#like i would give so so much to be able to recall those memories because they looked so joyful and happy

[travisdermotts]

.

[hanafubukki]

Do you guys ever think about Lilia and how he was changed during those 200 years? All the unconditional love he has? And how that was possible because of Malleus?

Lilia wouldn’t be the Lilia we know today if it wasn’t for that time of his life.

He had nothing left. His childhood friends gone. No title. Banished. He was walking aimlessly in life without any purpose

But then he was given a purpose.

He came back not as General Vanrouge but just Lilia Vanrouge.

He has a purpose now and his purpose was Malleus. A reason for him to live.

The very thing Maleanor wanted of him, for not only Lilia to live but also her son. Be each other's purpose.

Lilia traveled, he constantly looked for ways to hatch Malleus, and he changed during these travels and opened his eyes to humans.

Lilia learned and changed and loved and it was all because of that little egg.

He wasn't willing to do that before when he was General Vanrouge, but Malleus became his reason to live and his hope.

He would return to that egg and talk to him, tell him stories, he would rest next to that egg, and he would let his guard down because Malleus was his constant and his rest/peace.

Malleus showed Lilia that he could love, without him, Lilia would have always been that stubborn headed General thinking he didn't need a family, children were a hassle, etc.

Lilia learned that he could love because of him. It gave him peace and hope in a way he hadn't had it before.

Lilia learned the joys of cooking and enjoying food with a loved one. He put more effort to learning and expanding his knowledge so he could see him smile.

He learned and taught Malleus instruments to spend time with him. He learned the joys of running after a baby who threw tantrums and sneaking him cotton candy.

The joys of helping dress a child and feeding him. He sought for peace because of Malleus and wanted him to be free and get along with his human neighbors.

He chose to raise Silver because of him because he wanted to be a good example of what he taught. In return, this allowed him to expand his horizons and not just get along with humans but love them too (and through these actions, so did Malleus learn as well). He went to NRC because he wanted to be able to spend time with his family and expand their relationships and connections.

He wanted a family and he got that because of Malleus.

He wanted Malleus to learn and get along with humans, to have friends. Give Malleus the same love and experience that Malleus taught him even before he was born.

And Malleus? Malleus loved Lilia even before he was born. He reached out to him, rejected his grandmother’s magic, lived, and threw a tantrum because of how much he loves Lilia.

After he was born, from the stories we hear, you can see how much Malleus continues to love Lilia. Recalling fond memories as mentioned before, taking care of Silver because that would make Lilia happy, learning and getting along with humans for Lilia, always heeding and taking to heart everything Lilia says, wanting to make him proud, sneaking away to see him, etc.

Malleus literally did everything for Lilia that Lilia did for him.

Malleus gave Lilia love, peace, and hope for the present and future and Lilia returned that as well.

Lilia wants Malleus to learn, so even when Lilia isn't here anymore, Malleus will always have this love with him. The same love he gave Lilia.

So, in the future, Malleus will always have this cherished feeling with him.

He won’t be lonely anymore, like how General Vanrouge wasn’t lonely anymore because of that special little egg.

I think about this love between them and feel so soft 😭💞 always thinking about the other and loving each other so.

[okay-babe]

On my knees begging for you to give us an Alastor x Reader fic featuring cursed Alastor cat 🙏

Some Small Part (return to you)

note: how could I ever say no? tags: alastor x reader, established relationship, alastor and reader are married, pet! catalastor, mild angst, reader's gender is unspecified, fluff

Outside, thunder rumbled ominously, causing you to pull your robe flush against your torso without even realizing. It was a habit of sorts now, developed after years upon years of unanticipated solitude that seemed to have no foreseeable end.

One had to cope somehow, after all, and you'd never been a very big fan of storms even back when the clouds above had spat water instead of acid.

Your fear required comfort to remedy, and those whose needs were not met made due with the little things, like wrapping themselves up in their softest robe before standing thoughtlessly to search for the only other presence that could be found within the thick and familiar walls of their house.

And of course, that is exactly what you did.

"Minou!"

You called, voice drowned out by the much louder growls of the clouds above as you made your way slowly to the creature's favorite spot within your home.

There was no doubt that he was back from whatever hunt he'd been on by now. After all, he really wasn't one to enjoy getting his fur wet.

"Minou!"

You called again, voice slightly louder this time as you peeked into the laundry room curiously, only to frown when you noted that your "pet" wasn't on the lowly thrumming dryer where he tended to reside whenever the weather grew chill.

You sighed.

He was just as hard to find, it seemed, as the man whose image he so eerily and inexplicably took after.

A burst of lightning crashed noisily against the ground, and in spite of yourself and your apparent annoyance, you jumped, gasping in surprise before groaning, placing your hand against your chest as if needing to feel your racing heart to know you hadn't died all over again.

To say you merely disliked storms after how you'd passed was an understatement, and you found yourself cursing the man who had dared to adorn your finger with his ring all those years ago.

Who did he think he was, leaving you alone to endure a hundred nights just like this one in his absence?

You weren't entirely sure he'd walk away unscathed if he ever dared step through your shared front door again.

But that was enough thought of him.

Sighing, you turned around, already eager to continue the search for your ominous little companion.

Except, much to your surprise, it seemed there would be no search necessary, because standing in the doorway behind you was the very being you had been looking for.

"There you are."

You sighed again, half out of relief and half out of exasperation for the silence with which your darling "pet" always seemed to move.

Habitually, you looked the creature over as he sat still upon the floor, taking in his dark red fur, yellowed teeth, and absurdly small antlers.

He was so familiar to you now that it almost made you falter if you thought about it for too long.

When exactly had you gotten so used to the little guy?

Honestly, if someone were to ask you when the thing had shown up, you weren't entirely sure if you'd be able to recall anymore.

It had been quite some time ago, after all, on a stormy night like this one, that he'd shown up at your door.

The date had long since left your memory, but the fear had stuck around in that wretched way it always did.

You had been terrified.

That storm had exceeded the worst of any other you'd experienced in hell prior, and as you'd cowered in the living room, the radio playing nothing but static paired with the brief interruptions of neighboring channels, you couldn't help but feel like you were being watched.

It was a gnawing sensation, the certainty of eyes staring into your soul, but even still, something had compelled you to approach the window anyhow.

Whatever was out there, you hadn't felt afraid of it, not even when your eyes found those piercing red ones in the darkness.

You had let the creature come inside that night, telling yourself it was just because you felt bad for it having had to sit out there for so very long in the rain.

You'd refused to admit back then how eerie a resemblance it shared with your husband.

You'd refused to acknowledge that such a ridiculous fact had any bearing on your decision.

Because in truth, it was completely absurd.

Except, clearly there had been something about the little guy that you enjoyed having around, because after that night, he'd never truly left.

Sure, he would vanish on occasion through the cat door you'd affixed to the wall a few years ago, but he had yet to stay gone for longer than a few hours at a time.

He knew where home was, it seemed.

Perhaps that was the difference between him and the man you'd married.

You tried not to think too hard about that.

Frowning slightly at another bout of thunder, you snapped yourself out of your reverie and returned your attention to the creature still sitting in front of you.

"Where were you hiding?"

You chided halfheartedly as you bent down to pick the cat-like being up, smiling softly at his purr of contentment. For such an impersonal creature, he certainly did like being on the receiving end of your affections...

Perhaps that was something he shared with the man you'd married.

You were still doing your best not to think about that, though.

Carrying your odd little companion over to the couch, you couldn't help but sigh as you placed him upon your lap, watching as he curled up happily in that same manner he always did.

He was quite the consistent creature, each behavior as strict and unbending as a habit.

All he ever really did was hunt, stare, stand, sit, lay, and stare some more.

His typical day consisted of following you around the house, watching as you performed your daily chores and activities, leaving for a few hours if he felt up to it, and then returning to watch again.

Honestly, now that you thought about it, you weren't even really sure if you'd ever seen the little guy sleep in the four years he'd been occupying your home.

A creature of habit, indeed.

But then, if that was so true, why was it that he was suddenly standing upon your lap with no warning, his fur straight on end and his hackles raised as a hiss as low and ominous as the thunder from above rumbled within his chest.

Your eyes widened at the sight, raising your hands as if in surrender, certain you must've done something to anger your oddly particular "pet".

But then, before you could even consider what that something may have been, you heard a sound that made your heart skip a beat.

It was metal on metal, a familiar, subtle clicking, and then an obvious shift in pressure as cool air flooded your living room.

A key slid easily out of the lock.

Except there was only one other key...

And you hadn't seen it since-

Your head whipped around so fast you feared for a moment that you may have given yourself whiplash, though quickly any thoughts of injury ceased the moment your eyes met his.

"Alastor."

You breathed, his name falling past your lips like a prayer you'd been forced to stop uttering.

Even just saying it felt like an act of heresy.

Your husband's grin remained plastered upon his face even as he caught sight of you, expression unphased, though you couldn't help but notice the way that his eyes roved about your face and body, softening slightly as if he'd only just realized after so very long that he could relax them if he so chose.

"Chère."

He replied simply, his voice smooth and relaxed even in spite of how very long it had been since either of you had seen each other,

"I didn't expect you to be awake."

At that, you swallowed thickly, gently petting at the still growling creature that was standing upon your lap,

"There's a storm."

You replied softly, shaking your head,

"I can't ever sleep during storms anymore."

At that Alastor seemed to stop for a few moments, as if considering your words more thoroughly before he finally nodded.

"Of course, how could I forget?"

Hesitantly, he took a step forward, though he halted rather suddenly when he noticed the source of the angry sound that was reverberating throughout the room.

"What is that?"

He asked, gesturing slightly toward the creature who still stood protectively upon your lap, ears pointed straight up toward the ceiling and eyes fixed meanly upon your husband as if it wished to tear the man to shreds.

"Honestly, I'm not quite sure."

You continued to pet your small companion soothingly, trying to reassure it that things were okay without the use of words.

"He showed up a few years ago during a fearsome storm not too unlike this one. I let him inside so he wouldn't get hurt and he's been here ever since."

Alastor regarded the being with caution and a mild sense of confusion as he continued his slow approach. When he stopped a few feet short of you though, you found that you doubted that your "pet" was making much of a difference when it came to that. Your husband never did stand very close to you when he knew that he'd messed up recently.

A quick getaway, you supposed, probably a smart move.

But as angry as you'd been even just thinking of your love earlier in the evening, you couldn't bring yourself to feel the same way in that moment

It was exhausting, missing someone as much as you'd missed the man standing before you, and it almost felt like none of that truly set in until the very moment he was just outside of your reach once more, standing in the home you'd shared as if he'd never even left in the first place.

Oh how badly you wished that were the case.

You swallowed thickly, fighting back tears that you didn't dare try to understand for fear of making them flow faster.

"It was terribly quiet here without you, you know."

You whispered, watching as your husband's lips twitched downward ever so slightly.

He hummed,

"I wasn't aware that I made much noise at all, my dear."

You scoffed at that, in spite of the tears that were still welling up in your eyes.

"I don't think I was either until you left,"

You tried to laugh, but it came out sounding a lot more like a sob, and in response, the creature in your lap quieted slightly, as if having sensed your distress and realized it's attention was better suited elsewhere.

You gasped slightly as you felt it's rough tongue against your cheek, lapping up the tears that had fallen in spite of your best efforts to keep them from doing so.

And then, unable to control yourself, you let out a burst of laughter.

"You're such a weirdo."

You chuckled as you held the small being beneath it's armpits, outstretching your arms to hold it out further so you could see it properly.

It simply stared back, tail wagging ever so slightly with one of it's ears bent toward you in the way you'd grown accustomed to throughout the years.

It was rare that both of it's ears were up unless it was upset.

You quite liked the look of them when they were uneven anyhow, it wasn't much unlike-

Before you could finish that no doubt destructive thought, you stopped yourself and turned your attention back toward the man who was now sitting comfortably in the chair placed opposite to you.

He hummed softly as your eyes met his once more.

You sighed.

"Al, this is Minou."

You introduced gently, turning the creature so he could see it better.

If it reacted, you certainly didn't notice.

Your husband raised a brow in response.

"It's name is... cat?"

He asked hesitantly, wondering for a moment if you had perhaps grown rusty with your french after so many years with no practice.

But before he could get much further with that theory, you nodded.

"Yeah, I thought it was fitting enough. He could pass for a cat, right?"

You turned the creature around once more to get a better look at him, and smiled when it's persistently ominous expression came into view.

He was pretty cute, in his own weird way.

Another manner in which he wasn't too unlike your husband, you supposed.

Alastor chuckled under his breath at your question, watching intently and with a look of keen interest as he took in the sight of you after so very long.

"I suppose so, if one were to squint."

You scoffed at that, but the grin on your face made it obvious that you weren't nearly as upset as you were making yourself out to be.

You pulled your "pet" in closer after a few more seconds of further inspection, smiling softly at the returning sound of his purr upon your lap.

You sighed, looking back to your husband once more.

"You know, when I found him, I almost thought that he was you for a little while, or maybe some extension of you I'd never met before. There's just something about him that feels so awfully familiar in that same way you do."

Alastor hummed and approached slowly, dropping a kiss to the top of your head as he finally began to shed his coat.

"Hmm, how interesting."

He replied, semi-lost in thought as he spoke.

It would make sense, after all, that if some part of him were to somehow split off from the rest and gain a consciousness of it's own...

It would return to you.

[mikareo]

“ ࣭⸰ ★ FROM THE DINING TABLE . . . ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀呪術廻戦 ; gojo satoru x fem reader

⊹ ⠀⠀ is it possible to fall out of love? ...apparently so. (0.7k)

contains; exes, reader sees gojo w/ his new girlfriend, ur just the sad and lonely ex who can't get over him idk author's note; i am stressed and this is how im coping

it's been three months.

only three months since you and satoru broke things off. since satoru told you he lost feelings and could no longer string you along as you gazed at him with lovesick eyes etched in hearts; which were well deserved considering your relationship lasted a little over three years.

you loved him so much. no. you love him so much. you'll never stop loving him for as long as you can breathe, because who is he if not your soulmate? there's no one else that understands you, listens to you, and notices all of your ticks and little emotions that are blind to the common eye. satoru is the one that you're supposed to end up with; that you're supposed to marry as you walk down the aisle awaiting that bright smile he always flashed in your direction.

if you're supposed to marry satoru...

...why is he smiling at someone else?

"oh, shit." he finally notices your presence and it's somewhat insulting considering the market isn't too crowded. "hey, how've you been?"

his tone is almost condescending. why would he be asking that question? he should know that you're an absolute and complete mess over him. he should be an absolute and complete mess over you, too. you don't care that he claims to have fallen out of love. that's impossible. that's just something that happens in the movies; and if your life is anything like one of those cheesy romcoms— you desperately hope that you're not the character that gets their heart broken for the main lead.

"i'm okay." you lie. you're not okay. your heart is pounding at a rate that's so rapid you think you're about to pass out, thudding inside of your chest in its best attempt to leap from your body and land in satoru's open hands. now that you're noticing them, though, they're not open. they're firmly clasped to whoever this new stranger is. whoever his new girlfriend is. "who's this?"

he waves his hand dismissively. "don't worry about it." to which the girl giggles and leans into his side.

they're mocking you. you can't help but feel that way.

you can't help but feel your heart break into glass fragments that once were a stained glass mural of your love story. the images of him confessing his feelings after the snow melted in spring, whispering his love for you for the first time when summer began, and the promise ring he was so excited about giving you during your last holiday together, all clash to the ground— becoming incoherent memories that only you care to recall. it's clear that satoru is happily cementing new moments with this girl who's likely somewhat similar to you. she seems sweet and kind, and you hope that she escapes being strung along far sooner than you did.

"you look cute together." the smile on your face is clearly phony. he knows you well enough to be able to tell, and you're sure that she's able to understand, too.

"thank you!" she's so nice? why does he always go for nice girls? if you could take a guess, it's because he enjoys watching them fall for him...watching them give up their entire hearts for his love, only to shred them to pieces like receipt paper that he no longer cares to hold onto. what a monster.

...but you still love him.

"you're welcome." your reply is as genuine as you can fake it to be, and it's possible you've fooled her. you haven't fooled satoru, though. your ex is staring at you with knowing intent, seeing the bitterness in your soul that you hide from everyone else. "satoru, can we talk?"

please.

"what is there to talk about?" his laugh practically drowns you. you feel as if there's a weighted anchor attached to your ankle with a rope that's impossible to break apart with your bare hands. it's pulling you deeper and deeper into the depths of abyss, giggling as you struggle for air and water fills your lungs. the fish say hello. they watch as your lungs close in. they wave goodbye when your eyes finally close.

"forget i said anything."

⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⊹₊｡ reblogs are greatly appreciated! ˚₊⊹

[radioisntdead]

can we get op reader just beating the absolute SHIT out of valentino while vox and velvette watch on in horror? :3 perhaps others too, like perchance we somehow stutmbled upon valentino's set while angel was there and are just *appalled* and therefore decide his second living privileges need to be taken away <3

- snake

Good evening my dear!

When I tell you I audibly screamed when I read this request I mean it my dear! I despise Valentino and I adore this request! I did change some things because it didn't make much sense for the reader to just pop into the studio randomly and start going ham, so I went with some light backstory and causally gave the reader the found family treatment, anyways enjoy!

The Forgotten one

Reader fic,

Warnings!!

Mild torture {I say mild but limbs are getting ripped off, I don't go into detail and there isn't much of it but be warned!!} I'm imagining reader as an eldritch horror, This is literally just the reader murdering the grape guy horrendously, Reader ended up in eternal damnation for a reason! Also I'm imagining the reader to be British??? I don't know why, that was accidental but if you get British vibes that's why.

You died centuries ago, your generation laid long forgotten, you could barely remember your life before the black death had claimed it, you could just barely recall the high fever, hurling over in your cot and spitting out the blood that had gathered in your mouth.

You probably weren't the best person since you ended up here, maybe you were a tyrannical peasant? A murderer? A person of the night? A thief?

Maybe you had a family, maybe you were wedded, maybe you had kids, maybe you didn't.

Who knows, you certainly didn't.

You wondered if you will ever be able to recall those forgotten memories about your life.

All you knew is that you climbed the ranks quickly once you ended up in the underworld, gaining many souls, and power one could only dream of, becoming a feared overlord.

You've gone through many names, The dark one, the Wicked, The witch, the Warlock, A child of darkness, the devil's child, {That one didn't age well},

Most recently though you were deemed as the forgotten one, always lurking, watching, never coming out into the spotlight unless necessary, sending one of the souls you kept in your place while you hid in your castle.

However decades of solitude gets rather boring,

So you decided to go out, see what was new, after all when was the last time you were out and about? The 70's? Oh you adored the results of that decade.

Well venturing out turned out to be such treat! Turns out that fellow who adored ducks's charming daughter opened a hotel to redeem sinners! Oh how darling it was!

You popped in to visit it, finding the residents quite lovely, you simply adored how Charlie thought that you of all sinners could be redeemed! It was quite a foolish thought

But you liked that hotel along with it's lovely little residents,and if playing along with the Princess's delusions of you getting redeemed after so, so many harsh years, would let you stay in that hotel and cure your boredom then it wouldn't hurt to entertain that foolish thought now would it?

And so you stayed as one of the residents on the path of so-called redemption!

you got along well enough with the others, although Vaggie and Alastor were suspicious of you at first, although you and Alastor got along well after bonding over how the noisy picture box was overrated, it had wow'd you at first but that quickly faded as it progressed,

It took Vaggie awhile to trust you, but after you had taught her some of the skills you had picked up in your lifetime you became like a parental figure to the woman, which played out well as Charlie was already quite fond of you,

You had practically proclaimed them both as your daughter and daughter in law, you adored them both, baking them treats, gifting Vaggie a pair of some type weapon, giving Charlie something related to unicorns, or a joint gift for them,

You quite liked their reactions upon receiving something they liked,

You liked seeing them happy a little too much, so much that you started giving the others things you thought they might like, expensive alcohol for Husk, shiny sharp knifes to hunt bugs down with for dear niffty, vintage radios for Alastor, tools and things for inventing for Sir Pentious, and matching clothes for Fat nuggets and Angel for Angel dust,

You liked seeing their expressions when they liked something, it gave a warm, bubbly feeling in your stomach,

You liked spending time with everyone too.

Chatting at the bar with husk, Angel dust explaining things to you that you don't know, watching your fellow residents sleep with Sir Pentious, sparring with Vaggie, scrapbooking with Charlie, watching one of Niffty's roach puppet shows, taking a trip to cannibal town with Alastor to visit Rosie,

You slowly began seeing the hotel residents like family, you didn't have a family, or at least you didn't anymore so you don't know exactly how they worked but you thought that this was good enough,

They were your beloved family now, formed from delusional hope,

and you were their family reborn from a forgotten era, burned to ashes and thrown to the dark pits filled with brimstone, sin and death.

You'd do anything for them, you'd die for them, you'd live for them, and you'd kill for them, they most definitely were your family now.

And you typically protect family, right?

Right?

You heard about what happened in Valentino's studio with Angel dust, the bruises.

You were displeased,

More then displeased you were upset, you were angry, how long has it been since you were this angry how dare someone lay a hand on your dear family member?

You waited until the majority of the hotel were asleep, most notably Angel,

You made up an excuse to go out, saying you had to check up on your castle after all you had unfortunate sinners working there and they're headless chickens without you!

Charlie told you to stay safe before she went up to bed with Vaggie.

You would be safe!

fortunately though, a certain Vee, would not be safe.

You did stop by your castle, to grab a spear with Angelic steel, you mentally thanked yourself for grabbing it a several extermination days ago,

You twirled it in your hand before a large sinister grin over took your face.

It had been awhile since you were out for blood.

Getting into the Vee's tower was disappointingly easy! Scaling up the wall and breaking a window? Child's play!

What wasn't easy was finding Valentino, the bald pimp moth guy, you had to look through several rooms, why did they have so many rooms? Did they even need these???

Nevermind all that, after searching for an inconvenient amount of time,

you finally found the one that had dared to harm your dear family member, you tilted your head as Valentino squinted to see who you were, unraveling his wings once he didn't recognize you.

He didn't look like much, he was tall, red eyes, and he looked like a grape with wings, the grimaced, oh poor Angel Dust, he had to look at this everytime he went to work!

Thankfully after this he didn't need too, you twitched, transforming into a more demonic form.

"Who the fu-"

He didn't get to finish the sentence as you swiftly kicked him in the kneecap causing him to fall, cursing you and wincing at the sudden pain in his knee, taking that moment you kicked him again, this time on his side, pushing him properly on the ground, placing your shoe on his ribcage you began to slowly crush his rib, grinning at the beginnings of a cracking noise

Unfortunately the little grape screamed out for the TV fucker to appear,

You could hear the sound of cables getting ripped out and the sound of footsteps.

"Val, what is it this time? Is it about angel dust again, I- ShIT VaL, wHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?''

And the TV man makes an entrance shouting, how annoying, well you could always deal with him later, raising your hand pitch black inky tentrals came out from beside you, wrapping the TV headed man and attaching him onto the couch.

Returning your focus to the soon to be deceased, again, grape

You bent down to wrap a claw onto his wing,

It was soft, maybe you could make something for Niffty with it, a blanket perhaps? Or maybe a coat?

You pulled out the wing as Valentino screamed out in pain, blood splattering onto you, the floor and the walls,

a door swung open behind you before quickly being closed, just barely leaving a gap for a phone camera to sneak though, the owner of the phone looked on in horror.

You kicked Valentino over causing him to hiss and groan as he now laid on his stomach, how unfortunate for him, who knew that if you horrendously abused your employees an centuries old overlord would be out for your blood!

You grinned at how helpless he was now, how pitiful!

You grabbed one of his arms and pulled, nerves and muscles separated and blood leaked out.

Vox looked on in complete and utter horror, he couldn't do anything,

Would he be next?

The Vee's floor was destroyed, Valentino was shredded and separated, stabbed in the head with the angelic steel you had brought along as to ensure he would NOT be coming back.

Both of his wings were folded and set neatly on the counter away from the carnage, after all if you were to make Dear Niffty something with them they had to be clean, mostly, you'd have to clean them again, who knows what diseases that man was carrying, Yuck!

You took some of the carnage and place them into containers before putting them in a bag to carry with you, you tucked the detached wings under your arm, dusting yourself off you checked the digital clock on the wall,

You should get back quickly, they'll be up soon.

Moving around the broken glass and furniture that had gotten caught up in the downfall of Valentino you made your way out the door,

You let Vox free from your tendrils, hearing him move to possibly inspect the remains of his business partner and whatever else.

You wonder if the third one was still recording?

Oh well, that's none of your concern,

You knocked things over, shattered, torn and destroyed anything you could get your hands on as you went down the Vee's tower, destroying what you could.

At the bottom floor a box of fireworks caught your eye, you supposed it was for one of the Vee's something, maybe Velvette's fashion thing or one of the skinned grape's filthy films,

Well either way, you were going to borrow the fireworks, set them up on the ground floor and light em' up,

The fireworks boomed onto the floor, sparkling and bursting into flames, burning and sizzling anything it could get it's clutches on.

You left swiftly after, getting bored, and you were practically done anyways.

You should head home now, and stop by your castle to dispose of that spear.

You hummed as you moved around the kitchen swinging a spatula around on your finger before checking on the meat that was beginning to brown in the pan,

"Good Morning [Name!]"

Charlie popped into the kitchen, turning your head to her, you smiled at her,

"Morning Dear Charlie, I'm preparing breakfast for everyone, French toast for the majority and I picked up some fresh demon meat to make something else for Dear Alastor since he doesn't like sweet things,"

"Really? That's so sweet of you!''

"Mhm, It's nothing, But be a dear and call everyone to the dining room so they can feast?"

You ask tilting your head as Charlie nodded with a 'Yes!' before hopping off to gather everyone for breakfast.

You turn back to the stove, poking your spatula into the simmering remains of Valentino, hopefully the peppers and seasons make him taste decent, you would hate for everyone else to enjoy their food and Alastor be the only one to not enjoy the meal.

Hopefully they didn't suspect you when the news covers Valentino's demise and the destroyed tower.

You are not a good person by any means, you were condemned for a reason, this all started to sooth your boredom, you can NEVER be redeemed....

Or could you?

Maybe this little makeshift family that you desperately want to protect could change you, make you a better person.

It was a foolish thought, but as long as you can make them a mildly concerning breakfast, spend time with them, give them trinkets you think they would like, you were willing to entertain that foolish thought, more then willingly.

Thank you for tuning in folks! I'm working on those Susan requests and the other WIPS I have in my pocket so look forward to those!

[remiivu]

Ghostly Companion-- Chapter 3

<---- Last Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter ---->

[Ao3]

So sorry for the wait! My ribs are really tender right now so I took an extra day to avoid moving my arms as much.

This is mostly a lot of introspective word-vomit (and adorable Mr. Crawling!) Have fun and enjoy!

When you woke up the next morning, bleary-eyed and limbs heavy, you didn’t quite register the weight on your stomach until it moved, long strands of hair falling directly onto your face and into your mouth.

“Pff–” You spit out, eyes blinking open to see your brand new companion looking delightful and far too energetic for whatever time in the morning it is. 

“Hello!” He greeted happily. “You ∎∎∎!” 

“Good morning…” You manage to groan out, gently pushing the brunt of his weight off your chest and watching as he rolls to your side.

You sigh, taking a few spare moments to fully wake up before hauling yourself up, carefully unwinding the gray arms wrapped around your body. Your morning routine was quick, methodical, and you hardly realized when you finished draping your futon on the balcony to air out until you approached your now-empty tatami mats and only saw Mr. Crawling sitting down patiently. 

You… weren’t quite sure what to do now. Breakfast, maybe? Do ghosts need breakfast? You don’t recall ever seeing Mr. Crawling eat anything at all during your short amount of time together, but maybe that was because his world was a barren wasteland. You certainly saw other evidence of human-eating ghosts in his world. 

Would his behaviors be similar to all those myths and legends– or at least to his fellow ghosts? Getting… human flesh to feed him wouldn’t be easy, if he liked it at all. But, you’d much rather him feast on someone else rather than on your own flesh if your hunch was right. You doubt he’d do much else than nibble at an unimportant limb, but you also never experienced a grumpy Mr. Crawling– or any version of him that wasn’t incessantly pleasant and sweet. He could go crazy, and you, the idiot who housed him and let him cuddle up against your vital organs, would be first in line to his stomach. 

That won’t do. You made it out of a near death-match once already. You’re keeping yourself and your lovely prize of a companion safe and happy. Even if it means having to go elbow deep in blood. While somewhat chilling, the thought bringing up those unfortunate memories, you find it easier to think about knowing that the blood would be from someone you don’t even know. 

An unimportant stranger. A stupid stranger.

Well, finding a person would still take some time. A part of your mind wanders back to the mountains where numerous people are said to have gone missing throughout the year– something to do with another ghost wearing a raincoat and umbrella. An urban legend, but one that’s pretty widely believed in these parts of the city. You don’t find it to be true– after all, you’ve been stuck there before and came out perfectly fine each and every time, so it must be other peoples’ lack of survival skills that killed them out there.

Which was great, honestly. You’d be able to chalk everything up to a nonexistent being. People wouldn’t bat an eye at a nice, young, and good-looking person such as you wandering around in cute looking clothes and ‘empty’ hands. Harmless. A naive adult who was curious and ‘stuck close to the trails.’ You could do that. Besides, it would only be for a few hours every… few weeks, maybe? You imagine harvesting human flesh to be something like cattle– one body would last a very long amount of time in the deep freezer.

Yeah. That would also fit into your schedule, so it all works out. The tedious part would be just finding a loner you could convince to take a run through the mountains to prove their bravery or some random trait like that.

Well, that part can always come later. For now, it was time to settle your needs.

You were hungry, and so you went off to your kitchen after giving Mr. Crawling a brief pat on the head, digging through your fridge for anything you could make.

Your fridge was still full of fresh foods from a grocery trip taken before your whole descent into that world that shall-not-be-named, and it was almost offensive at how nothing really seemed to care about your disappearance, but you could take it out on the food once it gets on a plate. 

You fished out some eggs, rice, and random toppings, combining it into one mixed up bowl and placing it on your floor table as you turned on the television.

A quick offer of a mouthful of your food to Mr. Crawling resulted in his curious face sniffing and staring closely at it before taking the bite– and swallowing it after a few swishes in his mouth. No chewing.

Huh. So, he liked raw eggs? 

You got up to grab two more, swiftly taking your seat on the floor cushion and holding one up in front of his face.

He smiled, inspecting it somewhat. “Object eat?” He asks, poking delicately at it.

You nodded. “You want?” You asked, making a move to show him how the egg was part of the stuff he had eaten.

When he nods, you crack the egg against the counter, holding it above his mouth, ready to break it open. He was briefly– and rather adorably– confused at the action, but opened his jaws wide, showcasing rows of razor sharp teeth.

You didn’t need to pass biology class to know that they indicated a very carnivorous diet. 

You cracked open the egg, letting it drop into his mouth and watching, with mild repulsion, as he swallowed it whole, looking happy and satisfied as he licked his lips.

Well then– raw eggs would tide him over until an actual meal (if he even needs one). Good to know. 

His mouth opened wide once again as you discarded the shell and cracked the second one open, letting it plop into his mouth and go down the hatch.

That was actually kind of fun. A few years ago, you briefly considered getting chickens of your own until you realized just how many eggs a small flock of 3 could produce in a week. Mr. Crawling seems to be an excellent excuse to get some– not after moving out, of course. Well, you doubt anyone here would care if they spot some fluffed up feathers every now and then.

After that brief breakfast, you steeled yourself to continue your normal everyday activities– as if nothing happened.

And you also needed to make an elaborate lie about where you were the past day. You had no doubts that, if you told the truth, you would  be shipped off to an institution and have your companion exorcized within the next 24 hours.

___________________________

Your friends, very concerned, simply would not stop asking you questions and berating your decision to split off from the main group– as if they hadn’t dragged you to the bravery challenge against your complaints.

There were 5 people you needed to comfort. And, there will be about 15 people you’ll need to apologize to for your inability to work– paired with the cordial, expensive gifts and handwritten letter to your boss begging not to be fired. 

Annoying, annoying, annoying.

You patted Mr. Crawling’s head as you searched up the nearest sales. 

At least he was cute. Like a little, loyal puppy. He was so low maintenance outside of his potential human-flesh needs and his desire for attention– which you could most definitely work with. It was nice and relaxing being with him, not having to worry about all the tiny societal rules you had to follow with everyone else. And, now that you were back in your own world, it felt refreshingly nice having someone depend on you instead of it being the other way around. 

You had power here. And it was nice.

“You mad?” Mr. Crawling ask, cheek pressed up against your neck as he looked over your shoulder at your laptop screen, fingers flicking through ads and discount codes with sharp tap tap tap’s that indicated your irritated mood.

“Me not mad you,” You mumbled, hand reaching up to play with his hair. It was nice and soft now, your conditioner having worked its magic. 

“Humans.” You muttered, not particularly in the mood to elaborate.

“Humans?”

“Mhm,” You hum, gently rubbing soothing circles into his scalp and watching, satisfied, as he leaned more of his weight against you.

So, so cute. You couldn’t get enough of him.

<---- Last Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter ---->

[Ao3]

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

For Trine, what are Anselm and Reader giving Blue for a holiday present? Also, Blue doesn't talk about his past much; does he seem a little *cough* blue for this time of year? Does he have bad memories, or is he worried about what to gift Reader and Anselm?

Oh my gossh jaspoagjpsodg I am so emotional over this!! <3 Thank you so much for sending me these thoughts!

Trine [12]: Nice List

Anselm Vogelweide x Blue Jones x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Trine Masterlist • ko-fi •

Warnings: sexy times mentions, Blue feeling a little blue, typos, not beta read, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 584

Anselm is upstairs wrapping ecstatically. He enjoyed being far too over the top about the matter and wrapping gifts himself for those he cared about deeply, often decorating the presents with things that properly weren’t best suited as gift toppers. But they were fantastic and oh so very Anselm nonetheless. 

It was however best to leave him to his own devices when he was wrapped, even if he wasn’t wrapping things you weren’t allowed to see. He’d had the ‘gift wrapping room’ rearranged long before you’d gotten married so that you could both have space without being able to see what the other was working on.

He’d commissioned a beautiful belt for Blue, the metal clasp engraved with mistletoe after Blue had held a bunch over his dick earlier in the month and asked Anselm for a kiss. 

You head downstairs, walking through the smaller, ‘private’ rooms that you prefer over the grandeur more traditionally mansion-looking cavernous spaces that are many there to entertain guests and intimate associations.  

Blue is staring out of one of the large windows in the living room, his head slightly slumped to the side. The weak, gloomy light catches him at a sweet angle, almost making him look like a statue for a moment. Something a skilled artisan had spent hours pouring over. 

He doesn’t notice you, too twisted up in his own thoughts until you place a hand on his arm. 

“Blue?” 

He blinks and turns, smiling and trying to shift the sombre look on his face. He manages it mostly, but the emotion still pales his eyes. 

“Are you okay?” You stroke his cheek and he nuzzles into your palm, placing his hand over yours and kissing your wrist. 

He nods. 

“It’s a good job you’re pretty.” You wait until he gives you a quizzical look before you continue, “Because you’re a terrible liar.”

He smiles, warmer this time. 

“Your emotions are always written all over your face.” You tap his nose playfully and he leans towards you to rub his forehead against yours, kissing down your cheek to your neck and wrapping his arms around you. 

“Are you worried about what Anselm said earlier?” You say playfully as you hug him back. 

“Hmm?”

“That he’s going to dress up as Krampus and ravage you?” 

Blue snorts, “If I recall correctly, you were also going to dress up as Father Christmas? Complete with the white beard?”

You grin, “We are going to fight over your immortal soul,” you mimic Anselm’s accident teasingly as you repeat his words from earlier and Blue giggles. “So have you been Naughty or Nice this year?” 

“Hmm… A tough choice.” 

“I think no matter what you say Anselm is going to shove something inside you.”

Blue laughs, smiling as you pull back so you can stroke his cheeks. 

“He wanted to make a dildo out of coal, but that is not practical.” You wiggle your eyebrows. 

“Maybe I can sit on your lap?” He presses his face into your touch, “Or lay on it? You can spank me with your belt for being a bad boy.”

“Hmm,” you pretend to think. “I don’t know, that sounds like a reward, not punishment.”

He pouts a little, trying to cover up his smile. “And how would you punish me?” 

“Well, I’d leave you alone for one.”

“Nooo,” his grip on you involuntarily tightens. 

“Well,” you lean closer and give him a light kiss. “It’s a good job you’re on the nice list, isn’t it?”

Thank you so much for reading!

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[extasiswings]

Idk what this is but those new stills hurt all three of my feelings so have some angst.

“I don’t understand what happened to us. I don’t understand what changed,” Buck says, and Eddie freezes.

Because he knows. He knows exactly. Every big moment they’ve shared, the beautiful and the terrible, and all of the little ones in between exist in the back of his mind in one giant tapestry of memory. A pulsing, bleeding heart of a thing that he tries not to look at too closely because the fact that it is always there, so close to the surface, never letting him out of its thrall is sometimes more than he can bear.

It’s been years. Eddie’s gotten very used to being in love with Buck. Quietly, achingly in love with Buck, knowing he can’t have him but not being able to stop. Loving Buck doesn’t feel like a choice, it’s just a fact of his existence, rooted so deep and taking up so much space that Eddie can hardly recall being without it, the person he was before—before Buck, before LA and the 118, before tsunamis and shootings and lightning strikes. There are days when loving Buck overwhelms. When he can hardly breathe for the all-consuming nature of it. When the want is so fierce that he can taste it on his tongue. Most of the time though, it’s manageable. Like a radio on in the background, volume low enough that Eddie can ignore it. He can be almost clinical about it: fact—he is in love with Buck, fact—Buck is never going to love him back. It’s been years, so Eddie knows exactly how to handle these inconvenient truths, knows how to handle himself, has gotten used to them. He never expected anything to change, assumed that nothing could surprise him after so long.

But. Buck stood next to him in a cemetery and started talking about a woman he had only just met—a stranger—seeing him, understanding him like no one else, and Eddie—

Something in him broke. Some fragile bit of hope he hadn’t even realized he was harboring shattered, the shards slicing him to bloody ribbons.

And all he could really think was, Enough. Enough now.

Things changed then. He’s changed. Their relationship has changed. And he’s been telling himself that’s a good thing. It’s good, necessary even.

But Eddie doesn’t know how to deal with this. He doesn’t know what to say when Buck is sitting in front of him asking about it point blank while looking like a kicked puppy.

Part of him is angry. He resents being in this position, resents how long it’s taken Buck to say anything, resents knowing he can’t explain himself without revealing things he never wanted to. Mostly though, he resents the fact that after months of work—drawing a line in the sand and dating someone else, pulling away in an effort to establish real boundaries that might let him move on—he is still as much in love with Buck as ever.

Mostly though, he’s just tired.

“We’re still friends, Buck,” Eddie finally manages to say. “That hasn’t changed.”

“But something is different,” Buck insists. “If—you would tell me if I did something, wouldn’t you?”

Eddie drags a hand over his face, resisting the urge to touch his chest where a dull ache has bloomed behind his sternum.

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” he replies. It’s not an answer, not to the question Buck actually asked, but it’s as much of one as Eddie thinks he can give. And it’s the truth—Buck hasn’t done anything wrong. It’s not a crime not to love someone.

“But—”

“Buck.” Eddie’s tone snaps, raw and sharp and jagged. It sounds foreign to his own ears, an unacceptable loss of control, but he is fraying badly at the seams and needs out of this conversation.

A stricken look crosses Buck’s face, and Eddie forces his voice to gentle as he quietly adds, “Please.”

Please drop it. Please don’t push. Please don’t pull this thread.

Please let me go. Just let me go. Please.

Silence stretches between them for a long moment as Buck’s eyes scan Eddie’s face. But finally, as if he heard all the different things packed into that one syllable, Buck nods once.

“Okay.”

[o-sachi]

Back To Me Bachira Ver. ‧₊˚ ⋅ Drabble (Request)

ଳ even after all this time—who knew you'd come back to me? ଳ character; bachira meguru (blue lock) ଳ tags; childhood friends to lovers (kinda), sfw, afab reader, no y/n

There were random days when Bachira's mind would wander to some far off memory from his childhood. Sometimes it was about his early days playing football or a random mother-and-son bonding he had with his mom. But more often than not, he'd reminisce about the little girl he knew way back then.

When he first took a liking to football, Bachira's mom bought him a shiny new ball and would bring him to the park so he could let loose. While he did, his mom would relax on a bench and pull out a sketchbook. She enjoyed observing her surroundings and drawing whatever piqued her interest.

One fateful day however, someone else's interest was piqued—your interest to be exact. Being the nosy little kid that you were, you sat on the bench beside her and started asking a slew of questions.

Bachira's mom was more than happy to entertain your enthusiastic questions. But when she introduced you to her son, you quickly forgot what you approached her for because you had too much fun playing with him.

You were happy to have found a new friend, but Bachira was even more so. His mom smiled—watching the scene unfold before her. She made sure to memorialize that day by making an adorable drawing of it.

Since that day, whenever the opportunity presented itself, you and Bachira would play at the park. Once his mother met yours, you were finally able to go to Bachira's for a little play date.

It was great and all, until life had to happen. You two went to different middle schools, then different high schools. It wasn't a shock to either of you that your communication began to dwindle. Despite that, neither of you seemed to forget each other.

The drawing that his mom made the day you met was still plastered up on his wall and much of his memories with you are things he'd never forget.

Those feelings of nostalgia were especially prominent now that he was making his trip home after they were given the chance to visit their family on their break from the Blue Lock Program. After hopping off of the bus, he trudged through the familiar neighborhood. It seems that everywhere he'd turn his head, a memory of you would pop up.

A wistful smile crosses his lips as he recalled everything about you. Perhaps he thought about you way too hard because somehow he manifested you into reality.

He stood at the doorway of his home, jaw wide open and gawking at the sight in front of him. It was his mother and... you?

Your hair was different and you were certainly taller. But he was so sure it was you. He could tell by the twinkle in your eye and the way your lips curved into a smile.

Bachira was brought back to reality when his mom pulled him into a bear hug. "Welcome back, Meguru!"

She was almost squealing and Bachira had to try and calm her down. He was still trying to process what was in front of him. His mom soon caught on and decided to clear the air.

"You see... I bumped into her the other day while buying groceries and I remembered you were coming home in a few days. So I asked if she wanted to come see you again!"

That does sound like something his mother would do. Bachira felt inexplicably embarrassed. "Mom... are you sure she even remembers me? It's been so long," he asks, scratching his nape with a lopsided smile.

"Nonsense! Of course, she remembers you. Now, now, you two should catch up while I check on dinner."

She gives him a pat on the shoulder and a reassuring smile before disappearing into the kitchen—leaving the two of you and the awkward atmosphere.

He grins at you. "I hope you don't think my mom's crazy or anything."

"No, not at all," you shook your head. "In fact, I'm quite starstruck right now."

His eyebrow quirked at your words, prompting him to take a seat beside you. "Me?" he asked, pointing to himself as if there was someone else she could be referring to. "Why would you be starstruck by someone like me?"

"...I may or may not watch the BL TV streams..."

You look away to the side, hoping to soften the blow of what you said. You were unsure how it would come off—would he be flattered? Or would he not care at all? It's been years anyway. It's not like you'd be any different from his other fans.

He bursts into a joyous laughter. "I'm glad I wasn't the only one who kept thinking about the past." He exhausts the last of his mirth. "Unless... you were watching for the football and not because of me?"

Warmth spread across your cheeks at his question. "Ah... well..." you stalled. "Is it bad that I still don't know the rules after watching it so much?"

That was all he needed to hear.

The fatigue from his earlier commute seemingly vanished—gaining a renewed vigor from seeing a childhood friend and sensing a budding romance.

When feelings became overwhelming, he laid it all out to the nearest thing: you. With how tightly he caged you in a hug, you'd think he inherited this vice-like embrace from his mom. You reciprocated his energy, feeling a surge of emotions yourself.

"Wanna kick a ball around at the park tomorrow? Just you and I."

o-sachi © 2024 pls do not translate/copy/reupload my work on other platforms.

[nofingjustaninchident]

ᯓ★ i hate you more pt.3

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

pairing jason grace x roman!reader

summary well, he should be dead, and she’d gladly kill him

warnings probably cursing, third person writing

now listening to bad blood by taylor swift

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

Chiron invited them inside, sending Drew back to her cabin. y/n was glad when the girl walked away - her excessive touchiness with Jason had been grating on her nerves, as was the fact that she didn't even understand why it pissed her off so much. 

Especially because it shouldn’t, since they apparently hated each other so much. 

"Follow me," the centaur said. "We have lemonade." 

Grapevines covered the walls of the living room, running across the ceiling as well. y/n wasn't sure how they were able to grow inside, especially given the season, but they were leafy green and bursting with bunches of red grapes. 

The girl looked up at a stuffed leopard's head hung above the fireplace, so real-looking that its eyes seemed to move. It snarled at Jason, and she felt him nearly jump out of his skin next to her. 

“For the gods’ sake-” He muttered under his breath and y/n had to stop herself from snickering.  

"Now, Seymour," Chiron chided. "Jason is a friend. Behave yourself." 

Chiron threw a sausage to the leopard, who snatched it up and licked his lips. "You must excuse the decor," Chiron said. "All this was a parting gift from our old director before he was recalled to Mount Olympus. He thought it would help us remember him. Mr. D has a strange sense of humor." 

"Mr. D," Jason said. "Dionysus?" 

"Mhm." Chiron poured three glasses of lemonade, though his hands seemed to tremble slightly. He and Jason carried on a conversation about the old camp director and Seymour's origins, y/n watching in silence. She could tell that Chiron was wary of her as well, though he hadn't recognized her the way he recognized Jason. She supposed that was a good thing, giving the conditions - he had said Jason was supposed to be dead. 

"So, Jason, y/n," Chiron said. "Would you mind telling me – ah - where you're from?" 

"I wish we knew," Jason sighed. “I mean, i don’t. Maybe she does and just don’t want to tell anyone.”  

That earnt him a smack in the arm, which was nothing but passive-aggressive.  

y/n let Jason tell the story, only chiming in when he left out a detail or she needed to speak from her own experience. Chiron didn't react aside from nodding encouragingly for either of them to continue. 

When Jason was done, Chiron took a sip of his lemonade. "You only remember each other?" he asked for clarification. 

Y/n nodded. "Sadly, yes. Just names, but still." she muttered, looking over at Jason briefly. "Everything else is... blank." 

"I see," Chiron said. "Well, you must have questions for me." 

"I have one," y/n spoke up. "Any reason in particular those... naiads? Is that what they're called? Is there a reason they talked to me or...?” 

Chiron regarded her with inquisitive eyes. "They talked to you?" 

y/n nodded. "Yeah, one of them just... stood – can i say stood if they’re underwater? Anyway, one of them stood there and told me to just breathe." She tried to push away the memory of the human-like thing telling her to take a breath underwater. "Is that... normal?" 

"No," Chiron confessed. "That's highly unusual - naiads are typically friendly, especially the ones in the canoe lake, but they don’t usually talk. Well, at least, not that anyone could understand, anyway. The only person they talked to was...”  

With his pause, y/n looked expectantly at him. “The only person they talked was..?” And something Annabeth said came up to her. “Was it that guy that Annabeth talked about? Uh- Percy, right?”  

Chiron’s expression got somewhat darker, but he managed to cover it up. “Yes, Percy. He's one of our oldest campers now, but he’s missing.”  

“Oh.” y/n muttered. “Sorry.”  

“It’s no problem, child.” Chiron assured. “It wasn’t your fault.” 

But what if it was? 

"In any case, that indeed is strange," Chiron said quietly. "I will have a talk with them. Until then, it may be best to steer clear of the lake." 

"That won't be a problem," y/n muttered. 

"Do you have any other questions?" Chiron asked. 

"Uh, yeah," Jason admitted. "What did you mean when you said I should be dead?" 

Chiron studied him with concern. "Do either of you know what the marks on your arms mean? The color of your shirt, Jason? Do you remember anything?" 

Jason shook his head. "No, nothing," Jason said. 

"Do you know where you are?" Chiron asked. "Do you understand what this place is, who I am?" 

"You're Chiron the centaur," Jason said. "I'm guessing you're the same one from the old stories, who used to train heroes like Heracles." 

"And this is a camp for demigods," y/n said, "children of the Olympian gods." 

"So, you believe those gods still exist?" Chiron asked. 

"Yes," Jason answered immediately. y/n felt the same confidence, though she didn't know where it came from. "I mean, I don't think we should worship them or sacrifice chickens to them or anything, but they're still around because they're a powerful part of civilization. They move from country to country as the center of power shifts - like they moved from Ancient Greece to Rome." 

"I couldn't have said it better." Something in Chiron's voice had changed. "So, you already know the gods are real. You have both already been claimed, haven't you?" 

"Maybe," Jason answered. 

"We can't remember," y/n said. 

The leopard on the wall snarled, and Chiron studied them for a moment, waiting. y/n realized after a moment that Chiron had switched to another language, and she and Jason understood it fluently. 

"Quis erat-" Jason faltered, as if the language was automatic. "What was that?" 

"You know Latin," Chiron observed. "Most demigods recognize a few phrases, of course. It's in their blood, but not as much as Ancient Greek. None can speak Latin fluently without practice." 

y/n frowned, trying to wrap her brain around the fact that she could speak Latin, of all languages. Why couldn’t it be french, german, maybe? It felt so familiar on her tongue as she spoke it, the same as in her ears when Jason and Chiron did. 

"I taught your namesake, you know - the original Jason," Chiron said. "He had a hard path. I've seen many heroes come and go. Occasionally, they have happy endings. Mostly, they don't. It breaks my heart, like losing a child every time one of my pupils dies. But you two are unlike any pupils I've ever taught. Your presence here could be a disaster." 

"Thanks," Jason muttered. "You must be an inspiring teacher." 

"You should look into motivational speaking if you get bored here," y/n grumbled. 

Chiron sighed quietly. "I am sorry. But it's true. I had hoped after Percy's succeeded in the Titan War and saved Mount Olympus, we might have some peace. I might be able to enjoy one final triumph, a happy ending, and perhaps retire quietly. I should have known better. The last chapter approaches, just as it did before. The worst is yet to come." 

A heavy blanket of gloom seemed to rest over the entire room. 

"Okay," Jason said. "So - last chapter, happened before, worst yet to come. Sounds fun, but can we get back to the part where I'm supposed to be dead? I don't like that part." 

“Why not?” y/n asked, rolling her eyes as she looked at him with annoyance clear on her eyes. “I like it very much. Sounds appealing, doesn’t it?” It was as if the tease just had to leave her. She didn’t understand where all that came from.  

“Oh, fuck off for a moment.” He grumbled and flipped her off.  

"I'm afraid I can't explain, my boy. I swore on the River Styx and on all things sacred that I would never..." Chiron frowned. "But you're both here, a violation of the same oath. That, too, should not be possible. I don't understand. Who would've done such a thing? Who-" 

Seymour howled, his mouth freezing halfway. The fire stopped crackling, its flames hardening like red glass. 

Everything seemed to just... stop. 

"Chiron?" Jason asked. "What's going-" 

Chiron was frozen, too. Jason and y/n stood up, but Chiron's eyes didn't waver. His mouth was open mid-sentence, and he sat there, not blinking or even breathing from the looks of it. 

"Tell me you're seeing this, too," Jason whispered, reaching for y/n’s hand instinctively. 

She squeezed it tightly, not even noticing at first. She glanced down at it, and decided to stay holding it. It was the only sign that they both weren’t crazy. "Frozen centaur? Yeah, I see it." 

Jason, a voice spoke. y/n. 

A dark mist poured from Seymour's mouth. Storm spirits, she thought, her free hand going to her pocket and taking her key out. She and Jason both summoned their weapons. 

The mist shaped itself into a woman in black robes. 

Her face was hooded, but her eyes glowed in the darkness. Over her shoulders was a goat-skin cloak, falling down her back and brushing the floor. y/n recognized the cloak for some reason, and she knew somehow that it was important - that it was much more than a strange fashion choice. 

Would you attack your patron, Jason? the woman chided. Her voice seemed to echo in y/n’s mind, bypassing her ears entirely. Lower your swords. The two of you. 

"Who are you?" Jason demanded. "How did you—?" 

Our time is limited. My prison grows stronger by the hour. It took me a full month to gather enough energy to work even the smallest magic through its bonds. I've managed to bring you two here, but now I have little time left, and even less power. This may be the last time I can speak to either of you. 

"You're in prison?" Jason questioned, still not lowering his sword. "Look, I don't know you, and you're not my patron." 

You know me, the woman insisted. I have known you since your birth, Jason. 

"I don't remember," Jason said. "I don't remember anything." 

No, you don't, she agreed. Neither of you do. That was also necessary. Long ago, Jason, your father gave me your life as a gift to placate my anger. He named you Jason, after my favorite mortal. You belong to me, Jason. And unfortunately, she’s way too useful to be left behind.  

"Hey!” y/n protested.  

"Whoa," Jason said, ignoring her completely. Something told y/n that this was something he often did. "I don't belong to anyone." 

Now is the time to pay your debt, she said. Find my prison. The girl has the key to unlock me. Free me, or their king will rise from the earth, and I will be destroyed. You will never retrieve your memories. 

"You stole our memories?" y/n asked, her eyes narrowing at the hooded woman. "And you want us to help you?" 

You have until sunset on the solstice. Four short days. Do not fail me. 

The dark woman dissolved, the mist curling into Seymour's mouth. 

Time unfroze. Seymour's howl tapered off into a cough. The fire crackled to life and Chiron continued, 

"—would dare to bring you here?" 

"My guess is the lady in the mist," y/n muttered. 

Chiron looked up at them in surprise. "Weren't you just sitting... why are your swords drawn?" 

"I hate to tell you this," Jason said, "but I think your leopard just ate a goddess." 

He proceeded to Chiron what had happened when time froze. 

"Oh, dear," Chiron murmured. "That does explain a lot." 

"It does?" y/n asked. "Care to fill us in?" 

"Please," Jason added. 

Before Chiron could say anything else, the front door to the Big House blew open and Annabeth and another girl, a redhead, burst in, dragging an unconscious Piper between them. 

"What happened?" y/n asked, rushing over to them with Jason close behind, both of their swords abandoned on the coffee table. "What's wrong with her?" 

"Hera's cabin," Annabeth gasped, like they'd run all the way to the house. "Vision. Bad." 

The redhead looked up, and y/n saw tears on her cheeks. "I..." She gulped. "I think I may have killed her." 

                           𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 

The redhead – who, later, y/n discovered to be named Rachel Dare – had not, in fact, killed Piper. She was still breathing, though she couldn't seem to wake up. 

Ophelia didn't like the sight of the girl so pale and sickly, as if Hades himself had come up to the mortal world to take away her soul but forgot to do so. y/n was positive she didn't know the girl, not like she knew Jason, but they had survived a battle with storm spirits and a chariot crash within the span of just a few hours - things like that bonded people. 

Chiron put his hand on Piper's forehead, grimacing. 

"Her mind is in a fragile state. Rachel, what happened?" 

Rachel shook her head slightly. "I wish I knew," she said. "As soon as I got to camp, I had a premonition about Hera's cabin. I went inside. Annabeth and Piper came in while I was there. We talked, and then- I just blanked out. Annabeth said I spoke in a different voice." 

"A prophecy?" Chiron asked. 

"No. The spirit of Delphi comes from within. I know how that feels. This is like long distance, a power trying to speak through me." 

Annabeth ran into the room carrying a leather pouch. 

She knelt next to Piper. "Chiron, what happened back there - I've never seen anything like it. I've heard Rachel's prophecy voice. This was different. She sounded like an older woman. She grabbed Piper's shoulders and told her-" 

"To free her from a prison?" Jason offered, looking at y/n with a grimace. The latter was still staring at the girl laid down in front of her, wondering what she could do to help – or rather, if she could really do anything to help.  

Annabeth stared at him. "How did you know that?" 

Chiron made a strange three-fingered gesture over his heart, like a ward against evil. y/n tried to ignore the unsettling feeling it gave her. "Jason, y/n, tell them. Annabeth, the medicine bag, please." 

Chiron trickled drops from a medicine vial into Piper's mouth as Jason explained the vision he and y/n had witnessed of the woman who claimed to be Jason's patron. 

"Does this happen often?" y/n chimed in when he was finished talking. "Supernatural phone calls from convicts demanding you bust them out of jail?" 

"Patron," Annabeth said, looking at Jason with a frown. "Not your godly parent?" 

"No, she said patron. She also said my dad had given her my life," Jason said. 

Annabeth's frown deepened. "I've never heard of anything like that before. You said the storm spirit on the skywalk - he claimed to be working for some mistress who was giving him orders, right? Could it be this woman you saw, messing with you?" 

"I don't think so," Jason said. "If she was my enemy, why would she be asking for my help? She's imprisoned. She's worried about some enemy getting more powerful. Something about a king rising from the earth on the solstice-" 

Annabeth looked at Chiron, her face losing its color. 

"Not Kronos. Please tell me it's not that." 

Chiron was quiet for a moment, checking Piper's pulse before he finally answered, "It is not Kronos. That threat is ended. But..." 

"But what?" Annabeth asked. 

Chiron closed his medicine bag. "Piper needs rest. We should discuss this later." 

"Or now," y/n said with a frown. "You said the greatest threat was coming. The last chapter?" 

"You can't possibly mean something worse than an army of Titans, right?" Jason asked.  

"Oh," Rachel said, her voice small. "Oh, dear. The woman was Hera. Of course. Her cabin, her voice. She showed herself to Jason and y/n at the same moment." 

"Hera?" Annabeth looked downright murderous. "She took you over? She did this to Piper?" 

"I think Rachel's right," Jason said. "The woman did seem like a goddess. And she wore this- this goatskin cloak. That's the symbol of Juno, isn't it?" 

"It is?" Annabeth scowled. "I've never heard that." 

Chiron nodded. "Of Juno, Hera's Roman aspect, in her most warlike state. The goatskin cloak was a symbol of the Roman soldier." 

"So, Hera is imprisoned?" Rachel asked. "Who could do that to the queen of the gods?" 

Annabeth crossed her arms. "Well, whoever they are, maybe we should thank them. If they can shut up Hera-" 

"Annabeth," Chiron warned, "she is still one of the Olympians. In many ways, she is the glue that holds the gods' family together. If she truly has been imprisoned and is in danger of destruction, this could shake the foundations of the world. It could unravel the stability of Olympus, which is never great even in the best of times. And if Hera has asked Jason and y/n for help-" 

"Fine," Annabeth grumbled. "Well, we know Titans can capture a god, right? Atlas captured Artemis a few years ago. And in the old stories, the gods captured each other in traps all the time. But something worse than a Titan...?" 

"Hera said she'd been trying to break through her prison bonds for a month," Jason said. 

"Which is how long Olympus has been closed," Annabeth said. "So, the gods must know something bad is going on." 

Jason sighed, a look of frustration on his face. "But why use her energy to send y/n and me here?" he asked. "She wiped our memories, plopped us into the Wilderness School field trip, and sent you a dream vision to come pick us up. Why are we so important? Why not just send up an emergency flare to the other gods - let them know where she is so they can bust her out?" 

"The gods need heroes to do their will down here on earth," Rachel said. "That's right, isn't it? Their fates are always intertwined with demigods." 

"That's true," Annabeth said, "but Jason's got a point. Why them? Why take their memories?" 

"I'd like to know that myself," y/n muttered. 

"Piper's involved somehow," Rachel said. "Hera sent her the same message- Free me. And, Annabeth, this must have something to do with Percy's disappearance." 

Annabeth looked at Chiron, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Why are you so quiet, Chiron? What is it we're facing?" 

Chiron looked as if he'd aged ten years in a matter of minutes. "My dear, in this, I cannot help you. I am so sorry." 

Annabeth blinked. "You've never... you've never kept information from me. Even the last Great Prophecy-" 

"I will be in my office," Chiron announced, his voice heavy. "I need some time to think before dinner. Rachel, will you watch the girl? Call Argus to bring her to the infirmary, if you'd like. And Annabeth, you should speak with Jason and y/n. Tell them about- about the Greek and Roman gods." 

"But..." 

Chiron turned away, heading out of the room and down the hallway. Annabeth muttered something in Greek that y/n suspected wasn't too kind toward centaurs. 

"I'm sorry," Jason said. "I think us being here - I don't know. We've messed things up coming to the camp, somehow. Chiron said he'd sworn an oath and couldn't talk about it." 

y/n frowned, wanting to add that she definitely hadn’t asked to come to the camp, but she bit her tongue - it wasn't the time. 

 "What oath?" Annabeth demanded. "I've never seen him act this way. And why would he tell me to talk to you about the gods..." Her voice trailed off, looking at the two gold swords lying on the coffee table. She touched Jason's gingerly, like it might be hot. "Are these gold? Do you remember where you got it?" 

y/n shook her head, Jason doing the same. "We don't remember anything," she said. 

Annabeth nodded like she'd come up with a rather desperate plan. "If Chiron won't help, we'll need to figure things out ourselves. Which means... Cabin Fifteen. Rachel, you'll keep an eye on Piper?"  

"Sure," Rachel promised. "Good luck, you three."  

"Hold on," Jason said. "What's in Cabin Fifteen?"   

Annabeth stood. "Maybe a way to get your memories back." 

TAGLIST @maybxlle @sunshine-of-ur-life @liviessun @bellamysnatblida @mp-littlebit @cinemaconrad @eaterof-concrete

[onlyhaos]

pairing: seungcheol x afab!reader (pt. 2)

genre: angst, fluff (?)

warnings: alcohol consumption, tiny bit of swearing

[a/n] My apologies for this crappy fic, but I’m just not able to continue writing on my longer fics atm😔😔 Tell me if there are other things that should be a warning, if needed. ly💞💞

Seungcheol was not in the mood for jokes right now, and so were you.

Both of you holding back tears.

This all could’ve been avoided if both of you just weren’t so hot headed every time you wanted to discuss your different opinions.

Because every single time it lead to arguments.

Arguments where one gave the other the silent treatment, or completely shut them out their space.

Though today was different, you knew after every fight you and Seungcheol would talk about it. Even if it was a night or a day later.

But neither you nor Seungcheol could believe what left your mouth, when you both spoke about your last disagreement.

When he heard your words, his heart crumbled.

“Do we even still make sense..? Isn’t this all just bad for both of us?- I mean we try to keep something alive that’s dying down more and more.” You said, barely above a whisper.

And he still could hear every word.

“Y/n, are you fucking kidding me, right now? After 2 years, you’re saying that we’re dying down?” He said, trying to hide his sadness with his irritated tone.

It wasn’t easy, and you knew that your words hit the both of you like a bullet, because you were already affected by it as regret filled your mind.

“I..I just mean..” You stammered.

“Keep it to yourself, I do definitely not need to hear it.” A tear slipping down his cheek as he spoke.

Swallowing the big lump down your throat, you spoke again.

“What will we do now?” You choked out, making Seungcheol look at you. Hiding his worries and the way he‘s near a breakdown, too.

He knew that if he broke down now, you and him wouldn’t be able to have a peaceful mind for this conversation. And everything could end, unclear and unsolved.

“I‘ll leave.“

You looked up at your, still, boyfriend, not holding those falling tears back anymore.

“What..?” You questioned, following him, who’s now walking to the front door.

He opened the door, and the last words you heard from him echoed in your head, for the rest of the night:

“Until death do us fucking part, right? Your words.” He scoffed, leaving.

These words made you freeze, your heart felt like it was shattering. Memories brought back, the words, that were the start of your relationship.

They just felt like a broken promise.

You couldn’t stop him from leaving though, since you understood him too much, to be selfish.

All you could see was a blur now, having to accept the fact that this was possibly the end for the both of you.

Further into the night, finding yourself on the couch again, you down the expensive whiskeys Seungcheol likes to drink after a tiring day of work.

Because after sitting in front of the door, for an whole hour and hoping for your boyfriend to come back, you came to the realization that this door was going to stay shut for tonight.

Continuing to recall only his last words were like a nightmare, no, worse than that.

And you couldn‘t drown those words out, no matter how much you drank.

Staring at your phone the whole night, you eventually fell asleep. Since crying, enough to feel dehydrated, and even giving up drinking didn‘t help.

Your figure was just blacked out on the couch, the familiar ringing of your phone pulling you out of your sleep.

Hastily, you searched for it, your head already buzzing and making it harder to focus, on finding the phone that was somewhere on the big furniture.

You looked at your screen, in hopes for it to be Seungcheol.

Even though the screen was completely dark, it was the only thing that lit up your unlit living room.

Jeonghan.

It read.

You hesitated, unsure who would be on the phone now, and fake tapping the accept button twice as you bit your other thumb anxiously.

You put all the courage you had into the nerves of your fingertips. Ready to accept the call, and the second you try to accept it, your phone goes dark again.

You took too much time.

Fuck.

All the confidence you built up in those (maybe not so) sober seconds suddenly evaporated again.

The only solution was shrinking back into yourself, letting tears fall again.

Because never would you have enough courage to call back. Not when you’re unsure about who would accept the call on Jeonghan’s phone.

Letting the darkness of the living room and your sadness take over you again, you slowly closed your teary eyes.

And falling asleep again, just not hearing the next message that’s been sent this time.

Cheollie 🎀🍒

I’ll be back tomorrow, when we’re both a bit more composed. We’ll talk about every single thing, that made us come to thinking that breaking up would be a good idea.

Because I won’t and I don’t want to let you go that easily.

Tomorrow we’ll decide how things will be in the future. If we’ll still have one.

I love you, Y/n.

Jeonghan only looked at Seungcheol, before their eyes met, Seungcheol already broke down. Finding the safety in the arms of his best friend for that night.

And not in his lover.

But he knew if you both wanted something, you would fight for it. As good and as bad you both knew about each other, you’d always pull through together.

You both loved, and such love came with everything.

“Through thick and thin” That was your promise to each other.

pt. 2 <3

[sweetestcaptainhughes]

Pls can we have some #9 with mr jack Hughes 😪😪❤️‍🩹

I am gonna be honest I am very much in my feelings today so I wanna apologize in advance if this turns out extra sad.

200 Followers Celebration Masterlist

Recalling small touches, like brushed hands or a small nudge, and immediately yearning for that warmth again.

Everyone knows that say "if you love something, let it go and if it loves you it will come back to you." Well that saying is complete bullshit and it only leads someone to heartbreak. Now sitting here on the back deck of your ex-boyfriends house trying to control your breathing so no one heard your sobbing, you wished someone would of told seventeen year old that it was bullshit and maybe it would of saved you a bunch of heartache for yourself.

But sadly no one told you, and now here you were crying about the same boy you cried about all those years ago except now it couldn't be written off as something that was "young love." Because the ache that you felt in your chest due to the love of your life coming home this summer engaged to a girl. And but yet every time he passes you, the outside of his hand will ever so slightly brush against yours. Or the fact that when he hands you your morning cup of coffee he holds onto to your hand a little longer than needed. How about the fact that if looks could kill, Trevor Zegras would be a deadman for playing the role of a 'gentleman' and bowing before helping you into the boat yesterday. As the memories of this summer, of the games he has been playing with your heart come flooding to you as you sit here trying to remember how to breath because everything came crashing down tonight at the bonfire at Brock Boesar's house. It wasn't her fault, you try to remind yourself, but you still can't help hating her for having him someone you never will have.

God what you would give, to be able to go back in time to when he was yours all those years ago. When he would stay up late on the phone with despite being states away in New York just to hear your voice because he missed it. When he would save up his allowance to be able buy a new book and ship to your house, because he knew how you felt about flowers and how they were kind of a waste of money. How big of a smile he would have on his lips when he realized you were able to get off work and come over with his parents for his game. Back when he was your world and you were his, but then you destroyed it out of fear.

Fear that you wouldn't be able to grow as people if you only ever knew each other. Fear that neither of you would take risks to grow in your career if you were always thinking of the other. Fear of the stress of you being 3000 miles away in school, while he was in New Jersey starting his NHL career. Both of you were suppose to come back to each other like they saying, both of you were suppose to come back to each other because you loved each other.

But yet now, all you crave is his warmth. You would give anything to feel his ghostly touch down your arm, or a kiss in the crown of your head. But it will never happen because somehow your biggest fear of all has came true, Jack Hughes has outgrown you.

[fettuccinealfred0]

Til Death Do Us Part | Part 5

Series Masterlist

Astarion x f!reader, Arranged Marriage AU

Word Count: 13.6k

(CW: SMUT 18+, vampire biting/blood drinking, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, handjob, mentions of past sexual assualt and trauma)

Summary:

Astarion reaches out, feeling the soft petals on one of the flowers. He smells the sweet, floral scent in the air. The smile on your face seems to be wavering the longer he’s silent.

“What do you think? Do you like them?” You ask, nervous.

“I adore them.”

I adore you, he thinks, before he’s able to stop himself. 

Astarion quickly snaps off a blossom and faces you. 

“But, you’re still my favorite little flower,” he says, tucking the stem behind your ear. Your eyes close at the touch of his fingers against your cheek as he pulls away. He’s struck once again by how badly he wants to kiss you. It physically pains him to step away.

But he must distance himself from you. Because love is a sickness, a weakness. Love is about trusting someone enough to offer up your very soul to them, to give them the power to own you. And Astarion wasn’t going to allow that to happen. No one would control him ever again.

Read on ao3 here.

There’s blackness. 

Astarion reaches his hands out, but they hit a wall. 

He reaches to the side. Another wall.

He immediately knows where he is. The dread settles into his bones. He’s back in that cursed coffin, buried beneath the earth. 

He’s scratching and clawing at the wood surrounding him, throat raw from screaming, desperate and choking on his hunger. A vampire without enough blood was driven to madness and he had spent so much time down here with nothing but unending thirst. 

And just when had resigned himself to that eternity, Cazador was digging him out and torturing him anew.

Astarion’s head is pounding and he can’t think straight. Has Cazador finally caught up to him? Is this punishment for escaping?

No, Cazador is dead. 

Astarion is sure of that. And he’s all too sure he’s been here before. 

This is a memory. One of those twisted, ugly things that claws its way out from the back of his mind and he’s helplessly forced to watch it replay. 

He can’t remember what came before this. There was white? 

No. It was snowing. The first snow of the season. Tainted red by blood and dead bodies. They had been ambushed by the Gur. 

Your hand reaching out to him, blood dripping into his mouth.

Astarion closes his eyes and focuses on your face in his mind, filled with a sense of calm and warmth. His pretty wife welcoming him home. 

The image in his brain warps. 

“I have something for you,” you say, poking your head into Astarion’s study. You’re careful to hide your body behind the doorframe so Astarion can’t see what you’re holding, but you’re practically vibrating with excitement. It sends a pleasant thrum through his own chest to see you like this.

“Why, do tell, darling, I can hardly stand the suspense.” Astarion hears himself say without really saying it.

This must be another memory, though his muddled mind struggles to place it. 

You step through the door frame, holding an ornate vase filled to the brim with flowers.

“You need to liven this room up a little bit,” you tell him, setting the vase on an empty table. You take a moment to rearrange the flowers to your satisfaction and step back to inspect your work with your hands on your hips. “It’s not that much longer until the first frost and it feels a shame for all those pretty flowers out in the garden to go unappreciated.”

The bouquet you’ve made is stunning. Red chrysanthemums, red roses, and red asters surrounded by clumps of tiny little white flowers. Heliotropes, Astarion thinks they’re called. 

Astarion is vaguely familiar with the meaning of flowers. In the back of his mind, he can hazily recall his mother telling him their meanings when he was a boy. But he must be misremembering because he’s fairly certain all these flowers you have given him mean love and undying devotion. 

“I thought you’d appreciate red. I assume it’s your favorite color, what with the blood and all,” you tease, sounding entirely too proud of yourself for coming up with that little quip.

Of course you weren’t trying to indirectly communicate with him via flowers. It made much more sense that the bouquet was a joke for you to amuse yourself with. It’s still a sweet gesture. Astarion isn’t quite sure why his stomach sinks with disappointment.  

“A vampire loving red. You’re very clever,” Astarion says sarcastically, coming to stand beside you and inspect the flowers more closely. 

“Wrong answer.” You turn to face him, hands still on your hips and a stern look on your face. It’s cute. “This is the part where you thank your lovely wife for bringing you flowers.” 

Astarion huffs, rolling his eyes. He’ll humor you today because you’ve put him in a good mood. Though, he does try to sound as annoyed as possible. “Thank you for the flowers, dearest wife. They are the highlight of my day.”

Deep down, he knows he means every word of what he just said. If anything, you were far more than the highlight of his day. The highlight of his week, of his year, of his life, more likely. 

And you do look so very pleased with yourself. Giving in to you was undeniably worth it, then. He adored that little look you got when you felt you had bested him. More and more often, he found himself conceding in your little verbal sparring matches just so he could see that look. 

“I have another surprise for you, too, tonight! Plan for a walk in the gardens.” Your voice is so light as you beam at him. His personal ray of sunshine. He wants to keep you like that forever, fill your days with nothing but joy and laughter. 

You hum as you slip down the hallway, practically skipping. 

Drink, Astarion hears you say, but that doesn’t make sense. You left already. 

His head hurts so bad. 

Something cold is pressed against his lips. He opens his mouth and tastes the sweet, metallic tang of your blood against his tongue. His brain is too foggy to question what’s going on, so he just revels in your taste, lets it coat his mouth and dance against his taste buds. 

He drinks and drinks until there’s nothing left. 

It’s not enough. He could never get enough of you.

His eyes flicker open and you’re leaning over him. Something warm presses against his forehead and he recognizes that you must be wiping down his face.

This isn’t a memory, though, the corners of his vision are a bit too crisp. He can feel himself starting to squirm, an attempt to sit up and orient himself. 

“Shh,” you reassure him and your soft voice is music to his ears, even if it does sound clouded and distant. “Rest. We’ll have more for you soon.”

—----------

It’s dark in Astarion’s mind. He’s walking down the streets in the city of Baldur’s Gate.

“Where are we going?” The man’s voice behind him calls and he tugs insistently on Astarion’s hand.

Astarion takes the opportunity to spin, pinning the man to the wall. He licks up the man’s neck, biting softly on his earlobe before murmuring in that practiced, seductive voice, “Come now, don’t be impatient. Are you really so desperate for me to fuck you?”

He knows the man is. He was one of the creepy ones that were easy to pick up in a seedy tavern. And Astarion can feel the hard length of the man’s cock pressing into his hip.

“Yes, take me here,” the man says breathlessly, head falling back against the wall. 

“Be a good boy for me, wait just a moment longer. I have the perfect spot for us. Then, I can take my time with you,” Astarion purrs, with all the control he can muster. If he could just get him back to the castle quickly enough, he might not actually have to do anything. He might still be able to spare himself that little agony.

Astarion had been through this so many times- he knew exactly what to say, exactly what to do. His whole body felt numb as he continued his way back to Cazador’s palace, his new victim’s hand wandering and groping as they walked. Astarion laughed and pinched him back, even if he hated the feeling of the man’s hands on him. 

It was easier this way, if he just let his body act out the part. If he went to that little part of his mind and hid away in there until this was over.

Once he gets the man inside the palace, it’s finished almost immediately. 

Cazador makes Astarion watch as he drains the man dry. Makes him stare into those desperate, scared eyes of the man he betrayed. That part doesn’t bother Astarion. But the fact that Cazador enjoys a feast Astarion himself will never get to experience has him nearly going blind with hatred. He soothes himself by imagining he’s prying out Cazador’s fangs.

“Good job, boy. Here’s your dinner,” Cazador hurls a rat at Astarion and he drinks greedily. If he was quick enough about it, he almost couldn’t taste the gamey, bitter blood that barely kept him alive.

The man’s body creates a loud thump when Cazador drops him to the ground.

Only, when he looks again, it’s your bloody face staring back at him. Astarion’s crawling forward to you before he can even think- let Cazador unleash his worst punishments for this transgression. Astarion nearly retches at the sight of your once-beautiful eyes staring open at him, lifeless. 

No, no, no- this is all wrong. 

Astarion is sobbing and crying, pulling your dead body to his chest, pressing his forehead against yours. Your skin is so cold. 

Astarion closes his eyes, focuses on the feeling of your cold skin against his hand. 

When he opens them again, you’re in the gardens, shimmering and swimming in the moonlight of his memory. 

“Close your eyes,” you tell him.

“What are you going to do to me, you little minx?” He flirts and he can hear you shushing him as he shuts his eyes. 

You grab one of his hands and your palm is so warm against the cool night air that stings at his skin like needles. Astarion didn’t like the cold before he was turned and after, it was as if his tolerance to weather was nonexistent. 

With your finger intertwined, you lead him, giving gentle instructions on where to step. He practically runs into you when you stop and has to steady himself with his hands on your waist. 

“Oof, sorry, should have told you to stop. You can open your eyes now,” you say, but you don’t really sound too sorry. Astarion opens his eyes, but keeps his hands firmly on your waist, pulling you back against him a bit tighter.

In front of him is a new patch of white, star-shaped flowers. They’re pretty, undoubtedly. But Astarion can’t quite figure out their significance or why this surprise had mattered to you so much. 

“They’re moonflowers!” You rush to explain. “They bloom at night! And they look like stars so they reminded me of you, little star.”

He can hear the nerves in your voice as you say the last part. Little star. Just like his mother used to call him. For the first time in centuries, he thinks that perhaps he can feel his heart beating in his chest, can feel the pounding pulse reverberating in his head, making him dizzy. 

“I asked Gale to help me find them in the woods and then Halsin helped me plant them! I thought you deserved to have something that looked prettier at night than during the day. Something special just for you,” you continue to explain, twisting in his arms so you can study his reaction. 

Astarion used his beauty as a shield, as a distraction. Keep it flirty and light and people’s minds become clouded by desire and they give you what you want. 

But you watch him, study him. He can feel your shrewd eyes on him, catching every involuntary twitch and movement in his face. He can see you categorizing and sorting them away in your pretty little brain. It’s the first time in many years that he hasn’t minded someone’s gaze upon him. 

But it’s endlessly frustrating how you keep poking and prodding at him in an attempt to dig deeper? Why couldn’t you just be distracted by the beauty like everyone else? Why did you make him want things that were impossible?

Astarion is speechless. You had given him these beautiful flowers, a gift just for him. Watching this memory play out before him, he’s forced to remind himself that this was just as real as the memories of Cazador. That despite all the trauma of his life as a spawn, his mind also contained these beautiful moments with you. 

His hands drop from your waist as he moves forward to inspect the flowers. It’s amazing to see. Where most flowers would sleep for the night, these large white blossoms are opening up their petals to the full moon, drinking in the silvery light. Astarion misses the sunlight, desperately. He misses the warmth on his skin and the way colors used to look so bright. But the way these little flowers worship the moonlight, Astarion thinks that perhaps a life relegated to the dark might not be so bad. Not if he has you to worship. 

He reaches out, feeling the soft petals on one of the flowers. He smells the sweet, floral scent in the air. The smile on your face seems to be wavering the longer he’s silent.

“What do you think? Do you like them?” You ask, nervous.

“I adore them.”

I adore you, he thinks, before he’s able to stop himself. 

Astarion quickly snaps off a blossom and faces you. 

“But, you’re still my favorite little flower,” he says, tucking the stem behind your ear. Your eyes close at the touch of his fingers against your cheek as he pulls away. He’s struck once again by how badly he wants to kiss you. It physically pains him to step away.

But he must distance himself from you. Because love is a sickness, a weakness. Love is about trusting someone enough to offer up your very soul to them, to give them the power to own you. And Astarion wasn’t going to allow that to happen. No one would control him ever again. Not after he had killed Cazador. Not when he still needed to figure a way out of his stupid deal with Raphael. 

And that’s not what this feeling is anyway, Astarion tries to reason with himself. He wants to kiss you because that’s what his body is trained to do. To repay. Even if he knows your kindness has no expectations attached to it, Astarion thinks that this desire is a side-effect from centuries of conditioning. Love isn’t possible after what he had experienced. 

But then, that doesn’t explain why he wants to kiss you nearly every time he sees you. Or why he spends half his day thinking of silly lines he can say at dinner that will make you smile. Or why he wants to hold you so close to him that your bodies nearly fuse together. Or why he wants to flutter his eyelashes against your skin until you’re laughing and pushing him away. 

It’s perverse- the soft, domestic things he wants to do to you. 

“Astarion,” he hears your gentle voice coo out, though you’re growing hazy in front of him. 

He’s trying to reach out to you, to keep you with him.

He opens his heavy eyes and your worried face is looking down at him. You’re so blurry.

“You need to drink more,” you say softly, and the goblet is being pressed against his lips again, the irresistible taste of your blood in his mouth.

—--------------------------------------

When Astarion wakes again, it’s night. He finds you sitting next to him, alternating between pretending to read a book and staring out the window. The curtains must have been drawn back after the sun went down. Astarion can tell that you’re worried by the little crease in your brow and the way you chew on your lip. He lets himself watch you for a couple moments before he pushes himself up to sit, finally alerting you that he’s awake.

“Here, drink.” You’re rushing a goblet to his mouth immediately and this time, he’s able to take the cup from your hands and actually raise it to his own mouth with minimal shakiness. He tilts the cup back, throat still burning with hunger as he swallows thick mouthfuls of your blood. 

“You’re looking better. You’ve been pretty out of it for a while,” you say, taking the cup from him and sitting on the bed beside him. 

You reach out to brush a curl away from his forehead and Astarion doesn’t miss the slight shake of your hands or how ashen your skin looks. 

How much blood have you given to him? Astarion makes a mental note to ask Shadowheart to make you a special tea to help deal with any nasty side-effects of blood loss.

“What happened?” He asks, trying to piece together how long he had been unconscious. 

You frown. Astarion hates when he makes you frown. 

“You were staked. Not through the heart, thank the gods, but you lost so much blood. Shadowheart called it blood madness. She said that your body was returning to death,” you explain. 

Blood madness. Everything starts to make sense. The weird visions and memories. Falling in and out of consciousness as his undead body struggled to stay reanimated with so little blood in his system.

Astarion’s shocked when you let out a laugh- a hysteric, sorrowful thing that sounds all wrong coming from you. “You know, it’s funny. I don’t know why I thought vampires would have less blood. But you bled so much.”

“You gave me your blood,” he says and you nod in confirmation. 

“Shadowheart knew some way to drain it from my arm. It was… pretty gross.” You wrinkle your nose so sweetly and Astarion is struck by the desire to reach out and feel the way your skin creases with his thumb. “I passed out the first time she tried. We had to do it a few times so that you’d always have something to drink if you woke up.”

Your hands are folded in your lap and Astarion reaches out to cover them with one of his own. “Thank you.”

“I wasn’t going to let you die,” you scoff. 

“I’m not that easy to kill, pet, but I appreciate the sentiment.” Astarion shoots you a wry grin that has you rolling your eyes before he turns serious again, giving your hands a little squeeze. “I know that your life would be easier without me. So, thank you. This was a gift. I won’t forget that.”

Your eyes are a bit teary when you look up from where his hand rests over yours in your lap and you say with a watery smile, “We’re just lucky they didn’t get you through the heart.”

You lean forward and pull Astarion into an embrace, your arms circling tightly around his torso. He grimaces, letting out an involuntary grunt of pain at the sharp throbbing in his abdomen where you had brushed against his wound. His body must still be starving for blood if his wound wasn’t healing at its normal vampiric rate. 

“Oh, sorry, sorry,” you rush to apologize, drawing away from him. 

“S’okay, little flower, just be gentle with me,” Astarion reassures, pulling you back against him. Your arms circle around him again and you’re careful to not put any pressure on his wound. 

He’s shocked for a moment at how warm your body feels against his. Slowly, he lets one of his own arms wrap around you, tucking you tighter into his side and resting his cheek against the softness of your hair. 

Astarion could live without the warmth of the sun forever, so long as he has this- his own, personal sunlight. 

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” you say, so quietly that Astarion is sure he has mistaken your words. 

You pull away too soon. Though, if it were up to him, he would hold you in his arms forever. 

—-----------

You sit with Astarion and read to him while he continues to regain his strength. His wound heals quicker and quicker the more blood he gets back into his system. By the middle of the night, you finally allow him to get up out of bed and move around. 

He pities any patient that would have you as a nurse. The power went straight to your head. You were far too bossy- yelling at him not to move every time he tried to get comfortable and forcing him to drink some disgusting tea Shadowheart had made to help him heal.

But Astarion won’t lie, it’s nice to have you fussing over him. 

And now that you have finally deemed him safe to take a bath, he shooes you out of the room, sending you off to eat what he is sure is your first meal in days. 

He calls for Gale, who arrives with a flurry of other servants and water a few minutes later. The other servants leave the room after dropping off the water, but Gale stays. He doesn’t need to- they both know that overseeing a bath is beneath his status. But Astarion thinks Gale’s probably sticking around because you asked him to. 

When Astarion peels off the bandage on his abdomen, he finds that the wound has already closed and his skin is an angry red. 

“You always did have a flair for the dramatic, didn’t you?” Gale jokes. Astarion knows this really means ‘glad you came back alive, you really scared us all.’ 

“You can’t even go on one measly trip to Emerald Grove without me or you come back half dead.” Gale pauses for a moment, to laugh at his own words. “Or, more dead than usual.”

This is the sort of light mockery that served as the basis of their friendship. Only, Gale’s wrong that he could have been of any help when the Gur attacked. 

Astarion had a… complicated history with the Gur that had started with a number of key rulings against them during his days as a magistrate. He still didn’t think that warranted beating him to the brink of death in a dark alley, though, so the distaste was mutual. Add to that, the fact that Cazador had ordered Astarion to kidnap a large number of Gur children at one point and that Astarion is now a thriving and powerful member of nobility again and well, the Gur certainly weren’t pleased.

And there were just so many of them during the ambush. 

Karlach is a masterful fighter and Astarion certainly knows how to hold his own and is quick enough to dodge most blows, but it had been a losing battle from the start. They never had a chance. Not when all the Gur seemed to have their eyes trained on Astarion. Not when they all had stakes and seemed content to die so long as they attempted to land a killing blow to him. 

Perhaps if Lae’zel or Wyll had been there, it might have made a difference, but they were off searching another spot. Gale would have just gotten in the way and likely found himself killed in the crossfire. He always did seem to have a knack for getting himself injured in the stupidest of ways back when Astarion had first hired everyone in Baldur’s Gate. 

“Don’t flatter yourself, Gale.” Astarion says, instead, rolling his eyes as he steps into the bath. The warm water feels glorious against his skin, his internal temperature still a mess from the blood madness. “The only thing you could have done was bore the Gur to death by talking in Latin.”

“I’ll remember you said that the next time you need me to translate something,” Gale narrows his eyes, moving a pitcher of water over the fire to warm it, knowing that the cold radiating from Astarion’s body will seep into the bath water all too quickly. 

“And you’ll translate it anyway because you can’t resist showing off to everyone about how smart you are.”

They settle into silence after that. Gale continues to tend to the fire and Astarion begins washing himself with a bar of soap.

“Lady Ancunin was really worried about you,” Gale says, completely changing the subject. It causes Astarion to pause for a moment, the bar of soap slipping out of his hands into the water. Gale pretends he doesn’t notice as Astarion scrambles to catch the slippery thing at the bottom of the tub. “She spent the whole time you were gone pacing like some sort of caged animal. And when you were injured, Shadowheart had to practically chain her to the bed to get her to sleep.”

Gale laughs a bit, but Astarion doesn’t find it amusing. He hates himself for causing you distress. 

“You didn’t tell her anything, did you?” Astarion asks, suspicious of why Gale would bring you up.

“Ye of so little faith,” Gale feigns offense. 

“Perhaps I just know how much you like to talk.”

“Careful, Astarion, or I might think you’re being mean.” Gale says with a tone of warning. They’ve known each other for years now. They know each other’s tells. And they both know that Astarion can grow volatile and catty when he’s defensive.

“But no, my lips are sealed.” Gale makes a motion like he’s zipping up his lips and throwing away a key. “None of us have said anything about…” he trails off, dropping his voice to a loud whisper, “C-a-z-a-d-o-r or R-a-p-h-”

“I’m being serious, Gale,” Astarion interrupts. “And she knows how to spell, idiot, so that was a useless code.”

Gale laughs, pouring the final pitcher of warmed water into the tub and dumping the last bit directly over Astarion’s head. Astarion couldn’t be too mad because his hair was a mess from his days of bedrest and definitely needs to be washed, but it’s about the principle of the thing. 

Astarion pushes the wet hair out of his eyes and glares at Gale, who looks entirely too pleased with himself. They’re silent again for a few minutes as Gale starts tidying up and Astarion washes his hair. 

“She’s a smart one, your wife.” Gale says, always trusted to break the silence. “And loves to read. Might be a big help doing research if we just give her an idea of what we’re looking for.”

Your wife.

It has that jealous, possessive part burning within him. Yes, he thinks, she is mine- and it’d serve you right to remember that. 

But he doesn’t like the rest of what Gale’s saying, hates the idea of involving you in the plot that he’s been so careful to keep you out of. At first, he had been so secretive because he didn’t trust you. But now…

“That’s a slippery slope.” Astarion says, trying to keep his tone careful and not betray the panic that he feels rising in him at the idea. “First, we let her read a few books and then she’ll start getting ideas about coming with us on trips.” 

And then she’ll be hurt and I won’t be able to live with myself, Astarion thinks.

He sighs, “And then it’s only a matter of time before someone mentions Cazador. And you know how she is when she gets something in her head. She’ll torture us all with questions until someone breaks.”

And Astarion knows there is no way you will ever love or respect him if you know who he truly is. No, it was best for you to only know him as the man he is now- not the weak, worthless spawn he once was. 

“You’re just as stubborn as she is,” Gale responds.

It makes his heart beam with pride to be compared to you, even if Gale did mean it as an insult.

Astarion steps out of the tub and dries off, pulling on the clothes that had been set out for him- white shirt and comfortable trousers. His fingers run comfortingly along the words embroidered on the hem of the shirt before he tucks it in. His secret poem, his constant reminder. 

“Thank you, Gale,” Astarion says, dismissing him. 

“I’ll let her know you’re finished,” Gale nods in acknowledgement as he leaves the room.

It’s like he can smell you as you come down the hallway. Gods, how could he possibly want you more now that he’s tasted your blood. It’s pathetic.

When you knock at the door, Astarion can hear your heart beating so fast, like a little bird. 

“How was your dinner, darling?” He asks, opening the door and leaning against the doorframe. “Devastatingly dull without my company, I assume.”

You completely ignore his teasing, which has Astarion worried immediately. You never passed up the opportunity for a good battle of wits. Instead, you brush past him into the room, wringing your hands together nervously.

“What’s wrong, little flower?”

“You’re doing better now, but you still need blood. You can drink from me, if you need,” you offer, words coming out in a rush. 

It’s everything he ever dreamed of- here you stand, offering yourself up to him. And he does need blood. 

He’s practically tripping over himself to accept. Only a fool would say no. 

“How do you want me?” you ask and it’s sweet how nervous you are underneath your poor attempt at a calm, unbothered demeanor.

“In every way imaginable, darling. But let’s start on the bed.” Astarion says, shamelessly. He can hear your heart quicken at the words, how the breath gets caught in your throat. This is exactly why he loves teasing you- the involuntary reactions you always have that let him know his flirting is working, your unconscious admission that he has at least some effect over you. 

Astarion reaches out for your hand gently and leads you over to his bed, sitting on the edge of it and patting the spot next to him. “Come on, pet, I don’t bite. Not until you ask nicely.”

“Oh, you were serious about the bed,” you say, looking at him with nervous, wide eyes. 

“In case you get lightheaded. I don’t want you to hurt yourself if you pass out again,” he explains, reassuring you with a light smile. 

Astarion guides you down so you’re resting comfortably against a pillow. Selfishly, he’d really rather have this experience be a pleasurable one for you so you’re more likely to let him do this again.

“And it saves us time when you’re unable to resist me after this and demand I ravish you,” he adds when you’ve finally settled next to him on the bed because he can never pass up the opportunity to tease you. The playful elbow you ‘accidentally’ poke into his stomach has him laughing.

His lips are almost on your neck when he hears your voice, barely a whisper, “Will it hurt?”

“Just for a moment, like you’re pricking your finger on a thorn.” Astarion runs the back of his fingers against the soft skin of your neck, soothingly. “Then it won’t feel like much of anything.”

You nod, but he still feels you moving restlessly. Frankly, it’s a bit distracting to have you rubbing against him like that when his pelvis is pressed so snugly against your skirts.

“Relax,” he breathes, as he gently moves your hair away from your neck.

Astarion takes a moment to savor the smell of your blood rushing through your veins, to feel your pulse fluttering so sweetly underneath your skin before he sinks his teeth in. 

The little whimper you let out at his bite has lightning running through his veins straight to his cock. Astarion had seen every sort of depraved, erotic display a person could imagine- had participated, even. Had he really fallen so far from his former grace that just a breathy little sound from you had him half-hard?

You taste just as good as he can remember, perhaps even better, because this time he’s fully conscious and can fully appreciate the rich, savory flavor of your blood. He could buy every expensive wine in the world and he would still be chasing after your full-bodied tang.

Your head falls back against his own and your hand moves up behind you to curl in his hair, pulling him closer. He feels you shiver with delight, feels the gentle thud of your heartbeat ringing in his own ears. He drinks as slowly as he can manage in his half-feral state- he wants this to last, wants to drag this out as long as he can since he’s unsure when you’ll allow this again. 

Tearing himself away from you is perhaps the hardest thing he’s ever done in his life. 

He preens at the little puncture marks on your neck. 

Mine, he thinks. 

He leans down to lick up the drops of blood forming on the surface of the wounds and the gasp you let out has him nearly out of his mind with how badly he wants to fuck you, just to see what other pretty little sounds he could conjure up from you.

“That’s enough for tonight, I think,” he says, pressing a gentle kiss next to the mark on your neck. He turns so he can shuffle around on his nightstand and find one of the bandages Shadowheart had left for his own wound, pressing the cloth carefully against your skin.

You settle your head back against his chest and let out a hum of thanks. Astarion gives himself this moment, lets himself pull you closer and begin carding his fingers through your hair.

Oh, the heavens must have blessed him tonight, indeed, because you let out one more content little sigh as your heavy eyes fall closed. Astarion knows you haven’t slept soundly in days, that the last time you slept longer than a couple hours was probably before he left.

But, Astarion is also sure that you don’t want to spend the night in his bed, so when your breaths become even and your heartbeat slows, he wraps you in his arms and carries you softly back to your own room. You stir a bit as he pulls the blankets up around you, eyes dreamy and unfocused as you pull Astarion down to press a kiss to his cheek. 

Thank gods your eyes have fallen shut again because Astarion is sure his face is bright red. In his own room, his hand immediately moves to hold his cheek, as if that will somehow allow him to revive the sensation of your warm lips against his skin.

Astarion practically crawls on his hands and knees to your room the next night, unable to stay away. From you? Your blood? Both? He doesn’t think about it too hard. All he knows is that he asks and you offer up your neck to him so sweetly that he wants to cut himself open for you and let you dig around inside his chest. 

He comes begging to you the next night and the next night and the next. Had he lost all sense of humility? And did he really even care how weak and foolish he was acting right now? 

Every night, he allows himself to press his lips against your throat in a parting kiss. He allows himself to hold you against him as you fall asleep before he carries you back to your room.

Until one night, your hand clutches behind you blindly, reaching out for any part of him you can catch onto. He thinks you’re going to yell at him, chastise him for taking too much blood, tell him never to come back to your room. But instead, you call out for him to stay.

Astarion is given a new gift that night as you turn around to curl against him, tucking your head underneath his chin and moving one of your arms to wrap around his torso. Your breath is soft against his collarbones and the two of you are so wrapped up in one that Astarion can hardly fathom how he was able to rest before this.

It starts to become a sweet little ritual. You, reading aloud to Astarion as he fights to pay attention and not be distracted by how lovely your voice is. You, pressing against him, sweeping your hair to the side and offering up your throat in sacrifice. Him, worshiping at the altar of your neck. The safety of holding you, or being held by you, as you sleep. 

Astarion is pleasantly surprised one night when he’s wrapped around you, pressing soft kisses near his bite mark after he’s fed, when one of your hands comes up to curl around his own and guide him nervously under your chemise.

Astarion hesitates. 

He’s more than a bit worried about how present you really are, worried that your mind has gone fuzzy from a lack of blood. He shifts a bit, so he’s able to see your face, able to see the way your eyes are boring into his with a desperation that’s so uncharacteristic of you. 

You, his sharp, guarded little heart, who always pretends to be so strong. You, his little wife who hardly ever asks for anything. And here you are, presenting yourself to him like a feast. 

And Astarion wants this, he thinks. For the first time in a long time, he wants something sweet and innocent, a moment that belongs just to him. He aches to make you feel good. Perhaps in part to repay you for the blood, but mostly because you’ve made him feel so impossibly happy these past few weeks. He hopes that this will make you become as dependent on him as he is on you. Then, you would never dream of leaving him.

He lets his fingers trace against the warm, smooth skin of your inner thigh and feels you shiver against him. 

It had been so long since Astarion had felt this desire to discover someone else, since he had felt genuine curiosity at the reactions of his partner. And right now, he can’t seem to tear his gaze away from your face as he lets his hand press feather light, teasing touches right next to where you need him most. 

A cruel part of his mind almost wants him to make you beg for it, to make you pay for all the times he’s so willingly fallen at your feet in submission.

“I had no idea you needed me this badly, pet. You’re so wet you’re practically dripping,” the voice that comes out of Astarion is breathless and full of astonishment, so far away from the low, seductive tone he had mastered long ago. 

“Astarion,” you whimper and he feels your hips shifting slightly towards him, chasing after more. The way his name sounds falling from your lips has him wondering if it’s possible to die twice. 

“In time, little flower,” he shushes you, the pads of his fingers ghosting over the thatch of hair covering your pubic mound. “I intend on drawing this out as long as I can. You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.”

He feels a bit of pride that he will get to make this an exquisite experience for you. Not like the first time he was touched, fumbling around in a back alleyway with another young lord. 

Astarion finally dips his hand so that his fingers can stroke your inner folds, watching intently how your eyes flutter closed as you lose yourself in the sensation. 

Astarion knows bodies- knows their signs, knows their cues, knows how to play them like a maestro. 

But, this is you. This matters. 

This is about taking his time, about learning you better than you know yourself. About watching each little gasp and every little muscle that moves in your face, carefully saving them all away to replay in his brain forever.

For a while, Astarion works with no real purpose. He’s careful to keep his hands away from your clit, which he knows is aching to be touched. Instead, he spends his time learning the folds of your cunt, cherishing the warm, velvety soft skin that just begs him to come inside.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” He croons, desperately trying to distract himself from the blood rushing to his own cock. This was meant to be about you, damn it, not him.

He accentuates that point by finally, mercifully swirling his thumb in teasing circles around your clit, feasting on the way that your mouth falls open in pleasure. 

He’s finally rendered you speechless, it seems. For once, you don’t have a snarky rebuttal or quick little jab. 

No, Astarion is graced with something far better when a shivery little moan escapes you as one of his fingers presses into you. He feels his own mouth water as the soft, wet heat urges him deeper.

Astarion is filled to the brim with lines that he used to make his lovers sing, but somehow, none of those seem enough. All too rehearsed, too empty for the depth of the longing he feels for you. His brain is growing empty as his finger continues to move in and out of you at a torturously slow pace. He feels your own hips moving against his hand, trying to quicken the motion. 

“Uh uh, pet,” he chides, impressed with himself that anything other than incoherent praises are managing to tumble their way out of his mouth right now. “You’ll take what I give you and nothing more.”

It’s easier, trying to revert back into that self-assured, confident persona to regain some semblance of control over the situation, so sure is he that he’s about to lose himself in how velvety soft and sticky sweet your cunt feels against his hand. 

He can only imagine how it would feel to be wrapped inside you. It would probably take every shred of his concentration to last more than a few shallow thrusts. Gods forbid if you clenched your cunt around him, he might just ascend to the heavens.

He sees you nod, catches how your hands claw desperately at the sheets as you try to still your hips. He feels the growing need to grind his own hips against something- to feed that aching, burning desire pooling low in his stomach. 

“Astarion, please.”

And oh, how pretty you beg. 

It’s far better than anything Astarion could have conjured up in the dark recesses of his mind. He considers dragging this out for hours- forcing you to beg over and over and over for him. 

But he’s too needy right now, so instead, he leans down to lick a stripe up your throat, savoring the twin droplets of freshly congealed blood that he picks up before he practically groans in your ear, “Tell me what you need, my love.”

Oh. Evidently you liked that based on the fresh surge of wetness that pools around his hand. He’s not sure whether it’s the endearment or the soft command that affected you so, but he’ll have to experiment with that again in the future.

“More,” you whine out, one of your hands brushing softly against his jaw before you reach up to curl your fingers in his hair and press his forehead against your own. Your eyes are screwed shut and he can feel your sharp pants of breath on his lips. 

He almost thinks about making you answer- more what? But he’s not sure you’re capable of stringing together more than a couple words at the moment and truthfully, he knows exactly what you need. 

“I know, little love,” Astarion says, slipping another finger in and letting them curl against your soft walls. Your hand tightens almost painfully in his hair at the added sensation. He gives you a moment to adjust before his thumb is moving against your clit again. 

“Oh, gods, Astarion. So good… so, so good,” you cry out. 

He feels the soft insides of your cunt fluttering against his fingers. He hears the sharp intake of your breath, your heartbeat erratic as you orgasm. He continues, riding you through the high and working his fingers against you until you’re shaking against him. 

It’s then that he finally grants himself release, finally allows himself to lean down and press his lips to yours. 

It’s just a kiss, but it feels like so much more.

Astarion has kissed many, many people. But fuck… it felt like a disservice to call this just another kiss. Not with how slowly and sweetly your lips slide against his own. Not when you release a happy little sigh into his mouth. 

Astarion feels the warmth in his chest, surrounding his unbeating heart. 

When he pulls away, the sight of you underneath him is breathtaking. Your hair is fanned out against the pillows, pupils blown dark and wide, skin flushed with exertion, the bite on your neck that marks you as his. 

He’d do this forever, until his hand went numb from overuse if it meant you would keep looking up at him with those warm, gooey eyes that feel like sunshine against his skin.

Astarion pulls your chemise back down from where it’s bunched up around your hips and shifts to pull your head down against his chest. His fingers card softly through your hair as he whispers how proud he is of you, how good you did for him, how you listened so well, little flower. 

Your soft, even breaths as you fall asleep and the relaxing, repetitive motion of running his fingers through your hair help to soothe the burning desire he feels within himself. It was easy to ignore his own needs, after all. He was used to that. 

But he can’t help thinking that if this is what the rest of his days are like, an eternity seems too short. 

————

The next day is totally normal. As if the world hasn’t undergone some massive shift that has knocked Astarion’s center of gravity completely off balance. 

It’s not until you’re getting ready for bed that you bring it up, when Astarion finds you nervously pacing the length of his bedroom.

“Last night…” you start, but trail off. Astarion knows what you are going to say- last night was a mistake, it should never happen again. He’s completely taken by surprise when instead you say, “I liked when you kissed me.”

“Oh, you liked that, did you, pet?” He purrs, confidence now firmly back intact since you had reassured him. “Can I do it again?”

You nod so eagerly. Astarion lets his hand come up to cup your face and tilt it up to him. Slowly, with all the restraint he can manage (he’s barely holding on by a thread), he lets his lips press against yours. 

Like last night, it’s slow and sweet how your lips slide against one another’s. One of his arms comes to wrap around your waist, to pull you closer. 

The longer you kiss, the braver you grow. But what else did he really expect from you, his wild wife? You run your tongue along the seam of his lips and Astarion opens his mouth, welcomes your tongue as you explore.

Astarion nibbles on your bottom lip, letting one of his fangs scratch the delicate skin inside. He feels the warm rush of blood and sucks your lip into his mouth to drink from the little cut. An appetizer for the meal yet to come. 

You bite his lower lip in retaliation and Astarion groans, pulling away from your lips so he can press kisses along your jaw as he makes his way to your neck. The familiar wounds have only just begun to heal from yesterday. Astarion sucks at your skin, pulling the blood up to the surface. Then he bites.

He’s rewarded both by the rush of blood into his mouth and the pretty sigh you let out as you wrap your arms around his neck, beckoning him impossibly closer. 

He will never tire of this- of the taste of you in his mouth and the way you writhe against him. He will want this forever, drinking and pleasure and whatever else you bless him with. He will want this for as long as you’re willing to indulge him. 

Astarion is sure to keep a steady arm around your waist in case you get dizzy. But all too soon, you pull him up from your neck and crash your lips onto his again, your tongue licking into his mouth. He’s shocked because he knows the metallic taste of blood must still be heavy in his mouth, but based on the way your tongue slides against his, you don’t seem to mind it at all. If anything, you rather seem to enjoy it.

Astarion presses one last soft, slow kiss to your lips before he breaks apart from you, resting his forehead against yours. Your fingers play with the short curls at the nape of his neck.

“You’re really good at that,” you say. Astarion panics a bit about what you mean but your voice is sweet and relaxed.

“So are you, little flower,” he says, nudging your nose gently with his own. You giggle at that.

“It’s like dancing,” you respond, “Anyone is a good dancer if they have the right partner.”

“Is that so?” Astarion starts to sway and you move with him, feet taking small steps as the two of you dance in a little circle. “If I recall, you were an exceptional dancer. Other than when you stumbled over your feet when you first saw me.”

Astarion was chasing after the exact reaction you give- a little indignified huff as you pull away a bit to narrow your eyes at him.

“Don’t be upset, darling. You’re hardly the first person to trip when they saw me. And you certainly won’t be the last,” Astarion jokingly reassures.

You stop moving and purposefully stick one of your feet out so that Astarion stumbles a bit over it.

“Oops.” You look up at him all innocent, but you’ve got that dangerous little gleam in your eye that means trouble. 

“Cheeky little pup,” he says, shooting you a wicked grin, and you look so proud of yourself. 

“Lay with me?” You ask, tugging on his hands to pull him toward the bed.

And how could Astarion ever refuse you?

He gladly welcomes the few sweet, sleepy kisses you give him as you cuddle together. 

“Goodnight,” you murmur against his lips.

“Goodnight, little flower. I lo-,” Astarion cuts the words off, clearing his throat to cover what he was about to say. You give him a curious look, but lay your head back down against his chest.

Had he almost told you that he loved you? 

No, that was ridiculous. He doesn’t love you- it had just been such a long time since he had kissed someone he actually wanted to. It had been so long since kissing was an enjoyable enough experience to be able to stay in his body. 

Even after Cazador, when Astarion had thrown himself headfirst into all sorts of debauchery as a way of proving his bodily autonomy to himself, it all felt wrong. 

And this didn’t- this felt right. Wires were just getting crossed in his brain, that’s all. He’s pushing heavier emotions onto you because you’re the first person he’s felt comfortable with in centuries. 

He feels satisfied with that explanation so he lets himself relax and close his eyes. 

—---------

Astarion likes how your nightly routine has shifted and evolved. You still read and talk before he drinks from you. But now, afterward, you kiss him until he’s dizzy. And some nights, his hand will slip down under your chemise or he’ll bunch the gown up around your hips and settle himself between your thighs to eat you out like a man starved. 

It’s strange. Astarion can’t remember the last time he was excited about sex. But now, he takes such great pride in how easily your body responds to his touch, at how he’s able to make you sing and writhe with pleasure. He’s never felt so clear headed. 

And when your own hands begin to wander lower down Astarion’s body, he dutifully redirects them. He’s too worried about what might happen if you do touch him- worried that he might slip away to that little part of his mind and begin moving on autopilot, worried that he wouldn’t even be able to enjoy how wonderful you felt. 

And gods, you deserve nothing less than his full, undivided attention. 

Astarion could smell your arousal tonight, could feel the way you shift your hips up to meet his own. He’s more than happy to oblige.

“Can I?” He asks, sliding your nightgown past your waist, moving to pull it off you. He watches you hesitate for a minute, hears your heart racing nervously. 

He’s always fascinated by how certain aspects of intimacy make you shy. It had been so long since he had blushed about anything. He was so used to his body being on display. 

He waits for you to decide, moving to pepper soft kisses across your jawline and reassure you, “You’re so pretty, darling. The sun and stars themselves bow to your beauty.”

He feels you shiver a bit at his words- you always were so wonderfully responsive to praise- and slowly, your own hand moves down to help him drag the soft fabric higher up your chest and over your arms. 

The only thing remaining on your body is the necklace chain with your wedding ring. It sits so beautifully against your bare chest. 

Possessiveness flares within Astarion at the sight. If it were up to him, he’d keep you bare like this forever- covered in only your wedding ring and his bite marks. 

Let the world know you belong to him. 

Astarion’s finger draws a line along your breastbone and he slips the ring over the tip of his finger, using the chain as leverage to pull you closer for another heated kiss. One of your hands tangles in his hair and he feels his groan reverberating in his chest when your nails scratch lightly against his scalp. 

 “Trying to show off your claws, my love?” Astarion purrs. He reaches up to gently disentangle your fingers from his hair. Lacing them between his own, he pins your hand to the bed.

He grabs your other hand from where it had been working to untuck his shirt and pins that one down, as well. You let out a wonderful little moan. He chuckles darkly, “You should know it’s dangerous to tease a vampire. You might get bitten.”

“I seem to get bitten plenty even when I don’t scratch,” you tease back breathlessly. Astarion nips playfully at the column of your throat in retaliation. 

“And yet, you keep coming back for more,” Astarion speaks against your skin. He presses a kiss over the bite mark he left the previous night, “But you’ll have to wait. I have something else I want to taste first.” 

Astarion releases his hold on your hand so he can drag one of his hands down to trace his fingertips in teasing patterns over your slick folds. He presses gently into your cunt to collect some of your wetness on his fingers before he pulls his hand away. 

You huff out a frustrated breath that has Astarion chuckling. You always had to make your opinion known- his sweet, stubborn wife. 

Astarion brings his hand back up to his mouth, his eyes falling shut as he sucks his fingers into his mouth to taste you. He moans, “How do you always taste so much sweeter than I remember?”

He’s done these actions so many times before as part of some performance. But it never felt rehearsed with you. Everything just seemed to flow so naturally. 

You’re looking up at him with wide, loving eyes that nearly pull the breath from his lungs. For a moment, you both just stare at each other, a bit stunned, before Astarion feels your warm palm against his stomach. Your gentle hands nearly burn where they press against his skin, pushing his own shirt higher up his torso. 

He’s hesitant to take it off, to let you see the poem Cazador had carved into his back. He knows you- knows you’ll have questions that he doesn’t want to answer.

“It’s only fair,” you pout and yep, he’s a goner. He’ll just have to be careful about how he angles himself so you can’t see his back. He pulls the shirt off and throws it blindly behind him as he soaks in your victorious little grin. 

Astarion is used to his body inspiring awe in people. And yet, when you gaze upon him, it feels as if he is being worshiped by the sun, herself. 

It’s too intense, the ache nestled deep in his chest feels too much like love. A nervous little shiver runs up his spine that he tries to hide. 

“You can touch, darling, I won’t break. And I certainly plan to touch you,” he says, leaning down to press a slow kiss to your lips. 

If he could just get you distracted, he could tamper down that little part of his brain screaming out to him that he should whisper those three little words against your skin and watch the radiant smile that would light up your face. 

You whimper, but your soft, warm hands descend upon him almost immediately, fingers tracing along the lines of his collarbones and feeling the sinewy muscles in his chest. It feels divine. Astarion could lose himself in this forever. The little voice screaming at him from the back of his mind is soothed and placated by your gentle, wandering hands. 

When one of your hands starts to move its way over his shoulder, getting uncomfortably close to his scars, Astarion distracts you by nipping at your neck. Your hands give up their search immediately, content to hold on to his biceps as he sucks and kisses at your skin. 

Astarion continues to trail kisses along the column of your throat, stopping for a moment to enjoy the beautiful scent that sticks so heavy to your skin before he continues downward. 

Your nipples have hardened from the cool night air and Astarion ghosts his finger on the underside of your breast, watching the goosebumps rise on your skin. He had forgotten how living skin was able to do that. 

Fascinated, he squeezes your breast, feeling the soft, warm weight in his hand. 

“Astarion, stop teasing,” you whine. He can feel your hips grinding subtly against his own.

“You like when I tease,” he smirks, faintly tracing a circle around your nipple before he gives it a pinch. “And I’m not teasing right now, I’m appreciating. It’s completely different.”

Astarion is sure to provide your other breast with equal appreciation, so dedicated to balance is he.

And as he appreciates you, he’s fed with the most salacious little noises. Your hands claw desperately against his skin, looking for purchase. The soft sting of your nails has his own cock aching. 

Astarion adjusts slightly before he rolls his hips against you. You gasp, head sinking even further into the pillow. The curve of your throat, decorated with his bite and little love marks has something akin to pride blooming in his chest. He moves his hips again and this time, you move your own to meet his.

He grinds his hips against yours, the fabric of his pants growing damp where it rubs against your wet cunt. It makes the fabric cling impossibly closer to his own cock. He has to stop himself before he makes a total mess of his pants by coming inside them. 

You pout when he stops moving, but that quickly disappears as he presses kisses along your chest. His journey continues lower- he’s still hungry tonight. 

With each gentle kiss along your sternum, he can feel your stomach muscles tightening with anticipation. He takes his time, savoring how you squirm beneath. When he finally reaches his destination at the juncture of your thighs, he nudges your legs further apart to frame his shoulders. 

How was Astarion expected to find roses beautiful after this? Not after he had feasted on the nectar of the beautiful flower that resided between your thighs. 

“Oh, look how desperately you need me,” he says, astonished. 

Astarion is always amazed with the things you let him get away with saying when you’re spread open before him. You do try to make a noise of protest, but that quickly dies in your throat when Astarion leans forward to lick a flat stripe against your cunt. 

It’s an act of reverence as he licks and sucks at your soft folds, an act of devotion when he dips his tongue inside to taste you, an act of veneration when his tongue rolls over your clit. He can feel your little tremors and he’s studied your body so intently that he recognizes the signals of your impending climax and pulls away.

“I was so close, Astarion,” you whine out his name so pitifully, the fingers that have curled in his hair attempting to push his face back towards your cunt.

“In time, beloved,” he runs his nose along the inside of your thigh, smells the blood rushing underneath your skin, “I just need a taste.”

You recognize that he’s asking for permission, smart little thing that you are, and you’re nodding your head so fast and eagerly that it nearly falls right off. “Gods, yes. Yes, please.” 

You open up your leg a bit so Astarion has easier access to your thigh. As had become his new habit, he presses a soft kiss to the skin of your inner thigh before his teeth sink in. 

It should be a sin how sweetly your blood mixes with the taste of your cunt in his mouth. A concoction made by the devil himself to personally drive Astarion insane. How is he supposed to sustain himself on anything other than this? How is he ever supposed to drink the blood of another when he has tasted the gods’ ambrosia? 

When he’s had his fill (it will never be enough), he moves his mouth back to your center, lets his tongue dip and lick and suck. He presses a finger into you and curls in in the way that always makes you let out a pretty sigh. 

The room is filled with the wet sounds of him feasting on your cunt and all your sweet, delicious noises. Astarion’s chest blooms with an unfamiliar warmth. 

He insists on pulling at least three orgasms from you before he relents, pressing a kiss to your hip bone before he’s moving back up your body.

“You’re so sweet, little flower. Would you like a taste?” Astarion asks and you’re surging up to kiss him, tongue sliding hungrily against his.

He feels your hand trailing down his stomach, moving closer and closer to where he desperately needs you to touch him. His brain is almost short circuiting. 

He goes to move your hand away, as usual, but you’re insistent tonight, evading his grasp as you play with the waistband of his trousers.

“What are you doing, my love?” He asks when your hand dips even lower, tracing along the outline of where his erection strains against the fabric of his pants. 

“Show me,” you tell him, eyes boring pleadingly into his. “Tell me what to do. I want to make you feel good, too.”

Oh, how is he supposed to resist you when you look at him with those warm, loving eyes? 

Astarion’s not even sure anymore why he had been resisting your advances so ardently. He deserves to feel good, he deserves to feel loved. And how could he possibly slip into the darkness of his mind when there’s this electricity running through his veins?

“Okay,” he agrees, moving so the two of you are laying side by side. He manages to pull his pants down and kick them off his legs while still looking moderately graceful.  

You start with innocent, feather light touches that have him almost in agony before you wrap your hand around him and move slowly along his shaft. 

“Tighter,” he instructs you, bringing his own hand down to guide you, to help you adjust your grip and show you how to move up and down a bit faster. He can’t help but think about how tight and hot your cunt would feel wrapped around him.

Tracing his thumb across his tip, Astarion collects some of his precome and spreads it along his length as lubricant. Your fingers chase after his own, eager to learn, and dance over the head of his cock. His whole body nearly jolts in response. 

Astarion’s trying to watch your face, studying how your own curious eyes dart down to glance at his cock and how you bite your lip so sinfully. But your hand moving against him feels so good and it’s been so long and it’s all just getting to be too much. 

“Tell me how it feels,” you murmur, shifting to kiss and suck at his neck while your hand continues to move. 

Astarion wonders if you’ve noticed that he was starting to lose himself. He’s eternally grateful to you for helping to anchor him back to reality. 

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Astarion calms his mind, focusing on how your soft hand is moving against his cock and he manages to choke out, “Warm… your hands are so warm… and so soft.”

And oh, you start twisting your hand a bit toward his tip and that has Astarion’s hips rocking into your hand involuntarily.

“That’s- so close. Fuck… Feels so good. So…” Astarion groans as he trails off. 

He faintly feels you smile against his skin before your teeth are sinking lightly into the base of his neck. It feels unbelievable- the gentle sting only serves to amplify the pleasure. He completely understands why you’re always so eager for him to bite you. 

He comes hard, spilling over your hand and the soft skin of your stomach. 

You keep moving your hand against him, his cock pulsing in your hand, until the sensation starts to hurt a bit and Astarion’s steering your hand away from him. 

“You did so good for me,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to the side of his mouth. 

It’s so sweet to have you whisper the words back to him that he always tells you after he’s brought you to ruin. 

“You’re so handsome,” you continue, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. “Always so patient with me,” you press another kiss to the spot between his eyebrows. “My wonderful husband.” A final kiss on his forehead. 

There’s that lovely, fluttering warmth surrounding his heart again at your words. Astarion catches your chin and guides your lips to his own for one last slow, sweet kiss. You let out a content little sigh into his mouth.

But Astarion feels sticky where his come is drying uncomfortably against his own skin, so he can only imagine how you feel.  

“Let me clean you up,” Astarion says, pushing some strands of your loose hair behind your ear. 

He detangles himself from your arms and you eventually let him go after trying unsuccessfully to pull him back into bed a couple times. Your actions have Astarion smiling with a goofy grin, happy that you seem to crave his embrace as much as he craves you.

After wetting a cloth at the wash pitcher and basin, he comes back to the bed, where you have spread yourself out in his absence.

“And where am I supposed to sleep, little flower?” He teases.

“In a coffin, probably,” you giggle and Astarion snorts out a little laugh at your stupid joke. You kick playfully at him when he tries to sit back down on the bed. 

“You never make anything easy, do you?” Astarion rolls his eyes before catching your foot. He presses a kiss to your ankle before he sets your leg back down on the bed. 

“Where’s the fun in that? You’d get bored.”

Astarion is sure to keep his touch gentle as he wipes down your stomach and he moves his attention to the bite on your inner thigh. The blood had already started to coagulate and heal, but the skin around it was angry and red.

You will have a nasty bruise tomorrow. Astarion will probably get an earful from Shadowheart. 

Oh well, it was worth it. 

“You always take such good care of me,” you say with a dreamy sigh, reaching out to wind your finger around one of Astarion’s curls that had gotten dislodged when your fingers were threaded into his hair earlier. 

He reminds himself that you don’t really mean this- that you’re probably just feeling a bit faint from blood loss and are caught up in the afterglow.

“You’re just tired,” he mutters, avoiding your gaze and continuing to wipe away any remnants of stickiness from your skin. 

“No,” your palm moves from his hair to cup his cheek and your eyes stare into his desperately, like you need him to really hear your next words. “That’s not- I’m trying…”

You huff out a frustrated breath of air. Obviously, you’re going to tell him you’ve grown tired of him- that he had served his purpose and you’d be moving on now. He’s desperately trying to come up with ways to bargain with you in his mind, to convince you to stay.

“I’m not very good at being nice,” you say. 

That’s a lie, Astarion thinks. You’re plenty good at being nice. You can be a bit brazen and you are certainly obstinate and headstrong. But underneath all that, you are deeply kind- you gift Astarion flowers, you offer him your lifeblood when he’s on the brink of death, you save him from the worst parts of his mind even after he has already given you pleasure. 

“I just…” you trail off again, biting at your lip. “You take very good care of me. You let me set boundaries and try things at my own pace. I appreciate that. I appreciate you. Sometimes it just overwhelms me how lucky I am to be married to you.”

That’s… oh… That’s not what Astarion expected at all.

And he knows that if he sits in this moment, if he lets himself say what he’s really thinking, he’s going to finally realize that the feeling you inspire in him is love. And that maybe it’s been love for quite a while. 

“Did you ever imagine yourself saying that when we first married?” He says instead, and he can feel his lips splitting into a wide smile. 

Teasing was easy. Teasing was comfortable. Teasing distracted him from that little feeling gnawing at him. 

You groan in embarrassment, bringing your hands up to cover your eyes. 

“It’s cute, you get all blushy and flustered when you’re embarrassed.” Astarion continues, pulling on your wrists gently to move them away from your eyes. You give him a little pout that makes him chuckle. He leans down, pressing a quick kiss to your pouting lips, “Makes me want to take a bite.”

“Down, boy,” you laugh, lightly pushing Astarion’s head away from you. “You’ve had plenty today. I’m cutting you off.”

“A shame.” Astarion gives a big, dramatic sigh and settles his head against your chest. He feels you shake with laughter. 

The rhythmic movement of your fingers through Astarion’s hair and the loud, steady beat of your heart has him nearly purring. He uses his own hands to draw swirling shapes on the soft skin of your stomach that have you giggling and swatting at his hands.

When Astarion rests his chin on your chest to look up at you, he can’t ignore it any longer.

The only emotion that can possibly fit what he is feeling is love. 

It terrifies him. How could he let himself be so weak, so foolish?

Astarion nearly falls out of bed, attempting to put as much distance between you and himself as quickly as possible. He needs to get away from here, needs to think.

“Astarion, what’s wrong?” 

He can hardly hear your voice over the roaring in his ears, the bubble building in his chest that’s pushing away all of his air. When your hands reach out for him, to pull him back to you, your hands are too hot against his skin. He steps away as if he’s been burned. 

“I have to go,” Astarion manages to choke out, pulling his clothes back on before he’s stumbling out of the room. His feet carry him back to his study. 

He paces the length of the floor. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. 

It was never supposed to go this far. He was never supposed to love you. It’s just that at every step, he kept craving more, kept getting carried away. 

He shouldn’t have concerned himself at all when he overheard your father and that vile man at the party, talking about you like you were an animal up for auction. He shouldn’t have gotten the foolish idea in his head that he could help you. Should have never even conceived the plan to marry you as a solution. 

He should have killed you when you found out he was a vampire. 

But you had such fire, such tenacity. He was intrigued. And he had already concocted the plan to marry you. It had seemed so simple, at that time, to twist his own reasons for why marrying you would help keep his secret from getting out. 

He shouldn’t have started inviting you down to dinner, shouldn’t have entertained you in the library in the evenings or taken walks in the garden with you. 

He never should have tasted your blood. He should have woken up from his nearly comatose state and demanded that they fetch one of his blood bags from the village.

He certainly shouldn’t have allowed himself to drink from you every night. Never should have pulled you into his bed, never should have let you read to him or comb your fingers through his hair or hold him while you sleep. 

He never should have let himself become intoxicated by the taste of your cunt and those delectable noises you make.

You were the sun, the best and worst parts of you. You were bright and brash, the gentle touch of a spring day and the angry blistering heat of summer, creation and destruction. If Astarion stayed on course, he would become consumed in your sweet warmth. 

Without even recognizing it had happened, Astarion had become your moon- existing solely to reflect your own brightness back upon you. 

No, his transgressions would end here. From now on, you were just someone who he shared a house with and nothing more. Whatever that feeling was, whatever love he thought he felt needed to be gone. He couldn’t confront Raphael if his heart had such an obvious gaping wound. 

“Are you alright?” Gale asks from the doorway, shocking Astarion out of his pacing. 

“I’m fine,” Astarion nearly snarls back at him. 

“It’s just… It doesn’t seem like you’re fine?” Gale says, hesitant. “Lady Ancunin sent me to check on you, she was worried.”

And the idea that you’re worried about him nearly has him reversing all his plans again, nearly has him crawling back to you on his knees and begging you to forgive him for causing you distress.

But, no, he must stand strong. 

“Is this another one of your episodes?” Gale asks when Astarion still hasn’t answered.

Astarion feels his face twist in rage at Gale’s unknowing implication that you- his precious, lovely heart- could even be compared to the vicious monster that was Cazador and the horrors Astarion would be forced to relive forever. 

No, this anguish was something entirely new, something entirely foreign that Astarion didn’t know if he would ever be able to navigate.

“Leave,” Astarion commands. “I need to think.”

Gale looks reluctant, but follows the instruction, letting the door click shut behind him.

Astarion throws himself back into research. He has been too distracted lately, too willing to forget his mission so he could spend more time with you. But, the quicker he can find the final gem that Raphael needed to complete the crown, the quicker he can get out of this idiotic contract, the quicker he will be back in your arms…

No, Astarion stops that line of thinking. 

There would be no returning to you. Love is a disease that festers and grows and spreads. Even after he is free of Raphael, growing close to you would grant him nothing but suffering. 

You were human, you would die.

He spends the rest of the day pouring over books, reading until his eyes hurt. Even then, he doesn’t take a break. His mind has to be wholly consumed by getting out of this deal with Raphael. If he lets any part of himself think of you, he might lose his resolve. Deep down, he already knew he was a weak man when it came to you. 

“Astarion,” you knock gently at the door to his study, interrupting him from his reading. 

Astarion shoots a quick glance over to the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. It’s evening again. He had hardly noticed the day passing.

When he looks at you, it feels like someone has staked him through the heart. The circles under your eyes are dark, like you didn’t sleep after he had run off. He quickly turns his gaze back to the papers on his desk. 

Had he really been driven so mad that the mere sight of you threatened to ruin him? 

Pathetic.

“Astarion, talk to me. What happened this morning?” You approach him where he sits at his desk, hands reaching out to relax the muscles in his tense shoulders. He jumps away at the contact and the look on your face is so heartbroken.

“What’s going on? Has something happened? Tell me and I can fix it,” you plead.

“Nothing’s wrong, I’ve just been thinking…” he trails off because the words he needs to say next are getting caught in his throat, his body and his brain at war with one another. “I just think it’s time that we end our little arrangement.”

“Our… arrangement?”

“I don’t need your blood anymore. I have someone else.” He tries to keep his voice as measured and even as possible, tries not to choke around the bile threatening to rise up in his throat. 

“Someone else…” you take a deep breath and it looks like you’re forcing down tears. His hands are itching, shaking at his side with the need to reach out, to cup your pretty face and apologize as he wipes away every single tear. 

But no, Astarion knows the next words out of his mouth will ruin everything with you forever.

“I just need someone who could keep up with my tastes, darling. Not that you weren’t fun for a while, you’re just a little… bland,” he says, trying hard to make it look like his face is contorting with disgust and not anguish. “You were a fun challenge at first, but now, you’re just too easy. Too desperate.”

Astarion does recognize that it is a bit ironic to call you desperate when he is the one who requires your attention as a basic need for his survival. 

You look as if he has split your ribs open and dug the beating heart out of your chest cavity. Astarion wishes that the gods might smite him where he stands so that he can escape this agony. 

“That’s just- that’s not-” you splutter and for a second there’s a warmth that blooms in his chest like there always is when he manages to catch you off guard. Your face twists, anger taking over, “Obviously I haven’t been thinking clearly from the blood loss or I would have never let you touch me!”

And just like that, Astarion’s very worst fear is confirmed. He had been taking advantage of you.

You always have to have the last word, Astarion knows this about you. It’s what he lov- likes about you- that his nettling and teasing always gets him some sort of response. 

But he also knows when you’re angry, when you’re really, truly angry, that your words can almost border on cruelty, and can cut him so deeply in ways you could never understand. He shouldn’t go poking and prodding at you when he knows you’re this upset. 

“Well, consider this,” Astarion points his finger between the two of you, “finished, then.” 

He’s fighting with everything in him to keep his even, trying not to betray the hidden storm brewing beneath the surface.

“I hate you,” you spit out at him before you’re leaving, slamming the door behind you. 

You should, he thinks. He will never forgive himself for what he has done to you. 

Astarion pours himself a glass of wine and finally lets the wave of emotions crest. 

For once, Astarion had something good in his life, something he enjoyed. Something just for him. But of course, he was too selfish, too greedy, and had pushed you too far. He had turned into the monster, Cazador, that he always hated. Someone who took and took and took until the people around him were drained dry. 

And Astarion thought he was being so careful, too. He had waited for you to initiate intimacy. He had checked to make sure you were level-headed. He had thought he had known what you wanted…

But it doesn’t matter what he thought, he reminds himself. It only matters what you think. And you have just confirmed that he is just as bad as Cazador, Worse, even. Because Astarion had done this to someone who he loves.

It was a vicious cycle that he seemed doomed to repeat- the monster and the victim. He had been on both sides of it now. They felt equally miserable, equally terrifying. 

It’s good that he is finished with this dalliance, with this weakness. Astarion would never let love hurt him again. 

------------------------------------------------------------

Notes:

*squirts Astarion with water* No, bad Astarion, stop overthinking and self-sabotaging.

To everyone who made it to the end, thank you for sticking with me! I know this chapter was long and had quite a few emotional ups and downs as well as a lot of plot.

As always, thank you to my wonderful beta-writer AliensNSuch on ao3!

Okay, now time for a couple notes. I do not know the logistics of being bitten by a vampire every day. I’m pretty sure you would just, like, die… HOWEVER, this is fiction and I like vampire bites so I like to imagine that Astarion’s just taking a lil sip every night and that Shadowheart brews a really awesome tea that prevents death by daily vampire blood draw.  

Second note, I have fully lost the plot on whether it’s day or night in most of these scenes lol. In my head, the reader is fully nocturnal by now and it’s like late fall into winter for this chapter, so the nights are longer. But if there’s ever weird night/day mix ups- oops, my bad.

Also, I love you all! I cannot even begin to express my gratitude to everyone who has read this fic and left likes/kudos or sweet and encouraging comments. I see them all, I love them all. It makes me so excited to sit down and keep writing the rest of this!

Chapter 6 will be up next Sunday! It’s somehow just as long as this chapter…

Taglist: @ayselluna @idkbrodontaskme @maruichio @fanfic-share @the-littlest-bruja @asterordinary

Feel free to let me know if you would liked to be added/removed from the taglist for future chapters!

[misedejem]

I hope the game continues to deny Emet-Selch his rest after he died because something new keeps cropping up every time he tries, I think that would be quite funny

Like

You’re one of the last surviving members of your people, and for 12000 years you and the other survivors have been trying to bring them all back. It has been so long and you have considered giving up more than you care to admit. One of the three survivors has died, another has lost himself, and you’re so exhausted. And what is left of one of the people you loved more than anything has just killed you. Your soul returns to the Sea, and you think 'at least now I can rest’.

But no, suddenly you remember all the things from your life you had forgotten, because the aetherial sea really is like that, and you realise that awful work trip you had completely forgotten about? Turns out the memories you lost then told you exactly how the apocalypse that destroyed your people happened and also how to stop it (you couldn’t).

So you can’t rest because you’re processing that, and you should also be on standby because it looks like the Emissary is making his last stand, and you know it’s futile and you’ve lost, so by now you just want his suffering to end. You gain brief respite when he has been defeated, but the person you kind of abandoned as a Sin Eater for a century has now returned to the Sea and likely has a few choice words for you.

Then the last person in existence that you could possibly want to talk to at that point turns up and tells you to join Her on an inter-shard trip back to the Source, and you know you can’t refuse, because those memories you regained told you that you couldn’t. You know what happens for a while from here, and you know there is no point in resting now, so you resign yourself to watching the person who killed you and hoping their journey will be short. 

At which point, your coworker - who you now know kind of caused the apocalypse because of those regained memories of the terrible work trip - kills your God.

And you cannot rest, because killing your God did free the souls who were sacrificed to summon Him, and they are returning to the Star. Coworkers, relatives, acquaintences, all joining you in the Sea. Among them is the other person you love more than anything, and this reunion is more important than any rest you could ever want. But you also know that person was very good at denying you sleep when you were alive, and he surely has not changed so much that he will not do the same now that you are dead. 

You watch the destruction that befell your home so long ago devastate the Source, and the Warrior of Light returns to the First to make a journey you know will lead them to your younger self twelve millenia in the past, bringing the events you recalled full circle. You think, perhaps, you may finally be able to get some sleep. But this tale has not ended yet, and the Warrior of Light is now in the aetherial sea, making a lot of noise in heated battle with their God, and you and your beloved can do nothing else but watch your dear friend’s soul forge ahead to the end of their journey. 

At which point they drag you both out of the aetherial sea to the edge of the bloody universe to help them. And you do, because deep down you know you wouldn’t have it any other way, and you make a very immutable point of saying goodbye because surely, surely this is the end of your role in their story. You will wait and sleep in the aetherial sea until their soul joins you, and the three of you will return to the Star together. Surely this annoyingly undefeatable force of nature won’t die for some time yet, and you’ll have a good few decades of rest. 

And for a time, you do get that. A few months, a year maybe, of nothing of note happening that would concern you beyond perhaps some idle curiosities that Hythlodaeus insists you should see. And you think this is how it will be from now on.

Until the Ancient’s Extremely Dangerous and Fucked Up Monster Facility that should have been destroyed twelve thousand years ago appears on the Dead Person equivalent of your back doorstep, and you realise your suffering is never actually going to end

[foolinafable]

i. slipping through my fingers

SYNOPSIS: He doesn’t know how to love. You know this and yet you would still give everything just to be with him- even for just a moment. Or the story of how you and Keith finally get together. PAIRING: Keith Kogane x Altean reader WORD COUNT: 3.1K TAGS: Slowburn, Angst, extreme cannon compliance SERIES LINK: a love as cold as ours

NEXT →

NOTE: Barely edited

Keith was always cold, you knew he didn’t mean to be- it was just who he was but it didn’t make this any easier.

You knew you felt something for him a long time ago much like Lance with Allura. You wouldn’t call it love or more like you couldn’t allow yourself to because how can you love someone that isn’t yours. Sometimes you even doubt that you are friends with him as his standoffish nature sometimes catches you off guard. So why in Altea would you even imagine having anything with him. Every time you see him it’s like a knife is being stabbed in your chest because you know that he could never love you the way you try to do him. 

He explained it best himself- how he prefers his own company and would regularly choose to be alone rather than with other people. You suppose it has to do with his childhood, where he told you for the most part he was all alone with no parents or family to stay and show him unconditional love.

Even knowing all of this doesn’t make it any easier- it doesn’t make you want to be with him any less, rather it just fuels your inner turmoil. It was hard enough being one of the only alteans left alive, your friends, family, nation and your king dead.

Honestly, you're only making it harder on yourself by falling for one of the only people in the universe that as he put it “Can’t love, and doesn’t want to.” 

You suppose this is why it was easy to say goodbye, well easier than you thought it would be.

He had been distancing himself from all the team, spending more time with the blade of Marmora, constantly failing to show up for the team. You were overjoyed for Shiro when he was able to reconnect with the black lion, the whole team was more than fed up with Keith's new non-committal attitude towards them and was happy to have a leader again.

So when Keith did show up, late as usual for a mission, you simply sat back and watched as the other paladins ripped him a new one about how important your work is even if he doesn't see it that way, as he claimed that the work he was doing with the blades was “more important” an audible scoff could be heard coming from you at that comment. Not even bothering to look at him when his gaze turned to you, knowing that if you looked at him he would see the sadness clouding over you, because you knew that now the black lion had accepted Shiro again, Keith wasn't needed anymore.

You zoned out as he told the team of his departure, joining in the group hug to say goodbye to him, but leaving it at that. Knowing that if you had a private conversation it would only end in your tears and his guilt because while you would give anything to be with him, you realised a long time ago that there is nothing that you could give to make that happen. You can’t make him want you.

Him leaving made it easier. Not seeing him every day like you used to and, honestly, having to work with him as you did only made your longing worse and without him here, well there was no room for those emotions anymore. The coalitions planning for the takeover of Naxzela had taken up everyone's time, it was the only thing you could think of, allowing you to put your feelings for him far back into your mind. Blocking it out if you will because there is no time for you to be moping around.

The day of the planned invasion came quickly, it was almost as if the time whipped past you, barely able to recall what happened during the time prior to this day, except for Keith's departure- that you believe will always be engraved into your memories. Nerves couldn’t help but rack you as you walked suited up towards your lion, it all just seemed too easy, a sentiment Pidge shared with you not even the night prior, her words echoing in your mind throughout the battle, you tried to rationalise it as this mission wasn't just Voltron they also had the rebels and the blade, so a lot more manpower. But, in your opinion, it almost seemed like the galra were not fighting for Naxzela but rather fighting to escape.

Voltron was leading the ground effort now, the blades and rebels working as artillery support via the Ziaforge cannons, all seemed to be going fine until Matt and Keith's cannons were remotely turned off by an incoming galra cruiser. However, Shiro was confident

“Naxzela is almost secure, the cruiser is going to be too late!”

Voltron battled with more ships on the ground, and like he said you only needed to take out the last of the heavy artillery then it was over. Lance and Pidge quickly created a shield on the left as per Shiro's instruction, blocking another heavy blast from the galrans, you all grunting at the impact of the large beam trying to keep the robot together and steady on the ground. Lance and Pidge were able to use the shield to push the beam back and you watched with a bated breath as the beam shot back towards the ship, destroying it completely. Voltron flew into the air, Hunk using his cannon to destroy the rest of the artillery support on the ground.

You all sat in your lions and watched Naxzela being blown up- a third of the galran empire gone in one swoop. Voltron landed on the ground again, somewhat unsteady. 

“Woah, did we cause that earthquake?” you heard Lance exclaim over comms as you braced yourself against your control panel.

 “I dont think so!” Pidge quickly replied as you all cast your gases towards the floor

“Something wrong” you mumbled slightly to yourself, eyes going wide when Allura agreed with you. Then the rumbling seemed to increase and alarms started blaring when Hunk halted

“Guys look over there” and the robot turned to see the ground rising behind you, large galran pillars with purple markings now towering over Voltron.

“Uh, guys, what are those?” Lance asked, trying to seem calm, but looking over at his video you could see the furrowing of his brows in worry as he looked up at these new landforms.

“We’ve never seen anything like this from the galra before” Pidge continued, eyes wide. 

“Are they weapons?” Hunk questioned while Pidge tried to guess 

“They look like some sort of generators'' 

You felt a heavy weight on you as you asked “Allura, can you feel it?” and she simply nodded, also confused as to what these were and why they were making her feel heavy and uneasy. 

“Stay alert” Shiro commented, feeling the nerves of his team as Lance interjected 

“I think we should get out of here! Pidge plot a course for our escape” but Shiro didn’t agree with the second in command 

“Hold off, we should try to find out what these things are'' You took a sharp breath as the pillars lit up with quintessence, the top of the towers sprouting out with some sort of electricity, and then the purple light spread across the atmosphere of Naxzela, creating a purple shield. 

“This can’t be safe” Hunk declared as the purple shield covered the top of the Voltron blocking the view of space. 

“Do you feel that '' Allura copied your earlier words adding “That wave of darkness” and you could, it settled deep into your body making you shiver when Allura started grunting out in pain.

Then a pressure came down upon the robot as everyone started panicking, you were no longer able to move your lion. Voltron quickly fell onto its hands and knees from the pressure as Pidge screamed 

“This energy field is holding us down! Gravity levels are spiking!” Shiro grunted before he commanded 

“We need to get out of here, if we stay here we will be crushed. So we need to focus” At his words you tried to dispel as much of your worry as possible knowing he was right- you wouldn't get anywhere being afraid

“Give it everything you’ve got and maybe, we can make it through this energy field”  he continued.

Then with all the paladins' might they were able to lift off the ground but soon after the metal of the lion creaked and they were brought right back down the ground, like a magnet. You could hear the screaming of the other paladins as you fell backwards mixing in with your own, and then Voltron crashed down onto the ground of Naxzela. 

“Is anyone able to move around?” Hunk questioned as Pidge quickly answered 

“Barely, but the gravitational pull is worse on Voltron” she grunted from overexertion then spoke again “Maybe if we can get down to the surface Hunk and I can figure out a way to interrupt the energy field!” you hummed in thought as Lance spoke 

“That sounds good, except for the zillion robot dudes still kicking around down there!” you all looked towards Shiro for some sort of guidance as he says 

“We are going to have to watch out for each other out there, tight formations, now let's move” Then he left the black lion. You all joined him in leaving your lions grunting heavily as you used your jet packs to get to the surface, parkouring off Voltron. You all jumped towards one of the pillars barely missing the lasers being shot at you, all quickly turning on your shields as you landed on the pillar bodies turned towards the shooters.

Pidge and Hunk quickly took refuge behind you four, trying to find out what was causing this energy, but they couldn't find anything so as Allura said you needed to follow the pillars down to the core in hopes of figuring it out Hunk was able to open the door to the pillar.

“It's open let's go!”  Pidge exclaimed and you all piled in, jumping down towards the core of the planet. “Woah” the green paladin spoke in awe you had made it to the bottom of the planet, a door opening up revealing a large purple orb, and you agreed it was certainly amazing to look at- whatever it was.

 “What is that?” Lance spoke your thoughts aloud

 “This is Zarkons witches doing” Allura commented walking closer to the large orb in the centre of the room 

“So this is the source of that dark energy?” you questioned as Allura nodded as Shiro looked up at the room 

“Allura, this facility, it looks altean”

“This is a decommissioned altean teafroming plant, somehow the witch has been able to reactive it remotely,” she confirmed his suspicion, you all walked closer to the orb, now in touching distance you couldn’t believe you had never seen this before on altea 

“Can you shut it down” the black paladin asked 

“I can try.” Allura put her hand towards the orb, a light of quintessence shining from her palm touched the orb when she screamed out in pain, the orb seemingly wrapped itself onto her arm in a vine-like structure. You all quickly called out her name as you grabbed onto her, trying to pull her away from the orb, all grunting due to its sheer power, luckily you were able to slowly drag her away, causing you all to fall backwards onto the floor when the orb let go of her. 

Lance quickly helped her up as she spoke “It’s too powerful” 

You all turned towards Hunk as he grunted, trying to get up, looking towards his hand “This soil- is weird, it's so white and powdery, like ground-up rocks or earth” You could see his helmet examining the soil, probably giving him a breakdown of the material when he gasped

“It’s Heximite!”

 Then lasers started shooting at you again, the soldiers from earlier had finally caught up to you, and you all quickly activated your shields with Hunk and Lance activating their shooters, shooting back at the galrans. Pidge quickly used her lasso to electrocute and bring down another soldier 

“What's hexamite? Some of us may have slept through chemistry!” Lance asked

Smiling at his antics you replied “It’s a highly explosive material” your own words making you stop in thought the words only now registering in your brain but Pidge luckily continued as you figured out what this meant

 “The whole planet is a bomb! One big enough to wipe out several solar systems!” Hunk then interjected,

“It’s under increasing pressure, and when it reaches the point of no return, the whole planet will explode!” 

Shiro tried to seem calm as he asked the next question “How long do we have?” 

Hunk while shielding himself thought  “Maybe twenty minutes'' 

While Lance continued to blast at the soldiers “We need to get off this planet and warn everyone!” As you took down the soldiers, more seemed to appear through the doors

 “Anyone within 10 solar systems of ours is going to get blown to pieces!” Hunk exclaimed. 

“They could take out Voltron, the rebels and the blade in one fell swoop!” Allura concluded as you gasped

 “It was all a trap for us and we fell right into it!” then you activated your jet packs as you tried to escape the soldiers as time was really running out.

 From within Voltron Shiro was trying to reach anyone through the comms, but nobody was responding. 

Shiro sighed “We’ve lost communications, Pidge, can you boost our signal?” 

 You could hear Pidge clicking buttons before she replied worriedly “No! There is too much electrostatic repulsion!” 

Worry was wracking your body causing your hands to fidget like mad as Hunk not so helpfully spoke “17 minutes'' 

Allura then spoke, “We have to get off this planet- immediately!” moving her controls as she was able to get the blue lion off the ground resulting in Voltron being able to stand straight, however, the weight of Voltron against the already pressurised ground make the rocks crack and fall beneath them, causing Voltron to fall further into the depths of Naxzela. 

“Oh no, we have fallen even further down!” Lance comentated as Voltron luckily landed on its feet seemingly in a deep cave.

 “15 minutes'' Hunk exclaimed to which you retorted

 “Really not very helpful Hunk!” your voice is shaking.

 “No, no! We can't die just yet!” Pidge willed. 

“Listen'' Shiro started “We have gone through a lot as Voltron, we just have to think.” 

Then it hit Lance as he turned his comms towards you and Allura

“You both felt the darkness at the start, and you both have a connection to the magic, you both must be able to get us out of this'' 

to which Allura stressed “We haven't been trained”

She was correct back on Altea you were both novices. You had only started your lessons when Zarkon attacked and Allura had been told by Alfor that lesson wouldn't be necessary for her as she would be too busy learning to be the future leader of the nation.

But maybe together you could figure something out you simply looked to Allura and Lance and nodded as you closed your eyes and focused on your energy and Alluras as the both of you connected to each other it was like your quintessence merged together and your powers began to seep out of the two of you and into Voltron, lighting up the entire robot, turning it back on and giving it more power, the whole lion became outlined by the quintessence the two of you exuded allowing voltron to fight against the pressure and lift off at an incredible speed, the power was able to break through the forcefield on top of Naxzela allowing your escape from the planet.

 You smiled at your success, “Thanks Lance '' but he shook his head 

“That was all you and Allura'' and you took a deep breath knowing that he was right. You and Allura are a lot stronger than you give yourselves credit for. Voltron made its way into space as Hunk shouted

 “We still need to diffuse that bomb” you all nodded in agreement as Shiro reached out to someone in the comms

 “Keith, can you hear me?” 

You somewhat gritted my teeth at the mention of him, not sure if you were ready to see him again as up to now you had been able to miss out on talks with the blade usually too busy campaigning on another planet with the rebels and sometimes other paladins for support on the takeover of Naxzella. Since he left you had barely even heard his voice and for the most part, turned off being able to hear Shiro's comms so you didn't need to hear his voice today, everything was so meticulously planned that you didn't even need to speak to know what Voltron needed to do anyway. 

“Shiro! Where are you? Is everything okay?” you heard his voice speak out 

“Not for long if we don’t stop Zarkons witch, she must be aboard that cruiser”

 To which Keith mused “I’m way ahead of you” You could almost hear the smirk on his face “and I brought some backup” You then heard Olia from the rebels speak out letting you all of their presence.

Shiro connected to Coran telling him to get as far away from Naxzela as possible he seemed confused until you and Allura interjected 

“Naxela is a bomb” she started 

“and it’s only a few minutes away from going off” you concluded

 “but what about you?” Coran worried as he looked at the pair of alteans

“We are going to try to stop it” you said gravely

 “we need you to do this'' Allura urged the older man to which he simply replied

 “yes, princess” but you could see the fear etched on his face that he would be the last altean standing after this. 

“Thrusters are at max power” Lance stated as Voltron flew as fast as it could 

“I sure hope we make it in time” Hunk worried, as Voltron got further away the time was ticking, sweat was rolling down Lance's forehead

 “We aren't going to make it in time!” when all of a sudden the purple aura encasing Naxzela faded away and Coran overjoyed commented

 “Naxzela is returning to normal! You did it” A breath you didn't know you were holding was let out in relief when Shiro congratulated Keith and the rebels on their work when he said something puzzling

 “It wasn't me, it was Lotor'' you and the other paladins looked at each other through the comms confused

 “The cannon on his ship was the only thing powerful enough to break through the shield.” After those words were uttered the galran cruiser transported itself away to another galaxy. 

Then you heard his voice

“Attention, paladins of Voltron and rebel fighters, I know we have had our differences in the past, but.. I think it is time we had a discussion.”

[twopoppies]

May I share some grieving thoughts from someone who has walked this road too many times for folks who may not have been through this before?

It is okay to feel how you feel, and there is no rhyme or reason to it. Your feelings are valid for you, and may not match what others are going through at the same time or at all, and it is okay. The only way out is through. Sometimes all you can do is the next right thing. And that is enough.

It is okay to box those feelings up for short periods of relief: just don’t leave them shoved away permanently. The only way out is through. But taking a time out is okay.

The loss and pain of the moment does not taint the past, in the long term. It may feel like it, but time and perspective will remind you what a gift the journey before was. That joy, love, growth while the person was alive is still valid and important and shaped who you are today. It is okay to celebrate that. It is okay if it is bittersweet. We honor the person by keeping that journey intact. They impacted us, and that is an important thing to honor in their story. Watch the videos. Replay the conversations. Celebrate what was. Don’t give death the power to ruin their positive impact on you.

Just like their absence hurts you, if you fall into being absent in your life because of the pain, you are causing your loved ones that same pain. Choose to honor the deceased’s life by loving yours fully, by being that light you are missing for the people in your life like the deceased was for you. I try to be thankful for the things I get to experience, even without them, because I am going to experience the hell out of them and then someday tell him about all the stuff he missed out on. Even though I believe he is here and sees.

Don’t perpetuate the pain, or initiate a legacy of withdrawal. Pick an honoring activity - for me it is tipping outrageously in their memory and finding joy in the joy they would have found in it. Make it something they championed, or took quiet pleasure in. Keep it to yourself, something between you and their memory. Walk a shelter dog and chat with your person, hide hug rocks, donate read books to the library, serve in a food center. Whatever makes you recall the bond you felt. And love people, for you and for them. The best legacy is one of love and joy, not sorrow and hurt.

Of course, it will be up and down. It strive for the up. Time does heal, and it DOES get better. Don’t let the negative win. Don’t let rot taint their life. OneDirection will never be the same. But it still meant a lot, and that should be honored. It can still mean a lot going forward, and that is honoring.

It has been 5 years since my last big loss. It catches me by surprise sometimes still. But their story is done, and mine goes on: I still reach for the joy I had in getting to be a part of their story. I refuse to lose that too. Because people are involved in my story now. I am still a part of theirs. And I don’t want them to have this hurt of me dropping out of my story: And I let him live on in my adventures, my good work with disadvantaged people, and my love for the people and world I am in. That is the only thing I can still give them, and with time, I am able to do that more and more.

It hurts. It hurts so much. It feels like I can’t breathe, like it overwhelms everything I do, and like I just want to hug his momma so much it causes me physical pain. But each day, it will get a little better. It will blindside you, may catch you by surprise, and that is okay. Because estoy know it won’t be like this forever.

Anyway. I thought grief was a straight line process, and if I power through the stages, it would be done with. That I was betraying their memories by laughing, finding joy, continuing my story. I hope this helps anyone feeling unsure or overwhelmed or lost or guilty.

Thank you for all of this, darling. I'm so sorry you have so much experience with grieving. But your insight is so helpful. ❤️