#so this skin tag………………… is like my mortal enemy………

[what-the-fuck-khr]

realised after finishing this post it’s kind of tmi and gross sorry so warning for that but

one day I’m going to make a grave mistake and I will have to deal with the consequences but basically I lack a lot of impulse control in terms of picking at shit on my body. body hair? I’ll grab it and rip it out if it’s slightly too annoying. always picking at scabs, and make them bc I pop pimples and never leave shit alone. when I sunburn I immediately peel the skin no matter what. I’ve peeled thick as shit dead skin off my foot and hit not dead skin before and it hurt like a bitch. always scratching skin patches and crap until my skin is red. it’s always smth. sometimes when shaving I’ll see this really thin piece of skin that dangles and I’ll just grab it and yoink even if it ends up bleeding. I know it’ll bleed.

anyways I have a very obvious, pronounced skin tag on my neck. I often grab it and pull it and often think “man what would happen if I ripped this off or smth” and I know one day. One Fucking Day. I’m going to make a grave, grave mistake while doing shit. fuck around and find out kind of shit. not looking forward to that day I must be honest. but one day. I know.

[spacebarbarianweird]

Little Bundle of Darkness

Synopsis: Astarion becomes a father.

Tags: fluff, comfort, dadstarion, dhampirs, pregnancy

Alethaine's age: newborn

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Thanks @lobster-risotto for beta-reading!

Astarion wants to leave the house, just to distract himself a bit. Just to take a break.

A cry of pain pierces the air. 

The vampire starts moving objects in the room mindlessly. He hates dissociating but at this moment he misses this feeling of not being present in the moment.

It's been years since he felt so useless, so doomed. And so scared.

Another cry, louder than the previous one, and Astarion clenches his fists as if being ready to attack an invisible enemy. 

He and Tiriel have been through a lot. He has seen her in blood and pain many times - his fierce warrior-wife who wields a two-handed axe with the same elegance he uses daggers is unstoppable and unbreakable.

But this… this is different. 

"I - I can't!", he hears Tiriel. "It hurts!"

Whatever she wants to say next, drowns in yet another cry.

Astarion casts a glance outside. The sun is still shining so he is locked inside the house. Helpless and useless while Tiriel is suffering in agonizing pain only with a midwife to be by her side.

...He had no idea it was possible. He is an undead. Undead men don't impregnate mortal women. Besides, it had been twenty years since they met. If it had been possible to conceive a child, it would have happened a long time ago.

But – 

One day her blood just tasted different. And Tiriel was so tired she couldn’t lift her weapon on their back home from the wilderness. She was claiming everything was all right and he had to drag her to the town’s healer.

She came back much sooner than he expected, and he immediately sensed something was utterly wrong. Tiriel sat in front of him in the chair, eyes firmly fixed on her hands.

"My sweet, what did he say?" Astarion asked. By this moment he started feeling a wave of his own panic. Tiriel is mortal. She is a warrior, yes, but she isn’t immune to curses and, after all, death. And besides he had never seen her like that.

"Astarion, tell me one thing. Have you heard about children born from vampires?"

"Yes, I have. Dhampirs. It’s like being a vampire without downsides,"he got so carried away that he basically gave a lecture to Tiriel, and then stumbled. "Why do you ask?"

And then she put her hand on her belly.

“He told me I am pregnant.”

… The next months were intense. Sometimes everything was good. They could even sit and talk about the future – sure, the child was going to be an elf with just a bit of human ancestry on Tiriel’s side. 

But more often than that they both were scared. Tiriel had insane mood swings and she would burst into tears after some innocent mockery from him. He had nightmares and panic attacks. Everything he thought had gone for good returned the instant he’d learned about pregnancy. 

And Tiriel… Well, the thing is women die at childbirth even if the child is mortal. Even if before the woman has challenged the gods.

Cries from upstairs are unbearable to hear. Astarion wants to be there with Tiriel and, at the same time, he wants to be miles away. And it’s all his fault. 

If she dies, it will be his fault.

Fuck it.

Astarion goes up and with a bit of hesitation pushes the door. The smell of familiar blood makes his head spin.

“Go away, idiot! I told you not to come here!” the midwife curses. “There is too much blood!”

“No, please!” Tiriel begs, reaching out for him, “Don’t go!”

Astarion kneels beside her and squeezes her hand. “I am not going anywhere, my sweet.”

What if something is wrong? What if the child is some monster, not even resembling a sentient being? What if…

And suddenly Tiriel goes silent.

A squeal, full of fury and distress, pierces the room.

“Well, this one looks like a healthy girl”, the midwife places the baby in Tiriel's arms. 

The tiny Elven baby with long pointy ears stops crying, feeling her mother’s skin against hers.

Astarion stares at the child in shock.

“Didn’t really take after me, did you?” Tiriel adjusts herself a bit in the bed. “My lovely beautiful girl”, she presses a kiss against the baby’s forehead, “Look at her ears, they are like yours!”

Astarion can’t take his eye off them. His child. His and Tiriel’s. His daughter. Not a monster – just a baby. 

The long pointy ears twitch, and Tiriel starts caressing them.

“Tiriel… My love…”, he finally manages to speak again, “Her ears are very sensitive, don’t touch them too much”.

“Oh, I am sorry”, Tiriel stops. “But they are so cute!”

“They are.”

Astarion can’t decipher what exactly he feels. All these months the child was just an idea, something he couldn’t feel attachment to. But now that the baby is born, the realization that nothing will be the same hits him. That his life has just changed forever.

And this is good. The worst thing that was happening to him all the centuries of enslavement was the understanding that nothing would ever change. Nothing would get better or worse because everything would stay the same. And now, it’s something new. Something natural. Something he thought was available only for normal people, not someone so twisted and ruined like him.

Tiriel touches his arm softly.

“Hold her.”

“What?! No! I am not…”

“It’s your child, Astarion”

Astarion stands up and recoils. “Tiriel, I will hurt her! Look at her, she is small! I will… I will do something to her!”

It seems like his voice scares the newborn and she starts crying again. 

“Sit with me”, Tiriel asks. “Please”

Astarion hesitates but obliges. Before he says anything, the little bundle is already placed in his pale arms.

He freezes. The girl cries even louder demanding to be returned to her mother. Astarion touches her forehead with his fingers – the skin feels delicate like silk”

“Ai armiel telere maenen hir, salen damia”, he whispers in Elven.

And the girl stops crying. She looks at him with her dark eyes and suddenly smiles. The newborn stretches her tiny arms as if trying to reach out for his face. 

And Astarion bursts into tears. Sobbing, he cradles the baby in his arms, hearing the fast heartbeat within her delicate rib cage. 

It’s his daughter. His treasure. The reward for everything he’s been through. The sign that he has been doing the right things all these years.

Tiriel puts her chin on his shoulder and wraps her hands around his waist.

“Thank you, my love”, Astarion says to her. “This is a gift.”

They sit like that for what feels like an eternity. Finally, Tiriel breaks the silence.

“She needs a name.”

Astarion studies the girl’s face as if looking for a hint. Then, the name comes to his mind, though he doesn't know where he could have heard it.

“Alethaine. My love, can we call her Alethaine?”

Tiriel nods. “It’s not like I have any other suggestions. I was scared to death the whole time. It’s beautiful. Let’s call her that”.

It’s already night when the midwife leaves the house. Astarion helps Tiriel to get to the bed with clean sheets and then brings her sleeping Alethaine.

Astarion watches how Tiriel pulls the collar of her shirt freeing swollen breasts and then places the girl that way so her mouth in front of the nipple. The girl makes sucking movements and her ears twitch simultaneously.

Tiriel starts humming – and Astarion recognizes a human lullaby he’s heard from Tiriel maybe only once or twice. 

He carefully puts his head on Tiriel’s lap so he can see both his wife and daughter.

“How are you feeling?” he finally asks.

“Tired. Happy. And you?”

Astarion chuckles. “You pushed a whole Elven baby out of your body and wonder how I am feeling?”

“Actually, yes”

“I feel … alive.”

Tiriel reaches to his silver curls and strokes the hair with her free hand.

“Thank you for giving her to me”, she whispers.

Ai armiel telere maenen hir, salen damia (Elven) - you hold my heart forever, my child

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @astarion-beloved @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati

[steviewashere]

hmmm i think for a prompt i will sayyy steve/eddie for not actually unrequited with steve scared of defining their relationship bexause he doesn’t want to be rejected but their friendship is super affectionate and closer than his previous friendships <3

Okay, finally getting around to doing some of the prompts in my inbox. But I gotta admit, I may not have gone the way that this was supposed to. It's still good, but I'm unsure. Thank you for the prompt!! <3

Tags: Getting Together, Love Confessions, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Unrequited Love, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Mutual Pining, Yearning, Domestic, Bisexual Eddie Munson, Friends to Lovers, Steve Harrington Has a Crush on Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson, Insecure Steve Harrington, First Kiss, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Hand Holding, Back of Hand Kisses (My Love)

💕—————💕 He brushes away a stray hair from Eddie’s face and wonders, not for the first time, when they got so close on the couch.

Steve knows that he’s doomed. There’s something in his relationship with Eddie that’s new, unspoken, treacherous. And he suspects that it started with the gentle touches. The way his fingers move over the frizz on Eddie’s curls and how he can map all the scars on their torsos. He’s aware of all the noises Eddie makes in his sleep and how their legs lock into each other under his comforter. He knows where Eddie is, based solely on the echoing steps his feet make. If they move soft, he’s in his socks, moving through the hallways to avoid waking Steve up.

There a lot of things he knows about Eddie, in fact.

Coffee with three teaspoons of sugar and a splash of milk. All laundry dried, except for his jeans; and he’s allergic to the Tide, but not Gain. He brushes his teeth with Arm & Hammer, flosses twice a day, and uses spearmint mouthwash only at night. Every Tuesday between 7pm-9pm, he allots time in his schedule just for campaign planning; he needs to be reminded to eat dinner on those days, so Steve always makes something and sits with him until he’s done. Sometimes they hold each other’s hands, a reminder, Steve supposes. Eddie enjoys pepperoni and olives on his pizza, and will gladly take Steve’s olives. He takes his eggs scrambled with cheese, but colby jack, not the Kraft American slices. Bees are his mortal enemy and just one sting would upend him in the hospital. His skin burns easy in the summer, so he applies double the sunscreen, and Steve has done this all before. He has freckles on his back, over his shoulders, up the sides of his neck, on his face. Steve likes to try and count them, but loses track the moment Eddie giggles or smiles.

When he comes over to watch a movie, he always slouches on the right cushion and lets Steve wrap around his left side. He prefers sci-fi over action, but action over romance, but romance over sad dramas. His favorite animals are cats and will adamantly refuse to watch or listen to anything involving that said animal dying. If silences stretch for too long, Eddie taps his fingers over the shapes of his rings, though never slides them off his fingers. He tapes his rings because they’re too big to fit naturally—they were hand-me-downs from his grandpa on his mom’s side, a last gift given before he passed. His mom smelt like Love’s Baby Soft, so when he’s having a particularly bad day, he sprays his pillows with an old bottle he kept. (It’s almost empty and Steve already bought a new one for when it runs out, he just has to have the gall to give it to him.)

Eddie runs cold. Eddie wears three layers all the time—at least. Eddie speaks softly when it’s just the two of them. Eddie always looks at him. Eddie listens to him. Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

That’s all Steve’s brain is.

And he knows that it’s too much for them to just be friends. But that’s all they are.

He doesn’t want that to be the case, but when he gets the chance to open his mouth and finally say something, it’s like the words die half-way out of his chest. Because Eddie’s like him, in some ways, trying to find the right person, not finding that person, going out and trying again. He hooks-up with girls on the weekdays and goes out to seedy bars on the weekends. His collarbones are sometimes riddled with hickeys; when Steve chances a glance at him, when he’s shirtless and getting ready to share the bed, before he gets in the pool, when he’s a little too warm, when he wants Steve to apply the sunscreen, when he wants fingers tracing the edges of his scars—when he wants to talk about something that went wrong with the girl.

Like tonight.

Eddie’s on his couch. Hair in his face. Shirt off.

He leans too far into Steve’s side, even if it means nothing. He laughs and places a palm on the center of Steve’s back. He shoves his cheek against the side of Steve’s face and whispers hot and harsh on his ear, wet and warm and soothing, all too close—and Steve can smell him. Musk and sweat and Love’s Baby Soft and citrus and Irish Spring and a little like marijuana. He laughs again and stumbles into Steve’s side and places his head on the nook of his shoulder. He calls Steve sweetheart and squeezes his hand.

He always does, though. All of this. He always is this. Too much and too affectionate and too sweet and too ‘Steve’s type.’

Steve can’t take his eyes off of Eddie. Wondering, not for the first time, when he’ll just say what he needs to.

“I think you’re beautiful,” Steve wants to say, “I think you’re kind. I think you’d look good underneath me on my bed. I think I like when you wear my clothes whenever you stay over. I think I’d make you breakfast forever if it meant you’d sit at my table. I think I love you, Eddie. Eddie, god, I think I love you.”

They’re just friends, though. Nothing less.

Nothing more.

And Steve’s afraid of the nuance of this friendship he has. Is it better to never say a thing? Or should he rip the bandaid off and eventually plaster it over his broken heart the moment Eddie rejects him?

Because, as is, all Eddie talks about is girls. Girls with tattoos. Girls with nerd interests. Girls with wild makeup. Girls.

And Steve, noticeably, is not a girl.

He’s none of what Eddie is seeking. Nothing of what he wants. What he desires.

“I don’t know,” Eddie sighs, “she just isn’t the one.”

Steve grunts. “That makes no sense,” he softly exclaims, elbowing Eddie. Washing in the hiss and smirk that Eddie gives him. He’d bathe in whatever Eddie handed to him, if only to have him here, like this, all the time. “It just…You say she’s perfect under you. You say she’s funny and sweet and beautiful. You say all these nice things about this girl, but she isn’t the one? None of that makes sense to me, Eds.”

Eddie’s gaze on him shifts then, something more distant and pained. His fingers splayed over Steve’s thighs, they flex and flatten and tickle. He twists his mouth. And swallows hard, enough to flex the muscles of his neck. “Yeah, I guess I did,” he murmurs. Then, he leans in further. Further, somehow, always further.

And something in Steve wilts. Because, “This isn’t fair.”

“What?” Eddie mutters, brows furrowing. “What’s not fair, Stevie?” He blinks and Steve’s immediately in a daze. His eyelashes are long and dark and creating soft shadow under his eyes. His cheeks are flushed with rosacea pink blush. And has an overwhelming amount of sweet, sugary softness in his stare—enough that Steve’s stomach stirs nauseously.

“This,” Steve whispers. He wrenches his hand away from where it, on an automatic shift, went to trace Eddie’s scars—especially the one closest to him, a wide and silvery one over his left ribs. The one that’s smooth under Steve’s touch.

Nervously, Eddie chuckles. His hand instinctively tightens over Steve’s leg. “Sweetheart, I don’t—“

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Steve exclaims, finally jumping apart. He stands shakily from his couch and faces where he sat, towering over Eddie’s stupidly big, soft eyes and his gentle scowl and the flush of his pale skin. His shadow draws his attention towards the highlights over Eddie, the light yellow on his irises and the glint of scars and that shiny silver of his decade old rings. “This thing you’re doing. The—The—Flirting!”

“Flirting?” Eddie innocently asks. He blinks again, owlishly this time.

“Yes, Eddie! Flirting! You do it all the time…You—You always call me sweetheart and you’re always touching me and…” But he takes in Eddie’s face again. How pretty he is. How stupidly endearing every aspect of him is. And he—

God, Steve can’t do this. He can’t ruin this.

“…Never mind,” he mutters, “don’t worry about it.” And he sits back down. A noticeable gap between them.

“Steve?”

He shakes his head. But otherwise remains silent.

“Steve,” Eddie calls again, softly. So small that it could’ve been lost inside the couch cushions. “Do you not like when I do those things?”

“I like them,” Steve can at least admit. “I don’t mind.”

But Eddie doesn’t touch him again. He looks away, Steve can sense it, even with his own eyes facing forward. His t-shirt is put back on, Steve can see every movement Eddie makes and knows exactly what part of his body he’s using and what exactly he’s doing.

And then they’re just silent.

Maybe he’s already ruined it. He always knew that everything would fall through the moment he admitted anything. The moment he made some sort of realization. And it’s not like the crush was unprecedented. It was slow. Small things, at first. Other things, when time gave way to them. He catalogued everything. And he knew, the moment he learned to touch Eddie where it mattered most—over his scalp and the scars and down the slope of his nose—he was already falling in love.

Of course he’s in love with one of his best friends.

He’s always in love with a best friend. Always somebody that becomes unattainable. First, it was Tommy and then Tommy started dating Carol. Then, it was Nancy and they were great, but then she wanted Jonathan. After, it was Robin and he’s fine with not having Robin in that way, thank god not in that way. He should’ve seen it coming when Eddie stuck around.

He should’ve known. Why didn’t he know?

But if he spoke, Eddie would find a reason to not love him back. That was the scary part. Tommy—he couldn’t see it. Nancy—she never loved him, not really. Robin—well, that one goes left unsaid. What would Eddie find? Would he realize how clingy Steve is? Would he become embarrassed by Steve’s romance movie type of love: drive-in dates and sweet kisses on the lips and slow embraces that lasted forever? Would he come to terms with having nothing in common, despite having everything to talk about as friends? Would he get bored? Would he just…fizzle out?

Steve can imagine it all. Becoming boring. Becoming uninteresting. Becoming unlovable.

Not being desirable.

That’s all he wants. To be desired the way he desires. All too much. All at once. Like flames engulfing the world. He wants and he wants and he wants.

But if he spoke, he’d have to continue wanting—though from an arm’s length. Because Eddie would leave, probably. Turn him down. Realize the truth about Steve Harrington.

The boy everybody wants, but nobody loves.

He’d still want Eddie, though, even if he realized.

“I didn’t know—“

“Eddie,” Steve murmurs, “you don’t have to…Don’t do this with me. Just ignore it. Please, Eds, just ignore it.”

Gentle fingers on the back of his hand. Pushing the skin upward, towards his knuckles. “And if I didn’t want to ignore it?” Eddie asks. So soft. So small.

Steve blinks, his eyes wet and his throat burning. “Don’t—“ He takes a shuttering breath as Eddie’s palm wraps around his whole hand. “Eddie, please,” he pleads, “don’t do this if you don’t mean it.”

Eddie’s hand flexes, squeezing. “Steve,” he murmurs, “look at me?”

Hesitantly, and oh so slowly, Steve makes his head move. He catches Eddie’s eyes, the first thing he always notices when they’re together, and melts. They’re like voids, pulling Steve in. A warm void, though. A hot bath. He raises their joined hands to his lips. They’re a little dry, soft and warm over Steve’s skin.

“I want to mean it,” Eddie quietly confesses.

“But,” Steve mutters, “but what about all those girls?”

“They’re not the one,” Eddie says, “they’re not you.”

“Oh.”

Oh.

Eddie gazes at him now. The way love interests do in all the movies Steve’s ever loved. With a softness like that of cat backs, the ones Eddie likes. With warmth like that of Eddie’s dried laundry. With sweetness like that of Eddie’s morning coffee. His lips are pressed into the back of Steve’s hand again.

“They’re not you,” Eddie reiterates. “They aren’t sweet to me, they aren’t gentle or funny in those silent ways you are. And they aren’t handsome with your good hair. Or warm against me. I’m with them and all I can think about is coming back to you, talking to you, holding you, laying next to you. All I think about is you.”

Steve raises his free hand to the right side of Eddie’s face. Cups his cheek, runs his thumb over his cheekbone, tangles his fingers in the hair above his ear. “You’re all I think about, too,” Steve admits. “Even when I’m hanging out with you, I’m still thinking about you.” He smiles back at the received soft one Eddie has. His dimples have never looked this good. And his mouth is plenty kissable. His face is warm and pink under Steve’s hand.

So he leans in, slowly, enough for everything to be taken back. For him to wake up from this possible dream. And when there’s nothing left to do but lean forward that extra millimeter, Steve kisses him.

Eddie tastes like pepperonis and olives and spearmint. He’s focused completely, kissing back with enough force to make Steve nearly fall backwards. His lips move as if devouring. Steve hopes he tastes just as good.

“I love you,” Eddie confesses first. “I’ve loved you for…a fucking long time.”

Steve, the hopelessly hopeful romantic that he is, melts. “I love you, too,” he breathes.

“Boyfriends?” Eddie asks, smirking, but not teasing.

He nods. “Yeah, Eds. Wanna be your boyfriend.” Something more. God, they're something more.

💕—————💕

[https-furina]

✎ you should have been her. ft. zhongli x fem!reader content. angst, hurt/no comfort, hanahaki disease, mentions of blood, gagging, death, decomposition, dealing with grief and guilt. not proofread or edited. w.c. tba

archon's decree. a second part to my first zhongli hanahaki disease angst. i've started to write gn!reader a lot more in my works however the first part was fem!reader so for this particular angst it'll be labelled as fem!reader - it passes as gn!reader though! i don't explicitly label any gender. taglist - open, send an ask to be added! @ryuryuryuyurboat @soleillunne @rainswept @heiayen @tigerpriestess (i'm tagging you dear because you're the person who mentioned zhongli's reaction on the original!)

the scene haunts him vividly. it creeps into every crevice of his mind, every nerve that has harboured all the knowledge he could ever acquire over these past centuries; it affects his psyche. in the darkness behind his eyelids - should he be brave enough to dare let his eyelashes sink shut - he sees every detail left of his beloved - you.

the guilt eats at him, nagging at his bones and tearing at his flesh, leaving only remnants of searing pains when he can't help but blame himself that he let it get this far - that he even let it happen. it was something so simple that he could avoided, at least that's what he tells himself. zhongli isn't stupid, not when he's walked teyvat this long and seeked enough knowledge for his own curiosity - albeit never comparable to that of the dendro archon. he knows it couldn't have been avoided, for that is why the guilt rips him apart so brutally.

but yet there is one simple way it could have been avoided. he should have never fell in love with you. the thought aches his heart and he finds his grip tightening around the tea cup in his hands, paled knuckles concealed by his oh-so-familiar gloves. amber eyes resembling the cor lapis native to his own country close shut and the horrific scenes creep back in.

the man admits to oversleeping that morning, the comfort of familiar bedsheets drowning him in a warmth incomparable to anything else. his routine with you was a simple one; he was always the last to bed but always the first to rise. zhongli used it as an excuse for you to never see his bare skin, the dark tones that cover his large hands and fade up his arms, decorated in veins of golds and oranges. he would get up and dressed, pulling black gloves over his hands before your eyelashes could even flutter open.

that was the way your relationship had ticked for the months it had been ongoing. that was the way zhongli kept his deepest secrets locked away, thinking it was for the best; it wouldn't cause problems if you knew, you was a mortal. zhongli knew he was facing the sandglass of time when it came to your life in the first place. is that what shattered the sandglass so soon? ending your life with a severed tie that happened too early, taking you from him when he was least prepared?

the bed was empty by the time zhongli awoke. the first fleeting thought that crossed the geo archon's mind was his secrets, his hidden gems - had you seen it all? had you left him? the second thought to cross his mind was in regards to your safety. he was certainly no fool, he knew he had enemies even with the lack of people who knew his true identity. you never rose before him and at least he would have expected you to wake him.

zhongli has traced the corridors and winding paths of your shared house many times. he's taken the stairs so much they're worn from the use of you both - and your guests, when the likes of xiao, hu tao or your friends come to visit. in every footstep, the man has memorised every inch of the house; every painting, every vase, every floorboard and in these steps he takes routinely, he knows the house is never this silent however there's no proof of a break-in. there's no distress, no signs of damage or disruption.

the earth has taken your body for its own in the span of a few hours, vines creeping across your body as if to tie you to the ground. celestia forbid someone tried to give you a proper burial, your clothes and skin stained in a dark red as the blood that flooded out of your mouth hours ago begins to oxidise. it paints the grass surrounding you and in the summer heat of the liyue sun, it creates a foul stench that suffocates the garden you'd spent so much of your time in.

there are flowers beginning to bloom on the vines tethering you to the earth, in shades of white so pure, it pales in comparison to the glaze lilies that had damaged your internal organs so ferociously. the sweet floral scents create a bitter tang in the air mixed with the metallic waft of blood and the unforgettable smell of the unavoidable rot your body was going through in the heat. this is what undeniably lead him to find you.

it makes him gag, turning his head away the second he steps outside into what is usually the clean air of liyue's countryside. his eyes fall to the pile of wilted glaze lilies you'd compiled in the far corner, hidden behind an apple tree you'd been growing. it's beginning to finally bear its fruits. zhongli notes that you will never see your apple tree's first harvest.

it feels as if he's stabbed in the chest when he finally musters the courage to look at you - or rather, what he thinks is you. your cheeks are sunken and your skin is beginning to tighten against muscles and bone, this isn't the you he remembers kissing goodnight last night. this isn't the you that would pepper kisses on his face when he expresses how tired he is after his shifts at the wangsheng funeral parlour.

this isn't who he fell in love with. this wasn't the human he should have never fell in love with because by gods, if there was anyone zhongli should have known to trust the least, it should have been celestia. he was a fool for thinking he could ever get away with loving a mortal, even after faking his death and attempting to step away from the title of the geo archon. he was still immortal up until his eventual erosion. he had still seen centuries past and people die around him.

was this celestia's curse upon you for his own regretful actions? the things he shouldn't have done and most certainly shouldn't have said? the sultry whispers and lingering touches that he knew was wrong from the start? but he loved you. he knew he loved you.

the scene of sharp branches coated in blood twisting and turning out of your mouth is unpleasant and the grass surrounding you is a distasteful red as he falls limp to his knees beside your growth - your corpse. his hands, free from their gloves, fumble with leaves and vines, attempting to pull them clear from your face in his shaking grasp as his thumbs gently wipe under your closed eyes, caked with dry blood.

your name falls from his parted lips when bitter tears sting his eyes for the first time in centuries. there's a raw emotion ripping him to the shreds and that was long buried in the depths of his very being - grief. it swallows him, forcing a choked sob from him as he hunches over what was his lover. he closes his eyes, holding his breath to keep from breathing in that sickening, overwhelming stench as he tries to remember your face from last night.

those distinct features he'd fell in love with, the glitter of your eyes and that smile he loved oh so much - he recalls the times hu tao managed to draw that smile onto your face with her mere presence. zhongli gags at the thought of having to tell her and the others about your death. does he lie again? you passed away in your sleep - but where has lying got him in the past? here.

why hadn't you told him? had baizhu been behind this too? after all this time he assumed the doctor could be classed as a loyal friend, zhongli realises that he was wrong. if he hadn't of kept it a secret, could zhongli have saved your life? the archon grimaces. this is not the time to be doubting the security of the relationships he has with the people around him. even as he contemplates the reasons you kept your disease secret from him, he runs over every thought of loving you.

to him, he would never love anyone or anything as much as he loved you. nothing could ever be comparable to his love for you; not even after all these centuries of aimlessly wandering teyvat and not even for all the future centuries that he would continue to walk, heartbroken and grief-stricken without you by his side for even a few more years.

you should have been her.

© https-furina 2023.

[theraggedygirl11]

Baš ja, koji nisam verovao da za nekim biću lud

Bojan's POV

Kris' POV: AO3 - Tumblr

SUMMARY: In a world where Heaven and Hell exist, angels and demons are constantly fighting and killing one another. What if a demon easily dominated by his emotions falls in love with a stoic and cold angel trained to kill demons?

PAIRING: Bojan Cvjetićanin/Kris Guštin

WARNINGS: swearing, blood, implied violence, hurt/comfort, implied suicide, emotional rollercoaster, enemies to lovers, hint of jance in the background

WORDS COUNT: 5.094

LINK: AO3

NOTES: Hello! Welcome to my first ever BoKris fic. It all started from this post by @arctixout and that damn tag (for reference: #stoic angel!kris and demon!bojan who's slave to his emotions and then they somehow fall in love wait who said that). And what could I do? It was too juicy to not write something out of it! So here we are.

Besides, as you can see from the title, I used Bluza (Youtube video and lyrics+translation) as my inspiration (and background music while writing), and this songs plays a role in the plot too 👀 yeah, I know we all think this is a BoJere song, but in this fic it's a BoKris fic, you'll understand why

Also, thanks to my beta @anxious-witch!

Last but not the least, I did this aestethic/moodboard trying to match @arctixout gifs

“You should talk to him.”

“Why? He's a demon. He's impure, a damned soul.”

“And you love him.”

“Angels can't love. He started corrupting me.”

“Angels can love and they must love. It's not corruption.”

“How can you tell it's not his corruption, Jan?!”

“Because I fell in love with a demon too. And I accepted it. Go to him, speak to him. He’s singing for you.”

When humans think about demons, the mental image they have is that of a terrifying creature, maybe with huge bat wings, a tail with an arrowhead at the end, claws, horns, red skin, maybe even hooves instead of feet.

Well, we do have a tail, and wings, and claws, but nothing alike of what you see in those pictures, and not every demon has them. We own a human form, just like everyone on this planet, that we use to roam among mortals. We have feelings, desires, hobbies, friends and families. Our only drawback is being born a demon from demon parents. We are guardians in Hell, we just watch over the damned souls who doomed themselves to suffering.

Heaven knows this, angels too, but they deliberately chose to not see this, to hate us, and they kill us with no hesitation when they find us on Earth. They think we are impure beings that don’t deserve to live.

And this is what led me, a demon, to meet the most beautiful creature ever seen on every plane of existence. I fell in love with an angel, I don’t even know his name, but I will discover it.

He almost killed me, I was terrified for my life, but he stopped when our eyes met, the sharp point of his dagger barely touched my throat. Something exploded in my chest, my heart was beating so fast. I've never felt something similar to what I felt at that moment.

And since that night I find myself staring at the sky so often, during both daytime and nighttime. Am I a hopeless romantic that waits for his angel to come and get him? Oh yeah, you can bet on it. And I'll wait for him to appear for eternity, if necessary.

* * *

“Bojan, come on!” Shouts Nace, one of my dearest demon friends. “We are late!”

I turn my eyes in his direction. I was staring at the sky, again. As always, no signs of my angel. He will appear, I’m sure of it, but this is not that day. I sigh, then reach Nace and Jure.

“Still looking for that feathered ass?” Jure asks.

“I…yes. I’d like to meet him again.”

“It’s better if you forget him, he will try to kill you again the next time he sees you,” says Jure while looking me in the eyes.

“He’s different. I’m sure of it. He didn’t kill me.”

“No, but he was about to,” replies Nace. “You know better than us that those winged assholes can’t be reasoned with.”

I lower my eyes, aware of the truth behind Nace’s words. We lost so many of our demon friends because of angels. But maybe…maybe he’s not like the other angels. I saw something in his eyes, something different, this sparkle.

With this thought in mind, I followed Nace and Jure to our destination: there’s a concert of a human band we all like, so we decided to go. We enjoy music so much, we also joke about forming a band together and tour together on Earth, among mortals, but that would put too much attention on us. It’s too dangerous. But at least we can enjoy concerts and gigs!

I’m dancing, taken away by the rhythm of the songs, when my gaze meets familiar eyes in the crowd, two amazing blue-green seas. I completely stop, and so does he. The music and every other sound disappears along with the people around me.

We stare at each other for moments that seem to last decades, blue into brown, light into darkness, Heaven into Hell, a perfect but forbidden combination, something that should never exist.

This magic spell breaks when I feel a hand on my shoulder and immediately after a tight grip. I turn and see Nace on my side, who is harshly staring at my angel. Jure appears on my other side.

I turn again towards my angel and I see two other people near him, one of them with dark and long messy hair and a beard, the other one with shorter hair but well combed and a trimmed beard. They are definitely angels. And they know we are demons.

The guy with messy hair steps in our direction, but my angel stops him, raising his hand and using it as a barrier. The dark-haired angel steps back and quickly glances at his friend. No one says a word.

“Bojči, let’s go,” Jure whispers into my ear, then grabs my arm and pulls me away.

I keep looking at my angel until I can no longer see him in the crowd.

In the next weeks Nace and Jure forbid me to go to the surface, but I sneak out. Every other demon could tell that my self-preservation instinct got fried because I want to talk to that angel, at all costs.

I keep looking at the sky, searching for him. Waiting for him to show up. And every single time nothing happens. But I’m stubborn, I won’t give up.

Tonight the sky is clear, stars are shining bright, and there's a small crescent moon. I'm lying on a patch of grass in the middle of nowhere, around me only trees and mountains. 

Suddenly a shadow partially covers the sky above me.

“What are you doing here all alone?”

I startle and stand up immediately, recoiling scared. When I recognise the person in front of me, I wide my eyes and open my mouth in surprise.

“Angel,” I whisper.

It’s dark, but I can sense his piercing blue eyes on me. He’s tall, taller than Jure and Nace too. His cheekbones are prominent, I can for sure cut myself while stroking them. Maybe I’m a masochist, but I want to touch them and feel them under my hands and bleed for him. He’s standing straight, rigid like a soldier, or maybe a general, I can’t tell his celestial rank.

“I repeat, since you seem to not understand my words, what are you doing here all alone?”

Shivers run down my whole body, his voice is…ok, this might sound cheeky, but yes, his voice sounds angelic, a slow caress of a lover on my back down to my waist. 

“I was looking for you.”

“For me?” He’s surprised.

“Yes, for you. I wanted to talk to you, angel.”

Now he’s confused. Well, not every day a demon comes looking for an angel. I go closer to him, moving slowly.

“I’m not armed,” I show him my hands. “You can check on me. This is not a trap.”

His eyes follow every single movement I do, even more carefully when I’m in front of him. I stare at his face, stunned by his beauty. I lift a hand to touch it, but I stop mid-air. No, I can’t touch him, my dirty hands can only ruin his perfection.

“Why do you want to talk to me, exactly?”

“I…I want to know you, angel.”

“I beg your pardon, you want to know…me?”

“Yes,” I nod. “You are amazingly beautiful, angel,” I let slip this comment, without realising. 

I notice a weird red-ish colour on his face. Did I just make him blush? I chuckle, he replies with a shy smile. Oh, he’s so wonderful! That smile almost made me melt on the spot. 

“Would you like to…I don’t know, come grab a coffee or anything else to drink?”

Who said that angels and demons can’t get along well? They must have never met an angel, then.

My angel, whose name is Kris, is a pleasant company. Well, he’s still a little bit rigid, but since that night when we had a couple of drinks together in a bar he became much more open and relaxed and he smiles so much now! Oh, I adore his smile. And his laugh too! 

We started going out together here and there, but every time it happens, my heart almost explodes out of joy. I can’t wait to see him again and again and again. Jure and Nace are worried for me, but I feel safe around Kris. He’s not like the other angels.

Our “dates” are pretty diverse. Sometimes we just hang out in some park or in the middle of wild places; once we sat on a cliff for hours, we talked and we observed the environment, at least Kris, I was too busy looking at him with heart eyes. Some other time we choose a city and we explore it, we can just appear anywhere in the world, a perk of being supernatural creatures!

This night though is special. Tonight I will confess my feelings to Kris. By now we have been seeing each other for some months and I’m completely sure about my love for him. Yes, I, a demon, fell in love with an angel, I’m not afraid of saying it, I want to shout it from the top of a building.

I’m putting on some makeup. I’m in front of the mirror in the bathroom of a small apartment I rented for when I’m roaming around on Earth. Jure and Nace are with me in the room, they are still worried for me.

“Are you sure of what you are about to do?” Nace asks.

“Yes, never been so sure in my long demonic life,” I reply.

“But he’s an angel, Bojči,” Jure whispers. “He’s dangerous. What if he’s playing with you?”

“He’s not, Jurček. I see how he looks at me, he…I think he’s in love with me too,” I glance at him through the mirror. 

“Angels are sly creatures, you can’t trust them,” Jure adds.

“They say the same stuff about us, you know?” 

I smile at my reflection. That black eyeshadow with glitter is perfect for me, my eyes are shining. “I love him, I’m going to tell him this. Tonight will be a special night, nothing can change this.”

We hear the sound of wings in the living room. He’s here.

I almost run in the room, a huge smile appears on my lips when I see him. He’s wearing beige trousers, a shirt with light colours and floral designs and a silver jacket. He’s from Heaven, no one can be mistaken. And his clothes collide with mine: I’m wearing black trousers and a black t-shirt, when we’ll go out I planned to wear a bright red leather jacket. He’s the good boy, I’m the bully, the bad boy.

“You are stunning, ljubavi .”

“You…too, Bojan.”

I notice his eyes passing over me. I turn and I see Jure and Nace.

“Oh, yeah, these are my dearest friends. This is Jure,” and I point to the blonde demon. “And this is Nace,” I move my hand towards the tattooed demon. “They are safe, they won’t hurt you. I ask you to do the same.”

“...fine,” he grants. His eyes turn back to me. I notice hesitation in him.“You put on makeup.” 

“Yes, just for you. Do you like it?”

“You…look good.”

I grab his hand. “I have a surprise for you. Close your eyes and follow me.”

I practically pull Kris to the bathroom, where I make him sit on the edge of the bathtub.

“What are you trying to do, little demon?”

“I told you, it’s a surprise,” I reply while I take the palette I bought the other day. I start putting makeup on his face, I chose a wonderful golden eyeshadow for him. I admire my work.

“You are otherworldly, ljubavi . Open your eyes.”

Kris opens his eyes and looks in the mirror. I observe his reaction: I can read astonishment in his face.

“Gold is your colour. It suits you perfectly.”

“I-It does,” he whispers.

I smile and kiss him on the cheek. “We can go, then. I have other surprises for you, my angel.”

Our first stop is at a wonderful restaurant where we had already eaten so many times because it’s Kris’ favourite. I let him order whatever he wants and then pay for the whole dinner. We talk about many topics, but Kris is weirdly more silent than usual.

“Is everything ok, ljubavi ?” 

“Yeah, sure, don't worry. I…had a rough day in Heaven, that's all.”

I smile fondly at him, then gently grab his hand and slowly stroke its back.

“Now it's time for you to relax, then. Enjoy this night out.”

Our eyes lock. I see him relaxing a bit, the shadow of whatever happened retreating.

Once dinner is finished, we take a long walk into the city centre. It's almost summer, the temperatures are pleasant, so many other humans are around. We blend in, looking like a proper couple, even because we are holding hands.

When we arrive at our final destination of the night, I bring Kris to the top of a building, so we can be alone and closer to the sky, his home.

“Why did you bring me here?” Kris asks.

I shake one hand in the air, around us many candles appear and some slow music starts spreading, embracing us. I turn towards my angel and offer him my hand.

“Would you like to dance with me, Kris?”

He looks at me, confused, but then takes it. I lay my other hand on his waist and smile at him. We start dancing, slowly. My angel is a bit embarrassed, but he tries to follow my lead.

“Just let the music flow over you. Hear it inside of you and allow it to take control over your body,” I whisper to him with a tender voice.

A few seconds later Kris is more relaxed and we are dancing more fluidly, following the rhythm and the melody. I can’t stop smiling while I look at my angel. He’s so beautiful, so ethereal, so perfect. I can see stars reflecting into his eyes, an entire galaxy in which I could lose myself, bewitched by its beauty.

We keep dancing along with the music, but the more we dance, the more I see a shadow coming back in Kris’ eyes, until he leaves my hands and takes two steps back.

“We can’t go on doing this, Bojan.”

“Why not? I don’t understand.”

“Because we can’t! You are a demon, and I’m an angel. We are not supposed to…mingle.”

“We are not mingling, ljubavi . This is a romantic date between two creatures who have feelings for each other.”

I grab the angel's hands and look him in the eyes.

“Kris, I'm not the monster Heaven teaches you to despise. You saw me, you got to know me.”

“You are still a demon, Bojan, no matter how you behave or what you do.”

“And so? What does it change between us?”

“I'm a freaking angel! We are supposed to fight each other, not…doing this, dancing alone like two teenagers in love!”

“Only because we are not human teenagers? Because we come from two different places? Because others tell us that we should hate each other?” I clutch his hands between mine. “You know me,” I repeat. It’s the truth, we have been seeing each other for some months now. I bring one of his hands on my chest, right over my heart. “This heart is yours, ljubavi , and no one else’s.”

“Bojan, this is wrong .”

“Kris, I love you. What's wrong with that?” I feel my heart sink into my chest. “You…don't love me?”

“No, Bojan. I don’t love you. Let’s stop pretending.”

My heart stops beating in that exact moment and I feel my head spin. The ground under my feet is crumbling. I’m falling even if I’m right in front of Kris, my angel. I struggle breathing.

“I-I’m not pretending.”

“Don’t lie, Bojan. You are a demon, all demons do is lie. You know who and what I am, you saw weakness in me because I didn’t kill you that day. You are corrupting me because you want me to lose my wings!”

“I know you are an angel and nothing else! I-I don't want you to lose your wings!” There’s panic in my voice, and maybe it’s showing on my face too. “I’m not lying!”

“You want to bring me to the path of perdition! You want me to fall, just like Lucifer.”

I let Kris' hands go and recoil, stuttering. My heart is clenched, it can’t beat.

“I-I’m not, Kris. I-I don’t want to-”

“Stop lying!” He shouts and his eyes begin shining out of celestial power. “You are a filthy demon. You don’t change, you just want to destroy us.”

I recoil again, scared, I even fall on the ground. I stand up then turn and run away as fast as I can. Tears sting my eyes violently, they want to come out and a few seconds later they manage to do so. My makeup is for sure ruined and dripping down my face. 

I feel like an idiot. I hoped that Kris would be different, but what was I thinking? He's an angel, those creatures are heartless killers when it comes to demons like me. Their hatred for us is blind, almost innate. I just got another proof.

Nace and Jure were right. Angels and demons are not meant to be together. Then why did I, a demon, fall in love with an angel? If we are supposed to be mortal enemies, then why was I destined to lose my reason for a celestial creature that would slaughter me just because I am what I am? Just why? Will I ever get an answer? 

I’ve been locked in my room in a building in Hell for…who knows how much time. I don’t want to see anyone, neither Nace nor Jure. I keep crying, stopping the tears coming out of my eyes is difficult, or dare I say even impossible. My heart is shattered.

Why are demons born with such intense feelings? Why can’t we control them like angels do? Or are we cursed to be dominated by our emotions exactly because angels don’t have them?They teach us that the universe needs balance, so if angels can’t feel, someone else must feel double the time. 

I wrap my body with my arms, trying to look smaller. My tail is out, wrapped around my leg. It’s a pathetic endeavour to not feel so alone and abandoned. 

I wince when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I open my eyes and see Nace sitting by my side. He’s visibly worried.

“Bojči, what happened?”

I sob. “Y-you were right about him. He-he’s a heartless angel, just like anyone else of them,” I stutter, my voice is trembling.

Nace lays on my bed, facing me, then pulls me over to hug me. I plant my face against his chest. I feel his hand running up and down my back.

“Not every angel is heartless.”

“He is, Nace!” I shout, utter despair in my voice. “He is! I showed him my love and he accused me of trying to corrupt him! I-I gave him my whole heart and he laughed at me, he stabbed it with his ice dagger and killed me-” I stop. I can still hear his words in my mind. “H-He called me a filthy demon, Nace. After all I did for him and showed him, I-I’m still a filthy demon to him.”

My friend says nothing, he just stays there and cuddles me, attempting to make me feel a little bit better. 

And since that day I kind of started feeling better. Well, it’s more of a euphemism. Let’s say that I was barely surviving. I came back to my chores as a demon, but now I don’t smile anymore, or very little. I’m quiet. I prefer to stay alone than in the middle of a crowd. With me I have a small notebook in which I write my thoughts, ideas, feelings, and also lyrics. I can’t be a singer in the human world, but no one can stop me from writing what I feel, what I experience. 

This is how I wrote a song about my angel and how I fell in love with him. It has a stupid name too. I can write good songs, but I’m not able to name them. I will find a better one, one day. Hopefully.

“What are you writing in that notebook?” Asks Jure while sitting next to me.

We are in the human world, more precisely in a park. We needed some fresh air and some sunlight. 

“It’s nothing…” I answer.

Jure leans forward to read. “Is this about him?”

I nod. There’s no one else in my mind. I don’t like his presence, he’s haunting me, my mind is working against me. 

“It’s really intense,” Jure whispers. “Do you really love him?”

I nod again. “I know I’m a stupid demon. I should move on, forget him, but I can’t. He doesn’t love me back, he said it,” I sigh. “I’m just hoping to forget him as soon as possible. Maybe writing this stuff will help me process this stupid feeling.”

“Love isn’t stupid!”

“My love is absolutely stupid. An angel, Jurček! I’m a freaking demon and I fell in love with an angel.”

“You are not the first one.”

“Yeah, and how many of them survived? Are they here to tell their love story? No, Jurček, because angels killed them. I’m lucky I’m still alive.”

Jure pushes me with his shoulder. “Don’t lose hope, Bojči. There’s always time to change.”

I look at him. I don’t believe his words. Months have passed since my last moment with my angel, his shiny eyes are still impressed in my mind. He was about to kill me that night. 

No, he won’t change. Kris is an angel, full stop. He’s born to despise demons like me. I just need to accept that, but it will take time.

Is this despair that is guiding my actions? Possibly. Will I regret my decisions? Almost certainly. But if I can’t be with my angel, then I’d rather be dead, maybe slaughtered by him directly. That would be pretty ironic, wouldn’t it? A demon executed by the angel he’s fallen in love with. There’s poetry behind all of this. Maybe demons will use me as an example to the younglings to warn them to not fall in love with angels if they want to live.

I tried to forget him, move on, but every time I close my eyes, I see him. He's haunting me. And with him also the lyrics of the song I wrote for him. 

I’m in the middle of an abandoned industrial area. I prepared an amplifier with a microphone and a computer. I recorded some music for my song and I will perform it for the first (and last) time here, hoping that my angel is listening to me and will come to…I don’t know, to do anything. I’m ready for whatever he will decide to do to me. Included death.

I test the volume and the music. Everything sounds good, so I play the music and I start singing, looking directly at the sky.

“ Stolicu primakni, ruku mi dotakni, noćas ti si moja muza, ja u ritmu tvoga bluza ću da plešem bez prestanka .”

Nothing. The sky is blue, there’s not a single cloud, not a single sign of feathered wings. I continue singing.

“ Soba nam je mala. Ja ko pijana budala, a ni čaše nisam popio. Ja mislim da sam se zaljubio u tebe. Baš ja, koji nisam verovao da za nekim biću lud. Za tebe, kao u pesmama i filmovima ljubavnim, staviću zvuk .”

Still nothing. But I won’t lose hope, I will keep singing for him. He will show up, eventually. I just need a sign, Kris, please, I’m begging you.

“ Samo se okreni, baci pogled prema meni. Preći će tišina sama kilometre među nama dok jednom srce otkuca .”

Now it’s again time for the refrain. Some tears started running down my face, but I continue singing, I must, even if he won’t appear. I need to take these feelings out of my heart or it will explode. Maybe it will be my heart to kill me and not my angel.

“ Soba nam je mala. Ja ko pijana budala, a ni čaše nisam popio. Ja mislim da sam se zaljubio u tebe. Baš ja, koji nisam verovao da za nekim biću lud. Za tebe, kao u pesmama i filmovima ljubavnim, staviću zvuk .”

I see something in the sky, then the clear sound of wings hits me. I lower my eyes and I find Kris right in front of me. I see his three pairs of wings. A seraph, I should have guessed. Of course, I fell in love with one of the most powerful angels in the sky. When I do something, it’s always something big or I’m not happy with the result.

I kneel in front of him. Now I’ll sing the last part of my song.

“ Ne palite još svetla, još samo jedan tren da se nagledam lepote te. Ne palite još svetla. Ne prizivajte dan. Spasite me, smislite neki plan. Ako svane sunce, ostaću sam .”

The music stops. I’m looking at my angel, finally here for me. I’m breathing deeply, my heart is racing in my chest. My hand that’s holding the microphone is shaking. I’m afraid of what might happen, but at the same time I’m relieved. 

“You came,” I whisper.

“You called.”

Silence falls again between us. Kris slowly approaches, his facial expression is cold, hiding every emotion. I have pure angelic power in front of me, a deadly machine trained to kill my kind, and I’m looking at him in adoration.

“You know I should kill you right now because you are on Earth and not in Hell, right?”

“Then do it. I won’t fight, I won’t run away. If I can’t be with you, I’d rather be dead.”

Kris averts his eyes and presses his lips together, then talks. 

“You are an idiot, Bojan.”

“Yeah, I know, ljubavi . Love made me lose my mind in a way I didn’t think possible.”

“You said that in the song.”

I chuckle. “Maybe it’s just one of the many flaws that make us demons so imperfect in front of you angels. I was so unlucky to fall in love with you, but I don’t consider myself unlucky. I had the best moments of my life with you, I don’t want to change this for anything else in this world, not even a place in Heaven, if this means that I will lose my ability to love so strongly.”

I let the microphone fall on the ground and grab Kris’ sword, he has it in his hand, then I lay his sharp point right on my heart.

“You are here for this, no? Killing another impure soul that doesn’t follow the rules.”

Kris looks at me, finally. I smile, those eyes are so cold and so beautiful at the same time.

“Don’t make me do this, Bojan.”

“It’s ok, ljubavi . It’s ok. It’s…it’s your nature, you have been trained to do this your whole life.”

My voice trembles with emotions. Tears keep running down my face. No, I realise I’m not ready to die. I want to live, to be with him, but I know I can’t. It’s not allowed.

I feel the point of his sword pressed against my chest. In a few seconds it will reach my heart, and it will stop beating. I close my eyes.

But nothing happens. I’m still here, alive, breathing. I hear a metal sound against the ground, then two hands cup my face and I feel warm and soft lips pressed on mine.I open wide my eyes. Kris is kneeling on the ground in front of me and he’s kissing me.

I close my eyes again. I kiss him back, desperate to feel him, to make him feel my love through that act. I gently grab his wrists. 

When we interrupt the kiss, I touch Kris’ forehead with mine. I keep my eyes closed, trying to process what just happened.  

“Please, let it be real,” I whisper, without even realising it. “Please, please, let it be real.”

Kris chuckles. “It’s real, Bojan.”

I open my eyes and part a bit from him, just to look him in the eyes. “Real-real kind of way or…real-I’m-in-some-sort-of-Heaven-for-demons-because-I’m-dead kind of way?” I ask.

My angel gently strokes my cheeks, then leans forward to kiss me again. 

“This kind of way, my little demon,” he whispers against my lips. I shiver thanks to that lovely nickname. I hate being called little because it reminds me of my lack of height, but I’d let Kris call me whatever he wants, just to hear his voice again and again.

“I’m your little demon, then?”

Kris nods while looking me in the eyes. He caresses my lower lip with his thumb. His touch is so gentle, shivers run down my spine again.

“What made you change your mind?”

“Your song. I had feelings for you, they developed pretty early, but I…wasn’t acknowledging their existence because I never had the chance to fall in love with someone.”

I jump on Kris to hug him, sending us both falling to the ground, so I end up on top of him. I burst out laughing.

“Well, now you have someone right here.”

My tail appears behind me and shakes in the air, showing my happiness. I kiss him on the cheek, then giggle when I see him blushing. A couple of tears run down my face, but this time they are out of pure and simple joy.

* * *

I've been a demon my whole life. I grew up fearing angels, but nothing could have prepared me for what fate had planned for me. I fell in love with Kris, an angel, a seraph. Our relationship began with the worst scenario possible, with him trying to kill me. And yeah, I might be dumb, because I fell in love with him in that moment, but now we are happy together. And I wouldn’t change a thing about us.

Heaven and Hell finally united thanks to the love between an angel and a demon.

[dmagedgoods]

Devil May Care

Rating: General

Relationships: Raphael/Male Durge (my character Cian) Summary: The glorious hero failing? Dying because of a foolish mistake? Destroying his plan by losing his life so recklessly? Raphael won't allow it. (I’m always open for Raphael prompts btw, it just may take me a little time to answer them. ❤) Tags of importance: obsession, local devil struggles with feelings AO3 ~ You have been less predictable than most of your kind. The rich spectrum of mortal emotion is a palette of many hues. Adept and well-versed in its heady heights and delicious depths, I employ both to my advantage. They are, after all, of inestimable value in my daily business; however, in a primarily – one could say – academic sense; by no means from first-hand experience, naturally. But now I am astonished, little mouse, at finding myself invested in your fate, beyond those distant contemplations, fury bright and fierce in my chest. You stand amidst the gore, skin sickly pale against the ruthless red drenching your robes and the very earth around you. – A single pure white rose in a field of thorny brambles. Your innocence is deceptive, and illusion your design. But your subterfuge won’t save you now against the vigor of your enemies. You have miscalculated, and you pay the price, your companions vanquished, alive but spent, and fear written plainly on your pain-twisted features. You suck in a slow and shaky breath while I watch, at the edge of the chaos. I savor you, how your lips part around the barely muttered words of your last hopeless spells, the multitude of emotions passing across your desperate face. Is this how you plan to escape the claws, little mouse? Stealing away from this plane of existence? The anger burns higher, floods my veins. It seems there is only so much time left for me to enjoy you before you ruin my flawless plan with your incompetence. I am drinking in the sight of you, trembling with the heat of my rage and something indefinable, much colder underneath, when finally, you collapse and lie in a motionless heap among the dry, brown grass. The air goes still. Something overcomes me at the sight, and I struggle not to bare my teeth. With a flick of my fingers, your last two attackers burn to ash. Immediately, the wizard is at your side. “Give him room.” I approach, slowly. It is meant as a command rather than a threat, but my words fly with far more intensity than intended. If my thoughts weren’t utterly consumed by the figure lying on the ground before me, I might be concerned by the suddenness of my own outburst. “Would you be so kind?” With an arch of my brow the request imparts an order. The useless mage finally flinches back from where he is crouched at your side, but I can feel the vampling’s red glare on me from some distance behind where he too lies wounded, all your companions drained of all power to regenerate or heal. I lower myself to take a closer look at you. You are shivering. Sweat pours down your face in saline rivulets. The hollows of your eyes appear too deep, your skin waxy, your scent earthen and sweltering. I can feel the hostile magic still raging through your body. “You won’t escape me like that.” My voice seems to cut through the haze in your mind. Your long lashes flutter. Then your eyes meet mine, glazed and feverish. When I cup your damp chin you startle, sucking in a jagged, pitiful gasp. I swallow hard, ignoring your pained little whimper. Pathetic. A few infernal words and my own power cleanses you of the destructive influence of the magic your opponents infused into your blood. Perhaps unconsciously, you lean into my touch before your gaze clears. “Raphael?” A feeling rises in me, and I find myself suddenly consumed by an irresistible need to hide you away from all eyes, friend and foe alike. It’s agonizing and unwelcome, this foreign, ridiculous urge.

I am no stranger to desiring you, perhaps beyond what you are strictly worth for my plan, and as much as I attempt to distance myself from this need, I’m incessantly aware of its presence. But this is not desire. At least not in the way I’m accustomed to experiencing it. No, what tears at me and clouds my senses is something else, nameless because I deny it the solidity of a name, unacceptable because in conflict with my very nature. I take a slow, even breath, getting hold of myself before I can do something rash. Another flick of my fingers makes a potion appear. I uncork it and bring it to your lips. “Drink.” You do, your body language uncharacteristically submissive, docile like a mindless doll. It displeases me to see you like this, robbed of your gleam, of your value to me. In a few heartbeats, the liquid will take effect. I raise my eyes and examine your worthless companions for a long moment. They will make it back to your camp. With that, I turn away, ready to vanish from this place and leave behind me the brief but frankly alarming lapse in control I have experienced at your hands. Your voice stops me. It is disgustingly weak. “I … thank you.” With a wide gesture of my arms and a cold smile on my lips, I turn towards you once more: “The list of your debts is growing, little mouse. You can thank me when I come to collect.”

[starkstruck27]

My next fill for @harringrovesummerbingo!! Prompt + Space: (Sunscreen-slippery) Manhandling, A3 Title: Slipping Through my Fingers Major Tags: None Rating: General Word Count: 880 Words Additional Tags: Beach day, Fluff, Silly, Funny, Summer, Petty Steve Harrington, Vacations, Mentions of Sensory Issues, Short & Sweet Summary: Billy and Steve take a vacation to California, and there's just one problem: Steve cannot stand the beach. He sunburns easily, and sand is his mortal enemy. But he'd do anything for Billy, and if he has to brave the beach for a few days, then that's what he's gotta do. What could go wrong? Also on: Ao3

“You are being such a baby!” Billy called from where he was setting up their things halfway between the boardwalk and the water. “It’s just a little sand, it’s not gonna kill you!”

“That’s easy for you to say! You grew up with the beach, I’m not used to it! And you know I hate it when things get stuck to me! Sand is the worst!” Steve yelled back from where he stood at the end of the boardwalk. 

How he had let Billy talk him into a vacation in California, he’d never know. Steve didn’t necessarily hate the beach, but if he never had to come to one again, he’d be perfectly okay with that. He did like being near the ocean, and the boardwalk was fun, but he never understood the appeal of sitting in the sun all day, getting sunburned while also being sticky from sunscreen, and getting sand in places that it should never be and he had no idea how it got there in the first place. It was just awful. But he loved Billy, and he knew that he got to pick their vacation destination last year, so if Billy wanted to drag him out to California for a few days, he knew he had to let him. He could put up with the beach for a few days if it made him happy. 

“Well, either you come over here yourself, or I’m leaving you there all day to bake in the sun!” Billy teased, putting his hands on his hips as he turned back to look at Steve. He mirrored the stance and then it was a staring contest, both of them stubborn enough to let it go on forever, but Billy really wanted to go and catch some waves, so finally, he caved.

“Fiiiine!” He groaned, leaving their things and walking the ten feet or so back to where Steve was still pouting on the boardwalk. “I’m not gonna be doing this all week, so you better get used to the sand as soon as possible.”

“Doing what?” Steve asked, but Billy just smiled. He leaned down and picked Steve up bridal style, much to Steve’s surprise. He began to squirm, telling Billy to put him down, but Billy refused. 

“If this is what it takes to get you on the beach with me, so be it!” He said as Steve started to calm down, but he was still squirming a bit. Billy was beginning to lose his grip, and he tried to tell Steve to stop so he could readjust, but he never got the chance. Both of them had put their sunscreen on before leaving the hotel, so their skin was slick, and before he was able to get a better grip on Steve, his hand slipped, and Billy dropped him just about two feet away from the chair he was going to put him in. 

“What the Hell!” Steve shrieked as he sprang up as quickly as he could, most of his body covered in sand. It was caked in his hair and sticking to him all over, and he looked more pissed off than Billy had ever seen him since the day they met. And, even though he tried to hold it back, he couldn’t contain his laughter. 

“I’m so sorry,” he said between giggles, “I am so sorry! I didn’t mean to drop you, I swear!”

“You are the literal worst! This is the most uncomfortable I’ve ever been in my whole life! I hate you and every stupid part of myself that cares about you enough that I let you talk me into coming here in the first place!” Steve yelled, throwing his arms up and getting sand everywhere.

“Oh, it’s not that bad! Come on, come into the water with me and it’ll all come off, I promise,” Billy continued to laugh, but holding out a hand to Steve. Steve took it, grumbling, but he started walking towards the water with Billy. He was still upset, though, and as they walked, he came up with a plan for revenge. 

They were almost to the water, just about to step onto the wet sand where the waves liked to crash, when Steve took a bigger step than he needed to, putting him just ahead of Billy. Billy was busy talking about how much Steve would enjoy the beach once he got used to it, but halfway through his sentence, Steve stuck his ankle in Billy’s path, making him fall face-first into the soupy sand. Billy leapt up just like Steve had earlier, his face and hair covered in wet sand, making him look like a monster as he wiped his face off, and it was Steve’s turn to laugh.

“There, now we’re even,” he said, helping Billy clear his eyes and sticking his tongue out at him once he could see it.

“You are the worst,” Billy said, but Steve could hear the smile in his voice, even if he couldn’t see it on his face. 

“I learned from the best,” Steve grinned. “Now let’s call a truce and get this off before I actually crawl out of my skin.”

“Okay, deal,” Billy said, taking his hand, and the two of them dove into the ocean.

[smallraindrops-blog]

Meet Me in The Sunflower Fields.

(A sleep family series)

Summary: out of order snapshots of the hazy days of summer with cherry popsicles and the distant, happy laughter of family. Modern!au

Word count: 1k

warnings: no beta, hinted at family trauma, cursing

Notes: this will be a daily series for the month of July. Super self-indulgent so beware. I will have a sleep family Masterlist out soon, so yall won’t have to hunt through all the tags.

Also did it as a modern au so to not spoil any upcoming lore.

Prompt list credit

Masterlist for WMFTD

I hope y'all enjoy this first part.

~~

Summer Kisses

The air felt sticky with heat, clinging to Hypnos’ skin with each step he took into the backyard. The boys were loudly playing in the pool, trying to get their grandpa to join them. 

Hypnos smiled at the sight even as he tugged at his shirt to help cool himself off, but that wasn’t why he was there. He scanned the yard with a frown, looking for his missing husband. 

When he spied both you and your father glaring darkly over the wooden fence at a certain pair of lovebirds, he rolled his eyes before going over.

The thing was, Hypnos knew it was coming. 

Icelos was the romantic of the family. She was the one sighed at the dramatic kiss during movies, her eyes going dreamy as Morpheus or Phobetor gagged with great force. 

Or hiding in the romance sections in the bookstore, trying to read the pages quickly as she could. Hypnos didn’t have the heart to tell Icelos that she wasn’t as sneaky as she thought.

So when a boy, with a car that was far too nice for him to own, drove up to their house and honked loudly and far too long, Hypnos had known. Icelos running out the house only sealed the deal.

You had looked ready to commit homicide the moment you heard the pesky honking.

“Glaring at them isn’t going to help, dearest.” Hypnos informed you, standing on his toes to join in on the staring. 

Icelos was blissfully unaware, twirling her hair as she leaned down to talk to the boy through the car window. The boy however was giving both you and Achilles fearful glances.

So he wasn’t a total idiot, thankfully. 

“It is helping me.” You grumbled. “He needs to leave. Now.”

”Back in my day, the boy was supposed to meet the girl at the door, not having the girl run to him.” Achilles said with a sour frown.

“And meet the parents.” You agreed, looking like you were considering marching over to them.

“Dearest, you used to be like that.” Hypnos said dryly, a smile pulling at his lips. “You climbed into my bedroom window to see me until my mother chased you out.” 

“That was a different time.” You said, dismissed his words as you narrowed your eyes. “Who in the hell let their kid drive a Range Rover?”

Hypnos sighed.

”Achilles. May I have a word with your son in private?” Hypnos gave Achilles a polite smile that clearly told him to fuck off which he did with a muttered ‘good luck’ to his son.

However Achilles didn’t return to Patroclus, he just went farther down the fence line,  never taking his glare off at the poor boy.

”What did I do?” You whispered in disbelief, leaning down to keep the conversation between them. Your arm braced on the fence, your body turned to him, the sheer size of you closing off the rest of the world.

Even after years of marriage and four children, the intensity of your eyes still left Hypnos a little breathless.

For a moment, Hypnos felt the fluttering of butterflies in his stomach, like he was an awkward teenager all over again, crushing on his mortal enemy. It took everything in him not to smile at the feeling.

Hypnos crossed his arms, frowning up at you. “You need to handle this with some respect for our daughter.” 

You scowled but before you could speak, Hypnos continued. “This whole scary father with a shotgun thing is only going to push Icelos away. She is a smart, pretty young lady, she is going to have people interested.”

You and him stared each other down, a silent battle of wills in the heat of sunlight. Then you broke, rubbing at your beard with a huff.

“Yeah, but that kid?” You jerked a thumb toward the car. “I get what you are saying but that little shit didn’t show the slightest bit of respect for our daughter. He shouldn’t have honked like that.”

You paused, and placed a large hand on his hip to tug him closer. Hypnos went obediently, lifting an eyebrow when you spoke again. “And he should have come to the door to meet us. I did that for you.” 

Hypnos didn’t disagree but this was one of those moments that they needed to show their daughter that her parents trusted her to make smart decisions. He spent too many years In therapy to not listen to the costly therapist.

“We will speak to her about that.” Hypnos promised quietly, leaning in closer. “I agree. But we can’t handle this like my family did.” 

You ducked your head down to brush a kiss against his lips. “We won’t. I promise you that.”

Hypnos smiled, hooking a finger in your shirt collar to keep you close. “Thank you.”

The next kiss was supposed to be a quick one, but somehow Hypnos forgot that, especially when you gave his bottom lip a playful nip, surprising him into deepening the kiss. 

“Hey!” 

You and Hypnos jerked away like you were the guilty teenagers when Achilles shouted. 

Hypnos blinked, somehow Achilles was already charging halfway down the driveway, shouting at the boy to get his filthy mouth off his precious granddaughter. 

You muttered a swear and in a graceful move, leaped over the fence with one hand to run down the driveway after your father.

With a quiet laugh, Hypnos just watched for a minute as you and Achilles broke up the romantic moment. The boy was hiding in his car seat as Icelos stood toe to toe with her father and grandfather.

Something Hypnos never felt like he could do. Too beaten down by his own family for just existing sometimes.

Maybe they were doing something right after all. But still they were definitely going to have to speak to her about her boyfriend’s disrespectful behaviors. There were boundaries for a reason.

Hypnos decided he would give it another minute before stepping in. He could use the entertainment anyway.

[anjumzm]

Midsummer Night

A Legacy of Gods Fanfic

JerCes Daughter x LanMia Son

Chapter 14

Aanya Volkov

Never before had I seen my family members so on edge before a Bratva meeting. I wasn’t prepared to face my family, so as soon as we landed here, I tagged along with Caleb directly to Uncle Vaughn's Mansion, where all the Bratva business and meetings were conducted.

The Bratva meeting room felt like stepping into a crucible, where tradition and power melded into an almost suffocating atmosphere. The long, dark wood table was surrounded by the most influential members of our families. We were all waiting for the Pakhan to arrive. I saw my father seated at his usual place at the right of Pakhan, wearing a stern expression. Across the table, Theo’s grandparents, Kyle Hunter and Rai Sokolov, sat with calm yet formidable demeanors. The moment they noticed me walk in along with Caleb, Ms. Rai came towards me and took my hands in hers.

"Aanya, it's so good to finally meet you. I cannot express how happy Kyle and I are after Theo broke the news to us. Welcome to the family, sweetheart. I know my grandson's way of expressing his emotions is far from conventional, but trust me, when you get to know him, beneath all the coldness you'll find a man who's fiercely loyal and protective of his family. Please give him time, and I'm sure you'll come to appreciate him for what he truly is and not what you've heard about him all this time."

I blushed slightly. Yesterday's dinner with his parents, today's meeting with his grandparents—it all felt too much. I didn't even have a boyfriend a few weeks back, and now, we were discussing my marriage. My throat went dry at the mere thought.

Breathe, Aanya. Breathe.

"Speaking of the devil, where is Theo? I thought you both would come together," Ms. Rai asked.

"I..."

"We've forbidden Aanya from traveling anywhere without security or anyone from family accompanying her, going forward," Caleb answered in his cool voice.

I could see Mr. Hunter getting ready to reply when we heard commotion outside.

"You motherfucker! I thought this was a part of some sick joke till now, but you've bloody taken it too far and I'm tempted to end your sorry existence, do some good for society," Aaron said, punching Theo.

Theo staggered a little, then got up, holding his jaw and punched Aaron right back. "You know, I'm kind of getting irritated with your barbaric ways, you illiterate moron. Unlike you, my face is a literal piece of art and I suggest you keep that in mind before you throw your next punch, dear brother-in-law."

"You little piece of—"

"Aaron! Leave him right away," my brother intervened, stepping between them. "This is not the right place or time for your episode. Look around where we’re standing. Your grandfather would hear about this and he’d be disappointed. We've raised you better than this, son."

"Uncle Jeremy is right, Aaron. Why raise our fits when there are other, more creative methods to disarm your enemies and bring them to their knees?" Alec came down the staircase, a picture of mafia royalty—authoritative and dominant. He was handsome, with thick black hair that contrasted sharply with his pale skin, high cheekbones, and a strong jawline that bore a striking resemblance to his father. Despite the subtle Asian features inherited from his mother, his dominant Russian genes made him the picture of a dark romance mafia hero.

Yet you declined his proposal. What a fool.

I declined his proposal because I wasn’t ready for a relationship, let alone marriage.

And here we are, back to square one.

Theo finally noticed him, and once their eyes met, I could feel the tension from here. Both of them were used to commanding and ordering people around them. One could only wonder how things would go if they were put in a single room. Only one would emerge victorious given that both believed themselves to be untouchable beings. Us mortals should feel blessed to even be in their presence.

"Long time no see, belochka," Alec said, kissing the back of my hand.

"The same could be said about you, spider," I said, almost grinning.

Me and Alec, we were kind of close since childhood, to the point that I'd always drag him with me to play princess and prince. We also had a small castle at my grandpa Adrian's place, and Alec used to tag along. As a kid, he was super shy, talking only when necessary and keeping to himself. Being the Pakhan's son kind of made other people wary of him, but not me. I thought he was similar to me, at least before he and Aaron were sent to Russia for some kind of training. When both of them returned, I'd lost the fun version of my brother and friend. Alec kept his distance from me, and Aaron became what he is now. But then last month, he'd approached me at the charity ball, said that we should catch up, but I felt awkward. It was as if I couldn't make up my mind whether to talk to him as my long-lost buddy or the future Mafia Lord. And then he proposed, which made me step away from him for good.

"Still saving squirrels and kittens, I suppose?" he jokingly asked.

"Still scared of spiders, I suppose?" I replied, which earned a laugh from him.

Before our conversation could proceed, Theo King stepped in, his hand at the small of my back and extended his other hand to Alec.

"Theo King. I didn’t ever get a chance to meet you personally, but have heard quite a lot about you. Safe to say your reputation precedes you, Mr. Morozova."

"Same could be said about you, Mr. King. You’re quite the player, aren’t you? But I’d like to inform you that you’ve stepped on the wrong turf. When yours is a life of calm seas and ours is a dance of shadows, I suggest you keep your hands clean, let the devils work in the night. I’d be happy to help you carry out your dirty work."

"Thank you for the generous advice. But I'm a creature of habit; I don’t take anyone other than myself seriously. As for the dirty work, I'm sure Mr. Morozova the senior would educate you on the matters, as to how I've proven myself to be a valuable asset to the organization these past few days, more so than the other heirs of the seating families," Theo replied.

The entire scene felt as though it was out of some movie. As if two lions were encircling each other, readying themselves to pounce at the right time.

Before the tension escalated, the Pakhan joined us at the head of the table, with Alec, my dad, and my brothers on one side and Mr. Hunter, Ms. Rai, and Theo on the other side. This was an intimate meeting with only my father and Theo's grandparents, for the Pakhan to decide if we could go ahead with the proposal, given that I'm my father's daughter and Theo's a Sokolov from his mother's side.

"Well then, without any further ado, let's get started. Jeremy, what’s the reason behind the sudden announcement about Aanya’s engagement to Theodore? Last time we talked about the matter, you were adamant about how Aanya's still a little girl, and you wouldn't be thinking about her marriage for at least the next few years. What happened? Did she suddenly grow up from the last time to now?" Uncle Vaughn added in a taunting manner. I knew he was still salty about the whole Alec's proposal thing.

"I assure you, Pakhan, my intention remains the same. If it wasn't for my daughter's happiness and my respect for her choice, I would have buried this...him, before he could even dare to finish taking his and Aanya's name in a sentence together," Dad said in an agitated tone. I knew I'd hurt my dad in the worst possible manner. But if this marriage was the only way to secure my family's future, I’d do it. I'd do it a hundred times if I had to. I avoided looking at my father's side, fearing the disappointment in them. The guilt I would feel would kill me.

I promise you, Dad, once this is all over, I’ll make it up to you. To all of you.

Kyle Hunter, Theo’s grandfather, intervened, his voice calm but firm. “Jeremy, Theo’s engagement to Aanya is a decision that both families should respect. We are here to discuss it, not undermine it.”

My father’s gaze hardened. “Respect is earned, not given, Kyle. Theo must prove that his intentions are genuine. As of now, I do not trust him."

Rai Sokolov, Theo’s grandmother, added with a measured tone, “Jeremy, you know our family well. Theo has proven himself time and again. This engagement is no different.”

Alec leaned back in his chair, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Proven himself? In what way? By manipulating situations to his advantage? Aanya deserves someone who understands her, someone who’s been there for her.”

I felt Theo’s grip tighten on my hand. “Are you underestimating Aanya’s ability to make her own decisions, Alec? Saying that she's naive?”

Alec’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Aanya, do you feel the same? Do you believe Theo can provide what you need?”

Why, just why am I being put in a spot like this?

"I...I respect him, Alec. He's a man of his word and has principles. It's my choice to get engaged to him, and I request everyone to respect my decisions. I know this has come as quite a surprise, but this is not a decision I've made in the heat of the moment," I said in a stable tone, although I felt nervous as hell inside.

There's pin drop silence before th3 Pakhan intervenes.

"I think there's not much to discuss then, Jeremy. Since our dear Aanya wants this, and me being her beloved uncle, I cannot keep her away from something she wants. Theo, you have my permission, but know this: Aanya is a child who's under the Bratva's protection—a Mafia princess. If you even accidentally make her cry, you'll face severe consequences, the kind you're not used to."

"I assure you, Pakhan, I'll keep her in the palm of my hand. I'll do my best to meet all her expectations."

"As you should, Mr.King, as you should."

Alec starts moving to Theo's side, whispers something to him which makes him go rigid and right when he's about to move out the door he makes the "I'm watching you sign" to Theo, his smirk conveying that he's up to something. I know it.

As we all were leaving, I tried to talk to my father. "Dad, I—"

"Not here, Angel. Let's get home first."

Just when I was moving towards my father's car, a hand came out of nowhere, pulling me into a dark room.

"Wha—"

"Shh..."

"Theo, what the hell? Are you mad?"

"Stay away from Alec."

"Stay away from Alec. You'll cut all your contacts with him—no messaging, no contacting him, talking to him, or even looking at him."

"I won't. Alec's my friend, and you're not the boss of me. Just in case you've forgotten, this is not some match made in heaven; it's an alliance. You have something I want back, and so here I am, bending to your whims, but there's a limit to it, Theo King. I won't allow you to dictate what I do and wear or whom I meet. You.Do.Not.Own.Me." I poked his chest with every word.

Just when I was about to escape, he pulled me back by my wrist and locked my hand above my head with one hand, his other one resting beside my head. Our lips were inches apart. I could feel his breath upon my lips, my eyes wandering over his features—his eyes, straight nose, mole near his right eye.  Perfect, just like the whole of him.

"Theo...let me go," I whispered.

"I can't. I can't stop thinking about you, little bird. You're in my head, everywhere I go. I keep reminding myself that this is an alliance, nothing more, but every time I look at you, I feel this blatant need to own you, mark you in a way that declares to the whole world you're mine. I want to bind you to me, little bird. Pull you into the abyss where no one else but you and I will live," he said in a voice not more than a whisper.

Just a taste, just one touch...

He leaned forward, our lips lingering on each other.

"Aanya! Where are you? We need to leave," Aaron's voice broke whatever spell I was in, and I ran out of the room.

I need to get back the black book, need to end this, before the flame in me turns into a full-fledged fire. One that will engulf both him and me.

[samblackblog]

8. Torn

⎔ MASTERLIST ⎔ REQUESTS ⎔ TWILIGHT ⎔ BOUNDARIES ⎔

Word Count: 6.1K

Warnings: Mentions of drugs, fluff, Arguments/violence, mentions of violence,

A/N: I enjoyed writing this, seems I enjoy being destructive. Comment below if you wanna be tagged for this or any other works. Some of you who asked to be tagged for some reason aren’t showing up as accounts anymore, if you’ve changed name let me know.

Thanks for the continued support x

← Chapter 7 ▪️ Chapter 9→

-----

Mortified. That’s what you felt while still standing between his legs in his embrace, listening to the storm rage outside while all of a sudden there was a deep rumble that came from inside you. You winced against his chest hoping he hadn’t heard or that perhaps he would pass it off as thunder. Then it happened again, but this time it was fiercer and you’re pretty sure your entire stomach vibrated with the sheer force. If he hasn’t heard, he’ll have felt the tremor. 

God. That’s so unattractive. 

You feel Paul stroke hair away from your face and tuck it behind your ear. Despite appearances you’ve come to find him a gentle being, or maybe that’s because these gentiles involve you. You look at him, both studying each other as the desire to kiss him again drives you crazy. Just as you decided to make a move a third rumble sounds which brings a playful smile to his mouth. 

“You’re hungry…” he rests his forehead against yours, sounding deflated. 

“No, that wasn’t-” your stomach interrupts. You bite your lip to stop from laughing “okay, maybe a tiny bit” you admit, realising you hadn’t eaten all day. “Not that I’m asking, no expecting, you to feed… well I’m not starving… I can wait, it’s my fault for not-” you’re interrupted once more as he tenderly places a kiss on your lips before brushing his nose against yours. 

“You’re cute” he kisses you again as his hands squeeze your waist. You lean into him, deepening the kiss. “As much as I’m enjoying this” he kisses you again “feeding you…” his lips travel along your jaw and start to descend your neck “ …my top priority…” he takes a playful nip at the love bite in the crook of your neck, making you jump at the change in contact. 

“Ouchie” you jump away from him, playfully pushing his arms away. 

“That’s one way to get you moving” he teases, arms returning to the furniture he’s leaning on. The muscles flex under the skin, a move you feel is utterly deliberate and meant to have you melting. You stick your tongue out as you back away, knees knocking against the bed frame forcing you to sit. You bring one leg up onto the mattress, placing the foot against the opposite thigh. Your fingers start playing with the hem of the sweater you wore as your eyes bore into him, with such intensity he could swear you were his mortal enemy, harbouring dark feelings towards him.

“What?” Your hands fly to the side, smacking the bed sheets. The corner of your mouth upturns ever so slightly despite your hardest to keep a straight face. 

“I can never tell with you…” he shakes his head and walks towards you, dropping to his knees with graceful surety. Warmth spreads through your legs as his hands find a home on your thighs. He’s face to face, staring at point blank range into your eyes “...I should always be able to, but it comes and goes…” You strain to hear his whispering as he thinks aloud.  

“You’re not a superhuman” you joke, your voice bringing him out from his mindful trance. 

“Huh?” he questions, a stunned look across his face, as if someone had just slapped him.

“I said you’re not a superhuman!” you reiterate, noticing the twitch in the corner of his mouth as if trying to suppress a smile, ignoring it you move on “Just do what every other human does, ask questions. You know, like how are you? What’s going on…” you start listing off examples as he moves in closer again. You’re suddenly aware that he’s between your legs and your mouth feels drier than a desert. “... or um, how are you feeling?” you swallow as you lose concentration, your eyes fixated on his lips. 

“And how are you?” he questions, cockiness to his tone. The grip on your thighs tightens slightly.

“How am I what?” You swallow, trying your hardest to moisten your mouth. 

“Feeling.” He suggests, eyes roaming your face for an answer despite it being obvious from the pink blush of your cheeks and the change in breathing, which brings him joy to no end. 

“Oh, um…” you drag your eyes away from his lips to see him studying you. The colour of your cheeks deepens as you're caught red handed, your desire evident. “I think you know…” you trail off while leaning forward into him. 

“Mhmm, you’re feeling hungry.” He teases as you roll your eyes in response. Momentarily he sucks his teeth while thinking of a solution. You’d guessed there would be no food here, judging by the lack of facilities. “Okay.” He stands in one swift motion, and heads into the gloom of the main room. You follow, propping yourself against the doorframe. The air feels colder in here, your breath crossing in front of you in smokey tendrils. 

“What are you doing?” you ask, bemused, as you watch him move around like a headless chicken. Surprised, you watch him produce an apple from the pocket of a discarded jacket. He pads over to you, leaving footprints in the dust covered floor, and presents the fruit to you with a wave of his hand. 

“Surprised I had anything?” he chuckles, holding it up to your face. 

“No, more surprised that you own a jacket since I’ve ever seen you wear a top.” You take the apple from him, a cheeky smile on your face. Nevertheless, you don’t forget your manners and give him a grateful thank you. He leans down and plants a kiss on your forehead, a gesture that's becoming increasingly welcomed by yourself, before heading towards the front door. “Where are you going?”

“Source more food” he yells over the noise of the storm. 

“You can’t go out in that!” He turns to face you, hand opening the door, and gives you a cheeky wink before delving head first into the storm. Finding it hard to believe he would venture out in this weather, you gingerly make your way to the door, stepping in patches that had less dust to avoid dirtying your feet as much as possible. You greatly underestimated the force of the storm as you opened the door to peek. It flies backwards slamming into the wall, as the wind whips your wet hair around causing it to slap against your face. 

“Paul?” you yell, your hand flying up to shield your eyes from the rain which pounds down, driven in by the ferocity of the storm. You jump backwards as something wraps around your leg. “What the hell!” you shriek, confusion sweeping over you. A pair of very wet shorts clings to you after having been blown in off the porch. If you weren’t mistaken, they were the shorts Paul had been wearing, but they can’t be. Why on earth would he take them off? Before getting absolutely drenched you fight the storm to close the front door and then battle the wet material of the shorts as you pull them from you. Having caught a chill from the open door you make your way back to the bedroom and decide to get under the covers after deeming them clean enough. You sit crossed legged against the headboard, the duvet pulled up under your arms as you munch on the apple utterly perplexed by the events of the day and feeling exhausted. You don’t remember falling asleep but you must have as a loud knock wakes you. 

Footsteps sound in the other room as someone goes to answer the door, a second loud knock resonating through the building. You strain to hear voices, still half asleep and content to stay that way. Despite the worst of the storm passing, it was still nigh on impossible to hear much over the sound of the wind against the old house. You settle back into the comfort of the bed and pull your legs towards your chest for warmth. You’re aware of someone entering the room and are comforted by their presence. The bed dips beside you as they sit down. Gently a hand pushes hair behind your ear and you feel hot breath hit your cheek. 

“Are you still hungry?” Paul’s familiar deep voice whispers, tickling your ear as he does so. With your eyes still closed you nod against the pillow, the faint pain of hunger eating away at your stomach but the desire for five more minutes of sleep fighting all else. “Embry brought the truck over, the rain is still coming down quite heavy.” 

“Mhmm” you open your eyes at the mention of Embry and scan the room. To your relief he’s not in the room with you both. “I fell asleep” you inform Paul, still in a daze. 

“So you did” he chuckles and you sit up and face him. “Ready?” he smiles, taking in your appearance. He can’t deny the sight of you in his bed drives him crazy especially when you look all cute and sleepy, but the need to look after you overcomes any desires that build up. 

“Not really.” You look down at your attire and shiver at the sight of bare legs. Your clothes will still be soaked through so not much can be done. Paul wraps an arm around your waist and one under your legs before shifting your weight to sit on his lap. Softly he kisses your cheek.

“You look gorgeous, just saying.” he plants another kiss, this time on your lips “I’ve wanted to do that for the past hour” he admits before stealing another kiss. Satisfied he stands up still carrying you and heads for the door. 

“I do have the use of my legs you know.” you point out but think better of protesting as you remember the dirty floor.

“What you don’t have is a pair of dry shoes though.” Somehow he manages to juggle carrying you and the opening and closing of the front door simultaneously. Yes he physically looked strong but you’re starting to realise that his looks were deceiving and don’t show the half of it. 

The rain had stopped but the wind was stronger than ever. You wonder how this ramshackle house is still standing. You watch it as Paul carries you away, sadness filling you as you cling to him. Questions circle your brain. What is this building? Does he live here? But it's empty, I wouldn’t even call this the bare necessities… Secretly you hope that it’s some renovation flip project and that he has a warm cosy place to live, perhaps with family; a mother who likes to cook and always has food on the table, the father welcoming and making dad jokes all the time, but something about the scenario you put together doesn’t feel right for Paul. Instinctively you hold onto him tighter and you feel his grip on you tighten in response. Turning your head you spot the truck, it's battered but looks like it’ll do the job for offroading as there appears to be no tarmac in sight. A glance at the ground would show a makeshift driveway, put together with mud and gravel, but anyone would be forgiven for missing this as the weeds and long grass have completely enveloped it. 

“I thought you said Embry was here?” you ask, confused as he’s nowhere to be seen as Paul opens the passengers side door. Your eyes briefly scan the surroundings but are distracted as Paul starts to strap you in, his hands brushing your bare skin. Goosebumps follow in the wake of his touch. “I can do that” you offer, taking the seat belt from his hands. His eyes briefly flicker to the goosebumps before letting you finish the job. Neither of you say anything as he shuts the door and goes around to the driver's side, pushing a pile of clothes into the middle of the bench seat so he could have more room. You take in Paul’s appearance, noticing he’s wearing a tank top and a different pair of cargo shorts from earlier. So had the pair that attached to your leg earlier been his after all?

“You okay?” he asks as he starts the engine, noticing your quietness. 

“Yeah, just in a sleepy zone” you lie, the cold of the wind had made damn sure to fully wake you. Instead you were contemplating what the significance of the constant discarding of clothes could be. Were they naturalists? Surely Embry hadn’t driven here to then decide he’d prefer walking miles in the cold with no clothes?! That’s if the pile of clothes are his. You spend the drive leaning against the window, feigning tiredness, all the while trying to find a reasonable explanation for the oddities. It doesn’t take long to recognize where you are, especially when Sarah’s car comes into view. You stifle a groan as you once again look down and take in your appearance, knowing what Sarah would think with you turning up in his clothing. You realise that Paul is staring before he reaches over and touches your thigh which brings your attention to him. 

“No one will care or even notice.” He calmly tells you as if able to read your mind. 

“I can think of at least one person that will have something to say.” You argue, eyes straying from his as you imagine the embarrassment in store. 

“Hey” he squeezes your thigh before leaning over and softly kissing your forehead. Instinctively you close your eyes and drink in his scent, savouring every moment as he moves in closer. “We can go, but Em is a good cook…” At the thought of food your stomach rumbles and all other thoughts are expelled from your mind. You let out a noise of longing as you imagine what could right now be on the dinner table, your gaze straying from the man beside you to the warm glow of the cabin in the woods. 

“It wouldn’t harm just popping in, saying hello…” you suggest.

“Mhmm” he chuckles “Of course only to say hello” he mocks before exiting the vehicle to come get you from the passenger's side. The door opens and immediately the wind pushes inside, stealing any warmth that had generated in the cab. You shiver then shimmy to the edge of the seat before swinging your legs over. A pleasant shock erupts across your nerves as your knees come into contact with Paul, his warmth unbelievable in this miserable weather. “What do you think? Five or ten minutes? Is that long enough just to say hi?” he continues the joke, a playful smile tugging at his lips. 

“Shut up” you insist as you pull on his shirt, catching him off guard with a kiss. He leans in to deepen it, hands planting themselves into the seat either side of you. Your tongue runs along his bottom lip causing him to break from you. You notice how deep his breathing is as he rests his forehead against yours with eyes tightly closed as if in pain. To soothe him you place a kiss on his neck just under his jaw, where you fit perfectly like part of a jigsaw; as if made for him. He sucks in a sharp breath which confuses you. “What’s wrong?” you ask, worry evident in your tone. 

Paul finally opens his eyes, a smile once again playing across his features. He expels a sigh before tucking loose hairs behind your ears. “Nothing is wrong my sweet girl.” You blush at his use of the phrase my girl with a sense of elation spreading from your chest. “I’ve never been good at restraining my impulses and you’re testing each and every one of them.” He laughs but you can sense the warning that hides beneath the surface. 

“Let's go say our hellos then.” You try to bring the focus back to something lighter but you can’t help from feeling curious at the mention of his so called impulses. In one motion he picks you up, gently removing you from the truck. This time you remove an arm from his neck to close the door as he walks you past to the stairs of the cabin. “Put me down on the porch please” You tell him as you reach the final step. “Let's try to draw the least amount of attention possible”. You explain. 

As gently as he picked you up, he places you back on your feet, the wooden porch feeling rough underfoot. You squeeze his hand to give him a silent thanks. He reciprocates the motion before leading you to the door. The sound of twigs snapping makes you dart your gaze towards the treeline. For the briefest second you think you see eyes glowing in the gloom but they’re gone in a blink.  

“Did you hear-” you start to ask, realising it was probably normal to hear that out here amongst the wildlife. Just as you move your gaze back to Paul you hear the door of the truck slam shut. Paul’s head briefly glances towards the vehicle affirming the noise in your head, but he doesn't give it more than a few seconds' attention before continuing to lead you into the cabin. It feels like he’s rushing you inside which piques your curiosity. You look through the open doorway but all you see are branches swaying on the trees from the wind. Or as if they’d been disturbed by something. And then the view is cut off as Paul closes the door. The distraction had stopped you worrying until this moment. The sound of chatter and laughter fills your ears, your back facing the crowd around the table. Paul watches as you turn to face them all and senses you relax as the group pays no attention to you both. He places his hand on your back, urging you on. 

“Don’t be shy” he leans down to whisper. Familiar eyes catch yours from across the room as Sarah looks up from the table for a second, noticing how you blush as he whispers in your ear. You move in unison, holding his hand while examining the table and kitchen counters as copious amounts of food sit on serving plates. Paul grabs the last clean plate before dragging you towards the food. 

“What do you want?” he asks, eyeing you from his high vantage point. You move in closer to his body, wrapping yourself around the arm you’d been holding. Hiding his true motive from the rest of the room, he leans down to kiss your head, getting close enough to whisper so only you can hear. “Someone’s gone all shy.” He wasn’t mocking, his tone was comforting, his enclosed hand rubbing circles on yours with his thumb. Unable to speak, you nod to his statement. You hear him make a hum of acknowledgment as he thinks. “Squeeze my hand if it’s something you don’t want.” He tells you as he puts the plate down to pick up a serving spoon. It really being a two handed job, it takes a while, but he doesn’t mind as keeping you comfortable is equally as important as feeding you. Feeling brave you peek behind you, relaxing in the knowledge that absolutely no one is paying attention. Ever so slightly do you loosen your grip on Paul but never do you entirely let go. 

The front door slams open, startling you, as Embry walks in, pulling a T-shirt over his head at the same time. The very shirt that had been in the truck a few minutes ago. Everyone watches as he makes an ordeal of his entrance, struggling to get his head through the hole. You make a mental note that Embry is probably the comic of the group.

“Goddamn is it windy out there!” he yells as his head pokes out the top of the shirt. His foot finds the door and it once again slams as it shuts. His eyes make contact with yours, a million questions swimming in the deep depths of your irises. As you begin to purse your lips in preparation for your questioning his eyes travel to Paul. “Oh hey Paul!” he greets, “Hope you’ve left some food” an underlying tone of sarcasm laces his words before he heads across the room, avoiding your gaze. You notice another pair of eyes looking at you questioningly. Sarah glances between you and Embry and then back to Paul, a million questions also plaguing her. She takes a sip from the mug in her hand and raises an eyebrow as she comes to a conclusion, one which you’ll likely not enjoy.

Pulling you away from her glare, Paul settles against the counter with you between his legs, and finds a way to hold the plate and you in his arms simultaneously. You pick at the food but with him sharing it, you find the plate is empty before long and discarded on the counter next to you, allowing him to properly hold you in his big arms which are folded over your tummy. Nervously you trace patterns across the tanned skin of his forearms as you lose yourself to memories of the last time you’d been in this kitchen with Paul and the kiss you almost shared, which wads you to the kisses that you’ve shared this day, the echo of his lips against yours, hot with desire. A flush creeps up your neck at the thoughts as you lean your head back against his chest, eyes peering up at him. You noticed him engaged in conversation with the group, his chest shaking beneath you as he released a deep laugh. You admire the way that his eyes scrunch up as the laugh encapsulates his entire face, his smile so big and infectious you can’t help but feel happy. This is the moment, the one you’ll think back on as the moment you realised how deeply you feel for this man. Despite not knowing him for long or fully understanding how, you can no longer deny to yourself how you feel. Sensing eyes on you once again you decide an explanation is needed from you. You gently peel Paul’s arms off you and swallow the fear that now eats at you. You can sense how uncomfortable Paul becomes when you start walking across the room, how he fights the urge to follow you. It’s apparent to all as you stop behind Sarah who’s watching him intently, a burning hatred evident in her eyes as they bore into his soul. Her stare doesn’t break when you wrap your arms around her neck and lean down to hug her, nor when you whisper hello, she just responds with a curt acknowledgement.  

“I think we need a chat.” You suggest, the words almost not wanting to leave your body. She nods against your hug. 

“Good idea” she finally turns her head towards you, her eyes taking longer to meet yours as they linger on the object of her disdain. “Perhaps in the car later.” The thought of later and of driving away from this place is something that fills you with sadness and threatens to drive your heart into an anxious frenzy. Maybe there’s an alternative, one where you don’t have to leave, but your mother… 

You withdraw from the hug, standing with your hands on Sarah’s shoulders before retracting those too. You see Paul’s jaw clench as he watches you disappear inside, back behind those walls he’s only just managed to climb. You want to go to him, reach out for the safety of the shore as you’re swept out into the depths, but the current is too strong. Desperately you want to go somewhere quiet, suddenly finding the noise of chatter deafening. Without thinking, your eyes fixate on the latecomer to the gathering, watching as he stuffs a muffin into his mouth, crumbs falling onto the T-shirt you’d only just seen him put on. 

“What's the deal with the nakedness Embry?” you ask with an accusing tone. The confidence to ask comes from the need to distract yourself and the desire for answers. Embry almost chokes on his food as the faces of everyone else turn to look at the two of you, confusion and anger present on many of them apart from Paul’s which lights up in amusement. 

“The what?” Sarah shoots at you, a puzzled look upon her face. “Why are you seeing him naked, I thought you and Paul-” she starts, earning a glare from you. Whatever she thought she did or did not know, you don’t appreciate the snide comment. 

“No, I…We…” you stutter and shake your head “that’s not the point, the point is, why drive all the way to us to walk back naked?” you draw the subject of conversation back to Embry. 

“Looks like you need to keep an eye out Paul, your girl’s sure interested in Embry’s nakedness” one of the group teases, making you feel angry at their inability to take anything seriously. 

“Hey! I’m not his girl-” your voice gets lost amongst the boy’s growing jests and is only noticed by Sarah. 

“Yeah, looks like I need to be careful around you” Embry flashes a grin and winks in your direction earning laughs from everyone. Sarah mutters something incoherent under her breath. 

“Jared, Embry, that's enough” Sam’s scalding voice booms above the ruckus. The laughter dies away as he stands and comes over to you. “Looks like you’ll fit in around here,” he announces loudly to the whole room before lowering his pitch for your ears only “Just don’t let them bully you.” He smiles before heading to the door and leaving into the growing dark. 

“I wasn’t bullying” Embry whispers to himself while sulking and eating another muffin. 

“Lighten up” The one you assumed to be Jared, shoves him playfully.

“You lighten up” Embry retorts, shoving him back.

“Oh, you wanna go?” Jared stands up “Common then, outside.” He almost growls before the whole room erupts into laughter again. They both lean in, hands gripping the forearms of the other. “I’m only joking.” Jared laughs.

“Only because you know I’d take you.” Embry taunts, a shocked expression plastering Jared’s face.

 “Right, you’re on boy.” Jared jumps to his feet along with Embry and they both run from the cabin. One of them pretends to howl like a wolf as they run down the porch steps and follow Sam into the darkness. 

After witnessing the entire scene, a confused laugh bubbles to the surface and forces its way out as you take one of the now vacated seats. “I’ll pretend I know what just happened” you say, hysterics threatening to follow. From the look on Sarah’s face you can tell she’s just as confused as you.

“Trust me, that’s what I do” Emily starts gathering empty plates, busying herself. “I never know what's going on with these ones” she gestures towards the boys. 

“Ouch!” one you've not met before, feigns hurt. “I’m Seth by the way,” he’s quieter than the rest, “It’s nice to finally meet Pauls-” he looks between the two of you trying to decide what words are best to use. 

“Yes, I’d like to know what you guys are.” Sarah chimes in, Seth instantly looks down at the table, feeling guilty for bringing on her accusing tone. “I mean, for God's sake!” her hands slam down on the table as she shoots to her feet, evidently coming to the end of her patience. 

“Sarah-” You try to soothe her, but it doesn't have the desired effect. 

“Don’t!” she warns, her voice barely concealing the anger. 

“Sarah please don’t” you try to plead with her not to leave, following her outside as she ignores your voice. “Sarah, talk to me.” Frustration boils beneath your surface as you start to feel torn between your friend and… well, whatever he is to you. 

“Like you talk to me?” she snaps back. “Some friendship this is” she scoffs, opening the door to her car. Your hand pushes back against the metal, slamming it to stop her from leaving. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you fold your arms defensively across your chest, blinking rapidly to stop tears from forming. 

“I’ve done nothing but be there for you during whatever this is” She gestures all around and then at you “I’ve tried talking to you, hell, I’ve even covered for you to your family, to our boss. I’ve had your back this entire time, despite warning you.”

“Warning me? What warning?” 

Sarah stares at you, eyes wide, the hurt evident. “He’s bad news and you can’t see that.” she rubs her eyes to hide how glassy they’ve become. “Did he tell you what happened to your job? Did he fucking tell you our boss ended up in hospital?”

“What?” The shock of her statement was written all over your face. He’d left that detail out. A smile pulls at Sarah’s mouth followed by a laugh. 

“Of course he didn’t” she continues to drive her point. “He has major anger issues. What’s to stop him from doing that to you?” 

“No” you shake your head “he wouldn't do that to me, he wouldn’t… I know-”

“You don’t know him!” she grabs your arms and shakes you “Listen to me! See the signs! Look at what’s happened! First he drugs you”

“Hold on, that’s not what happened-”

“Second, he puts your boss in danger” she cuts you off and starts listing things that have happened, counting them on her fingers “And then just today, You were mad at him and the next thing you’re running off and I’ve got a group of messed up weirdos telling me you’re with him and then you turn up barely dressed! What am I supposed to think?” She’s exasperated and confused as she slaps he sees with her arms. 

“If I wanted a lecture I’d have clued my mother in on all this!” your anger has returned. You sense his presence watching from the cabin window; it does little to calm you. If anything it spurs you on, feeling the need to defend him. “You don’t understand.” 

“Then tell me” Sarah begs you. 

“I can’t…there are no words.” Seeing her look of disappointment, you give an explanation a go “It sounds ridiculous but it's like in the movies, when they say love at first sight. I can’t get him out of my head, I need to be around him. It hurts to be apart-” 

“God, just listen to yourself. Do you know how crazy you sound? How can you love someone you barely know? You sound delusional.” she grabs your head, moving it to face what little light resonates from the cabin. She moves in closer, studying your eyes before snapping her head round to face Paul as he emerges from the building. “Have you drugged her again?” Sarah starts towards him, hurling more accusations. You yell after her, trying to stop it before it happens, knowing what Sarah gets like with a bee in her bonnet. You grab her by the elbow, pulling her astray and yanking her back to face you. 

“Stop please” you almost sob. She pulls her arm free to which you grab her again. 

“Stay away from her, you hear me?” she turns her attention back to Paul who had made his way over. “I know what you are!” she spits at him. For a brief second, panic enters Paul’s eyes “I’ve known men like you my whole life. Let her go!” She tries to reach for him with her free arm, only just about managing to give him a slight shove, which to a man his size, was nothing. Frustrated, Sarah lashes out, she pushes her elbow back into you, causing you to stumble and fall to the ground. You don’t cry out as white hot pain sears up your hip, the scream held back by panic. You watch as Sarah, having released herself from your grip, lands a blow to Paul’s face. Despite the pain, you push to your feet and put yourself between the two of them before more damage is done. Sarah stands back, the anger dissipating as she watches you put yourself in her path, your hand resting on Paul’s chest to stop his advance. Disappointment replaces her anger as you yell for her to stop like she’s the monster; your words to him being kinder and much softer. Truth of the matter is you can sense his anger and if what she said was true between Paul and your boss, you needed to do whatever it was to stop him from doing that to Sarah. You still weren’t sure he was capable of that, not after seeing how gentle he has been with you, but what if he also gets the feeling to protect and defend you, the same one you experienced earlier? What would it drive him to do? 

“Well,” Sarah starts walking backwards, taking in the scene. Waves of sadness lap at you as tears fall from her eyes. “I guess you’ve made your choice then.” She chokes on the last sentence as she turns to get into her car, the anger completely gone, replaced by emptiness in both of you. The sound of the car sputtering to life wakes you from the trance you entered. Your hand leaves Paul as your feet start to run towards her car. 

“Don’t go,” you whisper, hoping that she would somehow hear. You wipe your own tears off on the back of your hand as you chase her car up the dirt track, knowing she can see you in the mirror. Paul’s concerned shouts drown out in white noise as you continue up the drive long after Sarah is still no longer in view. “Don’t go, not like this” you mumble as the pace slows to a walk, your feet clumsily taking you forward until your senses start to wake back up, reality whooshing back in. The pain at your hip is a reminder of events and the hollowness inside for the mourning of your only friend in this place. You stumble through the pain of your hip, now fully aware of the presence that follows you. The urge to run into his arms is overwhelming as you crave comfort but doubt has started to creep back in, sowing its seed in your mind, so you ignore him for a little longer. 

Eventually he approaches you, after your emotions settle. Allowing him to take you into his arms, you take a deep breath to savour the moment and solidify him in your memory. You’ve had time to think and time is what you need more than anything. 

“I want to go home.” earlier the prospect of leaving Paul hurt more than anything but now you relish in the idea of space as you feel yourself shutting down. Although he doesn’t want to let you go, he knows he can’t smother you. 

“Just don’t shut me out, talk to me.” He strokes your hair as he holds you, hoping his words would reach you deep inside, so you know that you’re not alone. You break from his hold as his words remind you of similar ones from Sarah.

Do I shut people out? I don’t mean to…

Briefly do you look into his eyes, the only feature to give away the pain he’s currently in, watching you go through this. Once again feeling sad you turn and head back down the track towards the cabin. 

“Have I lost you?” his question cuts deeper than a knife, dissolving the last piece of your stability. “Tell me I haven’t lost you” his voice breaks as he pleads for an answer. It hurts you even more to hear him like this, you want to comfort him and tell him everything is okay but you can’t find it in you to do that. 

“You’ll never lose me” you whisper as you put distance between the both of you. Despite it being almost inaudible, you feel certain he’s heard or senses it as his footfalls start to follow you once again. The words you whispered running over your mind in a constant loop. Seemingly you’ve made a choice this day; no matter what, you’re here for the long run. The idea of losing Paul, the hurt involved with that, outweighs everything else. The thought alone is almost enough to send you to the floor in a hysterical fit of hyperventilating and panic. He’ll never lose you. 

Not that I have much choice in the matter.

-----

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ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — ZHONGLI X FEM READER

Zhongli only has three friends: Childe, Xiao, and you. Naturally, the three of you have to interact at some point. 

wc — 1.4k

tags — meeting Childe because Zhongli wants you to, taking care of Xiao because Zhongli asked you to, reader is whipped without realizing it 

glossary | chapter 6 of This Is How We Mourn The Living

Having tea with public enemy #1 of Liyue was not on your agenda today, but as always, Zhongli threw a wrench in your plans. It was meant to be a relaxing night alone, until you had spotted your friend. Normally, you’d join him immediately, but this time, some instinct stopped you, and for good reason. Across the floor of the tea house, a wanted criminal playfully begs Zhongli to feed him, citing ‘lack of competence with chopsticks’ as an excuse.

“Zhongli, what is the meaning of this?”

He flinches when he sees you. You’ve never seen him falter for the right words before, but he is now. “I- ah, this is-”

“I know who he is,” you snap. “I’m asking what you’re doing with him.”

The ginger man grins up at you. “Ooh, feisty. I like that.” 

Zhongli shoots him a look.

“Zhongli, can I speak with you? Privately?” You ask, but Childe, as he introduces himself - you want to scrub the name out of your brain - is the most annoying person you’ve ever met.

“What? Anything you need to say to him, surely you can say in my presence.”

No, you absolutely cannot, because you are a government servant, keeper of various state secrets, and this is the man who nearly flooded your entire city. You convey all this through your eyes, and he completely ignores you, batting his eyelashes like that will convince you that he’s both trustworthy and friendly. It does nothing but set you off.

“Zhongli,” you hiss. “I cannot believe you’re willing to see him. He summoned Osial! It’s because of him that Ningguang lost the Jade Chamber - can you imagine the destruction that would have occurred if he had succeeded? Having him here is an affront to-“

“I tricked him,” Zhongli states simply, “so we’re even. And I’ve already spoken to him about this matter.”

You don’t believe that’s how it works.

Childe nods aggressively. “Yeah, girlie! Zhongli says it’s fine, so it’s fine. Here I thought the people of Liyue were known for their graciousness. What’s with the grudge? I was stopped before anything serious could happen.”

“You nearly flooded my entire city,” you say incredulously.

“That’s all water under the bridge now - oh, literally,” he says with a laugh. “Besides, I’m off the clock right now! I make it a rule not to talk business after hours unless I’m getting paid extra.”

“Ugh,” Childe makes a face as he takes a sip of his drink. “Liyue wine can’t compare to Snezhnayan fire whiskey. Hey, waiter! Don’t you have anything stronger?”

“Be respectful,” you say, pushing his hand down and smiling politely at the waiter, Ruohan. Of course you know him, as you’ve made it your mission to know most of the people in this part of Liyue. After all, you govern them - it’s only fair to remember their names and be able to recount their troubles with them.

He turns away, a light flush covering his cheeks. Zhongli coughs.

Childe’s eyes narrow. “That go down the wrong pipe, buddy?”

Zhongli holds up a hand to wave off his worry. “Enough. I would like the two of you to get along-“

“As if!” You say.

“Shouldn’t be a problem!” Childe grins.

Of Zhongli’s acquaintances, you greatly prefer Xiao to Childe. It’s been a while since you’ve seen the adeptus, so you head off for the inn he usually calls home. After all, you had promised you would visit, and a Qixing never breaks a promise, though Xiao probably wouldn’t have minded if you did. Preferred it, even, but you made good on your debts, regardless of anyone’s opinions.

“Leave this place immediately,” he says as soon as he sees you, like always, but now you take it as his version of hello. Perhaps it would work on some less thick skinned mortals, but you were Qixing. You had dealt with far more harsh language in your career, and you weren’t about to let Xiao chase you away - especially not knowing how much pain he was in.

“How are you feeling? I brought more almond tofu.”

“There’s no need,” he says, but he holds his hand out for your offering anyway. “You should stop visiting. This is no place for mortals like you. And tell Morax he no longer needs to provide me with the medicine.”

“He prefers Zhongli,” you say mildly, inching closer like he’s a cat you might scare off. When he doesn’t flee, you grab him by the wrist, whip-quick, and pull him down next to you. As expected of an adeptus, he reacts in record time, pulling away from your grip, but you’re strong, and he doesn’t want to hurt you.

“What are you doing?” His words come out like a hiss, but you ignore him, placing the bowl of almond tofu, dusted with a variety of herbs carefully selected and powdered by Zhongli, in front of him.

“Eat. You’ll feel better.”

And while he begrudgingly takes spoonful after spoonful into his mouth, his tattoos begin to glow, black ink receding down his arms in favor of green. A physical change comes over him. Xiao’s always been strong, but the way he looks without the burden of karmic debt is completely different, as if, even with the face of a young man, he’s lost several years of aging. The lines of his face, drawn taut in my pain, have disappeared, and his mouth is no longer set in a severe frown. He could almost pass for friendly, when he’s not in constant pain.

Sometimes, not often, Xiao reminds you of Little Meng, the child who always begged you to play pirates with him in Liyue Harbor. Of course, you were sure he would be offended if you told him he reminded you of a role-playing toddler, but there was a similarity. Both Little Meng and Xiao were stoic sufferers, unwilling to let other people see their pain, or attempt to relieve it. And both were loyal to a fault.

“Zhongli makes you medicine because he cares. If you stopped taking it, you’d hurt him.”

“I am his vassal,” Xiao said. “It’s not right for him to tend to me.”

“I think Zhongli stopped considering you anything of his besides a friend a long time ago.”

To your surprise, Xiao actually listens to you. He doesn’t make an attempt to argue. “I suppose you would know what he thinks now,” he says slowly, and you have no idea what that’s supposed to mean.

He’s always overworking himself. Ningguang’s people told you as soon as you stepped in the inn. The adeptus doesn’t rest, doesn’t stop for anything in his merciless hunt for monsters. You have experience taking care of people like him.

Ningguang, Keqing, and even, admittedly, yourself - the best way to deal with such headstrong people is to just let them tire themselves out, then slowly guide them where you want them to be.

You snatch his spear away as soon as he reaches for it, already intent on jumping off the balcony to go find some more monsters to devour. The offended look on his face makes you gulp, but you soldier on. After all, you’ve already gotten away with manhandling him once today. Perhaps that has made you bold - too bold - enough so to grab an adeptus and place his head in your lap so you can stroke his green-black hair, the fringe falling in his eyes.

“You protect everyone. Let us protect you. Xiao, go to sleep.”

He fights the effects of the medicine, but it’s no use. His eyes are closing, and he falls swiftly into what must be his first peaceful rest in a long, long time.

Zhongli is waiting by the entrance to your apartment by the time you finally arrive home, when the waning moon is high in the sky. You stayed with Xiao as long as you could, watching his breathing even out, giving him the human contact he must have gone without for years. Even when you reluctantly had to leave, you entrusted him to the care of the innkeepers.

“Jiyao mishu,” he starts.

You remember how hurt he had looked when you had called him Zhongli-xiansheng. These titles between the two of you are useless formalities that only remind him of past sources of pain. You must be tired, because that’s the only excuse for how you’re suddenly blurting out, “You can call me by my name.”

Your smile freezes on your face as you hurry to add, “Because you let me call you Zhongli.”

“Of course,” he says, ever elegant, ever capable at steering past the awkwardness in a conversation. “May I come in?”

[spacebarbarianweird]

Hey, I saw you take request and so I wanted to ask if you could write some fluff, maybe some Astarion comforting Tav after they went through a panick attack

Gender neutral if possible please, I just had my first ever panick attack and would love some comfort from my fav Vampire <3

- Astarions-Imagine-Archiche [Would love to go off anon but sadly, Tumblr dosent let me send asks through sideblogs]

Hi! Hope you will enjoy it!

FEAR

Sometimes it's just too much to bear TW: A description of a panic attack Tags: hurt \ comfort, gn!reader, nurturing Astarion, post game, established relationship Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Surrounded by a fiery inferno, you sense the escalating heat in the air. The thick layer of fabric shields your skin from immediate harm, yet your body responds almost primally.

Scorching and stifling air leaves you struggling to breathe, and the smoke stings your eyes.

Fire.

An indiscriminate devourer of all, whether mortal or undead, demon or elf, it rages like a starving beast. Discarding your sword, you decide to leap, knowing the flames will only graze your skin a bit.

"Ig-nis!" Astarion's voice rings out, casting a fireball into the necromancer. The half-orc topples, weakening the ring of fire around you. Muscles tense, preparing for the leap, but an abrupt freeze takes over just as your feet are about to propel you forward.

Attempting to move your hand, your brain feels detached, as though subjected to a Mindflayer's experiment. The fire intensifies, yet your legs remain unresponsive. Trapped within the confines of your own body, you are helpless and silent.

It's merely a "hold person" spell, lasting a minute or two or until Astarion dispatches the necromancer. Nothing harmful, nothing scary. The enemy just wants to win some time. 

Immobile, you manage to shift your eyelids just slightly. Astarion is nowhere to be seen while the necromancer looms ten feet before you. Approaching like a ghoul, his eyes scrutinize you as if you're a specimen in a lab.

Astarion. Astarion, where are you? Panic sets in. What if he's wounded, dead, or worse, turned into a mindless ghoul under a new master's control?

The necromancer, eyeing you with a sinister hunger, licks his lips. "Pretty creature. You will serve me well once you die."

His touch on your right temple triggers another memory—a Mindflayer's pod, helplessness, fear, disgust. A tadpole approaching your eyelid.

If you could scream, you would. 

"What is your worst nightmare?" the sorcerer whispers, casting the second spell.

Suddenly, you're back in the Nautiloid. A Mindflayer cracks your skull open, and the scent of burning bone fills the air. The monster probes your bare brain, and it sprouts thin black legs. Your organ is no longer yours; it's an intellect devourer.

A vision unfolds. Astarion's body writhes and transforms into a Mindflayer. "Don't do this to me. I can't do this again!" he cries for help until his face explodes, tentacles burst forth. 

You fall again, from the Nautiloid to the seashore, but the Emperor is unwilling to save you. Your spine breaks on the rocks.

Baldur's Gate. The day of the attack. The Nautiloid inches forward, missing Astarion, who escapes to the sewers. You'll never see him again; he's condemned to be his new master's slave.

No, no, please, no, gods help me.

Suddenly, the fear releases its grip, your hands and legs regain movement, and you collapse onto the scorched ground. 

"Fuck!" you curse. "Fuck you, bastard!" 

The necromancer lies dead. Fat flies crawling on his rotten flesh.

"Well, someone needs to learn how to dodge”, Astarion chuckles. “Next time, it'll be something more dangerous, like a power word spell or a death finger. Instant death, and you're resurrected as a ghoul," strong hands lift you up, and you stand on your feet once again.

"Where have you been," you mutter, your voice trembling.

He pulls away. "What do you mean?"

"I didn't see you. I thought you were dead. Where were you?"

"Darling, I made sure to disappear from his decayed eyes. I prefer an advantage when the enemy... let's say... has their ways with the undead and the dead." He tilts your chin up, making you look into his crimson eyes. 

If you weren't as tired and numb, guilt might settle in. That's how he fights—no knight, no warrior. He hides and attacks when the enemy forgets about him. It's not his fault you were knocked out, but the bitterness lingers in your heart, replacing the fear.

Returning to the small camp silently, you muster the last remnants of your strength to pull off your armor. Astarion sits by the fire with a book, not attempting to join you in the tent. Guilt pervades your thoughts. What if your rudeness jeopardizes the progress, you've made together?

What if you wake up the following day, and he's gone?

Your mind spirals in twisted ways. What if a piece of the tadpole remains in your brain? Powerful creatures aren't to be trusted. What if it's still there, waiting to hatch? What if Astarion harbors one inside his head as well? What if this isn't the end, and unthinkable horrors lie ahead? What if one day you wake up and hear a voice subduing you to some eldritch, horrible, and insane entity?

You feel like you can't breathe. The heart races, heavy as a tombstone, and your hands are numb and cold. The uncertainties weigh on you like a suffocating shroud.

A lump rises in your throat, an unbearable sensation that makes you want to vomit. You press your hands to your chest and breathe heavily as if you are short of air.

Light steps approach from behind. "Darling, your breathing can be heard in a nearby village. What's wrong?" The voice sounds distant, echoing through thick walls. Suddenly, your eyesight blurs, reality becoming an illusion, disconnecting you from your body. The voice sounds unfamiliar and distorted.

Astarion wraps his hands around your waist. "It's okay, everything is alright. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere." 

 It still feels unreal, as if someone tries to imitate your lover's voice.

"I- I am…I am dying", you whisper.

"It's just a panic attack, nothing more," he replies. "Let me guess, he casted the fear spell on you? You saw something unpleasant, didn’t you? Illithids, I bet." 

Astarion brushes your hair with pale fingers and then kisses the crown of your head. He gently touches your hand, then your leg. "You are here. You are safe with me. And if someone threatens you, I will rip their throats." He holds you tighter, speaking comforting words. The lines he once used for seduction and manipulation now sound like a weird, soothing spell.

You don't feel your body. You don't understand where you are. You remember the Nautiloid, the blood, the fear. 

You start crying. You haven't cried for ages – first, there was no time to reflect on awful things happening to you. Then, it was Astarion who needed you to be strong because he was a mess after 200 years of abuse and sudden freedom he didn't dream of having. But now it’s you who is overwhelmed and scared.

"Hush, everything is okay. You are safe with me," Astarion whispers.

Suddenly, you come to your senses. The racing heart subsides, and the looming horror fades.

You breathe freely. Astarion strokes your hair. "Feeling better?"

You nod and find the strength to sit up. "What can I do for you, my love?" Astarion asks.

Licking your dry lips, you realize the intense need for water causing your dizziness. Before you can utter a word, the vampire reaches for a flask. In three big gulps, you drain the bottle and collapse onto your back in the tent. The thick black fabric, enchanted with the "darkness" spell, feels like a reassuring wall, offering a sense of safety rather than claustrophobia.

Astarion lies beside you, wrapping his hands around your waist. But instead of pressing his face against your collarbone as usual, he pushes against his chest. If he were alive, you would hear his heartbeat. 

"I am just—I don't know—afraid?" you finally admit. "I'm afraid this Illithid madness isn't over, and something is stuck in our brains waiting for the right moment. I'm afraid to die. I'm afraid you will die. I'm afraid that one of these powerful creatures we pissed off will come for our souls. I'm afraid you will slip into feral madness, and there's nothing I will be able to do to prevent this."

He presses you even tighter. "You are a very brave little thing, you know that?" he finally says. "I insist on that. Leading the way from this Illithid madness, letting me close despite knowing who I am. Facing any danger or monster. But sometimes it's just too much, right?"

You nod and receive one more kiss. "I will always be with you; I am not going anywhere. And when it just feels too much, you tell me. I will gladly take a nurturing role. Besides, you've been caring for me for far too long. Time to change roles."

Slowly, you drift into sleep, the last thing you remember before slipping away being Astarion whispering, "I am lucky to have you."

--

@tragedybunny @caitlincat-95 @tallymonster @astarionsbeloved @lumienyx @fayeriess @aoirohi @elora-the-slutty-songstress @veillsar @astarion-imagine-archive

[mythicamagic]

Do you have any tips for writing a natural progression of a physical relationship? I feel like a lot of fics go from kissing to sex without much in between.

I think these days people would probably see that as Slow Burn, even though their pace is perfectly natural for an irl relationship. Looking at that tag/genre might help you out.

By no means am I an expert so take my advice with a grain of salt. As an example: if you think about Regency romances being primarily Slow Burn, there's a focus there on intrigue, and 'feeling the other person out' with just words. When you're intrigued by something you want to spend time with it and examine it- and maybe this results in a clash of ideals. This could cause an emotional fallout that has them rebuilding the relationship from square one, but stronger because they have context for the other person now.

There's often a focus on hands in these series or films because they're the characters ONLY form of contact. They can't kiss because of social constraints, or maybe they're not there emotionally yet but God, their being radiates need just from the graze of their knuckles on skin.

All this mess is to say - if you have a build up of intrigue- attraction - restraint- it makes their physical intimacy feel like a wonderful payoff. Like a Sports Game you've been following and finally your team wins via a simple kiss and goes from there. The goals were all the little emotional beats along the way. During the restraint section of the relationship, showing little tells of their attraction builds up your physical intimacy alongside your emotional connection. Have them brush up against each other, maybe they have to grab the other to mind them away from something, maybe there was only one bed and they didn't end up having sex but spent the night awake and in agony because they're so close and can feel the contours of their body. Speaking of which - have them be attracted to that body before they can touch it. Do they like their hands? Their scent? Their hips? Maybe they catch themselves imagining those things. This builds anticipation and hunger for eventually touching it.

That's probably a key word there- hunger. You want your characters to crave each other to the point they're starving. I catch myself while writing Romance because sometimes one character might give their feelings away too early - and I have to delete the sentence because no, they gotta earn it. The characters dont even need to confess before physical intimacy - the act of sex itself could be their 'I love you' after months of need and want.

I'm sorry I rambled there, but basically find a reason to restrain your characters lolol I tend to like colder men in my ships because they take so long to emotionally open up that the payoff of intimacy feels worth it, but you can find any reason. Maybe they're just friends and don't want to jeopardise the relationship they have. Maybe they're mortal enemies who can't help but be attracted to that person's charisma. Maybe they just don't feel ready yet for that step of physical intimacy but they're burning with need anyway and this causes confusion and frustration.

Hope this mess helps! ❤️

[novaauster]

HELLOOOO LETS KILL OURSELVES OVER HERINES HARASAEON. evil of you to do this when im hungover i already almost teared up literally just seeing kiva have her own character tag. like those are my babies from my silly little head and people are creating beautiful things for them!!!! insanity. let's go:

"I just needed a plot device in order to make that boy talk about his feelings bc he only does it if he's homicidal or inebriated" another horrible day fighting the hella-rin allegations

"She never touches his skin, only his scalp, only when doing his hair." fuck the hangover i need a DRINKKK

ama. my best worldbuilding addition by far but also my mortal enemy

"Rin wants to venture into the realm of the gods, find which one is responsible for time, and hold a knife to its throat. He’d force it to turn back the hourglass and eat his words. He’d get on his knees before it and tell it that time itself, and every word spoken, and every word unspoken, must bend to the queen." this whole thing is quite literally some of my favourite writing of all time this is insane this is tattooed onto every inch of my skin i preach this from street corners i spray paint it on buses i-

THE WITCH HAS SHORT HAIR? INTERESTING

they're all so formal lmaoooo. down with monarchy but my harasaeons are okay ig

DRAKO AND AKILA MENTIONED IN A FIC INCIDENT 2 DEAD ONE STILL WRITING LETTERS

"He was born as an apology and he lives the life of a paragon. He likes to be responsible." nova your days are numbered. when i catch you

YOU EQUATED KIVA'S INFLUENCE ON THE PROCEDURE TO SUNLIGHT WHAT IF I KILLED MYSELF. AND ALL THE LANGUAGE REGARDING SHADOW/DARKNESS WITH RIN. MY LAST STRAW

"Her hand brushes a strand of hair back behind his ear, and he hears, more than feels, the kiss to the top of his head. “I’ll be right outside, baby-- baby.”" worst day of my fuckass life

KIVA OBEYS. I CANT DO THIS

clean clay is such a fun addition i love that. also love how official you made the practise of witchcraft bc that's EXACTLY what i want from it like it's literally like talking to any other medical professional

"He spends his time in the sunlight of the library, Kidaro napping on the windowsill, with political treatises, historical scrolls, and the occasional epic poem spread out around him like a hurricane, a method to its madness. He enjoys it. He was always a child with his head in the clouds. He does miss music, though. The palace can get quiet" MY BABY MY BABYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

RIN IS THE OBEDIENT ONE. KIVA OBEYS. DOG MOTIF HARASAEON IS THE BULLET IN THE GUN IM HOLDING

HELPPPPPP MARY IS KINDA GAGGING HIM HERE LMFAO I LOVE HER

HE TOLD HER ABOUT LILLA????? KING PUT THE VODKA DOWNNNNNNNNNN

"Royal blood, good for nothing but animal feed." NOVA. WHEN. I. CATCH. YOU

AND HE CANNOT ASK DRAKO. THEY'RE BROTHERS THEY'RE MAATUI BUT EVEN AFTER ALL THESE YEARS WILLEM IS SOMETHING THEY CANT MAKE PEACE WITH

'would you still love me if I was a worm?' caught me SOO OFF GUARD IM CACKLING I CANT BELIEVE YOU ADDED THAT

"Rin had created a ten-step plan for the event that one of them met the same fate." HES SUCH A NERD I WOULD KILL FOR HIM

memory so bad i actually checked my kuserian dictionary bc i was like 'oooo ghost being translated to death-shadow is cool why dont i remember that' girl....

HAMMARIIIIIIIII. the way even her name made my stomach flip. what if i cried

got too immersed in the procedure and forgot to live react oops

"he would do anything if it meant he was doing it right" "It’s just that a firstborn is a war. A firstborn is a hurricane with a thousand buzzing wings. It is an omen seared into the back of all their necks, it is once-in-a-generation, it is a gift from the gods. And Rin is not one."

DID YOU. DID YO UFCKNING PUT EPIC OF GILGAMESH IN THIS. DIIIIID YOU FUCKING DO THAHFT. HOW LONG IS THE EYE ABLE TO LOOK AT THE SUN FROM THE VERY BEGINNING NOTHING AT ALL HAS LASTED HE'S BEEN DEAD SINCE THE BEGINNING IN THE STORY OF GODS AND KINGS YOU WERE DEAD BEFORE THE INK DRIED

drako's first thought only being to ask 'will you be okay'. frankly i cant take much more. is this how you guys feel when i talk about them because this is AWFUL

"There were myths, in the burnt edges of the kingdom, that said that there were only ever two Harasaeons. The queen and the heiress, switching places in a cycle like night and day. Hammari and Kiva, two stages of the same life, the snake’s egg and the hummingbird. And then, their reincarnations, Lugalia and-- who? The queen is dead. Long live the queen. It is a form of immortality. Rin shattered it." STOP STOP MAKE IT STOP

the philisophical conversation. is love a form of magic. the chasm of his birth. im going to GET YOU

"Please, Ama. You don’t have to love me anymore. Just remember how it felt when you did." THROWING UP BLOOD

that was. im a changed person i need 3-5 business days to think about this i need to call my mum i need to get drunk i need a fantasy witch to cut my tits off

omg hi!!! so true herines harasaeon group suicide girls night <3 and kiva has made her ao3 debut! she's girlbossing she's literally a debutante she is the queen of all time. yeah

-the witch does have short hair! she's from the east (where the monsters are) and yknow I figure that her powers are used for medicine, but if she didn't have all the safety things put in place (no sunlight, careful runes and careful chants) and just went hogwild on a monster she could basically Shigaraki that thing. monster hunting is her side hustle tbh

-the formal speech was fun for me idk. watched too much BBC Victoria with my mom and now I gasp like a gossiping old lady when I write the phrase "You have my permission to withdraw" bc it's SUCH a power-play it's so good.

-my days might be numbered but so are Rin's

-sunlight and shadow motif with nuance is always sm fun. me when characters are bright and carcinogenic. me when characters are invisible, shadows dogging their own steps, silent and beaten-down and elegant all the same. yeah

-“I’ll be right outside, baby-- baby.”" worst day of my fuckass life too tbh, that's the line that really clicked the whole fic in place for me. kiva loves him but not enough to change him. baby boy good luck taking care of yourself. etc

-dog motif harasaeons you will always be famous

-clean clay and also the oldest sigils Mary paints on Rin are cuneiform if that wasn't clear. mesopotamian aesthetic goes hard

-Mary DOES kinda gag Rin lmao. she's literally so Kanut-coded I can't stand her. she's like 'i won't throw hands with a child but i will permanently invert his worldview with some moderately harsh words and also disrespect the queen if it means showing him that there's someone who supports his evolution wholeheartedly'

-he cannot ask drako!!! grief is something the harasaeons can't stand i think. kiva ignores rin like an open would because she grieves him and lilla. willem is given the same treatment

-"would you still love me if i was a worm" is a tonal shift I wasn't sure about but I think it works. something about siblings defaulting to poking fun at each other when they can't stand the truth. their love must go either unspoken or mocked. they can only survive it with a little humor and a little grace

-rin is the nerd of all time and i love him for it

-i'm gonna be so real death-shadow meaning ghost is something i stole wholesale from Mando'a. like the language for star wars mandalorians. but yknow what the concept fucks hard and george lucas doesn't own the literal mistranslations of his peripheral conlangs

-"It’s just that a firstborn is a war." harasaeons when they have to decide between an insane warmongering eldest daughter and literally anyone else

-yes i did put the epic of gilgamesh in there. yes i was browsing Amazon Goodreads for good quotes in the middle of my economics class. dw about it

-drako asking 'will you be okay' IS how we feel when you drop the saddest lore of all time on us unprompted, yeah x

-Lugalia and-- who? The queen is dead. Long live the queen. It is a form of immortality. Rin shattered it." me when Rin ending the cycle could have been construed as a positive ending to the cycle of generational trauma and violence but instead it is a betrayal to his heritage

-"is love a form of magic" is also one of the central lines of the piece. i wanted to show the deep childlike core of Rin's pain. Tell me a story about how it ends where you're still the good guy I'll make pretend cause I hate this story where happiness ends and dies with you I thought good guys get to be happy I'm not happy. etc. you know how it is

tysm!!!!

[hollyand-writes]

My other Arlathan Exchange 2023 gift for @highwayphantoms (2nd of 2 fics I wrote for @arlathanxchange!) 😁

Rating: Teen/Mature   Chapters: 7/7 Word Count: 9,785 words Pairing: Carver/Merrill Characters: Templar Carver Hawke, Merrill, Keeper Marethari, Female Hawke (Jay's OC Serafina Hawke), briefly-mentioned Isabela & Fenris Other Tags: Soulmate AU, Title from the novel Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë, Soulmate-Identifying Marks (Soulmark Tattoos), Descriptions of Cutting For Blood Magic, Time Skips, Angst with a Happy Ending, Referenced Mahariel/Alistair/Zevran (Jay's OC F!Mahariel), Background Anders/F!Hawke

Summary:

All Carver knew was that his soul-mark would exactly match that of a soulmate; and that the identical symbol on their flesh represented both him and them. Either way, it didn’t matter: there was a war to fight; and the soul-mark still etched on his skin meant whoever had its twin was still alive, or Carver’s own mark would have faded.

He didn’t want to think about how his soulmate might feel if their mark ever faded.

So Carver got the mabari tattooed over it—something that made his soul-mark look like nothing more than kaddis war-paint on a war-hound—and tried to forget about it.

–

Soulmate AU. Templars and blood mages are mortal enemies—but what if one is the other’s soulmate?

——————— 

When Carver Hawke’s soul-mark showed, he covered it with a mabari tattoo.

As an eighteen-year-old away at war, about to go into battle at Ostagar, the last thing Carver Hawke wanted to think about was his soulmate—the possibility that there was someone out there, waiting for him, needing him to come back alive. For he was happy to lay down his life if need be, if it meant saving his country, saving his family—saving his home.

He didn’t have time to think about soulmates. What use was that anyway, when his purpose was far higher, for a far worthier cause.

The only girl he’d been interested in was Peaches, but when her soul-mark showed… well, his own wasn’t fully visible yet; but it was clear the design gradually forming on the skin over his tailbone was never, ever going to match hers in a million years.

(He was only glad Serafina and Bethany were off practising magic in the woods again when he got home, so that they weren’t there to see the disappointment on his face.)

When Carver’s soul-mark finally emerged fully, on his lower back, a glance in the mirror told him it had a sword in the middle of it, along with some flame-like markings around it that would have made it the Sword Of Mercy—the symbol of the Templar Order—if it wasn’t for these strangely delicate, swirling, pencil-like outlines surrounding it that could have been… vines? but hollow, rather than filled-in? or maybe they weren’t vines at all?

He couldn’t be sure.

Read more on AO3...

[aviesfics]

The Lake of Fire

Fandom: Hetalia

Characters: England, France

Ship: N/A (they're a little too young for romance here)

Tags and warnings: Canonverse, temporary character death/temporary child death, graphic description of injury, hurt/comfort. A short exploration of immortality.

Word count: 653

“That’s ridiculous. We’re at war. You have other things to worry about.”

“And yet here I am, worrying about you.”

Read below the cut or >here< on AO3.

Note:

The time period is vague, but they are both physically children - England around 9, France around 14. I've added some of my own thoughts on nations and death below the story if anyone is interested.

---

“Can’t you just rip it out?”

“I don’t know. I think your ribs have healed around it.”

“So? Just pull it.”

“It will hurt. A lot.”

“I don’t care.”

“You do, or you would have done it yourself.”

At that, England was silent - eyes averted, fiddling with the corners of a torn tunic. It was stuck to him - pinned by the dagger, glued by dried blood.

“When did this happen?”

“I don’t know. Five days ago, maybe six.”

“Idiot. You should have come sooner.”

France grabbed the dagger where it protruded from skin, and the hilt was warm. Body heat, fresh blood. England grimaced at his touch, but for a boy usually so fiery, he was oddly subdued.

“This is war. You’re not exactly flaunting your position.”

It must have been the pain. France knew how days of agony wore you away to nothing, and it angered him to see England this way. He surely went somewhere he shouldn’t have, meddled too directly in affairs - but still, for an adult to take a dagger and lance a child…

… Human cruelty. It was frequently beyond France’s understanding.

“You could have found me if you wanted to. These are your lands.”

“Can you get it out or not?”

Surrounding ruined metal was an angry mess of pulverised red flesh, where the blade had cut and nicked anew with every step, every movement, every twitch of a muscle. Inside was rotten black and venomous yellow - fat and muscle and pus, too, where infection was setting in.

It felt unfair. This was the enemy, but this was a child. This was a rival, but this was a friend. This was war, where everyone suffered, but at least there was an end to the suffering of mortals.

There was only one way this could go, and he’d known it, deep down, from the moment England had appeared in his tent with silver protruding from his core.

“Did you die when you first got this?”

“Yes.”

“How did you feel?”

“You know how death feels.”

“But how did you feel?”

“I’ll die again if you pull it out, won’t I?”

Now, France was silent. Only for a moment. England deserved his response.

“Yes. But if you tell me all the worst parts, I can try and make it not so bad.”

“There’s nothing to tell. I don’t fear death.”

A lie. France did not push the matter. It wasn’t the time, and he could guess, anyway, at what most frightened a proud child like England.

“If you say so. I’ll stay anyway. I’ll protect your body until you wake, however long that takes. No-one will touch you, or move you, or take you. I’ll keep you safe.”

“That’s ridiculous. We’re at war. You have other things to worry about.”

“And yet here I am, worrying about you.”

“You’re a rubbish enemy,” England was embarrassed. He turned away, pouting at a canvas wall. France saw an opportunity. “My king would hang me if I got as soft as y-”

With all his strength, knowing he could not afford for the blade to stick on bone, he pulled.

For a moment, England looked betrayed. Frightened. His eyes said it all, even if his mouth could not for the blood filling his throat.

“I’m sorry. I had to get it over with. Anticipation would have made it worse.”

The apology, presumably, was accepted, because when England collapsed it was into France’s open arms. He caught the boy easily, cradling him like an infant and muttering gentle reassurances.

“Hush, you’re safe. I’m here. No-one is going to hurt you.”

A cough, a wet gargle. A twitch, a shudder.

Not fair. He was just a child.

“There’s no air, I know. It’s okay. You’ll come back, remember? And I’ll still be here. I’ll watch over you. That’s a promise. I never break a promise.”

And at last, as life left him, England was still.

---

Note:

I imagine the nations don’t die very often as children. There are some executions, some tragic accidents, some incidents where they get mixed up in something they shouldn’t. Some are luckier than others - born in stable times and on peaceful lands. But they all know death, they’ve all experienced it, and it’s scary and unpleasant and a Very Big Deal.

As soon as they’re physically old enough to fight on the battlefield, they start dying frequently. Hundreds of times in a war (they are so very aware that they can come back and their warriors cannot, so they take dangerous positions and sacrifice themselves frequently), and sometimes multiple times in a battle (when one lasts long enough to allow it). Death starts to mean nothing. They begin worrying about each other little, and about themselves even less. 

(I’m generalising, of course, and there are outliers at both ends - those whose childhoods were particularly difficult - struggling to adulthood and dying all the way, those whose skill lies off the battlefield, those who are just particularly good at staying alive, those who are overly protected by their leaders or the nations closest to them, those who have reached adulthood and not faced major war, etc.).