#that song is like if will wood sung slowly

[alyimoss]

what if i said all three... for the three different sections of the song. hear me out

the first part is killer, mostly bc of the whole "purpose" thing. because he is someone more or less stripped of it. he killed everyone in his au (was forced into killing everyone in his au) for the chance to see and to feel something new (roll credits), but that something ended up being nothing at all, basically. he was stripped of his life, of his sanity, of normalcy. he cant even really feel anything most of the time. and hes left serving nightmare because that way he can at least feel like it was all for something. like he still has some sort of purpose, even if it is nothing more than being a plaything of a force much stronger and more malicious than him. hes endlessly seeking something he can never have, some sort of fulfillment that he wont ever get. to him, boredom is one of the worst things because it leaves him with nothing to stave off the emptiness... idk if this makes sense lmao.

the second part is dust to me. "but a civilized man will judge what he can until the ship drowns and men become meat". to me its very him because hes someone whos very easy to judge. hes a murderer, hes insane, hes irrational, he couldve done anything else, etc etc. even as he acknowledges some of these judgements, he feels theres nothing he couldve done. he did what he did because he felt he had to. he felt he had no other choice. even if that makes him a murderer and a maniac, he keeps the position that anyone in his shoes would have done the same. it doesnt matter what label someone uses for you when your life is on the line.

horror is the third part, though i think he is the one this song fits the least. he became the person he did because of betrayal above all. yes, the hunger pushed him, too, but if it wasnt for what happened with undyne, i think he wouldnt have turned out nearly as fucked up. he thinks the world is against him, and he often acts before he can be hurt (even if it turns out whatever threat he percieved wasnt a threat at all). to me, thats how the third part reads. "if you dont act when someone moves at you, you will get hurt" is how the river and mountain verses read to me, the "death without a story to sell" reminds me of undyne's betrayal, of her reassuring him that he will be remembered as a hero, and the last two lines also read very "everyones against me". he feels used and hed do anything to prevent anyone else from doing that again. he feels the things he does are justified, and anyone who criticizes him just cant see his point of view (or refuses to). so convinced everyone is out to hurt him that he doesnt see (refuses to see) how he hurts others.

or smthn idk im not an analyst.

This song is some murder time trio/nightmare's pantheon sans coded but I can't decide which one. Mostly leaning on Killer for canonocity but Dust could work in a fanon lens and Horror (could) work for some lines

Chat help me out here

[revelboo]

I check Tumblr multiple times a day and every time I need to check if you've posted anything new because I'm completely obsessed with your writing!!! You've revived my love for Starscream in a way I haven't felt in forever. I've just been spinning him around in my head while I wait for you to post something new (doesn't matter if it's of him or other characters!)

Like you really have no idea how happy your writing makes me, thank you so much for bringing such great writing into the world ❤️💙🩶

Thank you! I was honestly a bit surprised in the amount of interest in these little blurbs.

Bad Idea Pt 3

TFP Soundwave x Reader

• Moving slowly, carefully so he doesn’t break the human, he closes his sharp servos around that tiny form and lifts it up. The song falters, the notes wavering into terrified silence as little hands push frantically at his servos as if to free itself. There’s something admirable in that doomed struggling. A desperate hunger to live that he remembers all too well. Lifting it higher he studies it as it stares defiantly at him even as it shakes in his grip. Terrified, but still fighting.

• Breath hitching, you push at that too tight grip, your heart frantic and wild. It’s just staring at you, even with no discernible face, you feel the weight of its attention. Scrutinizing you. That music note blips across the screen again, its head cocking in a way that you instinctively recognize as predatory. Dangerous. One of those snaking tentacles swings up, pincers on the ends splaying out far too close to your face. And your panicked, frazzled brain can’t think of anything besides the stupid nursery rhyme you’d already sung it, so you offer it that song again feeling like an idiot.

• Shuddering, his frame droops some as he lets the broken sound play over him, rasping and halting. Desperate and fascinating. He runs the graspers of one tendril through the human’s hair, surprised by the softness and how it flinches away from that touch, eyes wide. It stops singing but almost immediately starts up the music again. Learning quickly what’s expected of it. From his shoulder, he can feel Lazerbeak’s irritation with him. As dependent as the drone is on him for survival, he also strains against that bond sometimes. Wanting independence.

• He understands that, too. But still he misses having something small looking to him. Needing him. And his knowledge of humans is sorely lacking. It can’t hurt to study this one. If intelligence is his greatest asset, then surely he needs to gather more about the dominant life forms of this world. Satisfied with his reasoning, he stands and tucks the human to his chassis as he begins to make his way out of the woods with his newest acquisition. Its little voice wavers, but it keeps singing for him, the sound hitching strangely.

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[alastor-x-reader-stories]

Safety n Shadows - Part 1 of ?

SUMMARY: Two creatures who shunned the light, sticking close to the shadows that were your Sanctuary. You were bound to meet eventually. A deal is struck, a bargain made, a pact formed. Whatever else will it turn into?

TAGS: Reader x Alastor, fluff, humor, eventual romance, Typical Alastor Behavior, some horror aspects.

For as long as you can remember, shadows were your sanctuary. Which wasn’t very long, you lost your memories when you fell but whatever.

You swam through them with ease and grace, as though this was your domain your entire existence. Which you doubted. But you guess you couldn’t assume.

Hell was observed from their safety, the mediocre the depraved… The soft and the dangerous. You’ve seen many things, you’ve heard many things, you’ve learned many things. The shadows of others were little pockets of their owners where you can climb inside and come along for the ride. Skimming closer to the boundary was where you could be seen- but not touched – and the deeper you went the less there was of you to be detected.

You’ve never gone to the bottom of the shadows. That was probably for the best. You have seen what shouldn’t be seen, waved at it, and went about your way. That which shouldn’t be seen didn’t seem to mind as long as you never wandered that deep again.

Some have seen you, some have heard you, but you were always Safe.

When skimming along, you heard a song. Curious, you surfaced enough so your ears can pass the Boundary, poking above the ground to hear more clearly. Slowly you peaked your eyes above as well. On the television display of a small store you watched as the princess of hell talked about her hotel. Or. Sung about it.

It was a good song, and not a bad idea. But how could you be redeemed for something you don’t even remember? You figured there was no point and submerged yourself in shadows once again.

Several months passed before you thought of it again. The early Extermination frightened you, seeing the exorcists arrive in flocks to destroy any sinner they came across. You had pressed deeper into the shadows, away from the sounds and the sights. But you saw something. Someone. In your domain.

And he Saw you.

Would he have reached out? Would he have said something? Would he have hurt you? You could tell he was injured, the shadows were stained red where he passed. He stayed near the Boundary and you wondered if that was by choice or simply because he was injured and couldn’t go further.

When you tried to approach, he bared bleeding fangs at you in a silent warning. Much like for That Which Should not Be Seen, you took the hint and moved away.

You’ve never seen anyone else in the Shadows. You wonder if he ever had.

~~~~~~~~~~(￣▽￣)~~~~~~~~~~~

He’s never seen anyone else in the Shadows. He wondered if you ever had.

It’s been a couple months since the last Extermination and the Hotel was wrapping up its last renovations. Alastor paced around his new room. The walls were a deeper red than the others in the Hotel, the fireplace more ornate and firewood nicely stacked on one side. There was a mounted gator skeleton on the wall, curled over to one side with its snout facing a small bayou. The bayou itself was separated from the main room with a wall that was more a window, and a door made of dark wood separated it from the rest of the place.

It was curated specifically for him, Charlie had told him. He’d be touched if he wasn’t so offended that they didn’t think he could do this himself. However, he had still thanked Charlotte and gave a half-hearted compliment to Vagatha for remembering the details she had.

Alastor’s room was placed down the hall from his new Radio Tower. The one that was built specifically by Charlie and Nifty. It was sleek and elegant and more securely fastened to the hotel than his last one had been. When he first heard of it he was prepared to walk in and find modern technology and blinking lights and smooth screens which he would have to destroy the moment he was alone. Instead, the inside was a near perfect replica of the tower he had lost.

That was thanks to Nifty, apparently. Silly girl had a good memory for that kind of thing.

That, he was able to be grateful for - almost sincerely.

 Time had marched on and memories of the Extermination blurred together. Of course he still remembered that fear - … rage, of being nearly sliced in half. The panic- …irritation, of realizing his microphone had been sliced in half. But what he was dwelling on now…

Was you.

What were you? Where were you? WHO were you?

It had been enough time to recover. So he had sent his shadow to find you, and was now waiting for its return.

Preferably, with you in tow.

[rainbow-pop-arts]

By Your Side

Kurapika x Little Sister! Reader

Summary: You've been in the woods for days after running away from your village that was attacked, but luckily, your big brother finally finds you!

A/n: Hiii, so I don't intend to be a writer here (I mainly post art), but this fic's just something I wanna try out! ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ )

It was getting dark again. She hasn’t eaten and drunk anything for days, but she couldn’t bring herself to move from where she was. What if they find her?

It was so sudden, a group of people arrived at the village and started attacking. The adults tried fighting back but……

Her parents told her to runaway as far as possible. She stood back up every time she tripped, not caring about the scrapes she got. She stopped at a secret spot where she would read books with her brother and their friend….Pairo.

She sat there, hugging the doll her father made, wearing the hat her mother knitted, and little scrapes covering her small limbs. 

She wished her brother was with her.

“Y/n!”

She looked up, it was her brother, Kurapika. He had a worried look on his eyes and was panting from running. She immediately got engulfed in his hug and he said how relieved he was to know that she was safe, away from the village’s tragedy.

~~~

“Y/n, we’re here.” 

On her brother’s back, she awoke to his gentle voice. Kurapika stood in front of a door to an inn that he said he was staying in temporarily. He carefully set her down to unlock the door. 

~~~

The girl sat in the warm water-filled bath tub with her knees held close to her chest. Her brother gently washed her hair, it reminded him of back then.

Whenever Y/n gets dirty after playing outside, sometimes he would help bathe her. They sung songs and splashed water at eachother. They sometimes would take baths together too. But those happy times were gone.

After she dried up and put on clothes, Kurapika made toasts with fried eggs on top and prepared cups of water. Y/n finally ate after days being in the forest. She devoured the bread quickly that her brother got worried.

“Hey, slow down! You’re gonna-”

Cough cough 

She choked on the food. Kurapika immediately went to her side to rub her back and giving her water.

“Y/n, don’t go eat food quickly like that…”

Her coughs died down.

“You haven’t eaten anything for days, have you?”

She nodded, shaking and whimpering.

“Hey, it’s alright. Just eat the food slowly, okay?”

~~~ 

The girl immediately fell asleep after finishing her meal. Her brother carried her to bed and tucked her in, he’s relieved to see his sister finally sleeping comfortably. How long has she stayed in the forest all alone? How long has she stayed awake to stay alert, to run away if the people who attacked the village finds her?

Kurapika went to grab the used tableware and looked at the items on the table that Y/n had with her when he found her. A doll made by their father and a hat knitted by their mother. They were both gifts for her 7th birthday. With both of them gone, those were the things that they had left of them.

~~~ 

After he did the dishes, Kurapika went to the bedroom but as soon as he stepped in, he heard soft sobs. Y/n was tossing and turning in her sleep. He realized she was a having a nightmare, so he went on the bed and held his sister close.

“Shh…shh…it’s okay, your big brother’s here.”

Her sobs slowly became quiet and soon stopped. She returned to sleep peacefully, this time clinging to Kurapika.

Being the only Kurtas left, Kurapika had to be the one to care for Y/n. He’d make sure she eats well, he’d make sure to teach her things, he’d make sure to protect her.

“Don’t worry, Y/n. I’ll be by your side.”

A/n: To be honest, this was actually a fic of my OC who's Kurapika's little sister (please check my art of her out ( •̀ ᎑ - )), but I edited it to be an x reader here.

[agustdiv1ne]

cograts on 3k!!! can i request taehyun + the proposal + smut but taehyun is the boss and reader is the secretary? love u <3

NOW SHOWING...

pairing: kang taehyun x fem!reader

genre: smut

wc: 3.9k

details + warnings: mdni, boss!taehyun, secretary!mc, hatefucking (or, more accurately, mildly annoyed with each other fucking), power imbalance, dom!tae, (kinda bratty) sub!mc, unprotected sex (do nawt do this), missionary, doggy, pull out method, very brief degradation (slut is used once), all they do is bicker lmfao

note: tyty nonnie!! ♡ hope you enjoyyy

your boss is — and you cannot stress this enough — a complete and utter hardass. 

he demands way too much from you, he rapidly fires back-to-back orders and expects you to remember every minute detail, and sometimes, he even makes you drop everything to work on the weekend. the weekend. unfortunately, you are forced to grin and bear it. while your parents have urged you to quit every time you call them, and you've definitely considered it, working for taehyun is the only way that you will ever have a shot at becoming an editor, to bring light to stories that can touch others' hearts. there's nothing more that you wish to do than give small-time authors a chance to get their work out there — and even get your own novel in stores. you know how difficult getting a foot into the publishing world can be, but you also know that you won't be able to help them, or yourself, if you don't put yourself through hell first. hell being taehyun's wrath, of course.

even worse: you've now been roped into marrying this man. with new york city's immigration office on his ass, you are the poor soul he decided to use to keep himself in the country and save his job. the gross reality of it all is that if taehyun is fired, you wouldn't last another day at the company, and all of your painstaking work would be for naught. you honestly had no choice but to go with it. 

you first thought that the universe held some sort of gargantuan grudge against you…because the two of you were suddenly slated to visit your little hometown after lying straight to an immigration officer's face (who definitely did not believe a word that either of you said) for your grandmother's ninetieth birthday. since you have arrived in the small town, you've been sharing a bed with him because he refuses to sleep on the floor, separated by a wall of pillows each night; you've been forced to act affectionate with each other in order to appease your overbearing family. 

however, you're also beginning to think that taehyun might not be all that terrible. outside of work, at least. sure, you bicker and you argue and your attempts at pda are painfully awkward at best, but he's shown you a different side of him over these past couple of days. he is still the harsh boss that you know intimately well, but he actually has a personality under that work persona. he's sung old-timey songs for your elder family members, opened up to you on your family's boat about his issues with vulnerability, and the wall of pillows on the bed has slowly diminished to nothing. above all, you've had more heart-to-heart conversations than what you initially thought he had the emotional capacity for. 

but that doesn't mean he still isn't a bit of a dick.

“move over,” he grumbles next to you as both of you try to get some sleep, grumpy after another long day and a very embarrassing encounter with your grandmother. the memory of you doubled over, nearly crying with laughter, because of him stings like a fresh wound. annoyance surges through his veins, and your thin pajamas — on top of the warmth of your bare skin radiating against his — certainly are not helping his conflicted mind. 

“sleep on the floor if you’re going to complain,” you retort, unmoving as you stare up at the ceiling. the moonlight streaming through the windows reflects across the wood panels, shifting with the movement of the thin curtains that hang in front of the glass. it’s soothing, but it seems as if nothing is enough to get you to doze off tonight, even the melatonin that you downed an hour ago. the lack of space between the two of you is a new development, and you cannot deny the nervous pang that resounds in your chest because of it. something feels off tonight, but you can’t quite put a finger on it. 

his elbow sharply shoves in your bicep, pain blooming across your skin as the bone further digs itself into your arm. hissing in pain, you jostle him back, thus starting a petty war of who can gain the most space on the bed. after a couple minutes of exchanging elbows and small curses, your arm growing sore, annoyance finally bubbles over. your scattered brain proves useless in this situation, and while you’d usually rather exchange rude words until one of you concedes, you instead find yourself sitting up to straddle his hips, hands wrapping around his forearms and pinning them to the mattress. his lips part slightly as he stares up at you — a shocking crack in his typical stoic mask — while you shoot daggers down at him, your manicured nails biting into his wrists. 

“quit it,” you hiss. “i’m not in the mood for your shit tonight.” 

the curse word slips out before you can stop it, but at this point, you don’t particularly care. he’s being an annoying prick and all you want is for this godforsaken trip to be over already and for you to get fucking married. the quicker you are, the quicker you can get divorced and return back to your regularly programmed boss-assistant relationship and cut the odd tension that has built up between the two of you over this trip. 

below you, taehyun mirrors your venomous expression, his bare chest flexing as he breaks away from your grip with ease. his hips shift up beneath you, and your balance unexpectedly shifts. in a split second, you’ve switched positions with him now leering down at you. your legs are now wrapped around his hips, hands now pinned to the bed by his. he’s so close that you can feel his breaths against your cheek. that weird feeling in your stomach is back; you can’t help but flit your gaze down to his lips for a moment, licking your own subconsciously. you want — no, you need to kiss him, the phantom feeling of his lips on yours from the day prior taunting you. 

mentally, you slap yourself out of it. where the hell did that come from? he’s your boss. your terrible, perfectionist boss that you never catch a break from, your boss that constantly makes you want to quit your position and give up on your dreams. you shouldn’t be thinking of him like that. you can’t. looking back up at him, you find dark, narrowed eyes staring right back at you. the slight furrow of his brow tells you that he’s thinking — this is one of his most common expressions, you’ve gathered from your grueling time working for him, right after his stony, laser-like stare that is a constant in the office. it’s also the most worrisome.

wiggling, your fiery attempt to get him off of you is swiftly extinguished as he tightens his grip on you. you are not lost on the tick in his jaw, the way his muscles flex beneath his skin. with a gulp, you urge yourself to calm down. he’s your boss. your fucking boss. 

with a hiss, he grits out, “stop moving. fuck.”

his words lead you to notice something hard pressing into the crease of your thigh — his dick. holy shit, taehyun’s dick is rock solid against you, and you’ve barely even done anything. every nerve ending in your body feels like it’s on fire right now, the air surrounding your bodies electric and—

he’s kissing you. 

he’s kissing you and it’s messy and mean and there’s absolutely nothing romantic about it — and worst of all, you actually like it. lips mold together and teeth knock against each other, his hands releasing your arms to find purchase on your hips as he helps you grind against him. with a small whimper, you bite down on his bottom lip, causing him to groan in response. this is weird. this is so unbelievably weird, yet you can’t seem to stop yourself. 

he pulls away first, his warm breath brushing against your lips while both of you pant against each other. you can’t help but stare at the way his lips are red and swollen, slick with saliva and wetted further by a quick swipe of his tongue. 

without speaking, he swoops back down to capture your lips again. your stomach clenches as his hands slip beneath your thin camisole, the fabric bunching up as they slide up the expanse of your stomach and up to your breasts. he greedily gropes the flesh as he deepens the kiss, while you reach down to cup him over his boxers. he’s heavy in your hand, and you can tell just how thick he is even with the fabric in the way. your walls flutter around nothing as the thought of him stretching you to your limit invades your mind, your panties sticking to your folds. 

“you drive me insane,” taehyun grumbles as he works on nipping and sucking on the skin of your neck, thumbs now circling your pebbled nipples. you arch into his touch, unable to hold in your gasps.

“yeah, well, welcome to my world,” you mutter, squealing as he delivers a particularly cruel pinch to one of your tits. curling your fingers into his hair, you tug hard enough to hurt, and he hisses at the sting, sitting back up so that he’s leaning over you once more. one of his hands leaves your breasts to find purchase around your throat; you’re sure that he can feel the way you gulp beneath his hand — he does, and fuck, does that make his cock twitch. 

with a scoff, he shifts hips forward with more force, pressing himself directly into your center. the grip around your throat tightens slightly — he revels in the way your eyelids flutter and your gaze grows a little hazy as you stare up at him. you’re an absolute vision like this, and he thinks that maybe…no, he doesn’t. what a silly idea, that couldn’t possibly be true. 

his attention is pulled back to the present as you meet his hips with your own. your teeth digging into your bottom lip makes him want to bite it for you. god, stop. he hates himself a little for how he feels, but you’re just too tempting right now — and you? you seem just as willing.

to hell with it, he thinks.

“beg,” he orders. there is no way in hell he’s going to allow you to be snarky to him. he deals with your offhand remarks enough at work, and you’ve been a little too casual with him during this trip, too complacent with your disrespect. 

“i will do nothing of the sort,” you hiss despite the burning desire to just submit and let him make you feel good. “j-just because you think you’re all high and mighty doesn’t mean i’ll just bend to your will because you expect me to.”

the way he pauses makes you freeze. the narrowed, cold eyes are back, sending chills down your spine as they look over every crevice of your being: your lust-blown eyes, your heaving chest, how your legs have hooked themselves around his waist to pull him impossibly closer. his gaze finds yours again, and you shrink into yourself a little. the action pulls a smirk from him.

“i know you need this,” he says coolly. “more than me, i’m sure. when do you have time to meet people, hm? i doubt you’ve had anyone in a while.”

oh, fuck him. he has no right to comment on your lack of sex life, not when he’s the one and only reason for your lack of partner and your sore wrist each night. not when he has little regard for your free time when your off the clock. you do everything for him, and yet all you get is a measly little paycheck and not one ounce of gratitude in return. 

“that’s because of you,” you fire back, blood boiling. “you work me like a dog! i’m always at your beck and call— how do you expect to find someone to screw when my entire life revolves around you and your needs? ”

he shrugs as if none of that matters. “well, now i’m giving you an opportunity to get fucked,” he remarks, essentially ignoring your entire point. the cocky, impudent bastard. “take it or leave it. so beg, or i’ll just fuck my fist and you can watch. i don’t particularly care.”

slack-jawed, you gawk at him silently. you’ve never heard him be so vulgar. it’s oddly…hot? stop, no, your brain needs to shut up.

when he begins to move off of you, your legs tighten around his waist. actually, you know what? fuck it. your pride has already been tarnished enough while working for him, why not keep that going? you’re desperate enough, and since he’s talking such a big game, you’re curious to find out if he can back it up. 

thus, you give in.  

“fine. fuck me,” you whisper viciously.

evidently, this is not satisfactory for taehyun. his mouth forms into a thin line as he sends you an unimpressed frown. “what? i couldn’t hear you.” 

when you repeat yourself, louder this time, his head tilts and leans closer to you until you’re basically nose-to-nose. his stupid, infuriating smirk has grown wider. it’s almost as if — no, he definitely enjoys teasing you like this. 

“c’mon, you can do better than that,” he mocks while he rocks his hips harder against yours.

while you’d typically throttle a man who patronized you in this way, you are so unbelievably needy at the moment, and his ministrations are definitely not helping your case; so after swallowing what little dignity you have left, you begin to plead, “fuck me, please, need it. use me, ruin me, i-i don’t— i don’t care, just wanna feel good. please, taehyun.”

your cheeks are burning as hot as the sun and shame prickles the back of your neck. you can’t help how you cover your face with your hands as you realize how naked you feel under him, stripped bare by his eyes and his presence despite still being fully clothed. he peels your hands away, pinning them to the mattress just as you did to him minutes earlier. 

“wasn’t so hard now, was it?” he leers, shifting his head so that you can’t look away. one of his hands moves to cup your jaw, a thumb brushing lightly against your lips, and you allow it to push into your mouth and press down on your tongue. you suckle on the digit as your mind clouds up. moving your thin pajamas to the side with his other hand, he swipes two fingers through your soaked folds, bringing your slick up to your clit. he barely touches the already sensitive bud, rubbing tiny circles against it. you shift your hips up to gain more stimulation, but he pulls away. tutting, he sighs, “desperate little thing. don’t worry, i’m not feeling very patient right now either.”

within seconds, your bottoms are discarded and you’re spread wide for him, on complete and utter display for him. his boxers are shoved down to reveal his cock, stiff and flushed an angry shade of red. prominent veins meander their way down the shaft, the skin a shade darker than the rest of him — and you were right: he is thick, intimidatingly so.

but you've never been one to back down from a challenge. 

as he lines himself up with your awaiting entrance, his thumb slips out of your mouth so that he can find purchase on your waist, the warm tips of his fingers pressing into the soft skin. a stinging sensation floods your senses as he shifts his hips forward, his cock slowly stretching your walls far beyond what they’ve ever been before. shit, he’s huge, your pussy stuffed to the brim with him — it feels like he’s in your stomach, your throat, but he allows you to adjust inch by painstaking inch, something you’re grateful for. not that you’d ever voice that to him.

the sting disappears soon enough, morphing into a dull pleasure that isn’t quite enough to satisfy you. rolling your hips, you feel the head of his cock press into a spot deep inside you that sends jolts of pleasure through your body, yet he halts your motions with a firm grip on your hip bones. outwardly, he seems unaffected by the way your walls flutter around him, warm and wet and christ, overwhelmingly tight — inside, however, he’s on the verge of losing it, trying and failing to resist the urge to pound you into the mattress until you’re crying for him. his first thrust is merciless, pulling out and slamming back in so hard that you nearly see stars. when you keen, he knows you can take anything that he will give you. you always have to put up with his hardass tendencies, after all, his borderline mean and unyielding expectations that you somehow meet and even exceed sometimes. you can take it — you will take it, and well. he expects you to.

and, as he wishes, you do, barely able to keep your moans in check as he pounds into you over and over again, your breathing growing ragged and your hands gripping the sheets so hard that you fear that they may tear. the drag of his cock against your walls renders you light-headed and dizzy beyond belief, your eyebrows furrowed deeply while your bleary eyes screw shut. with he plays with the angle of his hips, trying for the best one, the one that would turn your quiet whimpers to unabashed moans — because he would be lying if he said that he doesn’t want to hear you scream for him, even if it meant waking the rest of your annoying family up. maybe they wouldn’t pester him as easily if he got you to. 

shoving your top up above your breasts, he uses one hand to knead one of your tits while he uses the other to halt your squirming. aggravation fills his veins as you continue to wiggle, your hips grinding up to meet his thrusts, greedy for more. 

“stay fucking still,” he bites, moving to swing your legs over his shoulders, effectively folding you in half below him. the angle causes your eyes to roll back into your head, your teeth biting your lip so hard that you almost bleed. as his thrusts resume, he brings a thumb down to your clit, and your walls immediately pulse around him. your mouth falls open as you whine, and he nearly cums just from the sight of your playing with your tits, thumbs circle the pebbled flesh. he resists the urge to lean down and suck on them; he needs to keep a clear head, or as clear as it can be in this situation. he needs to maintain his control. 

“‘m close, f-fuck, ‘m gonna, gonna cum,” you whisper frantically, now pinching your nipples between your fingers. the sight spurs him to fuck you faster, deeper, hitting spots that your measly fingers never could. your swollen lips part to allow quiet, pathetic whines escape, the buzz in your stomach building and building and building and—

it all stops.

“n-no!” you cry, but taehyun pins your hips down before you are able to chase your now fading pleasure. you despise how easily he can just take from you, even your orgasms he controls. the slight upward curve of his lips makes you want to curse him out.

“you're funny,” he remarks. 

“and you’re the worst,” you groan while you lightly slap his chest. catching your wrist, he pins it back to the bed. 

“aw, am i now?” he coos, his hips grinding into you again, teasing. it’s not enough, it’s not enough at all. 

��mhm, i can’t— ah, c-can’t stand you.”

“o-oh, you c-can’t?” he taunts, his mouth formed into a condescending little pout. “yet you’re letting me do this—” he punctuates the word with a particularly hard thrust out of nowhere, causing you to cry out and your nails to claw at his shoulders. “—to you. i can’t be that bad.”

“you are,” you pant as his cock begins to drag along your walls again. “fucking— you are that bad, i— nonono, please keep going. please!" 

taehyun does not heed your cries. rather, he pulls out completely, much to your contempt. whiplash becomes your new best friend as he flips you over onto your stomach, spine arched prettily behind you by the hands pulling your hips up. the sheets brush against your swollen nipples, the pillow below your head cushioning your head from the somewhat stiff mattress. you are rendered unable to push yourself up and out of this position when taehyun gathers your wrists in one hand and pins them behind you, yet you can’t bring yourself to even want to try, not when he slips his cock back inside you and resumes his previous swift pace. the angle has changed, and he presses perfectly into your g-spot now — your brain is completely empty, only able to process how amazing he’s making you feel. your moans grow louder and louder as your orgasm quickly builds up again. a hand curls into your hair and yanks, shoving your face into the pillow. 

“be a good little slut and shut up,” taehyun grunts out from behind you. he’s changed his mind: he doesn’t want anyone else hearing you. no, your pretty little noises should be reserved for him and him only, and he’s more than satisfied with the muffled sounds coming from you as he fucks you into the mattress. he feels your legs begin to give out from below you, but he takes it in stride, shifting his body so that he leans over your back, your legs spread out on both sides of his hips. he quietly admonishes you for enjoying this so much, no matter how hypocritical it is, only if to feel you clench around him and bring him closer to his release. 

your squeals are muffled as you finally, finally come undone, the knot in your stomach snapping and causing your entire body to quake. your walls quiver around his cock, and before he can spill inside you, he pulls out and jerks himself off, hand rapidly sliding up and down until he spills all over his hand with a shudder.

there’s no aftercare, no conversation, just ragged pants as both of you try to catch your breath again. taehyun essentially passes out as soon as he collapses next to you. you’re not sure what you would have said in this situation, so you are a bit grateful for his sleeping form. 

as you listen to his slow, rhythmic breathing, the gravity of what you've just done hits you square in the chest. your lungs feel as if they’ve been pumped with lead, your muscles tense and your mind reeling — shit. holy shit. you just fucked your boss — your boss that you will soon be married to and divorced from — and now? now, you have no idea how all of this is going to pan out. 

and no matter how your mind tries to spin it, there’s no way out of this one.

3k event masterlist | masterlist

© to agustdiv1ne. do not copy, repost, steal, and/or translate.

[violetlunette]

This a a Prompt from my Disney Song Prompt List.

I'm technically stretching the rules here, but I guess since Disney owns Fox now, I can count on a technicality.

Song: Once Upon a December (Anastasia)

Requested by @singerkillerjaetch

~*~

The winter’s cold stabbed through straight to Silver’s bones, turning pink flesh blue and causing teeth to clatter.

‘I’ll have to find shelter soon,’ he thought. He searched the area, but his vision was hazy due to the thick mist his breath made.

Silver had no idea how long he had been in these icy woods, lost and alone. What he did know was that if he didn’t find warmth soon, Silver would never find it again.

Silver stumbled against a tree, his fingers so numb that he couldn’t even feel the scratchy bark of the tree.

‘I can’t… I can’t…’

“Stand up.” Ah, it was that voice again. “It doesn’t matter what you have to do. As long as you live.”

Silver closed his eyes against the sound. That voice always appeared at times like this, when he was lost.

He just wished he could remember who that voice belonged to.

‘Then again, if I could recall anything, I wouldn’t be here.’ With a shudder, Silver stood and continued to trudge through the thick snow, ripping his leg as the white gripped his knees.

A time ago, the boy had been found wandering with no memory of his past or even who he was. He only had his name due to his hair, and he hated the name “Gray.”

Silver began to worry that he would never find his true identity when fate, or perhaps luck, intervened. 

Silver met a pixie after he rescued her from a band of thieves who were going to sell her in a bottle. 

After the human shared his plight with her, she mysteriously told Silver that he should go to Briar Valley. There, he should seek out “Lilia Vanrouge.” Before Silver could question why, the other vanished.

Having no other leads, the teen made his journey to Briar Valley. 

Once he arrived, he was surprised to find the entire valley coated in snow.

Travelers had told him that this winter had been going on for some time, caused by the sorrow of the Dragon Prince, who had lost something dear to him. Silver, whose heart already twinged at the mention of him, went out to the prince. Whatever he lost must have been precious to create such a storm for so long--

Koff, koff!

Silver’s throat ached and nearly choked him. Silver came to these woods to find his past, but if he didn’t hurry and find protection from the cold, Silver wouldn’t have a future either.

There were many times Silver’s body nearly gave out and fell to the storm, but each time he did, the same voice would appear in his head, begging him to live.

‘I wish I knew... if only I could recall...’ Who that person was.

Silver pressed his lips tight, and his brow furrowed deeply.

It was faint, glowing as dim as an ember, but he could recall someone holding him as a child. In their arms, Silver felt safe and warm. He hadn’t felt that way for a long time.

If the human thought harder, he could hear a faint lullaby being sung. He couldn’t recall the song itself or the words—just the tune.

♬♪♬...♪♪♬...

Silver placed a hand over his chest as the muscle inside it ached. 

It hurt, but it was that pain that kept him going. For his heart to ache and yearn so strongly for something his mind could not recall, Silver must have loved it deeply and dearly. And, surely, those feelings had to have been returned...

Right?

Hope could only move a body for so long, and it seemed that it was going to fade when Silver's aurora-colored eyes spotted something.

In the distance, settled between one of the many large trees and a stream, frozen completely by the cold, was a cottage. 

The sight brought tears to the teen’s eyes as warmth slowly spread to his icy bones.

He knew this place better than he knew anything else. This...this was home. His home.

He was home.

Whoosh!

The door opened so fast that it was nearly pulled from the house. Light came pooling out. The only light in the dark, icy world. Framed by this heavenly glow was a figure that made Silver’s heart cry out, though his lips remained silent in shock. He held his breath until the other spoke.

“Silver?” That voice—he recognized it! It was the same voice that kept him alive all this time. This person was his...

“Father?”

~*~

Lilia stood, shaking not from the cold but from the emotions that filled him upon seeing the sight before him.

“Silver?” Was it a dream? Or perhaps he was seeing a ghost. Could this be his son? The child he had lost what felt like ages ago?

Crack!

His grip broke the wood of the entryway. He didn’t dare hope. He didn’t dare dream. Not after all this time.

And yet--

“Father?” Lilia’s heart, numb from grief for so long, began to beat once more.

Only to break as the lad fell.

“Silver!” Lilia bolted from the doorway to his son’s side, pulling him from the snow as he called the other’s name again and again. Sadly, there was no response.

“Silver!” Surely fate didn’t deliver his boy to his doorstep just to have him die before the father. Such a thing would be far too cruel.

“Silver, please! Please…”

Once upon a December, Silver vanished from his life.

Lilia would not let that happen again.

[what-the-stories-have-foretold]

An old Captain's Song

Silvio Ricci x reader

Navi.

Warnings: pirate!silvio, siren!reader

Autumn Festival 2024

Wordcount: 500+

The water was an impenetrable dark blue where he looked upon the waves. Foam brushed against the once royal blue wood of the ship. Now, the colour was chipped and weathered from many a journey. It was lonely on deck, still he stood proud, his hair fluttering in the wind. Slowly, he stretched out his hand toward the ocean, unflinching as his frostbitten fingers complained.

This night was calmer than any night before. All he could remember was excitement. A little boy jumping on board a leaving ship, a young man – Captain for the first time – stealing a ship of the crown. And yet, in this solitude his heart beat fast.

He had first met her in a dream; saw her tugging him away from eternal light, felt her gentle touch and her sharp nails.

The songs she had sung him still rang in his heart.

She had brought him ashore and followed him since.

There was a ripple in the waves. He fixed his posture and the ocean bore him her angelic complexion. Shakily, he exhaled. She was far more beautiful than any dream could render her.

Droplets flew like crystals as she shook herself dry. Then, she met his nervous gaze and her eyes pierced him right through his chest. Her smile was stunning.

“Silvio,” she called out in that lovely sing-song of her voice. “You look so pretty.”

He blushed and hoped she did not see it in the dark. But her eyes were sharp and the amused twinkle in her eyes told him as much.

“You look heavenly.” He stumbled forward when his ears caught her giggle.

“Heavenly? Do pirates know that word?”

He shrugged sheepishly. “I do.”

At that, her gaze softened. “You look better,” she swam forward. “But thin. Are you still not eating well?”

“´ve lost my appetite.”

“Oh,” confused, she laid her head to the side. Just the way Old Lady used to when he was young. He closed his eyes, willing the image of his old Dalmatian from his mind. Those times were long gone.

“But don't worry yer pretty little head, yeah? I'll eat well soon enough.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

He chuckled. He knew she enjoyed this game, though he was unsure if that childlike entertainment made her believe that he was not in on it as well.

He longed to know the taste of her salt-tanged lips.

“How is your crew?”

“Ah, ´m sending them off soon. They're old enough to deal with ´t all by themselves.”

“But you love them.” Her tone was surprised.

“Aye. But with that growing tension… I don't know if I really wanna continue, you know sweetheart?”

“So, where will you go?” Bubbles followed the sentence and he watched her retreat further into the sea. He grinned. Sweet thing was pouting.

“Thought I'd settle down on that island you brought me to that time we met. Gotta stay with my girl, don´t I?”

At that, she almost flung herself out of the water.

“Really?”

“Course,” He leaned over the railing. “After all, you're my woman, aren't you?”

She nodded, shy.

“Yeah you are.” His eyes were lidded as he rested his arms on the railing. “Wanna sing me a song, sweet thing?”

A bright smile spread across her lips and that alone made all the years of pain and hardship in his life worth it.

[vegaly-art]

"Remember me, " I ask. "Remember me, " I sing

Warden has lost so much, and does not even get to grieve. The people change, the world moves on, and the march towards damnation continues. But Vega's plan must go forward… and Warden has no one else. "Your Sadistic Demon Has Lost His Memory", from Warden's perspective. CWs: Mild gore, hopelessness, and grief (and all the confusing emotions that come with it). Warden is not having a good time. Read on AO3 here.

It’s almost laughable now that I thought, genuinely, that my legs could carry me off to safety. As if there was any safe place I could go, or even imagine, as I sat on the cold wooden floor of a broken-down apartment, listening to the bustle of the outside world that was just not loud enough to overshadow the pounding in my head.  The wind hummed and whistled, pulling droplets of rain in through the windows, masking the sound of my sniffling. The city was alight with passing cars and street lights and all the Christmas garlands yet to be removed from local homes. I could hear songs from open shop doors and passing vehicles, familiarly jovial and completely alien, as if sung in languages I did not speak. People passed and giggled, cars started and stopped, the world went on. And yet here I sat, wallowing as if it were the end of the world. For all I knew, it may as well have been.

And the world kept spinning. Until I heard a soft tearing and twisting, the air in the room tasting sweeter as magic flooded it all at once. Then came a few sets of footsteps.. and a familiar voice that chilled the room far faster than the coldest snow. I couldn't even make out a word he was saying, my body reacted on its own. Cloak, get up, run. Don't breathe, he will hear you. Get out. He's going to find you but you can get out. Get out. Get-

"They are terrified. Explain."

No. No. I had to go. I couldn't look at them. Look at him. It was surely a trick of my sorry mind or that thing. Cruel creature. Cruel Hush. I couldn't! But- but it was his voice. It sounded so much like Vega's voice. But he was dead. I watched him come apart before my own eyes, seeing the sparks of him fly off into the dark abyss of that musty abandoned Closeknit base. I could see glimpses of starlight on the scattered chairs, soft puffs of space dust crawling into the vents. The room smelled of ozone and burnt wood, and the air tasted so bitter I could still feel it at the back of my throat. The aftertaste of what was left of him burned into the roof of my mouth, as every emotion I could find within others and myself tasted of that bitterness he so loved. Of him. I couldn't bring myself to rift, and still can't. The meridian burned to the touch if ever I got too close, seeming to push me away in disgust, and disappointment. I had to run before my mind got the better of me but… I took a peak against my better judgement.

And there he stood, waving off Hush like some annoyed friend. His words were janky and awkward but it was... him... and soon we were alone. What was I supposed to do?

"Inchoate. The murderous one is gone. Show yourself." I didn't move a muscle, tail wrapped tightly around my leg, the now healed stub at the end brushing against my knee. He smelled almost the same as he always did, ozone and firepits and a pitter tang. But it was off. A change of undertone, perhaps. Less woody, perhaps, and almost sweeter, right at the back of the throat. "Inchoate... you could have rifted away from this place but you haven't. Which either means you feel you have nowhere else to go, or you are too curious to leave completely. Perhaps both. It matters not. You will find no answers to your curiosity by hiding. Come out." Slowly, the world around me came into focus, as I pulled myself from my hiding spot within it. My limbs fell back into their unnatural hues, I could see the hair in front of my eyes, dripping and soaked. And he looked at me, with soft red eyes, that seemed dimmer than before.

He was recognisably him, with shorter hair, and new scars. And less jewellery than I knew him to wear. But... in his gaze, I could not find him. He looked at me like a stranger. Like a child. Devoid of his sarcastic quirked brow and half-closed amusement, too soft yet too formal. I lowered my eyes to the floor as if ignoring the changes could make the old him come back. His voice fell into my mind, fracturing and stumbling, and yet I could only mirror him. It took everything in me to even envision the words that I wanted to say, let alone speak them aloud. He... was Vega, was he not?

Of course. Of course he was. Full title and all. And yet so different from the him who I had known. Restored, but only in part, with so much wrong... out of place... missing. He once told me that the Vega who crawled out of the Elision well was not the same as the one who stood today. Not that he'd be young enough to have crawled out of the well, but the turn of phrase was poetic… He had died many times before, and he knew his self then was not eternal either. And yet now I stood before that reality and everything in me felt queasy. If I had a stomach it would surely be clawing at my ribs. If I had lungs they would contract and sieze, even as I tried to draw breath. If I had a heart it would throw itself against my trachea to try and crawl out and away, or crush itself between scraping teeth. 

"There is something about you. Of you. Something. I feel you are something to me. My memories are empty vaults, fractured echoes, a lingering scent on the wind. But something of you sings in counterpoint to my movement. I... Hush says you were with me when I died. That we were... something to one another. Tell me what we were. Remind me. What were you to me?"

I went to answer again, but it was once again difficult. Even if I could push past the block in my mind, the answer I sought was distant and strained. Trapped behind the beating in my head and the tears in my eyes. I couldn't tell if he was ignoring the distress of mine or did not see it, but it felt so wrong. I wanted him to stop looking at me.

"We were allies. Partners.” I could almost hear him quirk a brow at that. “ No- we weren't like- partners. We worked together. Not at a job- I wasn't- You had a mission. I was just there to help. I was-" "You are withholding information." I was. I didn't know what else to do, or where else I could start. "We were- it- it’s complicated." "Complicated can mean many things. I imagine this must be difficult for you as well, but... please. I feel... you are here." He put a hand to his chest, between the collarbones, fingers grazing his constellation upon his neck "Inside. You are gone but you were there. The dust lies around the silhouette you've left behind. The feelings are... conflicting. You were a part of me but I don't know what form that took. It is... maddening." He got down on his knees in front of me, my hand held gently within his, staring up with those embers of once bright flames. "Please... speak." He begged...

He begged.

He was confused. He was alone. He was scared. He was not accustomed to these feelings.

I wanted to scream at him. He left me! He left me with nothing after tearing me away from all that I knew! He gave me his trust and his faith and his respect, put his life on the line so carelessly and got himself killed, then appeared back before me like this?! I deserved to be confused! I deserved to be scared!

But... I couldn't say that. Because I had people I could go to, and lie to, and a life that could go back to 'normal'. I didn't want to consider returning to that hell of a job I once had but I had the memory of it, and references to find something better. I could find new friends, and new work, and wait out the ticking clock until the end of the world. I could afford to let my memories pass and give them up, and let his suffering and his sacrifice be forgotten. 

I turned away from him. Found my way to the small set of drawers in the room. My hand reached in on instinct, pulling up a piece of paper, half crumpled from water damage. I had read it out in the rain, and though I’d helped it dry I was uncareful. The creases from my shaky hands still marred the crisp paper surface. But it should be enough to get the message across. It had to be. 

I walked back. Handed it to him. He asked about it. I answered.

"Yes, you wrote it." ..."I don't know when. The why is written inside. It materialised after your death." ..."take it."

The paper crinkled against his larger clawed fingers as he took the page gently, brushing against my own. I wanted to vomit. Vomit out those parts of him he left within my head, and my heart, and run. Run to that hideous safe house of his, surely filled with the aroma of rotted meat, and the buzzing of flies. I would go back and feed on the emotions of the police who found the scene, and the coworker I once had... or what the wildlife left of him anyway. Their fear, their agony, their confusion, their indifference. I would consume whole what was left of that poor department agent just to get that bitter taste off my tongue and fill myself with anything but my own grief and self-pity. I didn't want to hear his voice read that letter. It rang within me every time those words came back to me, but it was my imagination of his voice. A comforting distance. 

I wanted to vomit.

He began reading, emotions flowing off of him. I could feel them.

"My Dearest Warden." Confusion. "Warden?"

"You called me Warden..."

"Ah." Acceptance. "Very well. 

If you are reading this then something has happened. The magic keeping it out of phase has ended. Which means my connection to magic has been interfered with in some way." Intrigue "Return to the department if you can. Tell them that I was... holding you against your will." Discomfort. "My record speaks for itself. They will believe you. I cannot ask you to continue my plans on your own. While you are an impressive demon you are unprepared for what the quest entails. If it was enough to incapacitate me it would do far worse to you." Caution. "Let the memory of it fade with..." No... "the memory..." No... "of me." ... "You were a gift to know, Darling." Softness. "You surprised me. You made me reconsider. Those are things that I thought were out of reach by now. You can't know how much that meant.

Live, my Warden. And be well..."

He chuckled. He seemed to click something into place that I couldn't begin to understand. Or rather... I could. I understood perfectly well what he saw. What he spoke of, defying my claim that things were ‘complicated’. Expressions of affection. Terms of endearment. He valued me. Put my safety above that of his task, whatever that was. Called me Dearest... Darling...  

The romantic implications were so obvious a child could see them, but that wasn't- it wasn't like that- it- I could feel tears welling up again. It was different. But he wouldn't know the difference, would he? Head so empty, missing so much of himself. He couldn't know... 

He'd forgotten his own gentle staring as he entertained my false sleep. His gentle hands upon my stubby second set of horns as they first broke skin.  His soft touches up my back as he helped me back into my clothes, that he had painstakingly remade from my description and his memory of me.  The shock in his own eyes as he saw my necklace of red and white beads, that held a star on the neck, to match him. One I kept now in my pocket. The nights spent rambling about the stars and anecdotes of centuries past. Brachium. Polaris. Centuri. Cygnus. As if they once lived, and he once knew them. Those eyes that stared into me, past my emotional walls and practised human movements. Those words that weaved lies so beautiful I grew to believe them and stepped off the edge I was trapped by for so long.  The hand on my waist. Get behind me. The taste of bitter and ozone as he splattered. The gentle nicknames. The gentle letdowns. The curiosity, intrigue, and excuses to make up for my guilt for pushing my woeful PTO policy…

"Did I- was I... harmful? Is that where your fear comes from?" He seemed so worried by my silence, and I could feel his eyes tracing the scars on my body, barely obscured by mesh pants and sleeves. 

"You hurt a lot of people, for your goals." And now I was one of them... and you couldn't see that because I didn't tell you. Even as tears rolled down my face.

"But I never harmed you?"

"No." You were more kind to me than anyone else I’d ever known.

"Intriguing again. I... Perhaps it is enough to simply know that it was... complicated, for now. I... I can live within these constraints for the time being. This is... clearly difficult for you. And I do not wish to cause you any further stress. Perhaps a different topic would be more easily discussed." More easily discussed. More easily discussed. Oh, it'd be so much easier if you shut up and left! If I could mourn in peace. If I could-...

The quest. He needed to know about the quest. Of course.  I had to tell him. Stumbling again in my own head, I tried to find words for something that I knew so little of. I had to put my feelings aside. We took too long to get to Dahlia, he said it himself. And now we lost even more time and would lose more still. There was no time to mourn. I wiped the tears from my eyes.

"It was... complicated. You told me so little and I tried to give ideas but it seemed I didn't get it all. But... the Sovereigns. We needed to find out more about the Sovereigns. You knew them once. Two had sacrificed themselves, and now their defence weakened... and you said yourself that... their altruism could not last through millennia of nothing but thinking. In your eyes, anyway. We had to "bolster the meridian, and bring it to heel"and communicate with those Sovereigns, it seemed. Which some humans had gotten so close to speaking to them. They wished to free them? I think? Some of them did anyway, from what I remembered in my files and what you told me and I you- and-"

"The Sovereigns. After all this time. What fool would ever seek to free them? Do they have any idea the destruction the sky gods would bring?"

"Closeknit tried. They seem to venerate them. They-."

"What is a 'Closeknit'?"

"A religious organisation? Cult? Anti-daemonic protest group? I'm not sure. They-"

"This cannot be allowed to occur. I was correct to risk death in pursuit of this task."  I stopped trying to explain. He seemed to have his own whims and memories to discuss. He almost sounded like he used to, fire in his eyes and a passion in his voice. I listened. Drank it in. It was probably the only piece of him I would see for a long time. I'm glad that much was left, though it was far too little. And much, much too late.

But then he spoke of Hush. I didn't want it to be so, but... we did have to speak with him. We needed to know. He insisted that he ‘could not allow us to get in the way’. That ‘his brother would not be pleased’. He killed Vega and put him together again what- an hour later? Maybe two? Or maybe sooner, depending on how long it took to find me. He was... complicated. Conflicted. And horrifically powerful. He must be understood. His goals realigned to our own. He could be our only hope... if we dare hope at all. 

"Inchoate. Will you stand beside me again in this? Will you help me?"   I looked at him, foggy and fuzzy, deforming from the tears that remained in my eyes, feeling every little emotion that slawed off him like meat from the carcase he was supposed to be... Concern. Confusion. Worry. Desperation. Want.

"I don't have anyone else anymore..." He took my hand and said nothing. And the world rippled and burned around us, as I gently pulled that familiar letter from his grasp, now stamped with soot and his fingerprints. Pressed it to my heart as he pulled me along.

There was no time to grieve.

[kept-confidence]

Closing Time

This piece began first as a private daydream, Later, it grew into a daydream shared with a newfound friend (@imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese). With that came a wash of creativity over me that I decided, for once, to fully submerge myself in. This is also now on Ao3, found here. The song that I imagine Drifter singing in this piece is titled "Martha", and is sung by Tom Waits. The song that I imagine being played in the scene — the trumpet and piano duet — is titled “Closing Time”, and is also by Tom Waits. This is a personal favourite of mine. Note: I'd highly recommend putting "Closing Time" on when you're at the montage section — I imagine it'd be a nice experience overall while you imagine the scene being described. There is nothing violent here — only tenderness and kindness founded upon a moment of healing. I am no expert in handling tender moments between individuals, and sometimes struggle to describe them. I make up for it, perhaps, in metaphor. I’m always inspired by music, and I guess that’s where the daydream emerged from in the first place. I also cooked this up in a day which is absolutely hilarious (neurospicy brain things). This is my first fic, which is nice, I think. Hope you enjoyed reading this! Comments are hugely appreciated (and I'd love to meet new folks who are into this ship as much as I am).

The door opened slowly with a gentle push, creaking loudly in response to decades of wear and neglect as it swung open and away from the Drifter. For a place that had been left largely abandoned, forgotten, and untouched — likely intentionally by its owner — any sort of movement and sound felt sacrilegious, like intruding upon a sacred space that should have, perhaps, been left alone. 

Drifter breathed a heavy sigh as he hesitated to take a step into what used to be his old bar. It should feel like a place he owns, one that he feels welcome in, he tells himself. But the air responds otherwise — the dominant scent of stale, damp wood rendering it thick, musty, and overbearing. If anything, the air was weighed down heavily by memories of the Drifter's past — of old selves torn away and discarded, of ghosts he'd rather forget, and of a time that no longer seemed welcome nor accessible. It had been weighed down by the burden of change. 

Why had he come here? A rhetorical question to himself, but one that occupied his mind nonetheless. 

Now restless, the Drifter took to rolling his green coin across his knuckles in a bid to calm his mind. Despite this, there was no denying the fact that his breathing had since grown rather shallow and irregular at the prospect of having to enter this forsaken space. Nonetheless, he figured that he'd lingered outside enough. 

"Eh, gotta go in at some point, I guess," he muttered to himself, words trailing off, as he defaulted to erecting a wall of indifference once more. It was, perhaps, what he thought to be the only way to keep himself safe. 

With soft and quiet steps, the Drifter finally stepped into the bar with a sense of trepidation that he wished he didn't have to feel, especially for a place he knew he once had some attachment to. Though he'd expected things to look different, he had to admit that the space of his bar — though theoretically the same as how he'd left it last — felt different. His heart skipped a beat as his senses slowly became more attuned to the apparent dissonance in the once lively (though chaotic) space he owned. After all, the mind can only prepare one so far — the heart, however, will always be tugged along, albeit unwillingly, in directions undesired and unwanted. For someone who had survived so much, who thrived on instability, chaos, and change as a means of putting up walls and abandoning the past, it would seem that for a rare moment, the Drifter would finally admit to himself that he'd been subconsciously wishing for something in his life to, at least, remain the same. 

The silence was piercing — ringing, even. It was in stark contrast to a sonic memory of a boisterous time once filled with excitement and activity. The Drifter could almost imagine the scene that accompanied it, but as he called forth that memory in his mind, the dissonance grew louder and more discordant. He promptly shut the door to that memory, and instead found himself stemming the discomfort by fixating on the sound of his footfalls as he fidgeted and shifted his feet in a bid to punctuate the silence pressing into him. Grounding, as Eris had once taught him. Where these footfalls had once been crisp and confident, heard in tandem with the voices of comrades and enemies both lost to time, they were instead now faint and muted no thanks to the thick layer of dust that blanketed what used to be dry and clean wooden floorboards. As each step unsettled the caked-on dust on the floor, leaving imprints of his boots, the Drifter directed his attention to his footfalls and simply looked. Dust was gently being dislodged, then lifted, and finally fell off the tips and soles of his boots. He could feel it — that each shift, each step, carried with it the heaviness of time, and its burden laid bare for him to witness. Breathing in deeply, Drifter felt the discomfort ease ever so slightly, as he was finally reminded of why he'd come back to the bar in the first place. 

To learn to embrace change while not abandoning the past. It was an answer to his question from before, but one that he knew, acutely, that its execution would not come as easily as hoped. Ideally, the process would happen on its own, without any need for effort — but that would be nothing more than a lofty dream. By this point, there was perhaps no escaping the fact that it was time for him to face his past, head on. 

Before his mind could stray any further, he felt a buzz from the databad tucked neatly beneath his robes. The Drifter retrieved it, and smiled softly when he saw who the message was from. 

EM: Germaine, you are not on the Derelict.  D: Aw Moondust! Missin' me already? You should've just said so!  EM: Answer the question, Rat. Where are you?  D: I'm at the old bar. The one I used to own? From waaaaaaaay before? The one Efrideet trashed?  EM: It's three in the morning, Germaine. What are you doing there? Are you alright? 

The Drifter's fingers hovered in the air for a moment as he contemplated how to reply to her question — specifically, the latter one. Like always, he decided that he'd ignore it. 

D: Catching up on old times, I guess.  EM: I see. You did not answer the second question. Would you like company? 

Caught. Nothing new — Eris always knew. 

D: Yeah. Thanks, Moondust. Seeya in a bit. 

The gentle smile didn't leave the Drifter's face even as he tucked the datapad back in its place. For him, Eris's company was always welcome. But this was even more so true for today — with the weight of the past and of this space still holding him down like a Sisyphean boulder on his sholders. Though he wasn't expecting her to know more about it, or to help him lift it, he imagined that it would, at least, be nice to have her company while he worked though and unravelled the attachment to this place he had long since buried. There was, after all, comfort to be found in the gentle intimacy of vulnerability they had since learned to share in time. 

Just as he'd finished ruminating, the Drifter felt his arm brush against yet another thick layer of dust as he walked past a large, boxy object. He turned, and let out a tiny, silent gasp of awe as he came to realise what was in front of him — it was a piano. It had been such a long time since he'd played one, not to mention seen one in the first place. The piano was no Steinway, of course. Just an upright Baldwin that had been salvaged from way before. The Drifter chuckled as he recalled just how out of tune it was when he had salvaged it, and how he'd managed to tinker with the piano enough that it at least sounded mostly reasonable. For a moment, he wondered if his work had stood the test of time. Orin was convinced that it would. 

He tensed, and held his coin tightly between his thumb and index finger. It was inevitable that the train of thought would lead him down that road. He'd been the one to salvage the piano and to tinker with it, but it was Orin who witnessed all of this happening — who laughed with him, and groaned at him each time he failed to fix the piano's tuning. She was the one who made the memory feel real when it would've otherwise been like any other memory — a generic piece of paper burnt to a crisp. 

This was the memory he'd come to confront. Right as he was about to fall off the edge into a memory-induced panic, the Drifter caught himself and grounded himself once more. Move the coin across the knuckles. Flip it between these fingers, and then the others. Shifting feet. Fidget a little. Grip the coin, then loosen that grip. In that release, the Drifter's tension eased a little as well. 

He dragged himself back into the present moment. In it, there was a quietude that ached in the space around him, as the Drifter took the time to take in the scene laid in front of him. Slowly, he took a few steps back, and gazed softly at the piano. The sight was, frankly, captivating. Moonlight streamed in from the holes in the roof that had since come to plague the bar, touching — even caressing — the piano ever so slightly. In these beams of moonlight, particles of dust travelling in the air were illuminated. For a space where its stillness initially bordered on suffocation, the Drifter finally felt himself attuned to the sensation and observation of the most minute movements. The way his breathing shifted the dust travelling around him, visible through the rays of moonlight. The way the clouds cast shadows on the ground as they momentarily blocked the moonlight. He felt just a little better about being here.  

Feeling inspired by the sight, he pulled out the piano bench and sat on it. No one would have issues with someone playing a piano at the base of Felwinter Peak at three in the morning, of course. Drifter pulled his gloves off, placing them neatly on the top of the piano. He had done so instinctively, as if wanting to truly feel and reminisce the texture of the keys with his own fingers. As he swiped one finger gently across the surface of the piano’s unopened cover, he was reminded once again of change — of time and age. Parts of the dislodged dust now hung on the tip of his finger. The truth is, he didn’t have to do that. He could’ve simply opened the piano cover. Yet, for the Drifter acknowledging that presence of dust, feeling it, and shifting it away, felt like an active recognition and acceptance of a time long gone. Of change.

The Drifter proceeded to lift the cover of the piano, which took a little bit more than a gentle struggle simply because of how long it had been left unopened. It inspired a simple metaphor in his mind — he thought of how the dust, when left undealt with, would work itself into the seams of the piano like a glue that seals all things shut, making it even harder to pry open. He visualized that momentarily in himself, with the dust that had settled into the seams of his own box that contained his heart and his past. It was, indeed, one that he was also struggling a little to open. He would try today, perhaps.

Beneath the cover lay the piano keys. Some were chipped, and some were stuck in a half-pressed position no thanks to the lack of maintenance. But for the Drifter, it was, in fact, the same as he had left it — it had been untouched for decades, chips consistent with his memory, and the sticky keys were still, well, sticky. There was no fixing those, he remembered, chuckling to himself.

It would become clear eventually that for the Drifter, memory is a muscle, and muscle memory never fails. His hands naturally fell into position, and for some strange reason, prepared themselves in the key of D#. He pressed down on the keys ever so delicately — perhaps to him, they seemed so fragile that they might break under the weight of his burdens.

But they didn't, and instead produced a faint chord in D#. He lifted his fingers, and pressed once more — now confident the keys would not crumble under him. The sensation — both of the keys, and of the sound received — was, to him, extremely familiar. Let memory lead, let memory take charge. The heart knows what it needs, he reminded himself. And from there, notes and chords pieced and flowed together, and the Drifter began to play a tune. He knew not what it was titled, or who had sung it originally, but he only remembered hearing it being played once by a visitor to the bar who had kindly asked for permission to play the piano. All he knew about the tune was that it was from the golden age — a song from a time now long gone, now being revisited in the present. 

As he progressed through the instrumental introduction to the song, Eris slipped quietly into the bar, undetected. The Drifter was too immersed in the moment that Eris refused to even think of interrupting it to announce herself. Gently and ever so silently, she perched herself on a bar stool that was still loosely intact, knees crossed, listening to his performance intently. She couldn't help but smile at the sight she was witnessing — but nothing could prepare her for what would come next, as the Drfiter began to sing. 

“Operator, number please It's been so many years Will she remember my old voice While I fight the tears?

Hello, hello there, is this Martha? This is old Tom Frost And I am calling long distance Don’t worry ‘bout the cost

Cause it’s been 40 years or more Now, Martha, please recall Meet me out for coffee Where we’ll talk about it all”

The words fell out of his mouth so naturally like a confession sung aloud to himself. His singing voice was low and ever so slightly gravelly, but there was a genuine tenderness to it a huge shift from his usually crass and sometimes insufferable modes of expression, Eris thought. It felt like a warm embrace — where words held on tightly to harmony, Eris instinctively found herself drawn towards and into the moment as well. As his gravelly voice continued to be sounded out — brushing against and touching her eardrums — a memory resurfaced. Eris couldn't help but recall the first time she ever placed her hand on his cheek as a gesture of care and love. She remembered how he leaned into her hand in return, and most prominently, the sensation of his beard tickling her palm. This felt similar — and it was comforting. 

At the same time, Eris was sure in this moment that her dear Rat was feeling more than just "old times", as he'd preferred to call it. If the lyrics weren't enough proof of this, the melancholic instrumental lines that accompanied the song were. In this song was nostalgia tinged with grief — a wistfulness of love once found and later lost, of time spent searching to no avail. She took a look around the bar and was met with the same scene of moonlight the Drifter had seen earlier. If he feels it's too much, he will know he's at least surrounded by moonlight, she thought to herself, reassuringly. 

Meanwhile, the Drifter continued: 

“And those were the days of roses, poetry and prose And, Martha, all I had was you, and all you had was me There was no tomorrows, we'd packed away our sorrows And we saved them for a rainy day

And I feel so much older now And you're much older too How's your husband and how's the kids? You know that I got married too?

Lucky that you found someone To make you feel secure Cause we were all so young and foolish Now we are mature”

As the chorus made its first iteration, it was evident by now that Martha, for the Drifter, was undoubtedly Orin. The mood in the air was suffused with a warm, gentle longing to revisit the past, to catch up with an old friend, an old lover. To simply ask, how are you doing? Perhaps it might've seemed that the Drifter was singing this to or for Orin, but Eris knew better than that. Despite the clear dedication to Martha drawn out by the lyrics — the incessant yearning and desire to return to the past — Eris had no doubt that her Rat was instead singing to his memory of Orin and his past experiences with her. He was, through this song, acknowledging the reality of his past — one that he had, at many times, tried to shut away with bursts of denial and detachment. The intention here was indeed very different. 

The chorus looped around a second time, and then:

“And I was always so impulsive I guess that I still am And all that really mattered then Was that I was a man

I guess that our being together Was never meant to be And Martha, Martha I love you, can't you see?”

Eris heard the Drifter stutter a little on the last line, his voice shaking as he held the last note for a second. And then he paused for a moment, hands laid on the keys, but frozen in time.

He said nothing for a while, and ruminated. Eris watched, but chose not to intervene — this was an important moment for him, one reserved for himself, and she would respect that. 

Finally, in the now drawn-out silence, he said to himself, quietly: "I loved you, Orin. This dude who wrote the lyric's still hung up on Martha. But for me? I don't love you. Not anymore. I loved you." Eris held her breath and clutched her Ahamkara bone closer to her chest as she heard the Drifter draw out the end of the word 'loved', clearly juxtaposed against the present, and original 'love' written into the song. She let go of that breath, and smiled. It was not that she needed reassurance — that safety and security had long been found in the foundation of their friendship and relationship. Instead, she simply felt a sense of pride for her dear Rat, who had finally taken active steps to work through the grief he had amassed in his heart from his time with Orin and beyond. It was no wonder that she had grown to love this man so very much — at no point in the time they knew each other did he ever expect her to fix his grief and his heart, and all he ever asked for, as she had now grown accustomed to providing, was her company through it all. 

Picking up his playing once more, the Drifter worked his way through the final chorus, before concluding the song with the words: 

"And I remember quiet evenings Trembling close to you.”

The last note from the piano resonated in the space of the bar, before the song faded into a final, concrete silence. The Drifter exhaled — it was a heavy one, but one that also seemed to bring him relief, as if he'd finally come to terms with what it meant to let go. He removed his hands from the keys, and proceeded to place them by his side as he pressed them softly into the bench. He gazed upwards, looking through one of the holes of the roof where the moonlight seemed to be pouring in from. It was a tiny whisper directed at the ray of moonlight, but one audible enough for Eris to hear from where she was seated. 

"Thanks for keeping me company through it, random ray of moonlight." 

Eris rose from the bar stool, finally making her presence known. And though slightly startled, the Drifter wasn't shocked enough to whip out Trust — he had been expecting her after all, though he had frankly no idea how long she'd been behind him all this while. 

"You're welcome," she said, smiling, while crossing the bar towards him, still seated at the piano. In response, he scooted over to the side as an invitation for her to sit beside him. She does. 

There was a moment of gentle silence — the air was no longer as still as it once was, and it was quiet enough that they could hear each other breathe almost in unison. She placed her hand over his, and he turned his palm over to intertwine their fingers together. He thought about asking her how long she'd been there for, but held back because he could already guess the answer to that. 

"That was beautiful, Germaine. How do you feel?" Eris asked, in hushed tones. 

For a man usually of many words, the Drifter struggled to gather any of a proper response. He simply sighed, and squeezed her hand, gazing at the moonlight through the roof once more. There was a warmth in his gesture, as if to say, I'm working through it still, but thank you for being here. She squeezed his in return, gently drawing circles on his hand with her thumb, as if to respond with take your time, I'm here, and I'll stay. With yet another sigh, he leaned over, and positioned his head on her shoulder, snuggling softly into the space that he'd already claimed as his multiple times. She turned her head to kiss him on his forehead, before simply leaning her head on his. 

It wasn't clear if he had started to cry, or was simply taking in the moment. He might have — but that was something meant only for Eris's eyes, and no one else. A private moment between the two. There was, perhaps, no need to know as well. Not everything needs to be witnessed, not everything needs to be known.

-------

It felt like a scene from a film. A montage of quiet, gentle moments.

scene begins, all dark; "closing time" by tom waits begins to play. a duet between a wistful trumpet and a plangent piano resonates in the air.  cut / close-up shot of the hole in the roof. moonlight is pouring in through it, and a crescent moon can be seen from the hole — clouds drift past in front of it.  cut / various still shots of the bar in disrepair — broken chairs, rotting wood, layers of dust, torn curtains at the windows.  cut / a still shot, now framing the back of the drifter and eris sitting side by side on the piano bench, the drifter's head on her shoulder, her head lying on his in return. cut / a close-up, still shot of fingers interlaced with each other.  cut / return to previous still shot of the drifter and eris on the piano bench, now pulling away with a backwards dolly. the two are now framed in relation to the larger space of the bar — as well as the moonlight. the camera remains in this position for a significant amount of time compared to the previous shots. cut / fade to black. the song is still playing. two sets of footfalls are heard — the heavy sort made from boots, though one is notably softer than the other. the sound of these footfalls pan from the far centre, closer to the front, and finally to the left. a door is heard creaking open, and then closed. the footfalls fade into the distance.  song fades into silence.  end scene. 

[that-basic-simp]

Down By The River

Karlach X Fem! Reader CW:Some mature language is used! WC:3.4k+ Slowly rising from my soft bed, I stretched and let out a yawn, letting the sun's warm rays shine down on me through the small window. My mother was outside by the well washing some clothes. As for my father, he was out on the hunt with some of his friends to get some food for dinner tonight. Throwing on what I normally wear, I step out of my room, pass through the kitchen, and to where my mother was outside. "Nice to see you're finally awake," my mother chuckled. "Sorry I was out partying with some friends," I stretched a little better now. "I have you know, you were the one who wanted me to get out in the first place." "I know, but I wasn't expecting you to be sleeping so long." "Kind of hung over, if you ask me. Do you need any help?" "If you're able to go down by the river, can you get some fresh water?"

"The well water isn't good?" "I've been using it to wash clothes, Y/N." "Alright," I said and grabbed the wooden bucket nearby.  Heading down into the woods, I slowly made my way down the hill as I was humming a song my mother sang to me when I was young. It was passed down to our family through the decades and it was always sung whenever a baby was being put to sleep. So whenever I had a child, I would be singing it to them as they fall asleep. I don't know where it came from, but it's a tradition now. Reaching the river, I knelt down and stuck the bucket into the water, catching the flowing water. Carefully pulling it up, I set it on the ground. Since I was here alone in the woods, might as well look around. Wandering around, I took in how the grass rose to my knees and the trees towered over me like the village gates that we lived outside of. There were so many vines hanging down to where I could grab onto them and swing to my heart's content. I would occasionally do that if I was out in the woods here by myself. But my father was usually with me, telling me I need to be more lady like. That I can't wander alone in the woods as much as I please and that I need to think about finding someone soon. He and my mother want a grandchild as soon as I am able, but I do not want to get into a relationship so quickly at the moment. Especially since I haven't come out to either of them.  While I was in my own thoughts, I heard some footsteps coming in my general direction. Peeking around the tree I was standing behind, I saw someone running down the hill, their head looking over their shoulder numerous times before they directed their attention to me. Taking in a deep breath, they rushed towards me. I was about to run back to the house, but something about the way they were running told me that they were fleeing. I heard shouts and yells as a crowd of people were running after this person. I had to help them. I motioned for them to follow me and they ran faster. I took off running in a direction to where I knew we could hide. Once the person caught up to me, I ducked behind a large set of bushes and they slid beside me. Grabbing their arm, I pulled them under the foilage and we tried to settle our breathing. "Where the hells did she go?" "She had to have gone this way, right?" "If she did, the entire woods would be burned down." "I am surprised she ran in here. Considering her infernal engine and such." "Come on," a familiar voice spoke. Poking my head out carefully, I saw my father was walking with some people I didn't recognize. Once they were out of the woods, I stood up carefully before turning to face the person who I just saved. Their red skin gave them away. Actually, it was the one broken horn and one intact that gave them away.  "K-Karlach Cliffgate," I said. She stood up and brushed the dirt off of the leather straps she was wearing. "Yep, that's my name," she said, sighing. "How do you know me?" "Someone named Wyll was talking to my father a week ago about running after a Tiefling who fled Avernus. That she fought in the Blood Wars and Zariel put an engine where her heart used to be."

"You seem to know a lot about me," she narrowed her eyes. "I-It's just that, my father agreed to hunt you down with Wyll." "Well, seems like you're not like you're father at all." "Why would I want to hunt down someone who wants to live?" It looked like she wanted to cry right then and there. She shifted a bit awkwardly, trying to find a comfortable way to show her gratitude towards me. "Y-Yes. I-I want that more than anything! I want to be free and to be alive! I don't know how long this infernal engine will keep running with me no longer being in Avernus. I-I thought I would never find someone who would understand." "Well, I kind of understand what it's like to fear for your life." "Why's that?" she asked. I took a cautious step away from Karlach, but she seemed to read myself better than I could. She nodded her head, backing away as well. "Sorry, didn't mean to get personal when we barely know one another." "I-It's alright. I-I'll just start with my name first, since I know yours. I'm Y/N," I said, sticking my hand out to shake hers. She shook her head, "I-I can't really touch people. When you pulled me into the bush, while you were able to touch me very briefly, it was exactly that. It was brief. But it is nice to meet you, Y/N." "If you ever need help, follow me," I walked over to the river, picking up the bucket that I left there.

"What if you don't come when I do?" "Keep coming until I am there. I will do the same with you." She smiled, "See you around then." "I will look out for Wyll and my father." "Thank you, Y/N." We went our separate ways for now. I returned to my mother with the water, which she directed me to our small kitchen so my father could use it to get lunch ready. He was moaning and groaning about how the Tiefling he was after had gotten away due to someone helping her. Thankfully he didn't recognize it was me who helped said Tiefling. I had to tread carefully down by the river now. A couple of days had passed and I was wandering down by the river, watching the water flow and some of the crawfish swim up and down the stream. There were even some toads hopping around as well as newts and other amphibians. Some birds were flying high in the sky and some landed on the tree branches for a rest. As I was admiring the environment above, I didn't pay attention to the ground below. "FUCK!" I looked down to find Karlach was resting against a tree and I had just stepped on her tail, as she was holding it tightly in her hands. "I-I am so sorry, Karlach," I said. 

"Gotta watch where you're going around in these parts," she released her tail, standing up. "Kind of hard to miss a long, red tail mixed in with this green shit." "It could have been a snake." "I doubt a snake will be entirely red." "You never know. They could be." "Sure," she said, nodding her head. "I'm surprised to find you here so soon." "I've been a bit busy with things, such as trying to hide from Wyll and your father." "They're still after you." "They won't rest until I am dead or I am back in Avernus. I am never going back there." "I don't blame you. Fighting for ten years and having an engine for a heart," I said. "Are you able to fix it?" "Fix it as in fine tune it to where I don't burn as much as I do." "Is there a way where we can do that?" "There is a possible way of doing it, but it requires infernal iron." "I think I know someone who can help with that." "Who?" "Dammon. I have known him due to my father and he's a blacksmith. He may have some infernal iron on hand." "Where is he?" "In the village just west of the river," I said, pointing in the direction of the village. "Y/N! Where are you, Y/N?!" my father called.

"Shit, I-I have to go," I said. "W-Will I see you again?" Karlach asked. "I-I can't promise it," I said. "But I will be waiting by the river." Running back towards my house, I found my father at the edge of the house before it lead into the woods. "There you are," he said, placing his hand in the middle of my back. "Where did you run off to in the woods?" "Just by the river," I said. "Find anything good?" "No. Nothing out of the ordinary, if that's what you're asking." "I just want to make sure you're safe. There is a rampaging Tiefling on the loose and I am determined to capture it." "It's not like a Tiefling can walk in the woods without burning it down." "Sometimes yes, sometimes no. The Tiefling we're after has an engine as a heart. That is what makes it dangerous." "What makes it so dangerous?" "This Tiefling fought in the Blood Wars with Zariel. They are a force to be reckoned with. Until we capture and kill this Tiefling, you are no longer allowed in the woods." "Dad, I am not a child anymore!" "I know, but you never know what could go on in there." "You let me in those woods when I was a child a long time ago without any supervision. Don't you think it's a bit ridiculous with what you want from me?" "No." I shook my head, "I am an adult, dad. I can do what I want." "Not while you live under my roof," he said. "Can we at least talk about it?" "No, we cannot." I let out a sigh and I begrudgingly walked into the house with my father following behind me. He kept a close eye on me every time I walked around the house. Whenever he wasn't around, my mother was watching me, even though she knew how much it pained me to not leave the area of the house. She wanted to let me leave, but my father held a lot of power over the two of us, which worried me with how Karlach would go down by the river and find me never there. She'd think I'd abandoned her. Weeks passed and my father would return with nothing. No sign of Karlach and no leads on where she went. She was smart, even though we met a couple times, her hot headed nature was not interferring with her instincts on surviving. Maybe it was a good thing she had ten years of fighting experience. She could definitely hold her own against my father and Wyll, but for how long before her engine gives out? How long does she have before it combusts? Those thoughts were swimming inside my head that my mother knew something was wrong. "Go," was all she said as we were sitting outside together. "B-But dad?" "I'll tell him I sent you to the market to get things. He'll be fine with that." "Are you sure?" "Yes. Something seems to be bothering you." I nodded my head and got up, heading into the woods and running towards the river. When I reached the water, I wandered around, looking at the ground in case I stepped on her tail again. I wanted to avoid that. As I was wandering, I was trying to silence those thoughts as they were coming back. While I had met her about a month ago, there was something about her that I never knew was there to begin with. Letting out a sigh, I sat down on the side of the river, watching the small fish swimming around. About to stick my finger into the water, a stick behind me snapped. I briskly turned and found the fiery Tiefling behind me. There was a wide smile on her face as we were face to face with one another. "Y-You're alright!" she smiled, taking a step towards me. I stood up and walked towards her, "Y-You're ok." "Your father is really after me, isn't he?" "He's not going to stop," I sighed. "What about you? You were gone for about three weeks and I came here to give you the good news, but you never came. But I didn't give up on you." "My father didn't allow me to leave the house because of you." "Because of me?" "Saying you were a force to be reckoned with." "While I do have ten years of experience of fighting in Avernus, I am not as a brute as they lead me to be." "I can see," I smiled. "You're sweet, caring to those who deserve it." She nodded her head, "You seem to read me like a book."

"I just figured it out since I helped you that day." "Wouldn't be the first time someone has helped me." "Did you get your engine tuned?" "I did," a wide smile appearing. "Haven't really rested it yet. But I know I got some work done on it." "Do you mind if I test it out?" I asked. "Of course." Taking a step towards her, I hugged her tightly. She let out a sigh as she placed her head on my shoulder. "It's been so long since I've been able to hold someone. To touch someone." "You're very warm," I said. "I like it." "I could get used to this." Pulling away, I looked into her fire like eyes. "I-I'm going to have to go soon. I can't be away for too long." "You know where to find me," she said, not wanting to let go just yet, but she did. We went our separate ways and for the next few days, my father started to become lenient on me going out into the woods as he came up with nothing on Karlach's location. However, that meant he was going to keep a close eye on me, but in a different way. Every time I tried to go into the woods, he would linger around me. He was going to use me to see if I could be of use to him. I had to do something about him before I give away our meeting place. Early in the morning I headed out of the house and made my way down to the river. As soon as I reached the water, Karlach was sitting there, patiently waiting for me. Walking towards her, I sat beside her. She turned and smiled, placing her hand on my leg, greeting me. "Morning, Y/N," she said. "Morning, Karlach." "Something wrong?" "Y-Yeah," I said. "I-It's my father. He is now keeping a close eye on me, but in a different sense." "You're a grown adult. He doesn't think you'll be able to handle yourself?" "No. I think he's suspicious about me." "About what?" "I've been coming into the woods a lot more than I used to. So I think he's trying to follow me to see if I know anything about you." She shook her head, "I don't want to fight your father, but if he doesn't get the message of me wanting my freedom, I'll have to show it to him." "I don't blame you for wanting to do that. I might let you." She chuckled, playfully shoving me, "I do owe you for saving my life." "You don't need to owe me anything. I was just helping someone live." "Even then, I do need to pay you back for what you've done. I can't live with myself knowing that I didn't pay off a great debt."

"It was nothing, Karlach." "It was everything to me, Y/N." I nodded my head, "Alright. I'll let this one slide." She smiled, "So, what do I owe you?" I stood there, tapping my chin as I was thinking of what she could do to repay this debt. I really didn't want anything other than to be beside her longer. I don't know how much time I would have before we were either caught or her engine ran out. I guess that was the only thing she could do. "I want to spend more time with you." "That's all?" "Yeah." "Usually people ask for me to kill someone for them as their debt. Or to burn someone alive. But never getting to know someone on a more personal level." "Ever since I saved you that day, you never really left my head." "I could say the same thing about you, Y/N." "Why don't we walk and talk?" I asked standing up to take her hand, leading her further up the river. For the entire morning and into the afternoon, it was just the two of us. Nothing in the world mattered in that moment. It felt genuine to be with her. She was a genuine person to be around. Karlach gave off this positive energy despite being used for war for ten years. I really commend her for having such a bright personality. She was just so bubbly that I don't know why my father and Wyll are after her. She really just wanted to enjoy her time right here and right now. The sun started to set and we soon found ourselves sitting against a tree that was far up stream, far past my house and heading towards the mountain range. We were laughing as we sat beside one another, as Karlach told a joke that was absolutely terrible that I only laughed due to her infectious laugh. "You really are a good person, Karlach." "There are better, believe me, Y/N." "To me though, you're a good person." She smiled, "Thank you, Y/N. That means a lot to me." Stretching her arms, she yawned, her sharp teeth being bared to the air. They looked like they could hurt and rip into flesh if she tried. "Your teeth," I said. "What about them?" she turned in my direction. "They look sharp." "They kind of are. Want a first hand experience?" she smirked, one of her eyebrows perking upwards. I leaned towards her, placing my hand on her cheek. She leaned towards me and our lips brushed against one anothers before they pressed up against each other. Her lips were warm, as to be expected. My lips curled upwards as I smiled against her lips. Her mouth slightly opened and her teeth pinched at my bottom lip as she bit down on it. They were sharp, but she wasn't biting with enough force to make my lip bleed. Pulling away, her eyes and aura had changed. Instead of the bright, red flames they were, her engine was now blue and her eyes matched. The flames illuminating her hands were the same color. "W-Whoa," I smiled, admiring her blue flames. "Blue flames are the hottest of all flames," she said. "I got you heated, didn't I?" I chuckled. "Only you can do that, Y/N." I smiled and pulled her into a hug. Once she pulled away, she found her way in between my legs, resting her head on my lap. I giggled as I ran my hand through her red and black hair. Some parts of it felt like they were singed. My hand ran up the horn on the left side of her head while I tapped the broken horn on the right side. She closed her eyes and melted into my touch as I'd occasionally run my hand through her hair and down her arm. Her tail came around and wrapped loosely around my ankle. "Can we stay like this forever?" she asked. "Always, Karlach. Always," I said and leaned down, placing a kiss to her forehead.

[ladyduellist]

Epistles of Saints & Sinners

Chapter Summary:

The companions deal with a hag and Tav makes a hard decision.

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Story Summary:

When Astarion meets the humble bard, Tav, he soon finds out he's the only one between them that knows they are bound as soulmates through their marks. Deciding it's more trouble than its worth, he refuses to tell her along the course of their journey across Faerûn.

But, unbeknownst to him and their companions, Tav is harboring a gruesome secret that she only thought was nothing more than a traumatized period in her life.

As they both come to face to face with their pasts and presents, will they choose to move forward or let it consume them?

Healing isn’t linear—after all.

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Chapter 13: End

Ao3

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Main Page & Chapter List

Word Count: 5.1k

Pairing: Astarion x female bard Tav

CW: Language, Blood & Violence, Trauma, Act 1 Spoilers

Hag song was HEAVILY influenced by 'Hey Girl' sung by Lady Gaga and Florence Welch

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They say that the heart is a heavy burden. Undead, an infernal engine, a mortal organ. They can all carry the same weight. And when you have had nothing to care for it for so long, It’s like a fucking chokehold the moment even a single jab of sweet honey infects it.

— Karlach, scrawled thoughts on a torn page from one of Gale’s books

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A devil’s servant was near: looming by her side, whispering a litany of canticles, bidding for her to wake.

The swordswoman awoke in a foreign room with paint peeling off the walls, like the droves of oppressed women by the men that promised to be their caretakers forevermore.

As Tav’s view unblurred, she noticed a priest passively swinging a thurible, releasing an unnatural pitch black colored smoke. The incense smelled of corrupted boils made to summon eldritch visitors.

And then pain. Her body felt like it had been tossed around in a rocky undertow. Each nerve ending aflame. Bruised. Defiled.

Her dried tongue attempted to coat itself in saliva as she tried to speak. “Wh—”

“Saer, she is awake,” the priest clad in a plain gold and black robe spoke aloud.

A figure was at the foot of the bed she laid in, clasping his hands together. “Fantastic!”

Algos.

She tried to move, pushing her weight on her elbows, but the soreness that shot through her was unbearable. Tav cried out roughly, falling back onto the pillow beneath her head.

“Careful my love, you’ve undergone a change—quite literally—overnight,” the rasp of his lilted tone seemed to slice through the curls of smoke filling the room. ���Priest, grant me a moment with her.”

The pious stranger nodded, leaving the room as Algos approached her bedside, his boots clinking heavily across the wood floor.

Tav hysterically searched her surroundings for any indication of where they may be. She studied a singular dusty window with beams of sunlight straining to shine through. Then, the rotted floor, clearly missing a few boards. But, when she finally looked at the sheets and comforter thrown haphazardly onto her body—sullied in possible blood stains—she froze.

Placing a hand on her forehead while she was distracted, he smiled down at her. She flinched, breaking out into a cold sweat.

“Please…where…”

“Shush now. You’ll need all the rest you can get, that is, if you can even survive through the day.”

She peered up at him in horror, tears stinging in her widened ducts. Panic and the sensation to writhe under his touch set in. “What’s going—?”

His dark eyes bore into her, slowly narrowing into something cruel and unknown. “Isn’t love grand, Birdie?” The strength of his grip found her chin and he held it firmly, lowering himself to place a cold peck on her lips. “10 years I have loved you and finally you granted me the purest gift of your devotion to me.”

Tav gasped, pacifying any movements in her aching pulsating muscles. “Gift? I don’t…understand.”

Algos released her, taking a step backwards. He gestured dramatically towards her covers. “Now, unfortunately, I have already had to part with it; but know that it provided me with exactly what I needed. Anyways, I shan’t babble on about such negotiations, but maybe you should have a look for yourself?”

She grazed the stitched hem of the blankets covering her and steadily lifted them from her bare figure. Her tempest eyes traveled down the mounds of her breasts then to her torso and legs. She violently trembled in fear. “Algos, what have…have…you done…?”

He snapped his fingers in thought. “Ah, there is one more thing I must attend to.” He turned to leave, waving a quick goodbye. “If you’re still alive by the time I return, I believe that will have earned you a proper explanation, don’t you?”

Tav dropped her coverings and reached out towards him, screaming hoarsely over and over again in torment. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?! ALGOS! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!”

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Why did she kill for him?

Gale had warned her about Astarion. About the webs he would tangle her in. Spread out ornately on patterns of silken fibers as the tightrope artist approached her from each strand that represented his life. Even should the bough upholding his intricate designs begin to shake, she would remain: a votive offering for every shade of his light, his dark, his gray.

Guilt. The self-condemnation for her turning him away whilst the skeletons he housed took his hand to dance with them. His cross to bear: inscribed on their left over bones. The beasts within that fed on him as his soul still cowered in fear. An unyoked expression—the disconnect—on his face as he pushed his sex into her over and over again was a familiar reflection she had seen of herself before. That she still saw during the erosion of her body clashing against her past.

Had she made the right decision bidding him to leave?

Then, there was a moment between the aftermath of the confrontation with the hunter and these troubling thoughts, that both Tav and Astarion regarded one another in uncomfortable silence. Briefly, a bout of regret flickered behind those mesmeric garnets when his gaze traveled down to the area he bit the previous evening, hidden behind the stays of her corset.

”Why?” The spawn mouthed, anchoring his jaw tautly.

“Because you—”

Tav furrowed her brow concentrating on his question. He wasn’t asking why she had decided to run to his—their—aid, no, he wanted to know why she decided to come after what he did to her. How she could still bear to look upon this rabid self that stood before her after his teeth enacted a sacrilegious communion in the name of Cazador Szarr.

The answer vacillated through Tav while the crimson from Gandrel’s death wept from her gloved hands into a trinket of a puddle. She had run to her crew half-dressed, hearing their desperate crows during her midday training. And the moment she saw the vampire entangled in the vine spell, she knew her impulsive arrow would whistle through the breeze to pierce the hunter’s flesh to shield him.

Her stomach churned as she watched the waves of Astarion’s coif falling forward, while he bent over to search the man’s corpse. “Are you certain he was one of Cazador’s?”

“Well, he was, “ he smirked outturning the deceased’s pockets, discovering little more than a bag of gold and lint. “I have history with them; the Gur were responsible for nearly murdering me the night I was turned into a spawn. Only Cazador would know to send one now to capture me. I’m sure he found it quite humorous.”

“Whew-weeee! You sure know how to make an entrance!” Karlach flung the rest of the vines she cut in half off to the side, beaming at Tav. “Either way, the problem is taken care of, yea? Comrades have to take care of each other, but hopefully this won’t come back to bite us in the arse later on.” She pointed towards Astarion with a long fingernail. “Don’t get any ideas.”

He shrugged at her, tying the coin bag to his belt. The dagger in his hand slid across Gandrel’s shirt, wiping it clean of blood and debris as he continued squatting near his lifeless body.

Tav ignored Karlach, conflicted over her own earlier actions. “Astarion, are you absolutely sure?” She peered down at him, pondering which collusions were quietly branching off inside his mind for him to answer her with.

Her thoughts were suddenly addled with the urge to seek forgiveness from the gods for the unimaginable deadly sin she committed that staggered on the lines of her ward for Astarion and wrath itself. She wanted to believe him. Believe that the possibility was charitable enough that Gandrel worked for Cazador and would have trafficked him back to the city. She wanted to place her faith in him that somewhere inside his tortured existence that his intentions were, at the very least, mottled enough with the concept of “good.”

He stood upwards, readjusting his armor. “You don’t trust my word? He was a Gur. Why should it matter?”

Tav shook her head. “This isn’t only about trusting your word: it’s about trusting your decisions. This, “ she motioned around at the tiny ponds of blood and viscera decorating the ground. ”impacts more than just your impulses now. The volition of your path, Karlach, Wyll, our acquaintances, me—it impacts it all.”

Astarion murdered for her once; Priestess Gut at the goblin camp. The debt of her life owed was just repaid in kind. The Madonna with her slender rapier, piercing through the qualms of her own heart for a man who’s humanity was dangling from rafters above layers of stained glass.

Why did it matter? She wasn’t keeping score. Helping those in need came without questions. Tav had ended lives for others without another thought. To save. To defend. But the difference—the bloody difference—was that it never involved a personal attachment for someone like Astarion. If she cut down an innocent man for him on his false instinct, then she…

Astarion crossed his arms haughtily. Even with ichor splattered on his fair features, he was still lethally gorgeous. “My dear, mayhaps you need to be reminded that it was not I that asked for anyone’s help with tearful pleas. By your own resolve, you are here now.”

Hey,” Wyll spoke up softly, failing to grasp their attention.

“But, Astarion, you knew we wouldn’t let you face Gandrel alone,” the bard unwaveringly replied. She pulled at the lengths of her dark ashen brown locks, winding them up into a messy hair bun. “Look,” she started with a hairpin in her mouth. “I’m only trying try to point out that not every Gur you meet is a horrible person to blame for what happened to you before you were turned. And that if we’re to get involved, it’s something to consider in the future.”

“Oh, please! Why defend those vagrant cutthroats? I think it’s only understandable that I do, in fact, get to blame them.” He hesitantly inched towards her as if she would crumble the very second he was within reach of her.

Tav rested her hand on the hilt of her blade sheathed at her side. She concentrated on his shallow breathing, watching his features alter several times. He was patently unnerved.

The pallored elf’s hands landed onto his hips. He leaned in towards her with barbs on his tongue. “Sending that hunter was a blatant message to show the power Cazador still has over me. Have you any real clue as to how strong he really is, Tav? The abilities he possesses? He could turn into mist, sneak into our camp in the dead of night, and strangle us all before we even opened our eyes.”

With a sudden jerk in her voice, she ground her boots into the mud to tower her posture. “Astarion, please—”

Astarion stepped further in, halting only feet away. Vexation and anguish masking his vision. He roughly pulled down the collar of his shirt, revealing his two jagged fang scars on the right side of his neck. Faded in color, but not in memory. “And if death isn’t enough—not to fret! You could be chosen to serve as his newest slave and live eternally as a meaningless vessel in the body you once knew,” he spat.

This was not the first time the womanly elf had laid her eyes on these scars—she saw them nearly everyday—but it was the first time watching him directly acknowledge them. Two petite bursts of whitish fireworks healed over. His master’s hallmark for legacy.

The intensity of his emotions viciously hid themselves in her heartstrings, like stubborn grit underneath fingernails. She placed a flat hand over her left breast. “Be-inway, Astarion. Be-inway, I hear you,” she quietly sing-songed.

He leaned back away from her, viewing her in one of his usual repertoire of reactions. “Would you reevaluate having that look broadcasted on your face when we disagree for once?! Those wretched huthammur. Gods below,” he blurted in frustration, glaring away from her eyes.

“Enough! Quell this before I kick both of you into the Chionthar river!” Wyll shouted abruptly. Fixing his stony eye on Tav, he moved in between them to act as a volunteer mediator. “You two quarrel more than bloody Shadowheart and Lae’zel.”

“What’s done is done,” he continued, the balm of his voice sweeping into the air. “If we are to believe Cazador hired this man, as Astarion said, then we need to believe that he knows our location. Our fanged friend is right: anything related to the vampire lord—short of himself—could strike at any moment. If the Gur’s death was indeed a mistake, then we’ll atone at the pyre during our final rites.”

“I always knew I could count on Wyll’s sensibility whilst you fiddle around with your own concerns,” the vampire fluffed out his hair, chiding Tav with a prissy titter.

Instead of her typical reactions caked in silence or offering challenges for him to consider, she simply spread out her arms to bow, catching his smug guise flipping into incredulity. “As you wish—your highness.”

“‘ey! Maybe we could save the melodrama for later?” Karlach horned in, breaking the subtle silence. She scratched the side of her cheek looking back and forth between all three of her companions suspended in pose. “Ethel’s teahouse isn’t far from here. She heard all the commotion and came to check it out. Said we are invited into her home as a reward for taking care of that monster hunter once you two were done bickering.”

Tav and Astarion sheepishly stared at each other past the warlock. Past the barbarian. Past their surroundings. Unmoving. Unblinking. Unorthodox beliefs in opposition gliding across paralleled strings.

He broke their quietude first. “I swear, if this demented crone only offers us tea and biscuits, I’m going to throw myself into the…urm, well, not the sun anymore. Anyways, shall we?” Astarion offered, extending his arm out in front of him, ushering Tav and Wyll along.

Tavelle, Tavelle, with her burnished battle symphonies surrounded by Astarion’s flags of scarlet, had taken another risk allowing herself to further interlock their lives together by having the stench of this stranger’s death on her hands. But, she knew it was for a reason she resonated with. A kindredness in once belonging to those that subjugated them with relational bonds affixing themselves as an addiction to the love and misery they provided.

So, why did she kill for Astarion?

Because she knew this would be the only chance he’d ever get to possibly escape for good.

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“Tav, keep singing! It’s working,” Wyll yelled at her, preparing an ‘Arms of Hadar’ conjugation. “Almost ready!”

The group had fought off the hag’s illusions until they were able to single out her monstrous corporeal form. As Mayrina bawled from a cage suspended over a fathomless pit, Tav combined a hasty doggerel alongside her ‘Vicious Mockery’ cantrip—adequately causing serious damage to the witch's ears.

It was the first time Astarion heard Tav’s voice since they entered Ethel’s residence. Clipped and off-kilter to her usual songs, he could sense she had dipped her thoughts into a place she would not allow any to follow by the unusual strum of her pulse.

♫Hey hag, what will you do? After we scorch that litter in your hair. Hey hag, have you any clue? Your illusions do not scare.

Hey hag, the bargains made, Around that brew you stir. Curses, scry, changing weather, Your end is on the way.

Hey hag, hey hag. Where’s your coven to save you? Hey hag, hey hag. It’s time to perish away.

Hey hag, hey hag. Hey hag, hey hag. It’s your end today. But, know that we gut you. Please know that, Please know that, we gut you.♫

Near the end of the last verse, Tav faltered; disrupted by the locusts of her ruminations, swarming to devour the fields of her concentration. The perfect momentum for the hag to take.

Auntie Ethel managed to steel her resolve long enough through the misstep to cast a bladed gust of wind, slicing open Tav’s forearm. She wheezily wailed at the bard, “You..rude…little…cunt!”

Thrown off balance, she fell to one knee, clutching her lute tightly.

Astarion ran to the ledge of the pit. He watched as Ethel started dragging her wart covered body in Tav’s direction. “Get up, damn you! Wyll, we’re going to need that spell!”

Karlach roared, charging forward. “YOU FUCKING BITCH! YOU’RE GOING TO BURN!”

“Karlach, no! You and Astarion need to save Mayrina and the baby,” Tav commanded, lifting her head at them to heavily take in gulps of breath.

Hells, not this drab self-sacrificing shit again, he reprimanded inside his mind.

“You idiot! Have you noticed that you have acquired a rather nasty gash? One more distraction and the hag will have sliced bard for breakfast! That woman made her choice,” Astarion grumbled loudly over the wide chasm, pointing towards the cage. “She was going to trade her own—“

Tav willed herself to stand. He could see her blood surfacing on the wound causing a desperate pang in his stomach he fought back.

“I KNOW,” she hollered back, seemingly conflicted by her next choice of words. “Trust me—I know.” Her tone became a diffused strain, showcasing that compassion she carried on her sleeve. “We don’t have time to argue, but life can be fucked up Astarion and sometimes we make ignorant choices when we are suffering. She may not deserve it, but let her have a second chance to choose to do right.”

A second chance.

Second chances were not allowed where he once resided. Second chances were unforgivable acts considered an intentional rebellion against Cazador’s commandments. Second chances meant having a spawn’s mouth gagged with foul-tasting fruit until their cries for mercy ceased. Second chances were for the weak and imperfect.

Second chances didn’t exist for Astarion because first chances lacked possibilities and dreams.

And those ideals were more dangerous to his master than allowing his children to ever turn into full-fledged vampires.

But, he was not at the Crimson Palace. He was not under Cazador’s command. And he very much did not want to deal with the repercussions that impossible elven bard would administer should he refuse.

He deeply exhaled, turning his head to view the barbarian over his shoulder. “Fire girl?”

“Yea, fangs?”

“How much weight do you think you can lift with your axe?”

She knowingly smirked, “Enough to give a boost to a handsome vampire.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere with me,” he grinned coquettishly. A red gaze briskly found its way back in Tav’s direction as he removed a dagger from his hip. “Songbird, if you slump over, please remember: I told you so.”

Astarion heard her chuckling echoing off the cave's walls as he walked towards the tiefling. She angled her axe towards the ground, allowing him to secure his footing on the weapon’s steel.

“Any ideas on how you’ll get back down?”

He unbuckled the side of his chest armor and fumbled around inside a concealed pocket. “Ah, there we are! I was going to make trade with it—seeing as it looked fairly rare—but I can always borrow another one from Gale when the time comes.”

Karlach eyed the ‘Scroll of Dimension Door’ dangling betwixt his fingertips like a horse’s carrot. “You stole that from Gale? He’s going to be quite unhappy when he finds out.”

Astarion pursed his lips, shoving the scroll back into its cubby space. “Well, the only way he’ll find out is if you decide to tell him.” Crouching down slightly in preparation to jump, he fisted the hilt of his dagger with both hands. “Besides, it’s not as if Gale was going to use it anytime soon. The man seems to have taken up the hobby of hoarding all means of magical properties since he joined us. I can assure you, it won’t be missed.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Whatever you say, fangs. Ready?”

He nodded. “Do it.”

And up he flew as Karlach hurled him towards the cage with her oversized weapon, forcing the airflow upwards. Astarion shot through the moving air and shoved his blade into a thick branch fastened around the gargantuan bones making up the small prison. With a strong grip, he pulled himself up enough for his foot to gain traction on a piece of wooden board that served as a floor base in the cage.

He swung his body into the cage, bowing quickly at his waist. “Darling, your hero has arrived! Forgive me, but let’s not tarry, eh?”

Mayrina backed away from him in a fright. “Ah! Who are you? Go away!”

Astarion tutted in disbelief, wagging a finger at her. “Oh, no no no! I did not sign up this. We have to go—now!”

The woman held out the length of her arms while he steadily paced himself further into the cage. “Get back! Or I’ll…I’ll…”

“Or you’ll scream? You’ve already been gracing us with your screeching vocal chords in that regard,” the vampire sneered. “Now if you’ll pardon my ungentlemanly conduct, I am going to have to use force in this annoying rescue or else that bard down there will have my pretty head on her rapier.”

Sidestepping her, he deftly situated himself to cuff her wrists in one hand and artfully plucked the teleporting scroll from behind his armor. He recited the script written in a mystical hand while imagining a safe location close by. A bright hazy mist enveloped both him and Mayrina, as the scroll disintegrated into sparkling particles.

The flash and crackles of energy following their reappearance behind Karlach, was enough to distract the hag from her continued pursuit of Tav.

The songstress cried out, rapier postured to thrust forward, “Wyll, now!”

Black tentacles slithered around the warlock’s body, writhing to satisfy a dark and ancient hunger. Arcane circles surfaced around him in shades of seafoam green, matching the bright glow of the castor’s eyes. “Morē!”

The arms shot out, capturing Ethel in their grasp. Limb after limb: disjointed, pulled apart, and infected with necrosis. Until, her putrid body had been thoroughly feasted upon and fell with a vibrating rumble to the ground.

Wyll staggered back, resting against his quarterstaff. “It worked. She’s dead.”

Mayrina scurried around the edge of the bottomless hole, holding the heaviness of her stomach in tears. She fisted her golden coils when she reached Ethel’s deceased form. “What have you done?! You’ve ruined everything!”

Tav approached her cautiously, an unreadable gaze transfixed on the woman’s rotund stomach. Her sleeve had been torn during her incurred injury, tattered shreds hanging loosely off her arm. “No more bargains,” she flatly imparted.

“All I wanted was my husband—my Connor—back! I can’t bear to live without him,” she sobbed loudly, wet droplets streaming down her dirty face. “Ethel promised to raise my baby properly, but you’ve gone and—“

Astarion quietly trailed after Mayrina upon stealthy heels. When Tav’s frame came into view, he noticed chunks of her hair had fallen out of place, cemented to the sweat soaked nape of her neck. The sight of the clean cut on her arm, now bathed in her own blood, caused his mouth to ache.

But, what caught him off guard was her heart. If not for the faint swell of her chest when she inhaled a breath, he would have thought she were as dead as him: it was virtually muted in its beats.

The bard shook her head. “This was not your final option. You simply choose to ignore all the others out of desperation before settling on this one.”

Mayrina fell into Tav’s arms, clamoring for hope through a squeaky raw throat. “Help me! You must know someone. I’ll do anything! Please bring him back. Bring Connor back! His coffin is outside. We could leave now; it isn’t too late—“

She remained stone-faced as she allowed the pitiful human to twist her shirt. “Listen to me carefully because I will not repeat myself: this is the last time you can play so frivolously with life and death. Another miracle will not mysteriously save you from your decisions. We can help bury your husband, but that’s all.”

Tav untied a satchel filled with coin and held it out to her. “Take this. It’ll help get you back on your feet for a while. There’s shelters in Baldur’s Gate that help young mothers out—it may be worth it to consider seeking them out.”

Mayrina shoved herself away from the bard. “Didn’t you listen to a single word I said?! I want my husband back! You don’t know anything about what I’m going through right now or how much it hurts. I don’t need your damned money! If you can’t help me, then I’ll find someone that can.”

Swiftly drifting forward like a waterfowl skirting above the water to land, Tav roughly hooked the crook of her inner elbow. “You cannot forsake yourself or this babe. You must protect what is yours at all costs. Do you understand?” She assertively snarled. “Do not squander this opportunity, for you will not get another. Take the money and leave Mayrina. I will NOT say it again.”

Astarion had never witnessed such unconstrained passion in her eyes before. A swirling hurricane that pushed and pushed and pushed, until it was created out of her warm and calm reservoir. There were numerous personality quirks he had prescribed to the bard, but this withdrawn frigidity in her actions were ones he did not foresee.

Mayrina was in shock. Wide-eyed. Petrified. She made eye contact with Astarion, pleading with him out of swollen sockets to convince his partner to remove her grip.

“Darling, you’re bleeding,” the vampire mentioned gently, endeavoring to gain her notice towards the dripping deluge of blood from her forearm.

She did not respond, continuing to stare at Mayrina and the growth filling out her womb.

Protected by the lady of her heart lochs, her secrets were thrown far into the depths of her wading marrow. “You shall not know them,” she exclaimed, “Because they are wrought with uncontested sorrow.”

Until, a rush of trembling drums flooded behind her ribs and Astarion could hear each rhythmic clench of her valves opening and closing. Emotions refusing to still.

He squeezed her shoulder, articulating her full name in a low pitch. “Tavelle?”

Tav released Mayrina from her hold, looking at the pale elf from the side of her peripherals, not giving him her full attention. “Hmm? Yes, sorry. Astarion do you want to—?”

He nodded at her, lifting her forearm to his mouth to greedily review her cut. Heavenly puffs of air exited onto her skin as he sweetly plunged his tongue in between the broken flesh, tasting every drop of lush fluid. He languidly swiped his tongue in long strides up to her wrist, pressing chaste cool pecks in gratitude along the way.

But, Tav was completely despondent to him: never once wincing or flitting her view back in his direction. Never once blushing or rousing his name from her rosy lips. Never once politely asking him to stop the mania of his hunger for her blood.

Still, Astarion persistently licked, and licked, and licked at the wound that never did seem to close.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

The day ended with burying Mayrina’s husband in a shallow grave.

Tav’s nails caught the inside of Astarion’s wrist, lightly scratching translucent skin, as their two companions strode ahead to the camp nearby. He could hear the resounding ravines inside the bard’s arteries filling with a festering apprehension.

He turned to face her, drooping curls attacked by the humidity, following suit.

Her expression had returned to its usual state of demurred humbleness. The whites of her eyes were more luminous than the surface of the moon. Shiny and waning beneath gibbous lids. “Speak with me?”

It was almost difficult to believe that this was the same woman from earlier that held an unholy union between her indignation and goodwill. With her tongue as her sword and her weathervane perception, she professed her creeds uncovering a sliver of her inner self.

Yet, he could not outpace the pictured sight of her inanimate body pressed into his side as he succumbed to the metallic taste on her arm.

Where had she gone at that moment?

What had she been thinking about?

Who had she been thinking of?

The spawn arched a refined eyebrow, clearing his throat with uncertainty. “Yes?”

She crossed her damaged arm against her chest, casually holding onto the bicep of her other one, inspecting him under softened brown lashes. “What you did for Mayrina and her unborn baby today…I realize it may not have been something you’d typically do, but please know, I appreciate the kindness you demonstrated.”

“Kindness? No, no, my sweet. What I did was purely to avoid having to deal with another tiff between us—as we are so prone to do,” he commented with slight rebuff. “You know we may have condemned that child to unhappiness in relation to his mother’s catastrophic life, don’t you?”

Tav hummed, avoiding the garnets of his blistering gaze. He noticed her fingers digging into the upper portion of her arm uncomfortably.

“You didn't ask to speak with me privately to thank me, did you?” Astarion questioned, feeling a dip in his stomach.

“A part of me did,” she murmured delicately through guarded partially opened lips.

The rest of the words would not escape her mouth. Trapped in the netting of her lyrical throat. She blinked up at him, heartbeat soaring away. Finger pads now skimming to touch the forbidden area he had bitten, as if to remind her of what she needed to do.

He shook his head firmly. “No, Tav. Say it.”

The door to her was closing. Her melodies that beckoned dormant blooms to bend towards the moonlight, the source of his aegis and crimson nourishment, would soon be gone. And he was still miles away from her doorway, slashing through the abstracts of their pasts.

He felt ill.

Tenderly, she laced the ends of her finger joints with his without accord. Her ardor blanketing his undead chill: a solace and a curse.

Astarion refused to suffer for her sympathies or careful considerations. For her fucking tears now veiling her eyes. For the pity she would shower him with, again and again and again.

“Say it.”

The sun setting from the west, wove together golds and purples to cast upon their silhouettes as a final goodbye. A dying day for their last sighs.

And then, her fingers slipped back out of his hand.

“Astarion, I don’t think we should be distracted anymore. Whatever this was between us—I want it to end.”

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Notes:

Elvish Words

Tav: Be-inway = wake

Astarion: Huthammur = storm clouds

[lukerycyja]

Lone Feather in the Sea of Petals

@zhongrin i have finally did the promised alhaitham fic.

This might be a part one to something i guess?

Paring: Eventual Alhaitham x God!Reader

Tried to do it inclusive to all races, female reader Words:2.9k Warnings: sexual slavery and sexual abuse are discussed, human trafficing, mentions of blood, lmk if there is anymore else I hope i got Alhaitham’s character right

Flowers finally started blooming. Their small, colorful petals started showing their delicate tips, yellow anthers still too deeply hidden to become visible. Green leaves sprinkled across the branches of various trees, still shining with their youth. Soft breeze carried gentle, rich smell, mixed with aroma of the great blue. Storms stopped being so frequent three weeks ago, now only occasionally running through the islands, mostly just bringing rain and stronger wind rather than full on storm. The life finally started. White and golden birds, that resembled cranes, and yet were too different to be one, with various colored tails, flowing gently on the wind, sung their song, sounds pleasurable to the ear and artistic, like a bard singing and playing some not yet invented instrument. Their wings flapping with no sound, swift flight looking weightless and fluid. From time to time some of the feathers in their tails fell, dancing their way to the ground, while pinkish hue slowly replaced gold. There was rush in the streets, everyone running around in frenzy doing their task, yet way too busy for it to be just some morning rush. Various smells filled the air, from sweet pastries to wood wax and burned paper. There was noise, street buzzing with life, from time to time an excited shriek of a child or falling wooden frames cut through it, echoing across the land. Streets were being decorated, performers trained in struggle to achieve perfection. Bakeries and restaurants worked overtime to deliver all of the promised delicacies, while in Cherry Harbor ships docked and departed whole day and night. The trees blooming was enough of a reason on restarting businesses or start going on, but while busy all year long, islands were never this busy. Only time when this happened, was in the spring when storms ceased and the aroma of freshness dominated the air around The Pleasure Archipelago. Blooming Love Festival was almost in full swing.

***

He knew exactly why he was sent there. He made a mistake. But what was this mistake was a mystery. The problem was, that sages in the Akademiya were very hormonal, and what was once an asset, it could turn quickly into unwanted, digging mole, that had to be exterminated. He was unfortunately a mole now, thrown into small cage, bound and gagged, awaiting extermination. He wouldn’t get killed or deemed insane and thrown into merciless desert thankfully, but he didn’t know if the fate awaiting him wasn’t even worse. He could escape from the desert, but islands were way harder. Also, very limited knowledge was available for planning anything. As far as he knew, living “gifts” could be made into sex slaves, prostitutes, priests or even be sacrificed for the god of love and fertility. There was a lot of possibilities and almost none were certain. And that didn’t help at all. Door to his cell slowly opened, and Yen walked in, carrying a straw and a bottle. She was a young girl found in the desert that somehow ended up being one of the maintenance workers for the Akademiya. It was a miracle she even got this far – desert folk had no place anywhere near Sumeru city according to many of its citizens. “Are you holding up today?” she asked, waiting for his nod. Due to the gag he couldn’t respond of course, he only had his gag taken for meals, when Yen would take it out before leaving. She was understanding, simply because she disliked Akademiya. But what is one desert girl against powerful and controlling form of government. “Ah, that’s good, that’s good. I heard from one sage that was here earlier today that you will be escorted out of the city in the night. They said something about Port Ormos  and shipment across the sea, but I don’t know the details, sorry.” her soft tone was all that he needed to know. His fate was sealed then. “Well, they also mentioned, that you had to be “groomed properly” before departure, but I have no idea what that means. But guessing from the tone, they will make you suffer” she winced. Yen put a straw between his gag and mouth, allowing some water to get into his mouth. He drank as much as he could. He knew that if this was any other person, they would laugh and humiliate him first. She did things fast and gave him very much needed information. He started to like her. Too bad it won’t get anywhere. “They wont miss you” that was the last thing the girl said before leaving. And he was alone again. What was surprising to him, was that there was no physical abuse, they didn’t even spit on him once. Now, getting information that he was supposed to be “groomed”, it confirmed that he had to be in impeccable state. So probably a sacrifice or sex slave. After all, what else? It was a festival of love, not only sweet, but physical one as well. And while sages didn’t respect Lesser Lord Kusanali, and her probable will to attend didn’t matter to them, all of Teyvat knew that the god of love was one of the most feared ones, and no matter Archon or not, every ten years representatives or gods themselves attended the festival to ask for good luck in love or to not have a famine caused by infertile animals and soil. It was said that during the Archon War said god desolated the land and destroyed gods by making them fight for unachievable love. No one dared to fight her later on, instead pleading for her mercy, offering her the position across the Seven. And yet, she refused, preferring to pull on heartstrings of others and bending unbendable to her will. Legends said that Celestia acknowledged her power and gave her a throne in secret. But these were just some tales. What was true was that this god wasn’t known to be merciful and lived with her people in one of the biggest brothels known to man. Next few days were painful and humiliating to a degree. Turns out, “grooming” was exactly it. He was waxed, washed and scrubbed so hard that he felt like he had his skin rubbed off of him, oiled and massaged, which was very painful, and had to do a lot of stretching and dancing. Thankfully, it wasn’t sexual at all, mostly uncomfortable. Stretching was the worst, because despite being athletic and rather agile in his opinion due to sword fight training, he never knew his limbs and spine could bend that much. After a week, his body was sore and his skin had so much oil rubbed in it, that he constantly looked shiny. The smell of it was nice at the beginning, but right now he wanted to swim in mud and roll around in very dirty stables, just to get this intense smell off of him. He felt like his muscles were drenched in it, flowery stench seeping into his bones and making him human air refresher. However today, he was fed breakfast and thrown into a room, bound and gagged. This time however, his hands and legs were bound with silk ribbons and his gag was made out of a bamboo segment, with ribbon tied around his head. He heard sailors talk about arriving tomorrow, if weather will allow them and he knew that next meal will be at the destination. His only hope was to not suddenly develop sea sickness. As he prepared for amazingly passionate wall watching session, someone entered his room. It was a female dressed in Akademiya clothes with Akasha terminal glowing in the barely lit room. She looked at him in disgust, and yet she restrained her face expressions, leaving only eyes betrying her real feelings about being in the same room as him. “You committed crimes against Akademiya and whole nation of Sumeru. However, you did a lot for us. That’s why your punishment isn’t being sent to the desert. We both know that you would escape anyways. I’m giving you a warning. You are a gift, so act like one. Be pretty and obey to whatever commands will be ordered. Otherwise, many will suffer.” She spoke quietly and then left, leaving him in silence again. Well, it’s not like he had a choice to be a brat anyways. His journey was interrupted soon, or at least what felt like soon. It was hard to tell, and his window was out of the reach of his eyes. Its not like he could get up and not lose his teeth after all. Three women and two men entered his tiny room, filling it with various fabrics and cosmetic products. Great. More smelly perfume. They started brushing his hair, while two of them was throwing fabrics in his face and almost instantly taking it back. He didn’t know if he preferred being tortured right now, because they didn’t care if pulling his hair caused him pain or if he wanted to have some privacy, as they took off his clothes and complained about his muscles being an inch too wide to fit in their chosen dress. They treated him like a piece of meat, meant to be sold. Finally they decided on skin tight sleeveless shirt with delicate dendro pattern on it, with knee length simple skirt and decorative obi style belt, along with long, flowy fabric attached to his neck in arms. His forelocks stayed the same, but the rest of his hair was tied, at least as much as it could, with decorative piece behind his ear. He also had heavy earrings, that painfully dragged his irritated ears, after not very pleasant puncture that was done to him without a warning. He was also forced into high tights with holes for his fingers. He thanked whatever was watching him for that knee long skirt. His makeup was also applied in unpleasant way, since one of the men grabbed his face and held it in place, as a lot of dust tickled his nose. He didn’t know why they used colored dust instead of using more wet methods. Did they wanted to torture him as well? Whole experience was very dehumanizing. He didn’t even had his muzzle taken off, for whatever reason. He looked like a doll and his face was tingling with pain. He was sure that he got bruises from the strong grip that man had on his face, but they probably did cover it up in makeup. He lost the track of time during this whole ordeal, and apparently, they were close now.

All of his old life would soon be definitely finished and it was a question if he will die or live without freedom, as a property. He didn’t know what was worse at this point. Finally, the moment has arrived. He was dragged out by two guards outside. Sudden light of sunset blinded him for a second, but his sense of smelling was finally freed from heavy, nauseating perfumes. The air smelled of crisp sea, mouthwatering food and fresh, exotic flowers. It was truly refreshing. The moment his vision returned, he could only wonder at what he was seeing. Harbor was filled to a brim, every inch taken by ships and sailors. Workers dragged various chests out of the ships, each one carefully taken, as if whatever was in there, could shatter easily. But the best sight was the gate. Big statues of man and woman held stone ribbon with flowers coming out of it with doves on it. Stone birds were probably the size of small boat. Real birds meanwhile looked like tiny specks of dust. It was also either a miracle or hard work, that the statues were spotless and decorated with various flowers, while petals floated with the wind. He couldn’t look too long, before he got put in a cage covered in silk and his view was covered. His cage moved and it felt like someone started dragging his caricature of a carriage. Whole experience was still surreal to him, but what could he do. Nothing. His short ride stopped and he was left waiting again. His earrings really started getting on his nerves now, ears hurt under the weight of crystals. He was bound with ribbons now, stuck kneeling, and his knees were now hurting as well. At least on the ship he could sit. This eternal waiting finally ended when he heard bells and then silence. He heard people talking before, and someone giving a speech, but he couldn’t hear exactly what was said. Then, he was dragged out of the cage and forced to stand, finally taking in his surroundings. He was standing in the middle of a small, round plaza, in front of a stage. Around him were various riches, from minerals and fruits, to flowers and books. Behind him, were the Archons, kneeling, along with the highest representatives from each country. He was dragged out by some guard, that the clothes were of unknown origin to him. And someone was sitting on a throne in front of him. Her golden and light pink robes were covering most of the throne. She wore a dress with no sleeves that was showing her bare shoulders. Her (s/c) skin gleamed under the sunset light, with golden shine around it. Her (h/c) hair was carefully tied up and partially covered with cloth tied in it by detailed and delicate hairpins. Cloth also covered most of her face, except for lips covered in glittering, pink dye and impeccable, clean skin. She also had an abundance of golden jewelry covering what clothes could not. The throne was made out of pink crystal, glimmering in the sun. It was trapped in vines, that blood red roses came out of, with glittering water covering freshly opened buds. It’s thorns deep pink color, frighteningly sharp would scare any brave hand from picking flowers. If it wasn’t intimidating enough, weird, black colored birds sat around the stage and a few of them on top of the throne. Birds reminded him of cranes, but with shorter necks and a lot of missing feathers. Their beaks were shorter and curled, similar to an eagle. But their eyes… God, their eyes. Red orbs, filled with hatred and thirst for blood, all looking straight at him, piercing his mortal body and clawing at his soul. Their intense stare was already parting his limbs and sinking into his organs with greedy claws and beaks fighting for scraps of muscle saturated with blood. His blood. He was almost sure, that the only thing keeping them from tearing his flesh between themselves was the goddess on the throne. He noticed that there was another person standing right next to the throne, almost unnoticeable among the birds. His slender and malnourished form with grey skin and dark hair caused him to disappear among the birds, his scarlet eyes filled with the same emotion as them. That… man looked him up and down and snarled with disgust. “And what is this supposed to be” It was more of a statement than a question. Which was honestly surprising, because he didn’t sound disgusted with him but rather aimed at whoever was representing Sumeru, standing in the audience. “It is an offering, your highness. A healthy man that just entered his prime. I’m sure that you will find him useful” one of the sages said. Man sneered and turned his ugly head to the figure on the throne. “Are you accepting this “offering”, my liege?” by the way he spoke the word offering, he wanted to throw Sumeru representatives to the mercy of those awful birds, which meant no mercy at all. Woman seemed to be pondering for some time, and then moved her hand slightly, indicating for them all to move on. Man just mumbled something under his nose and nodded at the guard still holding him. “Take that… thing to the palace and make sure it’s prepared for further use” And with that, guard had unceremoniously thrown him over the shoulder and started walking behind the scene, bowing his head at the god sitting at the throne. Behind it were maids, or what he assumed were maids, all wearing gold and pink silk sarees, their faces covered with a cloth hanging from a silver headband. All were standing behind the throne and he didn’t know if all or any of them were women. But who he was to judge, as he himself was wrapped and covered in so much fabric and makeup, that he didn’t know what he looked like, only that it was supposed to make him look submissive and breedable, like some livestock. Behind the tent that made the back of the stage, was an entrance to a palace. It didn’t have high towers, but it was rather flat, similar to some desert buildings. There was no desert, but there were storms and open sea, so that’s probably why it wasn’t tall. It’s thick, decorative columns alone seemed like guards, watchfully observing all that was before them. The door opened a little, tall and thick, darkness form the inside keeping the contents of the palace safely behind a veil. As the door closed and the last of sunlight was blocked off, the guard dropped him on the ground and then clapped his hands twice. Immediately two servants with covered faces appeared, both dressed in very expensive clothing and jewelry, yet kept modest. The cloth that was covering had a weird symbol on it. It looked like a heart that was melting, with thorns around it. “Prepare him. He is of use.” And with that, the guard was gone.

[chunkypossum]

Lighthouse in the Woods

Epilogue - 1k words

And… she’s done. Sweet little wrap up to this poly week fic. Thank you to everyone who showed it love!

Read on Ao3

Title from the song:  Lighthouse -Patrick Watson

For more info and the Playlist

Eris tugged on the bond until Azriel came close again, peppering kisses along his mates’ jawline and down his neck. Without warning he let his entire body weight fall on top of Eris who let out a strangled cry. Azriel only laughed, rolling off him quickly as Eris pinched him miserably.  “Come here.” He said quietly, pulling Eris to him. When the male was safely tucked into his arms Azriel buried his face into that pale neck and began humming softly. The song was nonsensical at first but morphed slowly into one of the lullabies he had sung to the kids as babies. Azriel and Layla used to sit in the nursery taking turns teaching each other songs their mothers used to sing to them and as that memory lay over Azriel’s mind like a warm blanket, Azriel felt a tear slip down his cheek.  Eris, who had been watching him out of the corner of his eyes, turned and kissed the tear away. He took his arms and circled them around his mate, kissing the top of his dark curls.

If you want on or off this tag list LMK

@talibunny30 @iftheshoef1tz @born-to-riot @fell-in-luvs @fieldofdaisiies @aktrain @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @secret-third-thing @acourtofladydeath @pippsmcgee @youvereachedthenearest-lovergirl @baileybird71 @skyesayshi @yanny-77 @areyoudreaminof

[nihiladditaenihilperdidi]

Enoch’s fingers twitched in Rune’s grasp as the realization settled in—he had misread the situation. Of course, the mage wasn’t about to teleport them to the ocean with a snap of his fingers. Rune was skilled, but even that had its limits. The embarrassment lingered, his eyes closing as those cool digits covered them. Ah, a memory, not a teleportation. And somehow, this was far more intimate.

The sounds hit him first: the wind whipping against sails, commands barked in foreign tongues, the creak and groan of wood and rope straining against the endless expanse of water. It felt vivid, real, as if he had been transported onto that deck itself. And then, through Rune’s eyes, he saw it—the first light of dawn breaking across the horizon, painting the gray-blue sea in brilliant hues of orange, pink, and purple. Breathtaking. Far more striking than any description he had ever read.

“I can…” His voice was quiet, as if afraid to disturb the moment.

And then it hit him—this was what he had wanted all along. When he spoke to Clarissa about sharing dreams, this was what he meant. This depth of connection. If he could share his visions with Rune, the ones that kept him up at night, perhaps the mage could help him understand his avatar better. It was more than magic. He needed help.

His hand, still in Rune’s, tightened its grip—not out of embarrassment this time, but out of a quiet realization. Slowly, without thinking, he leaned into him, the pressure of his weight resting gently against his mentor’s shoulder, letting the moment speak where words failed him.

Offering this memory took all of his telepathic concentration. There was no room to understand the depth of Enoch's thoughts, though an attempt was made to understand the nuance of every line on his face. One hand in his, the other still hovering over his eyes. Could he slow time between them, allow this moment to last just a bit longer?

Could he say it? Just once in earnest. He took a breath, steadied his breathing, and - and then silence. Tranquility like this, he knew, was rare for his mentee. He wouldn't dare disturb these waters with selfish impulses.

But ever so gently, as though sudden action would give way to the burden of truth, he would rest his cheek upon Enoch's head, letting heavy eyelids shut.

I think I - no, I know I love you.

"Would you like me to stay?" A familiar and safe song, sung many a night with permission, sometimes without. The sheer audacity of passing out as he pleased had become a hobby.

[todaluk]

Prompt: Steer

Soft creaking, the sound of the wood under his hands as he flexed and gripped the handle with the care of a lover. Claws tracing wood grain and the grooves of past escapades where damage had come to the post either from storms or his own claws. He could feel the tension as the ship tested his grip, a child pushing its boundaries as they discovered their limits. A deft hand kept them on course as the wood continued to groan its discomfort.

Slowly his senses cleared and the old Chief opened his eyes to the setting sun that left the surface of the sea painted crimson. He could see his family enjoying the rushing sea on the edges of the boat and he felt the day’s travel settle into his bones. A heaviness that pressed on his shoulders and tugged at his very soul so suddenly that he had to close his eyes again to let the spell pass. Ears swiveled to listen to the calls from the other boats around them, the songs being sung to keep pace as ropes were hauled and sails were shifted to catch as much of the wind as possible, and the sound of the sea that surrounded them.

Taking in a breath, the hhetsarro exhaled a slow and heavy sigh that rattled in his chest with the rumble that always accompanied him. The pole under his hands drifted and he guided it back as he furrowed his brow. Calls from his family as well as the other ships had him opening his eyes as he looked for the navigators calling their warnings. Eyes scanning the horizon at the massive storm wall that threatened them.

In the waters the crocodiles drifted and surfed the waves that began to crest higher from the agitation of the distant storm. They surfed head on into what looked like a levin nightmare. Elders looked to the Chief. Questions of weather they should follow their hhesto, or try to take the long way around the storm and lose sight of their sacred charges. A choice to be made. The Chief nodded to his navigator and the calls went out to the other boats as ropes were hauled and tied off and sails quickly tied down. Paddles were drawn as children and elderly were secured. They would follow their hhetso into the storm.

Levin flashed and the sound of wood splintering. Todaluk was jolted awake with a sudden gasp as if he’d been held underwater for too long. Dazed, he tried to remember where he was and the deep rumble in his throat warned others away. A hand to the bedding, the furs, and a sleeping body nearby. He was safe. He was home. It was just a dream.

[mythologyfolklore]

Liù'ěr Míhóu joins the jttw gang, or: How to redeem an all-hearing celestial monkey with a superiority complex and a seriously bad attitude

(A/N: Tw: misgendering, chronic pain, mention of torture)

Chapter Twenty-Four: The Pilgrims agree to aid the Golden Light Monastery

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“In all twelve hours, you must not forget,

to reap the fruits of night and day.

For five years, one hundred and eighty thousand rounds.

Let the spirit water never run dry,

nor let the fire's light cause you distress …”

Sūn Wùkōng had no idea, why Liù'ěr Míhóu had just started singing out of the blue.

Not that he was complaining; the white monkey certainly could sing. It was just kinda surprising, as Liù'ěr Míhóu had never ever done it in their presence before.

Now he was warbling away, seemingly without a care in the world, and the other pilgrims were listening just as intently as the Monkey King was.

“… There's no harm, where fire and water blend well;

Five Phases would join, as if enchained.

Yin and yang at peace raise you up the cloudy tower.

Ride the phoenix to reach the Heavens!

Mount the crane to head for Yingzhou~”¹

“Your singing is beautiful, Wùhuàn”, Tripitaka praised the macaque.

Liù'ěr Míhóu paused and blinked. “Oh. Thanks. I don't even remember the last time I've sung. Or made up my own lyrics to a tune I know.”

“Ohh, you rhyme songs and poems?”, the monk exclaimed, beaming from ear to ear.

(Wùkōng could have sworn, that his master was glowing with the sheer excitement radiating off him.)

Damn. When was the last time Master was this happy?

Tripitaka's joy was contagious though, and Wùkōng found himself smiling as well.

Liù'ěr Míhóu, however, was swaying his head from side to side and looking at the monk strangely.

Then: “You wish to bond over poetry with me, don't you?”

The monk chuckled a bit sheepishly: “I mean, if you want to. If not, you don't have to. It's just that I enjoy poetry myself and … it would be nice to be able to share that with someone. Your brothers aren't really interested.”

The Six-Eared Macaque considered it and eventually decided: “Sure, why not? It might be nice to let others hear my songs once in a while.”

“Wait, is this the first time you're singing in front of someone else?”

“Second time. I sang for Tiě Yū Wūyā² once, but she's a crow demon, so she doesn't have an ear for music.”

“Oh. That … that kind of bites.”

“Yeah, but what can you do. Music is like cake; not everyone likes it.”

Zhū Bājiè gasped: “What kind of barbarian doesn't like cake?!”

Liù'ěr Míhóu just gave him a blank look. “Don't bring barbarians into this; most of those guys actually do like cake. Then again, if we're talking about the nomads from the northern steppes, they also like cheese …”

The whole group collectively shuddered in disgust.

Fucking. Cheese.

How could anyone like that?!³

“But yeah, tastes differ. What can you do.”

Bājiè huffed and started a wordy speech about the stupidity of disliking cake.

Wùkōng just rolled his eyes, while their master chuckled and Bái Lóng Mă let out a snort, that sounded suspiciously like an annoyed groan.

Shā Wùjìng laughed, gave Bājiè a pat on the back and turned to Liù'ěr Míhóu: “Can you sing some more? It was really relaxing.”

The Six-Eared Macaque smiled at the river spirit and began anew.

“Wild chrysanthemums drop their blooms,

tender buds emerge from new plums.

At every village they harvest grains,

everywhere they eat fragrant fare.

The woods shed their leaves and distant hills are seen.

By the brookside frost thickens, cleansing the ravine.

Moved by the winter breeze,

the insects stop their work.

Pure yin now becomes yang.

The month's ruled by Yuanming.

Water virtue's strong.

For peace reigns in bright, clear days.

Earth's aura descends,

Heaven's aura rises,

the Rainbow leaves without a trace.

Ice slowly forms in pools and ponds.

Dangling by the ridges, the wisteria flowers fade.

Absorbing cold, pines and bamboos grow more green~”⁴

As Tripitaka clapped enthusiastically (but quietly, for the sake of Liù'ěr Míhóu's sensitive ears), Sūn Wùkōng couldn't help but feel envy.

He got never such enthusiastic praise from their master, let alone applause.

But the Monkey King kept his mouth shut.

He was being ridiculous.

This was just his master being excited about being able to share a hobby. Who wouldn't get excited about such a thing?

And sure enough, while Liù'ěr Míhóu was clearly trying to look all cool and unfazed, his ears and wagging tail gave away his pleasure at the positive attention.⁵

Wùkōng just sighed and turned his gaze back to the horizon.

As did the monk apparently, because he spied the silhouette of a city in the distance.

And it was Wùkōng he turned to: “Wùkōng, look at those high buildings? You too wonder what place that is?”

Wùkōng squinted. “Hm … well, it's a walled city with a moat, so it's probably the residence of a king.”

“How do you know that?”, questioned Zhū Bājiè. “There are lots of walled cities with high buildings, that aren't home to a ruler. So how would you know, that a king lives here?”

“You mean apart from the huge, luxurious buildings and the abundance of gates?”, the monkey retorted. “Come on! This place has 'royal residence' written all over it!”

“I wonder what this place is called”, said Wùjìng.

Liù'ěr Míhóu hummed: “I've been here before. If I remember correctly, this is the Kingdom of Sacrifices. Last time I was there, they had the loveliest treasure.” A smirk. “Luckily for them, I didn't feel like stealing it.”

Wùkōng chortled: “I totally would've stolen it, if it was shiny enough!”

The other monkey laughed: “Oh, it was shiny alright! But you'll just have to see it! Anyway, since we're already here, why don't we have a look around the city? I think there's a Buddhist monastery, where we can stay.”

Tripitaka nodded. “Good idea. Let's do that!”

Indeed, the city was bustling with life and the market was busy.

Wùkōng might or might not have snagged a fruit here and there.

Fortunately, his master didn't notice.

Unfortunately, the reason his master didn't notice was a group of Buddhist monks begging for food, their wrists in cangues.

This better not be a second Slow-Cart-Kingdom, Wùkōng thought and followed his master's order to ask them what was wrong.

He was mildly surprise, when they didn't even bat an eye at his appearance (then again, they probably had bigger things to worry about), but that confusion was dispelled, when they told him, that he seemed … familiar? Odd. Wùkōng knew for a fact, that he'd never been here. Maybe they were confusing him with his youngest brother?

Either way, he introduced them to his master and brothers and the chained monks took the pilgrims to their own monastery.

The sign above the gate read: Golden Light Monastery, built by imperial command.

Golden Light Monastery, huh? What a pompous name.

Especially, when the group entered in and saw abandoned and neglected buildings.

“That's weird. Last time I was here, this place was prosperous and bustling with life. And that was just a few years ago”, Liù'ěr Míhóu remarked. “Wonder what happened here- whoa, are you okay?!”

Wùkōng turned to see, what the Six-Eared Macaque was freaking out about, only to be met with the sight of his master bawling his eyes out.

Wùjìng tried to soothe the monk by gently rubbing his back, but the latter was inconsolable.

The pilgrims let their guides lead them into the main hall, where they paid hommage to the Buddha, before proceeding to the backyard.

There they found another six monks chained to a pillar, which made Tripitaka cry even harder.

Liù'ěr Míhóu grimaced and covered his ears at the noise.

Well, isn't this place just a barrel of laughs, thought Pilgrim ironically.

Finally they entered the abbey.

Once inside, the local monks kowtowed in front of the group.

What?

Upon seeing their confusion, one of the monks spoke up: “You six look so very different from everyone around here. Are you from the Tang Empire in the east?”

Wùkōng couldn't help but laugh incredulously: “What, do you have the power of precognition without divination?”

“I'm impressed you even know what precognition means!”, quipped Liù'ěr Míhóu.

Wùkōng stuck his tongue at him, before turning back to the monk: “To answer your question, yes, we do come from there. How'd you know?”

The monk smiled wrily and explained to them, that everyone here had had a dream last night, of a group of pilgrims from Tang, who would deliver them from their suffering. And this ragtag group fit the description perfectly.

So that explained that.

Now Tripitaka spoke up: “And what is this place? My youngest disciple called it the Kingdom of Sacrifices, but he wasn't entirely sure.”

He nodded into Liù'ěr Míhóu's direction.

One of the monks took a double take, before asking the Tang Monk: “Holy Father, I don't mean to be disrespectful, but are you sure that's a 'he'???”

Liù'ěr Míhóu snarled, visibly upset.

Before Wùkōng could intervene, however, their master did it instead.

Placing a gentle hand on the white monkey's head, Tripitaka explained: “Don't let his voice and appearance fool you. He is very much male. But a wicked spirit afflicted him with a curse, that left him with this appearance. It makes him very unhappy, so we hope that through our pilgrimage we'll find a way to undo the curse. Thus I must ask you, on my disciple's behalf, to not focus on his physique.”

Wùkōng struggled not to gawk at his master in disbelief.

Had the guy seriously just pulled this sob story out of his ass?!

Impressive!

And the monks of this monastery seemed to buy it, as their whole demeanour became more sympathetic, they apologised and wished the Six-Eared Macaque good luck.

“Thanks”, he mumbled (but his tail and ears were still drooping).

Tripitaka gave him some pets, before returning to the original topic: “So, this place …”

One of the monks shook himself. “Oh yes! Right! Well, this is the Kingdom of Sacrifices, as your disciple told you. It's one of the most important cities around these parts and receives rich tributes from the surrounding territories.”

“You must have a good king and fine officials then.”

Wow, how can Master still be so fucking naïve?!

The local monks seemed to think similarly, since they collectively frowned.

One of them scoffed bitterly: “Hah! If only! They're the exact opposite! Why do you think we're wearing these cangues?!”

“Now, don't be rude”, an older confrater scolded. “It's unbecoming of a Buddhist monk to lash out like that.”

Now Wùkōng inquired: “Okay, but what is going on here? This monastery is called 'Golden Light', but it's the bleakest thing I've seen in a while! Did you do something to anger your king, or-?”

“No! We didn't do anything!”, the middle-aged monk exclaimed. “What actually happened is this …”

As it turned out, this monastery had once been blessed and surrounded by an auspicious aura, that had given it a golden glow – hence the name. But exactly three years ago, during a newmoon in autumn, a blood rain had fallen, this place had lost its chine and the treasure in the tall pagoda had vanished. The officials had convinced the king, that the monks were to blame. So these poor souls had been punished for a crime they hadn't committed.

“It's ridiculous!”, the rude young monk spat. “Why would we steal the treasure? But the king didn't believe us! He didn't even call for an investigation!”

“There used to be three generations of monks here”, the eldest said and a shadow came over his face. “But the oldest among us have succumbed to the torture. We and the ones chained to the pillar outside are the only ones, who survived.”

“That's horrible!”, cried Tripitaka. “Of course we'll do everything we can. But now, may I have a broom? I would like to sweep the pagoda.”

A short, slightly emaciated monk smiled: “Sure. In the meantime, we will cook something for our esteemed guests. We just need to find an axe for one of you to open these cangues …”

“I've got this!”, Wùkōng cried and cracked the locks with magic.

After finishing dinner and taking a bath, Tripitaka decided to offer some incense and a prayer to the Buddha and headed to the pagoda. Accompanied by Wùkōng and Wùhuàn, because the former worried about evil spirits nesting in the defiled pagoda, while the latter needed to busy himself to quiet his loud mind.

Not that Tripitaka was complaining.

He appreciated the help and with his two most powerful disciples around, he'd be safe.

“Wow, this place really needs a cleaning!”, Wùkōng noted, as they entered the pagoda.

“Gross! There is dirt and dust everywhere!”, Wùhuàn groaned.

Tripitaka smiled at them. “Well, we will just have to fix that, don't we?”

The two monkeys agreed and so the trio went to work.

Wùkōng announced he would sweep the second floor and climbed up, leaving the monk with his youngest disciple.

For a while they swept in silence.

Then Wùhuàn cleared his throat: “Hey. Uhh, I just wanted to say … thank you for that earlier. For sticking up for me. I appreciate it.”

Tripitaka smiled: “Of course, anytime.”

“I can't believe you lied to them.”

“I can't believe they bought it.”

They shared a giggle, before going back to companionable silence.

This was nice. Being able to laugh together. Doing something productive together. Being comfortable around each other. Tripitaka couldn't even remember when he had last felt like this, but he was going to enjoy this moment, while it lasted.

Once they were done sweeping the first floor, they climbed upstairs to join Wùkōng on the second floor. Pilgrim was currently busy poking the beams under the roof with his broom, probably trying to get rid of spiderwebs.

Tripitaka bit back a laugh, as he put a hand on his eldest disciple's shoulder and told him to leave it be.

“But spiders are so gross!”, Wùkōng whined. “So many eyes and legs!”

Now the monk laughed: “Maybe, but they're still innocent life forms, who never deliberately harmed anyone. Leave them alone. They won't bother anyone.”

“Fine”, the monkey grumbled and together the three proceeded onto the next floor.

But Tripitaka was beginning to feel the strain the movements put on his back. His spine was hurting, but for now he bit back the pain and continued to work without complaint.

As the three reached the sixth floor, however, the pain became too great to ignore. And then there was a flare of white-hot agony, making him groan and slump against a wall.

The two monkeys dropped their brooms and hurried over.

“Master, what's wrong?”, fretted Wùkōng and looked him over for injuries.

“M-my back”, whimpered the monk.

Wùhuàn frowned. “Maybe you should call it a night. Ask the others to give you some of the blue pills – the blue pills!”, he reiterated. “The ones for your back pain. Not the red ones, those are mine. Just a reminder, since the three dorks can never remember, which is which.”

Tripitaka would have laughed, if he wasn't in so much pain right now.

“And don't worry about the remaining floors, Master. We will do the rest”, said Wùkōng.

The monk sighed, but agreed. So Wùkōng carried him downstairs and into their sleeping quarters for the night, where his remaining three disciples scrambled to give him his painkillers and try to make his bed as comfortable as possible.⁶

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1) Did I just yoink this song straight from Anthony C. Yu's revised translation of the novel? Yes. Yes, I did. According to the book it's sung to a tune called "Immortal at the River" and is meant to depict the pilgrims. 2) "Iron-Feathered Crow", my OC for this story. 3) Here's a fun fact: cheese isn't well liked in China. There are several reasons for this, from lactose intolerance over cultural trauma to the fact that cheese is basically fermented milk. 4) This is also from the novel. 5) I couldn't find any information on how macaques actually show joy. 6) In the novel, Tripitaka sweeps ten floors, before his legs and back hurt too much. However, in this fanfic he has a spinal injury, which would make the labour much harder and more straining. So I made it six floors.