#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.

[snowande]

Horny thoughts

(Male x female)

Imagine you got isekai to a fantasy world, and the people's there have magic and power.

Imagine that you got a healing power, but the way your healing powers is odd, the person that you heal have to drink your saliva, sweat, tears, blood or any kind of liquid that came out of you, that includes your essence.

Imagine that your essence can regrow a human limbs back if they drinks it.

So when the people's in your village's brings a wounded hero.

They ask you for your help, because the hero have been saving their village for 6 years now, so they want to return his favor.

Of course you said yes, you thought the hero just have a minor injuries or not that bad conditions.

Oh you were wrong, Dead wrong.

The hero have both of his arms cut off, he got it when he trys to stop his mortal enemy. He said to the hero that he cannot weild his sword anymore and won't bother his destruction.

Surprisingly he is still alive, even after the blood loss.

You know your salivas won't work, so you tried with your sweat, tears and blood. It didn't work, so you think what else is liquid that the hero can drink.

Ah the only liquid that you didn't try is your essence. You didn't know will it work, you never try it but how do you tell him that he have to drink your essences.

The hero shockingly said yes, to drinking your essence.

So you mounted his face with your pussy and let his tongue drinks that liquids, making you moan a little but you stay professional.

Then you look at his disfigured arms, it grows back really fast then your other fluids.

When you about to get off his face, out of the blue. He grabs your thighs and brings that pussy to his mouth again.

He licking and sucking the the essences out. Even pushing his tongue inside, making you shaking and try to hit his hands to let you go. Because your job was done, yet he won't let go.

Then his right hand begins to touch you expertly, knowing just how to press, stroke, and rub to make you gasp and writhe with pleasure, holding you upright as he manipulates your body like a master puppeteers.

As you climax, your pussy spasming and gushing with juices, he open his mouth to catch every drops. He continues to stimulate you until you're squirting continuously, finally he let's you go.

You drop to the floor, legs shaking and wet. The hero looks down and grin.

The hero was amazement at his both arms regrow and his past injuries vanishes, replaced by taut, unblemished skin.

Then the hero put his clothes and armor back on and pat your hair and he said he will come back to you when he's hurt.

And finally he leave your tent, leaving you behind in the tent a mess.

You hope he won't come back.

oh he will come back to you, but he will bring you with him, whether you like it or not :)

This was supposed to be a really short post, but i made it longer for some reason.

I write this when feeling lil horny lol

Hope you enjoy my first post♡

The picture is from Pinterest [Misaki ! ¡]

Tags @nymphea0

[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.

[simpingforclaudette]

vampire! shigeru kimura headcanons (part. i)

content warning: horror elements & imagery, brief mention of violence & gore

foreword: vampire au for spooky season hell yeah!!! this man is SO vampire/dracula-coded and he’s so sexy for that. i need him to bite me and drain me so bad like i am BEGGING ON MY KNEES. please mr kimura please please please 🥺

the second part will be about vampire! shigeru with a partner (so a romantic partner). just a heads up, he’s toxic. very loving and gentle, but toxic.

i will also write a headcanon sheet for dhampir! yuichi and write about their relationship as vampire father and dhampir son. very excited for this one!

tagging: @13th-floor-in-moonstone , @theres-a-bea (ily pookie ♡)

origins.

he’s old. very old, and most likely the first vampire to be born in japan, hence the nickname "the elder". he was already a vampire before the europeans came to japan.

he wasn’t bitten, but cursed in his early 60s.

he’s fairly well-known; as a folktale by mortals and as figure of power and authority for other vampires.

mind & habits.

he doesn’t fear or feel repulsed by religion, religious places, imagery, objects or chants. he still avoids entering churches, temples and cemeteries out of respect for religion and the dead.

while he does know how to turn someone into a vampire, he has never sired anyone and never will (except for his son, yuichi, but that’s another story, and maybe his significant other).

when hunting, he targets exceptionally scummy people, people he knows won’t be missed. he goes for the neck and will break a limb or two to prevent them from fighting back.

he never hunts animals.

he’s not fond of spilling blood and guts for nothing. he considers that a waste of food and ressources. he also dislikes staining himself and his clothes. however, he might forget about that if he’s enraged enough.

he doesn’t need his cane, but he still uses it because he’s fond of it. and to lure his enemies into a false sense of security.

he mainly keeps to himself. most of the vampires he knows are acquaintances at best. some are friendly and others not so much. yuichi is his only "close" relationship.

he often feels lonely, but is reluctant to acknowledge it and to go out of his way to meet a potential longtime partner because what he is.

appearance.

(og artwork: intrusive thoughts by zack dunn)

he’s never physically aged ever since he became a vampire.

he mainly presents himself under his most human-like appearance, so how he looks throughout the movie.

the scar at the bottom of his eye comes from an injury he received in his younger years as a vampire. he was cut with silver and it never properly healed for some reason.

he can chose to reveal his vampiric appearance(s) at will. the first one consists of:

light purple eyes

a set of sharp canines (two on the upper row of his mouth, two on the lower row)

while the second one consists of:

grey, cold rotten and wrinkled skin

white, thin strands of hair falling off his skull

empty white eyes

extremely thin body

he only presents himself like this if he’s severely injured and starving for blood of if he’s actively terrorizing a victim.

he has sharp nails that can easily cut through wood, weaker metals and small bones.

when he cries, the white of his eyes become filled with blood and he cries droplets of blood.

abilities.

he’s nearly impossible to kill due to his age. burning him won’t kill him, and staking him will only knock him out for a while (months or years) if he’s not fed with blood.

the sunlight and extremely warm days can greatly weaken him (but won’t kill him), which is why he prefers rainy or cloudy/foggy and cold days. he’s mostly active during fall and winter.

silver can hurt him, but he’s developed a certain endurance to it. while it’ll still burn his skin, he won’t immediately flinch in pain or be weakened by it—unless he’s being staked in the heart.

without any injury, he can go months without feeling the thirst for blood. he drinks for survival first and foremost, but he also longs to drink for pleasure and from a romantic partner.

he can influence the weather around him to an extent. he can turn mist into rain and rain into storms, but cannot undo his own manipulations.

he excels at compulsion & mind control, which he achieves mainly through eye contact. when trying to hypnotize someone, he stops blinking and must talk to them in order to get them to do what he wants them to do. he can erase memories and implant false memories into someone’s mind. he can have them commit actions against their will, force them to feel emotions or erase them. he can chose to make his victims aware of his control over them. it is possible to break out of his hold by blinking rapidly or shaking your head or speaking over him, but the longer you look at him, the harder it’ll be, especially if he told you to keep quiet beforehand.

[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.

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — 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?”

[nottabear]

Diary of a Dark Consort

Summary: In an old manor you find an old crumbling journal. The entries within are written by some long gone nobleman's consort you can only assume by the delicate hand writing. The first entry starts over four centuries ago. The date is one you can remember, it was a big day for Baldurs Gate. The day a group of adventurers defeated a Nether brain and saved the city. It seems one of those adventurers kept a of record of their life after the great fight.

>Next Entry>

All tags and TW found on AO3

11 Krythorn, 1492

It is a big day for Baldur’s Gate and the entirety of Farun.  My friends and I have defeated the Netherbrain and with it stopped the Dead Three from bringing the realm to ruin. 

My hands shake with excitement as I write, my words a sloppy mess in my new journal.  I cannot fathom how I am even alive right now!  I took on beasts and monsters the mind could never imagine over the past moons.  All that remains of said monsters are guts and blood staining my boots and gloves.

I remember so little from the final fight against the brain.  I always felt Astarion watching over me the though, ensuring no harm came to me.  I played the somber tune of mortal ends as I watched him dance through bodies turning our enemies to fragments of the past. 

I wish I could remember more of the final fight.  I wanted to include the final battle in what will be my first published work; The very impossibly true adventures of Morgana Salvar I think I will title it.  The story of how a group of random adventures, survivors, took down a cult orchestrated by the dead three.  A best seller in all of Baldurs Gate I already know it.

Perhaps I can ask all the friends I made on this journey for their perspective of the final battle tomorrow.  It would be a wonderful addition to the book to have so many perspectives of the final fight in it.  I hope a few of them stay in Baldurs Gate long enough for me to see them again.  Lae’zel, Karlach, and Wyll have already left this plane.  Can you send letters to other planes?  I know I could use a spell, but they are so limited.  How do you even address a letter to the hells?  Do they have a postal service in the Astral Plane?  Shadowheart had mentioned wanting to continue to travel, explore the world outside the cloister.  I cannot wait to hear about all the places she visits.  I hope she writes.  I know Gale was eager to return to his tower in Waterdeep and Halsin will be returning to the wilds soon enough.  I do not blame Halsin for being so eager to leave the city.  I found so much beauty on this journey I had never found in the city.

Swimming in a serene lake bathed in moonlight. 

The tickle of tall grass on exposed skin. 

A lungful of fresh air. 

The taste of a freshly picked fruit.

I could go on for ages listing the beauties of nature I discovered, but not tonight. 

I must keep this entry short.  My fingers feel so tired as I hold this quill.  I must have been gripping my rapier with a death grip the entire day for the way they cramp.  All I crave is the comfort of a bed and the embrace of my love.  The Absolute has fallen and just like today, tomorrow will be a big day.  While my family survived the tavern, and home suffered a lot of damage.  Tomorrow I will go offer them aid in the repairs.  Tonight, I will sleep peacefully for the first time in many many moons. 

Life is bliss for once my journal.

>Next Entry>

Note: Hello hello! Diary of a Dark Consort is something I first posted on AO3 starting in March. Since then I have finished the story and am now working on final edits. As I finalize chapters I will post them here, on Tumblr. If you would like to read all the entries before edits you can see them here.

[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...

[bakuliwrites]

Lunar Halo, Chapter One- Acolyte

Rating: 18+ (for future chapters), Minors DNI!!!!!

Chapter Links: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, Ending 1, Ending 2

Fandom: Dark Souls

Relationships: Dark Sun Gwyndolin/OC, Dark Sun Gwyndolin/Chosen Undead

Tags for Whole Work: Major Character Death, Angst, Fluff, Smut, Romance, Grief/Mourning, Body Horror, Body Worship, Oral S*x, Penetrative S*x, Vaginal Fingering, Friends to Lovers, Bodyguard Romance, Blades of the Darkmoon, Marriage (and not in the Dark Souls 3 definition of it...), Marriage Proposal, Gwyndolin uses he/him pronouns, Falling in Love

Chapter Summary: Gwyndolin receives a prospective new acolyte for the Blades of the Darkmoon. He has little hope for her success. Read here or on my AO3

She kneels before the misted gate on bended knee, head bowed in reverence to an unseen god. It has been so long since Gwyndolin last received any visitors, since he last received a prospective acolyte. Her garb is simple, robes sullied by calcium dust, bone ground to powder by the cyclic passage of time. Dark blood crusts beneath her fingertips, metallic remnants of enemies disposed of. The woman appears haggard, gaunt, perhaps hollow. Until, at his words, she lifts her face and Gwyndolin realizes that she is merely weathered by the weight of this world’s sins. She will be perfect for his order.  

“Now thou art a Blade of the Darkmoon,” Gwyndolin proclaims, gazing at the figure knelt before the Tomb of his Father. A fragile mortal, who will no doubt be reduced to a pile of cinder and charred bone soon enough, as it happens with most of his human initiates. But Gwyndolin cannot afford to be picky. Not with the state of the world: an ash heap of desolation and ruin. As long as this creature, in all its sublunary brittleness, can pledge loyalty to the Dark Sun and his covenant, that is all Gwyndolin can ask for. 

“Hunteth the enemies of the Lords, by the power of the Dark Sun,” he blesses, permitting his newest initiate to rise. She does so with grace, bowing her head as she pledges herself, swathes of dust sloughing off of her robes.

“It shall be done, Lord Gwyndolin,” her voice sounds, her hand to her heart, “My fealty is to you, to the Covenant, and to the protection of the Lords in their holy thrones.”

“Very well,” the Dark Sun returns, waving a hand in dismissal, not that this mortal can see him through the dense wall of fog separating them, “Carry out thy duties in this land. Return to me when thou hast something to show for it.” 

With a chivalrous bow, she marches off, either to dole out punishment in the name of the Darkmoon or to die in the name of justice. Or perhaps even to become kindling for the Flame. Gwyndolin glides back to his seat beside his Father’s grave and solemnly waits. He has little hope for her success, but he will hope nonetheless. As is his duty, ever faithful Gwyndolin, child of Gwyn.

“I have returned to you, My Lord,” her voice sounds, cutting through the fog and lifting Gwyndolin out of sorrowful daydreams and worried ruminations. How long has it been since she left? Weeks, it seems. Years, perhaps. Regardless, this Blade has returned, and she has returned victorious.

“I bear gifts for you. Proof of my work,” she speaks, laying out a bounty of ears, withered and dry like bunches of morels one might pluck from fertile woodland dirt. Earthy offerings that reek of misdeed and guilt, sin pooled in the wrinkled folds of skin. 

“So many sinners,” Gwyndolin sighs, troubled by the sheer number of trophies she has brought him. Yet proud that his newest initiate has not proven to be nearly as fragile as he initially thought she might be. Perhaps there’s hope yet. 

“Thou hast done well, Blade of the Darkmoon. Please, state thy wish.”

“I ask only for what you are willing to provide, my Lord,” she humbly returns, knowing her place in this hierarchy. For such loyalty, Gwyndolin will reward her handsomely.

“Thank you, my Lord,” she speaks, stashing away her new gifts, rising to once again depart and carry out her duties. Duties that are, perhaps, endless in this sin-bloated world. Gwyndolin is impressed by her abilities. Even his greatest Blades have not been able to bring him such abundance. 

“Thou art quite skilled,” Gwyndolin calls after her before she can disappear. His Father was not one to praise, but Gwyndolin does not have it in him to withhold it when he deems someone worthy of his regard. He halts her in her steps, watches as she slowly turns around, eyes searching but not seeing through illusory gates. 

“I thank thee, Lord Gwyndolin,” she manages, her expression stoic, though Gwyndolin can see the humble joy in her eyes at his compliment. 

“Return to me with more to show and I can promise thee, thy reward will be most handsome, indeed,” he ensures. She gives a solemn nod, pressing her hand to her heart as if to say, “It will be done.” 

“Blessing of the moon upon thy journey,” Gwyndolin’s voice calls after her as she vanishes into the folds of the night.  

She returns to him, always with ears, always with justice served. Gwyndolin’s gifts are bountiful, well-deserved for a Blade so skilled, so loyal. She lays the ears of the guilty out before the fog barrier, gifts of flesh on an altar of stone. Every time, he asks her what her wish is. Every time, she humbly accepts whatever it is her Lord has to give. She’s a curious thing, he comes to realize. Quiet, solemn, but he gets no real sense of hostility from her, as he does from most things in this crumbling kingdom. Even Yorshka seems rather fond of her. 

“She is kind,” his sister explains, “Once, she brought back some budding green blossoms for me, when I told her that it had been a long while since I was last graced with the delicate fragrance of one. She returned from her journeys with not one, but three.”

Gwyndolin smiles to himself. To hear that a Blade is so kind to his younger sister brings joy to his heart. Though they have each other, the siblings live in relative solitude. Cast aside by other gods when they still walked the earth, Yorshka and Gwyndolin have never been accepted. Instead, they were abandoned for their perceived defects by a Father obsessed with perfection. Perhaps this Blade does not see such features as weaknesses, or maybe she simply doesn’t care.

Later that day, as she kneels before him, Gwyndolin lets his eyes sweep the length of her body. The weight of the punishment she dispenses is apparent in the slump of her shoulders, the bend of her back. Her robes are ratty and her armor unpolished. Aside from the fact that it does not look professional, the abysmal state of her garb is a matter of safety. Gwyndolin will have something stronger and more fitting of a Blade of the Dark Moon crafted for her at once, he decides.

“It is thankless work, ridding this world of sinners, is it not?” Gwyndolin speaks to her, compelled for some reason to address the weariness that pulls down the corners of her lips and has formed the exhausted shadows under her eyes. She smiles ruefully. 

“It must be done,” she returns, polite and restrained as always. Pity wells in the Dark Sun’s heart at the state of this poor creature. 

“Thine armor is beyond reproach,” he coldly declares, “Thou shalt have a new set crafted before thy next journey. I shall have it taken care of.”

“My deepest gratitude, my Lord,” she thanks, her voice almost a whisper in her deep fatigue. The Dark Sun sighs.

“When was it that you last rested?” he interrogates, listening to her bones crackle as she lifts herself from where she kneels. She looks neither young nor old, yet her body reflects that of a weathered soldier, doomed to innumerable years of punishing service. She does not answer her Lord’s question, too weary to know when her last slumber was. 

“There is a bedchamber down the hall. Rest and gather thy strength before setting out once again,” the Dark Sun commands. And his Blade does as she is told, dutifully resting until she has gathered strength enough to set off once more. 

A/N: Hello everyone! I have been wanting to write a fanfiction for Dark Sun Gwyndolin for a very long time now and I'm happy I've finally gotten around to it. I started writing this with the intent of it being a short spicy work and, as I should have expected, it has turned into an eleven chapter long work. I really shouldn't be surprised that this has happened. I went into deep dives for lore, which was a lot of fun. There's so much to interpret in Dark Souls, so much mystery. This fic will just feature some interpretations of certain events/characters. I am by no means an authority on Dark Souls lore. I really just wanted to have fun writing a fic for my favorite character in the series :) I technically have all eleven chapters finished, but I have decided to post each chapter over the course of the next couple weeks. I plan to try to post every other day. This will give me time to do some editing on the chapters. Thank you so much for reading! I am excited to post more. I hope you are doing well! Lots of love 💜