall positive change.

Despite first trying it at a mansion owned by a syndicate of influential Oligarchs who hire conventionally beautiful people and commit unspeakable acts against them, caviar became a symbol of hope. Yves, disheveled, drugged beyond belief, and covered in bruises, cuts, and disgusting fluids, managed to slip out of the room where the torture happened. His own disorganized thoughts drowned out the screams of his colleagues and the cheers of the rich, Yves was on a mission.

He somehow maneuvered his way through the hallways without being detected by staff or other members, finding his way to one of the private chambers. It was occupied an hour ago, as shown by the mildly displaced chairs and empty crystal glasses.

Even under the influence of substances, his first instinct wasn't necessarily to run away. It was to rob them of everything they had, watches, jewelry, shoes, bags- anything he could get his sticky hands on. God, he so badly wanted to own their wardrobe. The rings looked dazzling on his fingers, and the purses fit right around his arm.

Then his bloodshot, dilated eyes landed on the glass table.

An open bottle of champagne half filled; in Yves's eyes, half-empty. A tray with something he only heard of, but never seen. A tin filled with numerous, tiny black spheres accompanied by a plate of Blinis and an intricate bowl of creme fraiche, and a couple of lemon wedges.

His hands trembled as he stumbled towards the glistening set. These are what the rich and powerful eat. He thought to himself. Yves didn't understand the fondness towards these. Tastewise, he didn't find anything particularly exciting or great. Statuswise...

For a minute, just a mere minute, Yves felt like he was at the top of the world. Yves ate what his 'masters' ate.

It didn't matter that he got caught after, it didn't matter he was made an example of by being urinated in front of an audience, beaten unconscious, and had a skull fracture. For a moment, he was their equal. And this will be the last time he will be disrespected to this level.

He escaped with enough stolen goods to buy his way out of his hell.

And he stole a coveted tin of caviar for himself.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere male #yandere concept #tw yandere #yandere x you #yandere oc x reader #male yandere oc x reader #oc yves #tw gore #tw sa #tw dead dove #tw eating issues #yea i kno its a simple qurstion about his likes n dislike of food #but i simply gotta seize da chance to expand on his lore #yves is basically a mary sue with literally every tragic backstory ever

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multiversewatchpost · 2 months ago

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ho ho ho happy holidays 🎅🎅🎅 here's your gift young one 🎁🎁🎁

(blood, warnings for implied death and violence)

------

Murder doesn’t know how long he’s been standing outside in the winter snow, across from the bustling bar that promises so many inebriated people tonight. It’s not like he can feel the cold, but habits force him to take quite a few smoke breaks as he watches group after group of drunk partygoers leave the establishment. A normal person would feel like a creep at this point, but Murder is nothing but a persistent hunter, trained by the time back in his home universe. Staying at one spot and waiting like this is nothing to him – patience is his strongest suite anyway.

Soon, he spots it – his victim of the night. A lone human man stumbling out of the door, with no companion on his own. Extinguishing his half-smoked cigarette, Murder moves quickly, blocking the way the drunk man is going. He bumps into the guy, hearing the man curse in surprise. Judging by the way he’s dressed, the human must be relatively well-off. He smells of wood, citrus, sweat, and overwhelmingly alcohol. Murder has no idea what will happen if he drinks a drunk man’s blood, but he’s about to find out soon.

“excuse me,” Murder says with the most polite tone he could muster. He hunches into himself just in case, making himself seem smaller than he already is. “can you help me with something? i’m new here and don’t know the ways around the city just yet.”

It isn’t difficult to lure his prey right where he wants them to be, what with him looking like a harmless small monster and all. After ten minutes, Murder walks out of a dark alleyway, wiping the blood on his face and feeling a little bit drunk himself. He wanders the streets, leisurely looking at the sights of the city, with all its light displays and Christmas trees everywhere. It’s past midnight, so the streets are sparse of people.

Suddenly, his phone buzzes with a notification.

found a place for us tonight. The message to him from Horror says. come to this address.

Murder stares at the text, then at the closed shops in the shopping district he’s in, decorated with festive stuff. He doesn’t celebrate Christmas, but still… This year is the first one he’s been with Horror and Killer, and he wonders if they do. The holiday cheer is unmissable.

Not fully knowing what has taken over him, he teleports inside the shops and swipes some pastries along with some winter clothes in his size. He spots some small trinkets – snow globes, ceramic statues (of cats), and leftover Halloween decorations.

When he arrives at the address given to him, it’s a surprisingly lavish house a bit separated from the other properties in the neighborhood. The door is unlocked so he just waltzes in.

“surprise!!” Killer yells and surprise-tackles him to the ground, smiling widely. On his head sports a cheap Santa hat. Murder is immediately met with the scent of rose soap and charred bones. His teeth ache, but he controls himself.

“get off me, killer,” he says, half-heartedly pushing Killer away, but the other skeleton stubbornly stays where he is.

“nah, i have to sit on you til horror finishes his job.”

Murder pauses, squinting suspiciously at Killer. “what job?”

“you’ll see,” Killer replies, ominous as always, his grin ever-present.

When Horror finally comes to the hallway to see the duo bickering at each other with Killer sitting on top of Murder, who has resigned to his fate. Murder perks up at the sight of their third, picking up a distinctly coppery smell that leaves him swallowing back the drool in his mouth.

Horror doesn’t comment on the sight, only quirking an eye ridge. “it’s done. you can let go of him now, killer.”

“oh, it’s time then?” Killer jumps up, looking all excited.

“would any of you bother to tell me what this is about?” Murder grumbles as he gets off the floor. Killer only grins back.

“it’s not a surprise if we tell you, dusty~”

Wary, Murder follows the other two to the living room, which is easily the most extravagant living room he’s ever seen, bigger than his old house even. He stops at the entryway, looking at the decorations around the place, with lights all strewn up and stockings and candy canes at every corner. It looks warm and inviting – homey. In the middle of the room is a Christmas tree with all its ornaments and string lights, a pretty star on top. And underneath the tree-

Murder does a double-take. There are four blindfolded humans underneath the tree, all gagged and wrapped up with ropes and ribbons. Some of them look beaten up – that must explain where the blood smell is coming from. Despite having eaten his fill tonight, Murder can’t help but salivate, his eyelights flickering between his normal white and an intense blood red.

“happy holidays, little fang,” Killer says to him from behind, a smile evident in his voice. “it’s not a christmas feast without some good food, is it?” He gives a fake sigh and shakes his head. “unfortunately, our lovely guests here don’t have any vegetarian option for dear horror. how inconsiderate of them.”

The bound humans only struggle in response, their voices muffled behind their gags. Murder moves towards them, and he can the gazes of Killer and Horror on his back, savoring his every movement. They always like it when he gets to eat, unabashedly interested in the way his teeth tear apart his prey and the little sounds he always makes when the meal just hits right.

“I have some pastries if you like them, horror,” Murder says, almost a murmur, though he’s not facing the skeleton.

“heh, that’s nice of you, muffin,” Horror says, leaning on a sofa as he settles in to watch the bloody spectacle. Killer seats himself on a bar stool, grinning wide as he watches Murder grabs the first unfortunate victim.

“maybe after dinner, we can get to the gift exchange part,” he hums happily, propping his skull on his fist. “how does that sound, darlings?”

ARGDNZJDIXBFUFYSKGLOGFJJFFKKDOFJFJFJGKGKGKGKG

I LOVED IT I LOVE IT SO MUCH THIS IS AWESOME ITS SO GOOD I LOVE IT GJGJDHDKDKGIGJDUDHDUDYDY

WOOOOOOOOO VAMPIRE DUST

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

giggling squealing kicking my feet

THIS IS SO AMAZING THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU

AHAAHAGAHAAHGRJFJFHDDHDHDH THE THREE OF THEM I LOVE THEM THEYRE SO EHEEHEHDUFHFKXKDISSJSBD

#moth answers #what-have-i-unleashed #dust sans #killer sans #horror sans #mtt poly #VAMPIRE DUST #I LOVE VAMPIRE DUST #undertale #utmv #bow dust has resulted in this priceless vampire dust mtt poly fic #bow dust thank you

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lavishceramics · 1 year ago

Text

Elevate your space with the timeless elegance of porcelain tiles. 💫 Whether it's your kitchen, bathroom, or living room, porcelain tiles add a touch of sophistication and durability. Easy to clean and available in a variety of styles, they're the perfect choice for modern living. Upgrade your home with porcelain perfection today! ✨

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artifacts-archive · 1 year ago

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Star-Shaped Tile with Phoenix

Iran, Ilkhanid dynasty (1256–1353), Late 13th century

Phoenixes were common motifs of Ilkhanid ceramics and regularly featured on eight-pointed star tiles. This tile features a phoenix with outstretched wings and a sweeping tail reserved against a luster ground. This tile’s decoration is similar to tiles depicting phoenixes made for the Ilkhanid palace known as Takht-i Sulaiman, which was constructed in the 1270s. While the exact provenance of this tile is uncertain, the use of such designs at Takht-i Sulaiman provides an approximate date for this piece. Modern-day excavations of Takht-i Sulaiman have revealed thousands of tile fragments, which were once used as lavish ornamentation for palace walls that must have gleamed when light reflected their brilliant luster.

#artifact #Iran #Islamic #Ilkhanid dynasty #tile

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vaya-writes · 2 months ago

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Was just thinking that there's no Christmas in the StS universe (or TWB for that matter) and I haven't thought a heck of a lot about holidays and events (mostly). But lets assume birthdays are celebrated with gift giving!

Briar, Isen, Adalyn and what they get each other on birthdays. And Veron and how he'd celebrate the holidays with you :)

Isen knows that Briar doesn't have many hobbies yet, or want for much. So he gets her some things he knows he'd like. Which is fabrics. A dozen or so new outfits are ordered and gifted to her, some of which in daring designs she'd never considered, all of which in decadent fabrics that are comfortable and beautiful. New cushions and pillow cases and bedding sets are added to her inventory too, so that she might sleep more comfortably, in a slice of the luxury that Isen usually enjoys.

Briar doesn't get out much. Could barely bring herself to leave the manor and travel to one of the villages on a day off and go shopping. It'd be a big thing. So for Isen's birthday she wears one of aformentioned outfits. One of the ones she hasn't had the nerve to wear yet. Because though she can admit that the clothes are both comfortable and hardy, some of the outfits are... revealing. Please know that on at least one occasion Isen has bought Briar a slutty maid outfit. Maybe not for her birthday, but there is def one in the back of her wardrobe. She makes herself wear something like it on his birthday. A silent 'I appreciate you and what you've gifted me even if it's not in my comfort zone.' Maybe even she accepts the offer to sit on his tail too.

Slate absolutely lavishes Adalyn with gifts. Honestly, many of them she wouldn't even like, he's just giving them to her because he has a hording gremlin wyvern brain and he wants his wife to share his hoard with him and have as many trinkets. So she gets jewels and fabrics and clothes and artworks and rugs and furnishings and weapons and- You get the picture. He does commission or buy a thoughtful gift or two. Seeds for her garden. New leather gloves and tools for the same hobby. Some beautiful ceramic cookware. But this guy's love language is gift giving and acts of service. She gets those things year round.

Adalyn mostly enjoys surprising Slate with her gifts. Planning her gifts out in advance and contacting the right people. She tends to get him artisan goods and produce from the valley. More of the nice wine and honey. She also goes all out when it comes to dressing up for his birthday. Cooks him a nice dinner, takes him on a date. Wears perfume and all blue, and follows through, if you know what I mean.

Veron is familiar with Christmas. They don't celebrate it in Infernum, but he's lived on the surface for a while, he's familiar with the customs. Apocalypse AU Veron is likely to decorate and track down something to be used as a tree if he thinks it will lift your mood. If you're already doing it, he might help out, but is mostly content to sit and watch you prepare. Perfect world Veron gets you a thoughtful gift or two, and something raunchy to supplement. Like porno mags, or an entry level sex toy (depending on his knowledge of your kinks and or collection). Apocalypse AU Veron also tries to do this, but mileage may very, due to how hard it is to scavenge for thoughtful gifts and or sex toys.

If you don't celebrate Christmas, you'll still find that he's quite inquisitive. He'll ask about whichever holidays you do celebrate, and then do as the above. Try to decorate or find things that you'd deem relevant to the holiday, if you didn't ask and he thinks you're looking especially pitiful. But if you're keen to organise things, then he's probably once again just going to sit back and watch. Probably ask relevant questions now and then to help fill the gaps in his knowledge.

#vaya writes #vaya speaks #Veron the Incubus #The Wyvern's Bride #Serving the Serpent

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dreamlandreader · 1 year ago

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Artistic Differences

Summery: Inspired by Feyre’s love of art, Rhysand tries to pick up a new skill in time for his mates birthday. However, despite his best efforts things don’t quite go to plan.

Warnings: N/A

A/n: This is the first fic I’ve ever posted, but there is surely no better place to start than during @officialfeysandweek2023 - this is inspired by the day 2 prompt ‘hobbies’. This is the second time I’ve posted this fic today because I got nervous that it wasn’t good enough and talked myself out of leaving it up. However, after a bit of kindness and encouragement I feel more confident to repost. ❤️

Word Count: 1459

The High Lord of the Night Court was talented in many ways. He excelled at strategic thinking having honed his mind from a young age, he was proficient in masking his true intentions from his enemies and he had earned his reputation as a fearsome and highly skilled opponent on the battlefield through his training as an Illyrian warrior. However, whilst the High Lord was an incredibly gifted male in most areas it was becoming increasingly apparent that his talents did not extend into the realms of creative genius.

“It’s awful isn’t it?” Rhysand winced, hiding his head in his hands and avoiding all eye contact with the dreadful object before him.

“It’s certainly … different,” Ressina replied, tilting her head to one side and squinting as though a different view would provide a better result. “I’m sure Feyre has nothing quite like it. That is what you wanted isn’t it? To give her something unique?”

“Yes. Unique. Not unbelievably ugly.” Rhys retorted, and then groaned as he caught sight of the object in question once more.

Rhys had been secretly meeting with Ressina for weeks. With the Winter Solstice and Feyre’s birthday quickly approaching Rhys had decided to surprise his mate with a gift she would never expect.

Whilst he still planned to lavish Feyre with the best gifts Prythian had to offer, he had also noticed that every year she seemed to favour not the most expensive gift in the pile, but the one which had the most thought put into it. It was this, which for the first time in his 500 years, had inspired Rhysand to make a something by hand.

Inspired by his mate’s love of art, Rhys had paid Ressina for private tutoring, and after deciding a vase would make a nice addition to the creations Feyre had already added to the river house, she began to to teach Rhys everything she knew about ceramics. After weeks of practice, in which Rhys realised he did not have a creative bone in his body, he was finally looking at the finished product, and it was a disaster.

The vase, if one could call it that, had a wonky rim and several dips where Rhys had nearly put his fingers through the clay in frustration. Ressina promised him that it would look better once it had been painted, but the beautiful pattern he had in his mind did not come to fruition. Instead the end result was merely a jumble of clashing colours and smudged disappointment. He could absolutely not give this to his mate.

“She’s going to hate it,” Rhys cried, finally looking Ressina in the eyes with desperation, sheer panic taking over his body. “She’ll leave me! She will take one look at it and walk out of the front door!”

Ressina rolled her eyes at that comment. This man and his dramatics.

“No she won’t. Okay it isn’t what you had in mind but you still created something out of nothing. Before you started it was a cold, bland lump of clay and now you’ve made it into something warm.”

‘Warm?’ Rhys quizzed sceptically, his dark brows furrowing in confusion.

‘Yes! Warm! You put your love into it, you breathed life into it. Feyre will love it, because she loves you.’

With Ressina’s pep talk in mind Rhys set about boxing up and wrapping the vase up in pretty paper, and left with a little more belief in his gift than he had when he first arrived at the studio. By the time he returned home however, Rhys’s new found confidence was beginning to waver, and by the time the sun woke him the next morning any residual trust in his gift giving abilities had disappeared with the night sky.

Ignoring his worry Rhys gently eased himself out of Feyre’s embrace, and tiptoed across their bedroom, carefully slipping out into the hallway towards his sons room to get him ready to surprise his mother with breakfast in bed.

Feyre awoke with a start as her excited little boy flung himself onto the bed and squealed “Happy Birthday Mama!” Nyx squealed as loud as his lungs would allow him. Before Feyre could respond, her toddler grabs her face with chubby hands, placing a sloppy birthday kiss on her cheek.

“Thank you baby!” Feyre chuckles, brushing her sons hair out of his eyes. He never looked more like his father than first thing in the morning with bleary eyes and crazy bed hair.

“Presents Mama!”

“Yes, we all get presents today don’t we, it’s Solstice remember.”

“Yeah,” he says thoughtfully, “but Daddy said you has to go first.”

‘Is that right, huh?’, Feyre asked as she began to tickle Nyx, the room filling with laughter. Rhysand watched from the doorway, grinning to himself at the look of pure joy on his mates face as she giggled with their son.

“Happy birthday darling,” Rhys said, bending down to press a kiss to the side of Feyre’s head. Placing a tray of tea and pastries on her nightstand, and dropping an armful of gifts on the end of the bed, Rhys nervously said “Hey Nyxie, why don’t you show Mama what you made her.’

After Feyre had teared up over Nyx’s finger painted card, and had adamantly put on the horrifically gaudy earrings that her son insisted Rhys must buy for her birthday, it was time for Feyre to open the main gift from her mate. Rhys tentatively passed the neatly wrapped box over and tried his best not to cringe as Feyre tore open the paper to reveal the lopsided vase.

“Oh Rhys, it’s lovely,” Feyre crooned, holding the vase at eye level and inspecting it much closer that Rhysand would have liked, “How did you manage to get this one to stay still long enough to try his hand at pottery!”

“That’s from Daddy!” Nyx stated, clearing his name of any involvement in the creation of the poorly made object. Rhys grimaced as Feyre’s eyes widened in surprise and she met his eyes.

“Yep,” Rhys declared “that one is all me.”

“Oh well it’s … it’s lovely Rhys! You made it? With your hands? From scratch?”

“Yes. I know. It’s awful, I wanted to do something special, to make something that had thought put into it,” Rhys said quietly, a rare look of insecurity on his face. “Ressina has been trying to teach me how make a damn vase for weeks, I thought you would be excited to see that I had tried my hand at art since you love it so much. But, it was clearly an incredibly stupid idea. I’m sorry, we can just throw it away, I’ll take you shopping next week to make up for it.”

“No Rhys, I love it!” Feyre replied putting the vase down and reaching for her mates hand.

“It’s fine Feyre, I know it’s atrocious, you don’t have to worry about my feelings.”

Rhys picked the vase up from Feyre’s lap and walked over to the log fire burning at the end of their bed. Just as he bent to throw his creation into the flames, his mate flew out of bed and exclaimed “RHYSAND! DON’T YOU DARE!”

Feyre threw out her water powers and doused the fire, splashing Rhys in the process and earning sounds of admiration from her son who always loved to watch his parents magic.

“Uh oh, Mama is mad at you Daddy!” giggled Nyx, as Feyre sculpted a small watery cat who instantly jumped onto her son’s lap and began to lick its paws.

“You … you really want to keep it?” Rhys said, as Feyre walked across the room to him and took the vase from his hands, placing it carefully on her vanity.

“Rhys I love it! I want to keep it.”

“But why, when it is so unsightly!”

“Do think these earrings are cute, Rhys?” Feyre whispered, pointing to the garish jewels hanging from her earlobes, whilst Nyx was distracted by purring at his new friend. “No, they aren’t! They are incredibly ugly. But I love them, because my baby picked them out for me,”

“You clearly put so much time into this gift Rhys. You put your heart into it because you knew that art is something that I care about. You took interest in it because you love me, and that is the best present anyone could ever give me.”

Leaning in Feyre wrapped her arms around Rhys, kissing him gently and sending such a rush of happiness down the bond that he thought his heart would burst.

“Mama can I open my presents now!” Nyx cried impatiently, not impressed by his parents becoming so easily distracted.

“Come on then sweetheart,” Feyre laughed, taking Rhys’s hand and walking back over to the bed, “Lets see what you’ve got.”

#feysandweek2023 #feysand #feyre archeron #feyre x rhysand #rhysand #acotar

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ladyduellist · 1 year ago

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Epistles of Saints & Sinners

Chapter Summary:

Raphael makes an unwelcomed appearance and Tav spends time with Astarion.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Story Summary:

When Astarion meets the humble bard, Tav, he soon finds out he's the only one between them that knows they are bound as soulmates through their marks. Deciding it's more trouble than its worth, he refuses to tell her along the course of their journey across Faerûn.

But, unbeknownst to him and their companions, Tav is harboring a gruesome secret that she only thought was nothing more than a traumatized period in her life.

As they both come to face to face with their pasts and presents, will they choose to move forward or let it consume them?

Healing isn’t linear—after all.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Chapter 5: Devils

Ao3

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

Main Page & Chapter List

Word Count: 5.2k

Pairing: Astarion x female bard Tav

CW: Emotional Abuse, Sexual Language, Violence, Act 1 Spoilers

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Devils are not to be trusted. There is always a price to pay if you accept their offer of aid. With brimstone and lies they feed. When all faith in dreams is lost is when they appear. The temptation of contracts because of tumbling stones. Ah, but this isn’t only about our fiery constituents in hell. Man can also be the devil you never wanted to know.

— Wyll Ravengard, journal entry 666

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

She was to blame.

In the second year of their relationship, when Tav resolutely disagreed with Algos over a few subjects of discussion, he punched one of the wooden shelves hanging in their cottage.

The apologies spilled, but it was too late.

I hate myself. I have nothing to offer him. He’s better off without me. If only I had better reactions to him.

As she cried and asked him to please stop, he told her to ‘shut up’ and threw a figurine her father gifted her at the wall.

While she was huddled over, shaking with sobs, silently picking up the broken pieces of ceramic, he yelled at her for being selfish. He exclaimed that his opinions and declarations of love he showed her weren't important enough to her.

He’s right. He’s right. He’s right.

In the evening, Tav prayed to the revolving constellations in the sky wishing she could be someone else. To be pleasant and lovely always. That her negative qualities be erased, so she would no longer cause anymore pain to those she loved. She begged and pleaded to the listless stars until Algos placed a hand on her shoulder and coaxed her to bed.

That night, as he entered her to the hilt—telling her how good she felt wrapped around his cock—she held onto him closely, moaning his name loudly, grateful that he still wanted to be with someone like her.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

“The mouse smiled brightly; it outfoxed the cat! Then down came the claw, and that, love, was that,” Raphael smirked slyly as he mimicked a claw with his hand. “They do know how to write them in Cormyr, don’t they? I’m sure you’re familiar with some of their writings, aren’t you bard of Deepingdale?”

“And which are you? The cat or the mouse?” Tav inquired cautiously.

She noticed Raphael spoke in sonnets: euphemisms laced within the speech of his gentlemanly demeanor. He was all outwardly middle-aged extravagance, with a lullaby for his voice, wrapped tautly over the cambion he hid. “Neither. I’m the fox, a silent observer—if you will. Always listening, ready to break the silence with a pounce. Shall we speak somewhere more private?”

The companions were instantly whisked away to a lavish room, eerily prepared for their arrival. A large table sat with a feast that would typically suit the upper crust of Baldur’s Gate. Pigs heads, roasted chicken, and smoked venison was spread in various spots throughout. In the middle, there was a tier of platters: figgy pudding, beignets, tarts, and freshly baked rolls.

With a courteous bow and arms wide open, Raphael greeted the group cordially. “Welcome to my House of Hope. Please, indulge yourselves with an invigorating meal. What kind of host would I be, after all, to not offer such luxuries to those I have personally brought to my abode?”

Tav could smell a foul scent in the air, covered suspiciously by the fragrance of the banquet. Sulfur. Ashes. Singed hair. The heaviness of discord.

Raphael was already regaling himself as their savior. He wanted to give them hope, to provide another way for the removal of their tadpoles. And the price? Well, he was withholding such a disclosure until the moment was ripe. A contract forged in blood and the licking flames of Avernus—something to mull over.

Then, a flash and his appearance was changed! Standing taller, red, and winged, he transformed into a devil. His eyes were fit for their environment with an unsettling flame set in black pools, but they did not change the seductive entreaty that bored into each of their minds. A devil they now know.

Through the Devil’s jargon, you’re offered a golden brain through a Faustian bargain.

“Tell me bard, how beautifully do you think you’ll sing once your skin rends and your lamprey teeth craves the brain?”

Tav stepped forward, a quiet anger in her eyes. She cannot ignore that his proposition seemed to exhibit the fullest amount of truth they’d come across thus far, but where Raphael’s deceit lay was in the way he presented ”hope”. How he had managed to twist it into one of perversion, could dazzle even the most gods-fearing of men. His game was wicked, with a promise to quench the parch they have yet to answer.

She was aware of the folly they may face. Should any of them decide to want the feel of his jagged onyx nails scratching pleasurably down their sides, the cost will most likely be what they are least ready to part with—possibly more than that.

“Ah, and let us not forget the worshiper of the Lady of Loss herself! Do you think your dark goddess will save you when you are writhing in pain on the ground as tentacles sprout from your head begging for release?” Raphael clicked his tongue in what could only be described as blight amusement to Shadowheart.

The cleric’s fists clenched at her sides as she stepped towards the devil. ”Bite your tongue about my Lady you…” Tav held out her arm to the side, abruptly stopping Shadowheart in her tracks. Her head shook in a subtle no.

Raphael chuckled. “Such a formidable leader you have found to silence you with a mere gesture of her head. Though, let us move on, hmm?” His field of fiery vision landed on Wyll. “Yes. The one in an infernal pact with a fellow member of my race. Where once you had a choice on what to do with your soul, becoming an illithid will surely blot out the worry of the decision.”

Wyll remained silent. Like the others, the warlock had ordained himself to withhold his past. Tav had the notion the topic could be a sensitive breach, but she didn't want to push him about information concerning his pact with the nine hells fiend.

Everyone in their crew were eccentric misfits with lives that were uprooted by the mind flayers. For better or worse they all shared the knowledge that the monsters entrenched in the marrow of their bones, would have to either be bathed clean or drenched in blood with malevolence.

But, then the enigmatic cambion set his sights on Astarion. His grin was wide, teeth sharp, a taste of brimstone nectar thick in his timbre.

The songbird’s body suddenly became rigid. Her and Astarion hadn’t been on speaking terms for a couple of days—that much was apparent during their excursions to scout the outer regions of the Goblin Camp. His cantankerous attitude left her without a proper apology from their exchange at the Grove, instead relying on his usual quips of skepticism about the mandates of their journey to the whole of their camp. She oft felt his brooding pierce her back, until she would turn to him and his narrowed scarlet eyes would refocus on a random subject. However, her heart sped up considerably knowing Raphael meant to spell despair for the vampire to hear. The desperation to connect with Astarion’s tadpole was profound.

Holding her fingers against her temple, she tried to enter his mind. Protect him. Protect him. Protect him, Tav recited.

It was a fruitless effort. As they connected, the force of his worm severed it. She tried to weave her way through several more times, beads of sweat on her forehead, but she was pushed out harshly with a sharp pain of warning in her frontal lobe.

“And you, young beautiful vampling. So very far from the bonds of your master. While you may lose the powers you’ve gained with the worm should it be removed, if it were to remain as an inhabitant, I wonder as you lose the control of your body that has recently been gifted to you—with the slithering of mucus and the fading of your mind—if one of your last thoughts will be memories from inside the dungeon he so graciously kept you," Raphael sing-songed.

Tav decried the horror on Astarion’s face as the missive from the devil’s maw was discharged among the liturgy of his halls. The threads around her heart split as it ached for him. There was a deepened torture that ran as a black river inside him that he had been continuously drowning in and she beheld only one of the thousands of quills—that had entered his soul one millimeter per second—the night he allowed her to see a vision of his involuntary dinner of squealing rats. And Raphael was perceptive enough to be his redeemer, dipping his hands into the icy flow with deliverance for him.

She flinched combatively, leaning forward with her jaw thrust forward ready to hiss. “That’s enough Raphael; return us immediately!”

The devil bore a scheming grin as he glimpsed back and forth between Tav and Astarion, as if he just discovered a precious artifact that he could fortuitously collect.

With forked tongues slick in worship at their feet, the payment could be steep for pleasures above. For what is the most expensive thing to part with, if not the promise of love.

“I’ll be there when your luck runs out. May hope ever find you when you require it most.”

And with a snap of his fingers, they were returned.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Karlach was a breath of fresh air.

As an impassioned barbarian with an unmatchable gratitude for her life after cheating her imprisonment from the archdevil, Zariel, she still remained brazenly good humored.

“You have a dog?! Gods, I haven’t seen a fucking dog in ages—10 years at least! Wish to hells I could scruff ya, but here!” Karlach loudly aired, cheerfully throwing the mutt’s ball.

“We found him starving near his deceased master. Scratch has been a welcome addition to our quaint family ever since," Tav laughed as the dog came trotting back to them, ball in his mouth, proud of his achievement. She squatted down to pet him, placing a kiss on his furry head.

“Aww! You’re one of the good ones, aren’t you? I can tell. I may not be able to touch him, but it does my ole ticker a hearth of warmth knowing I’ve come across you lot.”

Tav ruffed his fur a final time before throwing his ball once more. She peered up into the tiefling’s face, watching as the infernal lights glowed on and off. “You can't touch anyone?”

Karlach sighed mournfully. “Part of Zariel’s fucked up experiments. Infernal engine or ‘The Hellion’s Heart’ where my blood pumper should be. I burn hot—always. Let me tell you how bored I’ve gotten using my hands to take care of myself, soldier! I mean, sure, I have fun if I conjure up a fantasy of me riding a beautiful person until I see stars, but gods, I’d settle for a hug at this point!”

Tav stood, shielding beams of the setting sun with her hand as a visor over her brows. She found herself casting a pensive look in the direction of Astarion’s tent. He hadn’t been present since they returned from Raphael’s intrusion.

Why had she gone through such lengths to try and shield him earlier? She didn’t even lift a finger for the others when the devil laid bare the raw meat of their inner selves. But, when it came to this pale man, she felt compelled to battle for him. To keep him by her side when there was no light in the claret swirl of his eyes, wrapping her hands around his head to blind him from all that would try to desecrate him.

Karlach smirked. “He’ll be back. Something tells me he needs us—even though that toff would hate to admit it. I know I’m the greenhorn of our company, but Astarion lives behind a handsome face of pain. It’s similar to how I looked being in Zariel’s clutches. I’d know that hallmark anywhere.”

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

The fragrance of lavender and vanilla seeped diligently into the hollow of her décolletage and the sanctity of her pulse points.

It had been the first time in over a week—since the crash—that she felt like herself as she fit a long linen skirt around her waist. She paired it with an off the shoulder chemise that ended halfway down her elbows, revealing all of the stunning ink work on her left arm. Then, she laced up a navy blue corset bodice over her torso, giving a tantalizing view of the top heap of her bosom. With the final accessory of a black velvet ribbon tied into a bow around her neck, she picked up her lute—donated to her by Alfira—and promenaded confidently out of her tent. Tav exhaled blissfully. It was remarkable just how a simple bar of soap and a washcloth could mollify the rifts of her plights.

Her companions had long settled for the night. Wyll and Karlach were exchanging tales of the Blood War by his tent as they sipped from oversized cups of wine. Shadowheart was offering prayers to her goddess, pleading to steadfastly stick to her mission. Lae’zel stood in front of their local grinding stone, sharpening the blade of her longsword in silence. Finally, Gale was fiddling with a mirror image duplication spell that summoned illusionary doppelgängers.

Ah, but then there was him—the vampire still estranged from their camp. She wondered where he ventured off to, if he would return to them soon. The phantom noise of his voice and laughter rooted itself in her mind and she grinned. She envisioned him biting down on the neck of another and then she frowned.

Still, this man was no hero. Far from it. He was the seductive dastard that placed fingertips against his lips to kiss while pickpocketing their purses. He was the exact type of man that holy temples would lock their doors around. With his tongue so derisive and his touch a tender elegy, Astarion was the nephilim of fanged little deaths.

Hells, did she miss him? She felt a troubled heat within her chest at the mere thought of crawling to him, touching his palms, offering a truce betwixt them.

Tav heard a long howl of a whistle. “Fucking hells, soldier. You didn’t tell us how well you could clean up!”

Her skin flushed into the deepest shade of red as she performed her signature bow that resembled the outstretched wings of a bird.

The entirety of the camp gaped at her as Karlach whistled again with a slow clap of her strong hands. Compliments on her radiance or questions of her plans for the night circled around the flock all at once, but Tav only flashed a beguiling smile in silence.

“If you’ll excuse me, I am going to take a walk along the river while the moon is still high.” She regarded them with a downward stroke on the strings of her lute and headed towards the sound of the currents.

Tav’s feet carried her on the warm dark earth with a predestination in mind towards the weeping tree she saw midday, branches sweeping in the water, slender leaves dancing wrinkles on the surface. When she reached it, her throat widened like the peaceful openness in a forest clearing. She cadenced her fingers to pluck at her instrument as she breathed in, belting out an innocent tune of yearning.

♫ The moon’s streams wandered into my eyes, Leading me to you, But from the dusk of your soul, I can hear your heartbeat.

I’ll stay here with you, In this starry canopy of twilight, Because darkness can bring unholy things, But the sharpness of our blades will shine.

And I’ll sing to you, Telling you about the sun and orchards, Because lover, we can bury our pasts in the ground, And embrace in the beam of the lune as we restart.♫

There was complete silence as she ended her tune. Mirages of lights reflected off the waterfront as Tav sighed longingly, allowing herself a few moments to fondly think about the vampire that managed to capture her attentions. After all this time, someone like him was the one prying open the rusted chambers of her heart. It bothered her immensely and she wanted to drown the first niggling movements of butterflies crawling out of their cocoons in her stomach.

But, then an interruption of parchment pages turning in a book distracted her.

She peered around the large trunk of the tree, her fingers holding onto the bark. “As— Astarion?”

Astarion lounged against the tree, reading one of the many books he tended to during the more subdued moments of their voyage. The silver of the moon illuminated his curls, much like fallen stardust.

“Evening, darling.”

The bard rounded the rest of her body around the tree, trying to stop her smile from growing wider. She was supposed to still be upset with him—after all. “You’ve been here the entire time?”

“Ohh, something like that! And what about you dearest, songbird? Did you come out here to sing especially for me or to form your own search party because you missed my striking..." he trailed off as he tilted his head upwards, examining Tav with novel attention to her appearance.

She caught his eyes lining her curves up and down. “Now which poor bastard did you save in my absence that paid you in clothes?" he asked.

Tav playfully snarked. “None! In fact, I sold some of those ornate pillows you have insisted on carrying around for your splendid arse to sit upon.”

He unceremoniously shut his book, staring wide in feigned shock. “What?! You wouldn’t dare!”

Tav nodded her head quickly. “Fetched quite a bit of coin too! I even managed to buy a whole new wardrobe for Karlach before it suddenly burned to a crisp from her excitement.”

And then Astarion chuckled. Fangs glinting in the light with a bellowing hearty rumble from his chest she couldn’t stop herself but to admire. As it tapered off, he tucked the tome underneath his armpit.

His expression was abruptly strained. “Back at camp, when we were leaving the grove, I—you’re a wretch, you know that?”

Tav was initially confused by his sudden change in demeanor, but then realized he was referring to their recent spat and was trying to express regret. Ignoring her better judgement—and the undefined hold her had over her—she decided to forgive him.

She propped the lute against the tree and stood tall with her hands on her hips, a tease trickling in her voice. “And you’re a scoundrel.”

He attempted to snicker despite the subtle underlying concern in his tone. “One of my many lovable qualities, my dear.”

A few sleepy minutes passed between them—the only noises being the stream and a solemn breeze. Tav noticed he was struggling to speak. There seemed to be a lot he had reflected on since they last saw one another. She had half a mind to inquire about the use of their worms to ease him, but there was a recognition that he probably needed to use his voice. The elf wondered when was the last time Astarion was able to speak so freely without consequences floating over his head like a hailstorm.

Astarion shifted uncomfortably. “That devil, Raphael, he has a plan for us. If we’re not careful, we’ll collapse along with the bridge we stand on. He’s toying with us, knocking on our door as if we are important patriars.” His eyes were dilated. Serious. “My old master, Cazador, enjoyed toying with people too. Let them think there was hope until he snatched it away at the last moment.”

“Your old master? You know you don’t have to tell me about him if you don’t want to,” she replied with an equally serious low inflection.

He was suddenly defensive. “I don’t want to say a damned thing, but it won’t help anyone, especially me.” Then, he calmed himself enough to explain. “Cazador Szarr is a vampire lord and patriarch of his coven in Baldur’s Gate. He’s a monster obsessed with power. Power over people—to control them completely. Nearly two hundred years ago, I became his slave, a spawn, and he became my tormenter.”

Tav was revulsed. She glowered inwardly thinking about what kind of torture Astarion may have encountered unwillingly. “He attacked you to turn you then?”

“No. A gang of thugs beat me up, angry about a ruling I handed down as magistrate. As I wavered between death’s door and the life that was fading out of my grasp—Cazador appeared. It wasn’t until later I realized how long ‘eternal life’ could actually be.”

Astarion’s hand waved showily in the air, his voice lifting like a dramatization of a play. “Ah, and the little ritual he played. I would bring him back the most beautiful of souls and he would ask if I wanted to dine with him. If I said yes, he’d feed me a dead rat. If I said no, well, let’s just say the flay is no stranger to me.”

He held his hand in front of her to shush her from speaking as the stickiness of her mouth detached itself to talk. “There is no need for your sympathies. Just be aware that there are other monsters than mind flayers lurking in the shadows.”

With no color left in your skin, you can’t escape your master’s blood.

Tav closed her mouth respectfully. Of all the things Astarion could have confided in her, she could not have prophesied this tale. Her guts churned unpleasantly, ruminating over the abuse he had encountered for that length of time. She felt like she now understood his personality and behavior. Every disagreement, deflection, sarcastic joke—it all made sense. He was trying to survive, just like her.

Attempting to change the subject to allow him proper space with his thoughts, she reached out to grab the hand floating in front of her, flipping it over to examine his nails. “Forgive me for saying so, but your nails are a mess.”

He cocked his eyebrow, narrowing his puzzled eyes. When she applied a bit of pressure on his nail beds, he winced. “Ouch! All that lock-picking and murdering—as fun as it's been—surely has me ruined. You can clearly see the state of them.”

“I know you deplore my insistence on helping, but I do have something that could soothe the soreness and heal your split cuticles.”

“Oh, do indulge me darling! What did you have in mind?" he grinned with a deviant twist on his mouth.

Tav removed a vial of cuticle oil and hand lotion from the satchel hanging on the looped belt around her hips. “I was pleasantly surprised to find these at one of the vendors, though, I suppose it makes sense the druids make all sorts of concoctions. When I traveled the roads, I used to carry these with me frequently while I played music. They helped a great deal in keeping my hands softened so they wouldn’t crack open and bleed. A dreadful thing to happen if you play a stringed instrument—I might add.”

Astarion presented both of his appendages to her. “At least someone around here recognizes how handsome I am and wishes for me to maintain it! Oh, benevolent bard that wants to save even the foulest of souls, aid me in this fretfulness."

She rolled her eyes as she uncorked the bottle of oil. On each of his nails, she deposited a drop of the liquid. “I’m going to rub this into your cuticles and nail folds now, is that okay?”

He nodded his permission.

With the tips of her fingers, she meticulously rubbed the yellowish substance into his nails, focusing on the splits. The chill of his shuddery breath exhaled, splaying out against her forehead while she had her head slanted down. After she finished with the oil, she plopped a spoonful of lavender scented lotion into her palm and massaged his hands.

Astarion startled her with a groan. Her head moved upwards seeing his eyes had fluttered closed.

“Am I hurting you?” she asked timidly.

The Adam's apple of his throat bobbed as he swallowed. “No. It feels good. Gods.”

The way the cream permeated his pale skin, like pearls being dropped into the finest white wine, fascinated her. She burrowed her fingers deeper into his hands, skimming them across slowly, relishing that she was able to nourish this horrible angel of a man in such a way. When her thumb slid from his inner palm near his wrist, up towards his middle finger, another whimper of pleasure hissed from his plush lips.

As if fathoming the effect her touch was having on him, his eyes flew open and he spun her around, pinning her between the tree and his body. The scent of the lavender heavily wafted from him. He firmly held onto her elbows, garnet unflinching in the wake of her steely blue.

“What are you doing to me,” he fanned out. "Don't touch—"

But, there would be no time to respond because the gods were in mourning and the rain began to pour. While the onslaught of droplets soaked them completely, Tav observed him, watching watery beads dripping from his mussed curls down the length of his nose. Astarion continued staring at her, almost daring the bard to hammer away at the crack he showed her. A proposition her gut was churning over.

Tav hurriedly gathered up their objects, breaking the awkward silence. “I think my tent is closer. I have some towels we can dry off with. if you'd like to come along.”

He puffed out a spurt of air, holding out his arm for her to grab onto. “It never ceases to amaze me how perilous events are always around the corner with you. On the count of three, we run.”

She reached out gracefully, tightly holding onto his bicep. With a loud giggle she boomed, ”Three!”

They ran back to camp, passing by each of the tents, their boots now soaked and soiled with mud. When they reached Tav’s, they huddled inside with quickened breaths still rising from their chests. She deposited her items into the corner and motioned for both of them to remove their shoes, leaving them isolated near the tent’s flap.

Astarion lifted up his book by the cover; it flew open with a splash of water falling from the pages into his lap. “Guess I won’t be finishing this story up anytime soon.” He tossed it to his side.

Tav grabbed a couple of towels from an unraveling basket. She unpinned her hair brooch, rubbing her lengthy strands and face in the towel all at once. Astarion followed suit, soaking up the water on his arms and chest before moving towards his scalp. His curls were deliciously wild as he shook the friction of the towel over them.

“Wait, let me. Before you frizz yourself to death.”

“I’m already dead, darling, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

She pursed her lips pretending to be annoyed. “You know what I mean, rouge.”

He conceded, passing the towel to her. Tav stood on her knees and scooted closer in between his legs, lifting herself to tower over him. Holding the towel near his head, she wrung out the water into it while she scrunched his hoary strands.

“Much better,” she whispered above him.

However, the air had begun to alter rapidly. There was an unformed spell that was pulling them together: a combination of untolds, hesitations, and growing affections. This time, unlike near the weeping willow, it refused to be disturbed.

Tav knew she was in trouble.

Astarion peered up into her face as if he were admiring the exquisiteness of a goddess forever captured in marble. Daintily, he placed his hands on either side of her hips, bidding her closer to him with a compress of his digits digging into her plumpness.

Tav lowered herself to sit back onto her heels, refusing to break eye contact with him. Her hands regretfully left the entangled mess of his snowy curls and settled in her lap, fervently hanging onto the towel tightly, out of concern she had gone too far in her succor.

Astarion traced the outline of her lips with a bewitching gaze. He lightly curved his spine forward and pressed a tiny peck at the corner of her mouth causing Tav’s stomach to morph into millions of wings flapping within her. His breath smelled of wild mint and a trace of gamey blood. The half-lidded look of consent she bestowed to him was followed by the eagerness of her chest inflating and deflating.

Then, his lips were ghosting along the flush of her skin towards her neck. She could feel the cool touch of his fingers combing her soaked hair out of the way, giving him access to the full expanse of her opulent flesh. Tav prepared to hold her breath, believing he would sink his teeth into her at any moment. Instead, he moved to place a firmer chaste kiss along the side of her neck, right behind and just below her ear lobe. She sighed heavenly into the pointed shell of his ear.

Finally, he glided his nose across her flushed skin, pursuing a trail from her neck to her forehead. The habit of his breathing from his former mortal life, was now motionless. He placed a longer peck in the middle of her brow, watching her calmly with such reverence, that her heart palpitated alongside the action.

“You’re breathtaking,” Astarion complimented her with a deep bass of his tone.

The knight has arrived. Daggers to anoint foes skin with a sweep of its cold metal. He will shatter your kingdom and you will beg him to continue.

“Tav?”

“Yes?” she nearly gasped.

He slid his hand onto her arm, caressing it lightly. “Back at the ruins, you said you couldn’t do this. Has that changed?”

Tav was nearly tense with shock. She was unsure what to do, where to touch, how to react. If she should even respond with the bustling elation that was overtaking her with each surge of blood pumping through her veins. But, with the way his fingers were tingling over her arms like an architect measuring lines, she could not control herself any longer.

She leaned forward in turn, pressing her lips to his jawline. Delighted when the cool of his breath was back to deliver its own chorus into her ear. Then, she warily moved to push her mouth onto one of the bones of his clavicle, feeling him clasp onto her tighter.

As the night took on a mystical flare of secret romance, the raging vestibules of warring beasts and luminaries leading to Tav’s heart, made her question if she was ready to belong to another. For another to belong to her. If he could be the one to peel these crosses from her body that sealed in every piece of herself like those that seal forces within stones.

The bard leaned slightly away from him, positioning her hands to repose flatly against his frigid chest. She searched his eyes for an inkling of intimate fondness for her. Any bit of affection to attest to the vows tugging within her breast that this was right.

“Astarion? Please don’t hurt me.”

But, as he gripped her hip again to pull her gently towards him—his other hand falling to the back of her head to angle her face—she could not see that his eyes were devoid of the same euphoric light she felt, when he kissed her lips in a passionate mingling of their temperatures.

There would be no salvation for these lovers.

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