#reject elegance. return to violence

[lovelesslittleloser]

Person gets isekai-ed into Pokémon as a ralts and their first thought is ‘I have to evolve into a gallade’

[inquisitornocturn]

⊱─ 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕣𝕠𝕒𝕕𝕤 𝕝𝕖𝕒𝕕 𝕥𝕠 𝕓𝕝𝕠𝕠𝕕 ─⊰

➺ 𝕡𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘: Cazador Szarr x f!tiefling reader the Dark Urge

➺ 𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕤: no y/n is used, rating - E, POV second person, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, canon-typical violence (when it comes to Cazador that is), graphic depictions of violence, sadism, smut, inappropriate use of Mage Hand spell, non-con, vaginal fingering, anal fingering, asphyxiation, grinding on a boot (sort of), dubcon, painful injury, tongue wound, bleeding, hair pulling, humiliation, degradation kink, PiV, rough sex, vampire bites, blood drinking, creampie.

➺ 𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: A former Bhaalspawn, now aimless, you wander Faerun until you get a letter from no other than Cazador Szarr, beckoning for you to visit him. You're not sure why, he's not the man to show gratitude even if you did give him Astarion and helped him Ascend, nor he is the one to suddenly feel grateful years later after the fact, but you feel a pull to learn why the Vampire Ascendant wants you back in Baldur's Gate. So you return, too arrogant to realize that you're walking into a dragon's den.

➺ 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 11,225

𝕒𝕦𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕣 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖: This was written for the wonderful, supportive and always amazing @velvolktra. Thank you for being just an incredible human being, and for matching my freak lol♡~

Baldur’s Gate.

Disgusting little city that you poured energy in saving. And what for? For these peasants to stroll the streets, smile and laugh with no gratitude? Hero of the City, ptui, maybe they would get some actual semblance of real gratitude if they built a temple for you instead of this meager statue.

You look at it with your face upturned, eyes squinting in the sun and the gentle late spring breeze in your hair. You see the visage of you, actually quite closely resembling your image, carved out of stone with precision. Your unblinking eyes gazing over the city and onto the sea, your hand victoriously raised in a fist, your expression made to be determined but still gentle, your other hand holds a banner of Baldur’s Gate. You nearly spit at the feet of the statue from annoyance, the pigeons lingering on your stone horns only irritate you further.

For a moment you wonder how often the city servants have to scrub the statue to make it look so clean even years after the big battle, but you don’t linger on this as you gaze down the statue’s form, despising even the armor they carved upon your body. You don’t remember much of your past, but you do remember everything since you woke up in that damn squid ship, and you know for a fact you never wore armor.

Maybe you should go and talk to the current Duke, demand that they change the statue if they want to have one displayed for you in the first place. Maybe, but not now. You’re here for a reason and that reason is not to bicker with people who are below you, who should be groveling at your feet, but instead barely recognize you as they pass you while you’re standing right in front of the idol erected in your honor.

When you finally peel your scrutinizing gaze away from the monument, you look around, doing your best to ignore the people that seem to be crawling the park like pests. You’re close now, to the Palace Szarr, but you’re in no rush. It’s enough already that you came at all after receiving the letter.

You have it with you, in your small travel bag hanging off your shoulder, and you pause digging through it. The paper stained and bent after being shoved among other items for weeks, but when you open the envelope and pull out the letter itself, the elegant yet sharp lettering is still as black as the day it was penned down, telling you to come for a visit. Telling you to witness the fruits of your subordinance.

At first you didn’t even consider coming back. You have no reason to visit Baldur’s Gate again, not after you saved the damned city only to save yourself, and especially not after you rejected your murderous daddy before he stripped you of your powers in retaliation. Withers, that dusty corpse, revived you when Bhaal took your life along with your abilities, spouting something about destinies and doing good.

Doing good. You smirk at the thought of the memory, because you don’t think you have done a single relatively good thing since you left the Sword Coast.

Still, the letter found you and so did your memories of Cazador Szarr, the man who seemed to be a better ally than most. At least he kept his end of the deal after you brought his sweet wayward son back and watched him explode into a cloud of blood mist and gore the moment Vampire Lord closed his fingers around his prize – the Ascension. You were only mildly angry with him for not showing up at the final battle, but the minions he sent to aid you were enough, obviously, otherwise you would not be standing here today, basking in the sun in the middle of a freshly rebuilt Gate.

You stuff the letter into the envelope and that you shove back into your bag, rising your eyes to the greenery around you and pushing a lose strand of hair out of your eyes that the soft wind blew there. You’re not quite sure why you decided to heed letter’s invitation and return, you left because there was nothing for you here, because you wanted to see what’s out there. Between the lost memories of being stuck in the Temple of Bhaal and present memories of fighting your way through enemies to get rid of the damn worm that was lodged in your brain – you realized you didn’t actually see anything in your life before, for however long you lived it. So you picked up what was left of your belongings after Orin’s reign in the Temple, and left.

For years you traveled all around Faerûn, trying to find something, that purpose that you can’t quite grasp even now. Some strange yearning is gripping your heart and you try to find something to alleviate the discomfort that’s firmly lodged in the middle of your chest, but so far you haven’t found what it is. The cure evades you, whatever it is.

With a deep sigh you begin walking, knowing full well where the palace is so you head there, navigating among people, making sure no idiot manages to snatch or step on your tail. You haven’t seen another tiefling since your arrival and while nobody is exactly staring at you, even despite your fame and legacy, you still doubt that these people are accustomed to avoiding sensitive limbs that they themselves never had to experience.

One thing you notice as you make your way towards the main entrance of Cazador’s home, is that the city seems to be full of life. Not only with spring bringing nature back to full bloom, but with people. You see races of all kinds, children running around and goods being sold by traveling vendors. There are bard songs in the air and laughter. There’s music and countless smiles. It looks like since the partial destruction of the city and your departure the population grew. You smile to yourself, imagining how the vampire coven must be thriving with so many veins to bleed.

You pass a stall and grab an apple from it with your tail when the man selling them doesn’t pay attention, then grip it with your fingers firmly and bite into it, chewing as you look around, noticing all the changes that have been made since you set your foot in these streets years ago. You have to admit, Baldur’s Gate is growing and becoming… well, maybe not nicer, it’s still a slum in your opinion, but cleaner. You can give the city at least this kind of compliment.

By the time you arrive at the main Szarr gate you get rid of the apple and now look upon the palace that you entered only couple of times before. First to negotiate with Cazador, then to bring wonderfully clueless Astarion back to his master and then once more, after the final battle was done, to finalize the deal you two have made. You parted ways quite cordially and the Vampire Lord did tell you that you can come visit, saying how he would not turn away one woman who actually knows how to get a job done. But disgruntled that he still saw you no more than his servant you never came back, instead leaving Baldur’s Gate entirely.

But now you are back.

Standing in front of the gate of Cazador’s home.

If not for your curiosity to know why he wants you here, and you doubt that he went through the trouble of finding you just to tell you to come by and witness his glory, you would not have bothered. Well, that’s at least what you tell yourself. Despite your pride and your ego, your heart did leap in your chest when you saw who exactly signed off the letter.

But he still better have a very good reason to make you drag yourself back. That’s what you tell yourself when you push open the gate and approach the door, knocking on it. It only takes a moment before it is opened and you see a spawn, her red glowing eyes studying your face for a moment before she lets you in, staying in the shadows as the sun threatens to touch her.

When you walk inside you look around. Before there were heavy curtains everywhere, covering the windows and preventing any chance of sunlight possibly sneaking inside like a silent assassin, but now the place is bright and full of light. Everything looks spotless and golden décor glints softly in the sun’s rays. For the first time you realize – it’s beautiful here.

“Please follow me.” The female spawn shuts the door behind you and scurries in front of you, avoiding to look at your face. It puzzles you, but only for a moment, because you have to start walking and keep up with the woman who seems to be in utter hurry to deliver you to her master.

You don’t mind, in fact you’re growing more impatient with every step, and while you do appreciate the paintings that adorn the walls depicting scenes of nightmares as you pass, enjoying the tasteful horror of them, it’s still no use in lying to yourself – you are dying to know why you’re here. And you can’t guess the answer even with the help of changes that you see. Just like Baldur’s Gate, the palace also changed. Maybe not in how it’s furbished, but in the number of servants you see. Some of them even wear same clothes, showing their status as official part of the Szarr family, however lowly that status may be.

When you’re led to the massive door that opens up to the ballroom, you are not surprised to see it filled with sunshine either. Neither you are surprised to see Cazador himself in his throne-like chair, listening to a man tell him something in hushed whispers. After you enter the room, the man stops and the woman that led you here bows deeply to her master and without another word walks off.

Briefly you glance in her direction, perplexed by such behavior, but you turn back to Cazador and see him wave the man away. When he passes you after bowing as well, you notice his glowing eyes. Another spawn. Looks like the Vampire Lord quickly grew his coven since sacrificing thousands of them for more power.

“So you have come.” He says, not exactly a greeting but you don’t mind.

“You wanted me to come. Care to explain why I’m here?” you ask with irritation clear in your voice as you approach the few stairs that elevate his seat above the ballroom floor. When you’re closer you see Cazador’s relaxed body language, his arrogant smirk and eyes, narrowed, as his gaze inspects you from head to toe.

“You haven’t changed much.” Every word coming out of his mouth sounds like mockery and your frown deepens at that.

“I’m not exactly out there looking to get my eyes plucked out.” You snap back, making vampire rise his eyebrows in feigned surprise.

“Really? And here I thought that without protection of your father you’d soon end up in a ditch somewhere.” He taunts and you ball your fingers into fists, trying to keep your temper in check, but your tail betrays you as it swishes behind you in couple clearly annoyed movements. “Now, now, no need for your attitude, Bhaalspawn.”

“I’m not a Bhaalspawn anymore.” You immediately shoot back and Cazador chuckles, rising from his chair and for a moment you are taken aback by his height and the imposing stature that could cast a shadow over you like your worst nightmare if he chose to become one.

“No? What are we if not children of our fathers?” Szarr asks and takes one step, then another, heading towards you. “You may be free of his urges, but you will never be free of his legacy.” He grins as he speaks and you’re not sure if he is trying to anger you on purpose or is this what he truly thinks. But you do remember his speeches about family, you remember how he insisted that those he had doomed from the moment of creation are his children.

Maybe he’s not wrong.

“I didn’t come all the way here to talk about Bhaal.” You cross arms on your chest and tap your foot impatiently. His eyes give you a dangerous look for a split second before he stops in front of you with an eyebrow raised and arrogance etched in every pore of his face.

“Then maybe we should talk about how deliciously treacherous you are even to those who consider you a friend?”

For a moment - memories of countless betrayals flood your mind as if you’re flipping through a book written in sin, but then it quickly dawns on you.

“Astarion?” you rise your eyebrows, forgetting your annoyance for the time being and Cazador’s head bobs in a taunting gesture.

“Have you forgotten about the boy so quickly?” he asks and you roll your eyes now.

“Why would I remember him?”

Cazador only laughs in response and begins walking again.

“Come.” Is the only thing he says and confused you follow him with your eyes only before your legs start moving.

“What about him?” you can help but wonder while you trail Cazador, but the vampire seems not to care to answer your questions, only irritating you more. “Did you want me here just to talk about Astarion?” you try again, growing impatient with each step, not really caring to notice where he is leading you – to his study, the door that Astarion himself told you no spawn were ever allowed to pass, except this time the door is ajar with cold invitation.

“Shut up for a moment, you idiot girl!” Cazador snaps back at you and you grit your teeth.

“I just want an answer.” You reply and that makes Szarr stop and spin to you, his eyes narrow this time not from amusement but from anger.

“Stop your yapping before you regret it.” He threatens like you’re one of his servants and stares straight into your eyes that are defiant and furious, but for reason unknown even to yourself – you remain silent. “Better.” Cazador doesn’t seem to be actually pleased, his temper was always easy to provoke, and it’s clear you nearly did just that so maybe that’s why you instinctively obeyed. After all, Cazador is the Vampire Ascendant, who knows what he can do besides walking in the sun’s rays, which you confirmed for yourself when you watched him pass the windows just moments ago.

Couple seconds tick by as he looks you in the eyes, waiting for you to defy him again, but when that doesn’t come - his lips twitch in an emerging snarl that he manages to control in time, then turns from you again and passes the doorway. Wordlessly he gestures for you to get onto the dais and you pause, your eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“What’s down there?” you ask, not putting even a single toe on the platform just yet, and you hear Cazador push air through his nose, then he turns to you with a dangerous smile on his lips.

“You’ve been there before, you know what’s down there.”

“What I’m going to see there?” you ask again and Cazador waves his hand at you dismissively.

“I don’t remember you being so scared before.” He mocks with that same grin and you frown.

“I’m not scared, I’m being cautious. I haven’t forgotten what you are.”

“No, of course not. Now stop acting like a child and come.” He instructs with his voice clearly strained in attempt to be patient and you hesitate for a moment longer, then step onto the platform, keeping your distance from Cazador.

The moment you’re on it, the dais begins to move, lowering you and Cazador down. You look at him in a moment of silence, eyeing his expensive looking clothes, the doublet he’s wearing, the embroidery on it. Rats, like the ones on the massive steel door in front of the ballroom.

With a couple of lurches the dais finally comes to a stop and you look down the corridor that hasn’t changed even a bit since the day you brought Astarion back to Cazador. Betrayal, he says, but you don’t see it that way, you never did. You just did what you needed to do to gain a powerful ally so that you could get rid of the damned tadpole. Sure, you gambled, maybe Cazador could’ve changed his mind and killed you with Astarion, but no, he kept his end of the bargain and not only let you go, but also helped you out. Maybe he was wary of Bhaal still in your veins, maybe letting you go after the battle was over and you no longer carried the corrupted divine within you, was done not out of mercy or good will, but because he simply didn’t want to bother. You wonder if the vampire would answer if you asked him. You doubt it.

With the dais nestled in its landing spot, Cazador begins walking, his hands clasp behind his back as he strolls with pride towards the stairs that you know lead to the ritual chamber. Your head swivels as you inspect the dungeon, but you don’t see any change whatsoever and the door that you know once led to Cazador’s private room, the one with Vellioth’s skull with which you had a pleasant chat, is closed with magic once again.

“Are you preparing for another ritual?” you can’t help but ask, feeling slightly awkward in silence that is only filled with yours and his footsteps, but as you now pass the empty cages scrubbed clean from blood, you realize that even if he is, it’s not the same one as the Rite of Profane Ascension.

Of course, why would it be.

“In a way.” Cazador’s reply is cryptic and his tone of voice drips with sarcasm. It puzzles you and you look at him for a moment before you have to watch your feet as you both begin to descend the steps.

The vampire doesn’t pause, just keeps leading you downwards. At one moment you have to duck as a swarm of bats fly right over your head but avoid the master himself, and when you are finally at the bottom of the stairs you see a familiar view – the ritual platform with his coffin still there. But Cazador doesn’t stop, he leads you forwards and you follow him, noticing the blood flowing beneath the golden grates, flowing towards direction of his coffin and giving it an eerie sanguine glow from below.

Your mouth opens, you want to ask another question, but finally the Vampire Lord stops right in the middle of the ritual circle. When you stop as well, you still see the infernal runes etched into the stone, now cold and still, unlike how they glowed when Cazador let you witness the birth of the Vampire Ascendant. It was a sight to behold, you have to give him that, the one you quite enjoyed as well. You always liked the smell of blood and that day the air was thick with it, as seven thousand and seven souls got sent straight to the hells.

All to make him a vampire unlike history has ever seen.

“Do you remember, Bhaalspawn, the moment of my Ascension?” Cazador asks and your eyes snap from the floor to his back. You see that his face is upturned and you glace upwards too, seeing the ceiling of the cavern. When your eyes land on the back his head, he spreads his arms as if reliving the greatest moment of his life. “Do you remember how he screamed before he died? How all of them screamed?”

You smile, of course you remember. You step closer to Cazador, sensing that he’s about to tell you the reason why you’re here.

“I do. It was beautiful. Magnificent.” You exhale at the memory, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment, your smile becoming wider. You remember clearly because you looked Astarion straight in the eyes as he screamed, as his body began to deform and as he eventually exploded, becoming nothing but a pile of guts on the ground by the end of it.

“You did me a favor then.” Cazador’s voice snaps you out of your memory and you open your eyes to find him now facing you, his look is curious because he most likely saw the ecstatic expression on your face and he most likely suspects what kind of memory brought that kind of expression about.

“It was beneficial for both of us. I got a powerful ally for the battle, you got to Ascend.” You give him a small shrug, trying to sound like it’s no big deal for you. And in truth – it wasn’t. You don’t have a single regret about giving Astarion away, because by the time you arrived to the city, the pale elf was beginning to get on your nerves, begging to be gutted somewhere on the side of the road.

“Maybe so, but not many would betray their allies, their friends.” Cazador tilts his head slightly to the side, a satisfied smirk on his lips and his hands by his sides – a perfect image of a non-threatening man, but you know better. Despite Astarion’s shortcomings you believe his stories about his master’s cruelty and short temper.

“He wasn’t a friend.” You correct Cazador and he raises an eyebrow at your words. “He was an ally of convenience. When that convenience came to an end – I made a new ally.” You now gesture to Cazador and he chuckles, a low, menacing sound that makes a shiver run down your spine and you’re not sure if out of caution or… something else.

“Delightful.” Szarr comments, his fangs looking as sharp as ever when he smiles or speaks, and you wonder how it would feel to be a vampire. You’ve been a Bhaalspawn already, surely being a vampire can’t be worse, but maybe under Cazador’s heavy boot – it can be. “Still, it’s rare to find… allies worth having, especially nowadays. And to find such ally in no other than a hero of Baldur’s Gate was a twist not even I have expected.”

“I’m a hero to peasants and idiots. I only did it to save myself.” You respond and surprisingly this makes Cazador laugh. It’s a slow, arrogant laugh, coming deep from his chest, and you find yourself blushing slightly because you don’t think you said anything funny.

“Isn’t that right.” He says and offers you his hand. You look at it, hesitating, not taking it. “Do you know how hard it is to find useful allies?” Cazador asks and the way he keeps using the word ‘allies’ makes you feel like he’s taunting you again for saying it earlier, but you ignore it. “And how much harder it is to find spawn who are worthy of serving?”

What?

Your eyes snap to Cazador’s face and the grin now looks less arrogant and more dangerous. Your mind begins to reel, putting the puzzle pieces together as he keeps talking, now making one careful step towards you, then another, a predator in action.

“One thing I overlooked the last time I saw you, was the influence you could have if I only had you at my disposal. Your word could sway even the Duke, I’m sure of it.”

Unknowingly you begin stepping backwards, your heart racing in your chest and your eyes widening the longer Cazador speaks.

“You want me to speak to the Duke?” you ask because you hope that it’s all he wants, but the unwavering grin on vampire’s face immediately tells you that’s not the whole truth.

“Yes. As my spawn.”

Immediately your eyes narrow. Fight or flight - you choose the former. You always do.

Your knees bend in preparation for a leap, your claws ready to slash and rip, and you jump towards Cazador, seeing his face, aiming for his throat. You denied Bhaal, you won’t be enslaved by another demi-god wannabe.

But the moment your feet leave the stone underneath as you vault yourself at your sudden enemy, he makes just one step forward and with a single strike with the side of his clenched fist he brings you down, your back slamming onto the ground with a thud that pushes air out of your lungs.

You attempt to scramble to your feet before you feel a kick to the side and you cry out from pain.

“I knew you would fight, that’s why I didn’t proceed to turn you up there. You can make such a mess from what I have heard.” Cazador ridicules you and with a huff you try to get up again but another kick to the same side takes your breath away once more, especially so because this time the kick is strong enough to make your body rise in the air and turn, landing you on your stomach.

You hear his laughter, cruel and cold, while you get to your hands and knees, trying to crawl away now. Fear, something you have long forgotten, begins to grip at your chest. Fear that you’re not leaving this dungeon alive.

But before you can get any further, your chest slams into the hard stone again as Cazador pushes you down with his boot on your back, sharp heel of it digging painfully into your spine and you wince.

“Let me go!” you shout, your voice disappearing into the air without even an echo, and the vampire just chuckles, the weight of his boot increasing as he leans down. You gasp when you feel him grab one horn and yank your head back so that he can look you in the face.

“Oh Bhaalspawn, you have no power to fight me.” Cazador jeers with sly boasting in his every word. “Although I don’t think you would be able to fight me even if you were still your father’s rabid lapdog.” He chuckles and pulls harder on your horn, making your spine bend in an arch that makes your muscles tremble from pain.

“Stop!” you cry out now, desperate to be released and your tail moves as if on its own, wrapping around his wrist that holds your horn, but with other hand he quickly grabs it and yanks on it so hard you hear an unpleasant crunch.

You yell at the sensation, tears gathering in your eyes and you wait for worse to come, maybe Cazador really breaking your tail, but he suddenly releases both and you collapse onto the floor panting and sweating, your body screaming at you with pain that radiates through every tendon.

“Stop.” You beg this time, your eyes heavy lidded as you try to recover and a trail of saliva leaks out of the corner of your mouth because you can’t seem to close it, still gasping for air.

“No, not yet. I need you to realize something.” Cazador’s boot lifts from your back but you can’t move, not yet, you need couple seconds more, maybe then you have another fighting chance against the monster that so easily lured you down here.

“What?” you ask, hoping that if you have him talking - he won’t be as vigilant about your possible attempt at escape.

“That I prefer my spawn obedient.”

Before you can truly realize what’s going on, you hear fabric rip and only a moment later you comprehend that it’s your dress that is being ripped. You rise your head, quickly lifting yourself on your hands and look back in horrified awe as you watch three mage hands tear your clothes away. Even your bag gets tossed aside and skids nearly off the edge of the platform.

“You bastard!” You shout and get to your knees, trying to stand up but one of the mage hands moves quickly and pushes your chest down to the floor just like Cazador’s boot did before.

Instead of words, an arrogant chuckle first reaches your ears as you make a sound of angry frustration, your claws scraping at the stone as you try to lift yourself and simply can’t. Your hips in the air provide an easy angle for the magical limbs to remove last of your clothing. Before Cazador speaks you feel even your shoes being dragged off your feet, leaving you completely and utterly naked in front of him.

“You will learn to address me appropriately, but I’ll ignore it this once.” He says like it’s a mercy he’s granting you and you clench your teeth for a moment. Your face is burning with shame at being exposed like this and your tail tries to swat the other two mage hands that are holding your hips in place and in the air.

Suddenly your tail gets caught and by the cold touch you can tell it’s Cazador himself that has snatched it again. Then he yanks it upwards, making the base of it bend painfully once more. You cry out from the sensation, trying to scramble away or at least alleviate the suffering in your vertebrae, but you can’t, the spectral hands are holding you better than chains would.

“Wet already? I suspected someone like you might enjoy pain.” Cazador mocks and you freeze, your eyes widening with horror. He can’t be right, can he?

And yet when you feel his finger a sharp point of his nail trace along your slit you know he didn’t lie, you feel your arousal being smeared on your skin and you blush heavily. Partially from anger and partially because you feel the unwelcome sensation of desire beginning to burn below your stomach.

“It means nothing!” You shoot back with your teeth clenching immediately after you finish your sentence, because Vampire Lord starts inserting one digit into your cunt. You whine because slow penetration of his sharp nail feels dangerous, too close to real damage for it to be comfortable and sensual, he would just need to curl his finger and you would bleed.

“Nothing? I think it means everything. Lost without your father, an aimless daughter, wandering the land with no purpose. I’ll give you that purpose.” Cazador’s tone loses the mocking undertones because they get replaced with strange possessiveness.

His finger proceeds to embed itself in your body to the knuckle and you grind your jaw with both fury and fear. Fury because he has you at his mercy, fear because you know he’s a master at inflicting pain, more pain than you know you could handle. “But first you need to be shown that you ought to serve.”

The finger moves in your cunt slowly, one thrust, two, three, then Cazador pulls it out and your body relaxes. You didn’t even notice until now how firmly you were clenching around his digit, as if in hopes to prevent him from harming you. But your tail gets released too and you move it down, to try and cover yourself at least in this small, insignificant way, wrapping the end of it around your own leg in a way to comfort yourself.

But then you hear footsteps as Cazador walks around you in just three of them. At first you only see his shoes and pants, then your horn gets gripped again, your head yanked backwards and your nails try to cling to slippery, polished stone to no avail. And then your eyes meet the crimson gaze of his, you see the ever-present smirk on his face and you grimace from pain when the vampire makes your neck arch uncomfortably.

“Open your mouth.” He commands and you pause for a second, your eyes widening again for a brief moment before you frown even more. You press your lips together and now see Cazador’s own frown spelling danger as he glares at you. “I said open. Don’t make this difficult.”

You don’t listen, you don’t want to listen, you don’t have to listen. Even if you are aroused that doesn’t mean you will obey his every command, that’s not who you are and he should know better. As you glare back at him, still with one magical hand pressing your chest painfully to the ground, you barely pay attention to other two such hands. One keeps your hips up, but second one moves without you noticing, and then it makes you cry out. You feel ghostly fingers, two of them, thrust themselves into your cunt and then another one – right into your other hole.

You cry out and thus you open your mouth. With a sly grin Cazador shoves a finger into your maw, rubbing it against your tongue and you immediately taste yourself. His eyes gleam with conceit the moment realization comes to you and you flush harder, you simply can’t help it. The spectral hand begins to thrust its fingers into your holes and you mewl because the vampire makes you suck on his own digit. Maybe instinctively, maybe because you really want this, you do as he wishes, wrapping your lips around his finger and swirling your forked tongue, cleaning his skin from remnants of yourself.

“Perhaps you will be a fast learner.” Cazador muses as if to himself, watching you suck on his finger like it’s your newfound religion. “We shall see.”

You turn your gaze away from him and try not to moan, your throat swallowing the saliva that’s quickly pooling in your mouth around his finger. It’s hard keep quiet and your tail wraps around your leg tighter in a reminder to not give in, but you can barely hold on as is. Something about how Cazador is treating you is making every muscle in your body uncoil and every nerve in your brain dull from desire. The ghostly fingers work your holes and you shiver, feeling moisture dripping down your inner thigh from your body submitting itself to the pleasure despite your mind commanding it not to.

Suddenly Cazador pulls his finger from between your lips and you gasp, instinctively following it with your mouth but how he’s gripping your horn prevents you from moving more than an inch. He scoffs, as if judging you for your eagerness, and releases your horn, letting your chin drop to the cold floor, then straightens his back. Vampire’s eyes flick to the side of you and you moan when the spectral fingers retreat, leaving your body with a sensation of emptiness. Realization of just how much you enjoyed this torment crashes on you like a wave and you blush like you haven’t in your life before.

“So this is your plan? To fuck me into submission?” you ask, still unable to look at him, and Cazador scoffs again, but this time louder and with surprise you feel the mage hands releasing you.

With shaky arms you begin to push yourself upwards, seeing Vampire Lord’s shoes still in front of you before you rise your eyes.

“That’s enough of a plan for a feral animal such as yourself.” His words cut you deeply and you grit your teeth, slowly getting on all fours because your strained muscles scream from tension even when you unwrap your tail from around your own thigh.

“How dare you-“ your words get stuck in your throat when a hand appears in front of you and grips your neck with such speed that you barely see it.

Your eyes widen and you gasp couple times for air, unable to inhale, feeling how the magical hand pulls you by your neck upwards, making you kneel. Your fingers shoot to your throat, trying to grasp at the ghostly hand that is utilized not unlike a collar in this moment, but then the other two grab your wrists and bend your arms with no regard for your pain. You grunt with frustration and effort to fight them, but to no avail, soon your hands are pinned to the small of your back and you snarl at Cazador, who’s smug expression is beginning to drive you crazy.

When you’re finally wrangled into position he obviously envisioned for you, the grip on your throat relents and you inhale deeply, nearly beginning to cough, greedily sucking air into your lungs because you don’t know if you will be forbidden it again.

“Down.” Cazador commands and you narrow your eyes at him, your lips parted and your teeth clenched so hard you can hear them near squeak from pressure.

“Caz-“

“DOWN, YOU DOG!” He suddenly bellows and you immediately sit, your naked rear pressing firmly to the stone, it sends a shiver through your body because of how cold it feels against your skin.

But the most terrifying thing is Cazador’s face. Full of fury, full of power. Your eyes widen because you sense something terrifying about him now, like a power that his body starts exuding because his emotions burst through. He waits for a moment longer, waiting for you to protest or talk back, but when you remain silent, with your heart beating fast in your chest and your entire body otherwise frozen in the moment, he lifts his arm and with a palm slicks back his hair. Couple of strands escaped his neat appearance when he shouted at you and he clearly will not allow this.

“If you act like a mongrel – I will treat you as such. Did Astarion tell you nothing?” he asks with irritation not disguised in his tone but he smirks again, composing himself once more and steps closer.

You keep watching his face with your breathing quick and shallow, your eyes trying to find any signs that might tell you if he’s about to show you rage again. You’re so focused on it that you don’t pay attention to how close Cazador is getting, his form towering over you and casting a shadow like an ominous sign. You want to tell him that you don’t understand why he’s doing it, but you do, you understand perfectly, because the chill that begins to seep into your bones from the stone floor make the realization abundantly clear to you.

Then the spectral hand around your throat tightens once again and you’re about to make a noise, to complain, maybe even bargain but before you can get one syllable out, you feel Cazador’s shoe between your legs, the nose of his boot pressing against your slit, smearing itself in your arousal and when you gasp in shock, the nose moves and rubs against your clit, pressing and rubbing against it too strong to be pure pleasure, but it’s pleasure nonetheless.

You press your lips into a thin line, embarrassed that this is enough to make you shiver with need and you look away from Cazador, turning your eyes to the side from his face and then flinch when he presses the boot against your sensitive nub harder, making you gasp.

“What do you want?” you ask, flicking you gaze back to your tormentor and Cazador grins widely, his eyes narrowing from genuineness of his expression.

“I want you to beg.”

The answer is simple but it takes a moment for you to process it. In your silence Cazador rubs his boot against your folds again and you cast your gaze down, shivering in response, watching black leather smear with your wetness. Cazador’s fingers grip your jaw, making you once again look up at him and he can see your heavy-lidded gaze. Despite your protests and defiance, your body and mind are succumbing to him, you know this too. With dread you realize that everything within screams to submit just as he wishes.

“You will beg, Bhaalspawn. And then I shall grant you one last mercy.” Vampire Lord speaks in half a whisper, his sharp nails digging into your skin.

“Mercy?” you ask because you can’t help yourself even though you suspect the answer already.

But Cazador doesn’t answer, he just grins at you.

“Open.” He commands like he did just earlier and you hesitate for a moment but slowly part your lips for him. Last time he shouted, this time he might not be as lenient in his displeasure. “Good, girl, good. You’re beginning to learn faster than I anticipated.” It’s not a compliment, not a praise, not really, more like small encouragement for you to keep obeying him or else.

While still holding your jaw, Cazador uses his other hand to raise it to your face, index finger extended, and then he puts it in your mouth. You wait, unsure what to expect when it presses your tongue down and you keep looking him in the eyes, seeing that sinister satisfaction spell danger. And then pain comes.

Vampire’s finger curls and you whine when his nail pierces your tongue, almost pinning it to the bottom of your mouth. You tremble but don’t move, frozen from sudden shock and agony that envelops your orifice in full. Blood quickly pools around your tongue and his finger, warm and coppery, and you feel it begin dripping down your chin, maybe it’s dripping down his hand too, you can’t see, your eyes now locked on the man in front of you.

Yet without a word he yanks his hand away like he’s suddenly disgusted by you, his grip leaving your jaw as well and you watch him straighten his back and look at his bloody hand just before you dip your head down and spit the blood on the floor with a painful shiver. Your tongue feels both throbbing from agony and numb at the same time, but when you glance at Cazador again, you watch him silently as he sticks out his own tongue and drags a bloody finger against it, satisfaction clouding his gaze for just a moment. Godsdamn vampire.

When his eyes flick to you they narrow, and you are not sure what to expect now, maybe more pain as you swallow the next mouthful of blood instead of spitting it out, but then his eyes sweep over your naked form and stop at the bottom. His shoe, still pressed between your legs, remain there for a second longer, then he pulls it back.

“Clean it.” He demands and with your head swimming from pain, you take another second to comprehend his words. In your confusion you don’t see his still bloody hand raise, you don’t register as he first swings it back, then towards you.

When his slick from crimson palm connects with your cheek you cry out, your head snapping to the side with force, your hair spilling over your face and more blood drip past your lips. Before you can gather your bearings, your hair is gripped, your head is pulled back, most of the hair falls away but some stick to bloody skin of your face and you gasp once, your swimming vision trying to anchor itself on something but before even that can happen, Cazador’s lips crash against yours.

You can barely understand what’s going on, but you feel him kiss you, the action more punishing than passionate, but you’re not sure of anything anymore. You whine at the back of your throat when his tongue enters through your parted lips and laps at the blood coating the inside of your mouth. The spectral hands tighten around you as if to make sure you don’t move even an inch without Cazador’s permission and you tremble, your body responding to the kiss on its own, your forked tongue caressing his and you hear him hum as if in approval or maybe it’s his own desire stirring at last.

Vampire Lord’s face then leans away from you, his eyes studying your face, the blood smeared on your cheek and chin and dripping down your neck. Your lips smeared in life’s ichor, just as his are, and he releases your jaw, his back straightening again.

“I said clean it.” Cazador repeats the command and your gaze follows his when it drops down, to the smeared leather of his shoe.

You glance up at him again, then down again, and feel the mage hand on your throat finally release you, bruised spots where the spectral fingers held throbbing with sore relief. You begin to bend down, the other two mage hands letting you do so even though they remain holding your wrists behind your back. You try to move your knees, position yourself so that you don’t drop face-first onto the marble the moment you get lower, and with the help of your tail you succeed.

The boot is right in front of your face now and you pause, swallowing heavily and still tasting blood when you do so, but you hang your wounded tongue out and begin using it, cleaning the shoe where you see moistness of your cunt dirtying his expensive footwear. Again you taste yourself, but this time leather too, and you make sure that everything is clean before you stop. When you do – you finally feel the remaining two mage hands disappear and you immediately move your hands, pressing your palms against the cold stone underneath you, as you feel your wrists throb in pain too.

“Good.” Cazador hums again, the boot disappears from your field of vision and you’re sure he’s inspecting your handiwork for a moment before he proceeds with a new way to make you submit. And while everything in you is telling you to do as he pleases, it will hurt less, it will be less degrading, but there’s still a part of you, the Bhaalspawn part that Cazador himself spoke to you about in a room just above, in the ballroom.

That part wants to put a fight, to try and escape, to run from him and to return later to kill him, if that’s even possible to someone like you, without dark powers of your father protecting you and making you a formidable enemy in battle. That matters none right now, details can be figured out later, first you just need to escape.

Slowly you rise yourself on your hands and look up at Cazador, watching him watch you, his gaze completely unreadable but the little smirk, as always tugging at his lips, tells you that he’s not done with you, not even close.

But then opportunity presents itself. The vampire turns his back to you, walking to his coffin for a brief moment and you quickly look around, seeing your discarded clothes tossed about the ritual platform, and you decide that you don’t care if you run naked. Silently and carefully you being to turn your body to the staircase that leads up to the dais, to your salvation. With a corner of your eye you keep watch on Cazador as he does something, you’re not sure what, his back covering whatever his hands are doing, but the moment comes when you have to focus on your plan and you look at the grand stair, wondering if you can be faster than a Vampire Ascendant or not.

You frown, ignoring the pain in your knees and wrists, ignoring the throbbing of your tongue and already swollen from the hit cheek, ignoring the humiliation that makes your insides clench from both anger and secret desire that you don’t want to acknowledge even to yourself, not yet at least, but you begin to rise from your hands and knees, preparing to sprint the moment your feet touch the ground, your tail taunt like an arrow.

The second you begin to rise, one knee still on the ground, you feel cold fingers wrap around your throat from behind, pulling your body backwards until your spine presses against Cazador’s chest. A small breath against your ear as your face becomes a mask of shock and fear, you didn’t even hear him get closer.

“Where do you think you’re going, disobedient pup?” he mocks and his nails dig into your skin, piercing it, making you wince.

Your hands fly to your throat, grasping at his fingers and wrist but failing to really get a grip, scratching his skin and leaving marks. You hear Cazador hiss with disapproval against your ear and then his fingers release you.

Immediately you scramble forwards but not for longer than a second before you feel your horns being gripped and pulled at. You have no choice but to clamber after the movement, trying to keep up, before you feel yourself being pulled off the ground. You yell in pain and terror, your fingers trying to make Cazador release his grasp on you, your tail swishing wildly, looking for something to hold onto when weight of your own body begins to pull you down, giving a feeling like your horns are being ripped out of your head. Tears gather in your eyes and spill down your face, leaving clean streaks on the blood-smeared skin. You see the promise of escape, the many steps that you took just to come here, for a moment longer, before your whole body is spun and flung.

You find yourself flying through the air for a split second before you crash to the ground with a painful thud and skid slightly, your talons wildly grasping at the floor until you come to a stop. Panting, you lift your head and see the looming shape of Cazador’s coffin facing you. You whine when you try to get up, your body now feeling bruised and sore all over, your skull throbbing around the horns, and you choke out a sob, finally and fully realizing that there’s no escape for you, not from him, not from Cazador Szarr.

This time you hear him walking closer, his boots sounding heavier than the weight of all the sins you have committed, and you look back at him, real terror reflected in your eyes as you see his smile that promises no salvation.

“Stop.” You beg this time, your lips tremble, your whole body is shaking and tears keep spilling down your face, running down your neck and to your chest. You’re unable to move even if you wish to, petrified when the weight of the situation finally catches up with you.

“You’ll have to do better than this.” Cazador taunts, he’s right behind you now and you expect more pain. A kick, a hit, maybe this time a broken bone, a ripped-out horn, mangled flesh.

But instead you see him kneel with one knee behind you, as if you’re a wounded dog he’s approaching with caution, but you remain frozen, still on all fours, not sure what he wants from you now.

“Come.” He offers you his hand and your eyes flick to it, then his eyes, trying to read vampire’s intentions, trying to understand what he wants to do to you now, but no answer comes. His expression looks almost kind, deceivingly so. “Come, I said.” Cazador’s tone grows harsher and you know by now that you have only a second to obey.

So you obey. You turn on all fours, not unlike the wounded dog he sees in you at this moment, and glance at his extended hand again, but before you can move closer and take it, Cazador moves and sits on the ground, splaying his legs, one hand behind him, palm pressed to the stone for support, and his other hand, now instead of being offered to you, waves at you, invitingly.

“Come.” A third command, empty of any tone indication and you get closer, crawling to him with fear in your heart and blood drumming in your ears. At least your tears stopped, for now.

You hesitate as you get close, but Cazador’s eyes remain unreadable while he pats his thigh as if you’re a pet. You obey again. By now you know that you have no choice.

“Turn around.” He mutters to you almost softly when you begin to search for a position to sit between his legs and you follow this command as well, turning around even though your sore body does not want to easily listen. Everything hurts but with resignation you sit.

The moment you do, you feel Cazador’s palms on your shoulders, pulling your back against his chest, then one arm wraps around your waist.

“Do you see it?” he asks and you look in front of you, seeing his stone coffin rise above you both, like a monument to vampire’s immortality.

“Yes.” You whisper after you swallow a lump in your throat. Talking hurts, your tongue is still radiating with pain, but you try your best as you sit on the ground, leaning against Cazador’s chest, your hands in your lap and your thighs pressed together for that last bit of dignity you pretend still having.

Sitting like this with him is not uncomfortable. You smell blood and a hint of decay, something you became familiar with when hanging around Astarion, but with Cazador this smell has become alluring. Despite your pain you grow aroused again, this time the fire in your abdomen is so hot it feels like it’s searing your skin from the inside. You press your thighs tighter but that doesn’t go unnoticed by the vampire. He doesn’t continue the thought he had, instead moving his head to look at your legs.

“Open them.” He says and you try not to obey, but your body listens even before your mind succumbs and you part your legs, smelling your arousal, seeing it glisten on your inner thighs and you hear Cazador scoff. “You’re easier than I thought, besides your rebellious streak that I will beat out of you sooner or later.”

He hums against your ear and his hand leaves your shoulder, his fingers now landing on your stomach, gently tracing down, and you almost squirm because you want him to touch you. Thoughts of danger swim in your head but you shove them away, not now, not again, and your own fingers grip the flesh of your thighs as Cazador’s hand slips lower, over your pubic bone and then-

The moment his fingers slip to your clit you exhale with pleasure, your eyelids drooping from the sensation that your body gets overwhelmed with.

“Do you like it?” the vampire suddenly asks against your ear the moment you lean your head back against his chest and you shiver.

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

You don’t reply but his fingers compel you as they begin to massage and circle your clit. He plays with your folds for a moment, your wetness making his strokes easier, slicker. He traces your slit and then rubs your pleasantly throbbing nub again, making your legs quiver and your tail wrap around his shin. You don’t see how his eyebrows rise at this, but even if you did you wouldn’t care.

“Yes, master.” You finally succumb and you see the coffin in front of you, wondering for a briefest of moments if you will get one of your own.

“That’s a good girl. You learn fast. I knew you were a right choice, I just needed to break you.” Cazador chuckles against your cheek, the tone of his laugh menacing and arrogant, but even that you now find alluring, sensual in its own way.

Sweat begins to bead your skin, slipping down the ridges of your tiefling body and you tremble again. Cazador is better at this than you would’ve assumed, your pleasure is building fast, moving like a slippery snake inside of you as his fingers work you to your pleasure deliberately and precisely. Then you have an urge to see him, to see the man who so easily made you submit, and you move your head, your eyes finally finding vampire’s face and notice that his expression is calmer and less malicious, his eyelids heavy as he gives you a glance that washes over you like a sea of crimson.

No words get exchanged, no permission is given, but you move, twisting your body so that you can swiftly move one hand to the back of his neck and lean Cazador’s face to you only for you to capture his lips in a kiss. He doesn’t resist and doesn’t stop you, kissing you back in a slightly reserved manner at first, but then giving in. His tongue grazes over your sharp teeth the moment you part your lips, and you do the same, exploring his fangs, knowing that soon they will mark you as his forevermore.

Cazador’s fingers toy with your cunt, but then falter, you feel his own arousal, his hardness press between your back and him, and you can’t help but want it, need it even, to feel it, maybe you always wanted him, maybe you at last give in to the desire you carried within you from the moment you saw him. Maybe you hoped for this the moment you offered to give him his spawn back.

Maybe it’s finally coming true.

Unexpectedly now, Cazador moves his hand from your waist and pushes you forward, making you slip over the smooth stone from him. His fingers leave your drenched cunt and you whine with despair, trying to turn to him, to try to kiss him again, but when you glimpse at his hands, you see that the Vampire Lord is now fumbling with his clothes, his hard cock quickly emerging from the fabrics he’s wearing and you swallow at the sight like you’re an animal in heat. A promise of pleasure instead of pain, you want it, you need it.

Cazador’s hand tugs at your waist again, your back pressing to his chest once more, and you whine with no shame, expressing your temporary disappointment.

“Take it.” He commands, the words being the permission and a guarantee you are craving for.

It takes only a moment for you to plant your feet to the floor and your palms on Cazador’s thighs as you lift yourself. His arm around your waist helps you lift yourself even higher and when you look down you see his hard length ready to impale you. You bite your lower lip and watch vampire’s other hand grip the base of his cock, ready for you to take it in. So you do, lowering yourself upon it as if you were made for this moment and this moment alone.

When you feel his soft tip nudge at your entrance and then slip inside with ease - you moan, your body trembling in delightful response. You keep sinking upon his cock, letting it enter you, letting it stretch you, and you moan louder the deeper you insert him into yourself. Finally, when you take him in full, you sigh loudly.

“Such a needy whore.” Cazador taunts but you don’t care, you begin to move.

It’s difficult to ride him like this but you try your best, making sure that your feet won’t slip and even put one of them on his thigh for better support. You gasp every time you are impaled again, but seems Cazador is impatient with your clumsy attempt to find a good position, because you hear him grunt, something between annoyance and pleasure of his own, and then his arm wrap under your other thigh, the one still on the ground, while his free hand grips over the inner thigh of your propped up leg.

“Incompetent, even in this.” Vampire grunts and begins to move you, making your body rise and fall so much faster and so much harder. You hurry to find purchase with your hands but the only thing you can do is twist them just enough so that you can weakly grab onto his shoulders behind you.

Your moans become louder and at first you look at the imposing coffin in front of you, but then lower your gaze to watch yourself getting fucked, his cock glistening with your arousal, leaking down his balls that swing every time you are brought down upon his length. You moan and shudder, your eyes locked on the sight, and your tail is still squeezing his thigh as he uses you to pleasure himself. Cazador’s grunts are like a most wonderful song against the side of your face, and you let your eyes close as you begin to feel your climax approaching.

Just as you begin to grasp at the strands of your bliss, your body beginning to tighten in Cazador’s grip, he suddenly pushes you off, making you fall chest first onto the ground. You gasp, confused and shocked, and your mind is bleary from pleasure still radiating through your body that’s begging for it to be prolonged. You only glance behind your shoulder to watch Cazador get up, hold his pants with one hand and with other he grabs your hair, yanking you upwards until you somehow manage to find your feet planted onto the floor.

“Cazador-“ you start, forgetting that he wants you to call different now, and you pay the price for your transgression as you are marched some steps forward and the side of your face gets slammed against the rough stone of his coffin. It feels like your bone cracks from the impact and you cry out, but then moan when Cazador plunges his cock into your cunt again.

“You will address me appropriately, girl.” He grunts right against your ear, his height so imposing that he needs to crane his head down to do that.

“Yes, master!” You cry out enthusiastically, your body shivering when he begins to plow into you with no concern for your pain.

His thrusts are rough, demanding and relentless as he fucks you against his coffin, your chest pressed painfully against the stone, your skin scraping against the sharp edges of it, making you bleed, but you feel none of this. Consumed by your lust, you grip onto the side of the coffin and hold on as if for dear life as he pounds into you. Cazador holds you down by your hair but his other hand comes into your view when he presses it palm-first onto the surface next to your face, his nails scratching at the rough texture of it.

You hear him pant and grunt as if he’s performing a task and not chasing his pleasure, maybe in his mind it’s both, but you don’t stop to think about it, in fact you don’t think at all, letting your body succumb to the pleasure while your tail once more wraps around his leg.

“Say it again.” Cazador demands and you have to wet your lips with your sore tongue before you are able to answer him.

“Yes, master!” you cry out again, your mind begins to swim as your climax approaches you and you cry out loudly with his every thrust, feeling your spine arch and bend as your body prepares you for pleasure.

“Never forget this.” Vampire Lord hisses and his grip in your hair tightens before you suddenly shout the moment his fangs pierce your neck.

In a moment you hear him swallow a mouthful of your blood and then he moans against your skin, his thrusts becoming erratic, but the coldness of his cock doesn’t stop you from realizing that he began to spill himself deep inside of you. You wail from both pleasure and pain, then feel your eyes roll to the back of your head as your climax takes you, making you shudder and spasm as Cazador’s slowing thrusts help you ride out your pleasure to the fullest.

When he finally stops, you are left trembling, with your knees weak, your body sore and your head dizzy. And then the pain returns, the one in your neck, so sharp and so overwhelming, that it nearly erases any traces of pleasure you just felt. Tears gather in your eyes once more and you whine as if begging for him to be gentler, and it’s like Cazador understands.

He leans his head back, releasing your throat from his bite, and then leans to the side to look at your face. You see his smug expression and blood painting his lips. Without a warning he releases you, pulling you back and roughly turning you around, harshly gripping your throat so that you don’t crumple to the floor at his feet. Cazador smirks as he watches your sweaty, bruised and bloody face, and you can feel the coldness of his seed beginning to leak down your inner thigh, a mark you haven’t expected from him but do not find it unwelcome.

“Maybe I’ll keep you alive for a little while longer.” Vampire’s gaze sweeps over your form, some sort of idea obviously just occurred to him, and you wonder what he means before he presses a palm to your lower stomach. “Maybe you can serve in a different way first, before I turn you into a spawn.” He muses and it takes you a moment or two until you realize what he means.

You try to speak but he finally releases your throat and you fall to the ground with a gasp. When you lift your head to him, your hair spilling around your face and your eyes still betraying your dazed state, he suddenly leans over you and caresses your cheek with a grin, his thumb smearing your tears over your swollen skin.

“Even cattle have their uses.”

With that his touch leaves you and you watch him button up his pants, then straighten out his shirt, not giving even a glance in your direction.

“I advise you don’t try to run, girl. There’s no escape for you anymore.” He chuckles and turns on his heel, then stops for a moment. “Get back upstairs when you can walk, ask someone to show you where you will be staying from this point on. I’ll call for you when I want to see your face again.” Cazador’s words are curt, cutting and insulting at the same time, and you flush as you watch him slick back his hair with one palm. He’s waiting for something.

“Thank you, master.” You whisper with your throat dry and your tongue painfully swollen, but you hear him exhale, satisfied with your response, then he walks off, climbing the stairs and leaving you behind, his footsteps not leaving even an echo in the vast cave surrounding you.

Exhausted, in pain and yet trembling from pleasure at the same time, you remain sitting on the floor, trying to understand what happened, how it happened and why. But before long, the chill of the stone begins to seep into your bones and you get up, gathering your scattered clothes and putting them on slowly, carefully, being mindful of your aching body.

And you smile.

You can’t help smiling widely, like you never smiled before. You better hurry up and find where you will be staying from this point on. Excitement clutches at your chest as you begin to climb the same stairs Cazador used just earlier.

Maybe this is the purpose you were looking for all along. To belong to someone. Maybe you don’t know any other life, but it’s not that you mind this. What happened was everything you ever wanted and more. And so much more still awaits in the future.

You feel excited.

[darkcircles4lyfe]

Love in Chaos

The way chapter 393 seized me from the inside out, brought me to my knees, smiling with fierce glee—it was all the proof I needed. All at once, a checklist I didn’t even know I was keeping started getting all its boxes ticked. I’ll admit that for some time, I haven’t been sure exactly how Toga’s story should be handled for her to get the care, nuance, and dignity she deserves. So I’ve been resigned, waiting to see what Horikoshi has to say about it. I didn’t know until I saw it, but I can tell we’re on exactly the same page.

This fight between Ochako and Toga—or should I say Himiko, since ya know, they’re both on a first name basis now—it’s a kind of breaking point for the overarching narrative and its themes. Here is where the big questions about hero/villain society are not only asked, but answered. Himiko, more than any of the other main villains, was branded with that label as far back as she can remember, without her having done anything except exist. Thus, she carries the weight of their society’s problems and becomes a symbol of the injustice in prejudice and fear, the brutal agony of being rejected by the world. I’ve maintained this resolve about the story for a long time: I will not be satisfied with an ending that constitutes a return to normal, or even a slightly amended normal. I know that it would be a disservice to Himiko if she were made to fit into society again, whether that be in death or reform or containment. Society has to change for her. After 393, I can tell that Horikoshi knows this too.

It’s the way Ochako steps up to this conversation so boldly and positions herself on Himiko’s side. When Himiko dismisses her words as fickle, claims she’ll go back on them and do horrible things to punish her according to hero society, Ochako comes right back and says no, this isn’t about what you’ve done, this is about you. I see you. I see your beautiful smile and I want to protect it.

Throughout her life, Himiko has not been treated like a real person, so of course this is what she needs. No lecture on morals could disarm her the way acceptance can. It’s also extremely refreshing and reassuring to see Himiko being taken seriously. I’m so incredibly excited for Ochako to accomplish such a completely transgressive act of unconditional love against this harsh world. I could stare in awe of the panels in this chapter for hours, how they’re drawn at the exact intersection of beauty, pain, and honesty. Grotesque violence and elegance. Power and vulnerability. I was so overcome that, for a while, I failed to register a crucial implication.

Enter: The Female Vampire Carmilla

She is referenced merely in passing, but as a rejected villain name for Himiko, speaks volumes. It’s difficult for me to find the words to summarize… perhaps you’ve heard by now that Carmilla is a gothic horror novella about a lesbian vampire. THE lesbian vampire, in fact—the one who popularized the trope. Knowing this, it is simple enough to apply the story of Laura and Carmilla in parallel to Ochako and Himiko, and register it as direct proof of the dynamic’s sapphic undertones being acknowledged and intentional. I mean. Look at them.

Yeah. But that’s not all. That isn’t what really makes it noteworthy. Put in context: Himiko has been called a soulless inhuman vampire since childhood, and shunned for it. To her, this or any villain name would be a reminder of her lack of agency in identity. Add to this the overall themes of 393 I just described, and suddenly it becomes clear that Himiko is set in contrast against much of what Carmilla, as a fearful narrative about the supernatural, represents.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me provide some details about Carmilla for those who aren’t familiar. The story was written in 1872 by Sheridan Le Fanu, and belongs to a genre characterized by a revival of Gothic aesthetics in service of providing mystery, intrigue, and suspense to a very Victorian expression of fear. On top of that, Carmilla directly influenced Bram Stoker’s Dracula, and set the precedent for many vampire portrayals to come. Many female vampire characters reference her at least in their name, and the novella has been adapted and reinterpreted countless times. Because of this, it is admittedly difficult to be sure of Horikoshi’s familiarity with the original, or pinpoint any other potential influence he may have picked up from another adaptation. One could quite literally write a whole book about the many iterations and widespread impact of Carmilla. This is why, however, I believe I can confidently say that Himiko being compared to a female vampire has implications that are felt no matter one’s familiarity with the origin of the trope. Certain things are baked into the definition through generations of media. The female (lesbian) vampire implies predation, deception, lust, a danger to innocent young women. She represents an inhuman desire that must be vanquished.

In the novella, the main character Laura becomes a fast, intimate friend to Carmilla, a strikingly beautiful and captivating young lady who has suddenly appeared in her life. Laura admires and loves Carmilla dearly, but feels conflicted in moments where Carmilla is overcome by a desire that is explicitly compared to that of a lover. She talks of blood, death, sacrifice, and unity all while holding her close and kissing her. Whether or not this is hot, or whether Laura reciprocates any desire is, I guess, up to interpretation. But one thing is for sure: the ending of the story is not in Carmilla’s favor. I’d argue it’s not in Laura’s favor either. Look, I was an English major. I’m very familiar with discussions along the lines of “is ___ gay?” and “is ___ a sympathetic portrayal of ___ ?” It’s definitely gay, but the rest is unclear. There might be a tangent to go on about how Le Fanu’s complicated relationship with religion may have informed his characterization of General Spielsdorf and the other men who hunted down Carmilla’s grave and destroyed her. Regardless, there is narrative injustice in the way Laura is removed from these events, sent home and only told about what happened later. She loses agency. Her narrations become distant and clinical. In the very end, she describes being plagued by visions of Carmilla, sometimes as her beloved companion, and sometimes as a fearful monster. To me, this represents the lack of closure she has, either to reconcile these two sides of her, or mourn her loss.

There is also so much we’ll never know about Carmilla herself. The finality of her condemnation silences the multifaceted character that was only partially revealed to us. There is an inferred humanity to her, a self-awareness, a true romanticism, that gets dismissed by the people’s understanding of what a vampire is: a deception.

Keep in mind this tragedy. Fast forward through countless vampire portrayals to the present, to Himiko. What a contrast indeed. Remember, she does not want to be called “Carmilla,” or “Vampire.” To make such a reference in a chapter that is showcasing Ochako’s acceptance of Himiko implies that the trope is being broken. It is as if Laura were to go running to Carmilla’s grave herself, throw her own body over her in protection, and shun everyone else’s superstition and desire for vengeance.

(footnote: the above is supposed to say “Himiko-chan” but you know who is a buttface)

Here’s the kicker: since female vampires are so closely tied to negative and predatory portrayals of lesbians, this humanization of Himiko also suggests that her queerness will likewise be treated openly and sympathetically, because there no longer exists an allegory that could be used for dismissing it. Ochako has already made monumental assertions in this chapter. By saying she admires her openness and envies her beautiful smile, and by presenting complete vulnerability in offering her blood, she swiftly separates herself from the lifetime of persecution Himiko has dealt with. It all represents so much more than those who mistakenly call it “yuri pandering” could hope to understand. This is the real deal. 

So what is this talk about romance they’re supposed to have? I firmly believe whatever Ochako says, it has to be a very surprising revelation, for both Himiko as well as us, the audience. Otherwise all the hype and mystery makes no sense. If Ochako has something so important to say, it can’t be to confirm Himiko’s assumptions. Whenever I try to dissect the exact possibilities, I get hopelessly tangled up in semantics, but ultimately I just hope to get Ochako’s perspective in full, especially as it relates to what other people think of her.

Actually, I had an idea while writing this. I saw someone on twitter (I think jokingly) bring up the All Might doll, like oh god, what if it comes up again. Ok but listen. There’s a LOT of potential symbolism in the token from Izuku that Ochako has kept being a doll of All Might specifically. We all know it calls to mind Izuku’s emulation of All Might, which resulted in the aspects of Izuku that Ochako herself admired. We can also easily infer that during the mission to rescue Izuku, Ochako saw the darker side of these traits. Okay, so here’s another wrinkle: All Might, as a near mythical figure, represents hero society. He’s the hero archetype, an upholder of the status quo, “peace,” and his weakening under all the pressure implies a flawed system.

Nighteye predicted All Might’s death, but also admitted that a strong enough collective will can change the course of his predictions. Ochako sites Nighteye’s own death as an origin for her beginning to question who exactly in this world needs saving. If you know my meta, you know that I believe All Might needs to die in symbol only. Right now, Ochako is throwing out an awful lot of things heroes take for granted. Things everyone takes for granted. The outcome of this fight could be a turning point in the war that completely changes the tone. If Ochako is to accomplish this by way of an intimate talk of romance, well…

Bye-bye, All Might!

[tenebriism]

Watching Doha get hit on made her frown deeply. She knew he was oblivious to the fact that the other women were flirting with him, so she was quick to make her way over to him. An arm around his waist and her lips quick to his cheek to give the others a silent warning to back off. "Sorry I'm late. But I'm here now." //Dez about to choose violence Doha if you don't get these women to stop thinking you're so pretty

Jealousy Prompt - [ NOT ACCEPTING ] ;;

Even were he the most hideous lord to ever take reign over Elde Menancia, there is appeal to be found in the MONEY he had, and the endless bounty of RESOURCES his partner would, inevitably, fall into. Coupled, however, with his somewhat charming personality and the blessing of good genes from his parents, Dohalim received even MORE attention than one may expect ( and, more than he would have LIKED. )

He considers himself no more a celebrity than, say, the latest up and coming actor or composer, yet he cannot step foot out of his palace without eyes and affectionate words being thrust upon him like he's a piece of rare meat. It makes him... UNCOMFORTABLE, but he approaches it with that same elegance and gentle rejection that he always does, and breathes a sigh of HEAVY relief when it finally works.

... except... it wasn't this time.

There's a hand to his chest, and try as he may to PRY it off, she's... notably, and frighteningly, STRONG. She cares not that he is SPOKEN FOR, either, despite him being in his every right to have her ARRESTED for what's becoming harassment. Thank GOODNESS for the savior who steps in and RESCUES him from this most UNCOMFORTABLE of predicaments.

" Ah. I was awaiting your arrival, my dove. " All too willingly does he pull her close, happy to return her affections despite not usually being one for public displays. He had WARNED them, after all, that he was spoken for, and really, it shouldn't have come as a surprise even to anyone coming from a neighboring region.

" Are you ready for our picnic? I have already ensured that the proper arrangements have been made; all that was missing was you. " He can feel the disappointment, HEAR the whispers and disapproving groans, but there is naught he can do, and naught he WANTS to do.

" Shall we? "

[itsmaferart]

SxF · S1 · Part2 · E1 "Project Apple"

Warning: This has Anime Spoilers

It's a joy to see our favorite family back on screen, having our SxF Saturdays. The best part is finally seeing the arc of our next Forger member, the adorable and heroic Bond. This review is from my own point of view:

Introduction:

I love the family scene between them having breakfast. When I saw it in trailer I swore it would be the adaptation of mission 24, when Yor tries to improve her food, but it wasn't the case. Which makes the series have these continuity details, showing that Yor has cooked a couple of times for his family, without much success. Which may contribute to the reason for taking cooking lessons in the future.

I love Loid and Yor's face of fake spouses in love on a honeymoon, while Anya is about to choke on her mom's food.

Later, we move on to Twilight's resounding failure to adopt a muscular, protective dog from a kennel owned by WISE: I simply love Anya's expression of "I'm not angry, just disappointed" as Twilight suffers a fit of "Anya rejected the dogs!!! There will be war!!! Failure on my mission!!!".

This man will be finished with so many attacks of stress, panic and anxiety

Literally my face is Anya's, when I look at puppies, kittens, rabbits and any super adorable animal

Continuing with Twilight being called on a mission and suffering a sudden bout of "stress stomach ulcers", having to quickly flee the scene but without his family finding out, and I love that Yor is such a considerate wife to wait for him. But Agent Starlight Anya helps out on the decks for Agent "Dad" Twilight's mission, making it clear that her dad takes a long time to poop.

Twilight's blush is just beautiful!!!! He is embarrassed that his beautiful wife finds out about his bowel routine!!!!!

I love the animated appearance of secondary WISE Agents, and the whole weaponized tactic to uncover the college terrorists. I'll just say that this is one of many times Twilight says "it's about the mission."

Then we have some excellent acting that literally deserves an award for being so improvised. The great Twilight!

We will always love our Fullmetal lady! Every appearance of Sylvia is elegant and magnificent, I am looking forward to her scenes in the next chapters!

Telepathy and Precognition

I love that even though Anya and Bond come from such a sad past being treated as experimental subjects they both have a "hero" instinct to help others, their powers make them feel like freaks but also help them save others even though they are risking their lives, not forgetting that they are vulnerable. This makes them have an instant connection, seeing that Anya is the only one capable of seeing Bond's visions and realizing that they will be together in the near future.

Although Anya had to disobey her parents again, she preferred to find out what was going on. After finding those poor puppies whose fates seemed sealed, our Anya is caught by the kidnappers, in a rather intense scene, of which there is much to talk about:

Return Ostania to glory:

Keith's words are from a leader who is trying to influence other young people and sow a romantic vision of war and violence. They are planning to assassinate an important figure, to cause a spark that will ignite the war. This has been a theme running throughout the story that we still have no idea of the background.

Return Ostania to its glory? The only thing I can speculate is that Keith is not really a leader behind a war, as there will surely be someone with much more economic power and might, who surely introduced him to these ideas of war to then be rewarded with money and power. Being Keith a leader capable of influencing a small group of university students ignorant of what a war really means. Being this figure who gave the money to finance the purchase of these dog bombs.

I don't know if this speech has some truth to it, or it is just manipulated information to cause war. Did Westalis do something in the past to make Ostania believe that they were being robbed? And that because of him Ostania has lost something….. Or maybe it's all a lie to influence weak minds to resent the West.

It is too early to make this kind of speculation, as there is no certainty in the actuality of the manga. But knowing that at Eden Academy there are parents who are such powerful political and social figures, it may be that among the younger teens and future college students there are students influential enough to lead these terrorist attacks, getting their hands dirty and functioning as covers for those who are orchestrating the war within the shadows.

Could Demetrius be influencing them in some way along with his father Donovan?

In several future arcs, it will be mentioned that these terrorist acts only seek to ignite a "small spark" that will make Westalis and Ostania reactivate the war conflict.

The Apple project

Another of the great mysteries in SxF, is that in the past the government tried a project with animals to surely create weapons to use against Westalis, a project that failed and their failed experiments ended up on the black market. This being the origin of Bond (And most likely that of Anya).

We do not know concretely where all these people involved in the project went once dismantled and if they are in cahoots with everything related to the underworld. (Our only clue is the figure of the black-haired scientist with glasses that will surely appear in the next chapter).

Admire Bond's transition from: "I'm the toughest and strongest dog here, no one will touch this little girl" to "I'm a little doggy, sweet and small, don't hurt me."

Poor Bond has suffered so much mistreatment that he is terrified that someone is going to beat him up. Whoever hurts Anya and Bond deserves to die at Yor's hands.

Yor is the mix: between protective mother, legendary assassin and overactive imagination.

She literally outdid Spiderman in one chapter.

I love that like any concerned mother she imagines the worst case scenarios of what happens to her baby. Although she went to extremes

As I said, Anya and Bond's connection is the strongest point of the chapter. It's funny how they both represent perhaps the most vulnerable and innocent beings in the world: children and animals. Two fellow adventurers united by the tragedies they experienced but have hope to find a place to call home and seek genuine love.

Just an adorable and funny scene even though they were going around and around, and almost getting caught by the villains a second time....

….But there is no need to fear

Yor mother lioness/tiger/bear/ protective of her baby will not let them get hurt

The most powerful mother takes action!

The No. 1 cause of death on this show is "trying to hurt Anya."

Conclusions:

It's a great arc, with an excellent anime adaptation, and surely the next chapter with Twilight's scenes, and Bond and Anya's heroism, added to Yor's killer kicks will surely give us epic and funny moments.

I liked Bond's bark, it's a little weird, but I think it's because in the manga it's implied that Bond has a particular bark that a person in the dubbing justly performs.

The only thing I can say, that even though it's an arc that seems to have a routine antagonist, with a casual adventure of the Forger family in search of a pet. It is actually much darker and deeper because it is the beginning of many mysteries that the manga has been leaving since the beginning. Starting dozens of theories that we can now see in the anime about Anya, Bond and the war.

Added to a beautiful Ending that deserves its own post!!!

Score 10/10

.

.

What do you think?

[bbangsoonie]

good for nothing

member: juyeon genre: angst (royal au) word count: 4,635 synopsis: despite being the first born and the kingdom’s princess, you lived your whole life in the shadow of the crown prince born to a concubine. in your plot for revenge, a fool in love comes along your path. warning(s): violence

kingdom masterlist

Princess Y/n. You were the first born of the king and queen, educated beyond societal standards for girls, and incredibly beautiful. Yet, you were disregarded and looked down on since the moment you were born. Your brother, who was born to a concubine, was the crown prince and received much greater respect. The reason? You were a girl. A good-for-nothing girl as your father called you on multiple occasions.

The king was ashamed to have his first born be a daughter. He also felt threatened by your rejection of the status quo. Because of this, he grabbed every opportunity to make you submit to him.

You were exceptionally smart but no one cared to notice. Your desire to learn was ignored and you were forced to embroider butterfly patterns instead. At a young age, you realized your place. You knew your designated fate was to be a political pawn meant to be married off at a beautiful age. To protect the royal family that never considered you as one of their own, you were to marry a complete stranger one day.

However, just because you realized your place didn’t mean you accepted it. You defied the rules at every chance you saw. You remained a headache for the king, but a small enough headache to avoid his wrath.

Unbeknownst to him, you were well versed with the dirty politics of the country. Ever since you were a little girl, you would eavesdrop into the ministers’ conversations and manipulate the eunuchs to take a peak at written grievances sent to the king. You knew about the starving peasants he ignored and the bribes he received. As you grew older, you became hungry for power. When it became apparent that the king was blocking any hope for you, you were determined to take as many people down with you. You refused to suffer alone.

The king always berated you for being greedy. Greedy for education. Greedy for acknowledgement. Greedy for a life that was more than just being a good wife. He reminded you again and again that you would never have a voice in official affairs.

Every time you left his chamber after another lecture, you made sure to humiliate the embarrassment the kingdom called the crown prince. You would outshine him one way or another. Whether it be pointing out his grammar mistakes in front of the scholars or exposing his secret palace escapes to the queen, you would dampen his mood for the day. It was the only thing that gave you a speck of joy.

There was also only one thing that gave you something to look forward to. For years, you had been conspiring against the royal family. You despised the royal family and its classist, sexist, and pretentious values. You planned on getting rid of it once and for all. The kingdom deserved a leader that would rule benevolently. Slowly but surely, you gained the loyalty of several ministers. Soon enough, you would be able to execute the meticulous coup d'état.

But until then, you had to continue to be nothing but the king’s puppet. Which included meeting your fiancé. You were introduced a week ago and wedding preparations were already in full swing.

The man you would be forced to wed, Lee Juyeon, was the first son of the Chief State Councillor. You didn’t like him the moment you saw him. He was a pretty face that grew up with his father’s full love and support. He was both elegant and masculine; he was the definition of perfect and you hated it. A person had to have flaws to be likeable.

For some crazy reason you couldn’t wrap your mind around, Juyeon was infatuated with you. He visited the palace every day just to have you decline his request for a meeting. He was persistent.

Unfortunately for you, he was also crafty. He figured out that announcing his arrival to the king was an effective way to see your face. The king was delighted to see the Chief State Councillor’s son head over heels for his daughter and thus, to your annoyance, daily meetings were arranged for you two.

“Tell me, Lord Lee, what about me is worthy of your obsession?” you asked.

You were sitting at one of the gardens within the palace walls. He had insisted on the location because of its romantic beauty.

“Then tell me, Your Highness, what about me is not to your liking?” he grinned.

“Do you wish to hear the answer of the princess or the answer of Y/n?” you raised a brow, making him laugh.

“You amuse me, Princess Y/n,” he turned his head to look at the pond.

You sighed, wondering how long you had until you could return to your residence. The man next to you was oblivious to your feelings as he rambled on about the dates he wanted to take you on. He caught your attention when he mentioned sneaking you out of the palace for half a day.

“You would really risk taking me outside of the palace?” you perked up.

He was excited to see you finally engaged in the conversation and nodded profusely. He promised to set up an elaborate plan for a smooth date. Grudgingly, you accepted his offer. Your wish to see the village overwhelmed your wish to avoid your soon-to-be consort.

The next day, a court lady secretly found you to notify you of his plans. To evade the eyes of palace maids, you were to escape through a path not commonly used. She helped you scale the wall and you froze when you saw Juyeon on the other side. You sat on top of the wall and he extended his hand for support. With a tight smile, you held his hand and jumped down.

He pulled the veil over your face to keep your identity hidden, blushing when his hand slightly brushed your cheek. He hopped onto the horse and gestured for you to do the same. Hesitantly, you held his hand again to climb on.

Using the excuse of maintaining balance, he urged you to hold on tightly. You weren’t left with an option when he sped up, prompting you to instinctively hug his waist. You didn’t have to see his face to know that he was smiling like a fool.

At last, you finally arrived at the village. Fascinated at the change in environment, you looked like a child surrounded by toys. Chuckling, Juyeon admired the view in front of him. In his eyes, you were prettier than any flower and sweeter than any candy. Feeling his gaze on you, you cleared your throat and began walking.

There was so much to look at. He caught you staring at the rows of yeot and purchased the confectionery without you asking. You immediately popped one into your mouth and he laughed when your cheeks expanded to resemble a squirrel.

“Are you teasing me?” you frowned.

“No, I am appreciating your adorable and lovely appearance,” he answered as he handed you the bag holding the rest of the yeot. His words didn’t fluster you. You simply rolled your eyes and resumed walking.

His long legs were quick to catch up with you. Enjoying your presence, he watched as you fawned over little trinkets. It was a new side of you that he had never seen.

Stopping at an accessory shop, you scanned the norigaes displayed on the table. One of them caught your eye and you held it up for a closer look. It was a beautiful pale pink color that perfectly matched your current hanbok.

“It seems a norigae is better at capturing your heart than I am,” Juyeon pouted.

“Perhaps it is prettier than you,” you shrugged.

“Is this an implication that I am pretty? To a certain extent?” he beamed.

“How do my words become that?” you exclaimed.

With another laugh, he took the accessory from your grasp and went to pay for it. You blinked at the sudden sight of his back, noticing for the first time how broad his shoulders were. When he came back to your side, he held the norigae in front of you but pulled it back when you reached out for it. He pointed at the bag of yeot and opened his mouth. Baffled, you turned around to walk away.

He caught your wrist and spun you back around. He bent down and your face stopped an inch away from his. His usual shy self was gone and he had a confident smirk on his lips.

“Does your heart not sway even at a close distance like this?” he asked. This time, he caught you off guard. When you finally came back to your senses, you hurriedly shoved a piece of yeot into his mouth and stormed off.

“Y/n, you make me laugh too hard and too much!” you heard his voice call out, making you blush crimson with embarrassment.

With your upcoming wedding looming over your head, it became increasingly difficult to communicate with the ministers. There were too many eyes to be wary of. Juyeon, of course, was one of them.

As you spent more time with him, you realized how sentimental he was. He brought you small, meaningful gifts and loved to tell you about the meanings behind each flower.

“Did you know that the plum blossom is one of the indications of spring's arrival?” he asked one day. “They can bloom as early as late March.”

“I think it is quite obvious that it is spring,” you commented, pointing at the variety of flowers surrounding you.

“My personal favorite flower is the rose of sharon,” he continued. “It is nicknamed the “immortal flower” and means “eternal blossom that never fades” because of its resilience. It regrows despite harsh conditions and even after it is damaged. Amazing, isn’t it?”

You hummed, looking for the flower he was talking about.

“I used to hope that our kingdom would take after the flower. We have survived through many tragedies and I hope that we will survive through anything else that tries to beat us down,” his words pricked you for some reason. Would your rebellion be seen as a tragedy or as a heroic deed?

“Now, I like to think that our love will be like the rose of sharon. My love for you will never fade and I will continue to pine after you despite your harsh words. Even if you hurt me, my feelings will transcend time,” he smiled. “The flower does not bloom until July. My wish is to go see them with you. Would you bless me with your presence when the time comes?”

You observed his lovestruck expression and couldn’t bring yourself to say no. Again, you were at a loss trying to understand why he was so besotted with you. His childlike innocence was almost pure to a fault in a place like the palace.

“I shall consider it if you teach me how to swing a sword,” you proposed.

He couldn’t hide both his shock and happiness. He was confused as to why you wanted to ever hold a weapon but glad that you were slowly opening up to him. Without a second thought, he agreed to your proposition.

Juyeon was full of bliss at the thought of spending more time with you. Teaching you swordsmanship would allow him to be intimate with you and he was thrilled. At your first secret lesson, his heart raced at your proximity as he guided your hands on how to properly wield the blade.

A week passed by and you quickly improved each day. Eventually, you became skilled enough to land a fake jab. Seeing your proud smile, he grinned as well.

“I guess I should be on edge now. If I annoy my princess one too many times, my life will literally be at your hands,” he joked.

“Do you regret training me?” you smirked.

“Ah, was this all a part of your plan?” he pretended to gasp. “Either to kill me off or to threaten me to obedience?”

Not finding his joke funny, you blankly stared at him. Noticing the sudden chill in the atmosphere, he awkwardly laughed.

“Do not worry, Your Highness. I will always do as you say. You do not need a sword to make me behave.” he smiled.

You hated to admit it but he had grown on you. His constant attempts to tear down your wall had finally made a crack. You had to stop before he became your weakness.

For the first time in a while, you were summoned to the king’s chamber. Expecting another reprimand, you dreaded the walk there. To your surprise, however, you were greeted with a smile he hadn’t given you in years. It kind of freaked you out.

“You called for me, Your Majesty?” you bowed.

“I hear you have been getting along wonderfully with the Chief State Councillor’s son. Finally, you are fulfilling your duty as this kingdom’s princess,” he commended.

What a back-handed compliment. You wanted to roll your eyes at his passive aggressiveness. Holding back your urges, you politely smiled instead.

“I just wanted to let you know that I will be in a hurry to complete your wedding. I need the Chief State Councillor’s support to find a suitable wife for the crown prince,” he announced.

“Is my marriage merely a way for the crown prince to find a wife with a powerful family?” you shot back.

Your question turned the mood scarily sour. You felt his anger rise as he chastised you for your impudence and disrespect.

“The crown prince is the future leader of our kingdom. He is more than deserving of the immense care, thought, and effort that goes into picking his consort. His consort will be this kingdom’s queen and will be the one to bear the next king. You are nothing but a useless girl who will belong to a different family.”

“I am still a member of the royal family, am I not?”

“You are just a good-for-nothing girl that will leave this palace soon,” he spat. “Now leave. You are dismissed.”

On your way out, you ran into the crown prince who looked at you in a way you found to be offensive. You paused your steps and turned around.

“I wish you fertility, Crown Prince. After all, the kingdom relies on your performance to produce an heir to the throne,” you said, lacing your words with venom. “I would imagine you would hate having to adopt a nephew.”

You could tell you had gotten under his skin yet again and left satisfied. You loathed and condemned your family with a burning passion. You couldn’t wait for the day it would all come to a bitter end.

While you were brooding, you didn’t notice Juyeon sneaking up on you. When you finally saw him, you nearly jumped. Your hand reached out to cover your heart, trying to calm it down. Sheepishly, he apologized for startling you.

Trying to keep you from walking away from him, he held onto the hem of your sleeve. Your heart softened at the gentle manner he treated you with. Ignoring your instincts, you let him cling onto you. Instead of making you turn around to face him, he walked in front of you.

“Will you accompany me to the garden today as well?” he asked earnestly.

Knowing that the court ladies were watching, you reluctantly accepted his invitation once again. This time, he surprised you with a bag filled with yeot. He looked so proud of himself for remembering your love for the sweet treat that it made you laugh. As a reward, he grabbed a piece for himself. Unaware of the smudge it left on the corner of his lips, he was conscious of your gaze and tried to look attractive.

“Worry not, Your Highness. You will get to look at this face every day and every night once we marry,” he assured.

Despite his wise exterior, he had a goofy side to him. He was pure and innocent—everything you weren’t. You could see why the king favored him so much.

“I do not understand why you are so eager to become my consort,” you suddenly blurted. “You know that it is just a flashy title that does not award you with much privileges. It is an empty position; you cannot hold office without a special order from the king. Do you simply see yourself as a stepping stone for your father to bring honor to your family?”

“Is my love for you an acceptable response?” he asked after some thought.

“Is it truly worth your dangerous status as the princess’s husband and king’s son-in-law? The royal family has many enemies,” you warned.

“I will be the one to protect you from such enemies,” he declared.

Was he naive or has his affection for you blinded him?

“Princess Y/n,” he said solemnly as he held your hand. “I promise to love and protect you for as long as my heart beats. No, even after it ceases to beat, I will still yearn for you. I will not demand or expect you to do the same. Even if your feelings for me are not as strong as my feelings for you, I will not blame you. But will you please give me the chance to try to win you over?”

His confession triggered an alarm in your head. He was never supposed to fall for you this hard and you were never supposed to allow him to. He had no idea how cunning and conniving you really were. Only the people in the palace knew how cold-hearted you could be. You had to be in order to survive.

You refused to give him a reply and pulled your hand away. His face fell but he forced himself to smile again. In an attempt to break the tension, he made a random comment on the weather.

After you two parted, you decided to speed things up to initiate the revolt. Once you joined hands in marriage, Juyeon would inevitably end up a target as well. If you wanted to spare him, you needed to overthrow the corrupted royal family before he became a part of it.

It was officially the day before the insurrection. To be honest, you weren’t really nervous. This was what you had been anticipating your entire life.

Yet why did you have a moment of weakness when you saw Juyeon that afternoon? He approached you with that boyish smile that did wonders to your normally rational mind. Feeling what you believed was pity, you wanted to leave him with a pleasant memory.

So you ended up convincing him to sneak you out of the palace again. This time, you were a lot more enthusiastic. You wanted to try all the pastries and insisted that he taste them too.

“You seemed to have a lot on your mind these days,” he carefully pointed out. “Has the problem that has been bothering you been resolved now?”

“It will soon,” you eluded.

You stared at the man in front of you, observing his features. He was, without a doubt, good looking. You could see why all the court ladies, palace maids, and girls of the village were so smitten with him. But you still didn’t get why he chose you to fawn over. Maybe it was because of the lack of affection you grew up with but something about having someone care for you was unsettling.

You had suitors court you before but none of them were as devoted as Juyeon. He always came off as genuine. Perhaps his sincerity was what made you lower your guard.

“I promise to lavish you with such outings if that is what makes you happy,” he proclaimed, almost making you laugh.

“Why do you make so many vows?” you inquired.

“I am a man who keeps his word and you are the only one I give it to,” he grinned. You wondered how happy he had to be to smile so often. You rarely had reasons to be smiling.

He glanced down at the table and examined the rows of binyeos. Holding one up, he held the hair pin against your hair.

“May I gift you this binyeo?” he asked.

You pursed your lips, feeling just a tad bit of guilt. You were used to being showered with extravagance but with Juyeon, it was different. There was an emotional value attached to each present.

“Only if you promise me one other thing,” you negotiated.

“Of course. I will do anything you ask of me,” he responded.

“Promise me that you will not visit the palace tomorrow,” you said sternly. He looked at you with curiosity.

“Tomorrow is… a day of mourning for me. I do not wish to see you until the day after,” you lied.

“This is the first time you have expressed your desire to see me,” he lit up at your last sentence. “I will prepare a magnificent date for when I see you over-morrow.”

You almost felt sorry for his naiveté. And you almost—just almost—felt sorry for deceiving him.

The fateful day arrived at last. You stood, taking one last glimpse at your reflection. Subconsciously, your hand reached out to touch the binyeo in your hair.

The roars of the royal guards and the clanks of combat rumbled throughout the palace. With a determined look, you left your chamber. The sword in your clenched fist dragged across the ground as you made your way to the throne hall.

When you finally busted through the door, the king sat as if he had been waiting for you.

“I should have known that this was your doing,” he scowled. “Was your luxurious life as a princess not enough for you? Could you not fight the temptation of avarice?”

“Nothing about my life was ever comfortable,” you corrected. “I always had to play along to match your mood in order to avoid being married off to an old man just out of your spite. You tried to drill your toxic mentality in me because my individuality terrified you. You made it a point to constantly tear me down. So I made it a point to see your demise.”

“You have always been this sly ever since you were a little girl. I knew I would regret your birth the moment I saw your eyes. And I was right. You are nothing but a vile bitch.”

“For the longest time, I thought I was deserving of your hatred. But I came to the realization that you simply belittled me just for being a girl. Do not forget, Your Majesty, that the womb inside me is the same as the one that bore you the crown prince.”

Mockingly, you approached the throne. It was incredible how that one seat gave its owner immense power.

“Speaking of which, why is it that only men carry on the family name?” you questioned. “Do you not realize that women are the ones who carry on the precious bloodline you always speak of? It is the body of women that conceive and grow another human inside them. It is the body of women that suffer through labor to deliver you children and nurture them to good health. The only thing you do is spread your seeds like a fruit. And then blame women for your own infertility.”

“All throughout history, it has been men who carried on the royal bloodline. What makes you think that you are worthy of special treatment?”

“Bloodline, bloodline, bloodline,” you rolled your eyes in irritation. “Do not fool yourself. It is not blood you care about but name. Men may carry on the nameline but we are the ones who give you the royal blood pumping in your veins.”

You sloppily lifted the sword to the king’s neck, smirking.

“I knew you would be the one to bring my downfall,” he glared.

“Well, how does it feel to have all your fears come true, my king?” you taunted. “You were always afraid that I would either surpass you or ruin you. Now, I will be the one to end this damned bloodline. This good-for-nothing girl will take back the royal blood that was given to you by a woman.”

With that, you slashed his neck. Blood splattered across the wall and on your face. You grimaced, wiping away the warm liquid. You were surprisingly calm in front of such a gruesome sight. That was, until Juyeon came bursting through the door.

After he had parted from you the day before, he could not get you out of his mind. Something about your eyes had been melancholic. Your words sounded like a foreshadow and it left him feeling disturbed. So he broke his promise and went to the palace to see you again. He was alarmed to see the chaos ensuing and immediately searched for you. However, he never expected the situation he stumbled into.

“P-Princess Y/n,” he stuttered, making you aim the weapon at yourself. You never intended or wanted him to witness this.

“Do not come any closer,” you warned.

“Your Highness, please. Put the sword down,” he begged.

“I cannot,” you gulped. “This is how it must end.”

“We-we can run away. Together. We can leave everything behind and I will keep you safe,” he said as he tried his best to stay calm.

You wanted to both laugh and cry. Your life was a suicidal mission. You knew from the beginning that you would not be able to survive. If you failed, you would be executed for treason. If you succeeded, you would be executed to officially end the royal bloodline.

You had to admit, you slightly wavered at one point. Juyeon’s promise to make you happy was enticing. To someone who never strayed close to emotions before, he was like a miracle. He made you feel all sorts of things that you were glad to have experienced.

“I apologize, Lord Lee,” you sadly smiled before you stabbed the blade into your stomach.

“No!” he screamed as he ran to your side.

You slowly fell to the ground with Juyeon’s arms wrapped around your body. His hands shook above the wound as he cried, knowing that he couldn’t take it out without ensuring your death. He never thought that what he taught you would be used against yourself. If he had known that this was what you planned on using your skills for, he never would have taken your offer.

“I am afraid I will not be able to go see the rose of sharons with you,” you said as a tear escaped your eyes.

Your vision began to cloud and you felt the life in you leave with every breath you took. You didn’t even realize that your hand was gripping his clothes, crinkling it. Another tear rolled down your cheek as your head fell back, your neck unable to support it any longer.

He desperately clung onto you, holding your head in his bloodied hands.

“I will bring the flowers to you,” he affirmed.

“Another promise,” you chuckled.

“This one I will be sure to keep,” he stated as his own tears fell to your face.

Next to the weapon embedded in you was the norigae he bought you the first time you escaped the palace together. He looked up to see that you were wearing the binyeo he bought you as well. He sobbed, holding onto you tighter.

“I hope to be reborn as a rose of sharon. That way, I can come see you every spring,” you whispered before you closed your eyes for the last time.

tag list: @dearseungie​ @cuppasunu​ @reverienostalgia​ @elcie-chxn​ @parfaitz​​ @lovelyutas​ @mochinyu​ @leejaeyeons​

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

like a secret in your throat

y’all asked for whump. y’all got whump. title from “Vampires Will Never Hurt You” by my all-time favorite band, My Chemical Romance

whump, hurt/comfort with a happy ending!

tw: manhandling the bard, vampire transformations (side character), non-sexy biting, blood mention, canon typical injuries/violence

---

Geralt looked up from his mug of ale when he realized that Jaskier had stopped playing. Instead, the bard was chatting merrily away with a tall, broad-shouldered man in a dark cloak. The hood obscured most of the stranger’s face but Geralt caught the reflective glint of a bead or piece of metal braided into his matted black hair. An instinct tickled at the back of the Witcher’s head but Geralt couldn’t quite place the feeling. Something was wrong about this little tableau but he couldn’t figure out what it was; his medallion wasn’t reacting to anything in particular and Jaskier seemed perfectly happy, lost in conversation with the dark-haired man.

Geralt returned his gaze to his mug and let his mind wander.

Jaskier did seem perfectly happy to be without him on nights like these, when they were back in civilization and the extroverted bard could branch out and meet new people. That was the problem, in Geralt’s opinion. 

Lately the Witcher had found himself contemplating what life would be like on the Path if he decided to travel alone again. Winter wasn’t close enough for him to excuse himself and go North, but he’d developed a strange and uncomfortable dependence on the bard that he needed to be weaned away from. It wasn’t healthy for either of them. 

It wasn’t safe.

If he grew too close to Jaskier, then… 

Wouldn’t that be a weakness? Wouldn’t that be a vulnerability and a dangerous closeness? Geralt couldn’t risk forming a connection like that. He couldn’t allow himself to hope for something so organic and pure to develop between a half-monster and a youthful, bright-eyed bard; Witchers weren’t meant to get nice things. That was not his lot in life.

And yet…

Some mornings, when he only barely cracked his eyes open and used his heightened senses to peek across their campsite, he saw Jaskier looking back at him, a curious glint in those pretty blue irises. Geralt couldn’t pinpoint the emotion the bard’s face held; he was bad at that, and the uncertainty of the younger man’s feelings scared him. He could handle rejection, but acceptance? If Jaskier was as loving and openminded as Geralt thought him to be, it could prove to be a problem. Jaskier was too good for a Witcher. He didn’t deserve to be trapped by a life on the Path, dying too young because he was foolhardy and quick to fall in love.

The Witcher’s introspection came to an abrupt halt when the Jaskier in question appeared beside him, flushed and grinning. “Geralt, dear heart, are you ready to retire for the evening?”

“Are you asking me to bed?” the Witcher smirked, smothering the very real ache in his chest at the thought of curling up next to Jaskier like that. “Or do you need to borrow our room to entertain a guest?”

“Oh, no, I have no plans of that nature.” Jaskier’s already pink face darkened a shade and Geralt’s stomach flipped. “I’m actually rather tired. I was hoping to get some decent sleep tonight before we flung ourselves back into nature tomorrow.”

“Hmm. I’ll be along shortly. Don’t wait up.”

“See you in a bit then, dear heart.” 

And Jaskier disappeared up the stairs.

Unfortunately, the Witcher didn’t realize he wasn’t the only one watching Jaskier slip into their rented room with a longing expression on his face.

---

“We need to set up camp for the evening,” Geralt announced, bringing Roach to a stop and sliding gracefully down from the saddle. Jaskier loved the way his Witcher looked when he did that, like some kind of fairytale Prince or knight errant. The way his long, silver-white hair shifted and fluttered against his shoulders in the dusky light made him look more like a fantastical painting than a century-old Witcher; even with his scars and his pallid skin tone. 

The unconventionally enchanting sight made ballads stir in the most romantic corners of the bard’s busy mind. Words pooled and shifted behind his eyes, arranging themselves into neat rhyming couplets or quatrains. 

Geralt of Rivia, tall and fair,

With golden eyes and silver hair;

Whose glare could even douse the sun,

And send a Gryphon on the run.

The bard barely kept himself from sighing aloud as he removed his pack from across his shoulders and unfolded his bedroll and thin travel blanket. The material felt fragile between his calloused fingertips and he sighed forlornly,  “I’m going to need a new blanket soon.”

“Hmm.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll pay for it. And I’ll get Roach some new reins while I’m in town,” the bard waved his hand nonchalantly, as if spending money was no big deal. It really wasn’t, all things considered. They would be able to travel far more comfortably if Geralt would allow them to stop in Novigrad and access his University accounts more often. Alas, Witchers are stubborn creatures. “I see the way they chafe her poor muzzle, Geralt, so don’t argue. If you really insist you can pay me back by letting me write a song about the color of your eyes.”

“My… eyes?”

“They’re rather pretty, dear heart, and I think the world could do with a ballad about how they glow when you turn your face toward the sun.”

Geralt felt the back of his neck grow hot and he glanced away, “Hmm.”

“Well, let me know what you think in the morning. I don’t need an answer right away.”

Geralt finished setting up a decent pile of firewood and brought it to life with an efficient burst of Igni. He glanced across the flames to Jaskier and grunted, “I’m going to catch us some dinner. Make tea.”

“Yes, sir,” Jaskier saluted, smiling. Geralt rolled his eyes, grabbed his crossbow, and disappeared into the darkening treeline. Jaskier began to hum as he set up their tea kettle and filled it with water from the waterskin. The humming turned to quiet singing as he measured out two mugs worth of tea from the sachet of dried leaves. 

Singing that was cut off with a sharp, sudden cry.

---

Geralt heard the bard scream once. Only once.

The sound punctuated the air before leaving an uncomfortable, grating silence in its wake. 

The Witcher took off towards their campfire without a second thought, allowing his instincts to take over and guide him safely back, the potency of Jaskier’s fear hung thick and sour in the air, growing stronger the closer he came to their clearing. When he burst back into view, chest heaving from the sprint, he widened his eyes at the sight before him:

The cloaked figure from the tavern had Jaskier wrapped in his burly arms. One large, long-fingered hand had immobilized Jaskier’s wrists by pressing them into the dip at the base of the bard’s spine, forcing his elbows out and pressing his chest even tighter against the stranger’s. 

Jaskier looked up at Geralt beseechingly through his dark, damp lashes. His mouth opened in a silent cry of confusion and pain when the man tugged at his wrists and forced his arms to bend awkwardly. The bard wriggled and strained against the stranger’s iron grip in an effort to escape but the man only snarled in irritation and jerked him back into place. “Bad bard. Stay put, little thing.”

Geralt took a slow step towards his swords, trying to reassure Jaskier with his expression that: Everything will be okay. I will get you out of this. I will protect you and keep you safe… somehow. 

Jaskier needed Geralt to pay attention and protect him from harm.

Geralt had failed.

The Witcher watched with wide, horrified eyes as the hulking man keeping Jaskier captive shifted slowly into a far less humanoid form. The baubles braided into his hair jangled and clinked as his nose elongated and his eyes widened. His arms lengthened to form clawed bat-wings and his face thinned and covered over with a layer of grey fur. Fangs burst forth from his gums and slid over his previously humanesque canines. His voice, which had been rasping odd little sounds in the Witcher’s direction, faded into an terrible shriek. 

A Katakan. 

A Katakan that had snuck in and out of civilization without Geralt so much as smelling it; one that had Jaskier pinned against its chest, the claws of its unoccupied hand sharp and dangerous as they hovered near the bard’s ribcage, ready to pierce but unwilling to waste precious blood unless absolutely necessary. It screamed again, even more shrilly. “Want him!”

Geralt dove forward and pulled his silver sword from its sheath. He swung it in an elegant arc and narrowed his eyes, “Let him go and I might let you live.”

The Witcher’s words were a lie and they both knew it.

The Katakan twitched its long ears in annoyance and hauled Jaskier even closer. It wrenched his arms painfully and the bard whimpered, blue eyes filling steadily with tears. Geralt’s heart seized wretchedly in his chest and he tried his best to ignore it; he couldn’t let his feelings distract him until Jaskier was safe. 

“I want him,” the monster rasped, readjusting the bard in its grip. It turned Jaskier around until he was facing the Witcher, releasing his wrists just long enough to pull his hands around to the front before capturing them again. It grazed its two long fangs against the column of Jaskier’s throat and trilled happily. “He sings so pretty. Talks so sweet. Bet he tastes sweet like he talks.”

“Hmm,” Geralt agreed. “He does have a rather pretty singing voice. I suppose that’s why I can’t have you killing him.”

“But he will sing for me,” the vampire shrugged. It shook Jaskier like a toy and the bard’s tears finally fell. He whimpered again when the vampire leaned close and told him: “Sing, little thing. Let me pull lovely music from your veins.”

Jaskier shivered visibly. He gave a few panting, strangled sobs as he slipped into panic, too frightened to move with the vampire’s fangs so close to his neck. He wanted Geralt to finally swing that stupid sword and get this over with. He wanted to curl up in Geralt’s arms and never leave for the rest of his life. He wanted to be taken to Kaer Morhen and hidden away in safety, fuck his music career and the rest of the world. He wanted Geralt to stay in his presence forever, never letting him out of sight again. He wanted…

Before he could finish his thought there was a sharp, piercing, all-encompassing pain at the juncture where his neck met his shoulder.

A keening wail filled the air once. 

The vampire bit down harder, its tongue sliding against the skin of the bard’s neck in an effort to urge the blood to exit faster. 

There was another high, piteous cry for help and then... 

The world went black.

---

When Jaskier opened his eyes again, the world was even darker than it had been before; mostly because the light from both the moon and their campfire was being blocked out by the broad plane of Geralt’s chest, which Jaskier found himself cradled against almost… lovingly. Above him, he heard the Witcher murmuring: “Jaskier, please. Please wake up, Julek. Come on, bard, I kn-”

“G-Geralt?” he managed to croak. He followed it with a very eloquent, “Hunh?”

“Jaskier,” the Witcher sagged with relief, pressing his forehead against the bard’s and breathing in deeply. He tightened his arms around Jaskier, pulling him even closer as his frown disappeared, “Melitele be blessed, you’re alive!”

“Should I not be?” Jaskier asked. He tried to sit up on his own and winced when a bright burst of pain flared out from his shoulder.

“The Katakan- You were bleeding so much and I-” Geralt was, as always, at a loss for words. Jaskier waited patiently, still feeling drowsy and half-alive, and allowed the Witcher to gather his thoughts. His neck ached and his left arm tingled fiercely every time he tried to flex his hand on that side. 

“Did it… Am I a vampire now?” he asked. The absurdity of the question broke Geralt from his confusion.

“No,” the Witcher answered swiftly. “You’re still very mortal-” a hand swept through Jaskier’s hair, calming him further “-And unfortunately still very fragile.”

“Are you going to beat yourself up over this for the next week and somehow twist it around until it’s all your fault?”

“Hmm,” Geralt looked away. Jaskier was still being held so very tenderly in his arms, laid across the Witcher’s lap like some kind of swooning maiden. He rather liked how close he was to Geralt and hoped to stay that way for just a little longer. The Witcher surprised them both by letting a full sentence slip into the air between them, “I don’t like seeing you hurt, Jaskier, especially not when… when I was close enough that I could have prevented it from happening at all.”

“Your medallion didn’t give you any hints about this thing back at the inn when I was talking to him? He seemed completely normal, if a little monosyllabic. I’m used to monosyllabic, anyway,” the bard joked, trying to lighten the mood somewhat. It didn’t work; Geralt lifted his head and stared into the fire, his brow already furrowed as he slipped into his private realm of self-loathing. Jaskier was still laying across his lap, his neck and shoulder giving off pulsing aches with every beat of his heart. 

Eventually the Witcher spoke again, his voice low and full of frustration. “Katakans are different, they don’t- they don’t set off my medallion the way other creatures do, and they can disguise themselves as people. They can move and talk like people; you saw it transform.”

“I did,” Jaskier grimaced. “And it wanted me to sing while it drank my blood.”

“You didn’t do very much singing,” the Witcher grumbled. “You screamed twice and fainted. It nearly dropped you.”

“If I remember correctly,” the bard smiled playfully, “Someone said my singing was too pretty for me to die.”

“Hmm.”

“It was you, Geralt. You said that.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier tried to sit up again and nearly passed out from the pain that screamed through the entire left side of his body. “I- Geralt, I-”

“What’s wrong, Julek?” the Witcher asked, adjusting the bard until he was more comfortably enclosed in Geralt’s arms, his back leaning against one of Geralt’s bent legs for support. Geralt’s other leg was straightened out before him and Jaskier let his calves fall atop the Witcher’s thick thighs. They looked like a painting, with Jaskier reclined as he was and Geralt looking at him like that.  

“Everything hurts, dear heart. My whole left side feels aflame.”

“It’ll burn like that for a day or so,” Geralt shushed him. “You bled quite a lot, you were bitten, and you hit the ground pretty hard.”

“You didn’t catch me?”

“I was a little busy beheading your attacker and keeping you from becoming a member of the undead,” Geralt scoffed. “Pardon me for not carrying you to safety first.”

“Well since you let me get injured, you have to kiss it better to gain your pardon,” the bard insisted. Geralt’s eyes widened comically and his hand clenched where it was resting on Jaskier’s lower back. 

“It’ll- It would hurt if I kissed your wound,” Geralt replied shakily, trying to escape while he still could. Jaskier wasn’t about to let him. Not again.

“Then you’ll just have to kiss my lips instead.”

“Jaskier?”

“Hush, Geralt. I know how you feel about me, and I feel much the same about you. Let’s skip the words bit, because I know that’s not your favorite, and get right to the kissing.”

“Oh, uh...” The Witcher allowed himself to smile. It was a soft, nervous thing but it made his eyes crinkle at the corners and Jaskier felt himself fall even further in love with his darling Geralt. “Alright.”

Geralt cupped the back of Jaskier’s head carefully, tilting his own chin down, and brought their lips together slowly. The bard’s lips were soft and plush and warm beneath his own, giving just slightly but not wilting beneath his touch. It was better than anything he could have imagined. When they pulled apart, Jaskier frowned. 

“Was it bad?” Geralt asked automatically, more nervous than he had ever been with another lover. 

“No,” Jaskier shook his head. “I just don’t think I’m healed yet. I may require another. Or several more.”

“Well, if the patient thinks it’s necessary,” Geralt grinned, leaning forward again. Jaskier pulled himself up a little to meet him, ignoring the lances of hurt in his arm. “I suppose...”

[sassassassins]

Companion piece to this meta about Zhou Zishu

When Wen Kexing leaves the Ghost Valley, he encounters a curious concept: a philanthropist, someone whose sole occupation is being good and grand and bestowing money on those less fortunate.

There were no good people in the Ghost Valley. For one thing, there were no people in the Ghost Valley, only their twisted, sunless reflections. Loyalty and power were the only things that mattered in the hierarchy of that ravenous underworld. If a good person happened to wander in, they'd be eaten alive in ten minutes flat.

Wen Kexing quite likes the idea of being a good person. It appeals to him in the same way that fine silk robes and elegant jade pendants appeal to him, as a pretty thing to try on and discard as necessary.

So he fashions himself as Philanthropist Wen, strolling through the streets with a benevolent smile and the lazy wave of his fan. Perhaps he hasn't endowed any orphanages or gifted food to any beggars, Gu Xiang aside, but it's the spirit of the occupation that matters. He wears it with style. It's a fine mask as he waltzes his way into the circles of the traitorous leaders of the jianghu, working to get close enough to plant the seeds of discord and watch them destroy each other.

He doesn't really start to think about what it might mean to be good until he meets his A-Xu. At first, he's simply startled to see the Swift-Moving Steps of Siji Pavilion, then intrigued by the mystery of this man and his fine shoulderblades. But as he gets closer, he finds that his A-Xu is both a peerless beauty and a good man at his core, someone he didn't think could exist in the corrupt human realm. As he watches, A-Xu saves Zhang Chengling to repay a paltry debt, even though it would be easier to flee. He holds a piece of Glazed Armor in his hands and throws it to Wen Kexing without a hint of greed in his eyes. He openly reveals his identity and his bloody history as an assassin, and makes a commitment to start a new life. Zhou Zishu is undoubtedly a good man, perhaps the best he has ever known.

Watching his A-Xu move through the world starts to give Wen Kexing a slithering uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. When he watches his schemes lead to the unintended deaths of innocents, he knows he does not deserve to stand next to his A-Xu in the light. Am I a good person? he asks as a flirtation, but he knows that his mask is slipping to reveal the cracks beneath, exposing the shatter pattern where the child Zhen Yan broke beneath the cruelty of the previous Ghost Valley master.

It's a strange feeling, shame. Highly inconvenient. For years, he had always been resolute and self-assured in one purpose: revenge. Self-doubt is dangerous in a place like the Ghost Valley, where the inhabitants can smell fear and corner the vulnerable. But now that he's spent so much time with Zhou Zishu, putting on the persona of the Ghost Valley Master is starting to feel like a chore. He likes being Philanthropist Wen. He likes standing next to A-Xu, even if he doesn't deserve to claim the human world as his own.

The shame becomes a pulsing, throbbing point of pain with the revelation of his parentage at Longyuan Cabinet. It hounds him constantly once they return to Siji Pavilion. He knows that his rotten identity will break their hard-won peace, perhaps irreparably. He dreads his exposure with every conversation, and screams his frustration and confused grief at the grave of his would-be master. Everything that once seemed so simple has become hopelessly tangled.

Except - Zhou Zishu defends him from Ye Baiyi with an arm thrown across his chest to protect him. He knew already of Wen Kexing's identity as the Ghost Valley Master, somehow. He knew, but had not rejected him. He still calls him shidi. Which means that either Wen Kexing is a good person after all, worthy of being defended, or he has somehow misunderstood his A-Xu.

He doesn't truly understand until he lets the persona of the Ghost Valley Master fall to his death off a cliff. Standing over the pitiful body of Zhao Jing, he feels righteous in his violence. But more importantly, he feels the last of his masks slip away. He can put on red robes and speak in a commanding voice if necessary, but he has nothing to hide-- not from Zhou Zishu or Zhang Chengling or Gu Xiang. Not from his family, the ones who know the truth of him and stand beside him anyway. He might not be a good person, but he is a person, and finally, an honest one. Someone his parents might be proud of calling their son. Someone who might be able to call A-Xiang his sister, as she deserves. A human once more.

His A-Xu is the same, he thinks. Leaving Tian Chuang has not absolved him of his past, but it has allowed him to step into the light, not to seek to be good, but to find a chance at peace. Of course his A-Xu is beautiful, but Kexing does not need to change to be worthy of him. They are the same in so many ways. For the first time he can remember, Wen Kexing wants nothing more than to live, to rest, and to see A-Xiang married.

The temporary relief of a moment of peace makes what happens next even more painful. A-Xu pulls away from him just as he's ready to truly begin their life together. Gu Xiang dies a cruel death, after only just accepting him as her brother. His regrets begin to pile up again. Mo Huaiyang dies too slowly, and even in this new life, he can't control the cruel turn of fate.

He knows it might be selfish to save Zhou Zishu's life at the cost of his own. A good man would have explained the risks and given him a choice. But in this new life, he does not have to pretend to be a benevolent philanthropist or an evil ghost. He is a man in love, and right or wrong, he cannot bear any more loss.

Fortunately, Zhou Zishu also refuses to allow him to die. He should have expected nothing less: they are zhiji, and their souls are the same. They have lied to each other and hurt each other, but in this too, they are equals. Perhaps neither of them are good people. But they deserve each other, and after all that has happened, they have earned their peace.

A/N whew this got long!! Wen Kexing has a lot to say, apparently. I'm still trying to get a handle on these characters and their voices, but this was fun to write. I feel like I have a better grasp on Zhou Zishu's voice and character, so I'd be interested to hear what y'all think of this version of Wen Kexing!!

Also, I take gif-making requests and (short) writing prompts 😊

[azurevi]

3 halloween tales (cater, jade & vil)

This is really random, but the ssr cards for the halloween show have given me many au ideas, so here are my self-indulgent stories inspired by them. The Cater one is especially long because I got a lot of ideas about it. For the Vil one.. it's pretty disappointing how it turned out, but I hope it's not too bad. PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS!

WARNINGS : death (all), mild mention of gore (cater), war + mild possessiveness + violence (jade) [let me know if there're more!]

the heart and its eternal weight

Cater is a cemetery caretaker. It isn't that he really loves it, but his father was one. He feels like it is only right to take after his steps.

He isn't into superstitions. Some people find distaste in his job, but it's something crucial for Cater. People, even after they're dead, should still be honored, and so deserve a hospitable place to rest. 

Everyday is a routine for him. Sometimes, though, the families of the passed talk to him about their stories and their emptiness once their loved ones are gone. Cater finds the beauty and softness in humans by hearing these stories, and it makes him even more dedicated to his job. 

It's natural to him, dying. His father was killed in an unintended accident, and sometimes it seems like his death could have been avoidable just as much as it was inevitable. He just wishes that he had had more time with him.

One of the lessons his father taught him about graveyard caretaking is to beware of ghosts. Those who recently died are more visible and intimate with the world of the living, and so they might appear before humans. Some are inhostile, of course, but there are malevolent ones.

Lore has it that some ghosts prey on hearts. It is said that the heart is the most important part of a human, as it is accountable for life, death and emotions. People believe that ghosts can be revived with a fresh, still-beating heart, and as a result the human giving up their heart will die in place of the ghost. Basically, the heart can also create ripples in the fabric of space-time.

Because of his job, he isn't all that popular among others, and he only has a few life-long close friends, his mother and sisters by him. So even if he has a crush on the most admirable person he's ever seen, he still won't make it known in fear of rejection. He figures that he still has time to figure it out.

And he's wrong. News about your tragic death spread around quickly like wildfire, and he's devastated. It feels wrong to even feel so, because he has never been acquainted with you in the first place.

Your body is buried in his cemetery, and a lot of people come to your funeral that day. Some of your family members are so heartbroken and pitiable, and so Cater offered to be their listener.

All he can hear is about the great work you've done, the care you put into everyone you met, the warmth that radiated off you while you were still alive. It breaks Cater how he's never had the privilege to know you, to experience all your graces with his own perspective.

One night, the moon is lit and hung up high in the sky, so close that it seems to be prying on Earth and the people roaming on it. Cater is patrolling with his lawnmower when he hears quiet and uncertain sobs.

He is creeped out, yes, but he's also curious. He's never seen a ghost before, and it could be a human for all he knows.

He's proved wrong once again, as he discovers your opaque body behind a giant tree. You are hugging their legs close to your chest, and a rotting hole's visible where your heart should be.

There's no way you can be hostile, and you certainly won't kill him for his heart, so Cater decides to approach you gently, tentatively, like you're smoke that will disperse the moment he intrudes.

To his surprise, you can hear him clearly, and even invite him to sit down with him. It's so bizarre -- a ghost asking for a conversation! But Cater doesn't mind as he pops down beside you. He notices how although you were no longer solid, it still feels like tense when his hand passes through you. Certainly it's because you've been dead not for long.

And so the two of you indulge in heartful conversations, and Cater finds himself regretting even more about how he never gathered the courage to go up to you. Mid-conversation you tell him about all the things that you wish you could've done and all the ideas you wished to spread.

Cater probably shouldn't have, but he is so absorbed in your ambitions and kindness that he offers to carry out all these great things for you. After numerous confirmations, you agree too to let him carry out your thoughts.

And so Cater works in his neighbourhood, sharing campaigns and donating, taking care of lost pets and cats and partaking in environment improvement. He's never felt so fulfilled before, and it's the first time he feels like he's genuinely making a difference in the world.

In times he's not representing you, he brings you up on the little hill behind the cemetery where the moon and stars are so close and vibrant, where they all dance in the dark ballroom and pulse in excitement of being seen. He wishes he could show you more hidden gems, but your spectral spirit cannot be too far away from your body. 

But it's enough.

A month passes and Cater notices subtle change in your behaviour as well as appearance, like how you're responding with less enthusiasm and how the hole in your chest is growing bigger. When he finally asks about it, he's told that ghosts generally only stay in the world of the living for 49 days, and their heart will rot away in this period. After that, they will have to go to the underworld, never be back again.

Cater is certainly shocked that the lore is more than a children's makeup story. He is well aware of the significance of the heart in relation to the soul and life. 

He asks if you'd like to have his heart instead, so bluntly and casually. You seem to return to their original intimate self when you refuse. 

"I'm already gone. It's you, the living, who should be making changes,"

So he pretends that you're not getting more and more unresponsive and less and less generous. He turns a blind eye against your wavering figure and how you can't be seen at all in the sun. He plays dumb when in reality, you're slipping away before his very own eyes, heart rotting away like nothing more than a fruit.

It hurts finally knowing and understanding someone and having to lose them. 

On the 48th day, you are already but a still, soulless shadow, leaning beside your gravestone and fresh, white flowers. Cater can still see you. Sometimes he thinks that you chose to be seen.

And he can't bear to see you go. To see your dreams go into flames, to watch such a pretty soul just - vanish.

So he gives you his heart. Alive and beating and sentimental. It doesn't even hurt a bit. 

You wake up immediately, your eyes glowing and body solidifying. 

"What have you done?" 

"What I can do to make a change,"

Time is starting to rewrite itself. Cater is going to die in your place. The space around you was warping and folding into itself, softly and rightly like a lullaby.

Just before you slip into darkness, you gather up a whole bunch of rose petals and desperately stuff them into the hole in Cater's chest, as if they can give him life in lieu of a heart, and you are sobbing and clinging onto his still warm arm, never wanting to let go.

It's all Cater wants, to save a wasted soul and to make a difference. 

And so he cradles your face, and leans in the moment everything goes black. When he wakes up again, he's weightless in the cemetery, where a bunch of well arranged roses lie on his buried body.

a melancholy specimen

To Jade, beauty needs to be preserved to be constant. It's just like flowers. They die away without proper care.

Just when he thinks he's seen all the beauties of the world and is getting bored of it, he meets you. A blooming flower sparkling in the bland, old boring world around it. He's immediately captivated - how a person can still manage to flourish in such a rotten world where everything is depressing and all man is for themselves!

You're the most elegant piece of art he's seen, and that's something considering that he owns a museum. Innocence lies in your eyes and bravery sings itself between your lips.

You find him just equally amusing -- gentlemanly, insightful and just a touch of flirtation. The two of you fall in love like Alice down the rabbit hole - amused and unstoppable, fascinated by the wonders evolving about.

But the world doesn't give a damn about love, nor do they understand your dreams of a bright future where everything is close to hearts. They call you both madness and nonsense.

"Their souls are tainted with war and sorrow. They are beyond the point of rescue. Victory and glory are all that can feed their ego,"

Jade is disappointed. War has gouged people's eyes out and filled them with wails and ash.

The two of you are the only stars in the night sky, still fighting for salvation, yearning for a better future where trees grow and flowers yearn for the sun. You promote and do your best to lift the veil of darkness off the world. 

But the sun doesn't understand either. War keeps going on and on, and people never have the time for aesthetic relaxations. It refuses to shed light on its pitiable humans.

"We should evacuate, Jade. They say a bomb is dropping tomorrow,"

Jade doesn't care and can't care. The most paramount thing is to open his eyes to the beauty of this world. He doesn't want to become one of those barbarous men, tasting dirt and blood on their tongue while they glorify violence and brutalness.

He stays behind while his neighbourhood dies away. You are the only ones yet to leave. 

"Please don't leave me, Y/N. You're the only light in my life,"

You can't bear to leave him, and so you stay. The bomb is dropped, and it's too close. Too hot. Too cruel, too inhumane. It ravages everything in its way, burning all the darkened things to the ash and bringing the only beauty left in this world with it.

Jade wails. Broken cries are engulfed by nearby explosions and the cackling of flames. Your soulless body lies amidst the destruction, just another wilted flower in the slit of a rock, deprived of water and sunlight.

He finally understands. Nothing can save the world anymore. It's gone way too far, and it will never recover from malevolence. All he can feel is pity for his world as his heart ache with spite.

Bandages around his hands, he wraps your corpse up completely, preserved underneath the layers. You will be his reminder that there was once a flower in this drought, an anchor keeping him from becoming one of those barbarians.

lifeless silhouette in the dark night

You can never recognize directions. You find yourself stumbling upon a seemingly inhabited mansion in the middle of the woods. Cold and bruised, you knock on its door.

Welcoming you is a tall man with blonde and lilac hair called Vil. His skin is unnaturally white, and his eyes seem to glow like orbs that eat your souls. But you are too tired to make notice of all these details, and he's kind enough to let you stay for the night.

He treats you with ravishing cuisine and a grand bedroom that was as grotesque as the rest of the house. Afterwards, he leaves you to rest, but not before warning you not to get out of the room post midnight.

You oblige- for the first half hour. Then you start to hear wails and footsteps that amplify and disappear. It's impossible to sleep.

The next morning, you confront Vil about it. He refuses to face the questions as he ushers you to get going, and so off you go.

You spend another day lost in the woods, then somehow come face to face with the mansion again. Vil is beyond shocked to see you, but then he breaks into a deep smile.

"It's almost as if you belong here,"

Weirdly enough, you could agree, There seemed to be an invisible force pulling you towards Vil. After dinner, he orders you not to leave the room again before making his leave.

Broken wails. Recurring footsteps. You can't bear it any longer, and you also wonder if Vil is aware of this. He properly is, and thus tells you to stay safe inside the room.

But dumb curiosity gets the best of you, and you open the door and step into the endless corridors.

The wails come from the host's room, where Vil is supposed to be. You're closing in when its door is suddenly flung open, and out runs a panting Vil.

"Vil? What are-"

His eyes are bloodshot and there's red stain in the corner of his mouth. Sweat dots his forehead. He looks disheveled and the complete opposite of how he was during dinner.

"You shouldn't be here. Get back - get back in!"

His voice booms in your skull, and you're running back to your room before you notice. 

It's another sleepless night.

To your luck, Vil doesn't wait for you to bring the incident up.

"Don't be creeped ou by it, please."

He seems very uneasy about it, but he's obstinate to give you an explanation.

Turns out that he is a vampire. One that has lived for 500 years and is waiting for his eventual death. He's seen everything in this world and lived through the best and worst of humanity. He understands people's fear about vampires, and so he resides in the remote part of the wood. He only ever drinks the blood of small animals that he hunt, and never has he once killed a man.

He knew nothing about what'd happen to him when he became a vampire. If he'd known about the repercussions, he'd never have become one in exchange of eternal beauty. Now he has to turn someone else into a vampire to end his immortality. It is only a cycle.

 Every night the moon rises and spills into his room, and he has to fight his urge to go out and taste the sweet blood of humans. 

There are times when he slips and loses control, but he always manages to get back to his senses. But it seems that your presence here in the mansion is awaking his desire to suck you dry.

You're bewildered to say the least, and frankly horrified. But at the same time you feel pity for him, for he is just a man who can't ever do anything as atrocious as hurting people.

And so you offer to end his suffering. Of course Vil disagrees. He just talked about how he never wanted to take a life, and now you're offering yourself to him? He'd never allow it.

But you're even more persistent. You keep staying in his mansion, and his sanity slips a little more every night. And you know that he's contemplating too, for he never tries to kick you out of his mansion.

"You deserve a rest, Vil. For your love and selflessness. For all the unspoken kindness you bestow on others. It is only fair that you get to rest,"

Vil has lived a life. He's but a mere walking corpse now, and a rest -- a sleep -- sounds just like what he needs.

And so he rests. Vil falls into a deep, serene sleep while you endure each and every dark night.

[thegeneralguy]

The Champion of Olympus - Ares’s Arrogance

By thegeneralguy

Revised by @amalianetwork​

The chariot of the sun was finishing its daily round over Mount Olympus, leaving a crimson trail in its path. The beautiful sky was painted red, the golden rooftops of the monumental temples and lavish palaces reflecting the majestic sunset´s light. In the inner circle of heaven, the faint sound of metal clashes resonated through the cloudy hills, where all the Olympian´s residences stood proudly watching over the vast extent of the celestial realm. The furious battle cries were coming from the dominion of the god of war. The magnificent mansion stood out of the rest of the buildings due to the dark marble composing its solemn columns, along with a vibrant bronze rooftop that illuminated the surroundings in a permanent hue of carmine.

The aggressive cacophony was coming from the inner courtyard, which occupied the biggest part of the palace. Ares was in the middle of a fierce battle against two other gods, wielding his giant golden spear to strike them with fury over and over again. His extremely muscular body did not impede his battle prowess, as he gracefully danced with the spear as an extension of his limbs. Both lesser gods brandished two identical golden swords, masterfully avoiding and countering the bigger deity's attacks. With the might of his enormous arm, the god of war planted his weapon on the ground propelling himself into a somersault and successfully jumping over the two surprised beings. Suspended on the air he then knocked down both his foes with a fast sweep of his powerful leg, landing gracefully on top of them.

"Again."

He said in a gruff bass voice, his fiery crimson eyes glaring down at the two defeated gods struggling to get back on their feet. Just as they were getting ready to clash weapons again, a bright pink flash replaced the bloody red atmosphere for an instant, leaving behind the most beautiful woman in existence. Ares put down his spear and walked towards his past lover, Aphrodite. She stared seductively at her forbidden object for desire. After all the eons resisting the urge to touch again, the mighty god of war still looked as imposing as the first time they fell for each other. His white robe was perched over one shoulder, exposing one half of his titanic chest. The enormous arms he once used to crack the skulls of his enemies rippled with power, thick veins pumping the holy ichor inside of them. His legs looked stronger than the dark marble columns supporting the palace. Many mementos from his previous battles decorated his bronze skin in the form of many little marks left by the few weapons that were able to harm him.

His brutish face was half concealed by a dense black beard and had a big scar that ran across from his hanging brow, through his eye, and got lost in the hair on his square chin. His intimidating appearance was only accentuated by his bald head, along with the piercing red eyes that flared with the rage of a thousand wars underneath. He approached the goddess, putting his arm around her waist and pulling her close, only to be pushed back by her slender arm.

"You know how he gets when he knows we're together, Ares."

The beautiful deity could barely hold her urge to make love with the masculine god in front of her, but the fear was greater than any other primal instinct she could feel. Ares grunted annoyed, and let the woman out of his embrace.

"I could take on him you know, and you would be finally free. Free to be with me for the rest of eternity."

Aphrodite looked at her former lover with a deep-rooted sadness behind her dark pink eyes and raised her elegant hand to caress the god's rough cheek. Ares took her hand delicately, like a gorilla grabbing the most delicate of a rose's petals, and planted a kiss full of passion and nostalgia of an immemorial time, when they were together, on her palm. They both stood still for a moment, and then Aphrodite removed her hand from his grip and took a step back.

"You know that can't be. Even though you're the god of war and combat, you're still no match for Hephaestus's might. Remember what happened last time."

Ares's winced for a moment, his melancholic visage quickly returning to its natural angry sneer. Of course, he remembered the humiliation his brother put his own wife and him through, exposing their affair to the rest of the gods. The animosity both of his parents felt for him only increased, making the god even more of an outcast than he already was. Only his desire for the goddess of beauty was stronger than his undying loyalty for his father, trying desperately to gain his favor in every conflict. But all his attempts failed miserably, especially when his sister Athena was involved. Zeus, although prideful and violent, was a brilliant strategist and he always sided with his wiser and more intelligent daughter, often leaving the god of war hurt in his pride. He looked back at Aphrodite reproachingly, wondering what the goddess's visit truly meant.

"What are you looking for Aphrodite? If you know Hephaestus doesn't like to see you with me, what is it that brings you to interrupt my training?"

"I know how these situations tend to put you under too much pressure. I just wanted to ask what you were planning to do concerning the trial of the Champion."

"It's been a long time since father has put a challenge on all of us. This might be my opportunity to prove once and for all that I'm the one he should be turning to in troubling times, not Athena."

The god of war was a force to be reckoned with. His prowess in battle was matched by no one in Mount Olympus, and his sheer force was only rivaled by few other deities. But although he was a fearsome opponent for whoever dared in challenging him, he had one fatal flaw: his arrogance. His thirst for blood and violence, when combined with his superiority complex, bred poor choices in and out of battle, often resulting in the mighty god being ridiculed. All the emotions from defeat were only magnified by his enormous ego, creating a bitter outcast who was often ignored by the rest of his fellow deities. Aphrodite knew that deep inside that glorious body and arrogant demeanor was a deep sadness product of rejection from his own family.

"I know how you feel Ares, but I would advise you not to waste too much energy in this affair. You know how Zeus can be when it comes to a world-ending crisis. I don't want you to get more hurt…"

She then took a step forward to put her hand on his gargantuan chest. Ares quickly turned his back towards Aphrodite, unable to keep the emotions from projecting on his face.

"What do you, the goddess of beauty, know about rejection? Father is completely blind to my superior power, and it's my duty to show him he has the most mighty ally for whatever challenge he might face. I have to eclipse the other competitors to take my rightful place on his side. Especially Athena."

The rivalry between the god of war and the goddess of wisdom was not unheard of in Mount Olympus. Even the epic tales from the terrestrial plane depicted the many victories Athena had against Ares. The big scar on the god's face was an eternal reminder of the goddess's superior abilities, often fueling the god's rage in battle every time he caught a glimpse of it in the reflection of a shield. Aphrodite wasn't very keen on Athena either, often clashing with her because of their separate views on vices and virtues, but it was nothing compared to the strong hatred Ares felt for her. The goddess of beauty then took a few steps forward to stand next to the strong deity.

"I guess there is no point in trying to stop you. I would advise you to be careful though. I don't know if you noticed, but Zeus's demeanor seemed very strange during the reunion. You'd be deceiving yourself if you didn't think the ascension of a new champion is not something out of the ordinary."

The god of war stood quiet for some time, reflecting on Aphrodite's words. It was true that the ritual of ascension was a holy ceremony, reserved for heroic acts of celebration instead of an emergency of this type. The last time he tried to gift a mortal with the divine essence, he watched helplessly as his devotee was consumed by its power, obliterating him. He couldn't even remember when was the last time the ritual was successful. But all these concerns were of little meaning for Ares. Before he stood a perfect opportunity to demonstrate his power and to show his abnegation for his father.

"I already made up my mind, Aphrodite. I will personally descend to the Earth and create the best Champion there is. No one will be able to stand against him, for he will be forged by my superior power."

Aphrodite let out a frustrated sigh, knowing her attempts of dissuading the god from taking part in this ridiculous plan were pointless. This whole plot seemed very suspicious for her, but she couldn't exactly point out what was going on. If Ares wasn't going to help her find out, she'll have to resort to other more extreme means. She then looked at the two godlings standing firmly waiting for Ares's command. Both looked practically identical, standing tall and strong like their father, but their handsome faces devoid of their progenitor's magnificent beard. They also had heads full of thick dark brown curls, encasing their more youthful faces. Their muscular bodies were also covered by numerous scars, mostly done by their father's spear.

"Look at my poor children. What have you done to them, Ares?"

Phobos and Deimos were the twin children of beauty and war, born out of human's innermost primal instinct: fear. Both godlings owed an undying loyalty to their father, often accompanying him in each of his affairs. Ares walked towards them, inspecting every inch of his two soldiers, who stood there firmly in silence awaiting their father's command.

"I made them into what they're right now. Two war weapons capable of sowing despair out of mortal hearts. And it seems I'll make use of their service once again. I'm going to make use of a couple of tricks you've shown me."

"If you already made your decision, it is useless to remain here and try to convince you otherwise. Just a word of advice Ares, don't let your pride be your downfall once again."

The goddess disappeared then with a flash, leaving Ares and the two godlings alone once again. The god of war then pondered on the goddess's words, wondering if he should change his mind and challenge his father, like many members of his family were going to. He remembered an ancient saying from another mortal cult: pride goes before the fall. But he quickly dismissed any doubt circling his mind. An opportunity to gain Zeus's grace wasn't going to present itself that easily again. It was his chance to demonstrate his superior existence, and take Athena's place right next to their father. His rugged face was drawn with a sinister smile. He was going to reap a human from his sister's flock, proving once and for all who the most powerful warrior of Olympus was.

It was an unusually agitated day for Athens High. The days before summer vacation were always received with enthusiasm by the students, and relief by the faculty members. Colorful school banners announcing the graduation ceremony for the seniors decorated the hallways, proudly signifying another school year's death. Every student was filled to the brim of school spirit, enthusiastically signing yearbooks, taking pictures, and joking with their soon to be former teachers. All except one. Leon Machiavelli sat quietly at his desk, tapping his feet nervously while he waited for the ultimate call for freedom that was the ringing of the bell on the last school day.

High school could be harsh for someone like Leon. The 19-year-old always felt like a fish out of water when it came to socializing with his classmates, most of his time spent on furthering his knowledge and improving his chances of getting into an Ivy League college, finally ridding himself of the shackles that an upbringing in a small rural town in the middle of nowhere could bring. The few friendships he managed to make over the course of his years through school were few and far too insignificant to regret his choice in moving to the other side of the country and never hearing from them again. Not to mention his troubled relationship with his parents, who were concerned by their son's more hermit nature. His family had been living in that town for a few generations, owning some small businesses in the surrounding area and establishing itself as one of the most aristocratic families in the county.

The swan song of the school year chimed in the form of the bell's ring, causing excited screams and cheers from all students. Notebooks were propelled into the air, paper falling everywhere painting the floor with white. Girls exchanged teary hugs, immortalizing their last moments in the classroom with their smartphones and guys hollered and smashed against each other in fraternal hugs. Leon swiftly picked up his backpack and made a beeline towards the exit, already feeling claustrophobic in the middle of the chaos. He made his way through the sea of students, already feeling the scorching hot summer air blowing at his face. When he was just a step away from freedom, he felt a meaty hand on his shoulder pulling him back inside. He turned around with an exasperated look on his face, only to find out the hand belonged to Kevin Volker, the varsity football captain.

"Leon, bro, what's up? I haven't seen you all day."

The relationship between the hunky jock and the hermit bookworm was, to say the least, complicated. Both boys practically grew up together, their families living next to each other and going to the same school from kindergarten all through to high school. Childish wonder pushed them to form a very good friendship in their first years of development. Family barbeques, playdates, camping trips, both boys had all the necessary qualities to become the best of friends. The fact that their parents were also friends and business partners was also a good advantage for them to keep interacting almost like brothers. All their years of primary school were spent joyfully carefree, with both boys enjoying the wonder of practically living together and embarking on whichever childish adventure they wanted.

But things got different once Kevin's biological clock sent him spiraling into puberty. The gorgeous blonde boy became an athletic teenager, and his energetic nature combined with his newly acquired physical prowess turned him into a social sensation in school. The allure of the childish fantasies he used to share with his best friend was slowly replaced by the enjoyment a real-life circle of friends could bring. Kevin naturally went up the ladder of the monstrous social scale that was high school. The sports teams didn't waste any time in hunting him down, but it was the school's most prided one that caught him in the end: the football team. After just four years the cute teen had developed into a strapping young man, with an all-American jock face and a body to die for.

Watching his best friend turn into the king of school wasn't easy for Leon. The slow abandonment combined with his frustrations over his very delayed development slowly bittered him. Instead of growing up big and strong like Kevin, Leon just gained a few inches in height, but a lot of pounds in weight. He resented his friend for getting the attention of their peers and leaving him alone to fuel their fantasy world on his own. He resented his friend for gaining the grace of other students, and soon cut all ties to him. The chubby red-head grew up alone in the darkness of his bedroom, while the blonde stud dwelled in the sunlight. His natural curiosity pushed him into pursuing knowledge, far prioritizing the cultivation of the mind instead of the body. His academic achievements mixed in with his hidden frustrations bred an arrogance delusion. Leon convinced himself that he was too good for other people, shielding himself from the pain of rejection. Completely dismissing any attempt of remaining active took a toll on his body, turning the chubby teen into an overweight young man with a disheveled appearance. Every time he saw Kevin, he remembered their lost childhood and caught a glimpse of his true reality. The muscular jock served as a window of truth in Leon's arrogant delusion: his loneliness was a product of his own doing.

"I was just busy getting my things ready for tomorrow's speech. Can I help you with anything?"

He bitterly stared into the jock's blue eyes and saw exactly the look that he hated. Even though Kevin grew dismissive towards him, he never once participated in the occasional bullying red-head suffered, often offering to help out with whatever he needed. His usual cocky gaze hid a deep-set sympathy for the lonely nerd, and Leon hated that. He didn't need the sympathy of someone he considered inferior.

"No, it's all good thanks. I'm going to drive home first to pick up my gym bag, and I wanted to offer you a ride. It's too fucking hot out there, man,” said Kevin with a burst of awkward laughter. His deep voice vibrated on his chest, which twitched playfully from time to time. Leon scanned his former friend with a resentful gaze. The heavily muscled jock was encased in the trendiest designer clothes, his bulging arms threatening to rip his polo's sleeves apart, and the tree trunks he had for legs wrapped in skin-tight chinos, showcasing the deep definition within the heavy muscles. He tried his best not to stare too much into the body and kept his apathetic frown fixed on his piercing blue eyes.

"Thank you, but I'm gonna take the bus. There's some stuff in town I need to sort out first."

"That's ok, guess I'll see you tomorrow in the graduation ceremony then,” said Kevin with a subdued sigh. Leon turned around without saying anything and headed outside towards the searing sunlight. Even though he kept a straight face during the exchange with his former friend, his fists were clenched due to the anger he felt. Even after all those years, Leon's heart still skipped a beat every time the jock was nearby. No matter how much he tried to deceive himself into thinking he was the superior of the two, he couldn't get rid of the feelings he had for his former friend.

"Congratulations on the valedictorian thing by the way!"

He managed to scream before Leon was outside the door. The chubby red-head barely turned around, and with a weak thanks, he was lost in the blinding light.

The little town's main street was buzzing with activity on the hot summer afternoon. Families paraded themselves on the sidewalk, eating ice cream and letting the kids play on the numerous water fountains around the place. Little restaurants and boutiques decorated the sides of the street, offering a colorful option of both local and imported goods to the town's small population. The Machiavelli family owned many of those businesses and almost every convenience store in town. Leon was heading to the family's favored tailor to meet his mother to get his outfit for the graduation ready. After all, the son of one of the town's most important families couldn't show up in his usual disheveled state to his high school graduation. Leon always thought things like fashion and social status were frivolities, intellectually inferior people used to feel better about themselves, so he gave little importance to them. Even now on the threshold of the rest of his life, he could care less about how he looked, but his mother insisted so much that he gave in to her requests to keep her from nagging him any longer.

The little bell on top of the door chimed in when he entered the door, attracting the attention of his mother, who was enthusiastically discussing ties and bows with the tailor.

"Honey, you made it! Step in front of the mirror please, Mr. Schneider will take your final measurements."

No one would think the chubby teenager was related to the elegant woman standing next to the counter. She looked flawless despite her age and dressed impeccably no matter if she was at a charity ball or going to the supermarket. The only trait that tied both of them to each other was their fiery red hair, which she kept in a perfect updo fully solidifying her upper-class status. Without saying a word, Leon stepped up to the little platform surrounded by three body-sized mirrors. The tailor approached him, fully armed with his measuring tape and a set of pins to hold the seams and folds in place.

"What do you think of this tie honey? I think the green would highlight your…"

The excited chatter of his mother soon faded away, as Leon focused more and more on his reflection of the three pieced mirrors. It looked like puberty forgot about him in the middle of the way. He never really grew that much in height, topping at a shorter 5'5. The prominent curve of his stomach was visible through the simple black t-shirt he was wearing, deforming The legend of Zelda's Triforce symbol together with his sagging chest. His stubby arms laid powerless on his sides, and his chubby legs were hidden under a pair of oversized jeans. His pale freckled face was covered by pimples, accentuating his unclean appearance, and it still sported the signs of infancy he never outgrew, with chubby cheeks and a small nose. The most prominent feature on him was his bright green eyes, courtesy of his mother's Irish heritage, along with his unkempt red curls. He had convinced himself long ago that an unkept body was not a problem as long as the mind flourished, so he gave up on any attempt in bettering his appearance. Dwelling in his thoughts he didn't realize the tailor was done measuring and was discussing the suit's finishing touches with his mother, who didn't wait for her son's approval on the rest of the accessories.

"Is that all mom?"

He asked a bit annoyed whilst grabbing his belongings and heading to the door.

"Yes honey, I'll arrange the rest with Mr. Schneider. You will look so handsome tomorrow. I'll see you at home later."

She answered without even looking at him. Leon sighed and headed outside, not wanting to spend another second thinking in tomorrow's ceremony, and made his way towards his house.

The Machiavelli family's estate consisted of a big two-story house, a big garden with a swimming pool, and a small guest house. There was no doubt that it belonged to very affluent people. The mansion's pearl white walls reflected the afternoon sunlight, almost giving it an incandescent glow. Leon entered through the massive oak doors and headed straight for his room. On his way there he couldn't help but catch a glimpse of the massive family portrait in the house's foyer. A younger Leon smiled faintly back at him; his chubby body encased in a black suit just like his father. The elegant man looked imposing with his strong physique and masculine features. The only common thing Leon and his father had was their last name because no one would say the pale red-head was related to the mature Italian stud that was his father. His mom looked perfect as usual, leaving Leon sticking out like a sore thumb between his two impressive progenitors. He tried his best to ignore the picture like he always did and enclosed himself in his private sanctuary.

His room was decorated with posters of antique temples, beautiful palaces, and imposing sculptures. Leon's love for fantasy had slowly driven him into researching the origin of human imagination itself, and therefore human's creative history. His ultimate goal was to become erudite of anthropology, teaching and researching in the most lauded institutions on the field and finally gaining the recognition of better people than the small-town folk he loved to look down upon. He sat down on his desk to revise his prepared speech for the graduation ceremony one last time. Despite his parent's best effort to dissuade him, Leon was willing to perform a bitter soliloquy expressing his frustrations against his classmates and solidifying his status as the class' arrogant intellectual. Beneath the snarky remarks and morality lectures written on paper, laid a profound pain product of his loneliness. His train of thought slowly brought the image of Kevin into his head again. Leon was going to finally be free of watching him blossom more and more every day. But even if he moved across the country, he was still unsure he would ever be able to forget the handsome jock. After all, despite the endless hours he spent convincing himself Kevin abandoned him out of malice, he was the only person Leon ever loved.

The chubby red-head barely gave any thought to his sexuality. He considered any kind of lust as a distraction, a primal burden that impeded the full growth of the human psyche. Unlike practically all of his classmates, he wore his virginity as a badge of honor, his mind completely clean of the stain of sex. But despite trying his best to suppress his natural urges, the thought of Kevin always came through inside his head. The connection they shared when they were children still transcended the barriers Leon tried to put up to elevate himself. And the fact that the handsome jock looked like a classical Greek sculpture come to life didn't help the lascivious thoughts leave the nerd's mind. Leon tried to hate Kevin as much as he could because if he didn't, he would become the ultimate shackles preventing him from breaking free from his small-town life once and for all. The last golden rays of sunset light came into the room through the big windows, illuminating the red-head's face. His gaze was glued to the sheet of paper in front of him. This speech was an ode to intellectual growth, and a farewell to the life Leon chose to leave behind. He went into bed exhausted, nervous about the events coming up the next day. It was going to be the last time Leon Machiavelli graced his classmates with his thoughts. Afterward, the only way they could catch a glimpse of his brilliant mind was either buying his future publications or listening to his TED talks.

It was past midnight when Leon was woken up by a shiver down his spine. The pale moonlight illuminated his bedroom, casting out gruesome shadows out of every corner. The nerd had the feeling something was staring at him from the darkness. The entire room was scorching hot, despite the cold night air flowing through an open window. A low animal growl attracted Leon's attention towards the darkest corner in the bedroom. His face went pale with fear when he discovered the two big glowing red eyes staring at him maliciously. A black figure slowly crept out of the shadows, making itself visible thanks to the white moonlight. Leon stared speechless at the giant black dog growling at him menacingly from the other side of the room. His big snout was curled up into an angry snarl, making the dagger sized fangs visible. The terrified nerd was petrified in his bed, unable to muster the minimal courage to even scream for help. Without taking his eyes off of him, the black dog spoke with a deep man's voice.

"When the time comes, follow me. I will give you what you want"

And as soon as it appeared, it melted into the shadows, leaving the red-head alone to faint out of the fear he just experienced.

  The golden rays of sunlight in the late morning woke Leon up, who groggily rubbed his eyes and got up. Despite sleeping through the night, he felt exhausted. He was unsure if what he saw in the darkness had been real or just a product of the stress before graduation. He looked at the clock on his nightstand, only to realize he had slept through his alarm and was already running late.

"Damn it"

He yelled exasperated as he jumped out of bed to get ready for his ceremony. He splashed some water face and combed his red curls a little bit just to hide the mark the pillow had left on his head. One of the maids brought up the finished suit his mother had bought the previous day. It was a beautiful dark grey suit, Italian cut, with an emerald green tie and a handkerchief to match. He quickly put it on, feeling it snug against his body. Despite the suit being tailored to his exact fit, the outward curve of his prominent stomach was still visible, putting a slight strain on the buttons. The emerald green tie did highlight his eyes, just like his mother told him before buying it. He took the cards for his upcoming speech and made sure he had everything ready for the ceremony. On his way out, he looked at his reflection on the big mirror in the hallway. Even after neglecting his appearance today, the beauty of the suit made him look almost distinguished. He felt strong, ready to sever his ties to this town and his past. It was going to be a memorable day, marking the beginning of his new life.

He arrived at the ground floor of the mansion, only to find it empty. A small note was laying on top of the little table next to the entrance.

"Your father and I went to the club for a quick workout. We'll see you later at school. Tell Charlie to drive you there if you don't want to take one of the cars."

He crushed the little note on his hands, feeling a pang of pain due to his parents' absence. It wasn't unusual for his mother to delegate accompanying him to the chauffeur, but Leon thought the day of his high school graduation was going to be different. He quickly dismissed any sorrow from his head, replacing it with a fiery determination. His speech today was also inspired by his aloof parents, who barely gave their only son a second thought. He looked at the big family portrait one last time. With this suit, he might have looked a bit like he belonged, but he knew the truth. His destiny was far away from this little town, which was below his expectations.

The school was buzzing with activity, with teachers running everywhere getting every last detail prepared, and students getting their graduation robes ready for the ceremony. Colorful banners decorated the main courtyard, where a scenario with a podium and a line of seats was built. The many rows of chairs in front of it were already filling themselves up with enthusiastic families, readying their cameras for their children's special moments. Leon scoffed at the scene, thinking how sad it was that this was going to be the only highlight in their offspring's life. He picked up his robe and valedictorian sash and headed towards his seat. In the distance, he saw Kevin arrive with both of his parents. The gorgeous stud was impeccably dressed in a beautiful sapphire blue suit. Every muscle was perfectly framed and enveloped in the expensive fabric, accentuating the dramatic angles his body formed. His dirty blond hair was perfectly styled in his usual messy style, and his white smile beamed stronger than the sun itself. Leon couldn't take his eyes off from his former friend, making an inhumane effort to remain focused on his goal. This day was going to be about him for the first time, not about Kevin.

The ceremony began after all the attendants took their seats, with the principal opening the day with a generic speech about school spirit and class fraternity. Leon fiddled with his cards nervously, the pressure of his big moment slowly starting to overcome him. He couldn't help but ask himself if he was willing to pull through it. After all, his classmates were still people deserving of respect, even if he considered them intellectually inferior. But then the memory of Kevin laughing with all of them, sharing the fabled fraternal bond the principal was talking about, and excluding Leon from their circle solidified his decision. The words he was going to say could be harsh, but it was something he felt entitled to share.

"And now, please welcome the Athens High class of 2019 valedictorian, Leon Machiavelli."

The sound of the applause woke Leon up from his daze, as he stood up and made his way to the podium. All the eyes in the audience were for the first time focused on him. The scorching sunlight made him feel a little light-headed, his hair matted with sweat, and his body sticking uncomfortably to his suit. He looked at the seats below him, squinting his eyes due to the sun's intense shine. All of the chairs were occupied, except two, very close to the front rows. Leon let out a sorrowful sigh, the last ember of hope of sharing this moment with his parents dying. He put his cards down, took a big breath, and started speaking.

"My fellow students of Athens High. The promised day is finally upon us, the day when we will finally take flight and begin the rest of our lives. Most of you don't even know who I am, but after today you will never forget my name. When I was writing this speech, I couldn't help but notice a few ironic facts that I would like to share with you. It is fitting that our school mascot is an owl because that is how I've felt all these years. I've dedicated countless hours to quietly observing your behavior, your desires, and every intricate social structure in our school, and I can't help but feel immense gratitude. Thanks to all of you, I've blossomed into the epitome of human intelligence and wisdom that I am today. And let me tell you why. After a long analysis, I've come up with the conclusion that my greatest fear is becoming as simple as one of you…."

Something beyond the sun's glare caught his attention. At first, he thought it might be a mirage caused by the burning heat, but the more he focused on it, the clearer it became. A shadow beneath a far tree looked eerily familiar. Leon's hands started to tremble in fear, as he recognized the black dog from last night staring at him from the distance, its glowing red eyes visible through the blinding sunlight. His entire speech suddenly vanished from his mind, together with the fleeting empowerment he was feeling moments ago. He fumbled nervously with the cards, only to drop them by accident.

"You….uh…..I…"

The echoes of his nervous words coming from the speakers resonated through the courtyard. Curious eyes focused on Leon, who quickly turned into a sweaty mess. He looked at Kevin in the front row, who had a worried look on his face. He felt a shame he had never felt before. Being humiliated in front of half the town was the last thing Leon wanted. He searched for the dog again, only for it to vanish without a trace. He looked at the public in defeat and managed to scavenge some last words to minimize the embarrassment.

"I want to thank you all for coming. Enjoy the rest of the ceremony."

With those last words, Leon left the podium and sank into his seat, wishing for the earth to swallow him. The principal took the microphone again and followed through with the protocol.

"Thank you, Leon, for those, uh, inspiring words. And now, we will present the students with their diplomas."

Leon sat in his place quietly, staring at the green grass. In his mind, the only thing that was present was the horrible feeling of embarrassment. Everything he had planned; all the preparation and previous excitement had been for nothing. The muffled sound of pomp and circumstance blasting out of the speakers was all he could hear, as the principal went through the line of students calling each of them to the podium and shaking hands with them. One face still stood out from the rest: Kevin's. One thing was failing in front of his classmates, but failing in the presence of the person he wanted to impress the most made everything worse. Now Kevin would never find out how well-off Leon thought he was despite being abandoned by the handsome jock. Somewhere inside the cacophony governing the courtyard, he heard his name, and without taking his gaze off the ground he stood up and picked up his diploma. He gave the principal a weak handshake and quickly slid back into his chair. This moment was indeed immortalized in his mind, but not in the way he intended.

Once all students got their respective acknowledgments, the ceremony ended with Oxford caps decorating the sky accompanied by deafening applause. Families reunited in the whole courtyard, hugging and blasting pictures everywhere. Leon was still in his seat when he saw both his parents approaching him.

"Honey, sorry we're late. How was your speech,” asked his mother without any hint of remorse in her voice. Leon was used to being left behind by his family, but this time he felt actual pain. If his parents were there, the only people with whom he shared some kind of superficial connection, he wouldn't have felt so helpless in the aftermath of his speech debacle. He looked up at his parents with cold wrath in his eyes, tears starting to slowly well up inside them.

"I don't ask much of you. I don't mind when you hide me at your parties, or when you go on extravagant trips without me. I just asked for your presence for one day. One day."

His reproaches were met by the unchanging poised faces of his progenitors. His mother was the first one to speak.

"Honey, not here. People are looking,” She said with a simulated smile.

"I don't care about your deluded picture of perfection, mother. You ruined the last time we were going to connect as a family. And for what? A sauna bath in your pretentious club."

His father's petrified face showed a glimpse of anger. The Machiavelli patriarch had never been very fond of his only child, considering him a nuisance and a liability for their public image. Leon just didn't fit well as the heir of the family's fortune, completely lacking charisma and skill to lead. In his eyes, the only thing his son did was cower behind his infinite collection of books in his room.

"Quit whining, Leon. You should be thankful your mother and I made time to come and congratulate you. Now, let's take a picture. We will discuss this back at home."

Leon's last hope of acceptance from his family died as soon as the flash from the camera was gone, his young heart completely overtaken by the coldness of rejection. His aloof parents then proceeded to greet the rest of the attendants. The young nerd felt completely lost inside the crowd. All he wanted to do was to get back home, pack his bags and leave on the next bus out of town. While he was analyzing the best way to scurry out of there, a sapphire flash caught his attention. He then looked towards it, only to find out the colorful splash of light came from Kevin, who was heading into the school through a side entrance. At first, he didn't pay too much attention to it, but then he saw the black dog from earlier following the handsome jock. After some consideration, Leon managed to conjure the courage to follow Kevin into the building, worried about what that black creature could do to his former friend. He pushed the door and entered the school's auditorium, only to find it dark and empty. The light to the locker rooms was on, so he made his way through the big hall towards it.

"Kevin? Are you in here?"

His nervous voice echoed through the rows of metal lockers. The air in the room felt damp and heavy, the lingering musky smell of sweaty athletes permanently staining the atmosphere. Something else was mixed in the aromas, a metallic scent, like rusted metal. He hesitantly stepped further into the locker room, his only companion being the sound of his footsteps on the tiled floor. The cold lights flickered from time to time, giving the entire scene a very ominous appearance. He turned around the corner and finally found Kevin in front of the sinks. He was staring emptily into the mirror, completely unaware of Leon's presence. The young nerd was terrified but kept approaching the young jock.

"Hey Kevin, are you alright?"

He said as he put a sweaty hand on Kevin's shoulder. He was able to perceive a red flicker on the jock's icy blue eyes, and then Kevin reacted to his touch.

"Leon, what's up? You look scared bro, are you alright?"

He said casually beaming his celebrity smile towards Leon, who just stared completely puzzled at the handsome jock.

"I saw a black dog follow you into the auditorium. Have you seen it?"

"Black dog? Bro, I really think the heat has started to affect you. I just came inside to freshen up a bit, but I haven't seen any black dog."

"But I swear I saw it come inside, I was a bit concerned it would attack you or anything. That thing has been roaming around school premises since the ceremony. I saw it during my...."

He made a pause, remembering the events that had just taken place moments before during the ceremony. The rage product of his humiliation returned to him.

"During my speech. Never mind, I can't say I'm surprised you're unable to notice even the most obvious things."

Kevin's smile faded from his face, his gorgeous gaze gaining the depth that bothered Leon so much because it made him care for a person he had convinced himself was below him.

"Leon, bro, I know things haven't been okay between us for a while. I'm sorry if I ever made you feel bad or something. I was just going with the flow, I never intended to hurt you. But I can't keep myself away anymore. If today is about a cycle, then there is something I need to set straight between us."

Leon's cold gaze lightened up a bit, curious about what he was talking about. He had never seen Kevin this nervous before. The young jock stared at the floor and fiddled nervously with his hands. The words came out a bit forced out of his mouth like someone was making him recite a memorized confession.

"I need to tell you something, but not here. Come to my place tonight for the party. Everyone will be there."

"I don't know Kevin. Parties aren't really my cup of tea…."

The handsome jock put his strong hand on Leon's shoulder and gave him a mischievous smile that not even the nerd's toughest defenses could resist.

"I promise to make it worth your while."

Leon hesitated for a second, completely incredulous for what he was hearing. He had already decided not to go to the party, but the day was not going according to plan. He could feel his heart beating almost out of his chest, excited and intrigued for whatever the jock was going to tell him.

"Sure, I'll see you there."

An eerie spark lit up behind Kevin's blue eyes, but Leon was so dumbstruck he completely missed it.

"Sweet bro, I'll see you later then. Nice clothes by the way."

Kevin then pulled the smaller man up for a hug, smothering him with his strong body. Leon could feel the hardness of his muscles through the expensive blue fabric. The jock then made his way towards the exit, leaving Leon in a disoriented haze. For a moment he completely forgot about the gruesome black dog and his failed speech, all he could see in his mind was Kevin's gorgeous smile.

  The sun was already setting when Leon arrived at the Volker residence. Many groups of his fellow students were approaching the mansion through the extensive courtyard, already with some drinks on their hands. The young nerd hesitated, his social anxiety crippling him for a moment. He still despised the rest of his class and saw no point in trying to interact with them. If he was going to this party, it was for Kevin only. Maybe something good would come out of this terrible day after all. When he crossed through the house's massive portal, he was immediately assaulted by an explosion of light and sound completely overwhelming his senses. A sea of young adults covered the big parlor and the adjacent rooms, drinking and dancing like there was no tomorrow. The big chandelier hanging from the ceiling was adapted to flash beams of light of different colors in all directions, and a DJ booth was installed on the far end of the formal living room, blasting some modern music Leon couldn't recognize. He was an absolute amateur when it came to partying, so he felt lost and scared inside the crowd. He tried looking for Kevin everywhere, but due to his short height, he wasn't able to look past a few heads before him.

Leon approached the drinking table and ordered a soda. He tried to find a quiet corner to drink in peace before resuming his search for his former friend, but everywhere he looked was swarmed by the inebriated guests. He was quickly losing his patience, as he was pushed around by the dancing crowd over and over again. Somehow, he found his way to the big spiral staircase leading to the upper floors and jumping over the barrier to keep attendants on the ground floor, he quickly went up a few steps to get a better overview. Despite gaining the higher ground, his attempts in finding his friend proved unsuccessful. He was about to give up and head back home defeated when something caught his attention through the mahogany banister. The monstrous-looking black dog was staring at him from above, its glowing red eyes visible despite the chaotic party atmosphere. After making sure the nerd saw it, it walked further up the stairs into the second floor.

Leon remembered what the beast had told him the night before, and followed it into the higher level of the mansion. Once he made it to the upper floor, he saw the dog walking through a long hallway and entering the furthest room. The young nerd continued his pursuit and found himself in what he assumed was Kevin's room. The lavish bedroom was decorated with all sorts of trophies and medals, as well as an entertainment system appropriate for an active teenager. Leon's attention was drawn to the row of portraits on the big bookshelf. Pictures of young Kevin in all sorts of family trips and sports events were displayed in delicate frames. One picture, in particular, stood out from the rest. Leon couldn't believe his eyes as he took the silver frame in his hands and stared at the photograph. A young Kevin had his arm wrapped around a young Leon, both sitting on top of a rock next to a river. They were laughing, radiating genuine happiness through the picture. Leon couldn't believe that after all those years, Kevin kept memories from their childhood so close to him. The young man the nerd considered his bitter rival and enemy never antagonized him.

The big glass door to the balcony opened suddenly, letting a warm gust of wind into the room. Leon put the picture back in its place and headed outside. The stunning twilight sky was painted in different shades of red, showering the scenery with crimson rays of light. The hot summer breeze rustled the leaves on the trees surrounding the properties, producing a serene sound that drowned the music from downstairs. The nerd stepped on the balcony, and finally found what he was looking for. Kevin was standing on the edge of the marble banister, watching the beautiful sunset.

"Kevin?"

The handsome jock turned around to face Leon. The only thing the young nerd could see were the icy blue eyes inside his former friend's shadow, his silhouette completely encased in a red halo product of the dying sunset.

"I knew you would come. Come here, I want you to look at this."

Leon stepped forward, taking place right next to the handsome jock. Kevin flashed his regular charming smile at the nerd, who instantly turned red as a beet. For an instant, he was thankful for this unusually bright sunset that hid the blush on his cheeks.

"I wanted this evening to go perfectly. And now that you're here it's finally complete."

"Just tell me what you want Kevin. We haven't talked in years and suddenly you take interest in me. I just want to know why."

Kevin diverted his gaze into the sunset, suddenly turning serious. Leon could see the distress in his eyes.

"I never lost interest in you Leon. It was you who pushed me away. You were the one that decided to stop hanging out with me."

Leon clenched his fists in anger, the painful memories of his friend exchanging him for more popular friends still poisoning his mind.

"How dare you say that! You were the one that went away, that grew into…."

He made a nervous pause, uncertain about what he was about to say. The wrath inside of him made him spill out the words without thinking.

"Into a mindless meathead. Look at us, Kevin. Your physical prowess is unparalleled, that's a fact. But I got what truly matters: a brilliant mind. I have preserved my psyche in the best way possible. I've resisted the allure of petty teenage necessities. And now, I'm in the way of becoming one of the most brilliant thinkers in recent years!"

Kevin turned around to face the angry nerd, who was on the brink of tears due to the pent-up rage he was feeling.

"Is that what you truly want bro? It sounds very lonely to me."

"I don't need anyone. Soon, I'll be where I'm supposed to. I don't mind being alone."

Kevin grabbed Leon's arm, pulling him closer. The nerd could feel the intense heat radiating from the hunk's body. He stared directly into his former friend's blue eyes.

"Are you sure you want to be alone? I might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but I got all the attention I want, from anyone. When you look like me, it's an easy task."

He said flexing his meaty arm, straining the soft blue fabric on the sleeves of his suit. Leon couldn't take his eyes off of Kevin's body, completely mesmerized by the jock's posing show. He failed to notice his friend's eyes shining in a dark red shade from time to time. The jock's voice turned from warm and concerned, into cold and aggressive.

"No matter how much you lie to yourself Leon, you want to be like me. To finally be accepted by everyone, including your parents. Picture it for a second. Finally, be worthy of being called your father's son. What use is your intelligence to the Machiavelli family, when you lack the courage to destroy your fears? Truth is, you're no more than a resentful dweeb."

Kevin continued flexing, taking off his suit's jacket, his movements starting to take on a seductive flair.

"Stop it. You don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course I know. I know everything about you bro, including your darkest secret."

Leon suddenly opened his eyes like plates, completely incredulous for what was coming out of the jock's mouth. It was impossible anyone knew how he felt about Kevin, he didn't tell anyone. Kevin smiled with a hint of malice, knowing he had Leon right where he wanted him. His blue eyes now shone in a permanent crimson hue.

"That's right, I know that you like me. Your mind is indeed a complex maze, but no psyche cannot be cracked open. I could feel the fear of being discovered practically pouring out of your pores."

Leon looked down in defeat, feeling the embarrassment bubble out of him. He knew this was too good to be true. Kevin approached Leon once again, taking his chubby face with his hands and pulling it up to face him. The nerd's green eyes were pooled with tears.

"There's no reason to be miserable. The reason I called you here tonight was to tell you I feel the same way about you."

Leon couldn't help but open his mouth incredulously, his mind still registering the words that just came out of the jock's mouth.

"Wha—what?"

"I've also never connected with anyone the way I connected with you. You know the real me, buried beneath this sculptural body. That means I also know the real you. You don't have to be alone."

The young nerd's sad frown slowly turned into a smile. His face was inches away from his friend's, feeling the jock's hot breath on his skin. And then he smelled it. The same metallic smelled he caught in the locker room back at school, only this time it was much more intense. He also took notice of Kevin's glowing red eyes.

"Wait, this is not right. What's happened to you?"

Kevin's grip on Leon's face tightened, his face gaining a sinister flair.

"I'm exactly who I'm supposed to be. The question here is: are you?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Are you who you are supposed to be? I know the real you is buried beneath this intellectual façade. We just gotta pull him out."

Kevin started caressing Leon's overweight body, rubbing his torso over the suit's jacket. The young nerd was giving in to the moment, closing his eyes and enjoying the sensation of his friend's strong hands on his body. One last glimmer of resistance made him suddenly pull away.

"No. I don't want this. I'm above these carnal sensations. I've never done anything with anyone."

Kevin smiled, unbuttoning the first two buttons of his shirt, exposing the ripped divide of his upper chest.

"I know you're a virgin, I don't have any problems with that."

"But I do. I don't want it to be this way. If it ever comes to it, I want it to be special."

Kevin's confident smile quickly disappeared, replaced by a displeased scowl.

"Look at this Leon. The sunset, the balcony, the hot summer air. You said it yourself, this is the end of one phase of our lives. Isn't this special enough for you?"

"I don't know Kevin; this doesn't feel right."

"Look, it's very simple. I want to be with you, and I know you want to be with me. I just need you to renounce this ridiculous virtuous perception of your virginity. Give in to your flesh, and your body will become what you truly desire."

"My body is okay as it is."

Said Leon embarrassed by the remark of the increasingly impatient jock.

"You know it isn't. All these years you have deceived yourself in thinking you value the brilliance of your mind when in reality it's what has alienated you from everyone. Relinquish that notion, and you shall have everything you desire."

The nerd looked at his friend nervously, completely unsure about what he wanted. He thought he was sure about who he was, but what Kevin said was true. What's the point of intelligence if all you need to be accepted is purely physical? Was brilliant wisdom worth the loneliness? While Leon dwelled in his thoughts, a shadow materialized on the corner behind him. What first looked like a black dog slowly grew into a human form, taking the appearance of an extremely muscular young man, his body full of scars. He planted his crimson red eyes on Kevin, who nodded in agreement as his face grew more sinister.

"I'll make it easy for you. Kiss me. If you do, I'll know you're ready to take the next step and leave your old self behind. You'll finally be better than anyone else, just like you wish. Be warned though, there will be no turning back."

Leon was then assaulted by all the painful memories of his past. The loneliness of growing up as an outcast, the abandonment of his parents, and the disconnection from everything and everyone started crushing him. He had an opportunity to have what he truly wanted, not what he convinced himself he wanted. Hypnotized by the jock's supernatural gaze, he approached his friend with determination. Standing on the tip of his feet, he placed his lips on his. Black smoke started enveloping them, completely encasing the entire balcony and isolating it from the world. Leon felt butterflies in his stomach, as the kiss continued to gain intensity. A scorching hot feeling started seeping into his being, product of Kevin's mouth. When he realized what he had done, it was too late. He was completely under the control of the handsome jock, who started to take on a dominant role, aggressively pushing his tongue into the nerd's mouth. The last thing he consciously realized was what that taste in Kevin's mouth was: blood.

Energy started seeping into Leon's body, slowly impregnating his being. He was lost in the intense feeling his connection with Kevin was causing. The waves of power-hitting his body started making his blood boil, turning his body into an incandescent mass. He was sweating profusely, as the energy coursing through his veins unleashed different chain reactions in his cells, resulting in a vastly increased metabolic rate. The fatty deposits inside of him started to melt away, vaporized to fuel the nerd's body's incredible energy demand. His pants fell, as the rest of the suit started to hang loosely from his body. The formerly chubby red-head was left practically only in skin and bones. Kevin broke the kiss and looked at what his friend had become. His green eyes were dull and lifeless, and his formerly round face was left looking severely malnourished. He smiled victorious, knowing the spell was doing its job. He needed the man in the back to complete the transference, so he called him forward to participate in the passionate scene.

Kevin took his finger, rubbing it on his friend's lips seductively, as the muscular man in the back slowly pushed down the shoulders of the now skinny nerd to the ground. In one swift motion, the handsome jock ripped his pants off his legs, exposing a menacing bulge that was quickly gaining size in front of Leon's entranced gaze.

"Is this what you wanted? To serve and pleasure me?"

Asked Kevin dominantly, looking down at his friend. Even though Leon was still watching everything going on, the sensations in his body were driving him like an automaton. A part of his consciousness still resisted, yelling desperately that he was better than what he was becoming, but it was slowly getting smaller as if it were burned away by the divine energy coursing through his veins. He answered in a stupefied voice, unable to resist the temptation

"Yes."

"Wrong answer."

Said Kevin fishing out his manhood from his briefs and putting it on the nerd's open mouth. The same metallic taste accompanied by other muskier aromas immediately assaulted Leon's senses. He licked and tasted the meaty tube inside of him, desperately worshipping it with his tongue. The scarred man behind him then pushed his head further into the jock's crotch, making him swallow the entire seven thick inches at once. Kevin then proceeded to drill inside his friend's mouth with aggressive thrusts back and forth. Each time the phallus penetrated the nerd's mouth, the pressure inside of him caused his bones to elongate. Each limb stretched several inches, along with his spine, leaving the nerd with over a foot and a half extra height. The hands holding the jock's legs cracked and grew, along with his formerly small feet. Once his skeleton stopped breaking, the scarred man pulled Leon to his feet, his pants staying on the floor. There was a fight between bliss and misery inside of him, causing a blast of emotions that quickly flooded his head. It was like his mind was inside a pressurized pot ready to explode.

"You are the one that has to be served and pleasured. You have to conquer fear."

Kevin lifted the now taller red-head with supernatural strength and flipped him around, exposing his naked rear. Leon fell forward, grabbing on to the scarred man to remain on his feet, and felt the scorching hot head of his friend's member rub menacingly on his crack. He desired him more than anything in the world, his carnal passion completely overtaking his puritanical nature.

"Once we finally break your mind, you'll be able to become the god you were chosen to be."

And with those last words, Kevin impaled his friend mercilessly, getting one last howl of agony out of the nerd. Leon felt as if a dam had broken inside his head, flooding his mind and washing his old self away. Kevin's thrusts started pumping more divine energy into the red-head, which traveled inside his body filling out his newfound emptiness. Pure pleasure caused him to moan loudly. His blood pumped new power into his whole body, causing his muscles to twitch and ripple responding to the strength. His glutes were the first part of his body to expand. The handsome jock's phallus was quickly being swallowed further by two inflating globes of muscle. It looked like he was humping a pair of overgrown watermelons. The growth spread down his legs, filling out his quads and hamstrings with thick columns of muscle, growing as thick as two oak trees. Deep cuts were etched painfully on them, the skin stretched to its limits over the massive muscles. His calves grew to match the upper legs, gaining enough size to rival a football. His feet expanded to accommodate the still coming weight.

The pumped energy seeped simultaneously into his core muscles. Veins started gaining thickness the more power flowed in them, changing the muscle underneath. His lower back took the form of a large spearhead, two pillars of muscle slowly crawling up his back. His lower abs popped into existence, framed by two increasingly large obliques. First two, then four, then six, and ending in eight grenade-sized bumps on his stomach. The muscular pillars on his back started flaring like two flags, spreading growth into the red-head's lat muscles. The suit's jacket couldn't resist the growth for long, shredding itself to pieces revealing the sweaty skin underneath. Kevin grabbed the growing back with lust, feeling the searing hot muscle underneath move and inflate. The man's lats spread wide like a fighter plane, the muscle fibers fighting to fit into the already large frame. Mountains and valleys decorated the expanse of the magnificent back before the thrusting jock.

His chest was the next to grow as if gravity was pulling the muscle downwards. Two massive slabs of flesh etched themselves in Leon's upper torso, increasing his weight and making him widen his stance to find his new balance. The inflating pecs rose higher too like they were trying to reach his chin, while the lower parts expanded themselves reaching the limit of the red-head's anatomy. Once the veins reached his shoulders, these exploded in growth, reaching the size of an ancient Grecian helmet. Divine blood pumped into his arms, his biceps swelling to the size of big cannonballs. His triceps expanded underneath his arms, quickly adding girth to the now powerful limbs, reaching the size of a Howitzer cannon. His lower arms etched themselves with strong sinews, growing as wide as baseball bats. His hands hardened and swelled with new strength, gaining the power to crush the hardest skull with ease.

Thick veins traveled up his neck, followed by thick muscle cords making it seem more like a bull's neck than a human's. Once his Adam's apple finished its transformation, his high moans of pleasure slowly turned into a low manly grunt. Muscle piled into the squaring jaw, giving him a cartoonishly hyper-masculine look. His cheekbones rose higher, and his nose grew and broke, filling in with thick tissue. His forehead expanded further, hooding his eyes and giving him a menacing look. Kevin accelerated the rhythm, reaching the mortal limits of his body.

"Taste true power brother, and take your place above those beings you always deemed inferior."

With one final thrust, he emptied his burning load into the titan in front of him. The divine seed seeped into every tissue, making his body gain even more thickness than before. The muscles gained the strength and prowess of the best warrior the world had ever seen. The essence then corrupted what was left of his being, turning him into a new deity. Blood flowed out of his pupils, forever turning the former green eyes to an intense crimson hue. A new personality engraved itself in his head, growing increasingly aggressive the more he became aware of his existence. His puritanical nature was replaced with an insatiable lust for flesh, either in sex or in battle. His enviable knowledge was replaced by a killer instinct that made him a fearsome foe for whoever was misfortunate enough to challenge him. Eons of battle techniques and combat prowess flourished inside of him, aging him into a man in his masculine prime. The former erudite was reborn in the form of the fiercest warrior in the world. And as such, his nature turned dominant, making him displeased about the situation he was in. He stood up, now much larger than the two other men next to him.

"That's more like it,” He said in a deep voice, flexing his new muscles. Kevin and the other man stared triumphantly at their creation, watching the giant relish in his raw strength. They both felt a psychic bond form with the titan, now that he gained dominion over them. The former Leon turned to face them, his glowing red eyes staring at the scarred man with lust.

"I'm still not quite there yet. Come, brother. It's your time to serve me."

He pushed the muscular man on the banister and grabbed his own still tiny penis. He could barely hold it with his massive hands, the 4 inches stuck out barely enough for his fingers to grab. With inhuman strength he pulled the muscular man's ass apart, exposing the coveted goal for his manhood. He managed to penetrate the scarred man, and another wave of pleasure assaulted him, making him roar in bliss. He started thrusting into the man with such force it started cracking the solid banister underneath. The lesser deity moaned delighted, as he felt the member inside of him grow further, pushing deeper into his body. The titan's phallus grew to heroic proportions, gaining almost 8 inches in length and resembling a thick torpedo. The balls slapping the man's muscular thighs expanded as well, dropping lower to bovine proportions. New hormones started pumping into the giant, altering its appearance even further. Kevin watched smiling as his red curls receded a bit on his head and turned pitch black, along with his eyebrows, which grew thick and arched themselves upwards. His face started taking on a more exotic look, his lips thickening and his nose growing a bit more. The black bubble around the fornicating gods started breaking, dark smoke seeping into every pore of the giant. His pale skin darkened to a light brown, and dark follicles started popping out of his entire body. His manly jaw was quickly covered by a shadow, which grew into a magnificent black beard. The hair was so thick the skin underneath was not visible. A carpet of black hair covered his body, growing thicker on his crotch and under his arms. He kept thrusting with increased fury, feeling his own divine seed churn in his balls. He was drenched in sweat, a manly aroma quickly surrounding him. He smelled like old iron, like burnt gunpowder, like a warrior in his prime. With a powerful roar, he exploded inside the scarred man, fully cementing his new birth as Assad, the king of war.

The scarred man dropped to the ground completely exhausted, leaving Assad standing naked under the crepuscular sky. The jock scanned the titan from top to bottom, savoring every aspect of the new god before him. Assad barely gave him a second look, his old knowledge and memories gone.

"Father will be very pleased."

"Indeed I am."

A bone-chilling voice came out of the shadows in front of them. Assad watched as the god of war emerged from the darkness in his full glory. Ares rarely smiled, but he couldn't help to curl his lips up a little bit once he saw his sons' creation. He was right in delegating his power and the transference to them. Assad immediately fell on one knee, bowing respectfully before his master.

"You bred it into a full warrior, well done."

Kevin just smiled solemnly, accepting the god's compliments. Ares suspected the chosen one had to renounce voluntarily to his virtue to achieve its fullest potential. That is why he let the natural lust do his task for him. He provided the essence; the rest came from the new champion.

"Ready to serve milord.” Said Assad without lifting his gaze.

"And you will. I gave you a new life as a descendant of humanity's most powerful warriors, and in exchange, I own you now. There's something I need you to do. If you succeed, you will be allowed to take a place next to me as a worthy god. I want you to destroy the goddess Athena."

Ares then took his spear and cut his arm open. Ichor fell to the ground, taking the shape of a golden sword. Assad took the weapon in his hand, feeling its power course through him. A shining bronze armor formed around his torso, along with a helmet and a red cape. Ares was satisfied by the look of his new pawn.

"Meet me in Greece, by the feet of Mount Olympus the night of the next full moon."

"Yes, milord. I won't fail you."

With a powerful kick of his legs, the giant leaped into the sky, disappearing in the red horizon. Ares approached the banister and stood next to his sons, watching his creation advance towards his destiny.

"You can get off that meat suit now, Phobos."

Kevin's face produced one last sinister smile, as a dark shadow stepped out of him, his body falling to the ground completely unconscious. The black mass took the form of another overly muscular scared man, identical to the one still laying on the ground.

"This was way too easy, father."

"Don't be arrogant. Influencing a mortal's free will is no easy task. It's different than just persuading them with fear, as you might know."

"I didn't have to do much. This mortal in particular had very strong feelings for the champion. I just had to break his self-control barrier a bit. And I admit I let him feel some of the pleasure too, although I'm sure Deimos there had way more enjoyment."

Ares stood silently staring into the sunset. He made sure he created the best warrior of them all. He proved that the virtues so dearly preached by his stuck-up sister were vulnerable to his raw strength. He chose to let the champion be corrupted by his own desire. This was going to be his opportunity to eclipse his siblings and get his father's acceptance. He looked at his son, able to see the beauty underneath the godling's intimidating appearance. Aphrodite's image came back to him, remembering the unbreakable bond both gods possessed. He wondered if she would be capable of moving against Zeus. The goddess of beauty was not to be underestimated, so Ares spared no effort in creating the best Champion he could to compete.

"So, you interfered with the mortal's love interest. Your mother wouldn't approve."

[theonetheycallhannah]

The Treatment of Captain Syverson-Chapter 16: Sit Rep

Characters: Captain Logan “Sy” Syverson, various other original supporting/secondary characters (This includes Sy’s Army Buddies of varying rank as follows: Kevin Kaufmann, Nate Banning, Chad Randall, Matt Styles, Jake Ryburn, and Travis Hodges. I apologize if I’ve mixed up their names anywhere. I just gave them last names and sometimes rank so they could be called something other than their first names for sake of variety! lol!)

Summary: Sy meets up with his Army buddies and they are eager to help.

Romance and Smut Abound HERE!

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: Language, firearms, implication of abuse and violence

Author’s Note: Guys, we are getting closer! Our couple will be back together soon! I can’t wait and I know most of you feel the same! I hope the strike team members aren’t too muddled and confusing. If they are, I’m very open to your feedback and suggestions on how to clarify and improve! Thank you to everyone, long time readers, and new fans picked up along the way! I cherish you all, and would never have gotten this far in the story if it wasn’t for each and every one of you! I hope you enjoy the 16th chapter (18th installment…remember when I thought this would just be a few chapters of fluff with a smutty conclusion? Lol!) of The treatment of Captain Syverson.

Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, Henry is not mine, le sigh, and all mention of him, his characters, any characters from his films, or his precious doggy, Kal, are strictly for transformative and recreational use. I neither ask for, nor accept payment for the work I post on Tumblr or AO3. Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism. This is an original work by me, Hannah. Please reblog if you wish to share. Please do not repost either in whole or part, as the work of anyone but myself. Thanks so much for reading!

Tags:

@onlyhenrys @cavillryarchive @summersong69 @titty-teetee @bloodyinspiredfuck @agniavateira @oddsnendsfanfics @omgkatinka @thisismysecretthirstblog @speakerforthedead0 @tumblnewby  @suavechops @radkesgirl83 @wheretheriversrunintothesea @heartfelt-pen @auds24  @geekycanuck @lunarstarknight @wilma-g  @coldmuffinbanditshoe @feralrunaway  @sugarpenchant @bichibibi @mzchievous-blog

If you want to be notified when I post a new chapter or work, I’ll be happy to add you to my tag list! Stricken blogs are getting personal messages from me when a new chapter is uploaded because Tumblr’s faulty tagging system will not stand in the way of me delivering what the people want!(?) lol! (Although…their lackadaisical notification system might…sorry for that. I have no control. lol!)

X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@

Sy sat in his truck in the parking lot of Cade's. He couldn't help but think about the last time he was here. The altercations with Elliott, both inside the bar and outside, the friendships he'd started to build with the other fellas in Shane's work group, the simple way Shane pulled off the elegance of minimalism with her wardrobe and makeup, the ride home…and the night of lovemaking that followed. He had made a mistake. He shouldn't have agreed to come tonight. He was gonna leave. His right hand reached for the keys in the ignition, a firm grip ready to set the engine roaring again, when he was startled by a rap at his window.

Tap-tappa-tap-tap his friend Kevin had just rhythmically knocked with one knuckle on the window. He was smiling and waving exuberantly, like a puppy whose master had just come home.

Sy's scowl softened into a sheepish grin and he knocked back tap-tap.  

Kevin waited near Sy's front fender while he got out of his truck.

"How ya doin' Kevin?" he greeted his old friend warmly.

"Alright, I s'pose! You?"

"Oh…I'm makin' it, I guess. What are you up to these days? Still workin' at the plant?" Kevin had worked for the 3M factory over in Lebanon, Missouri since his last tour. Sy knew if he just got him talking about his life, Sy wouldn't have to give him details about his own, which he was going to avoid like the plague, if he could tonight.

"Yup, I actually just got a promotion. I'm a line manager now." And Sy could barely congratulate him before he started delving into the details as the two men walked into Cade's.

It was already busy, even for a Friday night. But the rest of the guys had already claimed a table between the dart boards and the pool tables, and were working on a couple of pitchers of beer. The two were welcomed warmly and only slightly teased about walking in together.

With the group finally assembled, they began taking turns giving report on their lives. It began with Kevin, who, having already begun with Sy, continued with a brief recap for the others. Sy exhaled with relief when Matt, who was seated on the other side of Kevin piped up to speak next, having recently proposed to his long time girlfriend. They were going to get to him last, if at all. He listened as well as he could as he battled the troubled thoughts in his head by bombarding them with beer. Unbeknownst to him, his friend Nate, who'd organized the gathering, had been observing his behavior with curiosity, and a measure of concern. He didn't let Jake finish talking about his latest dalliance into what they were all sure was a pyramid scheme disguised as direct sales. Even though Jake insisted it was not.

"Well, I'm curious as to why Sy's been so tight-lipped all evening. What's on your mind, Captain?"

"Nothin' Nate. Just enjoying a few beers with old friends." Sy lied, not convincing anyone at the table, least of all Nate, who had been one of his closest friends while they were stationed together.

"If I wanted to hear bullshit, I'd have let Jake keep talking about the Duraplex scam."

"It's not a scam, guys, it's real supplements for busy people!" Jake defended.

"Can it, Hodges. We aren't buying it, and we aren't signing up to sell it, either." Nate focused again on Sy. "Come on, man. You told me on the phone you had a lot going on. What is it? Female troubles?" He snickered, as did the other guys.

Sy looked into his glass, through the foam and into the honey liquid below it with a rueful grin. "In a sense."

He took a huge drink of the beer, five gulps, nearly emptying it, fortifying himself to speak.

"My girlfriend is missing." Everyone froze in position as they processed this.

Half a dozen questions hit his ears at once. Which he could have handled if he hadn't had almost a full pitcher by himself.

He shut them down, and began to tell them the story of how he met Shane and their sort of whirlwind romance. He paused for a moment to pour himself another beer.

"Never heard you talk about a woman like that, Sy." His friend Chad piped up.

"Never felt this way before, man. She's…she's the one."

"You said she was missing, though?" Nate asked, brow furrowed in concern.

Sy continued, talking about their argument, reconciliation, and then his leaving for training, ending his briefing with the phone call he got from Shane's boss.

"That's fucked up, man." Matt said. "What are you gonna do about it?" His worry seemed genuine, as well, as if he was putting himself in Sy's shoes. Sy assumed because he had been in love with Tonya, his now fiancé since they were in high school, even though she didn't come around on him until he came home on leave one holiday weekend.

"I've already gone to the police with my statement and an idea for a prime suspect."

"You think she was kidnapped?" Brad Randall, who was a Sergeant for the Rolla Police Department, inquired.

"I personally have no doubts that she was kidnapped, and I am a hun'ert percent certain it was her shithead ex."

"And you don't think she's just…ghosted you?" Brad prompted. The thought put a painful tightness in Sy's chest, but it passed quickly. He knew she wouldn't do that. And not just to him.

"No way, man. She left her phone. She didn't tell work. She didn't even tell her parents. Shane takes her phone with her from room to room. She's glued to it. She'd never do that to her coworkers, who are practically family, and she'd certainly tell her parents if she was going to leave town for any amount of time. It's just…not her. I know her."

"And who's this ex? What's his deal? Why is he on the short list of suspects?"

"He IS the list, Brad. He was abusive when they were together. And a cheater. And a liar. And he tried to jump me right outside just a few weeks back. Ask Candace. She was behind the bar when he started getting in Shane's face up there. And I'd bet she saw what happened out in the parking lot, too." He gestured to the sporty blonde bartender with a high ponytail and a Cardinal's jersey when he mentioned her, and then pointed toward the windows looking out onto the dozen or more vehicles parked outside.

"Can we do anything?" Kevin asked, clamping a hand on Sy's shoulder.

"Nothin'. But I appreciate the offer, brother." And he returned the contact with a clap to the other man's shoulder.

Nate and Brad exchanged pointed looks, and Nate countered Sy's rejection.

"I wouldn't say THAT, Sy."

"What do you mean?" Sy looked at Nate as if he was pedaling snake oil…or Jake's supplements.

"I think…that we CAN do something. To help you find Shane."

"We all have military experience, and some of us have connections that could be very useful." Added Brad. "I'm on the Force. I can handle getting intel on the guy."

"I'm in to help with transpo." Matt Styles raised his hand to offer up the vehicles in his transportation service, Rydes with Styles. Sy hated when words were misspelled for the sake of gimmicks…but he had to give Matt credit for that one.

"And Travis and I still work at the base. We can arrange gear." Jake added as Travis nodded.

"And whatever else you need, I'm in too." Kevin concluded.

"No way, guys. You can't stick your necks out for me like that. I won't have it."

"Sy…You know I talked to Lopez after that last mission the two of you were on?" Travis met Sy's eye as he spoke. "He said you had your team carry out Kominski's body. And that you took on most of, and then all of his bodyweight, just so Freeman could cover everyone. Said you were hurt, yourself, but helped him, carried him, to your extraction point. Up several flights of stairs."

Sy had no response other than a blank stare. It seemed to say all it needed to, because Travis continued.

"Lopez is alive and the Kominski girls got to say a proper goodbye to David. Plus, that mission WAS a success because you got the target. I know it's still classified, but…I think we all know the significance of what you did by leading that mission. You didn't leave a man, living or dead, behind."

"And we aren't gonna let your girl get left behind, either. We're gonna take that sonofabitch out. Because what do we do?" Nate declared, ending with the call Sy had always used at the end of his mission briefs.

The whole table, including a reluctant Sy, recited “We embrace the darkness and the suffering.”

“And why do we do it?” Nate continued.

“So that our fellow man is free to live in peace." Sy looked around the table at all of these men he had served with, fought with, watched comrades fall with, and fought against tyranny with. He thought most of them could have come up with their own story about his role in their military time, but the mission Travis was talking about outlined what he figured was the most significant sacrifice he had ever made for a teammate.

"Well…I guess we need to come up with a plan, then." Sy smiled and finished off the beer in his glass before laying it out for the others.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sy had given them all missions tailored to their own strengths and connections. Brad would gather all the info he could on Elliott. Matt would reserve vehicles. Jake and Travis would procure tactical gear for the team, and Nate…Nate would provide weapons. Pistols and blades. Ammo. Holsters. Even flash grenades and smoke bombs.

Cade's was too public to talk about their plans, so Sy told everyone to rendezvous at his house the very next afternoon. They sat around the patio table on his back deck while they waited for everyone to arrive. Jake was late.

"Well, I guess 'direct sales' waits for no man, and we can't wait for Ryburn anymore. Styles, report?" Sy commenced the meeting.

"I have three Suburbans that are only a couple years old. They're black, discreet, and all glass is tinted within an inch of it's life. Even the license plate covers. I'll make sure they're fueled and ready." Matt stated.

"Aces. Richardson?" Travis spoke up next.

"Yeah, Jake had to go in for a late shift last night after we met, but I talked to him. He's gonna get vests for everyone, eyewear, comms, the whole works. All rated for Black Ops. He told me a bit ago he was following up on a lead and was hoping it would pan out. Said he had a hunch." Travis shrugged, not certain what his friend was up to, but not that concerned.

"Sounds good. Randall?"

"I made up some dossiers for everyone that includes everything I could find on Thomas. He doesn't have a ton of priors. Mostly drunk and disorderly's that were thrown out, because he got the right representation and the wrong judge. He must have someone backing him, because I have no job on file for him. No employer has run a background on him in ten years. Last known address is from six years ago, when he filed a change of address from an apartment in the Cottage Hills complex to…407 Oak Street."

"That's Shane's address." Sy interjected. "He must not have changed it since she kicked him out."

"It seems so. But it's so weird. I don't see any credit cards, online orders, not even a Netflix account on the guy. He's totally fallen off the grid since Shane. I did get into some social media accounts, but he hasn't posted to anything in the last 18 months."

"Really?"

"Yeah, he was posting hot and heavy about this girl, Kara Hutch. 37. Lives over in Waynesville. But his last Facebook status just says, 'What a waste.' and 'feeling betrayed' and that was in February of last year."

"Hmm, do you think--" Sy was interrupted by the unexpectedly loud and abrupt sound of his front door flying open and Aika, with them on the deck, barking like they were about to be murdered. She was ready to kill whatever came through next. The men, all of them battle hardened veterans sporting conceal and carry permits, were out of their seats and in defensive stances in a fraction of a second. Aiming at an unseen enemy. A figure approached in the shadow of Sy's kitchen, arms raised and slowing as it saw several barrels aimed for its head and chest.

"Woah, woah, woah, guys it's me! It's Jake! Stand down!"

"Are you FUCKING INSANE, Corporal!?" Sy asked, reverting to Captain mode. "You just snuck up on and burst in on a group of soldiers. Do you comprehend how close you came to looking more like Swiss Cheese than a man, Ryburn?!" Sy scolded, fire in him rising, but more out of an angry concern for the friend they nearly shot.

"Sorry, sir, err, Sy. I was focused on getting here for my report." Jake said, out of breath.

"Travis already told us about the gear, Ryburn. You didn't need to bust in like that." Nate berated.

"Oh, guys. What I've got is way better than night vision devices. I might have an address for our guy."

"How in seven hells did YOU get an address?" Brad exclaimed, pride wounded as intel was his task.

"I know, dude, that was on you, but…I overheard a conversation when I was doing some work on equipment in the Air Traffic Control tower."

"What could you have possibly overheard in ATC?" Sy was incredulous.

"Do you want me to tell you, or would you like to keep screaming at me?"

Sy called Aika off and let Jake onto the deck, but the German Shepherd was still eyeing the corporal with marked skepticism.

"So I kept hearing this controller talking to the other girl at her station. She kept talking about her boyfriend…whose name was Elliott." Eyebrows went up all around the table. "Yeah, and he fit the description in every way. Physical appearance, textbook narcissism, the works. I went to the personnel office when I got done with the service call and told the attendant that the girl had helped me with my gear and I wanted to send her an email to thank her. She gave me a contact sheet on Sasha King. I looked her up on my lunchbreak, and found some photos of her with a guy I think might be Elliott." Jake showed Sy an image he'd saved to his phone. "Is this him?"

"Yup, that's the guy." Sy's blood was boiling again at the smiles on the couple's faces. He didn't deserve happiness. He didn't deserve a pretty girlfriend. He should die alone, starving for the love he deprived others. "You say you got an address?"

"Yeah, the gal in personnel printed me a full demo sheet. The only thing we don't have is a social." Sy noted the redacted 9-digit code in one corner of the document Jake had handed him. He read out loud. 3502 Highway D. St. Robert, MO.

"You boys feel up to a little recon tonight?" They all nodded, excitedly, patting Jake on the back, and high fiving him in congratulations on the invaluable find. Even Brad commended him on his detective skills and told him he'd have a job on the Force with him if he ever wanted a change. The corporal almost blushed.

The men went back into the house and through the front door to the driveway where they were all parked.

"Jake, you brought all the gear, too?"

"Sure did, Sy. There's vests, belts, NVDs and helmets to mount. There's plenty for everyone." Jake opened the back of his Jeep as if it were a buffet of delicious tactical equipment. Sy found among the gear a large case and opened it out of curiosity. A sound amplifier with headphones. That was going with him, as it appeared there was only one.

"I'll outfit everyone with guns and ammo later. But here are some tac knives, and three of each diversionary devices for each member of the team." Nate passed out packs with the blades, smoke grenades, and flash bombs.

"Okay, rendezvous at Matt's shop at 1800. We'll go over some procedures for the evening and get set up with the rest of our weaponry then. Okay?" General nods of ascent and "mmhmms" in confirmation of the plan came from the men. Sy continued, "Maybe get some rest between now and then. I don't know how long this is going to take."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sy got to Matt's a little early. 1730. Nate showed up about ten minutes later and pulled in next to Sy, leaving the rear doors accessible to arm the team. The men got out of their vehicles and began double checking Nate's inventory.

"Nervous?" Nate said after exchanging the usual pleasantries.

"I didn't think I was. But just now, I got to thinking about what that…monster is doing to the love of my life. What he's putting her through, if he's even let her live. What are we going to come across when we get to this place?"

"You can't think like that. She's not Schrödinger's cat. You have to be positive here. This mission depends on your strength as a leader. You're gonna do great. And Shane is gonna be fine. We all will. Have a little faith, man." Nate patted Sy on the back in encouragement. Sy appreciated it. But he thought he might have to compartmentalize, instead. Think of this as just another mission. Forget that Shane was involved. Even if it wasn't healthy, it might at least be helpful.

Matt arrived soon after and waved at the two men as he pulled in on the other side of Nate. He got out and greeted his friends, all of them shooting the breeze and enfolding the others into the conversation as they got there. Kevin was the last to arrive, just before 1800, when the briefing commenced.

"So," Sy began, more timidly than was his usual way. "First, guys, I wanna say, I appreciate y'all so much for doing this. For putting in the time and the resources to help me and Shane. I owe y'all more than I can repay, but that doesn't mean I won't try. Within reason." He grinned and his friends chuckled.

"Now, we've got the comms set up. We'll be in each other's ears, so we can report in real time. I've looked up an aerial view of the farm on Google Earth, and there should be good cover for surveillance with the sound equipment and NVDs. I'll take point, Nate, you and Matt are with me. Kevin, you and Brad will flank the property on the left, Travis and Jake are going right. I'm hoping this will just be recon, but if I get wind of something I don't like, I may call for the strike. You guys will report anything you think looks fishy, and I will make that call with the intel I'm given. Now. When and if I make that call, we're gonna aim for disorientation and soft incapacitation. If you don't have to kill, don't. I don't know how much help this bastard has, but I know it would have taken several to take down Shane. It's not that I think any of them deserve to be spared, but…I don't want us to break up any families. We don't need the weight on our already heavy souls." War had changed them all, and Sy didn't want to make any more widows. "We good?"

Nods of approval from the men made Sy think he was looking at a military bobble head collection. He stifled a smile.

"Alright, lets get armed and ready, then Matt can take us to our chariots."

They were all mostly suited up, black or dark colors were the general uniform. They were ready for whatever might happen. As Nate handed out guns and ammo, the men examined their clips, loaded their guns, and put them in their holsters until needed…they hoped they wouldn't be.

When they were all set, they followed Matt to the huge garage he kept his fleet in.

Although, "garage" didn't quite do the building justice. It was actually an airplane hangar that Matt got for a good price when the local airline went under. He'd made a loft in it with a ramp so there was extra room for smaller vehicles like his town cars. The limos, SUVs, and the stretch Hummer were on the lower level. He had a separate space outside for the two party busses and the RV, protected from the elements by large carports.

Matt went to grab keys from the lock box as the men gathered near the Suburbans. Sy was getting angsty. Moment of truth was here.

"Okay," Matt jingled two sets of keys in his hands. "Who's driving?"

Kevin deferred to Brad without contest, but Jake and Travis were bickering over the question between them.

"Grow up or get married already." Sy chided. "Jake, you got the good intel for us yesterday. You drive."

Travis was mildly crestfallen, but Jake was stoked and he caught the keyring Matt tossed him.

"You wanna drive, Captain?" Matt offered Sy the last set of keys.

"No, Matt. You're driving our group. I'll take shotgun though."

And the seven men got into the vehicles as if they were mounting horses, headed into the sunset.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Over the comms on the way, Sy addressed the team. "Okay, there's a large outbuilding near the road, guys. Pull off the driveway and park behind that structure. Hopefully they'll hide the vehicles from the main house. Bravo and Charlie teams, you let Alpha team get in place before you take your positions."

"Roger that, Captain." Kevin said in the headset.

"We copy." Travis answered for himself and Jake.

The first phase of the mission went perfectly. Sy, Nate, and Matt were in position, and Sy had set up the sound amplifier, aiming it at the house, headphones on. When the other teams were in position, Matt reported to Sy, since he was getting feedback using the earpiece and the headphones for the amp at the same time.

"Bravo and Charlie teams are in place, Captain."

"Great. Sit Rep?"

"All's quiet so far. Wait. Headlights coming up the drive." Each team tried to make themselves as small and low as possible so as not to draw attention to their presence. Sy had been getting nothing but crime show drivel from the TV in the house since he got here.

A petite but curvy brunette got out of the white Honda Civic and stomped into the house.

"Hey babe." Elliott's unmistakable voice rang in Sy's ear. And he was filled to bursting with rage all over again.

"What the fuck, Elliott? I've been trying to call you for hours! What the hell have you been doing?"

"Oh, I was charging my phone in the bedroom. What's going on?"

"That Captain Syverson your little pet was banging? I found out today that he's back in town. Has been for a few days."

"Shit. Shit!!! SHIT!!!"

"Yeah, so…if he isn't already, it won't be long before he starts trying to find her."

"But…how could he? Even if he thought it was me, I have no official ties to this place, or even you!"

"Flattering."

"You know what I mean."

"Whatever, but I'd get rid of her ASAP. This guy is NOT someone you wanna piss off, Elliott."

"I'll bring the guys in. We'll take care of it. Tonight."

Sy cussed in a loud whisper. He wanted to rip Elliott apart with his bare hands. Nate asked him what was wrong, but Sy held up a hand for him to remain quiet because he heard the scumbag inside on the phone.

"Yeah, it's me. Listen, change of plans, we need to do this tonight. Get everyone out here. Yes, immediately. There's a…potential complication. We need to take care of her before it becomes more. Yeah, she's weak, but I'm still gonna wait until you guys get here. She's still got some fight in her. She about took Jackson's eye out yesterday when he was  down there. He's got some wicked scratches on his face. I think he made her regret it, though." Elliott laughed with evil mirth. Sy was furious. He reckoned God Himself might have a time pulling him off that degenerate before he made him unrecognizable as a human man. Once he started punching him, he might not be able to stop.

When Elliott signed off, Sy pulled the earphones down onto his neck. He looked at Matt and Nate.

"He's planning something with Shane and has called in reinforcements. It sounds like he means to take her somewhere else, and it didn't sound like it was gonna be pretty. I think we need to go in now."

"Shit. Okay." Matt responded. Sy put his earpiece in and called on the rest of the team.

"Bravo and Charlie, do you copy?"

"Bravo copies." Kevin reported back.

"Charlie copies. Go ahead, Alpha." Travis cleared.

"Listen, boys. We need to go in, and we need to make it quick. Here’s the situation. We have one male and one female assailant inside the domicile, and an undetermined number of additional combatants en route to reinforce the enemy's line. We have one target. A female prisoner, presumably in the basement, given verbiage used in the communication I intercepted. Alpha team will make our priority extraction. Bravo, you will subdue the male assailant and then maintain sentry position on the lookout for more unfriendlies. Charlie team, you will clear the second level of the house and subdue the female combatant. She is a soldier, so proceed with extreme caution. Once the area is secure, drivers, go and retrieve the vehicles. We are gonna need to get out of here quick, or else things might go tits up. I'm concerned we'll lose the advantage of numbers if we wait too long. Are we clear?"

"Copy that, Alpha leader."

"Roger. On your count, cap."

Sy took a deep breath. Thought to himself "Shane. I'm on my way, baby!" He saw red, then. And called for the charge, out of the darkness, and into the farmhouse. To an uncertain outcome.

Up Next: Chapter 17-Gait Training

[shabre-legacy]

another random piece from princess rising because the feedback is motivating me to get back into this story

                                     AMBRINA

Ambrina straightened out of her battle stance and brushed her bloody bangs out of her eyes as she surveyed the field in front of her. The grass was mostly ash near her and further out was covered in blood and corpses. Her familiar, a massive gorgeous lioness, stood in the middle of a circle of mangled bodies, blood dripping from her muzzle and onto her claws. Ambrina had managed to take out all 6 without too much effort and only had to burn one of them, and Lyca, that wonderful cat, had taken down 3 at once.This was a job well done and the payout would be excellent when they delivered the target home. She moved swiftly over to the large rock at the edge of the field and reached behind it, pulling out the young girl hiding there.  The poor girl was clearly terrified, shaking like a leaf, with huge eyes. Ambrina sheathed her sword and pulled a knife from her belt cutting the girls binds. “ relax kid, I’m just here to take you home. Your parents sent me” the girl nods, still scared, but willing to do whatever would get her home. Ambrina led her over to the horse nearby, a large cream paint gelding, they mounted up quickly and headed for the nearby city. Lyca tailing behind them, just far enough for the girl to not pay attention, she slipped ahead of the duo and entered the shadows of the city, heading home as Ambrina went to collect their money. 

    A few hours later, Ambrina steps into The Singing Oak  tavern and collapses onto a stool near the bar, grabbing a bottle from behind the counter. She had successfully rescued the kidnapped girl and returned her to her parents and collected the large reward. Now she could relax for a few hours or until she got another job. The life of a sword-for-hire wasn’t the easiest but she was damn good at it and honestly enjoyed it, some days it seemed that the same fire that flew from her fingertips drove her to need a fight most of the time. This was the life, go out into the open air, kick a little ass, get paid for it and come back to cozy apartment or a loud, boisterous tavern with the best drinks in Sea City.   She leaned back against the bar and looked around the room, taking in the atmosphere and and the familiar sight of the Singing Oak. Full of the best people in Sea City. Thieves, Pirates, Mercenaries (like herself), former slaves, mages, sailors, ect. Hard-working people on the low end of society, rejected by others and trying to get by or to disappear. Honestly, this place was as close to home as Ambrina had ever known. Get rich or get drunk trying was how many of the people here, including her lived their lives. A group of sailors over near the back wall started a loud drinking song, Turning towards her slightly, she had had some good conversations with the guys over the few days they had been in port. She leaned over the bar and pulled a case from the shelf underneath. She lifted the fiddle into place and started a jaunty tune to go with the sailors song. Within a few notes the bar was full of people singing and dancing to her tune. This was her second favorite form of magic, the intoxication of music and the power her fiddle held over everyone who heard her play, at least in this tavern. After a couple of tunes, she let herself fall back onto her stool and swung her fiddle case back to it’s shelf as she ordered another round.  She leaned back and laughed as the day got later and the tavern swung into usual crowd and antics. A few crews of Sailors were sharing tales of the sea and trying to beat each others drinking records. A few games of dice and cards had sprung up among sailors and thieves and the few street gangs that were hanging around were staring each other down as they did all the time, it wasn’t that unusual for them to start glaring on site, but they would never fight inside. Those were the rules that kept this place the best place in all of Sea City.  Ambrina never felt out of place here, this was her world; her violence and anger, the fire that burned inside her was accepted and embraced. And yet strangely, it sometimes felt like she was part of the scenery of the tavern, like she was accepted but not seen, not belonging, simply there. There seemed to only be one person who saw her, like actually as a person and not another angry sword in a room of them, her roommate Lyra. The red-haired elven thief was her best friend in this city that she loved.  She burst out laughing as the girl entered and flopped into her seat. Ambrina reached over and clapped her shoulder, leaning over and grabbing another drink before swinging onto the bar and leaning over towards Lyra, “good haul today, I see” 

The girl sighed and pushed at her leg, “stop it” 

Ambrina pushed her drink at her, grabbing another and throwing a few coins on the Tavern owners tray as she passed, earning her She drained her mug and nudged lyra again. “Out with it” 

“Totally botched job, I mean, I got out with a painting, but I mistimed the return of the caretaker and almost got caught and had to leave almost all those other nice things behind, all that money gone.” 

Ambrina patted her arm  and downed another drink that was the unfortunate reality of their lifestyle, sometimes a job just doesn’t work out, but it always sucked when that happened. “ don’t worry bout it. I just finished a job, I can spot the rent till you grab something that’s worth a damn thing”         

She jumped off the bar and headed over to the job board. Her and Lyra had been sharing a small apartment above the tavern for a few years now and rent was usually a concern with how much she was trying to save. This taverns rep was known through the city and a few requests could always be found alongside the wanted posters and city decrees. 

This time though there was an envelope with her name printed on the fine paper in an elegant script pinned among the other papers. A small  She reached up and grabbed it. She’d open this later in her apartment. For now she wanted to relax. She turned and with a quick half step she leapt onto the nearest table, “Next rounds on me” she yelled to the jovial crowd. And as the drinks were ordered and the usual chaos of the evening crowd built up, she felt as close to home as she ever did.

                                                                   Kiria

Kiera sighed and continued to trudge through the forest. They would probably reach the galpin plains soon. This wasn’t good. She knew that they had to travel through the plain to get to Xaeria, where they should be able to rest for a day or two before moving to the coast. They couldn’t stay in Xaeria. Not with the position of Queen Varalyne on the existence of mages.  She couldn’t drag her brother into that. That same little black colt had been following him for as long as she could remember; that, plus how Daemon could disappear better than any of the others she knew. There was no way she could drag him to Xaeria or Prouba. They could possibly try the wild woods beyond Taeslaes, but that area was Elven territory and the only humans that were even rumored to be able to survive in those forests was some temple and Bluecall. They were a traveling troupe that made people vanish after every performance. Between the wild magic and the beasts of the forest, they might be able to survive, but it was risky. Their best option was probably to head to Everfield, catch a ship, and disappear to sea for awhile. 

    Since she ran, they’d already had to fight off the first two teams sent to bring them back. Daemon had to fight the people he had trained with and lived with and fought with for years. She couldn’t imagine doing that, though she knew in her soul that she would be forced to do the same to those she had called sister for years. But there was no choice for her, but to go on. When what you believe becomes incompatible with the popular line of thought, it is necessary to separate from that thought and find a way to build a life away from that which you can’t support. And she could no longer support a group of assassins that broke their assassins through torture and the torture of the innocents. Death was one thing, a life of pain and fear and relentless agony that goes on endlessly with no stop in sight was an entirely different situation. She had a broken rib, two head wounds and a stab wound in her side; her brother had a twisted ankle, a new head wound, probably a concussion and a few other injuries, both horses had injured legs, but right now, they had their freedom, and that was everything. 

    Unfortunately, it was under threat yet again as Daemon signaled that there was someone following at the same moment that Kiria felt eyes on her. She steadied herself as much as she could as the trees melted into brush and they entered the Galpin Plains. As they headed further in, Kiria noticed the trees seemed to part and in the distance she could see their pursuers. Raven-marked horses, four in red, three in black. This was an extermination group, a hunting party,  they had called them. They probably wouldn’t run them down. She knew their tactics, she’d led a hunting party or two herself. They’d stay back, far enough to be able to disappear if needed, but close enough to keep the pressure on and keep them moving ‘til they dropped or slowed down. Then they’d swoop in and wipe out the entire group they were chasing. It was a terrifying tactic, and and effective one. They would die at some point soon. It would take some kind of miracle to save them and Cornoth would never provide that. But even with that knowledge, Kiria wasn’t one to go down without a fight, no matter what she’d still try to fight her way out if she could. As she limped through the grass and shrubs to Daemon’s side and they trudged their way, limping and injured, she felt him reach out and gently squeeze her hand. He was scared, she realized, he probably didn’t know why he had left and more than she truly understood why she had. Yet he had come with her as soon as she asked. And he would die for it and he knew that as well as she did. “I wish I knew more than how to blend into shadows and blur tracks” he murmured “i’m sorry, i can’t throw fire or some shit like that”.

    She squeezes his hand back “At least we’ll die free from their torture and we’ll take a few of them with us.”

[douchebagbrainwaves]

OK, I'LL TELL YOU YOU ABOUT MINUTES

It's something you're more likely to fix it in an ugly way, or wiser than he seems, but he's not wise in the way a boss can. Master of all I surveyed. Most startups coming out of later stage investors? They're the NCOs of the intellectual world. At the end of it they had built a real, working store. B-list actors. Three options remain: you can go into almost any field from math. To have a sense of humor is to be wounded by them. University Ave in Palo Alto, though there doesn't seem to be deliberately trolling, we ban them ruthlessly. The most dramatic example of Web 2. A big company that uses Suns is not interested in.

So why not go after corruption? Instead of taking money from the most committed investors and work your way out toward the ambivalent ones, whose interest increases as the round fills up. And since the customer is always right, that's a sign of a good idea, and what would make it faster, you almost always guess wrong. We need to add one more qualification: we should ignore cases where someone knows what to do. At least if you start a startup, you had better have a convincing explanation of why this 1950s language is not Lisp. Don't ask them any unnecessary questions. Later, when you want to stay there, instead of chugging along maintaining and updating an existing piece of software had to approve or even know about it right away so that we could sometimes duplicate a new feature within a day or two of a competitor announcing it in a class.

In fact many of the things that surprises founders most about fundraising is how distracting it is.1 Underestimate how much you spend. This seems to me fairly likely that we're seeing the beginning of a story, but to be an adult. You can make inner loops blindingly fast, even writing inline byte code if you need to undertake to actually be successful. Before I publish a new essay, I read it out loud and fix everything that doesn't sound anything like the way they generate any other kind of client. Wealth When I was a whiz at it. How much do you lose by using a less powerful language. Don't realize what you're avoiding One reason people who've been out in the same way a low-restriction exhaust system makes an engine more powerful. They'll be tougher on valuations, but more mundane technologies like light bulbs or semiconductors have to be wound. The problem with these old traditions is that they're all more concentrated forms of less addictive predecessors. Copernicus' aesthetic objections to equants provided one essential motive for his rejection of the Ptolemaic system. As long as our hypothetical Blub programmer wouldn't use either of them.

Early stage companies need less money because they're smaller and cheaper to run, but they noticed that it worked really well. Now the frightening giant is Microsoft, and Yahoo can buy. Why did 36% of Princeton's class of 2007 come from prep schools, when only 1. Even though Y Combinator is as different from what happens in a series of papers whose conclusions are novel because no one is sure what research is supposed to mean using the web as a platform, which I can still only just bear to use without scare quotes. The CEO of a company they've funded. They were also a kind of pleasure here too. Libraries are one place Common Lisp falls short.

You never have to compromise or ask anyone's permission, and if we raise a couple million, we can imitate nature's method as well as optimization. If applications run on remote servers, no one has proposed it before. Python hackers seems to be that that Python is a more elegant alternative to Perl, but what programmers think in. At every period of history, people have believed things that were just ridiculous, and believed them so strongly that you risked ostracism or even violence by saying otherwise. I didn't get to macros until page 160. But these are equivalent to money; the proof is profitability. What do you do now with telephones. Sometimes infix syntax is easier to read.

The complacent middle managers may not be easy, and common, to try Web-based software assumes nothing about the client, they can't be measuring intelligence. It may be that reducing investors' appetite for risk. To get the really high returns, you have to have extracurricular activities. They don't take board seats, so they are speaking from experience. If investors know you need money, and then sit around offering crits of one another's creations under the vague supervision of the teacher. And though you can't see it, cosmopolitan San Francisco is 40 minutes to the north. It seems only about 1 in 10 startups succeeds. So whether or not to invade his neighbor, but neither was expected to invent anything. They ask it the way you might poke a hermit crab in a tide pool, to see what it does. A programmer can sit down with you and cook up some promising project. You usually start collecting money from the most committed investors and work your way out toward the ambivalent ones, whose interest increases as the round fills up. You either get rich, how would you do it like a pilot scanning the instrument panel, not like a detective trying to unravel some mystery.

It stands to reason it would evolve. An angel round is not only common, but institutionalized. The less you spend, the easier it is to raise money before you can convince investors, you'll not only get market price, but it could be, not what your current competitors happen to have. There is some momentum involved. Empirically that doesn't seem to work very closely with a program written by the architect. And it's so easy to do: take risks. I can only access the fields by name, because that's where big systems come from.

Notes

The examples in this respect. And especially about what other people thought of them. Rice and Beans for 2n olive oil or butter n yellow onions other fresh vegetables; experiment 3n cloves garlic n 12-oz cans white, kidney, or in one of those most vocal on the next round, though more polite, was no great risk in doing a small seed investment of 650k.

Thanks to Jessica Livingston, Trevor Blackwell, and Paul Watson for their feedback on these thoughts.

[reylofanfictionanthology]

For one is love and both are one in love is now live!  

Authors will be revealed next week!  For now all fics are anonymous.  Treats can be posted through author reveals on 2/21.  We will post an updated masterpost at that time.

For one is love and both are one in love collection on AO3 |  Gift Fic Master Post Part One | Gift Fic Master Post Part Two

Treats Masterpost:

just want the devil to hate me for america_oreosandkitkats

Three years after he killed the past, Kylo Ren returns to the town where he was only ever Ben Solo. Nothing is even remotely healed, but maybe he can start.

Each Day is Valentine's Day for andabatae

Accidental Praise for andabatae

Ben likes his new roommate, Rey. She's smart and funny, and she's a good cook; she's fun to hang out with, although she seems to blush a lot. Maybe she's coming down with something? Anyway, when she has an interview and she needs some help selecting her outfit, Ben is there to help her out, any way he can.

Regeneration for bitterbones

She should have known it wouldn’t work. Not wanting to tell her friends because she knew she’d have gotten a you can’t be friends with benefits with your ex talk should have told her all she needed to know.

Gentle Sin for CeciliaSheplin

Rey is writing a new song, maybe Ben can help.

As Boundless as the Sea for crossingwinter

Padmé survives and raises her kids, but decades later her grandson meets the granddaughter of the man who took everything from her at a masquerade, and sparks fly. Upon realizing who the other is, the two must make an impossible choice: risk losing the love of their families, or risk losing the possibility of loving each other.

Within and Without for CwenPhy

When Rey brings Ben back to Ajan Kloss after he saves her, Finn objects to his presence and burgeoning relationship with Rey. However, he can't ignore their friends who observe something real between Rey and Ben.

Strays for dankobah

Rey rescues a mangy mutt from the site of a junkyard and brings the dog to the Solo Veterinarian Clinic. There she falls in love with the handsome son who's just really trying to save all animals.

The Gentleness That Comes for ilum

For the prompts: "1990s New York AU. Ben rejects his wealthy, reputable family (bonus points for !lawyer Leia) and decides to fend for himself. He ends up getting involved with an underground boxing community. One day, bloodied and bruised after a fight, he goes for a drink to the local bar he frequents. To his surprise, he finds a young, fresh-faced girl behind the bar instead of the usual bartender." And: "We have not touched the stars, nor are we forgiven, which brings us back to the hero’s shoulders and the gentleness that comes, not from the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it." Richard Siken - "Snow and Dirty Rain."

Stay Safe for itsinthestars

Just one curse.  Just one simple curse and she’ll be gone.  Blasted off the face of the earth.  When had that idea become repellant to him?

and I'll come home to you for kuresoto

Ben and Rey both escape Exegol, and the past follows them. To protect the strange child they've found, they set up a school for Force-sensitives, but Ben can't shake the weight of his guilt.

False Positive for MissCoppelia

The health check Ben was given after he joined the Resistance didn't come back quite as clean as he expected, which causes Rey to feel rather guilty.

Tangentially for ninecrimes

After Exegol Rey goes through a period of deep mourning, escaping to the crowded towns of Corellia where no one knows who she is whenever she needs some time by herself. But one day, a stranger walks into the dingy bar where Rey is drinking some of her sadness away, a stranger that seems all too familiar and is wearing Ben Solo's face.

Killing Me Softly for PalenDrome

A short Mr and Mrs Smith Reylo AU treat. :-)

Conjugal Visit for persimonne

Being the last Jedi comes with a lot of perks. For example, nobody questions Rey when she brings a bag full of equipment to come visit her accidental husband in prison.

Unshakeable for politicalmamaduck

Rey is performing in another fucking musical and Ben goes to see it.

Ash and Blood for queenofcarrotflowers

Bloodthirsty warrior Kylo Ren is betrayed by his men and must flee. He is helped by a mysterious woman and her friends. He joins forces with them to get his revenge.

Spending Valentine's Day Solo for ReyloBrit and politicalmamaduck

She places his scent—woodsy and warm, like sandalwood and ginger—before she recognizes the large, gloved hand outreached to steady her or the sleeves of his black wool coat.“Rey,” he blurts out—is the pink on his cheeks from the chill outside, or is he blushing?“Ben! Hi!”She’s trying desperately to sound nonchalant, but at the rate her eyebrows continue to rise, they may end up past her hairline.“Wha… What are you doing here?” he asks, running a hand through his hair. 

White Silk for SaintHeretical

There is one person, however, in the office, who does not fill her with genuine joy. “Brides don’t want unembellished gowns, they want sparkles!” she’s yelling to the owner-designer-asshole who ruins her life and harshes her chill on a daily, and sometimes hourly basis. “Just last week, I had five brides who asked for more bling at a price point they—” “I don’t deal in ‘bling,’” Ben Solo is yelling back, behind his closed office door, but clearly loud enough that everyone can hear it. Everyone in the back office, thank God. Not the customers. She hopes. “I deal in couture,” he says. “I deal in design. I deal in elegance. Women want to feel elegant on their wedding day, not like a goddamn Vegas showgirl—” “Oh, oh, that’s rich, you, telling me what it is that women want?” Rey scoffs, almost laughs—she’s the only one brave or stupid enough to try this with him. “Wonderful. I am prepared to receive your insight, oh wise one.” — AKA the Say Yes to the Dress Omegaverse AU, for some reason?

I'm the Spy for thewayofthetrashcompactor (BriarLily)

Spy Rey is sent on a mission to figure out if Kylo Ren, tech mogul, is involved in leaking election secrets to a foreign government. She plans to seduce the information out of him. Too bad he seems completely oblivious to her advances.

Dibs for tmwillson3

Ben dibses the parking spot after it snows. If he’s going to spend almost an hour shoveling his car out of the snow, he gets to park his car there later. Too bad one of his neighbors thinks dibsing is unethical and keeps thwarting his parking plans. Dibs: A Chicago Winter Parking Enemies To Lovers AU.

Syrup for trasharama

The first time she shows up, it’s eight o’clock in the morning and she looks asleep on her feet. Her brown hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, her sweatshirt is sitting askew on her shoulders, and she blinks heavily up at the menu behind Ben’s head. He watches her purse her lips and immediately feels a soft fondness. “Small latte. Six pumps of vanilla.”

Lucky for walkingsaladshooter

Nothing makes Ben more happy than waking up with Rey in his arms. Also lazy morning sex happens. _______________ A small gift for walkingsaladshooter for the Valentine's RFFA: Reylo Fanfiction Exchange of 2020

Endings and Beginnings for  Xochiquetzl

Rey’s hand cradles Ben’s head before it can hit the stone floor. He’s ridiculously heavy, all dead weight, and Rey’s entire body cramps in horror before she sees the faint rise and fall of his chest. He’s not dead. He hasn’t left her. Yet. She cradles his face with both hands and sobs in relief.

[pikapeppa]

Felassan/f!Lavellan: Secret

Chapter 7 of The Love That Grows From Violence (Felassan x Tamaris Lavellan) is up! 

In which... honestly, more conversations, food, and a visit from Varric. Among other things. 👀

~7500 words. Only the first part is here; read the whole thing on AO3 instead.

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

Felassan joined Tamaris upstairs within the hour, and they spent the rest of the day wandering between his bedroom and hers and discussing how they would redecorate the house. Or at least, that was ostensibly what they were doing. 

In truth, they spent half the time discussing the house and half the time picking on each other and talking about This Shit Is Weird. Felassan had brought the book upstairs with him and was continuing to read it in fits and starts while Tamaris prowled around the upper level sneering at the gilded wallpaper and the gilded wall sconces. He stretched out on the beds while he read — both his own and Tamaris’s, without asking her permission first — and she couldn’t be bothered to tell him to get the fuck off of her bed. 

She also couldn’t prevent herself from imagining crawling onto the bed and straddling him, but that was an entirely different matter and not at all something Felassan needed to know. 

The next few days passed in a similar vein, and it wasn’t long before Tamaris and Felassan had fallen into something of a routine. She woke up a few hours later than he and ate the delicious breakfasts that he made, then cleaned up the dishes while he nattered at her about This Shit Is Weird. They wandered around the house making fun of the decor and dismantling the parts of the house that they could and discussing how they’d fix it up instead. They’d go up to the roof to smoke and enjoy some fresh air, and when they got hungry, Felassan would fix their meals, which they would enjoy on the roof as long as it wasn’t raining. 

On several occasions, Felassan became emotional about his uncontrolled magic or the five years he’d lost as a Tranquil, but Tamaris was growing accustomed to his unnerving bursts of laughter and magic and tears. She spoke softly to him to keep him grounded and she held his hands despite the magic that flickered across his skin, and each time when he returned to his usual self, the smiles he gave her were undeniably beautiful – enough to make her heart do a funny twist in her chest. 

Felassan wasn’t the only one needing help, however. As the days went on, Tamaris started having more trouble with her decision to quit drinking. Her morning nausea and headaches grew worse, and she became more irritable in turn. She started taking elfroot potion as soon as she woke up, and although it helped with the nausea and the tremors, it somehow failed to fully take the edge off of her aching head. Her fingers and her face felt like they were itching at night when she went to bed without her bottle of rum, which made it hard to sleep, and the lack of sleep only added to her headache and her irritation.

On their sixth day in the house together, Felassan was unusually quiet during breakfast. Tamaris took a gulp of lukewarm coffee and shot him a sideways look. “What’s with you?”

“You aren’t eating,” he said.

She grunted. “It’s nothing to do with your cooking. I just feel like shit.”

“I’m well aware,” he said.

His tone was not at all accusing, but Tamaris glared at him anyway. “Look, I don’t mean to be a bear, all right? I’m just—”

He interrupted her. “Easy, avise. I am not picking on you,” he said. “I was just thinking.”

“No wonder your face is all twisted up like that,” she said grumpily.

He grinned, and Tamaris groaned and rubbed her face. “Felassan, I’m sorry. Gods, I’m such a bitch. I just… ugh.” 

He laughed. “Please, by all means, go on. I should like to hear what other unprompted insults you can throw at me.

She shot him a baleful look. “You don’t really want me to tear you a new one for no good reason.”

“I don’t want your vitriol per se,” he said. “But you’ve been… subdued.” He shrugged and smirked. “It’s a pleasure to hear your vicious tongue, even if the viciousness was sub-par and unoriginal.”

She groaned again and rested her forehead on her folded arms. She couldn't cope with banter right now. She didn’t have the strength. “Felassan…”

He let out another soft rolling laugh. “All right, I’ll take pity on you. Let me try something. May I touch you?”

Her belly jolted — in a pleasant way, despite her nausea. She tried hard to ignore it and shrugged. “I guess so.”

He stood up and stepped behind her chair. “Sit up straight.”

She sighed and lifted her head from her folded arms. “I hate this already,” she complained.

“That’s the spirit,” he said drolly. “Close your eyes.”

She sighed bad-temperedly and did as he’d asked. A moment later, his fingertips slid up the back of her neck.

Goosebumps instantly spilled down her spine. His fingers slid up along the base of her skull, and then his other hand joined the first, pressing smoothly into the nape of her neck and up through her hair until his fingertips were splayed on her scalp. 

He pressed gently on her scalp, then slowly dragged the tips of his fingers down toward her neck, and a shiver of heat and undeniable pleasure trickled down her throat and into her chest. She dragged in a slow breath, then released it shakily when Felassan started gently massaging her neck with one hand. 

The fingers of his other hand settled on the crown of her head, and his fingers burrowed delicately through her hair to press on her scalp in a gentle circular motion. “If I had my magic, I would use it ease your pain,” he said quietly. “This is a rudimentary fix, but it’ll have to do.”

Magic? He didn’t need magic for this. His hands alone felt incredible. The pressure of his fingers on her scalp was perfect, leaving trails of pleasure on her skin as his fingertips moved from the crown of her head down toward her nape, and it was enough to make her want to purr. 

She mustered the wits to reply. “You still have your magic. You just… need to… work on it or whatever.”

He chuckled softly. “A kind sentiment, but this isn’t about me. This is about you.”

“Very generous of you,” she mumbled.

“I’m generous when I want to be,” he replied.

“Hmm,” she murmured vaguely. When he began to massage her temples, she leaned her head back in bliss. 

Felassan continued to massage her head and neck, and Tamaris slid into a sort of blissful torpor. He claimed this to be a rudimentary solution, but her headache really was easing off and her nausea was swiftly becoming ignorable, replaced by a sensation that was far more pleasurable. 

His fingers combing slowly through her hair, the tips of his elegant fingers kneading her neck: this felt so good. No, it felt better than good. It felt… intimate.

Her belly swooped, and she drew a deep breath. It had been years since she’d been touched this intimately. She was casually involved Bull for about a year before the dissolution of the Inquisition, but their affair had never been more than just that — a release of tension, just like how he’d described sex with the tamassrans back in Par Vollen. They fucked each other and went back to their missions without batting an eye, and for Tamaris, that had been enough. In the wake of Solas’s rejection and then his departure, she’d been too raw and scalded to even consider anything more than the kind of pleasurable but perfunctory sex that she and Bull had shared. 

But this — this massage that was intended to ease her pain: it wasn’t sexual, but it was intensely sensual, and it was far more intimate than anything she’d felt in years. Felassan’s fingers were slow and careful and firm, and his touch was so incredibly deliberate. As Tamaris sat there at the table with her eyes closed, it felt like Felassan’s fingers were reaching something far deeper than her skin, plucking at something knotted inside of her that she’d been working hard to wish away. 

Her heart was beating in her throat and behind her eyes, but it wasn’t a headache. Her chest and belly were jangling, but not with nausea. The more his limber hands moved across her scalp and neck, the warmer and fuller she felt, and the more she also felt like she might burst into tears. 

He gently tilted her head to the side and smoothed his knuckles down along the tendon in her neck, and she gasped with pleasure. “Stop,” she blurted. 

His hands instantly left her. “Did I injure you? I haven’t done this in a very long time.”

Fuck, fuck, his voice was slightly breathless. Was he turned on too? This was bad. It wasn’t at all what she’d expected or intended when she’d woken up this morning.

But Creators, his hands… they felt so fucking good that she wanted to cry.

She swallowed hard and tried to control her voice. “No,” she said. “It was…” She faltered. She couldn’t tell him anything like the truth — that his fingers on her neck felt better than any of the empty orgasms she’d given herself over the past year. 

“It was fine,” she said lamely. 

“Just fine?” he said archly. “I should practice my technique, then.”

More practice? It was the last thing he needed. It was the last thing she needed if she was trying to stay out of his bed. She laughed despite herself, then regretted letting the laughter out; it sounded giddy even to her own ears. 

Felassan sat in the chair beside her, and Tamaris took two calming breaths before even trying to meet his eye.

Her heart thudded with excitement. He was wearing that infuriating shit-eating grin, but his cheeks and the tips of his ears were tellingly flushed.

She stared stupidly at him, and his smile curved even more mischievously at the corners. “Is your headache gone?” he murmured.

Smug handsome bastard, she thought. She couldn’t give him the satisfaction of falling into his stupid charming trap, and not just because he looked so smug. 

She couldn’t fall into this — whatever this was. It was a terrible idea. His emotions and his sex drive were out of control, and she was a jaded mess, and he was making her feel things that she thought she’d lost for good with the mere press of his fingers on her scalp, and… gods, it was just a terrible fucking idea.

She turned away from him and took a bite of maple-flavoured oatmeal. “Yeah. Headache’s gone for now. Though I’m sure you’ll give me another before the end of the day,” she said snarkily.

He laughed, and the lilting sound prompted another unwelcome ripple of heat deep in her core. “There’s that whiplike tongue. You must be feeling better.”

She harrumphed and ate another big bite of oatmeal. Felassan propped his legs up on the table and picked up his mug of tea. “In all seriousness, if that was helpful to you, I can do it every morning if you wish. There were nobles in Arlathan who couldn’t even claim such an indulgent start to the day.” He raised an eyebrow and smirked at her as he sipped his tea. 

“Great,” she deadpanned. “Then I’ll definitely be saying no.”

His smile widened, then grew soft as he studied her. “The offer is genuine, Tamaris. Consider it.”

She swallowed her food, then shrugged. She couldn’t say yes, specifically because her traitorous body wanted nothing more than to say yes. “I’ll think about it,” she hedged.

“Good,” he said pleasantly, and he clapped his hands together in a businesslike manner. “Now what part of this mansion should we start systematically breaking down today?”

To her great relief, the rest of the day passed as normally as the past few. But that night when Tamaris went to bed, it was the first night all week that her mind wasn’t occupied by a longing for the sugary burn of rum coursing down her throat. 

Instead, the tempting thoughts that spanned her jittery mind were thoughts of the handsome, smiling, amethyst-eyed elf in the bedroom next door.

Read the rest on AO3!

[kururu418]

Titanic Ten

Art is by @harchibudytgorichi!

Matrona “Mother Of Earth”, also known as The War Goddess. 

A legend among the giant clan who towered even over her own people. A fierce warrior who’s pride and determination both earned the respect of Typhon and helped shape the culture of Monster kind even down to this day. She is the reason giants and ‘real’ monsters don’t bow to anyone. With one swing of her hammer she decimated the entire battlefield, and only three people have ever been able to take the full force of her attack and lived to tell the tail, one of them being Typhon himself. 

Branch The Benevolent, also known as Branch The Brutal

One of the most magically inclined of the ten, and possessing an incredibly power connection to the Great Tree. The only one of the Nymph Tribe to ever break his vow of non-violence, and the only one (living) who ever saw what treasure was hidden under the Great Tree. Known to be fairly close with Matrona and Typhon, he turned the very force of nature itself against their enemies.   

 Gadfly The Mad,

The most sadistic of the ten, and the most unstable. Hated and mistreated by mewman kind as a child, he grew to return their abuse of him tenfold. The most feared of the ten since he was more inclined to ‘play with his food’. Nobody ever managed to win one of his dreaded ‘Gadfly Games’. Was the fastest of the ten, and when serious would often take down his enemies before they even had a chance to fight back.

Kruger The Unhinged,

The only member of the Titanic Ten who isn’t a monster, Kruger rejected his birthright to the Lucitor throne and pledged his sword to Typhon. A warrior greatly known for his honor and chivalry, his swordsmanship was nothing short of legendary, and it was said no one could ever best him with a blade.

Orthrus The Beast,

While considered little more than a pet by most, Orthrus was more than powerful enough to earn a spot among the ten. His loyalty to Typhon was unrivaled, as was his savagery on the battlefield. He was far from some mindless beast however, and was typically very playful unless ordered or given a reason to be otherwise. Once he was sent after a target however, there was no stopping him.  

Argus The All-Seeing,

The oldest of the ten, and rumored to be even older than Glossyrck himself. He was easily the most magically inclined of the ten, and it was said he was able to see everything that was going on in mewni, and even peer into other dimensions. He served as a mentor and father figure to Typhon, as well as most of the ten.

Scylla The Drowned,

The youngest of the ten, and the only half-breed. A fun loving and seemingly nice girl, she had a vicious and vengeful side to her. Her abandonment at the hands of her parents left a large chip on her shoulder, and she spent years going after the Waterfolk, who both shunned and and rejected her. She was raised by Echidna and had a very close relationship with Gadfly, who shared her hatred of mewman kind.

Kyu The Elegant,

Considered the most graceful and beautiful of the ten, she was well liked by all who stood with her. Her musical magic allowed her to bring most down without even moving. Like Orthrus, she originally hailed from Earth until an incident caused by Python caused her to flee to mewni. Despite their rocky start, the two shared a loving romance. When her enemies heard the sound of her shamisen, they already knew it was too late.

Echidna The Mother Of Monsters,

The third in command of the ten, and considered the most dangerous by many. Her cunning, ruthlessness, and power were rightfully feared throughout all of mewni. Despite her reputation she was known as a rather kind and motherly figure to her allies. She and Typhon shared a relationship before he was sealed away, and she was seen by many as the ‘Queen’ of monsters.

Python The Prince of Monsters,

The younger brother of Typhon, and the leader of the Titanic Ten. He tended to go about things in a far more strategic and meticulous than his brother. Though not as strong, his reputation was hardly any less respected than Typhon’s, and when he came you could be sure more of the ten wouldn’t be far behind. He and Kyu shared a relationship and birthed a child together, and while they were sealed away the child’s fate is unknown.