#slow descent to anger

[doshi-sukiru]

What are Optimus's feelings on Megatron's mask? Does he loathe it because he wants to see Megatron's face as they fight? Does it make it easier to hurt Megatron because he can't see the face of the bot he loved and lost? Does he feel amused by it because it reminds him of how much of a Megatronus fanboy D-16 was? Does he find a way to twist it as yet another way the high-guard is 'hurting' D-16 or trying to turn him against him?

It was a gradual descent from joy to annoyance and then anger of its existence.

At first, he found it cute that he and Megatron both had masks. It's like finding your friend matching you by wearing the same glasses- simple, but it did excite him a bit. He does enjoy how it's shaped to look similar to Megatronus's mask, and teased him a lot the first few times about it.

It doesn't take him long to find it bothersome. He no longer got to see the lovely face he always wanted to see during their 'encounters', and trying to look at the bust in his private room wasn't working as well as he hoped.

And when he spies on them one day, he sees Megatron's mask isn't on, and he's with Soundwave at the moment, who also seemed to have his mask off. The moment he shows himself to try and separate the two, he watches as both of them have their masks go up. While he doesn't care too much about Soundwave, seeing Megatron's mask go up like instinct pissed him off.

They were lovers in the past, like I mentioned, so while Optimus did assume their separation would make Megatron harder to talk with, he didn't expect Megatron to actively use a mask to keep himself separated from Optimus (metaphorically speaking). For Megatron, he didn't realize he was doing it when Optimus was nearby, just let it cover his face when he felt danger.

And yes, he did twist it into thinking that the reason Megatron covered his face was because of the high guard. He immediately assumed it was to make Megatron become someone he wasn't, someone that was apart from D-16 (Think like how Silco tried to make Jinx 'kill' Powder in arcane, with that water body). He hates that, because he knows 'Megatron' could never be the designation D-16 would pick for himself, at least not seriously. Seeing how it was like instinct for Megatron to pull the mask, Optimus believed Megatron was forced to learn it, and thought Megatron must have been losing sleep because of it too.

In reality? Megatronus had been teaching him to summon the mask when he felt any presence of danger, and in Megatron's defense Optimus was usually with other Autobots, some that Megatron knew were trying to kill him than capture him despite the Prime's orders. So his frame just reacted to OP like it was a general Autobot after a while.

The only time Optimus finally saw Megatron's face, they got separated from both of their factions on the surface. Their time alone however lasted a few orns before a quintesson attack left Megatron badly injured. When the Autobots found them first, Optimus had him get taken with them for medical treatment, leading to Megatron's second capture.

Hope that helps explain it!

[1eos]

heel turning on olympus, texas. the murder plot is pissing me off but the aphrodite character realizing her husband is using being a doormat as a way to seem 'perfect' and secretly condescend to others who actually act on their anger and realize deep down he views her like any other man does a pretty bitchy woman who should be happy to be objectified is actually brilliant. like from the outside she looks crazy but when u actually get in her head it makes perfect sense. like we've all liked someone and realized something u liked abt them is actually a bad trait

[astral-herald]

Viktor's (subverted) Aristotelian Tragedy

A common sentiment I’m seeing throughout post-finale Viktor discourse is an understandable concern or distaste for the element of choice lost throughout his story. I know a lot of us – myself included – expected more time spent on his transformation, along with emphasis on the anger/rage/betrayal fueling it. But seeing him allow Singed to “begin the process” in episode 8 reminded me of Arcane’s origins – tragedy. Bear with me for another long analysis :)

Aristotle wrote the following on the tragedy: “A tragedy is the imitation of an action that is serious and also, as having magnitude, complete in itself…with incidents arousing pity and fear, wherewith to accomplish a catharsis of these emotions.” He also emphasized that the true tragic hero couldn’t be perfect, and his downfall into such catharsis-inducing circumstances was reliant on a fatal flaw, oftentimes pride.

Viktor fits this mold, as do many Arcane characters, and it stands to reason that this was intentional since the writing team has reiterated that the show is a tragedy, at its core.

Regarding Viktor’s fatal flaw, I’d argue it’s pride, but it manifests very uniquely. He never makes any grand declarations about his success and doesn’t draw attention to himself in any clear way throughout season one (“Progress Day” comes to mind). Instead, his pride manifests as staunch independence and self-reliance that lead to his downfall; his unwillingness to break his stoic mold arguably led to his use of the Hexcore…so it goes.

Fascinating caveat: Viktor’s pride is a defense mechanism, a necessary tool he built in order to survive and succeed in a hostile environment to people of his station. His self-reliance is increasingly desperate as his illness worsens. He’s cornered by fate but banks on the sanctity of choice at every turn – in season one, Viktor is bound by the conviction that we all have a choice. It’s why he’s so distressed when Jayce makes the wrong one regarding weaponizing Hextech.

“There is always a choice.”

Viktor’s choice to fuse with the Hexcore is the classic Aristotelian fatal flaw moment, the singular incident that opens the flood gates for eventual catharsis. We watch Viktor make an irreparable choice, one that we know to be bad, and endure the repercussions. He then makes the choice to abandon the Hexcore, and end his life, but audiences can’t shake the feeling that those consequences aren’t leaving anytime soon.

So why is Viktor so anti-choice in his final season 2, act 3 form?

Choice is Viktor’s weapon. Pride is what leads him to abusing it. Despite how uncomfortable and depressing it is to watch, Viktor’s slow descent into the Herald is a perfect twist of fate. The Arcane is even so insidious that it meshes with his original intent, to help those suffering in the undercity, while convincing him that their subservience is healing. He becomes responsible for their choices. He knows what’s best because he’s relieving the Gloriously Evolved of their suffering, right? The utopia is for the greater good, yes?

Admittedly, it was really hard watching act 3 Viktor descend fully into his choiceless ethos. But we can still relate it to his tragic flaw – his pride has mushroomed into coldhearted omniscience; not only does he know what’s best for everyone, evolution, but he also has the sense to make the choice for them to supersede their “baser instincts.” The grief we feel upon seeing this perverted, violent version of himself, as far removed from Viktor as possible, is the culmination of Aristotle’s treatise on tragedy. The catharsis is the rock-bottom Machine Herald.

"Choice is false."

But then Arcane decided to basically make Jayvik canon (get out of here, Christian Linke) and destroyed the early drafts of this post. I’m going to rapid-fire this next bit:

Jayce forces Viktor back to life. Viktor has no agency in his season 2 inciting incident. Again, it’s distressing when we mourn his agency, but it remains in accordance with Aristotelian tragedy.

Viktor clings to humanity as long as he possibly can. When Jayce calls out Viktor’s trajectory, alleging that his old partner had died in the Council chamber, whatever is left of Viktor gives way to the Arcane because his last tether has been snapped.

Jayce knows the game – Old Man Jenkins Mage Viktor told him so. Jayce becomes the linchpin in subverting Viktor’s tragedy. He knows what must happen. He understands now.

Machine Herald Viktor is given the chance to undo his fatal flaw, to reverse the catharsis, when he sees Old Man Jenkins Mage Viktor. With Jayce’s help, he takes it.

Given that it’s a version of Viktor who ultimately frees him from himself by empowering Jayce, we can gather that Viktor has liberated himself from his tragedy.

Aristotle’s catharsis is rapidly transformed from something based in release to something healing – Viktor’s tether to humanity returns. He grasps it. The walls of his pride and self-reliance collapse. He accepts Jayce’s help, finally being seen as the full individual he is. Catharsis ensues, for sure, but I don’t think it’s based in the typical tragedy genre.

All this to say, I think Viktor’s arc was, in fact, carefully constructed. He represents the Aristotelian descent into a fatal flaw and that’s very distressing to see unfold, especially since he embodied the tragic hero archetype so well from day one. However, Jayce undoes this narrative and we’re given an incredibly subversive ending that I, personally, never saw coming.

I’m sure that Mage Viktor has a much larger bearing on this analysis than I’m accounting for. But for now, suffice to say that he is Viktor’s way out of the tragedy. TALK ABOUT CHOICE!

This doesn’t erase anyone’s discomfort for Viktor having less and less agency, but I’d like to emphasize the logic and literary precedent behind the story decisions.

PS: here's a quick source I looked at about Aristotelian tragedies. I hope to re-up on Greek tragedies so I can get more specific about the parallels Arcane draws from them.

[kbwrites]

Up In the Clouds Ch.4

synopsis: you're friends arguing reaches a breaking point... for you. what will you do when you find out the real reason they've been fighting?

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⚝content: sugusato x f!reader, sfw, satosugu arguing, but they're arguing over youuuu

⚝wc: 1.4k

Suguru and Satoru always fought. From the year you’d known the duo, that much was obvious. Petty arguments and stupid disagreements were rampant in your trio. But, at the end of the day—usually forced by you—they would make up. Today, however, there was a disquieting air around them, an unfamiliar tension that gnawed at your peace of mind.

You three were in the courtyard for lunch, a place usually filled with the sounds of your laughter. You and Suguru ate bentos while Satoru dug into a sugary donut.

But something was... different.

No annoying quips from Satoru.

No heavy sighs from Suguru.

Just complete and utter… silence.

The courtyard, bathed in the soft afternoon light, felt oddly still. The rustling of leaves and distant chatter of other students did nothing to alleviate the growing unease. You shifted in your seat, the silence pressing down on you like a weight.

“Did Yaga yell at you two or something?”

Suguru glanced up, his hazelnut-colored eyes narrowing as he finally spoke. “No… it’s not that.”

Satoru  scoffed, rolling his eyes dramatically behind his dark sunglasses. “Yaga yelling would be wayy easier to deal with than Mr. Perfect.”

The raven-haired teen’s jaw clenched. “Oh, I’m Mr. Perfect now? That’s rich coming from someone who thinks they know everything,  Satoru.”

“At least I don’t try to control every little thing” Satoru shot back, his words muffled by the mouthful of donut. ”Not everything has to be done your way, Suguru.”

“Maybe if you used your head a bit more, we wouldn’t end up in half the messes we do,” Suguru retorted, his tone icy.

You sighed, feeling like a mediator between two stubborn children.

“Guys, seriously, what’s going on? This is ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous is Suguru thinking he can tell me what to do.” Satoru snapped, his voice tinged with frustration.

Finally, you’d had enough. The frustration and tension had reached a breaking point. Without saying a word, you stood up, grabbed your lunch, and turned to leave. The soft thud of your bento box as you placed it into your bag seemed to echo in the silence that followed.

Satoru’s blue eyes widened as he noticed you standing. “Wait, where are you going?”

Suguru’s head snapped towards you, his expression a mix of surprise and concern. “What—?”

But you were already walking away, your footsteps brisk and determined.

“Great, just great! Now ya made her leave because you’re too scared to tell her the truth!”

Suguru’s face flushed with anger. “Me? You’re the one who turned this into a contest and made it impossible for me to even tell her how I feel!”

Satoru shot a glare at his best friend, his voice laced with bitter irritation.

 “Well… I don’t care!”

A week. Seven long days without your best friends. They avoided each other entirely, which was pretty hard to do considering how small the school was.

The hallways almost fell deafening silent without the pair’s obnoxious laughter echoing through. According to Nanami it was “The best week of my life”.  But for you, it was a slow descent into madness. The absence of your two best guys, who were always there to bug you and share in the chaos, was unbearable.

Hell, even Yaga was starting to get worried.

Shoko wasn’t much help. Completely jaded by the routine of arguments and breakups between the second years, she shrugged off the situation with a nonchalant wave of her hand. “They’ll make up… eventually.”

You were never one to just sit back and let situations play out. So you whipped out your phone to set your plan in motion.

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(Y/N)                                          (Y/N) Hey, movie tn? My place.    Movie night 2nite? Sugu                                          Toru Sounds great. I’ll bring the movie.     Heading 2 the store!    You sigh in relief. They WERE going to make up today, whether they liked it or not. Your phone buzzes again. Sugu                                         Toru Hey… just us right?                    Me n you right (Y/N)?                        (Y/N)                          Yep! Just us!

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You prepared your dorm, fluffing out the pillows, grabbing your softest blankets. Hiding any sharp objects. The soft glow from the tv and your fairy lights set a cozy atmosphere. You only hoped that it would help soften the tension between them.

Knock Knock

Your ears perk up at the noise, you stood up, smoothing your clothes as if they could somehow help soothe the growing knot of anxiety in your stomach. As you opened the door you saw Suguru, leaned casually against the doorframe, his raven hair falling in soft waves around his face. His kind eyes tinged with nervousness.

“Hey Suguru!” Your voice warm as you greet him, stepping aside to let the taller boy in. He settled into his favorite spot, grabbing the blanket he’d left here one too many times. You settled next to him as he pulled out four DVDs showing you the selection.

“I haven’t seen any of these yet actually.” He says looking at you.

As you both discussed the movies, you heard another knock at the door. You quickly stood up, hoping Suguru wouldn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. 

“Hmm? Shoko Coming?”

“Not… exactly.” You laugh nervously as your hand slowly reaches for the doorknob. As the door inches open you see Satoru, his white hair slightly damp from his (never-ever missed 8pm Shower). He greets you with a smile, striding into dorm. Immediate irritation flashed across his face when he made eye contact with Suguru.

Their eyes narrow at each other, then at you.

“What’s HE doing here?”

You place your hands on your hips; side-eyeing Satoru to sit down. He begrudgingly takes a seat next to the raven-haired teen, pouting.

“We are watching a movie. And you’re both staying.” Your normally soft voice, firm as you glare at the two older teens.

They both shoot each other glares before sighing. You had won… for now. You took your place, right in between them.

You tried your hardest to just watch the movie, but it was so boring. Usually Suguru picked out pretty decent movies, but this documentary was NOT a decent movie. You stole glances at your friends; if you weren’t so pissed off at them you would’ve been blushing at the prospect of being sat between two attractive guys. 

Their close proximity made your heart race. You could feel the heat radiating from their bodies, and every small movement seemed amplified in the quiet room. Your hand reached into the popcorn bucket. As the pair saw your hand go in they both reached in with you, hoping to touch you.

Both flinching as their hands brushed each other’s instead of yours. They shot each other a glare before turning their attention back to the TV. A minute passes before Satoru speaks.

“I could’ve picked a better movie with my eyes closed.” The white-haired teen mumbles, shoving popcorn into his mouth.

“Just watch the movie, Satoru.”  Suguru replied with an exasperated groan, though his eyes never left the screen.

“This shit is gonna bore me to death.”

“That isn’t such a bad idea—”

You sigh heavily, grabbing the remote to pause the movie. You stand up, looking down at the two sorcerers.

“Alright. What the hell’s going on with you two?” You demanded

They both looked away, avoiding eye contact. Satoru crossed his arms, pouting even more, while Suguru ran his hand through his hair, clearly frustrated.

You tap your foot, glaring down expectantly.

Suguru glanced at Satoru, their eyes meeting in a brief, intense exchange. Satoru’s nod was almost imperceptible, but Suguru seemed to take it as a cue. He drew a shaky breath, his voice barely above a whisper.

“(Y/N)...”

“We’ve been acting like this because, well..”

“We’re both...” Satoru continued.

“In love with you.” Suguru finished, his voice barely above a whisper.

You blinked, stunned by the confession. The room felt suffocating, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. You stared at them, trying to process their words. Your breath hitched, struggling to keep up with the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. It felt like a storm was raging within the confines of the small room, each thunderous heartbeat echoing off the walls.

“You’re… what?” you finally managed to say, your voice trembling.

Satoru stood up, his piercing blue eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that left you breathless.  “We’re in love with you, (Y/N). Both of us.”

Suguru’s nod was slow, almost hesitant. 

 “And it’s tearing us apart.”

taglist: @4evahevah @angelofdarkness2 @iangeeluv

@isishsoskdjsk @yunho-leeknow @starriesworlds @hiblue123158 @n3ptoonie

[kinardsevan]

𝐢'𝐦 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤

listen. i'm still so convinced it's Tommy up on that crane in 807 that my brain keeps writing scenes 😂😂😂😂 so have this:

"Buck, you need to-"

He can't hear Bobby's words as he races up the ladder, panic rising faster and faster in his chest.

"Hey no no no no no!" He yells, throwing himself over the side. His hands grasp tight around Tommy's. "Stop stop stop! Please!" The words are coming out of him in sobs, but large hands grip around his wrists and a moment later, the older man tilts his head up and his eyes lock with Evan's.

"Ev-..." He cuts himself off, his voice wobbly and raspy from his current predicament.

"Just stop," Evan replies, snuffling as tears run down his face. "Stop moving, stop- just stop."

"Ok," Tommy replies, his voice weary as his fingers tighten around Evan's wrists that much more. The blonde glances up toward Chimney on the opposite crane. He's still working to get the harness unstuck, but apparently only having mild success with it.

"My legs are numb," Tommy states, blinking slowly. Chim looks up at them.

"Fuck this. I'm going to cut him down. The 217 can get the line fixed," Chimney states before heading back down the ladder in quick succession. "I need bolt cutters!"

"Evan," Tommy rasps. His hands are sweaty now, hanging onto the other man's arms.

"No," Evan replies, his voice tinged with anger now. "You have to hang on."

"You have to let go," Tommy counters to him, his voice exhausted. "Evan-" His grip slips on Evan's arm, and beneath them there's scrambling to get the inflatable placed properly. He glances over at the other crane as Chimney finishes reascending it.

"I can't," Evan replies, his own voice strained as he grips onto Tommy's arm with both hands now. "Fuck, Tommy, I can't."

"Why not," he asks wearily.

"Because!" Evan yells at him. Several tears fall off his face in quick succession, one landing on Tommy's own face as it continues its descent downward.

Somehow, even from beneath him, even with most of his blood volume hanging out in the lower half of his body with no way to make it circulate properly, Tommy manages to give him that look, the one that says he's really paying attention.

"Evan." He says it like it's Evan who needs to be talked off the ledge, like he's the one hanging in the middle of the air being held up by a crane.

"You don't get to give up now," Evan growls at him. "You already did that to me once this week."

"Are we really talking about this now," Tommy asks him. His fingers slip a few millimeters, but Evan curls his hand tight under Tommy's elbow, trying to pull him up.

"Seems as good a time as any," he replies. A humorless laugh slips out of him.

"I've almost got it," Chimney calls from the other crane.

Evan gulps. "It was too much, too fast," he states. "Asking you to move in. I s-said things that made it sound like I wasn't invested-.."

"It's fine," Tommy replies, sounding mildly exasperated.

"No its not," Evan argues, squeezing tighter on Tommy's arm. "it's not. Because it made me sound like I was asking you to move in because it's the easy option, like I wanted you to stay without any consideration of what your life looks like outside of what we are. Or were."

Tommy stares up at him, still blinking slow and long. Evan pulls his arm up inches higher, trying to take more of the weight off of his lower body.

"But it's not that," he says, sniffling again. "I lept before thinking, a-and made it into a thing that it wasn't and has never been." He sniffles again. "I didn't ask you to move in because I wanted to be impulsive. I said it because I want a life with you, a-and I was afraid to own that and what that means for me." He pauses and gulps, lets out a breath. "I was so pissed at you for breaking up with me, a-and you were doing the same thing I did. You were protecting yourself." Tommy stares up at him, eyebrows quirked slightly in confusion.

"I thought if I didn't say it, it was safer, that we-..." He shakes his head at himself as he feels the tension pulling Tommy back toward Chimney starting to wane as the bolt cutters work through the metal. "But I also want the whole damn thing with you. I'm not in it because it's easy, or because you were the first man to kiss me. I'm in it because I'm in love with you."

Tommy stares up at him still, giving him that damn look again, and the slack goes looser, his weight becoming even heavier on Evan's arms.

"I love you," he repeats. "I love you so damn much."

Tommy grants him a weary smile. "I love you too, Evan."

His weight falls entirely on Evan then, and both of their arms jerk out straight, Evan leaned roughly over the crane as he tries to keep holding on.

"Evan, let go," Tommy tells him.

"Please," Evan begs him, and he's not even entirely sure what it is he's begging for. "Tommy-.."

"I love you too," he repeats. "But you have to let go."

Evan gulps, forces a breath in, forces his tunnel vision to open up, and realizes the inflatable is ready and will catch Tommy. "I'll meet you at the bottom."

"Sounds good," Tommy rasps. And then, against everything that tells him he should, Evan lets go, watching as Tommy drops the 30 feet onto the inflatable crash pad. As soon as his body hits, Evan is already double-timing his way down the ladder. He makes it down in what he's sure is record time, running past everyone else to get to Tommy's side. Hen already has him on a stretcher, attached to a dozen leads and assessing his legs.

"Risk of compartment syndrome," she states. "Likely dislocation of the left hip. He needs x-rays and we need to go."

"I'm going with," Evan announces, refusing to hear reason to any other option. His hand is tight in Tommy's as soon as he's next to him, his other hand combing down the other man's hair as he stares down into those blue eyes. They're already brighter from his circulation picking back up. "I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you."

"Good lord just kiss the man already," Gerrard calls from the back of the crowd. Evan whips his head around and Tommy leans up off he gurney, both of them giving the old grump a shocked expression.

"What?" He asks. He has that grumpy look on his face once more, like he still thinks that their lifestyle is beneath him (at the very least). "We all know it's what you're thinking. I just said it."

Evan turns back toward Tommy, and the blue eyes meet.

"My boyfriend's sister once said there better ways to get someone's attention than this," Tommy says. Evan lets out a laugh, color flushing through his cheeks at the dignification of boyfriend. He curls two fingers under Tommy's chin and kisses him, both of them ignorant of the whooping and hollering happening around them.

"Like that," he whispers when they finally part, pressing his forehead into Tommy's. Tommy has a hand fisted around Evan's shirt, keeping him close.

"Yeah, that works," he whispers back. "I love you, too, Evan. I love you, too."

[slu7formen]

just imagine Luke taking care of his girl all the time because she decided to join him at Princess Andromeda.

slu7formen’s masterlist | luke castellan masterlist

warnings: possessive!luke

lil taglist 🫶🏻 @captainremmington-13 @saffronwritesstuff @elltheawkward @lixzey

The salty spray of the ocean stung your cheeks as you leaned against the railing of the Princess Andromeda. The once vibrant blue sky you used to wake up to everyday was just a memory now. The setting sun bled vibrant hues of orange and pink across the sky, a stark contrast to the dark ship that cut through the waves. Camp Half-Blood, with its comforting scent of pine trees and the familiar faces of your friends, felt like a distant dream, a memory from another life.

A pang of loneliness tugged at your heart. You missed the camaraderie of the fellow campers, the warmth of the Aphrodite cabin, the strawberry field you spent hours at, even the grumbled complaints of the Ares cabin during mealtimes. Now, it felt like a comforting echo of a simpler time. But here you were, on Luke's rebellion-fueled odyssey, a choice driven by a love that burned so bright it blinded you… well, almost blinded you.

A sigh escaped your lips, barely audible over the rhythmic groan of the ship's monstrous engine. The decision to leave camp, to follow Luke on this dark path, had been fueled by a love so fierce and strong that you were convinced you would never experience again. You knew the consequences, the darkness that clung to Luke's ambition. But seeing the pain simmering beneath his brooding exterior, you understood it all. He was a boy scorned, abandoned by the very gods he was sworn to serve.

Just then, a strong hand settled on your waist, pulling you back against a solid chest. You turned to see Luke, his face etched with a familiar intensity, his dark hair ruffled by the evening breeze. He looked different here, the playful boy you once fell in love with replaced by a brooding leader burdened by a new purpose. Yet, his eyes still held a spark of the warmth you knew, he only looked at you with.

He placed a kiss to your left cheek. "Lost in thought again, sweetheart?" he asked, his voice was a gentle murmur, a stark contrast to the harsh commands he often barked at his soldiers.

You forced a smile. "Just looking at the sunset" you replied, "Reminds me of the ones at camp."

A flicker of anger crossed Luke's face, quickly replaced by a strained smile. Camp Half-Blood, a constant reminder of the life you'd left behind, the life he wished you would forget, but knew you couldn´t. He hated that you missed it, hated himself for taking it away from you, hated that it represented a world he was determined to destroy now.

“The past is just that" he said, his voice low and clipped. "We're building a new future here."

You understood the resentment he felt, but a tiny voice inside you whispered doubts. Was this future worth all the darkness you saw in him? But, however, you remained silent, your love for him a shield against the growing unease.

Luke tightened his arm around you, pulling you even closer. You couldn’t help but lean back to his shoulder, finding comfort in his warmth.

Luke, unable to deny his possessiveness, traced his fingers along the exposed skin of your arm. He secretly wished you could forget about camp, about the simpler times, but you were the only flicker of light in his growing darkness. You hadn't joined his fight against the gods, you never will, and he couldn't blame you. He wouldn't force it on you. You were his escape, and he, in turn, was determined to protect his girl from the ugliness of his plans.

You both stood in silence for a while, the only sound the rhythmic groan of the ship and the crashing waves. Luke leaned his head down, his lips brushing the exposed skin of your shoulder, burning like fire against your skin as the sudden touch sent shivers down your spine. He started a slow descent, trailing kisses up your neck, his warm breath tickling you as his hands tightened around your hips. Each kiss was a whispered confession of his love and dependence on you.

"Thank you" he murmured against your ear, his voice husky with emotion.

You turned to face him, placing your arms around his neck, your eyes searching his. "What for?" you asked softly.

He met your gaze, a flicker of vulnerability flashing within his hardened eyes. "For staying" he whispered. "For choosing me even when you didn´t have to. I know this life isn´t yours, you don’t belong here"

You offered a gentle smile. "Maybe I don´t" you conceded, "but I belong with you, Luke. No matter where that may be."

His gaze softened, the tension momentarily melting away. He brushed a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch a fleeting tenderness amidst the growing darkness clinging to him. "You don't deserve this" he said, his voice laced with a hint of guilt.

"I wouldn't be anywhere else" you countered, your voice filled with a quiet conviction. "I choose you, Luke. Every day."

Luke stared at your face, his sudden concern replaced by a possessive shine flickering in his dark eyes. He seemed to catch his breath, as if he got struck by a sudden realization. He lowered his head slightly, his gaze lingering on your lips. Then, with a slow, almost seductive movement, he pulled down on your bottom lip, a possessive intensity in his eyes. It left you wanting more immediately, a spark igniting in the pit of your stomach.

"You're mine, aren't you?" he murmured, his voice low and intense. It wasn't really a question, but a possessive statement.

Your heart was pounding frenetically inside your chest. The darkness that surrounded him, the whispers of doubt that had been growing within your insides, all faded away in the face of his love. For you, he was just Luke, the boy you'd fallen for at camp, a boy broken by the gods. Your boy.

"Always" you breathed back, voice soft like a whisper.

"Good" he breathed, the word a possessive sigh against your lips, and gave your whole body goosebumps. "Because not even the gods are gonna be able to take you away from me."

And then, as the last rays of the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery hues of orange and red, Luke pulled you into a desperate kiss. So good to him, that it felt like his first kiss in a thousand years. It was a kiss that spoke of possession, of a love that burned bright even in the dark night. It was a kiss that sealed your fate, binding you together on a path that stretched towards an uncertain future.

You had your doubts, your fears, your nightmares, but you trusted him. You trusted in his love, in his determination, in his care; you had nothing to worry about as long as you were by his side.

to the ones on my taglist and other readers, thank you so much for supporting my writing 🥹

[cruel-seduction]

Deal breaker? 

Pairing - Peter Parker x reader 

Glimpse - “Because the only thing that matters to me is you.” His voice was steady, every word deliberate and full of conviction. “I don’t care if we have kids, if we get a goldfish, or if we just grow old together surrounded by a hundred cats. All I care about is you, spending my life with you. That’s it. That’s the deal, okay? And guess what?”

You tilted your head, your heart swelling as his hand shifted from your cheek to cradle the side of your neck, his thumb brushing softly along your jaw. “This deal? It’s never breaking. Ever.”

Genre - Fluff, hurt/comfort, and angst. 

Summary - Peter Parker has always had his own unique ways of bringing comfort—an unpredictable mix of sincerity, awkward humor, and boundless love. When a difficult conversation arises, he does what he does best: turns a moment of doubt into one filled with warmth, laughter, and quiet reassurance.

Content warning - Talking about children, Reader not wanting children, Peter being the cutest dork ever known. I guess that’s it. 

The sun was beginning its descent, casting a warm, golden hue over the sky, yet a soft chill began to settle in the air, hinting at the coming evening. It was the kind of weather that carried comfort in its breeze, the kind that invited you to curl up, warm and safe. Perfect weather, the kind you longed for—perfect for snuggling on the couch with Peter, your head resting on his chest while a horror movie played softly in the background. The type of night where you’d drift off to sleep halfway through, wrapped in the comfort of his presence. Yes, this was supposed to be the perfect weather for that—the kind of evening where everything felt just right.

But not tonight.

Tonight, the air felt heavier, thicker with tension. The familiar warmth you once shared with Peter felt distant, as distant as the gap that had grown between you over the past few months. Instead of the usual laughter, the usual easy silence that you could fill with simple words or shared glances, there was only the harsh, bitter sting of words that you both threw at each other in frustration.

You had been arguing for what felt like an hour, though it could have been longer. And in that moment, it didn’t matter. The time didn’t matter; it was the silence in between the words that did. Oh, sure, you’d both raised your voices—but not in the way arguments were supposed to go. No, you had been the only one shouting, the only one letting the anger and confusion spill out like a dam that had been holding back too much for too long. Peter hadn’t raised his voice in retaliation; he’d just stayed quiet. Almost too quiet.

It was a silly argument. Something so trivial that, in another time, you’d both laugh about it and shake your heads, wondering how such a small thing could have escalated to this point. But it wasn’t about the argument anymore, not really. It was about everything else—the months of silence, the coldness, the distance that had grown between you two like a slow-moving fog you hadn’t noticed until it was too thick to see through.

You couldn’t bring yourself to admit it to Peter. To say what was really bothering you. You were dragging this argument out, clinging to it like a lifeline, hoping that the tension would force the conversation you knew had to come. The one you had been avoiding for so long—the talk that had the potential to either fix everything or break it all apart.

But you weren’t ready for that talk. Not yet. Not tonight.

You had made a choice, however selfish it may have been. You chose to extend this fight, this silly argument, because it felt safer than facing the truth. It was wrong, you knew it was, but how could you not be selfish when it came to Peter? How could you not be when he meant so much to you? How could you let everything go—let him go—if you were to say what you truly felt? The things you were too afraid to admit. The things that made your heart ache just thinking about them. The things that might push him away.

You loved him. You loved him in a way that was overwhelming, in a way that terrified you. You needed him, as much as you hated to admit it. He was a part of you now, and the idea of losing him, of seeing him walk away because of the confession you had been holding back for so long, was a fear too vast to even acknowledge.

But you were also terrified that staying silent, letting this cold distance between you grow, might push him away all the same. The thought gnawed at you, as sharp and cruel as the wind outside. If you spoke the words, confessed what had been eating away at you, would he still stay? Or would it be the final thing that broke you? Would he leave?

You wanted to believe that confessing, being honest with him, would bring you closer. That it would clear the air, push the shadows away. But the fear of losing him, of being too much for him to bear, clouded your judgment. You wondered, deep down, if the only way to keep him was to remain in this limbo—pretend that everything was fine, even when it wasn’t.

And so, you let the argument drag on, hoping for something, anything, that would force the words out of your mouth before it was too late. Because deep down, you knew this silence, this distance, would only tear you apart more slowly than any argument ever could. And still, you couldn’t bring yourself to face the truth.

Peter ran a hand through his messy hair, a telltale sign of his growing frustration. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. You’ve been distant for weeks—no, months—and don’t even try to deny it. You barely talk to me, you avoid me like I’m some stranger in my own apartment, and—God, it’s like you’re trying to shut me out completely. Don’t you see that?”

You sighed heavily, a shaky breath that betrayed the calm you were trying to project. “Peter, you’re imagining things. I’m just tired, okay? That’s all it is. Work’s been stressful. Life’s been stressful. It’s not about you.”

“Not about me?” His voice rose, and he took a step closer, the desperation in his tone slicing through you. “I don’t care if it’s about me! I care that it’s about you! Something’s wrong, and you’re hurting, and you won’t let me help you! Why do you keep pretending everything’s fine when it’s not?”

Your chest tightened, your arms instinctively crossing in front of you as a weak shield. “I’m not pretending! Peter, you’re making this a bigger deal than it is—”

“No, I’m not!” he interrupted, his voice cracking slightly. He exhaled sharply, trying to reign in his emotions. “I know you, okay? I know when you’re shutting me out. You don’t have to tell me that you’re fine, because I can see that you’re not.”

You opened your mouth to argue again, to deny the truth that was clawing at your insides, but no sound came out. Instead, you swallowed hard, blinking rapidly as your vision blurred. Tears. Of course, there were tears.

Peter’s expression softened when he saw them, and his tone dropped to a pleading whisper. “Baby… please. Just tell me what’s going on. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. Together. But you have to let me in.”

He reached out, his warm hand cupping your cheek as his thumb brushed against your skin. The gentle touch made the dam inside you crack even more, your resolve crumbling like ash in the wind.

“I can’t,” you whispered, the words trembling as they left your lips.

“Yes, you can,” Peter said, leaning closer. His voice was soft, but there was a firmness behind it, an unyielding determination to break through the barrier you’d put up. “You can tell me anything. Whatever it is, I’m not going anywhere. You know that.”

The tenderness in his voice, the way his hand stayed so steady against your face—it was too much. You couldn’t hold it in any longer. The pressure that had been building for weeks finally exploded.

“Why do you want a kid, Peter?!” you burst out, the words ripping from your throat. Your voice was raw, trembling with the weight of all the fear and frustration you’d been bottling up. “Why?!”

The question hung in the air like a thunderclap, and you immediately regretted the way it came out, the way your voice cracked under the strain of emotions. Peter blinked, stunned by your outburst, but his hand never left your cheek.

“What are you talking about?” he asked softly, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“You keep bringing it up,” you continued, your voice shaking as tears streaked down your face. “All these little comments, these hints, and I know you’re trying to be subtle about it, but I hear you, Peter. I hear you every time you say something about how great it would be to have a family someday, or how much you want to be a dad. For fucks sake you searched baby’s name in your computer. And I—” Your voice broke, and you shook your head, overwhelmed. “I can’t give you that”

Peter’s eyes softened as he held your gaze, his confusion evident, but his patience unwavering. His thumbs brushed lightly across your tear-streaked cheeks, a silent encouragement for you to speak. His voice was steady, but the faint crack in it betrayed his worry.

“I don’t understand what you’re trying to say, dove,” he murmured, shaking his head slightly. His touch was firm yet tender, grounding you even as your heart thundered in your chest.

You took a deep breath, the kind that filled your lungs with an ache that mirrored the knot in your stomach. This was it. You couldn’t avoid it any longer. The words you’d been holding back for weeks sat heavy on your tongue, desperate to be set free, yet terrifying in their weight.

Finally, you found the courage to start. Your voice came out slow, measured, as if each word was a fragile thing that needed to be handled with care. “Peter… I don’t want a kid. I don’t see myself having one anytime soon. Maybe not ever.”

The first sentence hung in the air between you, and you watched his expression shift, the crease in his brow deepening as the meaning began to settle. But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. The dam had burst, and everything you’d been keeping locked away poured out like a flood.

“I don’t see myself going through that pain,” you continued, your voice trembling but steady enough to push through. “It hurts, Peter. It hurts a lot. And I don’t think I’m ready for that kind of pain. I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for it.”

You paused, inhaling sharply before your words gained momentum. “You’re Spider-Man. You’re out there every night, putting your life on the line, and you know what that means for me. How much I have to sacrifice just to keep myself together when you’re gone. How could I possibly add a child to that? How could I carry that weight on top of everything else?”

Peter’s hands remained steady on your face, but his silence was deafening. His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to respond, but he held back, giving you the space to say everything you needed.

“I just want to focus on us right now,” you said, your voice firming as your emotions spilled into clarity. “On me and on you. If you still want to be with me.”

Your voice cracked slightly, but you pressed on, your words tumbling out faster now, no longer held back by hesitation. “A child is a lot, Peter. They cry. They need you constantly. They scream for no reason. They poop, and Jesus—” you let out a bitter laugh, the absurdity of it clawing at your throat, “—you have to clean their shit. All of it. I can’t do that, Peter. I can’t. I won’t. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to handle that. The idea of it just…” You shuddered, exhaling the thought like it was poison. “It terrifies me.”

Your words slowed, the rawness of your confession leaving you drained but lighter. For the first time in weeks, the weight of your fears wasn’t solely your own. By the time you finished, the frantic pounding of your heart had softened, replaced by a strange sense of calm.

Peter stayed quiet, his gaze locked on yours, his expression unreadable. The silence stretched between you, the air thick with unspoken thoughts, until you finally spoke again, this time in a whisper.

“So…” you paused, your voice barely audible, trembling under the weight of your own vulnerability. “Is that a dealbreaker for you?”

For a moment, Peter just stared at you, his lips slightly parted as if he hadn’t even registered the question. Then he blinked, his face morphing into pure confusion. “A deal breaker?” he repeated, his voice pitching up like you’d just told him the moon was made of cheese. “What—what are you even talking about? Deal breaker? Are you kidding me right now?”

His reaction startled you, and your hands fidgeted nervously in your lap. You couldn’t meet his gaze, but Peter wasn’t having that. He leaned closer, trying to catch your eye. “First of all,” he began, voice slightly exasperated but tinged with something softer, “this is not a deal. What deal? Did I sign something and forget about it? Was there a secret contract? Because if there was, I want to renegotiate the terms. Immediately.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard by his sudden humor. Peter didn’t stop there. “Secondly,” he said, sitting up straighter, “you’re seriously asking me if not wanting a baby is a deal breaker? Babe, if I made that my hill to die on, I’d be the biggest idiot in the history of relationships. And trust me, there have been some huge idiots in history. Like, I’m talking cavemen-licking-fire-level idiots.”

You tried to stifle a laugh, but the corner of your mouth twitched despite yourself. Peter grinned, seeing the crack in your armour. He was relentless now.

“Let’s talk about the real disadvantages of kids, shall we? First of all, do you have any idea how expensive diapers are? It’s like they’re spun out of pure gold dust or something. And don’t get me started on baby food. Have you seen that stuff? It looks like... prison gruel.”

That did it. A laugh bubbled out of you, small but genuine, and Peter’s grin widened in triumph. He leaned closer, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “And babies? They’re like tiny drunks. They scream, they cry, they throw up on you—and they wake you up at three in the morning because they’ve forgotten how to sleep. I mean, really, how do you forget how to sleep?”

You laughed again, louder this time, the sound shaking loose some of the tension in your chest. Tears still pricked at your eyes, but now they were mixed with the warmth of Peter’s words, his ridiculous lamest jokes. “That doesn’t even make sense baby” You chuckled. 

Peter softened at the sight of you, his hand reaching out to gently cup your cheek. His thumb brushed against your skin, wiping away a stray tear. “Hey,” he said quietly, his tone shifting to something tender. “All that stuff? It doesn’t matter. None of it does. You know why?”

You shook your head slightly, your gaze finally meeting his.

“Because the only thing that matters to me is you.” His voice was steady, every word deliberate and full of conviction. “I don’t care if we have kids, if we get a goldfish, or if we just grow old together surrounded by a hundred cats. All I care about is you, spending my life with you. That’s it. That’s the deal, okay? And guess what?”

You tilted your head, your heart swelling as his hand shifted from your cheek to cradle the side of your neck, his thumb brushing softly along your jaw. “This deal? It’s never breaking. Ever.”

Before you could respond, Peter leaned in, closing the small space between you. His lips met yours in the gentlest, sweetest kiss you’d ever shared. It wasn’t rushed or demanding—it was steady, deliberate, full of emotion. His other hand found its way to your waist, anchoring you to him as if you might disappear.

You felt the warmth of his palm on your neck, the slight press of his fingertips, grounding you in the moment. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world, his lips moving against yours with a softness that made your chest ache in the best way.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm and mingling with your own. “You’re it for me, okay?” he murmured, his voice soft but firm. “Baby or no baby. You’re my future. Nothing else matters.”

You smiled at him, the last remnants of doubt melting away under the weight of his love. “Okay,” you whispered, your voice shaky but steadying with every breath.

Peter pulled you into another kiss, this one shorter but just as tender, before grinning against your lips. “Now, about those hundred cats…”

You laughed, playfully shoving his chest, but your heart felt light again. Peter Parker, your ridiculous, amazing, nerdy Peter, had managed to remind you once again why you loved him so much.

[ornii]

Arcane, Chapter 4: Things have changed, you? No..

The endless darkness had been inviting for so long, but finally there is a chance to return.

Sitting on a floating island upon the endless cosmos, (Y/n) was still alive, years had passed, he had grown. Mastering the crystal that exploded and had infused his body with this unstable power.

Standing at the edge of the island, covered in rags and robes, he extended his metal arm, sigils etched into the rusted metal hummed blue energy and began to shake, evoking what power his body had, the fabric of the world itself began to warp at a disturbing rate. It was trying to tear itself back to the real world, but no avail. The blue light fizzled and he slumped down exhausted, he punched the ground out of more frustration itself, and escape so far away, until the darkness begin to crackle with blue electricity, a large amount of energy was being used, somewhere. It didn’t matter, it was time.

(Y/n) stood up and put his hand in the air, he begins to use said energy, opening his arm up like a lighting rod, as the electricity stuck his arm, his eyes begin to shift to a soaring bright blue, power surged further and further until his arm was shaking, barely containing the energy like a bottle about to burst, with one movement, he then threw his hand forward, the force made a shockwave of energy so intense it made a small but visible tear, into a laboratory. it didn’t matter where, just not here.. (Y/n) leapt into it without hesitation, his body felt the rush of light, pressure and heat, and swiftly landed on the ground of a cool laboratory.

Placing his feet on the cold floor (Y/n) looked around, his eyes dimly lit by the light, he saw two men, stunned by his arrival, it’s obvious he’s still in Piltover. If he’s back, then he only has one goal, find powder and Vi, turning to the large glass window he extended his arm and the energy began to gather once more, with a single snap of his finger, he blasted another shockwave of blue energy hits the glass and shattered it, he leapt out of the window, regardless of how far the fall is, and it was far, as he fell he slammed his hand into the wall and began to slow his descent scarring the tower he slowed down and leapt into the waters, taking him away to hide in piltover.

Gasping for air, he washes up near the sewer pipe leading down to piltover, before he can be swept up he gripped the platform above and pulled himself up next to the pipe, and rested, seeing the blue sky, vibrant colors, finally. Leaning against the pipe, he fell asleep for hours. His eyes open to the smell of smoke, something was burning, his eyes dart upwards to the smoke rising further in Piltover. He rushed to the location, flames consume a tent, blazing. His eyes quickly shifted to the drawing made of the fire into the tent, it was a monkey, just like.. Powders.

“Is… is that?” He stepped closer, deep rooted memories began to replay, fear, anger and frustration all began to flow once more, but the coughing of a woman caught him off guard. He peered in and saw her, on the ground, flames around her. With little hesitation he ran in, he saw a wooden beam had fallen upon her chest, He gripped the beam with his arm and hurled it off and put the woman on his shoulders and ran with her out of the fire. Lying her on the ground he looked her up and down, besides the smoke and slight burns, she’ll be fine. She was dressed as an officer, Footsteps storm near his direction and he can assume the others are here. (Y/n) ran off, leaving the woman to be tended by the officers.

That woman, was Caitlyn, Lady of House Kiramman. The next morning came and She was knelling down. looking at a board of plans, all sticking together to a singular goal -a goal she just hasn’t been able to piece together, twirling a pistol she overlooks them, and hears a shuffling behind her.

“I said leave me, Jayce.” She sounded upset, and when the figure didn’t reply, she quickly turned around and aimed her gun, it was (Y/n), reading the note from the large bouquet of flowers. “To Lady Kiramman.” He said, and turned his hooded face to her.

“Who are you? How did you get it?” She demanded to know, (Y/n) calmly turned to face her, “Your windows, and could you please put you gun down? If I wanted you dead I would have let you die in that tent.” He said, and Cait was caught off guard.

“It was.. you.” She huffed, (Y/n) nodded. “Yes, you were investigating it, I want to help.”

“And why should I believe that?”

“Saving your life wasn’t enough?” He replied, and sighed, “The man you’re looking for is part of Silco’s gang. Probably using the explosives someone I know…” he said, and it began to piece together.

“I've suspected there is a single mind

behind the undercity's violence…I think whoever attacked the square

is our suspect.” Cait lowered her gun and showed him the display she had, all plans link together.

“The same symbols showed up at the botched smuggling operation at the Hexgates.”

“The Hexgates?” He had no idea what that was.

“Keep up.” She points to the maps dark end.

“All this time, they've kept their dealings

localized to the undercity. Low priority. The attack on the square changes things. They've overstepped. If I can figure who made the explosives, it could lead me directly to whoever's behind it all. The answer is here, staring me in the face.” Cat droned on, and (Y/n) smugly folds his arms.

“I guess that would be me..” (Y/n) walked over, and knelt down to look at the map. “It’s been a while since I was there, but I can remember a few faces.. especially ones that work with Silco, if what you’re saying is true.. we find the guy, and.. “chat” with him.

(Y/n) made the offer and extended his metal arm. “(Y/n)” he said, Cait reluctantly shook the cool metal hand.

“..Caitlyn, and fine, but you are going dressed like that, and you reek.”

“I haven’t taken a decent shower in years..” he said, Cait folds her arms as well. “Then you’re going to, and get a new assortment of clothes, my father could spare some, you look to fit the size. Cait took his hood off and she got a good look at his face, half of it had a scar along from the eyebrow down to his lip. His eye now glistening like a crystal is behind it. Cait was quickly surprised and stepped back. “I’m sorry I didn’t—“

“Don’t worry about it, where your shower or whatever.” He put his hood back on, Cait lead him to it, without her parents knowing of course.

Now dressed in a more casually style, ankle high boots, thick leather leggings and a button up navy blue shirt and vest combo, he tops it off with a black tie and overcoat, taking a single glove he puts it on his metal arm to avoid suspicion. Cait peers into the room.

“Done? We have to go..” she saw him in the moonlight, the way his eyes shine so beautifully, he nods, “yeah.. let’s go.”

Standing before the warden, (Y/n) kept his hood on and allowed Cait to speak.

“I need to speak with one of the inmates.” She said, the Warden at the desk looked them up and down, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, folks in here aren't usually very talkative…” he said, scribbling on his paper

“This one was hit by friendly fire. He's got reason to talk. Must have been sent in today?” She asked and he thought.

“Oh. Inmate 2135. Yeah, I'm, uh, afraid that's not possible.” He admits, (Y/n)’ jerked his head up to the Warden.

“Why not?” (Y/n) asked, the Warden looks at his papers, and taps on one.

“Uh, well, there's been...an incident.” He said, Cait and (Y/n) glance at each other and then back to him.

“What kind of incident?” Caitlyn asks.

“The...not so pretty kind.”

“You don't understand, we have to talk to him.” Caitlyn attempts to use some form of reason with the warden, whose hands were tied.

“Oh, you'll be able to. As soon as he can move his jaw again.” He replied, and (Y/n) thought, “this guy… he just got to the prison, couldn’t have made any enemies, so who did it must have known…” (Y/n) grasped what his brain was trying to relay.. whoever attacked the man must have known who he already was.. one of Silco’s men.”

“Who assaulted him?” (Y/n) asked. And the Warden could oblige with that.

The Duo entered the cell block and calmly but carefully walked down the hall to the Cell of the assailant. Loud thuds echo down the hall, sounds like someone’s taking their frustrations out on someone, or something. The pounding grew closer and closer, until the final cell door it was beating with force. (Y/n) and Caitlyn reached the cell block, and the pink hair in the dim room said enough to who it is. (Y/n)’s eyes couldn’t believe it and leaned forward his face reaching the cell bars. Vi turned around, and looked at them both.

“…Who the hell are you?”

[raineandsky]

Could you do a story where a guard of a Supermax prison befriends a supervillain, because he treats him like a genuine human being instead of an animal; and later, all the power-dampeners suddenly fail; and all these villains just revolt against the guards; but supervillain makes sure he’s safe since he was always kind to him?

Love Ur writing!!

aaaaaaa this was such a fun idea - im absolutely in love with this lil dynamic!! hope you enjoy reading as much as i did writing it :D

-

tw blood, death

Animals. That’s all the agency ever saw the villains as. Animals they could poke and push and test and break into nothing.

So when the jail’s power-dampeners fail, the villains are more than happy to make like the tigers are out of their cage.

The villain to the supervillain’s right is burning the lock on his cell door. The villain on his left has fazed straight through hers. The supervillain steps up to the iron bars across his own cell to look beyond.

VIllains are flooding the corridor, breaking for the stairs one by one. “You,” he snaps as someone passes, and they thankfully slow down. “Open the door.”

Escape might be tantalising, if the villain’s quick glance to the stairs is anything to go by, but no villain ignores a supervillain. They rest their hands against the door for a moment, their brow knitted in concentration for a moment, before the lock clunks open.

They pull the door outward as the supervillain steps into the corridor, waiting impatiently. “Thank you,” the supervillain says shortly.

The villain wastes no time continuing their great escape, chasing the tails of the other villains. Golden light flashes against the walls of the stairwell like fireworks, panicked shouting drifting from above, dull thumping as inevitable bodies hit the floor. The superhero strolls up the steps to take in the carnage the villains are wreaking on the pristine agency.

Gunfire showers the corridor in the light of heaven itself. Agency guards are backed up against the one exit. Most of the villains have already pushed past them into the room beyond, but those who haven’t are springing on them from all directions with fire or ice or electricity or nothing but hatred.

He can see someone familiar through the chaos, the eye of the storm. His gun sprays death, his face twisted into a mix of anger and fear, his eyes set on the villain currently making her way towards him with palms of steaming water.

Almost all of the villains have passed through. Most guards are either lying in a puddle of crimson blood or following the flock into the next room. There’s two of them—his Favourite, and someone he couldn’t care less about.

The villain’s water flicks from her fingers and sprays the guard, earning a pained cry and a cringe away from her. His attention falls to the scalding cutting through his skin, and in one fatal move the villain swipes the gun from his hands.

The supervillain doesn’t have time to intervene. The other guard swings his weapon to the villain, and with a flash of golden light she drops to the ground. The gun clatters to the floor with her.

The two of them heave a breath like they’re free, and the supervillain sees his chance. He sweeps up the gun from the floor, shouldering his Favourite out of the way, before turning it on the other guard and opening fire. The force of the bullets shove the guard into the wall behind him, and his descent to the floor is accompanied by a nauseating streak of red.

The supervillain turns his gaze to the last guard, his Favourite, the one who helped him from the day he got here. The one who saw past the animals and saw a person.

The guard returns his gaze with abject horror, defenceless, trapped. His eyes are wide, his back pressed into the wall, his mouth working in a desperate attempt at what is probably a beg for mercy.

The supervillain doesn’t waste time. He doesn’t have any. He grabs the guard’s arm, earning a startled squeak, tucking the gun under his arm. He can see the burns left on the man’s arm from the villain’s attack; small but undoubtedly painful. He lays a hand over them and the guard hisses and pulls in his grip, whether in pain or fear of pain he can’t tell.

His hand is cool—he can tell from the way the guard relaxes in his hold after a moment. The supervillain holds down a pleased smile. “That’s it,” he says smoothly. “Is that better?”

He lets go and the guard tips his gaze to his skin, unblemished and unharmed. Like the water never touched him at all. His mouth opens. Closes. His brow creases.

“Your power…” he tries after a moment, confused, “they never figured it out. They thought you’d have something violent.”

The supervillain throws him a smile, unhidden this time. “They never expected a healer at the head of evil, did they?”

The supervillain drags him along, following the path of bloodshed like a map. Some villains are still loitering—one of them slinks up to the pair with a grin. They inspect the guard closely for a moment before running the edge of their knife across his jaw in thought. He tries to shrink away but the supervillain’s grip on him holds fast.

“Oh, isn’t this one pretty?” the villain purrs. They give the blade a flick for emphasis, and the guard flinches as the edge cuts a crimson line into his cheek. “Can’t wait to show the agency what happens to good little boys like him.”

“No one touches him, understand?” the supervillain snaps coldly. “He’s with us.”

The villain scowls, clearly unsatisfied with his answer. “Oh, we keepin’ pets now, boss?”

“We don’t keep pets, [Villain].” His gaze turns to the guard for a moment, a touch softer, almost thankful. “They’re not animals.”

[sylvancastor]

Writing out my preferred way the battle at Rook's Rest should have gone because why not.

The beginning mostly stays the same. Criston signals for Aemond and Vhagar, but Sunfyre arrives first. Aemond sees him fly overhead and is pissed, but he doesn't wait to follow him into battle because he's not an idiot and as much as he wants the crown, he's aware of the intensity of the blow losing Aegon would be to their cause.

Still, Vhagar is slow and has to launch herself off the ground, so Aegon gets their first and has an initial fight with Meleys but Vhagar's quick arrival keeps Sunfyre's injuries from being quite so intense. The two of them attack Meleys side by side, but due to her speed and Rhaenys's expertise, she manages to keep evading them with fairly light damage.

Meleys takes off high into the clouds and Aemond and Aegon follow her. No one can see them from below. Aegon urges Sunfyre to engage directly with Meleys and the two dragons become locked together. Instead of intervening this time, Aemond simply watches as Sunfyre is injured and Aegon cries out for his help. Aemond only watches.

We can see the anger in his eyes. It would be so easy to allow Meleys to kill Aegon and Sunfyre. He could say he did his best, but that Aegon refused to battle carefully. He would be honored after he died and Aemond would become king. Aegon doesn't notice the inaction, too focused on saving Sunfyre and himself. In a desperate move, Aegon unclips one of his restraints to grab the dagger at his side and drives it into Meleys's eye as Rhaenys screams in shock and fury.

Meleys wails and lets go of Sunfyre, dropping out of view. Aegon is triumphant and turns to his brother with a smile. Aemond isn't smiling. We watch as he follows Meleys's descent and decides he's safe for now. He returns his attention to Aegon. It would be so easy to do the deed himself and blame Meleys. He contemplates it only for a split second, but Aegon's face goes from smiling to horror. We think he's understood what Aemond plans to do, but in fact, his eyes are fixed on a sight behind him. Meleys has darted up from behind, mouth open and poised to burn Aemond in his saddle.

Aegon doesn't hesitate. He urges Sunfyre forward and as Meleys breathes out a wall of fire, he throws himself and Sunfyre in front of it to protect Aemond from the blast. Before Aemond can react, Meleys sinks her claws into Sunfyre's chest and pulls him out of sight.

Aemond pursues, but it's too late. Meleys has bit into Sunfyre's wing and Aegon can barely stay in the saddle with his one remaining restraint. Meleys rips her head back breaking off part of Sunfyre's wing and the king and his dragon fall through the air, landing in the forest.

Similarly to the show, Aemond is able to defeat Rhaenys and Meleys on his own after Aegon's fall.

Later on, we learn the only reason Aegon was able to survive was the one remaining restraint held him to the saddle but allowed him to slide off to the side enough to evade some of the dragonfire. He's still burned and in pain. He sacrificed himself for his brother and Aemond can't betray him now. Not when he owes his brother a life debt, not when he's seen how deeply Aegon loves him. He becomes Prince Regent and reconciles himself to forever protecting his brother from this point forward.

[insane-brit]

Royalty (Ch. 2)

Muzan Kibutsuji x Soulmate!Fem!reader

Park Links: Prologue, Chapter one, Chapter two, Chapter three

Tags/Warnings: Enemies to lovers, semi slow burn, dark story/themes, violence, fighting, mentions of prostitution/entertainment, anxiety, shock, anger, flashback.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word count: 2.7K

The trek to Yoshiwara felt almost effortless despite her interpersonal matters. Her mind was consumed with staring at the thread protruding from her wrist. Receiving this gift bestowed upon her kept her from an ounce of rest that night. She marveled at the tie and couldn’t help the flurry of questions that infiltrated her mind. As much as she prided herself in problem-solving and anything clever, her intellect was stumped. Regardless, she thanked whatever higher power for this opportunity that had forsaken her from a young age.  

She kept her promise to Tengen as much as she wanted to find him and ramble about the occurrence. He would be happy for her but the nagging in her mind knew that it would be selfish to present this information to him when his wives were in potential danger. When the sun broke through the horizon and dawn showed its lovely face, she packed her things and set off. It had been a day or two and the path ahead was cracked. Clear evidence was strewn about of it being a well-traveled route. She supposed that was a good thing. The blazing heat caused sweat to bead along her forehead and nape. Pulling on her haori, she fanned herself in a fruitless attempt to circulate air. 

It wouldn’t be long before she reached the district. The pit in her stomach from the night her thread appeared was still apparent. She thought that it was her intuition expecting something to happen. That something being the appearance of her soul tie, but with every passing minute, it never ceased. She had attempted to suppress the feeling while remaining cautious, but it would relapse and grow every time she tried to forget it. It caused her to lash out at a poor maple tree the previous night. Her Nichirin sword left deep grooves in the bark as she unleashed her irritability and unease. Lucky for her the outburst did not harm her blade. She did not have the time nor patience to deal with Haganezuka and his damned vengeance that would be seeking her blood. That man would know the moment any of his blades even had a scratch and the next minute he’d be screaming obscenities with steel to your throat. Sighing, she chuckled at the thought. He cared for his work, and she admired him for that.

The sun continued its descent to the horizon, the atmosphere growing ever so slightly cooler as she pursued the winding path. The tree’s canopy bestowed some shade upon her figure and a faint breeze accompanied the peaceful atmosphere. If she had to guess, she would make it to Yoshiwara a bit after the sun's rays faded under the vista. Perfect timing on her part and she mentally patted herself on the back.

The shade around her grew until it covered the terrain and a chill shot down her spine. The breeze blew some wisps of hair in front of her face. Caressing her features as she clutched the Tsuka of her blade. The ray skin was coarse against her palm and she gripped it until her knuckles turned white. There was virtually no sound. The birds were silent, cicadas halted their clamor, and all that was heard was the fluttering of leaves. Her heart was in her throat threatening to claw its way out, but she was static. Eyes swept across the dense foliage, searching for the source that caused much attentiveness. 

The crunching and rustling of leaves and twigs promptly made itself known as a commotion rapidly approached her stable form. The movement of air being cut resounded to her right and she swerved as an amalgamation of leathery skin settled in the spot she once stood. Its landing kicked up filth and a cloud of dust blew upwards. Eyes hardening, she readied herself as it subsided. Revealing one of the more grotesque demons she has ever had the pleasure of encountering. Its frame was thin, skin stretched over its bones. Back turned to her, it jolted, and she could hear cracking as its limbs moved unnaturally. The bending of tendons and grinding of joints had her mentally winching. 

“Wretched thing.” She seethed, angling her katana. The blade flashed in the dying rays of the sun and the emerging moonlight that peaked through the canopy. It snapped its head towards her, the eyes were pitch black with a single prick of white in the center and a red line streaked across it. A smile, full of needle-like teeth stretched as it locked its gaze onto her. It darted back and forth between her face and sword. If it was even possible, the grin got wider. 

“A Hashira,” its voice was grainy and sandpaper-like. “Lucky me.” 

She growled lowly and gritted her teeth. How revolting, and to think she was almost to her destination without getting into any trouble.

“I think you’ll find yourself unlucky.”  Digging her foot into the dirt she lunged at the monstrosity. Its face contorted in what looked to be glee before parrying her attack. Retaliating in a flurry of precise assaults aimed to incapacitate the slayer. She veered away with ease and brought her foot up, slamming it into its chest. Staggering backward it groaned, hesitating, and looking stunned. 

“Come on demon!” She hissed and swung her blade. The demon dodged and glared at her. Not making any sudden moves and being motionless. She furrowed her brows and kicked up dust to distract it. Why wasn’t it trying harder? It’s not even moving. 

She had advanced behind it and leaped. Readying her blade to strike its vital point. To sever its head from its neck and watch its twisted body disintegrate. It cocked its head towards her. Eyes wide and mouth stretched into a tight line. It seemed like it was forcibly constant. It raised its arm in a futile attempt to block as she sliced right through the flesh like butter despite its appearance. 

The body stiffened and collapsed in a heap as the head rolled. Coming to a stop a few feet away from her. She watched the expression on its face contort in a multitude of emotions.  “To think, for a second I thought you would’ve fought harder.” She smirked and sheathed her sword. It still looked at her. An expression of shock and something she couldn’t recognize. Frowning, she dusted herself off before turning away from the slowly deteriorating demon. 

“The progenitor.” it rasped. 

She halted and looked over her shoulder. Confusion and agitation were written across her face. 

“His presence,” it choked out as its mouth started to turn to ash. “Hashira, you- “

“Enough with your delusions demon!” she hissed and glowered at the lowly creature. “Whatever scheme you’re planning in death will not deface me in any way. You mutter nonsense and plead to the thing you call Master.” 

For a demon who appeared so delighted in the prospect of fighting a slayer earlier, it was quite a weak and depressing display. Begging for its Master, Kibutsuji Muzan, and conniving to bring her into the ordeal. Maybe it was going to threaten her. Regardless, she cut it off before it could utter its last words. The lower half of its face was gone, and the rest engulfed itself into cinders. Surroundings quiet once more, she stood there staring at where the demon once lay. Disgust and unease flooded her bloodstream. 

She shuffled from one foot to the other. Mulling over the limited words the demon spoke. Sure, these creatures threatened people, especially slayers, but she can't recall one ever mentioning him in their final moments. She had to admit, it was odd, but it had to just be trying to strike fear into her. Which ultimately failed. Kibutsuji was a master at evading the corps or he was just a coward. The only one to have seen him in ages was Tanjiro and he should be thankful to be alive. If she ever came face to face with the creator of these things she wouldn’t hesitate to fight to her dying breath. That was the oath she pledged long ago, and she would be damned if she broke it. However, killing his creations would suffice for now. Taking in her surroundings, she groaned realizing she would arrive later than she hoped. 

————————————————————————

The streets of the district were flooded with people. Loud chattering and bright lights evaded her senses as she took it all in. It had been a while since she walked its streets, but not much had changed. There were still the festivities, women entertaining avaricious men and hidden trades. Pulling out some of the letters Tengen gave her, she skimmed through them and made note of the houses each wife “belonged” to. Tokito, Kyogoku, and Ogimoto. Three of the top houses in the district. 

She stepped out into the crowd, feeling slightly overwhelmed by the sheer number of bodies. It seemed that wherever she looked, more people spawned and searched for whatever kind of entertainment suited them. It felt almost impossible that she was ever going to find clues to where Tengen’s wives may be.  Much less encounter them. Going straight up to the houses didn’t feel like the best idea to her. She didn’t want to deal with the heads. Besides, if they were missing, she doubted they would know anything. Much less disclose that information to a random woman on the streets. She would have to wait for the pathways to clear if she dared try and use her forms. Even then it may attract attention, but she had to do it. She made a promise.

Pushing through the waves of people, she excused herself a multitude of times before falling silent. Opting to stick to the edge of the crowd to avoid getting swept away by its tide. Her sword had been tucked under her haori and she held it close to her side almost protectively. It brought a sense of comfort as she knew that having it meant being able to dispatch almost anything if she felt it was necessary. 

Gripping the hilt, she flinched at the sudden pressure in her wrist. Looking down, she observed her thread and saw that it had tightened slightly. Pupils blown she jerked her head up. Looking at it as it weaved itself through the crowd of passersby.  

Are they here?

Following the line, she saw that it led to a prominent house in the district, the Kyogoku House. She felt a slight pang in her heart at the thought of her soulmate engaging with other women, but maybe that wasn’t the case. She reassured herself and stepped through the crowd. A few people rammed into her, and others mumbled vulgar things as she excused herself. Just checking wouldn’t hurt right? She couldn’t make much progress in the way of using her forms to locate Suma, Makio, and Hinatsuru until the masses died down anyway. At least, that’s what she told herself. Truth be told she was often unable to restrain herself when it came to certain things. Though rare, this was one of those times, but she would never admit that. 

Freeing herself from the horde she continued following the glowing fiber. It darted around a corner and felt tauter than ever before. She leaned against the wall of a building and took a deep breath. Her feet felt heavy as she stepped out from the corner. The area before her was dark. Not terribly so, but devoid of more people than the street behind her. A few mingled about and the lights gave off a subtle amber. Only illuminating a few feet away from their position. Surveying the scene, she followed the string as it stopped where darkness met light. 

A man stood there, back facing her. An obvious line hovered between them. Bleeding a scarlet hue. She squinted and stepped forward trying to get a better look at the man, but as her eyes adjusted, she froze. 

Air caught in her lungs, and she found it hard to breathe. Her mind went blank save for all but one memory. 

 ————————————————————————

Sitting next to his hospital bed at the Butterfly Mansion, she smiled softly at the young boy. He was bright, and his spirit spoke for him. It was quite rare to see such a youthful soul full of compassion and determination in the face of danger. 

“Tanjiro,” she started looking slightly downcast. “May I ask you a question?” 

He regarded her with that same smile and nodded his head. “Of course!”

Sucking in a breath, she looked away before locking her eyes with his. 

“What did Kibutsuji look like?” 

The smile that graced his face downturned as he gazed at his hands. Gripping the sheets until she swore, he would tear them. It was an immediate switch and fury radiated off him. He clenched his jaw as she went to speak but he cut her off before a sound could be uttered from her mouth. 

“Human,” he exhaled. “Completely human.” 

Cocking her head, she furrowed her brows. “What do you mean?” 

“He blended in with everyone. No one could tell that he was a demon. Only me,” the fire in his eyes smoldered as he continued. “His eyes were a deep red, black hair that hung closer to his shoulders in the front, pale skin, and he wore a black patterned suit with a white hat.” 

She could see him slightly shaking at the mention of Kibutsuji. Not from fear. It was anything but fear. 

At that moment she felt terrible. She had heard from Tomioka briefly about what had transpired in the mountains with Tanjiro’s family. Later, Tanjiro filled in the missing details himself. She felt reluctant to have learned of such an event as it felt too personal, but if he discerned her to be someone he could confide in, she wouldn’t turn him away. 

“I’ll kill him if it’s the last thing I do,” he seethed. “He’ll pay for what he’s done.” 

Remaining silent she observed him. Reaching out she put her hand on his shoulder. A means of comforting the boy, however, deep down she knew that no amount of comfort could close a wound so deep. Giving him a soft smile, she stood up. 

“I believe in you but be careful,” he looked up at her. The fire slowly smothered itself out. “You’re a good person but don’t get ahead of yourself. Your sister needs you. The corps needs you. There’s been too many people lost.” 

He studied her expression before giving her another big smile. “Right, of course!”

Regarding him with a nod of her head she turned to leave but paused. “And Tanjiro, just know you’re not alone.” 

 ————————————————————————

Bile rose and burned her throat. Swallowing her tongue was the only thing keeping her from retching. One hand pulled at her collar and the other shakily reached for the Tsuka of her Katana, the world around her seemed to slow and fall away. Gaze solely focused on the man feet away from her.

Jet black suit. A rustic gold pattern on parts.

Her eyes darted around. 

White hat.

She sucked in a breath.

Sickly skin. Dark hair.

Blood trickled and filled her mouth with iron as teeth punctured her lower lip. 

Mind racing, she pleaded for him to not turn around. This had to be a mistake. A coincidence even. There was no way this could be the same man that Tanjiro described. That this could be Kibutsuji. There had to be many others out there who looked similar. Her chest hurt from how hard her heart pounded. It was in her ears and a cold chill ran through her body. 

He appeared to be contemplating. Clearly sensing her gaping at him. Cocking his head in her direction, he fully pivoted it towards her. The coiling pit that constricted her stomach like a snake snapped. Her eyes went wide, and her mouth parted slightly. A choked noise fell on deaf ears. 

His gaze locked with hers and carnage churned in them.

The attachment tightened, locking. Signifying what she dreaded and didn’t want to admit once she feasted her eyes on him. 

His eyes were a cavernous crimson.

His pupils were slits. 

[dr-d-of-team-blu]

BLU Tea

    "Thank you." Frank's voice was quiet, scratchy. He could hardly raise it above a whisper. Heinz had given him something for the pain, & Sasha had brought his samovar for the tea. Heinz could see the tension melt from Frank's shoulders with the first sip, the cup held gingerly in his large hands.

    "No thank yous." Sasha said, matching Frank's volume. Heinz watched him move around the small room, trawling through the darkness. He was slow, careful, his body a weapon but his heart so soft. Frank needed that softness right now,

    "A thank you is unnecessary right now," Heinz said when Frank's face twisted into a scowl, "Because we are simply doing what is expected of us, as your teammates." Heinz took his own cup from Sasha with a simple nod of his head.

    Frank said nothing. Even with Heinz's instructions to not strain himself the pain was ever present. So, instead, he took a sip of his tea. Heinz had requested extra honey, as well as lemon, for Frank's tea. If he disliked it, he didn't show it.

    "Small sips, Herr Soldier. Do not stress your jaw." Heinz mumbled. He was a nurse, he was no stranger to providing verbal comfort & kind words to patients. And yet his throat closed up at the mere thought of saying anything else but medical advice to Frank. He didn't dare mention the current situation, not because of his own anger, but because there was nothing he could say. Pyro had already provided more comfort than he ever could, & he was certain Frank had heard all sorts of empty platitudes from the people in his phone.

    A message flashed across his screen. He had dropped his phone onto the bed next to Frank, & the glass screen lit up the small, military-esque room.

Soldier: Do you hate me?

    Frank dropped his phone back into his lap. For once, he did not wear his helmet & his eyes were boring into Heinz's soul, as if he could see right past his mask.

    "Herr Soldier," Heinz said simply, slowly, "I do not see a point in hating you."

Soldier: A point?

    Heinz slid a hand underneath his mask, rubbing at his eyes, "Let me tell you something, Soldier. I was born after the Great War. My mother was Silesian, of Polish descent, & my father was a handsome German soldier, conscripted at a young age. They met at war, fell in love in a difficult time. They were not good people, either of them, but my father was disillusioned with his country. He was a deserter, he ran from all of his problems and the army was one of them. War did not agree with him, but love did, so he married my mother. Were they enemies? Yes. Were they in love? Even more so."

    Heinz looked around the room, his breath coming short & shallow. He had never mentioned his family before, excpet for brief moments of complaining. He couldn't even begin to guess how much of that complianing anyone had remembered, he was far from the most memorable member of the team after all. For all he knew, this conversation would die out in this room, never make it past the threshold. And yet he couldn't shake the anxiety. What good could this bring? But, on the off chance that it made Frank feel better, wasn't it worth sharing?

    Heinz took in a deep breath, staring at Frank through the eyeholes of his mask, "Do I hate them? More than anything, but not for those reasons. You know I am not the best person to turn to, in the department of love. But I do not hate easily either. War is a cruel, pointless thing, and sometimes you participate just because you have to. Sometimes you agree with what you are fighting for, sometimes you do not, & sometimes you learn to hate the reason along the way. Sometimes, you learn to love the reason, even if you were taught to hate it." Frank didn't correct him. Whether it was love or friendship, it simply didn't matter at this point.

    "I do not know what I am getting at here. I do not hate you, nor do I hate your RED friend. I do not like the REDs, but I also do not hate them. I do not hate Dallas or Caz. I do not hate you, Frank. I do not think I ever could." Frank said nothing, and Heinz was glad that his throat disallowed him from raising his voice. He watched the man pick up his phone again, tapping away at it. He would write for a few seconds, then stop, then he would erase it only to start again. Sasha watched him with pursed lips & pinched eyebrows, but much like Heinz he didn't dare interrupt. He had a better view of what Frank was writing, so when Sasha smiled, Heinz felt a weight drop from his shoulders.

    And when Frank was done, a new message showed up on the screen of Heinz's phone:

Soldier: Thanks

    Heinz found himself smiling as well, a rarity, "No thank yous, Herr Soldier. We are only doing what we must, as your teammates." And Frank smiled back.

~~==~~==~~==~~==

This little story is also on AO3, so show it some love there too!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61904383

[skyward-floored]

Hi new fic

https://archiveofourown.org/works/52017334/chapters/131545159

Summary:

“Twilight is that a cat?” the Champion asked loudly, and Twilight cringed as the argument stopped, everyone staring over at where Wind was sitting primly on his unhurt shoulder.

“Ah... right. Guess the cat’s out of the bag,” he mumbled.

Wind twitched his whiskers.

———

Wind has a run in with Twilight’s necklace. He does not appreciate this, especially since turning back proves to be... difficult.

At least he has claws.

...

Read the fic on ao3, or read it here under the cut :)

Wind came tumbling out of the portal with a shout, rolling down the hill he’d suddenly found himself on for several paces before he managed to stop his frantic descent.

Ow.

He spat a mouthful of grass out when he finally stopped moving, and looked around at where he’d ended up, noting the seabirds flying above his head with a spark of excitement. Maybe he was back home? Maybe he’d get to see Grandma and Aryll and Tetra and everyone again?!

Wind continued to look around, but his excitement faded as he noted the high cliffs and significant amount of land around.

Probably not his.

A sigh escaped him as he looked to his side, and he jumped a little, scrambling backwards from the cliff he suddenly realized he was sitting next to.

Yikes, glad I didn’t roll a few feet further, he thought with a gulp, taking note of the steep drop and rough ocean below. Even if he fell and managed to slow his descent, there didn’t appear to be anywhere to climb up out of the water.

A screech caught his attention, and Wind was abruptly reminded of the reason he’d fallen through the portal in the first place.

He and the other heroes had been in the middle of a battle when a portal had appeared, the dark lizalfos sneering at them before escaping through. Despite Warriors telling them all to stay away from it, Wind had ended up fighting closer, then been knocked through by moblin’s club.

Leaving him here, alone on a cliff with monsters charging towards him.

He scrambled to his feet as several bokoblins and a sizable group of miniblins ran towards him, and he grabbed the phantom sword, which had fortunately come with him.

Wind leveled his blade as the first monster lunged at him, and with a small flourish, he jumped around it and watched as it’s momentum took it straight over the cliff.

That guy obviously wasn’t black-blooded, he thought with a snort, listening to its squeals as it fell.

A distant splash came from below, and the other monsters howled in anger, Wind wiping some dirt from his cheek with a grin.

“Thought you could just shove me off, huh?” he smirked, leveling his blade. “You’ll have to do better than that, ye scurvy dogs!”

The monsters jabbered angrily and charged him all at once, but Wind easily knocked them backwards with a spin attack. He worked on maneuvering himself away from the cliff while he fought, trying to take out as many monsters as he could and not be flung over the edge, and made fairly steady progress.

Their numbers began to thin the longer Wind fought against them, and he only had a small gash on his arm and a few cuts to show for it. His injuries weren’t slowing him down at all as he continued to fight the monsters, and Wind felt a familiar sort of confidence pump through his veins the more of them he eradicated.

Wind even managed to knock a couple more monsters off the cliff nearby, though unfortunately none of the ones that had black blood dripping from cuts.

Those were the ones giving him the most trouble, dodging his thrusts and avoiding his attempts to outsmart them. Wind panted a little as he swiped away two miniblins, and looked around at the monsters. There were only a few left, all infected he was sure, based on the intelligent gleam in their dark eyes.

Well they’re not getting the better of me, black blood or not!

He twirled his sword and grinned at the monsters, but then a loud shout rang out from nearby.

Wind whirled around to see Twilight fly out of the portal, blood on his shoulder.

The rancher hit the ground with a grunt and began tumbling down the hill, much in the same way as Wind had done earlier. Twilight was a lot bigger than Wind though, and the sailor abruptly realized his momentum would likely send him right over the cliff, just like the earlier bokoblin.

Oh no, not on my watch!

Wind took out one of the bokoblins that was flagging, and grabbed in his pouch for his hookshot. Executing a backflip towards a nearby tree, he aimed at where Twilight was rolling, and fired.

He was too far away to use anything else to grab his fellow hero, and hoped he’d aimed well enough not to hurt Twilight too much.

The chain shot outwards as Wind fired, soaring straight for Twilight’s already-bloody shoulder, his pelt and a few other items having come lose in his fall. But the rancher had seen him fire the chain, and right as Wind thought either the hook would gouge right into him or he’d go flying over the cliff, Twilight reached out a hand and snatched the chain.

A relieved sigh escaped Wind’s lips, but as the slack caught up to him he nearly fell over, grunting with effort as he called on the strength of his power bracelets. Maybe Twilight needed to lay off Wild’s desserts, he weighed a ton.

A bokoblin’s screech reminded him he wasn’t alone, and Wind growled in annoyance. He gathered his strength and gave the chain a sharp heave, looping it around a nearby tree branch before turning to block a strike from one of the monsters.

It snarled, more ferocious of a sound than Wind was used to hearing from their species as it swiped at him with its sword, and he suddenly realized the other monsters had disappeared.

He looked around in suspicion as he fought against the bokoblin, wondering if maybe the monsters hadn’t been quite as smart as he’d thought.

Had they just... fallen off the cliff?

Twilight shouted nearby and Wind turned to see that no, the monsters had not fallen off the cliff, but rather taken advantage of Twilight’s somewhat vulnerable state. One of the bokoblins had jumped on Twilight’s back while the remaining miniblins jabbed at his legs with their pitchforks, leaving him weighed down and outnumbered.

Not to mention getting closer to the cliff again.

Wind frowned determinedly, and managed to stab the bokoblin that was bothering him through the middle, sending it to the dirt. As it exploded into dust, he ran towards Twilight, who was struggling to remove the bokoblin from his back while also keeping away the other monsters with his injured shoulder.

The rancher succeeded in kicking back a few that weren’t clinging to his neck, and Wind viciously swiped at them, sending multiple miniblins off the cliff with squealing cries. The other monsters made use of the distraction and a few of them split off, grabbing Twilight’s pelt with mischievous cackles.

Wind growled in frustration, unsure of whether to go after Twilight’s stuff or help Twilight himself, but then the rancher threw the bokoblin that was on his back off himself, and into the sea below.

Wind decided he was doing fine, and charged towards the miniblins, who squealed as they saw him approach. He cut down the one that had grabbed Twilight’s pelt, then ran after two others that had something gripped in their little claws.

As Wind swung at the miniblins, one of them wound it’s arm back and threw something into the air before Wind’s sword struck it, and Wind realized it was Twilight’s necklace.

It went flying right for the cliff, and Wind bolted, throwing himself forwards and just barely managing to snag the cord before it was lost forever in the ocean below. He let out a relieved phew, looking down at the waves. The immediate area had finally gone silent, and there wasn’t a monster in sight when Wind glanced back at Twilight to check.

He grinned to himself, and got to his knees. That was a close one, but both of them, and Twilight’s stuff, were safe.

And they’d won the battle!

Wind held the severed cord up to look at the strange little pendant, orange lines glowing in the faint sunshine.

It was a weird necklace, all spiky and glowing, and something about it felt... off. But Twilight always said he didn’t really like magic, so it must just be a cool rock or something.

Wind got to his feet, still admiring the strange necklace, then set it in his palm to take back to Twilight.

“Sailor no!”

The warning came mere seconds too late.

The moment the pendant touched Wind’s skin, a wave of intense pain shot through him, and he yelped in surprise as he fell back to the ground, black flecking in his vision.

Twilight shouted nearby and Wind tried to reply, but something in his very being seemed to twist, making a response impossible.

Magic flowed through him and around him, bones shifted inside of him, inside out and upside down as another cry was ripped from his throat that didn’t sound right at all and the world suddenly felt like it was falling away—

Darkness overcame him and he knew no more.

(...)

Wind came back to himself slowly.

Loud noises echoed around him, sharp but fuzzy at the same time, and his dizzied brain couldn’t really focus on them when he tried. Especially due to the deep ache that seemed to have settled in every single bone in his body, weighing him down.

Wind tried to raise his head, but the ache increased sharply, and he let it fall with a wince.

A groan escaped him, but the sound that came out of his mouth was not what he expected at all: a strange grumble that didn’t sound even remotely hylian, with a squeaky note to it.

That came from me?

Something cold settled into Wind’s stomach at the strange noise he’d made, and he struggled to open his eyes, blinking up at the concerned (and slightly panicked) face of Twilight.

But something about the rancher seemed... off.

Like, really off.

Twilight tried to give him a smile, but the edges were thin, and despite how strange his vision was (had he hit his head? That would explain why everything sounded weird too—) Wind could tell he was trying not to panic.

Which admittedly, rather made him want to panic, because Twilight never panicked and if he was panicking over what happened to Wind than it must be bad—

“Link, just stay calm, okay?” Twilight said, but despite his even tone of voice, Wind only felt his panic grow at the uncertainty of what had just happened. “You’re okay, I promise, just take it slow.”

Wind tried to sit up then, but his balance was all off and he fell right back down, breathing shakily as he tried desperately to keep calm.

“What’s going on Twilight? What happened to me?!” he cried, or at least tried to.

Instead of words though, all that came out of his mouth were a serious of panicked meows.

Wind slammed his mouth shut, so utterly shocked that it took him a moment to realize that his mouth didn’t feel right either. Sharp teeth pricked against the inside of his lips, and his tongue felt bumpy, sort of like the sensation of sand on bare feet.

The realization of what happened, as unbelievable as it was, suddenly slammed into Wind like a hurricane, and he stared down at the creamy-yellow paws that had once been his feet.

He was a cat.

Somehow he’d been turned into a cat!

Twilight might’ve been speaking again, but Wind was too busy trying to get a good look at himself, taking in his windswept fur and the whiskers he could feel on his face. He even had a tail, stuck right onto his rear end.

A breeze hit his face, brushing his fur and whiskers, and the feel of it was all wrong, so wrong, everything about himself just felt wrong wrong wrong—

Something touched his head, and Wind was so high-strung from shock and leftover panic that he jumped (though it was more of a stumble) backwards, a startled hiss coming from his mouth.

“Wind whoa, I’m not going to hurt you,” Twilight soothed, and Wind realized the rancher had been the one to touch him, probably trying to calm him down.

He swallowed, and managed to ease himself back down, feeling his ears flatten in embarrassment. He tried to give Twilight an apologetic look, and the rancher seemed to understand, giving him a small smile. The hand was carefully extended towards him again, and this time Wind let Twilight run a soothing hand through his fur.

If he closed his eyes and ignored how the rancher’s hand was currently bigger than his head, he could almost imagine Twilight was just giving his hair a fond ruffle.

“Sorry sailor, I shouldn’t have startled you,” Twilight said. “I’m... I’m so sorry this happened,” he said more quietly, looking frustrated at himself. “I should’ve warned you not to touch the pendant.”

Wind blinked at him, suddenly suspicious of why Twilight had a pendant that turned people into cats anyway. What use was that?! And he’d never even seen Twilight use it to turn into a cat before. Plus Twilight didn’t like magic, especially not dark magic.

What was going on here?

“I guess you deserve an explanation,” the rancher sighed, not following his train of thought. “This... it’s leftover magic from my journey. It was originally a curse, but with the help of the Master Sword I was able to use it for my own advantage. It... allows me to become the animal that aligns most closely with my spirit, which...”

Twilight paused, looking a little nervous.

“Which is, well... a wolf.”

Wind blinked, then the pieces of the puzzle clicked and his tail stood straight up in shock.

Twilight was Wolfie!

Wind yowled in equal surprise and excitement, startling himself a little at the sound that came out of his lungs, but it was mostly overcome by his excitement.

Twilight being Wolfie made so much sense, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it before— looking back it was so obvious and...

...and why hadn’t Twilight told them?

Twilight seemed to figure out the meaning of his yowling well enough, and scratched the back of his neck.

“Yeah, I’m... Wolfie. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I wasn’t sure how everyone would take it, this magic isn’t completely... light,” he said awkwardly.

Wind thought back to the agony that had stretched and shifted his bones only a little while ago, twisting him into a form that was very much not his own, and shivered a little. He could see how it wasn’t exactly light magic.

But despite how achy and weird Wind felt, he didn’t feel like the magic that was in him now was actively malicious. It had changed him, but it had only done that, and apart from the slight pulse of it he could feel in his one paw, it wasn’t doing anything more to him as far as he could tell.

Twilight obviously didn’t mean any harm by it, and used the magic a lot with no bad or evil side effects or anything.

Wind shrugged, as much as he could as a cat, then stood up with a wobble, carefully testing each paw before trying to walk with it. He shakily made his way over to Twilight, then bonked his head against his knee with a small mrrow.

He didn’t trust the magic that had changed him. But he did trust Twilight.

Twilight huffed out a laugh at the gesture, and nodded at him, looking relieved at his acceptance. Wind tried his best to smile back, and felt a little better overall.

Not great though. Just better.

“Okay, our next goal is to find out where the others are, and get the Master Sword from Sky so we can fix you,” Twilight said with a thoughtful frown. “It’s the only way to get you back; when this happened to Legend, not even any of his crazy items were enough.”

Wind shot Twilight a wide-eyed look, and the rancher chuckled a little.

“Yeah, this happened to our veteran. He’d been transformed into an animal before though, so he wasn’t quite as shocked. I never would have expected he’d be bright pink, though.”

That must be why his hair turned pink that one night! Wind realized with a swell of glee, then let out a small mrrow of amusement. He couldn’t imagine how terrible Legend must have been as a little pink cat! ...unless he’d been a wolf like Twilight?

He’d have to add that to his rapidly growing list of ‘things to ask once he got his regular mouth back.’

“Right, so let’s get going,” Twilight said, dusting off his pants. “The portal closed after I fell through, so the others must be elsewhere. Hopefully they came through and we can find Sky quickly, and we won’t have to explain Wolfie to everyone...”

The rancher trailed off, looking a little anxious, and Wind tilted his head, studying him.

So that was why Twilight hadn’t told anybody. He must be afraid of what they would think of him being the random wolf that appeared and helped them out sometimes, and using a dark magic crystal thing to transform into him.

But the others would understand... wouldn’t they?

Wind caught Twilight’s attention and meowed at him, trying to look encouraging. Twilight looked down at him and snorted, shaking his head.

“I have no clue what you just said sailor. But thanks.”

Wind twitched his whiskers in amusement, and watched as Twilight stood up, holding his arm and grimacing a little. The sailor frowned, and when Twilight looked at him he meowed pointedly, looking at the blood staining his tunic.

He could smell the metallic scent in the air, sharper then normal, and it sure looked like a lot of blood to him.

“I’m fine sailor, it’s just a scratch. And I don’t have any potions, so there’s nothing I can do,” Twilight shrugged, wiping blood off his sword before sheathing it. “I’ll clean it once we find the others. I’ll be okay ‘til then.”

Twilight wandered a little ways up the hill in order to retrieve his pelt and a few other items he’d dropped before Wind could try to argue further, and Wind let out a small huff, then teetered after him, trying to get used to his new legs.

It wasn’t easy. He felt as unsteady as when he’d been sailing for weeks on end and finally gotten back to land, his paws wobbly and uncooperative underneath him. He was not used to four legs to deal with, and was unable to help the growl that rose in his throat as he tripped, tail lashing in annoyance.

How could he be helpful when he could barely walk?

Twilight came back to his side then, fully geared up, and Wind made an extra effort not to appear affected by his cumbersome paws. Twilight’s sharp eyes noticed immediately though, and he kneeled down next to him, offering a hand.

“I think you should ride with me for the time being sailor,” he said gently, wincing as Wind tripped again. “Just so we’ll make quicker ground.”

Wind lashed his tail. He could walk plenty fast!

To prove his point, he took a confident step forward, making an extra effort not to trip. But he was so focused on his feet, he forgot to pay attention to the ground, and tripped on a pebble and fell flat on his face.

Twilight winced, then offered his hand again, which Wind looked at grumpily before stumbling over to it.

Twilight gently scooped him up and placed him up on his shoulder, and Wind dug his claws into his pelt, figuring out how to comfortably sit. He finally nestled into a good spot, and Twilight began to move, back up the hill and into the forest beyond.

Wind looked behind them and watched the sea disappear behind the trees, and sighed to himself as a bit of wind blew past his whiskers.

This day was not going the way he’d thought it would.

[discombobulatedderry]

Silent Burden To Bear

Hello, guys! This one-shot isn't really the common thing for me to write, but I just had to do it, the idea was irresistsible! This idea came from me after I asked my friend, "Does Sevika even know Jinx is dead?" She bawled. And that's where I got this wicked idea. With both of them residing in Piltover now. (I assume?) With Sevika being a councilor now and all. Here's a one-shot for that! It's really the only thing that came to mind.

The bar was a far cry from the rough, dimly lit dives of Zaun. Here, everything was polished wood and brass, the air tinged with expensive cigars and refined whiskey instead of sweat and rust. The lighting was warm but calculated, meant to flatter rather than conceal. The patrons were mostly well-dressed, murmuring in measured tones, their revelry muted compared to the rowdy chaos Sevika was used to.

She sat alone in the back, one arm slung over the booth’s edge, the other nursing a glass of liquor. The prosthetic at her shoulder hummed faintly, fingers tapping idly against the glass.

She had spent the last few months in relative silence, keeping her head down, avoiding the inevitable chaos that came from change. Silco was gone. Zaun had become something else—something softer, something she didn’t quite recognize anymore. And now, she had to play the waiting game, deciding if there was anything left worth fighting for.

That was when Vi walked in.

She wasn’t trying to be subtle. The redhead pushed past groups of well-dressed patrons, the contrast between her and them almost laughable. Boots scuffed against the polished floor, and more than a few glances were thrown her way—disapproving, wary. She ignored them, eyes set on her like she had come here for a reason. Sevika didn’t flinch when Vi finally reached her table, slamming a fist against it with enough force to rattle the empty glass beside her.

“She’s dead,” Vi said, straight to the point. No preamble, no hesitation.

Sevika’s grip on her glass stilled. A muscle in her jaw twitched, but she didn’t look up right away. The words settled, sinking into her chest like lead. She had known Jinx for years—even before Silco took her in, before she fully became what she was. Sevika had seen the girl’s slow descent, the way she clung to madness like it was armor.

And now, she was gone.

“How?” The question was flat, devoid of emotion.

Vi’s expression darkened, her eyes scanning Sevika’s face like she was searching for something—anything—that showed she cared. Sevika knew how this looked. She wasn’t the type to wear grief on her sleeve. That wasn’t who she was. But inside, something coiled tight, cold and unmoving.

“She fell,” Vi admitted, voice thick. “Trying to save me.”

Sevika exhaled slowly, rubbing her temple. “Idiot.”

Vi swallowed hard. “We were in it deep, and she—she didn’t hesitate. I tried to pull her back, but she…they both went down.”

Sevika clicked her tongue, finally looking at Vi. “So that’s how it ends. No big showdown, no fireworks. Just a stupid fall.” She scoffed, shaking her head. “Tch. Could’ve told you it’d end messy.”

Vi’s face twisted. “She didn’t have to.”

A bitter chuckle left Sevika’s throat. “That damned kid.” She shook her head, rolling her shoulders back stiffly, before gruffly saying, “Jinx was always gonna burn out fast. You just finally ran out of ways to pull her back.”

Vi’s fists clenched at her sides. “You don’t get to act like this doesn’t mean anything.”

Sevika tilted her head, expression unreadable. “You came here looking for what, exactly? Some kind of confession? A damn tear?” She scoffed, shaking her head. “Loss is loss, Vi. Doesn’t change a damn thing.” She tried to keep her voice steady, which miraculously worked out somehow.

Her voice was steady, but there was something behind it—something that trembled just beneath the surface. It wasn’t anger, but something quieter, more somber, the kind of grief that couldn’t be shouted, only carried in the silence. Sevika was no stranger to pain, but showing it, feeling it out loud, had never been her way. Yet, in that moment, the cracks in her armor were undeniable.

But feeling and showing were two different things.

Vi’s glare wavered, shoulders dropping slightly. She had come here expecting a fight, maybe some half-hearted condolences. But Sevika was as she had always been—a wall of steel, unyielding, refusing to let anyone see past the cracks.

“Did you care about her?” Vi finally asked, and this time, it wasn’t an accusation. Just a question.

Sevika exhaled, rubbing a hand down her face. Her face crumpled a bit before the action, which suggested that she did feel. Her eyes suddenly shone transparently before she coughed gruffly.  “More than she ever knew.”

She finished her drink in one slow, measured gulp. “Tell me where she is.”

Vi hesitated. “Why?”

Sevika met her eyes, her tone as blunt as ever. “Because if she’s gone, someone should at least say goodbye.”

And for once, Vi didn’t argue.

They sat there for a while, saying nothing. Just drinking. The silence stretched between them, not comfortable, but not unbearable either. The kind of silence only shared by those who knew the weight of loss.

Vi swirled the amber liquid in her glass, snorting. “Piltover bars are garbage. Too clean, too quiet. Feels like I should be signing some contract instead of getting drunk.”

Sevika let out a rough chuckle, shaking her head, wincing at the word. “Don’t talk to me about contracts now.” She took another sip, rolling the taste over her tongue before setting the glass down. “Obnoxious people, through and through. Bastards.”

Vi smirked, lifting her drink in mock salute, playful sarcasm rolling off in waves. “Woah, okay, Councilor.”

Sevika huffed, clinking her glass against Vi’s. “Like you can mock me when you have a Kiramman on your side.”

Vi only smirked knowingly, before chuckling and drinking up– as they talked.

Awkwardly at first, and yet…

For the first time that night, the tension lifted—just a little.

A/N:

Okay, this probably must've sucked, I just had to let it out. Sorry I couldn't prolong their conversation, was too drained to even try. Hope you enjoyed this one though. I don't have a consistent schedule, but I'll try every Fridays.

As always, stay cool.

[fangsandfracturedhearts]

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 27: Sin and Shadow

Summary: After embracing eternity as a vampire spawn under Astarion's wing, the Crimson Palace becomes a haunting symbol of the man he once was. As his personality unravels into a dark abyss, you flee. A year of hardship unveils the harsh reality of existence as a vampire spawn.

Just as all hope seems lost, a twist of fate reunites you with Astarion, revealing a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. As you navigate the complexities of your relationship, you must confront the unsettling truth behind the Rite of Profane Ascension and the devilish secrets it holds.

In a race against time, you embark on a daring quest to save Astarion from his descent into darkness. With each choice you make, the stakes grow higher, testing the limits of your courage and determination.

Will Astarion find redemption, or is he destined to succumb to his own inner turmoil?

Word Count: 6.8k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events. Mentions of Astarion's Trauma.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience]

Your laughter resounds through the rotten ruins, sharp and brittle. Astarion’s smug expression falters, taken aback by the sound. You can see his confusion in the way his brow furrows and his mouth pulls into a tight line, unsure of what to make of your reaction. It’s amusing how he expects fear or despair, but rather, you shower him with decisive derision.

“Of course, you would do something like this.” There’s a venomous lilt to your tone, a challenge that burns with each word. “It’s so predictable, really.”

You take a step closer, circling him with measured movements, like a prowling predator. It’s a risky game, but the rabid acrimony gives you strength. Astarion’s scarlet eyes track your every move, his stance rigid.

“Go on then,” you taunt in a deadly whisper. “Do it. Erase me. Free yourself. Take everything I am, everything I could ever be, and twist it into whatever sick fantasy you have. You’ve already taken everything else—my trust, my love, my life. It all belongs to you, doesn’t it? So why haven’t you done it?”

“You think I haven’t done it because I can’t? I could unravel you in a heartbeat if I wished. It’s just—” He sputters, searching for the right words. “It’s more... satisfying to let you cling to that desperate hope, to dangle the possibility of your freedom just out of reach.”

But the way he says it, the way his words tumble out with a rushed sharpness—it doesn’t add up. He’s grasping at straws, trying to convince himself as much as you, and you see it for what it is.

A lie. A thin, flimsy excuse swaddled in cruelty.

“Is that what you’re telling yourself? That it’s about satisfaction? That it’s about keeping me on the edge, trapped in your little game?” You shake your head, your eyes narrowing as you take a step closer. “No, I don’t think so. I think, despite all this—despite your cruelty, your desperate yearning for power—you loathe yourself. Because you know you could do it. You have the power to erase me completely, to make me nothing. But you can’t, can you?”

He flinches, the reaction so quick it’s nearly imperceptible, but you catch it. His expression hardens into a snarl, but the anger doesn’t mask the underlying turmoil in his eyes. “You know nothing about what I want!” he spits, but there’s no conviction behind it, no real strength.

You press on, each word a blade dipped in poison. “I know enough. You hate that you can’t bring yourself to do it. That somewhere, buried beneath all this darkness, is the man who would rather sever his own limb than harm me. That’s why you keep making excuses, why you haven’t turned me into the hollow, broken thing you threaten. Part of you, no matter how small, still cares.”

Astarion’s jaw clenches, his hands curling into fists at his sides, but he doesn’t strike. He stands there, trembling with rage—or perhaps something deeper, something he doesn’t want to face. His eyes flicker again, that scarlet brightening for a heartbeat, revealing a flash of something pained, something lost.

“Shut up. You think you understand me? You think you can pick me apart like some... some puzzle? You are nothing, and I—” He cuts himself off, biting back whatever admission threatens to spill out.

You take another step closer, your voice softening, but not with pity—no, it’s still a razor-sharp rebellion. “If I’m nothing, then why not finish it? Prove that I’m wrong, Astarion. Prove that you’re really as heartless as you claim to be.”

He stares at you, caught between outrage and confusion, and in that silence, you see it—the fissures, the war he’s waging with himself, the struggle that he so stubbornly refuses to pay any credence to. A war he’s losing, bit by bit.

Astarion’s face twists as he struggles for words, his lips curling back in a snarl. “You think I would hesitate for a moment if I thought you were truly a threat to me? You are my spawn! I own you!”

You laugh again, the sound caustic. “You keep telling yourself that you’re doing all of this to be strong, to be untouchable, but it’s a lie. You can’t even fool yourself, can you?”

He glares at you, stepping closer. “You think you can read me so well, do you? You think you can waltz in, make assumptions about what I am, what I want?”

“Why not?” You meet his eyes with a defiant fire of your own. “I’ve been by your side long enough to know when you’re lying—to yourself, and to me. If you truly wanted to erase me, to take everything that makes me me and twist it into your perfectly obedient puppet, you would have done it by now. But you haven’t. Why is that, Astarion?”

He bares his fangs at you, taking a deep, shuddering breath as he struggles to maintain his composure. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Maybe I just haven’t gotten around to it yet. Maybe I enjoy watching you suffer—knowing that I could take everything from you at any moment.”

You scoff, refusing to flinch under his intense gaze. “Oh, please. Drop the act. The truth is much simpler, isn’t it? You don’t want to admit that there’s still a part of you that cares, clinging to some shred of what we had.”

He steps back as if struck, his expression ripping little a disturbed pond. For a moment, he looks like he’s been laid bare, stripped of his defences. Then his face hardens again, but there’s wild desperation in his eyes. “You think I need you?” he growls with a ragged edge to his voice, a strain that betrays the struggle within him. “I do not need anyone. Least of all, you. You’re the one who can’t let go.”

“You’re right. I haven’t let go, and maybe that makes me a fool. But it’s because I see something in you worth saving, even if you’ve forgotten how to see it yourself.”

His breath catches, just barely, but you see it, a moment of hesitation. He turns away, his shoulders trembling. “You think you’re so godsdamned noble,” he murmurs, his voice barely more than a rasp. “But if you knew... if you understood what it means to hold this power, you would see why I won’t let go of it. Even for you.”

You take a step closer, closing the distance between you, your voice an urging whisper. “Then prove it, Astarion. Prove that you can let go. Or keep lying to yourself and let it consume you until there’s nothing left. But know this—I’m not afraid of you. Not anymore.”

He whirls back around, his face contorted with a mix of choler and something more fragile—anguish, maybe. “You should be,” he snarls, his voice breaking on the last word, as though the admission costs him something precious.

For a moment, you think he might strike you, compel you, or something far more insidious, but then he just stands there trembling, breathing hard.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” he says, his voice rough and unsteady, each word a struggle to get out. “To have everything you ever wanted, everything you thought would make you invincible, and realize it’s not enough. It’s never enough. There’s a hunger in me now—a darkness that won’t be sated. It’s... it’s eating me from the inside out, and it’s telling me that if I just hold on a little longer, if I just take a little more...”

He trails off, his voice breaking, and his shoulders slump. For a heartbeat, he looks like the man you remember—the man who used to smile, who used to hold you close, who whispered soft promises in the dark. The man who fought so hard to survive, who dreamed of freedom, who loved fiercely and deeply, even when he didn’t know how to show it.

But then the moment passes, and the cruel visage slips back into place, his expression hardening with renewed bitterness. He steps away from you, as if trying to rebuild the distance between you, to put up the walls that have kept you apart.

You follow his movement, refusing to let him retreat into his self-imposed isolation. “You think I don’t understand? I understand more than you realize,” you say firmly, even as your shrivelled heart aches. “I know what it’s like to feel that hunger, that darkness that whispers lies in your ear, telling you that you need more, that you’re nothing without it. But you’re wrong, Astarion. You are something without it. You always have been.”

He glares at you, his eyes flashing with fury, but there’s a wetness in his gaze that he can’t quite hide. “That’s rich coming from you. My favourite little toy who still clings to your precious hope, who thinks there’s some happy ending waiting for us if we just try hard enough? You’re deluded.”

“Maybe I am,” you admit, a bitter smile tugging at your lips. “But at least I still feel something. At least I’m still fighting for something more than power. And you hate that, don’t you? You hate that I still care, that I still believe in you, because it means you have to face the part of yourself that you’ve buried so deep you’re scared to dig it back up.”

He lets out a strangled, humourless laugh, raking a hand through his hair. “Gods, you’re insufferable,” he mutters, but the words lack the venom they held before. He looks askance, as if he can’t bear to meet your glare. “You always did know how to get under my skin.”

“And I always will, because I know you, Astarion. I know the man beneath all of this,” you gesture toward him, “and I refuse to give up on him. Even if you already have.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, as if he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing, as if the possibility of redemption is something he’s forgotten how to hope for.

“You think it’s that simple?” He says, his intonation harsh but fraying at the edges.

You shake your head, sadness twisting in your chest. “No. I know it’s not simple. But I also know that the man I love is worth fighting for, even if he’s forgotten how to fight for himself.”

Astarion’s expression twists, anger and longing blending into a storm. For a moment, you think he might lash out again, that the fight is still burning too hot inside him to let anything else through. But then, with a rough, unsteady breath, he steps closer, closing the space between you with a suddenness that steals the air from your lungs.

He seizes you by the shoulders, his grip firm, fingers digging into your skin just enough to blur the line between a caress and something that might bruise. His breath ghosts over your lips, his proximity heady and dangerous. Astarion’s eyes are still sharp, still filled with the darkness that’s taken root in him, but there’s something else there now too—a hunger, raw and unfiltered, that pulses through him like a beating heart.

He dips his head closer, his mouth less than a breath away from yours. “You think your love is enough to bring me back from this?” he whispers harshly, his voice trembling with unrestrained intensity.

His mouth crashes against yours before you can respond—a kiss that’s all teeth and desperation. It’s wild—nigh on punishing. His hands slide down your back, pulling you flush against him, as if he can fuse your bodies together and somehow make himself whole again through the sheer force of contact.

You gasp into the kiss, but you don’t pull away. Instead, you match his intensity, meeting every bite and graze of his lips with your own fierce resolve. There’s pain in it, yes, but there’s also a heat that ignites your blood, a need that burns just as bright as his. Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer even as his hands roam over you with a possessiveness that borders on frantic.

Astarion’s breath comes in ragged gasps as he tears himself away from your lips, his mouth skimming down the curve of your jaw, leaving bruising kisses along the line of your neck. He nips at the delicate skin there, the sharp edge of his fangs a perilous promise, but he doesn’t sink them in, and he groans against your skin.

His voice is rough, barely more than a growl. “You think this is what I want? To let myself be vulnerable, to let you get close enough to tear me apart again?”

“You want to be seen,” you reply, your voice steady. “You want someone to know the real you, the one buried beneath all that power and pain. And I see you, Astarion. All of you.”

Astarion’s grip tightens on your waist, and for a moment, you think he might break again, retreat behind the walls he’s so carefully constructed.

“I hate you for that,” he mutters, but the words sound broken, almost pleading, as if he’s confessing a truth he can’t bear to face. He cups the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair with a gentleness that belies the desperation in his touch. “You make me feel... gods, I can’t stand how much you make me feel.”

The admission sends a shiver through you, a flash of hope and desire mingling in your chest. You lean into his touch, your own hands softening their grip, sliding down to rest over the frantic thud of his heartbeat. “Then let yourself feel it,” you murmur against his lips. “Let yourself feel me.”

Astarion's breath hitches, and for a moment, he holds you so tightly it’s as though he’s afraid you might dissolve into nothing. He kisses you again, fiercer this time, but there's a thread of something else woven into it—a hint of surrender, of a desperation that has nothing to do with dominance and everything to do with the way he clings to you.

It’s messy, it’s frantic, and it’s far from gentle, but there’s a need there that neither of you can deny—a mutual hunger that pulls you closer even as it threatens to tear you apart.

Astarion’s fingers are rough as they tug at the clasps and fastenings of your clothes, the fabric falling away beneath his touch with haste. There’s a rawness to his movements, a barely restrained violence that makes your breath catch as you let him strip away the layers between you, both literal and otherwise.

You don’t bother being gentle either as you yank at the hem of his torn shirt, fingers skimming over the bloodied skin underneath. He snarls against your mouth, a low, dangerous sound. He catches your wrist, twisting it behind you as he pushes you against the cold stone, the roughness of it scraping against your bare skin.

His breath comes out in harsh gasps as he presses against you, pinning you with his hips, his need for you hot and hard straining against the fabric of his trousers. “You think you can save him?” he whispers, his voice ragged and raw. “You think this means anything more than a distraction?”

You bite back a sharp retort, tilting your head to meet his lustily hooded eyes. You can see the anger there, the frustration, but also something else—something like a plea. It’s ridiculous, this twisted game you play, this dance between hatred and desire.

You roll your hips and press your body closer to his, relishing the way he shudders against you. “Maybe I just want to forget for a little while. Maybe you do too.”

Astarion’s grip tightens on your wrist, his breath hot against your neck as he bites down, not hard enough to break the skin but enough to send a jolt of pleasurable pain through you. He trails his lips down your throat, sharp teeth grazing your skin, and you shudder at the sensation, a gasp slipping past your lips despite yourself. His hands move over you with a kind of frantic need, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

It’s a messy, brutal dance, each of you trying to gain the upper hand even as you both know there’s no real victory to be had here. You twist out of his grip and catch his shirt, yanking it open with enough force to send buttons scattering across the dusty floor. He laughs, a dark, bitter sound that rumbles through his chest as he allows you to push him back against the wall, his hands tangling in your hair as he pulls you in for another kiss.

For a moment, it’s almost tender, the way he cradles the back of your head, the way his lips brush yours with something like reverence. But then his nails dig into your scalp, and you return the favour, biting down on his bottom lip, hard. He growls low in his throat, a sound that sends a thrill down your spine.

And yet, beneath the frantic hunger, you can feel the tension simmering between you, the sense that this is more than just bodies colliding. It’s the only way either of you knows how to touch each other, through fire and force, through pain that twists into pleasure until you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

Astarion’s hands skim down your sides. Your clothes have been discarded completely now, like so much meaningless debris, and his hands map every inch of you, tracing old scars and new bruises, as if trying to memorize you in this moment.

You let yourself lean into it, let yourself give in to the heat that flares between you, if only because it’s better than the haunting loneliness. His mouth crashes against yours again, rough and demanding, and you respond with equal fervour, your hands roaming over the hard planes of his chest, digging your nails into his skin.

Astarion’s touch is electric, each brush of his fingers sending jolts of sensation through you that blur the lines between pleasure and pain. He’s always known exactly how to wield desire like a weapon, but this time, you refuse to let yourself be shattered by it. You grip his shoulders, tearing off his shirt and throwing it off to the side.

It’s impossible to ignore how your body responds to him—how the ache that’s settled deep in your bones is temporarily numbed by his closeness. For a moment, you let yourself forget the lies and the betrayals, the shadow of your true husband trapped somewhere behind the darkness in his eyes.

A part of you knows that this is wrong—that you are grasping at a ghost. It feels like betrayal, a twisted mockery of the love you once shared, but you can’t stop yourself from leaning into it, from taking the solace his body offers, no matter how fleeting it might be. 

His gaze is filled with a dark satisfaction. His fingers press harder, his grip possessive, as if he can hold onto your body even as he keeps you at arm’s length in every other way. It’s raw and violent, more a clash of wills than anything else, and you’re both losing.

He pivots, pushing you harder against the crumbling wall, the stone biting into your back, and you let him, drinking in the way his breath hitches, the way his hands shake against your skin with rage or lust or something else entirely. You do not care at this point.

I should stop this, pull away, and refuse to let him turn this into just another power struggle. But you don’t. You cling to him as if he is the last solid thing in a world that’s falling apart because if you let him go, you’re afraid there will be nothing left of the man you love.

So you let yourself burn, knowing that you’re playing with fire. And even if it leaves you scalded and scarred, even if it’s a mistake, for this moment, you’ll take the heat over the cold emptiness that waits beyond.

Astarion's fingers intertwine with yours as he pins your hands above your head. His body presses flush against yours. His hips roll in a tantalizing rhythm. The friction sends sparks of pleasure coursing through you. Your hips jerk involuntarily, desperate for more contact, more of him.

"Tell me you want this," he barks.

"I want this," you breathe, your voice husky with need. "All of you."

A wicked grin spreads across Astarion's face, his crimson eyes blazing with unholy hunger. "Then allow me to indulge you, my treasure."

Astarion's lips lavish attention to your neck, your collarbone, proceeding lower. He takes one of your nipples into his mouth, suckling and teasing until you're gasping his name. Astarion chuckles, clearly relishing the effect he has on you. His fingers slide between your thighs, finding you already slick with arousal.

Astarion groans appreciatively as he strokes your sensitive flesh, his skilled touch sending waves of pleasure through your body. "So wet for me already," he murmurs against your skin.

He works your clit, circling and sweeping in the practice, precise pace that left you addicted to him in the first place. He builds your pleasure higher and higher, increasing the pressure, his touch more insistent as your shuddering moans fill the space. He slips two long fingers inside you, curling them to hit that perfect spot. You cry out, clutching at his shoulders as he works you expertly. His thumb continues to tease your clit as his fingers thrust in and out at an ever-increasing pace.

"That's it, darling," Astarion croons. "Let me hear those beautiful sounds."

Your climax builds rapidly under his ministrations. Just as you're about to tumble over the edge, he withdraws. You cannot stifle the whimper resounding at the back of your throat at the loss.

”Eager little thing, aren’t you?“ he tuts, nipping at your lower lip. "Patience, my dear. I intend to savour every... last... drop.”

Breathing heavily, he lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. He slams you into the wall, hard enough to make your vision splinter, as if to remind you who your creator is, who you belong to, and bucks his hips into you with a growl, his cock straining against his trousers. “Fuck,” he hisses through clenched teeth.

Astarion eases you down to the floor with feline grace, and slides down your body, leaving a trail of burning kisses in his wake. His breath ghosts over your flesh, making you tremor with anticipation.

When his mouth finally reaches your aching center, you cry out, overwhelmed by the velvety sensation. He licks a long, slow stripe up your folds, making you gasp. Your fingers tangle in his hair as he sucks gently on your clit. The dual stimulation of his tongue and the slight graze of fangs against your sensitive flesh leave you trembling. Astarion grips your hips, holding you steady as he devours you with single-minded focus.

Astarion's ministrations intensify. His fingers curl inside you, stroking that perfect spot with relentless precision. He applies steady pressure, matching the rhythm of his tongue, and you feel yourself climbing higher and higher towards your peak.

With his free hand, he grips your thigh, holding you open and exposed to his ravenous appetite. His tongue dances in intricate patterns, alternating between broad strokes and precise flicks that leave you gasping, creating a delicious tension that coils tighter with each passing moment. Your thighs begin to tremble, and Astarion responds by tightening his grip, holding you firmly in place as he redoubles his efforts.

Your fingers tangle tighter in his hair as he works you relentlessly with lips and tongue. Astarion's skilled ministrations build the pressure inside you to a fever pitch. Just when you think you can't take any more, he sucks hard on your swollen bud. Pure, raw ecstasy floods your body, and you cry out his name as a swell of bliss crashes into you.

But Astarion doesn't relent. He laps up your release greedily, prolonging your climax until you're trembling and oversensitive. Only then does he raise his head, lips, and chin, glistening. His crimson eyes burn with hunger as he crawls up your body.

"Delicious," he purrs, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. You taste yourself on his tongue as he ravishes your mouth.

The kiss deepens, his fingers desperately working at the buttons of his trousers, and freeing his cock. The kiss grows more urgent as Astarion positions himself between your thighs, muscles rippling under his skin. You feel him pressing against your entrance, teasing you, hot and insistent. He breaks the kiss to gaze into your eyes, a wicked smirk playing on his lips. Slowly, torturously, he rubs the head of his cock along your slick folds.

With a low growl, he sheaths himself inside you in one powerful thrust. You cry out at the exquisite stretch. Astarion sets a relentless pace, his hips snapping against yours with vampiric strength and speed. Each thrust sends soul-crushing pleasure spiderwebbing through your body, making you pant and whine. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him even deeper into you. The feel of him dragging against your walls is almost overwhelming, filling you completely, and every nerve in your body hums.

Astarion's mouth moves from your lips down to your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. You arch into him, your hands running over his back as he marks you with his bites.

He moves one hand to cup your breast, squeezing and teasing the hardened nipple between his fingers. The other hand trails down between your bodies, finding that sweet spot between your thighs once again. His fingers dance over it expertly, adding to the pleasure building inside you. You can feel yourself getting closer to another release, but Astarion seems determined to draw it out.

He pulls back slightly, changing the angle of his thrusts and hitting a spot inside you that makes your vision blur. He smirks down at you before picking up his pace even more. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the room as Astarion drives into you with a fierce hunger.

“Come for me, pet,” he barks, raspy and breathless.

His words send you over the edge, your body convulsing in ecstasy, pleasure crashing over you with an intensity that narrows your world down to only him. Your body arcs against Astarion as unadulterated ecstasy ripples through you, each one more powerful than the last. You cry out his name, clinging to him desperately as your inner walls clench around him.

Astarion growls, a primal sound of satisfaction as he feels your release. He doesn't slow his pace, plunging into you relentlessly as he chases his own climax. His lips find yours, swallowing your moans as the overstimulation borders on painful rapture.

"You're mine," he snarls, but his words carry less bite than usual, said more as if he's trying to convince himself.

"Yes," you sigh.

"You're going to take all of me, aren't you?" He growls in your ear. "My very good girl."

You moan in response, unable to form any coherent words as pleasure consumes you once again. As if sensing this change in you, Astarion starts moving faster and harder than before. His fingers dig into your hips as he sets a brutal pace, his own need driving him to push you to your limits until your body convulses once again.

You feel the shift in him, the way his muscles tense and his thrusts become erratic. With a final thrust, he buries himself deep inside you and lets out a guttural groan. You feel his release, his cock pulsing and spilling his seed into you, hot and intense. As the pleasure begins to ebb, Astarion's movements slow to a gentle rocking. He peppers your neck and collarbone with feather-light kisses, a stark contrast to the fierce passion of moments before. His body covers yours completely, pinning you beneath him. You can feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest against yours as he catches his breath.

For a few minutes, you’re granted a blissful reprieve of thought. Astarion pulls out slowly, and the sensation makes your whimper because you once again feel so very empty. He rolls onto his back on the floor, his cock still glistening with the evidence of your betrayal.

In a movement you don’t quite perceive, he gathers you up, and places you atop his chest. His skin cools within moments, reminding you of a time long ago, and cutting through the searing heat of Avernus like a winter breeze. Your eyes begin to drift shut, but you force them open when Astarion shifts, bending his arm, and slipping his hand behind his head. He opens one eye lazily to glance at you.

“Rest,” he murmurs, his voice husky with the aftermath of your passion.

You shake your head slightly, stubbornness still flaring despite the exhaustion that tugs at your bones. “I can’t... if anything sneaks up on us.”

He cuts you off with a sharp, exasperated huff. “For once in your life, will you stop being so bloody insufferable? Rest. Nothing’s going to sneak up on us, not with me here.” The words are edged, but there’s a faint echo of something less venomous, less cruel.

His eyes slide shut, and eventually, you feel the pull of your trance calling to you. Just a few minutes. Just enough to regain some strength. You let yourself slip into that familiar meditative state, your breathing evening out, your mind beginning to drift.

But just before you fall completely into the quiet embrace, a sharp realization hits you like a dagger to the chest. This didn’t bring him back. The Astarion you love, your husband—the one who has always softened under your touch, who has always let you anchor him—remains locked away. This time, the intimacy didn’t break through. It didn’t bring him home.

A cold dread curls through your gut as your mind slips deeper into the trance, a single, terrible question echoing in the recesses of your thoughts: What if he’s truly lost to you now?

You rise slowly, pushing back the soreness in your muscles as you reach for your scattered clothes. The air is stifling, thick with the mingled scents of sweat, blood and the charred remnants of this crumbling ruin that serves as your shelter. Astarion’s presence looms behind you, a shadow that refuses to recede.

He leans casually against the fractured wall, arms crossed, watching you with unsettling glee. “You know, darling, I could still taste you on my tongue when I woke up,” he mocks. “You were... surprisingly sweet for someone who likes to play so very hard to get.”

You stiffen, but refuse to give him the satisfaction of turning around. You keep your hands steady, forcing yourself to finish each button as if his words don’t touch you.

“And do not try to tell me you didn’t enjoy it,” he continues, his tone slipping into a near purr. He steps closer until you can feel the whisper of his breath against the back of your neck. “I could taste your enjoyment on your lips, in your cries.” He leans in even closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks. “Tell me, did you enjoy it as much as I did?”

“You’re delusional if you think I’m going to stroke your ego about this,” you snap.

He chuckles, a sound that reverberates through you. “Oh, come now. No need to lie to yourself. We both know there was something deliciously twisted about it, wasn’t there? The way you writhed under me, the way our bodies fit together.” His fingers trail along your shoulder, down the line of your spine, light but maddeningly possessive. “I wonder... how long will it take before you crave it again? Before you beg me to make you feel like that again?”

You jerk away from his touch, turning to face him with a glare that’s meant to cut through his bravado, but all he does is tilt his head, a wicked glint in his eyes. He’s studying you, drinking in your reactions like the desert drinks a mirage, savouring every hint of anger, every sign of defiance.

“You’re trying too hard, Astarion,” you bite out, hating the way your voice sounds—hoarse, shaken.

His smirk softens at the edges, but it doesn’t lose its sharpness. He reaches out, tracing a knuckle along your jaw, his touch deceptively gentle. “I think you’re afraid... afraid that you enjoyed it too much. Afraid that you might find yourself wanting me again, even knowing that I am not him.”

You step closer, closing the distance between you until you’re nearly nose to nose, and you let a small, defiant smile curl at your lips. “Enjoy this while you can, Ascendant,” you whisper, your voice like a blade. “Because this power trip of yours won’t last forever.”

He laughs softly, but it’s a brittle sound, like the crackle of a fire on the verge of dying. “Maybe it won’t,” he concedes, his expression darkening. “But I think we both know that you and I? We’re far from done.”

You hold his gaze a moment longer before turning away, grabbing what’s left of your belongings, and walking out into the harsh light of Avernus. Astarion’s silhouette leads the way across the blistered ground. He moves with the confidence of someone who expects to be obeyed, and you follow, your mind restless even as you try to keep your senses sharp, wary of any lurking dangers. It’s not easy—your attention keeps snagging on the memory of the man he used to be, the one you long to bring back from the recesses of his fractured soul.

But that man is not the one in front of you now. This version of Astarion walks as if he owns the Hells themselves, his chin lifted, crimson eyes sweeping the broken landscape with a predator’s calm. He glances back at you occasionally, his gaze cool and assessing, as though measuring how far he can push before you break.

“You’re awfully quiet, darling,” he remarks, his voice carrying over the infernal wind, mocking and sharp. “What’s on your mind? Plotting another romantic gesture, perhaps? Or are you already planning your next betrayal?”

“Some of us prefer to focus on survival rather than listening to our own voices,” you reply, tone as dry as the scorched earth beneath your feet.

He chuckles, a low, indulgent sound. “Yes, yes. Survival. But you’re not exactly thriving, are you? No sun to warm your skin, no prey to hunt, no adoring husband to cling to. I imagine it’s rather dismal, even for you.”

Despite the barbs, you can’t help but notice that he’s talking more. The silence that used to stretch between you has given way to a stream of biting commentary. It’s a small thing, but you cling to it, wondering if it means that some part of him is still trying to reach out.

The path leads you towards the river Styx, its crimson waters churning sluggishly, a scarlet serpent winding its way through the hellish terrain. You duck beneath a twisted tree, its gnarled branches clawing at the sky, just as a fireball streaks overhead, sizzling as it hits the river’s surface.

Your mind wanders. Time hasn’t brought your Astarion back. Blood nor intimacy have, either. You’ve tried every approach you can think of, every small act that might stir a glimmer. But there is one option left, a last-ditch effort that could either save him or doom you both—the psychic bond that ties you to your husband, the thread that you’ve kept hidden, shut tight like a vault.

It’s your last secret, and one that you’ve guarded fiercely. What will happen if it fails? If you open yourself to him, let him see everything you’ve kept hidden—your desperation, your love, your belief that there’s still something left to save—and he remains unchanged, you’ll have nothing left. No hope. No leverage. Just a door flung open to darkness.

“Careful,” he croons, gesturing toward the crimson river that slithers alongside your path, its surface rippling like molten blood. “You know, the Styx has quite the reputation. One touch of its lovely ichor, and you might find yourself... forgetful. Sometimes it’s temporary, a few memories lost like leaves on the wind. Other times... well, let’s just say it can wipe a mind clean, leave you a blank slate.”

“I must admit, the thought is rather entertaining. Just imagine—me, throwing you into those waters, watching as every piece of who you are slips away, until there’s nothing left but a frightened, lost little girl.”

He leans closer, the mockery clear in every syllable. “You would have to rely on me for everything. I could be anything I wanted to you—a hero, a protector, the only one you could trust. You would hang on my every word, wouldn’t you? And would never know just how much danger you’re truly in.”

You keep your expression neutral, refusing to let the threat find purchase in your mind. It’s true, the Styx’s waters are a danger—one that could very easily strip away everything you’ve fought to hold on to. But Astarion’s taunts ring hollow, a game to try and get under your skin. You know, deep down, that if he truly wanted to reduce you to nothing, he wouldn’t need the river to do it.

You tilt your head, letting a faint smirk tug at your lips. “Oh, how thoughtful of you, but perhaps you should consider going for a swim yourself. After all, isn’t forgetting me your deepest, darkest desire? Didn’t the hag say as much?”

The change in him is slight—an almost imperceptible pause, the faintest twitch of irritation behind his eyes—but it’s enough. For a heartbeat, the mask slips, just a crack, and you seize the opportunity to press further.

“Why, Astarion, you almost seem bothered by the idea. Is it because it’s true? Is that what you really want?” You prod, your voice taking on a mocking lilt.

“You think you’re so clever,” he says, his timbre low and dangerous. “I needn't explain myself to you.”

“You’re so quick to dismiss it all, aren’t you?” you press. “So eager to pretend that none of this matters. But you’re lying—to me, to yourself. Maybe if you drown out the truth with enough threats, you’ll start to believe it.”

The shift is instantaneous. His eyes flash with a wild light, and before you can draw your next breath, he’s on you, one hand clamping around your throat. He moves faster than you can process, lifting you off your feet as if you weigh nothing at all.

Your nails scrabble against his wrist, but he doesn’t even flinch, his grip iron and unyielding. He holds you there, suspended in the air above the roiling edge of the Styx, the river’s crimson waters churning just inches below your dangling feet.

His laughter rings out—maniacal, jagged. “You think you can provoke me, that your little words matter?” he sneers, his lips pulling back to reveal a gleaming edge of fangs. “Look at you, dangling here like a broken doll. So fragile. So pathetic.”

He loosens his grip a fraction, just enough for you to suck in a ragged breath, and for a moment, your body drops, slipping toward the writhing red of the river below. Panic claws at you as you feel the heat of the Styx’s surface, the promise of obliteration in its depths. But just before your feet touch the water, his fingers tighten again, hauling you back from the brink with effortless strength. He holds you there, hovering over the edge of oblivion, letting you feel the danger, the power he wields over you.

“Go on then,” you manage to rasp out, voice hoarse with the strain of his grip on your windpipe. “Do it. Drop me. Erase me. Kill me. Just fucking do something.”

It’s a gamble—one that might cost you everything. But you can’t stand the game, the way he toys with you like a cat with a wounded bird, drawing out the agony with every mocking word.

“You think I won’t do it?” He hisses, and for a moment, you feel the tension in his grip shift, as if he’s testing your weight, deciding whether to let you fall. “You really are a fool. You’re so eager for death, aren’t you?”

“You don’t have the spine for it, do you?” you hiss out, fighting to keep your voice steady even as his fingers tighten and loosen again.

His grip slackens further, his expression shifting, something cold and vicious overtaking that momentary uncertainty. You feel the weightlessness beneath your feet, the rush of air as his grip slips—

And you realize, with a jolt of terror, that this time, he might truly mean it.

Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things.

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

Small Notes: - Did she push him too far? - I cannot tell if I feel like this is a betrayal. It's still technically him... right?

[lulublack90]

Prompt 13 - Ski

@jegulus-microfic April 13, Word count 996

James could not Ski. He’d tried for years. His parents took him every year, but he just didn’t have the balance for it. Even now, at 25, he stayed on the easiest slopes. He watched 8-year-olds surpass him. But even though he was hopeless, he absolutely loved it. The mountains were so beautiful, the air crisp and cold, and the evening wood fires with fresh hot chocolate were to die for. 

One morning, he took the chair lift to the top with his parents, fully intending to take it back down again once he’d taken in the view. But of course. James accident-prone Potter, did not go back down the way he meant to. 

James began to slide backwards without noticing. It was only when, with a puzzled look on his face, he wondered why the trees he was looking at were getting shorter. Did he begin to panic. 

His eyes went wide with horror as he hurtled backwards down the slope. Somehow, he doesn’t quite know how he managed to turn around, so he was at least facing the right way. He started yelling. He’d definitely been happier facing the other way. 

He tried to bring up every lesson he’d ever learnt about Skiing. He managed to slow himself enough to control his descent. That was until the skier clad in a skin-tight black and white snowsuit caught his attention. 

It was as though his skis were attracted to the skier. They turned towards him, and James lost all control. 

“LOOK OUT!!!!” He screamed. The man turned in time to watch James smack into him. They crashed to the ground in a tangle of skis, poles and limbs. 

“What the hell are you playing at?” The other man shouted at him, his cheeks red with anger. James looked at him sheepishly. 

“I’m sorry. I lost control of my skis and couldn’t stop.”

“If you can’t control yourself, you shouldn’t be on this slope. You should be down with the children.” The man sneered at him. James nodded profusely. 

“Yes. Yes, that’s where I normally am, but I accidentally came down this one.” 

“How on earth did you manage that?” The man asked interestedly.

“I came up with my parents and meant to take the lift back down. But, while I was looking at the view. I kind of started sliding backwards, and by the time I realised it was too late.” He flushed with embarrassment. 

“How did you not realise you were moving?” 

“The view was pretty.” He shrugged. The man laughed at him. He tried to stand and hissed when he put weight on his ankle. 

“Damn it.” He tried again and quickly stopped. “Ouch.” He whined. James stood up and was thankfully unharmed. He looked around. They were nearly at the bottom. He could see the bar from here. 

He set his skis in front of him and bent to gather the man’s skis and both sets of poles. 

“Here, hold these.” He told the man as he slipped his hand under him and scooped him into his arms. 

“Ahhhh! What are you doing?” The man panicked. 

“I’m going to get you back down so you can see a doctor.” He didn’t wait for the man to argue. He stood into his skis and set off. Maybe it was the determination to get this man off the slopes, or maybe something had finally clicked, but James skied down the rest of the mountain like a pro. 

He stopped at the bottom, released his feet from his skis and carried the man into the hotel. 

“Hey, can someone get a doctor here? He’s hurt his ankle.” James deposited him on the lobby sofa as gently as possible. “I really am sorry.” He apologised again. “Can I get you anything?” The man shook his head. James hovered awkwardly next to the sofa. 

“Oh, for crying out loud, just sit down.” The man snapped. James flung himself on the sofa in panic. “Ouch! Watch the ankle!” 

“Sorry! Sorry!” James’s hands fluttered uselessly over his ankle. 

“I’m Regulus since you asked,” Regulus told him. 

“Oh-er. James, James Potter.” James held out his hand. 

“It was a pleasure to be almost crushed by you, James.” He smirked, a wicked glint in his eyes. 

“I really am sorry.” James dropped his head, staring at his boots. 

“Did someone ask for a doctor?” A tall, lanky man asked them.

“Yes, Regulus here had an accident while we were skiing,” James told the doctor. 

 My name’s Dr Lupin. I’m going to examine you. Is there anywhere that hurts?”

“Excuse me, I was hit by a clumsy yeti.” Regulus snickered back, ignoring Dr Lupin. 

“Did you hit your head?” The doctor asked worriedly, his hands gently probing across Regulus’s head. Regulus swatted him away. 

“No, the yeti was him,” He pointed at James. Dr Lupin looked between them, confused. 

“Regulus, can you tell me where you’re hurt?” He asked again patiently.

“My ankle,” He pointed at his left foot. Dr Lupin carefully prodded and rotated the joint. 

“Hmm, I don’t think it’s broken. Badly sprained. Keep off it for at least a week and wear this…” Dr Lupin dug out a tubular bandage and handed it to James. 

“Make sure you’re boyfriend takes it easy. Hot chocolate works wonders.” He smiled kindly. 

“Oh-no-he’s not my-we’re not!” James spluttered.

“Hear that, dear? Waited on hand and foot.” Regulus said as he held back his laughter. Dr Lupin looked between them again, realising he was missing something. 

“Well. Here’s my card in case the pain gets any worse.” He handed over the little card and excused himself. James watched the doctor pause when the man who looked eerily like Regulus caught his eye when he was about to walk out the door. 

“So hot chocolate then, love?” He snickered at Regulus, winking and taking great pleasure at the pink colour his cheeks turned. James was going to enjoy this week. He just knew it. 

Next part