#to the point it's so gruesome that not a single soul knows more than like 40% of it at best

[unionizedwizard]

PTSD tuesday everybody give it up for PTSD tuesday

[lemonhemlock]

how do you think helaena's arc will play out in the show? i don't see how she'll get the same ending as the book one, unless that theory about jaehaera getting maelor's storyline turns out to be true

so, this is going to be a bit of a contradiction from the helaena discourse i've seen

i think it's time we nuanced the discussion around her a little bit. yes, she is a nice person and quite jolly, too, in the books, and everyone likes her, but she IS a dragon-rider at the end of the day. so can you truly, truly be an innocent little flower when you're partaking in and perpetuating this practice?

it's no secret that i don't think so. i have written essays already explaining why i think that, essentially, accessing dragon power cannot be done without compromising part of your soul and humanity. in order to gain supernatural powers, they made human sacrifices in old valyria and practiced incest. the targaryens ditched the human sacrifices but retained incest as a practice. dragon-riding is NOT implied in asoiaf-verse to be a "good" thing.

certainly, you can argue that helaena was married against her will to her brother and she doesn't know anything else, but no one made her claim a dragon and, even IF she only did it out of social inertia, because that's what was expected of her as a targaryen princess, i don't believe you can forge a bond with a dragon and remain unchanged and unblemished as a person. and this is ultimately what fans nearly always shy away from when discussing characters like helaena and nettles, because they don't want to see their beloveds tinged with any kind of darkness at all. and i just don't think that tracks with the way asoiaf is written.

it's also no secret that helaena doesn't really have much of an arc in Fire & Blood and that that's one of the weak points of the book. she is there to fulfil the theme of the gruesome cost of war. after jaehaerys dies, she is essentially excluded from the narrative (and probably taken out of commission bc grrm has to explain away why the greens can't use dreamfyre)

and now i see there is some pushback against the idea that helaena should join the war effort because it's not feminist™ to girlbossify every character and that's just not her personality. again, i kind of agree and kind of don't. no, helaena is not a warrior lagertha-type and it wouldn't make sense to turn her into one with one more episode to go. but she IS a dragon-rider, we know that, it's book canon, too. the writers just never bothered to show her interact with dreamfyre because they are incapable of caring about anyone else other than daemon. so, in this case, seeing her on a dragon might be sudden and certainly a shock, but she DOES have that ability and she CAN and HAS flown.

i haven't seen the scene, but this particular suggestion of aemond's - i don't think it's that outrageous. yes, she perhaps would be reticent to join in battle, but she CAN at least do reconnaissance flights like baela does with moondancer, come on. they decided against having her catatonic with grief after b&c, but they're not even going to show her flying on her dragon? like that's somehow too much. that's where we draw the line. what what the entire point then? she has nothing to do. as of now, with one single episode to go, she has no arc and nearly no opinion on anything. her conversational input is about the same a talking to Siri or Alexa. she's barely even a character (and this is not to hate on helaena, but that is how they are writing her)

[ladyduellist]

Epistles of Saints & Sinners

Chapter Summary:

Tav finds a way to fed Astarion blood.

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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 17: Poison

Ao3

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Main Page & Chapter List

Word count: 5.7k

Pairing: Astarion x female bard Tav

CW: Language, Violence, Act 1 Spoilers

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♫ Traveling under the sunless sea, We were both trying to breathe, Tied with an invisible thread.

When colors seem less monochrome, And the soul doesn’t want to roam, Emotions felt with everything unsaid.

Little by little it starts, Devotion of a once vacant heart, The dawn’s shard’s bringing light.

Moments of sweetness and inner strife, Holding on to each other like a knife, So that our tale will be worth the fight. ♫

— Tavelle Swiftchoir, a song entitled ‘Genesis

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“Do you trust it?”

“Hmm?”

“The dream guardian. Do you trust it?” Gale persisted, biting softly into an impeccably made cheese sandwich.

Shaking herself from focusing on the shoddy stitch work in her lap, Tav amusedly spied a couple breadcrumbs becoming lost in his unkempt beard “No? Hells, I don’t know. It certainly told us a convincing tale. What about you?”

“I typically like to err on the side of caution, but I’m in agreement with you: it did tell us a convincing tale. The fact that it conveyed nearly the same story to us through our dream state, makes me think we are its only hope,” he pointed out, brushing away flakes of bread from his robes. “But this could be yet another trick. Let us carry on and see what comes of this protector of ours for the present.”

The bard took a deep breath, carefully mulling over their current state of affairs. “At any rate, we do have the creature to thank for us all still being alive.”

Around them, a chilled breeze in the late afternoon warned of the beginning transition into sunset. The day had been wrought with conversations surrounding the group’s mutual restlessness about where the lines of reality and dreams blurred pertaining to the abnormal guardian angel inside the prism. Dreamy’s narrative certainly seemed believable enough, but Tav was concerned that it appeared to each of them in a different form—craftily tailored in the guise of familiarity, blindsiding them to gain their trust. Yet, not a single one of her companions opted to reveal who’s shape it took on, as if they, too, had been unsettled by the imitator’s projected image.

And honestly? She probably understood the need to conceal such unbosomings better than anyone, given the shapeshifting protector’s introduction in Algos’s body. There was very little doubt that her companions would be understanding about why she murdered her husband, but what they didn’t know—what she hid—was that she would one day face extreme public scorn in the pillory before having her neck kiss the bladed edge of a guillotine, for misdeeds far graver than Algos’s demise.

They can’t know. They can’t find out. It would put them all in danger.

It terrified Tav, the knowing that time was running low before everyone discovered her real identity. That a condemned woman as she was on the path to possibly become a hero—unexpectedly following in her mother’s footsteps—except her accused transgressions would see her dead before the first opus honoring her deeds was composed. But she had, in some sense, accepted that she would offer herself up to Faêrun’s judgment when the bell tolled for her fate. Taking as much as she gave to the world by balladeering her final mortal liturgy, while still protecting those in need to the very end.

The wizard took another large chomp into his snack while he plopped down onto the crate, moaning in culinary bliss. “‘av, ‘o yoo wa’t ‘um? I’s ree’y goo’!” he excitedly said, pointing at the sandwich with his mouth full.

“I’m sure it does taste good—judging by how loudly you’re chewing—but I’ll pass this time, Gale. Thank you,” she hastily replied, growing more frustrated with the lapse of her sewing needle determined to create a crooked line.

“Ah,” he jetted out, swallowing more chunks of Waterdhavian down his hatch. “Honestly, all that’s missing is a bottle of Athkatlan clarry wine.”

The needle pierced the tip of her finger, making her wince. “Bollocks! I can’t deal with this right now,” she huffed out, tossing the tailoring kit and torn shirt aside.

Gale turned to her, a fair amount of worry dimming his bark colored eyes. “Want to talk about it?”

How could she ever possibly explain her constant hindrances to him? Whenever she began to dwell, she could feel herself packed to the brim, ready to burst through those seams at any moment. The tadpoles. Algos. Their journey. The dream guardian. Whatever the fuck her involvement continued to be with Astarion. Tav had taken on so much in such a short period, that she was wound like a rubber band ball about to unsnap.

The bard lifted her knees to rest the side of her face against them. Her hair unplaited, captured the last chirps from the evening songbirds upon each strand blown in the wind. “I’m not even sure where to start.”

“The beginning may be as good a place as any. After what you did for me—standing for my honor against the others concerning the Netherese orb—listening is the least I can do for our worrisome leader.”

Tav seriously pondered over his words, quickly electing to keep her sentiments to herself. “You don’t owe me anything. None of you do. Being here is sufficient.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Is it? Sufficient, I mean.”

“What are you implying?” she asked with a hint of unease in her soft pitch.

Gale raised his head to peer out towards Wyll and Karlach preparing the evening campfire. “You know, when I locked myself up in my tower for that fretful year, I had nobody except for Tara,” he proceeded with his thoughts. “One full year, waffling in my depression and consuming whatever magical items I could to stabilize this infestation in my chest. One full year of never reaching out to another to relinquish some of my misery, convincing myself it was my own burden to bear.

"Maybe I could have blamed some of my pride on my lack of seeking another’s sympathy, but I will say, after I was captured by the mind flayers and settled with you all, I realized just how starved I was to share my struggles with those that would have my best interest in heart.”

As she listened to the wizard’s voice attempting to lull her into a vulnerable place, Tav began to trace all their companion’s names in elvish Espruar letterings into the dirt. With each elegant curve she made, her index finger either thickened or thinned its script. She wondered if amongst her digit’s fluidity imprinting these names into the ground, which of them—if any—could lay their hands over her metaphorically slumped body in an act to invoke a holy dove for her healing. Yet, her impulse to safeguard what was still left within her reverberating heart took precedence, leaving her with bouts of emptiness where trusted connections should form.

Astarion had been right all along: nothing was holding her hostage except herself.

“What I’m trying to say is that perhaps it’s not me you wish to unload any of this haul of yours onto, but I have zero doubt that a single one of us would turn you away if you wished to do so,” Gale ended, fixing his gaze on her.

Tav froze her mindless scribbles in the middle of drawing Astarion’s name. She lifted her head to gently grin at him. “You are singing to the bard here, Gale,” she replied, laughing at her own corny joke. “But know that it is never something to take personally. Maybe after I’ve found time to think more clearly? Would that suffice?”

He patted her on the back, grunting a noise resembling a throaty “yes.”

Familiar post-mortem gouge, A skewer through her vitals. Rearing bestial head, With another cycle.

Scraping and howling, Blow down the bricks to her castle walls. From high above the turrets, Tearfully shoot the animal until it falls.

And then mourn its lifeless shape, For the offense of trying to see inside.

“Ahem,” an unreserved voice cleared itself, announcing himself specifically to the bard.

Leisurely strolling by with his impossibly straight nose pointing down into a book, Astarion sank in his cheeks to follow up his known presence with a “tsk.” His loose curls relaxed along the nape of his neck as his chin tucked a little further into his chest.

Gale sat up straight in his seat, running a hand through his brown hair to find relief from the assaulting tresses tickling his face. “How many times has he passed by us now?”

“Three. He’s pouting and hoping I’ll change the terms of my arrangement with him,” Tav responded, sighing. If Astarion meant to hold up his boisterous charade, she was resigning herself to her bedroll for the rest of the evening.

“Arrangement? As in feeding or…um…something…well,” the wizard inquired, shooting her an embarrassed glance.

Her lower lip hung open, the sound of a forced dry chuckle leaving her diaphragm. “Are you asking about my sex life, Gale?”

“WAIT, I ONLY MEANT—” Gale held up his hands, face turning every shade of pinkish red one could imagine. 

She casually covered her mouth, hiding her raspy titters. Gale reminded her of jam spread upon a biscuit: reliable, easily abashed, and sweet at the same time. 

“Do I simply not exist?” the vampire sneered, keeping his garnet view studying the pages in his book. “You do realize I’m able to hear the two of you gossiping hens from here, don’t you?” 

“Hello again, Astarion,” Gale called out. “You’re sounding rather optimistic tonight. Is there anything we can do for you?”

“Oh, Gale, you really need to stop flirting with me—I’m not interested,” Astarion scowled, turning a page in his book.

He’s more agitated than usual, Tav reflected. And his skin…is it possible for him to be any paler? Unless he hasn’t—damnit!

Tav jumped to her feet, giving the ties on her stays a quick glance over to check for their support. “When’s the last time you fed?” she asked aloud.

Astarion lifted his head to peer over at her. “Does it matter? I think you’ve made it perfectly clear where you stand on that particular concern.”

Gale nervously lurched his nutty eyes between the two ex lovers, seemingly deciding it was better to stay clammed up on the subject by the way he pursed his lips together.

Slowly approaching, she nibbled at the inside of her cheek, ruminating on her last interaction with Astarion during their spar. Did he believe she was trying to punish him with the boundaries she set? Of course she was undeniably irate over how he treated their riptided companionship, but she refused to be held responsible in any way for his fickle stubbornness.

“You need blood,” she composedly pressed, stuffing her hands into her pant pockets. “This isn’t healthy, especially with us facing the gith tomorrow.”

Astarion waved her off disdainfully. “Sorry darling, but I think my palette is evolving to a taste that’s less…stale.”

“So, you would rather hold out for a different ‘thinking creature’ than the woman standing in front of you still offering her neck?” Tav frowned, knitting her brow. “I’m not going to chase after you about this.”

Yes, you will.

“Don’t mislead yourself.” He gently closed the book, skimming a hand over the front cover before fully regarding her. “We both already know that you have quite the tendency in refusing to give up on anything.”

Astarion knew exactly how to rile her up, sucking upon her good character like he was the village witch. With pitchforks and orders of decree, town riots were held because of men like him. There had already been plenty of occasions when he knew she couldn't turn away from his dilemmas, premediating he wouldn't even have to ask. Killing Gandrel. Drinking her blood. The promise to fell Cazador. Examples upon examples of the way this captivating rogue had kept her within his apocryphal sepulcher.

“And you’ve taken advantage of that knowledge, haven’t you?” she retorted.

Astarion took a few steps closer to her, tilting his head to the side. “Haven’t I? Don’t you mean, haven’t we? I’m not the only one that’s pursued a special interest amongst the two of us.”

The bard narrowed her eyes. “Y-you think I used you only for intimacy?” she choked out, fighting back the watery spouts in the nooks of her eyes. “...Astarion, that couldn’t be further from the truth.”

“Again, don’t mislead yourself. Everybody wants something from someone else,” the pale elf goaded, slanting his body inwardly to gawk at her underneath his black lashes. 

A dull ache unspun in her chest as it began to propagate from the words of Astarion’s morose piano sonata he unexpectedly disclosed to her. Her previous fears had come true: he honestly thought she was using him for little more than sensual rendezvouses. 

“I want to talk more in depth about this,” Tav murmured, staring at the tome in his hands. Was it just her imagination or was it lightly trembling?

“And I want to leave,” Astarion shot back, abruptly turning away from her, unwilling to share any further exchanges. “I bid goodnight to everyone not named Gale.”

“Yes, well, please do let us know how we can inconvenience you yet again on your fourth stroll around here!” the wizard shouted as Astarion roamed away towards a set of ruins overlooking the mountainous valley.

Tav started to sluggishly pace, thoughts scattered as she ran the risks of martyring her self appointed walls over and over again. Usually, she would pay no heed to his sarcasm and mockery—which was half of his personality—but the steady quakes jumbling his grip around the book, nettled its way beneath the five million nerve endings of her skin. What was he hiding? 

“Tavelle,” Gale said unevenly. “Are you okay?”

An idea struck her. Impulsive and dangerous. She laughed at herself for the mere consideration of it, and furthermore, at Astarion’s prediction of her defiance to throw in the towel. He surely must’ve laced his fangs with poison with the way he continued to seep into her veins.

Wiggling a dagger out from its sheath tied to her belt, she placed the sharp blade against her right forearm. “Gale, do you think you could find me an empty bottle?”

Confused, he observed her impromptu actions. “Let me jot down that bloodletting is an active interest of yours. Whatever are you doing?”

“If Astarion continues to be stubborn in his feedings, I’ll just have to concede to a different way in helping him. He’s not the only one that can tempt another,” she half-jested, discerning on the proper area to slice. 

Mouth agape, pupils larger than copper coins, Gale ran off to retrieve her request with his robes swishing fastidiously behind him. Almost instantaneously, he returned stumbling over his feet with an empty bottle, clean bandages, and a quartered-filled healing potion.

“Here, this should do. The healing potion should stop most of your bleeding, but not right away—hence the dressings.”

“Greatly appreciated,” Tav beamed. “Actually, this may go better if you could hold the bottle for me. If I die, lie to Shadowheart and tell her I forced you to help with a charm spell before she resurrects me.”

Gale silently assented, standing close enough to hold the container under her arm. “I realize this may be none of my business, but why even bother? Is he really worth continuing to sacrifice your own health for? You and I have had this disagreement before and I can’t help but think it’s best to still leave him be. Nobody wants to see you hurt; we need you just as much as you need us.”

The bard grit her teeth together, slowly cutting through several blood vessels in her arm. As her crimson dripped in hurried rivulets, she positioned the wound over the glass.

“I-I care about him, Gale,” Tav weighed in, starting to feel lightheaded. “There is something inside my gut that tells me not to abandon him, no matter how much of a pretentious asshole he can be. I don’t think he understands what living a good life means and, gods help me, I’m determined to at least help give him a real chance to do so.”

He took a deep breath, careful in the way he spoke his next words. "Do you think this could just be your affectionate emotions speaking and not your logic? It's evident you have a strong bond with Astarion, regardless if you feel something deeper with him or not. I'm not trying to deter or judge you, but I went through a similar situation with Mystra. I loved her and it cost me everything."

Tav elevated her head, taking in the warmth of his stare. "Isn't that what life is all about? Putting your heart on the line and hoping everything works itself out," she proclaimed, sheepishly smiling.

A sympathetic expression washed over his face as he held tighter onto the small container while it filled with her blood. “I didn’t before, but I think I slightly understand now why you protect him—us—as you do. You’re too good for this world and I pray Astarion sees what your compassion is capable of doing.”

“Well, I don’t know about that,“ she timidly blushed, resheathing the blade as she scrambled to unravel the bandages to tie around the gash. “Mayhaps I am being preposterous, but I want to believe Astarion has something good inside him that’s been suppressed in growth for 200 years just so he could survive. Would it be so terrible of me to help him search for that?”

“Terrible? No. A damned lunatic? Yes.”

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Rosymorn Monastery Trail was a location that appeared suspended in time. Vast jagged mountainous rocks reaching high into the heavens above. Overgrown trees refused mercy to the ridges they shoved their roots into, leaving behind a surreal sight to behold. Built alongside the trail were shrines and statues dedicated to the dawn god Lathander—some in literal ruins, others standing proud. All forgotten, left to nature’s decay.

The dusk showed the first presentations of celestial bodies over the breathtaking scenery, dimly twinkling as they labored to shine brightest through refracted streams of light. They reminded Tav of the vampire she was on foot to visit, peacocking his demeanor as if he wanted to be noticed while a preferred distance remained a tumultuous comfort.

In her hand, she clenched the bottle of her prepared blood, wondering how Astarion would receive the expiatory truce. Gale’s woes weren’t without merit about the spawn’s needs extending beyond her remediable efforts, but her memories of the past decade were a potent drug denying her withdrawal from him. She had been alone. Frightened. Traversing the lands with no support. Her name: a stain on her people and her family’s triumphs. Because of this, Tav vowed to herself and the incorporeal buzzards circling overhead waiting for her collapse, that nobody else she knew would have to face their suffering alone as she had.

The tiniest granule of real unfettered hope could change everything for Astarion. 

Hope. A word Algos used to berate her for even suggesting the power it could wield, contrarily believing fear held more dominance. A decade later, she could still hear his voice echoing in leftover thoughts germane to him. Though, she was confused as to why her recent trances were constantly enthralled by him, hounding her into turbulent—sometimes insomniac—nights. Could it be her mind trying to warn her of the similarities between Algos and Astarion? Both had exhibited behaviors of egotism, manipulation, cruelty, and concerns that were border lined obsessive with outward appearances. Comparative personality quirks, yes, but didn’t they hold their differences?  

Astarion was the only one between the two men that had treated her as an actual human being despite his historical flaws. He respected her autonomy, although he loved to disagree with her. When she announced her boundaries, he didn’t barge through them to try and control her. Most of all, he never took anything from her unless she first offered. To Astarion, perhaps these actions meant naught to him other than some part of his personal compass he routinely enacted. Whereas for Tav, these were exhibitions of consideration for her well-being that he may never understand what they truly meant to her.

Still, the songstress couldn’t shake the parallels betwixt them. 

Maybe she really was a lunatic caught within her own patterns, blinded by her feelings. Maybe she was some idiot who couldn't help but to throw herself into another man’s haunted house. Or maybe her muddled head was overthinking so many disorderly thoughts, that she failed to notice her arrival at the wrecked archway attached to what was left of an abandoned sanctuary.

Shivers prickled down her spine while she briskly searched the area for any evidence that the spawn was closeby. “Astarion, are you here?”

Over crumbling and desolate blanched stones, she berthed herself with the foundation of her lower body. The bard’s eartips perked up, attuning to the awakening eve’s sonances. Save for the mating cricket chirps, it was pleasantly silent. She walked through the open arch, peering out towards the empty cliff behind the building.

“‘Starion?” Tav whispered.

“Ah, and thus does the bouquet arrive to offer unto me chastisements for biting words,” a nasally voice odically narrated on the other side of a neglected wall holding the arches afloat.

“Oh my gods!” she yelped out in surprise, nearly dropping the vessel of her sanguine fluid.

He was leaning back casually against the ruinous wall with his eyes peacefully shut, letting her ogle bluish thin capillaries webbing his lids. The black and plum coat he often wore was unbuckled, opened wide, revealing a plunging neckline above his usual ruffly shirt underneath. And, oh, did the moonlight ever decide to accentuate the forbidden dips of his collarbone and pointed jawline right when her gaze fluidly crossed his path.

Tav’s view dropped away, cheeks reddened as if she had caught him in a private moment. “I don’t think I’ll ever get over vampires' corpselike stillness,” she noted with a jittery chuckle, coming down from her adrenaline spike.

The vampire’s right eye opened, appraising her gestures as he inhaled heavily through his nostrils. “Are you wounded? You smell like you’ve been doused in your own blood.”

“Something like that,” she confirmed, lifting up the bottle and confidently pushing it in his direction.

“A potion? Darling, you shouldn’t have! How did you know this is what I’ve always wanted?” Astarion mocked in annoyance, pushing off the wall to grip the bottom of the glass.

Tav shook her head. “Not a potion. Open it.”

He skeptically gaped at her as he popped the cork out. A single sniff into the dense bottled air, bathed his expression in euphoric and ravenous delight. The tips of his fangs glistened with a string of saliva connecting one of them to his tongue when his mouth fell open. Low groans, short and reverberating, slipped out, leaving the woman’s heart fluttering.

Seconds passed before he spoke, his accent thickly laced with hunger. “What did you do?” he mumbled, bringing his sight to level with hers.

Tav removed her hand from the object, allowing its heft to nest in his grasp. “The day after you told me you were a vampire, we made an agreement for you to drink my blood as needed. I mean to uphold what I promised to you regardless of what’s going on between us.”

“Where?” he breathed out.

“Where what?”

“Where did you cut yourself open?”

She held up her forearm, swathed in fresh bandage strips. “It doesn’t hurt much; I drank half of a healing potion to stop the bleeding. I wanted to catch up with you before it chilled.”

Astarion narrowly squinted at her arm, then back to her shy simper.

“Don’t do this again. Not for me; not for anyone. If I need your blood, I’ll feed from you when the others are around—per your suggestion,” he firmly stated, frowning.

Like a hallucinogenic taking effect, there was a waxing vagrancy in his eyes. Tav assumed some recollections of his chronological life, where the electric wirings in his brain became polluted, had swam through his cerebral nerves.

That was not the reaction she had anticipated. Tinges of guilt cratered themselves in her stomach, like bombs being dropped onto the ground. Amid their last tiff, Astarion had been absolutely resilient—dubious even—when Tav proposed a new feeding arrangement due to his disassociating incidents. Why did he suddenly change his mind?

She resisted sinking her teeth into her lip. “Have I upset you? I’m sorry if—”

He combed his thieving fingers through his fluffed coif, ending with a sigh. “You haven’t upset me, songbird.”

Tav clasped her hands together, avoiding his unreadable guise. “Okay, good. That's good."

Loud barking at the camp’s site saved her from the awkward silence they were wallowing inside. Someone shrieked—possibly Wyll—at Scratch for stealing their underclothes off the temporary clothesline they erected. The distracted bard merrily puffed away a chuckle, imagining the feisty dog darting through their tents with a pair of shorts in his muzzle.

As she directed her attention back towards Astarion, swift torrents from her bottled crimson cascaded into his gullet as he swallowed. Her lips were consumed with a summery smile as she watched visible glowing pinks tint his pallored skin from her blood filling his body. Engrossed by the sight of him, Tav allowed a single memory of teeth marks and tongue frisks branding her. She introspectively touched the side of her neck, finding that she missed the two punctures that had mended.

But then her yearning was replaced with antipathy aimed at herself, remembering how mortified she felt when he inferred she was only using him for sex. 

Astarion wiped his mouth, gingerly swiping up blood droplets. “Something wrong?”

Tav swallowed the constricting ball in her throat. “What you said prior, it isn’t true.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that.”

“That’s not why—you know I didn’t sleep with you because I only wanted sex, right?” she replied.

“Are you actually sullen over that? I only said it to make a point, not to have another one of our famous parleys,” he threw out, obviously deflecting. “In fact, I’ve already forgotten most of what I told you.”

Her vision roamed to his fingers tightly wrapped around the bottle, thinking back to those faint tremors from earlier. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend that you’re unbothered by things when they do bother you. I would never be upset with you for expressing your wants and needs."

Seconds flew by without any movement from Astarion. She observed as his pupils dilated and undilated, battling through miles of his ageless carnage until he finally blinked at her.

He raised the blood-filled container to his mouth, muffling behind the glass. “I highly doubt you’re done prattling on, so do soldier on.”

“Right.” She studied him under gossamer lashes as he ingested another red mouthful, unsurprised by his interpolation. “Us being intimate came as a bit of a surprise to me. You see, you were also my first—“

“What?!” he coughed up after gulping a huge liquidly glob.

“In a decade!” Tav giggled, obliviously fixing her bangs. “I’m sorry! I meant that you were the first man I’ve slept with since my ex.”

“Bloody hells! Had I a functional heart, I think it would have seized just now.”

It wasn’t that she hadn’t been propositioned during her ten year drought. On the contrary, plenty of men—sometimes women—pledged marriages, endless wealth, distinguished titles, even rare treasures, to have her in their company since her last relationship flatlined. Compelling words they undulated into the flue of her ear about tasting her skin until she would give her heart to them. Oaths were recited about helping her to become the most famous bard in Toril, like enticing wildfires from treacherous tongues.

But, none of it mattered. Tav already knew she couldn’t trust them. They never offered her what she wanted—what she needed. Never bothering to unfasten even a fraction of her armor to see what was moored underneath. All her fragility and sorrow waiting to be exposed like a creature sliced open upon a taxidermist’s table.

Until she met Astarion and he saw right through the remnants she tried to mask.

Astarion swigged the rest of the bottle’s contents, releasing a pleased keen. “Call me a scamp all you want, but if you had asked me to deflower you, I would have at least treated you to a romantic dinner of half-eaten apples and stale bread beforehand,” he teased, spryly reaching out to brush the back of his knuckles along her jaw.

She playfully pushed his furled fingers away. “Knave!”

“Oh, forgive me. Would you have preferred tenderized lamb shank and white wine?” he taunted, examining his spread fingers out in front of him. “Our options are clearly limited to a more—bleh—provincial lifestyle.”

Laughing, she lightly thudded her back against the wall, pulling fountains of hair over her shoulder. Astarion mirrored the elf, resting his body next to hers, shoulders inches apart. Their breaths tapered into steady and mellow flows, each trying to match the other.

“So, was your ex love your first?” he curiously asked after a time, wiggling his brows.

“No, thank the gods,” Tav informed. “Aah, my first was a young elven man. A sailor visiting his family in Highmoon. It happened so fast, I barely remember anything from it aside from the—ahem—initial pain. He was sweet and a gentleman, so I suppose it could have been worse.”

“Tsk. Had it been me, I would have taken my time with you," he boasted.

She blushed, crossing her foot one over the other nervously. “What about you? Who was your first?”

Astarion’s face tensed. “I can’t remember,” he said softly.

The songstress looked at the ground somberly, simultaneously saddened he may never regain his memories and confounded that the person that had hurt her the most amongst their group was also the one she felt the most comfortable with.

The spawn shifted, placing a loose fist under his chin in thought. “Ten years without so much as a single caress, huh? No wonder you were so…” he trailed off.

“So, what?”

“...sensitive.”

“Oghma’s right nut! I should’ve taken that one to my grave,” she lamented, florid embarrassment heating tender skin down the length of her ear from pointed tip to lobe.

Astarion laughed at her, showing his upper row of teeth. He rotated his head, focusing on her with roguish eyes aglow. “If you would like to do the honors of fluffing my ego, why choose me to be your first after all that time?”

Under the cosmos, they connected by flesh. Lonely wanderers: drifting, searching, waiting to be free. Under the cosmos, they did part. Runaways still enslaved by scars of old stones.

Though she discovered through their brief reverie that they may not have been meant for each other, the bard confessed she had wished for more with Astarion. Yes, she had every justifiable reason to abhor the man—especially with how he had caused her immense grief—but Tav could not forget how he made her feel that her heart could stir once more, even if he didn't feel the same.

There lay something bittersweet in that insight as she clung so tightly to her whirl-winded emotions. The former lovers were both guilty of different failings and with everything they had already been through, Tav knew death's hand could claim their lives at any moment with no pardons for final contrition's, unless they meant to absolve their mistakes. Which begged the question: would they be able to give themselves over to forgiveness and acceptance in order to move forward?

She gazed up at the stars, focusing on a smaller troupe overhanging them as she gathered the courage to bare a part of herself to him. “Do you remember when I said we needed to get to know each other better before we had sex?” 

Astarion gradually nodded, quelling his expanding lungs. “Yes.”

“I said that because I wanted to learn more about you as a person. You are attractive. You are a fantastic lover. But, that’s not all you are. And if I ever made you somehow believe that wasn’t true, then I wholeheartedly apologize."

Twisting her neck, Tav swept her overcast dewy-filled eyes up the scope of his neck, directly meeting his widened ruby stare. “You’ve hurt me, Astarion. Badly. Some of the trust I extended to you has been broken and I’m admittedly struggling with that. Yet, I can’t help but feel like maybe you’ve harmed yourself too.”

“How so?” he inquired, leaning away from her.

Before she could dab them away, a few tears sprung free, seeking shelter in the crevices of her nose. She placed a flimsy hand in the middle of her chest, above her troubled heart. “Pushing yourself to have sex with someone when your heart doesn’t truly desire it, is wrong. It’s a complete violation to your body and soul.”

The weary creases between his brows deepened as he evaded her eye contact by squeezing his eyes shut as if he was in pain. He was deathly quiet, drooping his shoulders so he appeared vaguely hunched over. Perfect white hair waves subtly moving along with the clouds above, were the only indication that he hadn’t left for the land of the damned.

“Please say something,” she weakly begged.

He opened his eyes to glare at her. “I certainly wasn’t expecting us to be acknowledging our sins in the god’s acres, but what do you want me to do?” he hissed.

“This isn’t only about what I want, it’s about what we want. About what you want,” Tav intently replied.

Astarion flaccidly touched his forehead as if to nurse an oncoming migraine. Mouth opened, he audibly exhaled mid chafing laugh. Whatever vagrant demons were crusading inside his head, he seemed to be frantically fighting against them gaging by the rapid shifting in his sight.

The bard waited patiently for the darkness blotting out his thoughts to disperse. Periodically, his chest inhaled, presumably using the scents around them to hook him away from the undertow.

After a couple of minutes had passed, Tav reached out to graze his arm with a feathery touch. “If you’re unsure, maybe we can start by actually trying to be friends this time? No sex. No forcing yourself. Just looking out for each other and maybe a fist pound or pat on the back here and there,” she suggested, unearthing a compassionate smile. “And if you discover I’m not your cup of blood, then that’s perfectly fine. We can get on without being anything other than occasional allies.”

The vampire peeked at her through his fingers. “Gods, am I ever glad you didn’t decide to try taking up being a comedian as a profession,” he retorted, lips curling impishly. “But a fist pound? Really, Tav, how pitifully atrocious! Sometimes I forget you’re a country bumpkin from the Dales.”

Tav beamed stupidly at him, laying her index finger against his lips to quiet him. “Could we sit here in silence for a little while and watch the stars?”

Astarion nodded, depositing a faint smile she couldn’t see, into the heavens above.

[the-writing-mobster]

Where I can read your fics? They seem pretty interesting!

Thank you for the ask, love! Fic links, anyone?

You can find all of my fics on Ao3! I need to make an actual like... Official link post, don't I? I used to have one pinned but other things take priority.

So I guess I'll sprinkle the links to my fics here for your immediate viewing pleasure instead of sending you on a wild goose chase ;)

IMPORTANT NOTE — A lot of my fics are locked so only people with confirmed AO3 accounts can read them. This is because of AI scraping, obvs. TMDG is the only one that I think is unlocked since it's fairly new. But it'll eventually get locked as well.

~

| The What Do You Want Duology | 🥀 💀 |

(YWIW, the sequel, still lies unfinished, unfortunately, but WDYW is completed and currently under revisions!)

Summary (for those still not in the know):

Frisk spent most of her life fighting to survive in a cruel world where her only upper hand was her soul's Determination and her feminine charms. After angering the most dangerous man in her life, she is thrown down into Hell to be ripped apart and destroyed by the demons said to inhabit it. With her soul refusing to give up, of course she survives.

However, when she is taken hostage by the infamous Gaster brothers, she finds herself trapped in the strange, abyssal gaze of Sans the Skeleton. With political and sexual tensions on the rise, can these two work through their differences? Or will they forever be asking each other, "What Do You Want?"

—

| Baby Face - UF Highschool AU | 💖 🤘🏻 |

Technically an au based off of my characterizations of the UF characters in wdyw. This one is tooth rottingly sweet and set in a surface Ebbott City in the 90s. Inspo was movies like Clueless & the documentary Kid 90. I actually loved this story so much I completely reworked it and turned it into an original novel.

Important to note that this fic isn't really a romance. It's more about platonic love and friendships than it is about Frans romance.

Summary:

Seniors should not date freshmen. No matter what. Not even if the freshman is hot. Not even if the freshman says it's ok. Not even if the freshman makes moves. That’s the mantra Sans lives by, and even though Frisk, one of the cutest girls according to all of his friends, catches a crush of epic proportions on him, he makes it a point to keep his distance. She’ll thank him later.

Or

Sans is in a rock band and Frisk has a big ole unrequited crush on him.

—

| The Most Dangerous Game | 💙 🔪 💔 |

The dreaded serial killer dead dove fic we've all been raving about recently!!!

It's important to note that this one isn't a romance. They are (albeit obsessive) enemies through and through.

Summary:

Frisk Starling should've been used to cases like these. After all, it was her duty to investigate. Give the victims their voice back, catch the sick freak who did it and give the broken families the justice she couldn’t have for herself.

That is until a string of murders throughout the tristate area begin to appear. Women used like toys, mutilated and disposed of for the cops and journalists to find with only the tiniest slivers of useless evidence and the glaring fact that all the women...

Every…

Single…

One…

Look almost exactly like her… Frisk begins to wonder if maybe… the monster she's hunting down has turned her into the hunted.

And God, does she make the most exhilarating, delicious prey yet…

—

Honorable mention One Shots:

| The Witch, The Judge & the 3 Card Gamble | ♠️♥️♣️ |

Probably my best prose ever. Genuinely.

Summary:

After suffering a gruesome bullet to the ribs, the vengeful Witch hovers over a dying fire, praying her campsite isn’t spotted by vagabonds who’d surely make her pay for existing…

But as a shadow blots out the stars if not for the two red pricks of light glaring her down, she fears her true nightmares have come to claim her after all; The Grim Reaper, the judge of her fate.

And she doesn’t like her odds.

—

| We'll See - Christmas Rom Com | 🎄 💕 |

I wrote this as a secret Santa present to @themsource. It is very cute and fucking funny if I do say so myself. It puts the comedy in Romantic Comedy.

Summary:

Sans has some inhibitions about Christmas, clouded with cynicism and bitterness. But if there's anyone to make him have a change of heart, it's Frisk; Ebbot City's own Little Miss Mother Teresa.

—

☣️ HONORABLE MENTION SMUT ONE SHOTS ☣️

| French Kisses | Smut | 🫧💓 |

Summary: Sans has landed a well-paying position as a senior accountant and Frisk has a few ideas on how to reward him — one of those ideas involves a French Maid dress.

| The Librarian's Assistant | Smut | 📚💓 |

This one was pretty steamy...

Summary: Frisk's days working as a librarian can get pretty quiet and repetitive... Until a new patron with an obvious infatuation with her starts becoming a regular visitor.

Eventually she can't help herself...

.

.

.

I hope you are satisfied with my thorough answer! If you do end up reading, I'd love to hear from you again on your thoughts! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

‼️ Also — join my discord for readily available updates and fun discussion! DM me for the invite since those invite links expire ‼️

[adelaidedrubman]

wipfire wildsday. or something

was tagged for wip day by dearies @cassietrn and @direwombat, thank you! against all odds we are back on wildfire chapter 19! here’s a very shaky early draft little excerpt of jestiny being her lovable charming relatable self. warnings for violence and killing that is… not particularly gruesome or gory but perhaps particularly cruel. wildfire is a romcom as we know

“Alright.” She cut off his self-important monologuing with a press down of her thumb and a laugh, wedging the radio between her shoulder and ear to continue talking as she reached to place hands on either side of the cultist’s head. “Let’s play a fuckin’ game then, and you can show me just how much you actually fucking care.”

“Excuse me?”

“You value their lives so much? Let’s see if you can save this one.” She leaned down, so terrified sobs could be picked up by the meager speakers. “I let her limp off with no more than a broken arm. If you can do one. Simple. Thing.” She paused for effect before clarifying, “Tell me her name.”

“What on earth are you —”

“You fucking heard me,” she ground out. “Show me how much you actually care. Tell me the fucking name of the woman you sent out here to die for your fucking bullshit excuse for a cause,” she demanded. “Pale. Skinny. Ballpark five-two. Freckles. Green eyes. Curly brown hair. What’s her name?”

“Whatever infantile point you think you’re proving —”

“Would putting a voice to it help?”

She jammed a knee down on the twisted limb, grabbing a fistful of brunette curls to yank back and guide her screams towards the radio. 

“Please —! P-Please —”

“I think she’d like you to remember her name too, John,” Jestiny offered in a sugary sweet sing-song, pressing a hand back over her mouth. “What the fuck is it?”

“Do you think you’re doing anything but displaying every ounce of bloodthirsty wrath pulsing through your —”

“C’mon, surely you remember her?” she pressed with a rise. “She’s family, after all. You wouldn’t have just been bullshitting about how much you care about ‘every single soul I rip from it,’ right?” she teased in mocking falsetto. “Shoveled pig shit at the farm for y’all. Would be leaving behind a younger sister by the name of Stephanie. Guess that brainwashed cultist!”

“— can all now see it isn’t enough for the Deputy to simply take from our Family, no. She has to revel in her cruelty, to —”

“Maybe he could use a phone-a-friend, ya think?” Jestiny hummed, yanking her captive up by the hair again. “Think fast — aaanything he would remember you by?”

“I — I —” she let out a few more sobs, before sniffling and continuing. “We never talked much, sir. But I was over at your r-ranch a little while back, with B-Brother Will and Brother Nathan. When Brother Nathan h-had to be corrected for gossiping about —”

“Well, that oughta jog his memory, huh?” she said with a click of her tongue against teeth as she shoved the woman’s head back down into the dirt. “Got a name for me yet, darlin’?”

“Brothers and Sisters and wayward souls in need of salvation alike, listen to the lows this sinner who would ask to be called a savior will stoop to in order to —”

“No! Please, please, please, no —” The woman cried up at Jessie, features that had been contorted in agony seeming to sink with hopelessness as John preached on. “I don’t want to die, I’ll do — anything! Please, I —” 

“Clock’s ticking!” Jestiny chimed into the radio. “Give me a fucking name!”

“Do you think you set the rules here?” John snapped, finally breaking down to resume addressing Jestiny directly. “Do you think any of this cuteness and cleverness is going to save you when —”

“I think I’m the one asking the fucking questions!” she shouted over pained screams. “What’s her name?!”

“Deputy Rook, mark my words —”

“Her name!” she screeched, hands tensing. “What’s her fucking name?!”

“Jessie —”

“Bzzzzzzzzzzz-zzzzzt!” She kept her jaw pressed down on the talk button as she held tight onto her skull and twisted, so that telltale snap of her neck followed by the sudden absence of screaming could be heard punctuating the mimicry of an incorrect buzzer noise she drew out. 

“So sorry, Caroline. No prize this time!” She released her hands to allow the woman’s skull to drop limp to the ground as she hopped up to stand, shifting her radio into her hand. “And a special thanks to all the Hope County viewers at home,” she enthused, pacing in circles around the dead body to run out unspent restless energy. “Be sure to tune in next week for another round of ‘Does John Seed Give a Minimal Fucking Shit About the Followers He Sends Out to Die?’ when the answer will still be hell fucking nope!”

She clicked the radio off with a final sharp inhale, clipping it back to her belt. She ran a hand through her hair as she tried to slow the still frantic heaves of her chest. 

She turned in about-face to find Adelaide and Sharky having emerged from their battle positions to stand in the open space of the field, staring on at her with wide eyes and hanging jaws. 

“What?” she asked, looking between the pair and the dead body at her feet with a shrug. “Did we start doin’ capture over kill and y’all forget to tell me, or something?”

Adelaide cleared her throat. “Killing is one thing, but sugar, did you have to drag it out for the poor gal like that?” she questioned, blinking away the look of shock with a shake of her head. “Edging is supposed to be for the bedroom, not the battlefield.”

“Making John Seed look like the lying, hypocritical, scumbag, piece of shit fraud that he is live on air is more satisfying than anything I’ve ever experienced in the bedroom,” Jestiny grunted in reply, nudging the corpse’s contorted arm with the toe of her boot. “She was gonna have to die anyways. At least her death proved a point.”

“Better than anything in the bedroom? Sounds like what we really need is to find you some more gifted lovers, then,” Adelaide mused, crossing her arms and looking down at the corpse with a pink lipstick frown. “And a, uh — more willing audience for the whole public humiliation kink deal. You know they have nightclubs for shit like that, right?”

sending no pressure tags out to @belorage @hctknives @fourlittleseedlings @galaxycunt @lordundying @florbelles @josephslittledeputy @afarcryfrommymain @poetikat @voidika @captastra @confidentandgood @deputyash @blissfulalchemist @shellibisshe @thedeadthree @nightbloodbix @miyabilicious @henbased @clicheantagonist @firstaidspray @strafethesesinners @jackiesarch @v0idbuggy @orionlancasterr @stacispratt @professorpineapple @strangefable @shallow-gravy @inafieldofdaisies @corvosattano @socially-awkward-skeleton @g0dspeeed @wrathfulrook @simplegenius042 + opt in/out for the wip day tag here!

[ohkate]

Thanks to @gallawitchxx for tagging me!

name: Kate

your... uhm.. scAaAary age: I'm in it right now. 45. I feel like 44 was the last age where you could be a single woman and not get looked at like you're sad and you're going to die a tragic lonely death.

🎥🔪🩸 do you like scary movies? I'm OBSESSED with horror movies. I'm a horror movie snob. I can and have written essays about my annoyance with how many films are listed as horror when they aren't so. I also think it's a crime that the Exorcist is still the movie listed as the scariest of all time on just about every scary movie list and we haven't been able to top that in 51 fucking years.

if so, what's your favorite scary movie? I just...I couldn't choose. My favorite scary movie right now is a Polish movie called Hellhole. You can watch it dubbed on Netflix. The movie appears at first to be super low budget. It's gruesome and gross at times but I just loved it! It's not jump-scare scary. But it's ominous and the end is just ::chef's kiss::. Religious scary movies are the best kind. It's the last real unknown. I'm not afraid of a clown or an evil doll. I'm afraid of the mailman bringing bills an bad news. Religious stuff is the only thing left that still scares me a little.

if you were trapped in a slasher film, would you survive? if not; how & when would you die? I would absolutely survive any scenario unless it involved running. I cannot run. I would just have to go ahead and die.

now that we got the scary questions out of the way. let's get a little more light hearted! 💕

what is your greatest fear? Wasting time. I'm the person who, the second I'm done with work, I'm out the door. I don't want to 'hang out or 'chill'. I'm not chill. I want to know what we're doing because if it's not better than being by myself then I don't want to do it. Also... I love the ocean, but I'm petrified of being in it higher than my knees. I'm afraid of little creatures biting me. I can hold snakes, mice and any kind of bug without freaking out. I don't panic if a spider lands in front of me. As long as I know it's there and I can see it ahead of time I'm fine. But not in the water.

what is your favorite supernatural creature? Not sure if this counts but Johnny 5 from Short Circuit. Just wanted input. Could have taken over the world but only wanted to make friends and be alive. When he learned all he could, he just wanted to dance and listen to music. The meanest he got was to tell someone 'your mother was a snowblower!' Imbued with a soul from some mystical accident and of course everyone wanted to kill him.

ever had a paranormal encounter? Not sure if it counts but in my whole life, I've been in 3 car accidents- all minor and always as a passenger- and I've had dreams the night before about getting into a random car accident for all of them. Call that whatever you want. I literally called out sick to work one day after I had a bad car accident dream the night before. I always wonder if I avoided some horrific death by not going that day.

in a high stress situation; do you fight or are you more of a flight person? I'm a fighter with my mouth. I can argue my way out of anything. That being said, a few years ago I got to the point where arguing with stupid just became tedious. If you think the Earth is flat...fine. Congrats. I'm not going to argue with your stupid ass. So now I'm a little more flight than fight.

what is your favorite part about halloween? That it pisses of religious zealots.

bonus question: what is your credit card number?

(I watch Lost Boys every Halloween.)

tagging the last few people who commented on my shit: @badassfetish @atthedugouts @lookiloveyou @guinguin1984 @arcadia-wildfire @iandarling @energievie @suzy-queued @catgrassplantdad

[zhongrin]

Hello! I would like to share my thoughts with you! If you’re up to it, write this out as a story! As I really enjoy your writing!

So I’ve been lost in my thoughts about how Kaveh and Al Haitham used to be friends. What if the reason they fight so much is because it had something to do with Y/n? But something more depressing… like death. What if Kaveh took Y/n to a secluded place to give her a visual representation/explanation on what he has planned for an upcoming building? Keep in mind that Al Haitham didn’t want Kaveh to take Y/n because it sounded dangerous. Whilst Y/n was giving Kaveh suggestions and conversing with him, an Eremite snuck up on them and restricted her, keeping Y/n from moving. The Eremite would demand for a certain amount of mora, but neither Kaveh or Y/n had a single coin on them. Just when Kaveh activated his vision and claymore, the Eremite slits her throat. Only after Y/n’s throat gets cut, Al Haitham finally arrives and kills the Eremite with Kaveh. If only he left the house a little earlier to catch up with them, Y/n could’ve survived…

So… those are my thoughts. What are yours? Do you like this idea? Oh, and if you do end up writing about this, could you hint that both Kaveh and Al Haitham were deeply in love with Y/n? Like I also daydream that Kaveh picked up his empathetic side only because Y/n was like that. A gentle and nurturing soul…

Have a nice day/night!

ohhhh i do like that idea! not sure if i would ever write it cause to me this already feels like a whole fic by itself hsldfjskld

tw.slight description of gruesome death(?)

i was thinking rather than the eremite it was a workplace accident kind of thing? i don't know if architects usually go down to survey the progress of the building they designed, but i feel like kaveh is a perfectionist and meticulous person so he would definitely do that.

so he brings you down to the construction site and well... let's just say some of the workers made a mistake, or some of the equipment they use malfunctioned, and you become collateral damage ( crushed by steel beams or concrete or glass? it's up to you ;) )

kaveh ends up blaming himself for your death, and while al haitham logically knows that it's not kaveh's fault, he can't help but become a little more resentful. naturally, at some point, a huge fight broke out. and the younger al haitham was too prideful to concede, while kaveh felt like he didn't deserve any sort of forgiveness anyway.

so yeah, the reason why kaveh was so 'giving' is basically because he's trying to 'atone' for your death. while later on al haitham offering kaveh a room to stay in his house is actually his effort to 'make up' (because yk, he's more of a man of action than words), but their relationship is still rocky at best. they're trying though - because after a while and as they grow more mature, they kind of understood that you wouldn't want them to fight like this. so they try.

[gayestnerdsinfiction]

History

Edward had his fair share of scars. He remembered the origin of each and every one, from batarangs to beer bottles to the corner of the table his father slammed his head into as a child. Some were shameful to him—scabs he could not stop picking, cigarette burns on the backs of his palms. Some he bore with pride, relishing the story they told or the events they commemorated. His surgery scars fell into the latter category, and the memories attached were largely fond ones. Besides, he’d spent good money to get those scars. The least he could do is appreciate them.

Growing up, Edward quickly learned scars were to be kept hidden. But he also learned that the mere act of hiding them made it all the more apparent that there was something to hide. His peers did not have scars, and if they did they were not like his. A skinned knee from falling off a bike. A small bite from an animal. An appendectomy. Innocent, innocuous things.

Most of his lovers were the same—smooth, unblemished skin. Or, at least not that sort of blemish. Scars attracted questions, questions whose answers often led to concern, confusion, or pity. At some point Edward started lying about them if he was asked. He would make up stories, some of which were far more gruesome than the truth. But then, of course, there were plenty of times when it was easier to brush something off as a cat scratch than to delve into a memory that was still all too fresh.

In all his years, Jonathan was one of the only two people who could outdo Edward in the scar department. The man was positively littered with them. His back and shoulders were covered with everything from tiny, faint lines of tissue to scars hinting at what was once a deep, puckered wound. His torso was the same. Both of Jonathan’s forearms were full of small, circular marks, his hands discolored from years of chemical burns. He had scars running through his lips, a jagged line stretching from his eyebrow to his cheek. There was even a scar on the side of his neck, like someone had planned to slit his throat but hadn’t managed to follow through.

Edward thought every single one of them was divine.

He liked to kiss them, when Jonathan let him. He wanted to memorize the shape of them, to be able to follow the topography of Jonathan’s body even with his eyes closed. And he wanted to know their stories as well as his own.

Jonathan was very private with his past. It was clear he preferred not to speak about it and he rarely did so unless his tongue was loosened by a drink or some other drug. But Edward knew, if he gave it enough time, he would get the information he wanted. He always did.

He didn’t usually comment on Edward’s scars, but Jonathan’s tactile nature always gave him away. Edward noticed the way his fingers lingered on his chest, his thighs. His thumb always slowed as it smoothed across the small, round patches of scarring on the back of Edward’s hand. And Jonathan’s lips always seemed to find the harsh line on his shoulder when they were laying in bed together.

Moments like that meant everything to Edward, and he chased them like an addict chasing a high. And perhaps it was a sort of high, to strip himself so bare for another person knowing the power they had to hurt him. Or perhaps the high came after, when Jonathan responded in kind and exposed the raw, aching parts of his soul that he was usually so reluctant to share. It felt like a special kind of privilege, knowing someone like that. And it was a privilege Edward cherished more than he would ever verbalize.

[delimeful]

nothing in this world (i wouldn’t do) (2)

warnings: mild blood/violence/injury, demon slaying, miscommunication, impromptu first aid, mentions of spiders, virgil tempting fate with his internal dialogue again

-

Whenever Virgil wasn’t sleeping, he was on the move.

At first, it had been because he didn’t trust himself around towns for too long, and there was always the chance of a real demon slayer getting wind of that ridiculous rumor and trying to track him down and kill him for it, even though it totally wasn’t his fault.

But then, as time went on, his bizarre pseudo-popularity seemed to have a different side effect.

Namely, every time he managed to save another human and hauled them back to the nearest town, he’d be practically swarmed. Antsy townsfolk would hurriedly inform him of the horrible tragedy they’d heard about up north, or the mysterious disappearances by the woods between this town and the neighboring one, or any sort of rumor that they thought a “demon slayer” should know about.

Where exactly were all the real demon slayers when people needed them? Why was he, an actual demon, seemingly more accessible for seeking help?!

Still, he wasn’t exactly doing anything else with his life (his unlife?), and if there were less demons, that meant the world would be safer for Thomas, didn’t it? So off he went, taking the less-traveled paths and following vague leads right into more danger.

His latest case had been a requested one, from a weaver in the last town. She had received a letter from her brother saying that he planned to come visit, and weeks later, he still hadn’t appeared or replied to her many return messages. The worry seemed to weigh her down like a physical burden, and he’d agreed perhaps more easily than normal.

Now, he was wedged into a shallow crevice in the mountainside and sorely regretting that decision.

The issue wasn’t the demon, no. He’d actually been making good progress on getting deeper and deeper into its territory in the past few days.

The issue was that he wasn’t the only one hunting it.

First, it had been a gaggle of young teens, and he’d been so alarmed that he’d almost dropped right out of the trees and ushered them back out of the woods. The less humans traipsing around this deep in demon territory, the better.

Of course, that was when he’d managed to spot the swords strapped to their sides, and suddenly, never appearing before a human again was looking more and more appealing. He’d immediately switched gears from tracking to stealth, and honestly, should have just turned tail and left then.

Instead, because those kids were around Thomas’s age and he still needed to find that weaver’s brother and also he was a sentimental idiot, he trailed them at a distance, always staying downwind and poised to bolt.

They handled themselves well at the beginning, and then the environment began to warp around them, and then it turned out there was more than one demon nesting here, and Virgil had been on the brink of jumping down and interfering, swords or no swords, when--

Between one blink and the next, one of the demons was cleanly beheaded.

The demon slayer-- for what else could he be-- smiled brilliantly as the body disintegrated to ash, holding a hand out to help one of the teens to their feet.

“It seemed like you all could use a little assistance,” he’d said, turning to face one of the other demons with a confidence that visibly unsettled it. Above, a circling crow cried out raspily. “My dear Missus informed me of your call for backup.”

If the stranger’s swift execution hadn’t tipped Virgil off, the way the baby slayers looked up at him with blatant awe was clue enough. This slayer was powerful and charismatic, whereas Virgil was neither of those things, so he was going to stay right here in his crevice until the whole situation had sorted itself out.

The three other demons seemed to have no such qualms, lunging at him in a semi-coordinated attack. The slayer handled them with terrifying ease, and for a moment it seemed that the battle had been settled, as simple as that.

Of course, that was when the landscape twisted further in on itself, buzzing like a disturbed wasps nest, and Virgil realized abruptly that this was the first time he’d seen so many feral, newly-created demons in one territory.

A stronger demon was keeping them all in line, like the queen of a hive. And it wasn’t at all pleased about the intrusion.

The slayer seemed to have caught on as well, his sword held aloft in threat. “Looks like the real fight starts now,” he said with a sharp, cocky grin.

Mere minutes later, the smile had grown considerably more strained.

Coincidentally, he’d taken considerably more damage in that time as well.

The slayer had given as good as he got, but against a demon’s healing factor, it wasn’t good enough. He was losing.

“Get out of here!” he instructed, and the baby slayers hesitated, clearly torn. He shot them a dazzling grin, hiding all signs of fatigue even as another blow rattled his sword. “Come now, don’t you know an order when you hear one? I don’t want any distractions while I handle this gruesome ghoul, so back to town with you!”

He cut off any further arguments by pointedly leading his attacker astray, giving them ample time to flee. Virgil felt some of the tension fade from him as the baby slayers got away cleanly, leaving just the slayer and the queen.

Really, he shouldn’t want the slayer to survive. Not when having a slayer that strong anywhere near him, or even in the same country as him, could easily be a death sentence. That didn’t change the jolt of panic that went through him when the queen finally gained the upper hand, knocking the slayer back into sheer cliff face hard enough to snap something.

… A slayer that protected others from demons so wholeheartedly was one that would protect Thomas.

The queen advanced towards the slayer, wounded and weakened but already gloating about how his flesh would be more than enough to completely rejuvenate her. Her entire focus was on the human’s fallen form.

Virgil dropped down on top of her soundlessly, claws piercing through muscle and fat until he’d torn her nearly clear in half. She shrieked in outrage, but a skull-crushing stomp was enough to knock her unconscious for at least a few moments.

The slayer, exhausted, half-crumpled against a tree, and his shoulder very clearly dislocated, looked up at him for a moment with something like hope.

When they met eyes, however, that was swiftly extinguished in favor of wary frustration.

“Another demon?” he complained, trying rather unsubtly to grasp for the sword that the queen had knocked free of him. “Exactly how many monsters can one fit on a single mountain?”

The sword was entirely out of reach, but Virgil kicked it a little further away for good measure. The slayer shot him a petulant glare.

Virgil pointed at a scrap of bloodied cloth left behind from one of the baby slayers, trying out a questioning rumble. Backup coming for you?

“I’m offended that you think I would answer that,” the slayer responded, nose upturned, “or any other monosyllabic interrogative questions, for that matter.”

Virgil growled low in his throat, frustration bubbling up. If he ditched the slayer here without backup, there was no guarantee that someone would find him before the morning came, and Virgil was relatively sure that the demon he’d just stabbed through wasn’t the only threat up here.

Not to mention the cold. He hadn’t thought the nights were cold enough to harm people yet, but demons seemed a lot more durable, and the slayer was shaking just slightly. He remembered the few times he’d had to sit out snowstorms while traveling back home up the mountain, and couldn’t help but feel sympathetic.

So, leaving the slayer behind to fend for himself wasn’t an option. That meant doing something insanely, dangerously stupid: taking the guy with him.

Precautions first, then. He was pretty good at hiding himself from other demons by now, but human scents were a lot more trackable.

Virgil scooped the slayer sword up off the ground by the hilt, grimacing at the burning sensation it emitted. The slayer’s jaw dropped.

“Hey! You can’t just take that!” he cried indignantly, starting off on a tirade about craftsmanship and integrity. His rant cut off sharply as Virgil raised the sword and brought it down on the queen’s neck.

His motions were stilted compared to anyone who actually knew how to use a sword, but it hardly mattered. The sun-blade cut through easily, decapitating her in one motion and leaving only ash behind. He took a moment to hope for the soul of whoever she’d been before being turned, and a longer moment for the weaver’s brother, who was surely dead. Exhaling lowly, he planted the sword blade-first in the dirt.

It was tempting to keep it; he’d certainly wished more than once for an easier way to deal with his adversaries than the bloody scraps he normally got in, but there was no way he was bringing a demon slayer and a demon killing sword with him. That was just asking for trouble.

“That demon did all the work in an honest fight against me, and yet it’s the backstabber turning against his own kind who actually gets to eat me? That’s sad, even for a demon,” the slayer bit out, still trying to inch his way back up into a standing position.

Virgil ignored his muttering and took a testing breath in through his mouth. The slayer was definitely bloodied, but most of the major injuries mustn’t have broken skin, because the smell wasn’t too bad. It probably helped that he’d managed to avoid being injured in this fight, and so didn’t have a desperate need to heal like normal. If he was lucky, he wouldn’t even need a nap to make up for it.

He reached out for the slayer’s collar, already mentally plotting out the most efficient way to a distant abandoned bear den when a piercing shriek sounded, and his vision was suddenly full of flapping feathers. He staggered a few steps back with a surprised yelp.

“No! Missus Fluffybottom, you beautiful fool!” the slayer cried out, sounding incredibly distraught.

Virgil swatted outwards and managed to catch his furious assailant on the second try, his hand easily big enough to grasp it. He drew it away from his face for inspection, and realized that the screaming and wriggling bundle of fluff was actually a young crow.

“Scourge! Fiend!” the crow yelled at him in a belligerent tone that was uncannily similar to the slayer’s. He blinked down at it, befuddled.

“Wait! Don’t hurt her,” the slayer said in the most subdued voice Virgil had heard from him all evening. He looked up and found that the slayer had managed to climb to his knees, but wasn’t struggling to move further. “She’s a simple bird, no threat to you. You’ve already got your prize, haven’t you?”

There was something uncomfortably desperate in his gaze, and Virgil realized with a start that the slayer absolutely believed he was about to kill his bird in cold blood. He opened his hand, bracing for another assault, but the crow kicked off and flew right to the slayer instead, nestling against his collarbone. “Roman, Roman, Ro-man!” it crooned.

“Get out of here, you finicky little fowl, go! Shoo!” the slayer-- Roman?-- commanded, to no avail. He glanced up at Virgil, lifting his good hand and turning his bad shoulder slightly as though to shield the little creature.

Virgil averted his eyes from the bird, hopefully conveying how much he didn’t care about her. If he had enough self control to not murder-kill people despite it being all monsters like him wanted to do, he wasn’t going to snap because a bird the size of his palm repeated some swears in his direction.

Back to business. He grabbed the back of the slayer’s outfit and pulled, hauling him up onto one shoulder like a sack of potatoes. … Or like a sack of other, non-food items. Virgil sighed through his nose. Whatever.

Roman sucked a breath in through his teeth as his injuries were jostled, and then immediately started squawking in protest upon realizing the indignity of his position. The crow-- apparently dubbed Fluffybottom-- repositioned herself to a perch on Roman’s calf and joined in on the complaints with her own raspy calls.

Virgil ignored them, already focusing on the trek ahead.

---

By the time they reached the cave, Roman had long stopped muttering creative obscenities under his breath.

The slayer might have actually fallen unconscious, but Virgil wasn’t going to jostle him around just to check. If he stopped focusing on their surroundings, he could easily hear Roman’s heart beating, the blood pumping beneath his skin, tantalizingly out of reach--

… He had mostly focused very hard on their surroundings. The point was, the slayer was definitely still alive, which meant him passing out during their travel was fine. Convenient, even.

It certainly made it easier to squat and carefully lower his body onto the cave floor without worrying about any sudden thrashing on Roman’s part. Laying flat on his back with only the slightest crumple to his brow, the guy looked a lot less intimidating. He was probably Virgil’s age, honestly.

He also looked unsettlingly corpse-like at the moment. Virgil considered for a moment, and then sidled over to Roman’s side, tugging his injured arm out of the curled up position it had taken. He carefully maneuvered it until it was straight out, forming a right angle with Roman’s side.

Then, he pulled, applying a slow, steady pressure. The misaligned bone shifted back into place with a sickening clunk, and Roman cried out as he regained consciousness. Virgil released him, and he instantly cradled the limb to his chest.

“What in the name of--,” he started, and then seemed to remember it all at once. Or the wave of pain from all those other injuries hit him all at once. One of the two.

Either way, he sagged back against the ground, squinting at Virgil suspiciously as he bustled around the small space. Missus Fluffybottom landed on his forehead, making him look even more ridiculous.

“I notice I am not devoured,” he finally spoke, almost conversational.

Virgil ignored him in favor of moving to arrange some firewood near the mouth of the cave.

“Not even a teensy bit,” Roman continued, making a show of inspecting himself for missing flesh.

Virgil continued to stack rocks around the wood. He was beginning to regret waking the slayer up, dislocated shoulder or not.

“Now, my silent saboteur, I want you to be honest. Are you planning to turn me into some sort of spider?” the slayer asked, and that was enough to finally make Virgil turn with an incredulous raised eyebrow.

“What?” Roman defended, pinkening. “That’s a real thing that a demon did to some people! And you seem... spider-y.”

Virgil scowled at the insulting way the comment was phrased. Spiders were cool and helpful and oh yeah, they didn’t annoyingly needle him while he was busy keeping them alive. He abandoned the fire to stalk closer and drop to a squat by Roman’s legs, dodging a wild kick easily. He pointedly tore a long swath of white fabric from the slayer’s overlayer.

“Hey! Do you even know how long embroidery like that takes--,” Roman cried, and Virgil smacked a hand over his mouth, drawing close and hissing quietly. The sound was close enough to a shush to get his point across, going by the way the slayer huffed indignantly but didn’t speak when Virgil pulled his hand away.

He did whine in protest when Virgil grabbed his injured arm, but then he went still and silent, like he thought any sudden movements would end with the whole limb removed. Virgil wrapped his forearm in the fabric, and then looped the extra around his shoulder, maneuvering him as painlessly as possible, and tied it off.

Roman’s silence suddenly felt distinctly different.

Virgil pulled him up into a sitting position by the front of his shirt, and tightened the knot slightly. The sling looked just about as good as could be expected, given the circumstances.

“You are actually a demon, aren’t you?”

Speech was one of those human things that Virgil still hadn’t recovered, but he thought that the sarcastic fang-bearing smile he directed at Roman spoke volumes all on its own.

“Then why are you tenderly nursing a demon slayer back to health?” he retorted, sounding bewildered and incredulous in equal measures.

Why are you pushing your luck? Virgil thought back, clicking his teeth in irritation and shoving the slayer back into a prone position.

Roman let out a high pitched wheeze, his good arm coming to cradle his ribs defensively. “Or not-so-tenderly, I suppose. The question stands!”

Virgil rolled his eyes and returned to the half-built fire. He’d pestered the only doctor in town for first aid lessons for months, he wasn’t going to stop practicing medicine just because of a little thing like being turned into a demon that craved human flesh.

To his surprise, the silence lingered as he worked, long enough that he turned and cast a suspicious glare over his shoulder at the slayer, who jolted nervously at his attention.

“Wh-what?” he asked, fiddling with the torn edges of his sling. “No escape attempts here, haha!”

“...” Virgil squinted at him and his blatant fake laugh for a long moment, trying to figure out just what was wrong with the scene.

Wait. Where was the bird?

A chill ran down his spine, and he twisted to stare at the mountainside beyond the cave entrance. No raspy-voiced baby crows in sight.

It had to have gone for help, knowing exactly where Virgil and its slayer had holed up. Roman knew he’d realized it, was watching him with the wary expectancy of a cornered hare in front of a trapper.

A surge of furious panic did bubble up in the back of Virgil’s mind, but he quelled it with relative ease.

If backup was coming, then the human was no longer his problem.

Pleased at the neat way the situation had resolved itself, Virgil tapped two fingers to his temple in a gesture of farewell and scrambled out the cave, scaling the cliff face and resolving to put as much distance between himself and this region as possible.

With any luck, he’d never run into that particular slayer again.

[ladyduellist]

Epistles of Saints & Sinners

Chapter Summary:

Things heat up in Astarion's tent after Tav offers to let him drink her blood.

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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 6: Ribbon*

Ao3

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Main Page & Chapter List

Word Count: 6.1k

Pairing: Astarion x female bard Tav

CW: Smut, CPTSD, Vaginal Fingering, Breast Play, Act 1 Spoilers

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For she is slowly being pulled by strands of the spinneret. A spider that sews his web with such intricacies, they are mistaken for complex pieces of his soul. The predator lures a victim into silken promises,

And when finally ensnared, there will be no mercy for the fangs that drain them alive.

— Gale of Waterdeep, poetry from 'The Wilderness'

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“I agreed to let him continue journeying with us—at your convincing behest—after we found out he was a vampire and we learned he had already bitten you. I will not retract my decision on the matter, but you cannot expect me to fall back and watch as he takes advantage of our—your—good tidings. Tav, you are one step away from being spun into his web, if you’re not there already!” Gale argued loudly.

Astarion sat on the edge of his ratty stool outside his tent, polishing his daggers. He would, at times, tilt the point of his ear in the direction of the bitter heart-to-heart between the wizard and their humble bard, attempting to decipher each sentence his victim held firm to in her rebuttal. But, her pitch was that usual quiet sultry measure, like honey dripping onto berries, she carried and he couldn’t hear a damned word from her mouth.

Mouth. Her mouth. Their lips.

Ah, yes, he had tasted her the previous evening. Inside Tav’s tent, testing the pliancy of their lips against each other, she yielded to him. He had swiped his tongue across her bottom lip after a few preludes of longer, more downy, kisses until she mewled for him.

So delicately did her pecks tap, using her lips as a confessional upon each pore of his pallored shade. At one point, when she had felt bolder, she licked his upper lip with the tip of her moistened tongue. Astarion rewarded her with a groan, coercing her to glue herself to his chest with her own while he guided her hands to hold onto his broad shoulders.

And her eyes: those very wide orbs of storms. They searched. They searched. They searched. A risky assessment of his features as an oracle knocking on the undeath pane of his soul. He couldn’t stand it. Not a single one of his pillaged targets had ever sought him out in this manner, too enthralled with their own lusts. The meddlesome witch with the tempting gaze made his throat twist with sour spittle.

Lo, with a crown of stars fastened in her hair, she’s the queen of swords. To pierce the hearts of men and drain them of their festering cancers. Her eyes: the ocean. You’ll drown, you’ll drown, you’ll drown.

Oh, but the tides shortly fell from Tav's court right back into the shadows of his hands. Because her lips were swollen for him, so luscious towards the end of their interlude, that he pricked the spike of his fang into the dewy tissue in her lower vermillion. The tiniest blood beads formed and he nursed upon them with sensitive suckles.

Astarion could hear the irregularity in her flitting heart, like the melody of a black-capped chickadee, and his soul mate mark began to pulse in tandem with her frolics. She quivered in his arms over and over again, with gasps and goose flesh along her arms, until their kisses slowed and he wished her a fair rest of the night.

This was the exact leverage he needed and the bard so readily provided it to him. The song she sang by the river—the longing in her voice—for a connection she so desperately wanted to believe was still alive in the world, was for him. And by the immoral scriptures hidden from saintly eyes, he would perform to her. He would take up the mantle, murmuring corruption in between her thighs until she was screaming his name. He would play the part of her lover and she would gladly be his defender.

Because she was touch-starved. Because she wanted tenderness. Because she would protect him from his former master.

With this, he would have some form of sanctuary. And if all of the stars aligned, Tav and the rest of their questionable gang, would help him pursue true freedom from Cazador clutches.

But, her wavering request of ”please, don’t hurt me” kept reappearing in his thoughts, as if it had been drawn in the fog of a tarry marsh.

“You’re protecting him?! For Mystra’s sake, why?!” Gale’s continued goading grounded Astarion back to reality.

What? He could only hear the soft whispers of Tav’s voice, but judging by how Gale looked over her shoulder with a heavily creased brow in the vampire’s direction, her answer was unanticipated.

As Tav stalked off, boots creating clouds of dust leading out of the camp, Astarion stared at the back of her form long after she left, with the opinion that his tadpole must have consumed more of his brain matter than he originally thought.

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The pangs of hunger were unbearable.

Daggers in hands—freshly sharpened—Astarion stationed himself on the side of the dilapidated house, the overcast shadows from one of its walls providing the perfect hiding spot. Shadowheart crouched behind him, preparing a warding spell, trying to ghost the incantation with bitty utterings.

“Shh. I’m trying to concentrate,” he chastised under his breath.

In front of the building, he eyed Tav like a hawk as she sang to the oversized lard of an ogre. Her flexible fingers strumming the lute, she had been trying to distract the monster with an on-the-spot folk song called: It’s Never Ogre. The vampire mocked her for the painfully moronic pun, while not registering the slight upturned cordiality near the corner of his mouth.

Before they decided to confront the last beast of the Blighted Village, Tav told them her plan with her typical bashful confidence. She’d play her notes with a garish tale of gluttonous delights, then, when she gave the signal, Astarion would sneak up behind the ogre with a devastating attack into his spinal cord—rendering it immobile. It was an attack the spawn had conducted enough times to the point of it becoming second nature.

His stomach churned again causing him to keel over at his waist in pain, one of his weapons almost slipping out from his cold grip. Why the hells did he continue to condemn himself to this fate?! He was free damnit!

“Astarion, when was the last time you fed? I can hear your guts and dare I say you look deader than usual,” Shadowheart dismally questioned. She peeked around his shoulder, glimpsing at the concert their leader was desperately trying to continue with a phony smile plastered on her expression. “Just don’t get any ideas about my neck, fanger.”

He baited the Sharran cleric with an impudent fleer. “You’re assuming I’d even think about sinking my teeth into that darkness thickening your blood. You’ve forgotten: I was already there for two centuries.”

“Hush or we’ll miss the gesture.”

Astarion shuddered exhaustively with each turn of his joints. He felt weak. Too weak for combat. During the last couple of evenings, he prowled the night, creeping upon deer and boars in the area. But, as he got close to his potential hunts, he would taste the chilled blood of decomposing rats and bugs on his palate.

”Would you like an appetizer with dinner tonight? How about a plate of roaches? Eat up, my beloved spawn.”

He recoiled—like the obedient slave he was for his master—instead, seeking out the familiarity of smaller woodland creatures in the vein of squirrels and rodents until they became too weary to descend their hiding places, knowing a strange predator was on the loose.

Had tasting the bard's ichor made Astarion too greedy? No. More so, that he was undeserving of the warmth that flowed throughout his body as he drank from a thinking creature. It was like being wrapped in a blanket on a crisp winter’s eve from the inside out and the only comfort of his sanguine life he was entitled to, were the corroded bits Cazador approved.

Submit to him. Draped in master’s arms while he feeds dribbles of red decay on your lips. His unholy communion. Body and blood of Cazador. Amen.

“Astarion! ASTARION! NOW! SHIT!!” Shadowheart cried out, shaking him violently.

The shrill of Tav’s screams echoed throughout the rest of the vacant village as the ogre tightened its ginormous hand around her torso.

“Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!” Astarion panicked aloud as he regained his senses.

He ran forward with no time to sneakily assassinate the giant. Lunging on its back, the vamp grabbed onto rolls of fatty tissue to climb upwards. With the point of his blade raised, he carved through the air and stabbed it in the middle of its back, slicing through vertebrae. The ogre, thrown off balance, stumbled to the ground.

Astarion pulled out the dagger and lunged it a final time into the back of its head, a smell of foul blackness spewing from the wound, killing it immediately. Tav scrambled away from the slumped fiend’s body, coughing, gasping for breath.

Shadowheart ran to her side with a healing potion. “Hold still—let me at least check you for injuries.”

“I guess he hated the song after all,” Tav joked. “I think I’m fine. Maybe a few bruises. Are the two of you okay?”

Astarion trotted over to them, flicking inky blood and greasy fat off his blades before sheathing them onto his back. “Nasty creatures those. I'm all for murdering our enemies, but maybe we could avoid the ones failing to practice good hygiene in the future.”

Tav smiled up at him with a breath of relief. “I’ll be sure to ask them ahead of time to bathe before we decide to play slaughter roulette.”

"Lady of Loss guide me." The cleric stood quickly, pointing her finger inches from his chest with circles of scorn spiraling in her eyes. “Astarion, you were in a total state of haze! She almost died out there!”

Shadowheart wasn’t incorrect by placing her ill contempt on him. It was his fault. Being around the others with his newfound freedom had been nothing short of exhilarating thus far, but it proved to come with complications—including these episodes he couldn’t seem to gain control over.

He scrunched his face dramatically. “I—well, it’s in its grave now, isn’t it? And here our bard stands: alive and breathing with that golden voice still intact.”

“Ugh. I’m not going to argue with you if you’re going to gloss over what just happened. Just know, that if you don’t feed soon, you’re about as good of use to us as a corpse is—pun intended." Shadowheart trudged over mounds of rubble, leading towards more ruinous homes. "By the way, Tav," she announced over her shoulder before leaving her two companions alone to collect themselves, "I trust you'll keep his bites in line."

Astarion reached down, offering his arm out for Tav to grab onto. She wrapped her hand near the crook of his inner elbow and he easily pulled her body weight up in one heave, still keeping her in close proximity to him.

“You’re truly alright? I would offer to kill the piece of shit that harmed you, but it seems I’ve already done my good deed for the week,” Astarion sarcastically grinned.

“Must’ve been the line I inserted about a dwarf mocking their loincloths that riled him up,” she giggled.

“Serves you right then for singing such awful lyrics.”

She playfully punched his bicep. “But, aside from that, you could have told me last night that you needed blood.”

His eyebrows rose. There was a languid swallow to bite back another spasm rumbling from within. And one more to cower behind the rascal he summoned forth. “I seem to remember our focus being on other delights.”

Tav’s ears flushed. She folded her arms against her bust in what appeared to be mild indignation. “Astarion, I’m being serious. Please consider the danger you could be putting us or yourself in next time if your hunger is present to this extent. I would almost consider being heartbroken if you were harmed.”

Astarion was grateful she didn’t inquire further about his mishaps. He didn't want to confront the diseased irreverent reflections, let alone pretending someone cared about him enough to confide in them about the personal affairs of his unbeating heart.

He moved his hand to lightly touch Tav's cheek with the back of his fingers, offering her a pulpy grin. “Almost consider? I think you may have given away who your favorite companion might be! I’m just glad you didn’t wind up a mangled piece of meat, you daring minx. I don’t want you to go anywhere—just yet.”

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Tav couldn’t stop touching her lips.

They felt raw, full of blood rushing from the memento of forbidden kisses shared, now the haunting sensation of a ripened plum being pushed against her.

The heat pooled between her thighs as she imagined how Astarion’s tongue might taste in her mouth. Several times she invited him to break through her barrier by licking smooth circles on his lips, but he would only pull back to settle germane brushes of his maw in the delicate reaches of her neck and cheeks. He intentionally held back.

Astarion was a complicated person, easily slipping his debonair mask back on when he needed it most. Living as a slave must have nearly stripped his entire identity away. But, those unbreakable shards that embedded themselves in the lemure silhouettes of his tarnished soul, were the ones Tav wished to know. Because now he walked a path of barbed shells and rubbery bones and she was hesitant to cross his boundaries—leaving her questions at rest, patiently waiting for what he wanted.

As she approached his tent, reciting to herself that she was only offering her blood to him as a means to an end for his hunger, she could see Astarion reclining on the rug in front, witnessing the disappearing sun giving way to night’s oil slick puddles stretching across the canvassed sky. Her breath caught in her throat, much like when she observed him in the sun. With a pillow tucked under his elbows, he resembled a handsome tunic wearing emperor lounging in deep thought over his conversations with the planets.

“Good evening, my almost favorite rogue. Am I interrupting?” Tav sing-songed, batting her lashes demurely.

Did I just flirt with him? Gods! she thought.

Astarion flashed a teasing smirk. “And a pleasant evening to you, my almost favorite songbird. It’s quite a sight isn’t it? The night sky. I could take or leave that fashion sense of yours.”

Tav snorted. She looked down at her camp clothes, a blue ankle length skirt and light beige chemise she traded with pilfered scrolls. “My fashion? Well, I could take or leave your hunger for blood, but here we are!”

He lifted the side of his mouth to show off his canine to her. “Speaking of which,” he stood, rearranging his camp clothes, casting a coy impression. “...you were my first.”

Her eyes became wide as moons. “Beg pardon?”

“Not that! I’ve feasted putrid animals for two centuries, but you—you were the first thinking creature I’ve drank from. I can’t stop thinking about how delectable you tasted. Which brought me to ponder how the others might taste.”

“You’ve been looking at other necks? I actually think I’m a bit sad, Astarion.” Tav delicately placed a hand on her chest in feigned hurt.

“Now, now, I’m a man of tremendous appetites! Take Shadowheart for instance, she has Calishite Absinthe written all over her, but what do you think about our local Blade of Frontiers?”

She scratched her cheek. ”Wyll? How about a simple sweet cider? Since, he’s such a man of the people.”

“Oh, that sounds very refreshing!” he chortled like a schoolboy.

“Though, you have stroked my curiosity. What did I taste like?” she asked innocently.

Astarion moved in closer to her, catching a strand of her dark ashen locks to play with in between his fingers. “Hmm. I think I may need a fresh sip of your blood to accurately describe the details to you.”

Biting her lower lip kittenishly, she peered into his garnet jeweled eyes with confidence upon her lungs and a drumming behind her rib cage. “Okay.”

“What?”

“Don’t you still need blood? Take mine.”

He lowered his hand to touch her previously bitten wrist, prudently feeling the healed wounds. “I—yes, I do. But, to make sure you invite me back to dine with you in the future, drops from a wrist isn’t going to suffice this time, my sweet.”

“Then, my neck. Would that be enough?” she posed assertively.

She noticed him modifying his stance to subtly adjust a certain part of himself in his pants. “Ahem, yes. It would or at least fill me enough so I can hunt. We can—my tent?”

Tav nodded, giving his arm a flimsy squeeze.

Instead of waiting for him to invite her inside his tent with whatever welcome mat of words he could conjure, she took it upon herself to enter. She noted a few plain rotted velveteen pillows in different shapes he had thrown into a pile and a small candelabra lit off to the side with his recent reading material. Jars of congealed blood and soiled rags were strewn about without a care. His bedding was made of a single flat board, covered with a torn blanket and scattered hay. All of this hidden away behind the linens of his red tent. Tav blinked away the burning sensation in her eyes, imagining that he must be so used to living in meager conditions, that he may almost feel uncomfortable to live in any other way.

But then, something caught her eye: a nondescript espresso colored keepsake box that sat under a neatly placed sewing kit.

She couldn’t help but smile warmly wondering what type of trinkets he bundled into the container. Was Astarion a sentimental man? Maybe he was a collector and kept defective coins inside? She swelled with elated tenderness at the remarkable novelty of it.

In the den of blood and evocation of chased pleasures of a thousand faces, a holy box of unknown covenants to a man stood untethered. To keep out the crusades of devils and evil tyrants, how far would the soul be sold?

“Looking for something?” the vampire blocked the entrance to his tent. Tav couldn’t read him, but she did notice his shift in vision fall in line with the box before turning back to her.

“N-no. Only admiring your decor. And here I was thinking you couldn’t possibly have more pillows to add to your repertoire," she commented, ignoring the poor state of his living space.

He closed the flap behind him, moving to sink on top of the plush pile. They both tossed their boots over towards a separate corner. “I’m a maximalist when it comes to the luxuriant, including whose blood I choose to drink within my tent.”

The pale spawn’s posture straightened as he patted the space between his open legs with a come-hither tone. “Forgive my eagerness, but shall we?”

The bard’s heart started to flutter thinking about the vicinity they were about to be in with each other, even if it was only to help out a friend. 

Friend. Is that what they were?

“How should I sit?”

Astarion beckoned her to come closer with a repetitive motion of his index finger and a seductive grin. Tav crawled over towards him. He drew a circle in the air with the same finger, gesturing for her to turn around. There was a nervous excitement dancing along the fine hairs of her skin when she obediently turned all the way around and sat on the ground in front of him.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, silently scooting her against him, the rustling of her skirt dragging with her. She melted as soon as her back clamped against the coolness of his chest. Unsure of how to position her legs, she bent them upwards, letting the flats of her feet rest on one of the ornate cushions.

Tav could feel him gather the fountain of her wavy hair from her back, placing it over one of his shoulders to give him full allowance to nip at her neck. A waft of her lavender and vanilla scent burst out into a cloud from her wispy strands. Astarion inhaled deeply, gliding his hands from her waist up to sit on either side of her shoulders. She shivered when he leaned in to nuzzle his lips against the balm of her jugular vein.

“You know, I have a rather invasive curiosity you may be able to sate. A minor detail from your morning.”

The songstress tilted her head slightly away from him with inquisition on her mind. “And what would that be,” she breathed out.

“Gale of Waterdeep. What was it that you said that caused such outrage from him? Your conversation seemed rather—heated.” The vampire’s voice was a needling whisper against her skin as he pecked the area he currently favored.

Tav puffed out a heady sigh. His fingers modestly skittered down her pale arms as if they were tendrils of vines seeking the charity of the sun. “Why would you like to know? Are you jealous of him, Astarion?”

He smirked, the upturned edges of his mouth tickling her neck. “Why ever would I be jealous? It is not him that’s leaving marks upon your body, Tavelle.”

He mildly bit down on her, unaccompanied by the piercing of his fangs. She cried out when he sucked leisurely on the spot, worrying the velvet of her tender neck in his mouth. Tav murmured a prayer in his name as he spread the thinnest layer of his spit around the sensitive spot. The sound of her name on his beautiful lips caused the fluid of her arousal to settle in between the inner folds of her cunt.

Tav felt so ashamed with her thoughts, succumbing to this man so wantonly that she had only met recently. Of the betrayal of wetness and the desperation to know what came next. If he requested her to suck on prayer beads being fed to her one by one by his long fingers to exhibit how lewd of a woman she had become, she would submit.

He removed his gaping mouth away from her long enough to speak. “You’re trembling again, much like the first time I had you in my mouth. Did you come here for a reward—for all you’ve done for me?”

Tav turned her head towards him as far as she was able, trying not to writhe in his arms. “No. I did those things because I wanted to help you.”

Astarion tilted his head in towards the lobe of her ear, his breath a luring sweet chill of undeath. “Then, what exactly did you come here for? Surely, the reason wasn’t to only let me drink from you.”

Her head spun with lust for the want of him. Not only to quell the fervor her body organically felt for him, but also the unbridled tenebrae of his forgotten beating heart that she kept dipping her toes into. Wading in his twilight.

And she wanted more.

“I came here for a distraction,” she panted, referencing back to a previous conversation they exchanged. Uncertainty bit at her worried lips about him, what he may be thinking or feeling. “But, if you don’t want—"

“Shhh. Let me take care of you, darling.” He traced cool brushes across the protruding bone of her clavicle from one side to the other. Then, Astarion’s voice was a lyrical cadence caressing her ear, “Let me speak to you of wandering.”

Gilded fingers swooped down her ribs, feeling each ridge until they momentarily grabbed onto her hip. With the vacancy of his other hand, he guided his knuckles to the side of her swollen breast, caressing its rounded shape. Tav felt the walls of her slit clench onto nothing. Her heartbeat sped up in anticipation like that of a small animal.

Closer and closer he drew to the front of her bosom, pulling out gasp after gasp from her until she felt faint. Tav seized his hand, rotating it so his digits could feel her perked teat through her clothes. She implored him to rub it with a “please.”

"So very impatient," he teasingly chuckled behind her. “So very impatient. Though, I have a confession: the first time I bit you, I could see your breasts peeking through your shirt and I wanted to outline the letters of my name on your nipples."

He pulled down her chemise, letting her bountiful chest spill free. A pale index finger circled around the spun sugary pink of an areola, eliciting a carefree vibrato from the bard. He tested her sensitivity by giving her nipple a soft pinch. Tav squirmed as he held her, holding onto the wrist delivering his ministrations for dear life.

Astarion kissed the back of her shoulder, his gratifying hum, a low roll on her skin. “Mm. You react so exquisitely to my touch. Should I start with the letter ‘A’?”

Gods, Tav wanted to scream! She would remove the crown of regal flowers from her head, to smear his want in each crevice of her mouth. He could order her onto her knees, pushing the tip of his cock past her sumptuous lips with promises to anoint her with his cum, allowing him to claim her for his own.

“Answer me,” he said roughly, squeezing her whole breast in his hand.

“Please trace your name on me,” she whimpered with an embarrassed huff.

The scrape of the vamp’s fangs were at her neck and she imagined what it would feel like for his sanguine fascination to nip at her tits. The stitch of his razored cuspids mixed with bloody desire. Tav hadn’t confided in him about how aroused biting in general made her or the fact that she had sunk her fingers several times over into her wet hole, remembering how the initial pain of him biting her wrist felt.

“A. S. T. A. R. I. O. N." He rubbed the tip of her pertness with his thumb in strokes and swooshes, spelling out his name possessively on her flesh. "Look at you being such a good girl for me. Let me see where else I can wander.”

Astarion startled her when he shifted and the grip on her hip went slack. His hand appeared near her foot where the hem of her skirts dangled. He toyed with material of her silken stockings, dangerously lifting up her skirts enough to sift his fingers up and down her clothed shin. The icy touch halted near her inner ankle before he tantalizingly dragged the fabrics upwards, where his limber fingers left a trail of glacial tingles along her leg.

Her eyes clenched shut when the compass of his touch made it to her knee. “Astarion, keep going. Don’t stop,” Tav rasped.

Further up his descent he drifted, reaching the halfway point of her inner thigh. He forced the rest of her skirts up to rest by her hips in one swift motion.

“And what do we have here?” Astarion skimmed his touch along the ribbon tied around her thigh, holding up the hidden lace trimmed silk of her hosiery. “Such forbidden raptures concealed from the world. Did you wear these in hopes I would see them?”

Tav gulped. She answered him with a suggestive moan. Her body tensed as he stroked his fingers between the stocking and the creaminess of her skin. The folds of her slit were bathed in fluids; her smalls were soaked from her neediness.

There was a sharp intake of his breath, a certain gluttonous deprivation she could detect. He urgently pressed her ass back into his pelvis and she could feel everything. The salivating length of his cock—the perfect girth of it—but most of all, how devastatingly hard he could get.

Sensually, he gnawed at her ear lobe. “Gods. Can you feel what you’re doing to me?”

Aloud, she whined for him, twitching in his arms. He continued to pinch and pull at her nipple with one hand, while the other tumbled closer, closer, closer to her heaven. He slithered his fingers to frisk the hem of her smalls, drafting the threads delicately stitched along the outer edges.

Astarion kneaded his hand into the space between her thigh and her dripping filth, encouraging her legs to widen. “Reach down and spread yourself for me.”

The smoldering flush overtaking her body was nearly unbearable. But, he was commanding her with a carnally low voice and she wanted, no, needed to surrender to him. And so, she reached down betwixt her pale thighs to push her smalls to the side, timidly spreading the outer lips of her labia.

Clit throbbing to the exposed air, Astarion wasted no time in drawing foreign symbols around it. He circled her nub with his index finger, spreading her gathered slick as if he were savoring the sweetest of desserts before allowing himself to swallow it down.

“Oh my gods…” Tav managed to stutter out while his fingers slowly pulled her to nirvana with his golden chilled scald.

For the last several nights, she had thought about his hands on her, guiding her to a blinding light of pleasure. She had never been embraced in such a hedonistic, yet tenderly amatory way, in her lifetime. He was practiced in his persuasive dynamics, but he treated her like she was the only woman alive that could bring rhapsody to his aching frenzy. That she was his to keep and place inside that little curio box he kept tucked away for his own bliss.

Two of his fingers dipped down into her gaping hole and a lilt of an impassioned wail came undone from her throat. She had tears in her eyes from all the sensations she felt. Tav thought for years that a man would never caress her again, that she couldn’t bear to let another physically have admission to the spectrums of her ecstasy. But, Astarion roused a blistering zeal she had been petrified was completely emptied out of her from her last relationship.

He easily entered her, rocking her back and forth on his digits. “I can’t believe how your cunt drips for me, lover.”

He gave her no breadth of room to steady her breathing as his long fingers firmly thrusted into her canal. The vamp crooked them into that spongy spot within her and she perilously concentrated to keep her lips open wide for him. The songstress’s pitch, once mere murmurs of dew drops falling from leaves into the soft earth, became lewd church bells of lamenting convictions sobbing his name.

“As-Astarion! Astarion. Ahhhhh. Oooo.”

Deftly does he move his hand from her breast to her mouth. He placed his index and middle fingers in front of her crying lips, coaxing it to open. A long exerted sigh of warmed air left her lungs as she readily—so hastily—accepted his agile instruments into her wet orifice. Tav greedily slid her tongue between his fingers, offering the loveliest of sucklings to them as a succubus’s groan filled her mouth. The holy water of her saliva could not keep him out.

Her body turned pliable when he nibbled near the point of her ear, flicking her earring with his tongue. She sighed around the intrusions in between her lips, finding herself grinding her backside along his hard cock. He stilled her with a thumb pressing along her aroused clit.

Astarion alternated between gentle languorous pumps into her drenched slit and rubbing her sensitive bundle of nerves. He softly stroked from the middle of her vagina up to her unhooded clit, applying slow thrums of taps when she whimpered for him to keep going. Then, he slid his fingers in the shape of a ‘V’ down her inner labia lips slowly until he reached the entrance of her sex, encircling it gently.

The further he prepped her for climax, the more her spit coated his fingers and dribbled down her chin in an immodest show of her starved paradise. The woman within his arms begged for release with her body the more she sacrificed herself to him.

There was a howling wind knocking at his tent and cicadas drowning out their debauched acts. Astarion was washing her ashore with his fingers moving like honey exploring her insides. Her pearl was his to enrapture and he was massaging it so sweet.

“I’m close,” the songbird whispered into the dimly lit space of their sins.

“Sing for me,” he keened.

Then, his fangs were biting into the ripe juncture of her neck and he was drinking her like a carafe of water. The blood was flowing in a deluge of puddles into his mouth, ribbons of merlot streaming from the wound. And the noises he made as if she belonged to only him, sent a twinge of secretions to her nether regions she didn’t realize she could still create.

He lifted up from his supper long enough to tell her to cum for him and she did. She begged and screamed around his fingers in muffled phrases of “I want you inside me” and “ oh my gods, Astarion.” Waves washed over her body in a rite of passage ceremony, contracting around his willowy fingers as they slowed their propels.

As the quakes started to subside, Tav removed saliva soaked fingers from her mouth and tugged on his silvery curls, ripping his face towards her from his drink. Her half-lidded pools of blue bore into the crimson of his eyes. The smells of her vitality and sexual energy were heavy in the air, a luring mixture of creeds continually inviting him in. She stared at the bloody nectar flowing down his chin—the smears stained across his mouth—and crushed her lips against his.

The vampire spawn moaned into her mouth, then pulled back from the kiss. He pulled out his fingers from her quivering heat and cupped her cheek, her musky elixir permeating her skin. His eyes foraged hers, moving back and forth, as if he were seeking spiritual redemption. And she waited. She waited for him to discover one of the unspoken truths she could not explain.

Finally, he kissed her back with salty musk and rich caramel taste thick on his tongue as he stuck part of it in her mouth. Then, there was a frantic impulse where they were placing open-mouthed kisses on each other's hands, necks, and faces. Tav turned around, her breasts still unsheltered and her juices leaking down her thighs, as Astarion wrapped his arms around her back pulling her into him. She threw her arms around his neck, insatiably needing to cover herself with the scent from his body.

Struggling to breathe, she reached down to tear his billowy shirt from his pants. “I want to make you feel good too.”

But, he grabbed her calloused hands and pressed the back of them to his blood-stained lips with soothing pecks. “Not tonight, my dear. You have done more than enough.”

Tav retreated from him with a concerned smile, sitting back on her knees. The spell is now broken and self-consciousness festered within the small space. Something felt—off.

He reached for a few of the clean rags he kept and aided her in after care. With composure, he wiped her wetness away, then grinned impishly as he cleaned her lips and mouth of her red nectar. Delicately, he pulled her chemise back up over her chest, giving a final rub to her exposed shoulders.

There was a mournful dance behind his eyes and she wanted to lead him from his demons to lay his head in the cathedral of her lap. What’s wrong? she wanted to sing, stepping on airy tiptoes. Her thoughts were oscillating as her heart panged in an act of guilt and a bloom of feelings she wanted to extinguish. What they just did, meant something to her, but she wasn’t sure it did to him.

By the hells, she wanted to tell him that he made her feel wanted. That she never thought touch could feel like deliverance. That he was wanted too. And she would follow him through his odyssey of entrails because she cared about him with the passing second. But, it’s a conversation she didn’t know how to have.

“I should probably head back to my tent before anyone becomes too nosey,” Tav laughed anxiously.

Astarion simpered silently, opening the tent flap.

She smoothed down her locks, heading for the exit, forbidding herself to look back at him.

”Tav?”

Briefly, she glanced over her shoulder, afraid she had been used and was now being rejected. "Hmm?"

“To answer your question earlier about how your blood tastes—” he moved awkwardly, a fleeting expression of contemplation present.

“Yes?”

“You taste like ambrosial blackberries and…a ballad of home.”

[hell-sam]

Sorry I made this meme for my other blog and wanted to reblog it here for musing purposes but my Ritalin kicked in after 3 days of not taking it so I started rambling in the tags and I no longer want to keep it in the tags so buckle up:

Nick has more aura than all of them (Rivaled by Ethan and honestly Seb too (I know jack about Alan Wake so don't kill me)) just because he won't let morals stop him. I know he found pleasure in violence and liked it to a degree (Can't pretend he wasn't tormented by his actions) so it's not like the journey to get the killer's identity 100% torment (Tho it kinda was at the same time. Killing people and getting some physical venting and relief won't undo the mental trauma and torment from having 0 answers 0 justice and utter loneliness and despair), but let's be honest even if he hated killing and violence he'd do it for his family and Lucifer.

He showed restraint when he could (even at times where I personally wouldn't have) but it was clear that for his family he wouldn't stop at anything. The Winchesters did nothing to help him, no one could really bear to look at him, no one even tried to find some sort of answers for him when we know that if it was one of them, they would leave no stone unturned to figure out the details and get the demon responsible. Nick was a song bird possessed by a horned owl, picked up by some humans who bandaged up one of its wings and just left it by the window to fly back into the wild.

Castiel should've seen the signs. He even said that Lucifer inflicted more damage on his psyche than they thought, and what did he do with it? He saw Nick get progressively more and more agitated and anxious and he even asked him "And then what?" when Nick said he'd find the killer of his family. Nick didn't reply, he simply left, which, Castiel might come across as dense sometimes but he spent a lot of time up with the Winchesters and their friends at this point he should know very well where it would lead especially when it comes to someone who has SATAN RESIDUE ON HIS SOUL!

None of them had the right to act surprised when this hurting person turned out the way he did. Did they really just expect him to go back to Delaware where his family got butchered and try to live as a human again? No one lifted a single finger to help him so he pursued his own justice, a journey for answers and at least an attempt at closure. We know he suffered the loss of his individuality and sense of identity, but the fact that a normal human with not an ounce of magic or previous hunting knowledge ended up using mere MEMORIES of Lucifer's previous knowledge, interactions, and tricks to start tracking down and investigating his own case is insane. He travelled across the states, he stole vehicles, tracked people down, managed to fend for himself while wearing the devil's most-known face, hide his crimes well enough to avoid the police, hunted down and captured demons and then raised a semi-cult -

Every protagonist in the images above went to hostile and dangerous places full to the brim with monsters and creatures that wanted nothing more than to rip them to shreds all for answers and their families which is still extremely gigachad of them, but there's something entirely otherworldly about a man who will discard his moral compass just to see things through. Could Nick try to ask for help from the Winchesters? Could Nick find a perhaps longer route, but less gruesome and immoral? Could Nick try to learn how to cope with the loss and let the past go? Maybe, yeah. And honestly some of those would probably be the right choice, but there's nothing better than what we got because of two reasons:

We got to see a glimpse into what it would likely be like if Sam and Dean wouldn't have each other. I know I know, they wouldn't ever sink THAT low or go THAT far since we already saw both of them die and how the other brother was left to cope and move on or fight for the dead one. But entertain the idea where they'd be in Nick's shoes. OH WAIT THAT HAPPENED! WITH FUCKING JOHN FUUUUCKING WINCHESTER. WOMP WOMP!

We got a character that didn't allow anything like "Sara and Teddy wouldn't have wanted this" or "There has to be another way, this isn't right" to stop him. We got a guy who ended up being an unstable mix of a villain that shows anti-hero tendencies/potential. Someone who put his family above all. Above others, above himself, above anything that would stop or even slow down his ability to wipe off anything that associated with their harm.

tl;dr Nick has insane aura because he's objectively the perfect husband. Yes I know he put Lucifer above his wife's ghost and doomed her so in an extreme and literal technicality he didn't put "everything" above his family but if I start rambling about THIS topic we'll be here for way way longer and this is already unhinged as is.

Inexperienced lonely singular abandoned human man VS. the world except he gets progressively more and more twisted and sadistic just to find peace and free the ghosts of his pasts is LEAGUES better than any protagonist that hesitates hurting an innocent person just to save his family. Insta-marry this is someone I'd want on my side.

[peachyyykid]

Deceivers Ch. 11 - Revenge

Word Count: 4089

Chapter 10 - Parting

Chapter 12 - Daytrip (nsfw)

Disclaimer! tw: y/n is having a panic attack

As someone who experienced panic attacks before, I realised that writing one invested me a lot emotionally. If a detailed description of a panic attack triggers you, you might want to skip that part. Also, everyone experiences them differently and coping mechanism differ as well. Just remember that all of these experiences are valid and that you are loved! :)

---

"Kid!"

You didn't question the urge to run into his arms, but you didn't expect him to catch you either. But he did, and as his non-metallic arm pulled you into his chest, you felt something you hadn't felt in a very long time: safety.

You clawed at his fur coat, muffling your sobs with the soft fabric.

"What did he do to you?", he whispered into your ear lowly, while his angry eyes never left Deku, who was scrambling around on the floor with his trousers undone.

"G-get off my ship, p-pirate scum", he stuttered, visibly scared of the huge pirate that just sent his door flying.

"I will", Kid snarled at him, "but you're joining us."

And with that he extended his metal arm by adding more and more random metal, grabbing Deku's throat. He tried to get away, but to no avail. Kid strengthened his grip and he let out a gargling sound, kicking his legs in the air.

The redhead spun Deku around and hurled him right through the empty doorframe towards his ship. Killer was waiting on the other side and knew exactly what to do. He caught the flying man (who was looking awfully pale) and slammed him down on the deck. You heard a faint scream in the distance, right after Deku's body hit the ship.

After making sure that Deku couldn't run away, Kid looked down at you, wiping away your tears with his rough fingers. He had let go of all the metal, but his eyes were still angry as he took in as much of your face as possible.

"Tell me what happened", he whispered in a commanding tone, and you sniffled before you spoke.

"W-we fought, and he said awful things to me, and then he tried to rape me and he... he had my parents killed. K-kid, he's responsible for all this. He killed my parents!"

You started sobbing desperately again and your knees felt weak. They gave in and you sunk towards the floor, but Kid picked you up. He pressed your trembling body against his and held you safely while he jumped aboard his own ship, the cold air cooling your tear-stained face.

Deku was trembling as well, but for different reasons. Killer was towering over him with his arms crossed and the rest of the crew was shooting him intense, blood-lusting glares. No one in this world would want to swap with him.

Kid landed and gently placed you on the deck. You slumped down to your knees immediately, staring into the distance with blurry eyes. The sun was setting already, painting the sky in beautiful red and orange hues. It would have been a wonderful start into a new life, but Deku took all that from you. Your body felt weak and lifeless, your arms hanging down your sides.

Kid kneeled down in front of your trembling frame and looked at Deku, who was sitting a few metres away from you. He was whimpering pathetically, looking for a possibility to flee, as if Killer would let him.

"Wire, take some men and ransack the ship. Then sink it", Kid commanded.

"Roger, Captain", Wire's calm voice answered, and he and most of the guys entered Deku's ship.

Then his face turned back to you. He gingerly took your jaw in his big hand and brushed your cheek with his thumb, just like he did in that one night.

"Look at me", his rough voice told you, and you obeyed.

Seeing your puffy eyes and your tear-stained face awakened something deep inside of him, and he wanted to destroy whatever was causing you this kind of pain. You looked at him like he was the only one who could make it all better, and he understood, his face absolutely serious.

"Angel. I want to hear it from you."

His amber eyes bored into yours. They were full of rage, but not because of you.

"Do you want me to kill him?"

Killing was wrong. No matter what kinds of horrible things someone had done, killing wasn't the answer. That's what a previous version of you would have said. But looking at Deku, you only saw a monster. A deceiving monster that had dared to take your life into his hands. You wanted to hurt him like he hurt you, he didn't deserve forgiveness.

Kid knew exactly that you couldn't do it yourself, so he had asked you if you wanted him to do it for you. And you really wanted it. There was not even a hint of compassion that you could spare for this man.

You looked at him, his eyes were pleading with you. Kid had asked you to make a decision. You could easily show mercy and say no. Deku mumbled apologies directed at you, rambling about how he shouldn't have overreacted and that he would treat you well as a mistress.

With empty eyes and the calmest expression on your face, you took in the satisfying sight of Deku shaking with fear.

"Yes."

It was merely a whisper, but everyone on the ship was silent. The only sound to be heard was Deku's pathetic whimpering. You didn't take your eyes off him, not even when Kid stood up slowly, revealing his full height again. The setting sun stretched his shadow, and it swallowed Deku's body whole.

Kid slipped off his coat and put it over your sunken shoulders without saying a word.

His shadow was coming closer to Deku with every heavy step he took, and he anxiously scrambled away from him, only to bump into Killer's legs. He was cornered between the two men, and he yelped in fear when Kid took the shiny knife out of his bandolier.

The knife fell, and Deku probably thought that Kid had dropped it by accident, because his eyes widened, and he opened his mouth when the knife didn't hit the ground. It hovered under his chin instead, the blade forcing him to look up at Kid.

"W-what kind of magic is that?", Deku screeched.

"It's a devil's fruit you moron", Killer mumbled and shook his head in dismay.

"I'm just making sure that you know who's the boss around here", Kid growled and pushed the blade a little further into Deku's skin, drawing a thin line of blood.

"I really wonder what she saw in you", he scoffed.

"P-please I will do anything... y-you can have the 15 million b-berry! You can have e-everything, just let me live!", Deku pleaded, trying to grab Kid's trousers. He looked up at him with doe eyes, in a futile attempt to gain his pity.

Kid bared his teeth and kicked off Deku's hands as if his futility was contagious, while an array of swords gathered behind his tall figure. They hovered in the air, framing Kid to make him look even more dangerous.

"You're not even worth listening to. Just by looking at your stupid face I can feel the wretchedness trying to rub off on me", Kid growled.

His signature smirk was back, and with a flick of his hand, all the sword's blades turned towards Deku. They made a clunking sound that filled the silent air and seeing their reflection in your glassy eyes gave Kid the final push.

With another flick of his hand, each and every of the swords sped towards Deku's trembling body, swallowing his cries for mercy.

He screamed in pain and desperately tried to protect his body, but there were just too many blades impaling him. They pinned him to the ground in an upright position, covering him in his own blood. His breathing became more and more shallow, and he looked at you with pain-filled eyes.

You watched the sight like in a trance. You felt inner peace for a split second, but then

nothing.

Nothing at all. It was gruesome to look at, but it didn't bother you the slightest.

With wheezing breaths, Deku's life ended in front of your eyes and your face didn't show any signs of remorse.

"Feed him to the fish", Kid growled and then blocked the space between you and Deku's body so you couldn't see him anymore.

You snapped out of your trance and realised what had just happened. It was good that you didn't see your ex-fiancé's dead body anymore because your stone-cold facade might have faltered.

Kid kneeled down in front of you again and you finally looked at his face. His frown was back, but his eyes were almost too soft for someone who just murdered a man without hesitation.

"Thank you", you mumbled flatly, but he didn't say anything.

"I'm going to take a bath", you added instead, sounding absent. Your body was there, but you felt like your soul was just hovering over it. The bath didn't actually matter, you just wanted to get away.

You tried to get up, but your legs were still too shaky. Kid was watching you for a few seconds, huffing at the fact that you couldn't take even a single step without tumbling over.

Suddenly, Kid flung you over his shoulders without a warning, ignoring your shriek.

He just scoffed and carried you to the cabin's bathroom, placing you in the empty bathtub. You raised an eyebrow at him when he sat down on the toilet, making no move to leave the room.

"I'm really thankful that you took revenge on my fiancé for me, but that doesn't mean you can watch me bath... naked...", you said quietly.

"There's no fiancé anymore. You're single and I saw your tits already", he smirked.

Although you couldn't deny that, it wasn't the best time to point it out and no excuse to creep on you in the bath.

"That's not the point."

"Then leave on your underwear, but I'm talking to you right here and now", he demanded with a growl, and you were too worn out to discuss and you knew that he wasn't really the patient type anyways.

Your gut didn't give you any warning signals either, so you just rolled your eyes and slipped of your shirt, shoes, and socks. The bra that Charlos had given you didn't cover anything and didn't give you any hold, so you had gotten rid of it immediately. Once your training had started, you made your own bra out of bandages from the infirmary, so this was what you were wearing at the moment.

Not ideal, but better than being naked.

You let the water run into the bathtub under Kid's watchful eyes, and when it was half full and after you put a nice foamy soap into it, you realised that you could have taken a bath later, after Kid was done talking to you. But it was too late for that now.

You watched the foam floating around on the surface for a second, thinking about the events of today with a frown.

"Where do you think you're going next?"

His question caught you of guard and you blinked some tears away that you couldn't really prevent from building up.

"I don't know. I need to see my brother."

What happened with Deku today absolutely destroyed your chance to be reunited with Tenmon and it became painfully clear to you right now.

"And where do you think you're staying until you find him?"

"I don't know", you said again.

He was quiet for a second and then displayed his signature smirk.

"If I promise you to help you find your brother, you will stay on the Victoria Punk as our doctor."

You shot him a sudden look and raised an eyebrow. Why did he offer you so much help out of the blue? Suspicion rose in you, and you narrowed your eyes.

He just scoffed in response.

"That's it, sweetheart. There's no catch. I will protect you until you find him, and you'll protect my crew in return."

You thought about his offer. If there was no catch, you could only win. And you had to be honest with yourself, there was no way you would even last a day in the New World on your own.

He held out his hand and you looked at it before you slowly put yours in his. Your hand was tiny compared to his, and you studied all the calluses and the roughness on them. It was obvious that he had worked hard with these hands, and it just added to the fascination that you already felt for him.

Suddenly, as soon as his hand enclosed yours, he pulled you towards him harshly. The water splashed against the edges of the tub and Kid's grip was strong around your hand. You let out a startled yelp and to your dismay, you felt your face redden.

His face was so close to yours now. It had become a familiar feeling to you, just like the smell of expensive rum, mint, and metal. He licked his lips and pulled you even closer. Your tits were pressed against his hard chest, and he placed his mouth next to your ear.

"We're gonna be a great team", he purred into your ear lowly, his breath tickling your neck.

You prayed that he didn't see that you had goosebumps all over your body. Your face felt so hot that you were sure you looked like a tomato and a tingling feeling spread from your chest to your stomach, to your crotch, and even into your thighs.

What the fuck is that?

Who were you kidding, you weren't stupid and not as innocent as Deku and your parents had wanted you to be. Just because you never experienced lust, didn't mean you wouldn't recognise the feeling if it ever came. You were sure that this was it, but why today and why with Kid?

He leaned back and your heart told you to pull him back, but the rational part of your brain interfered, so you just sat in the tub dumbfounded.

His smirk didn't falter, and something told you that he knew what an effect he just had on you. How embarrassing, you thought and slowly turned around, facing the wall.

He chuckled and finally left the room, and once the door was closed you took of the makeshift bra and let yourself slip under the water surface, mentally cursing yourself and Kid until you had to come up for air.

You stayed in the bathtub for as long as you could justify, to avoid Kid. You hoped that he was either not in his room, or already fast asleep. You dried yourself extra slowly and scolded yourself for not having asked Killer for another shirt.

You tried to put on the white button-down but as soon as the material touched your skin you had memories of Deku leaning over you and pinning you down flashing through your mind. You shuddered and bile rose up in your throat.

You looked at the shirt and felt new anger and sorrow in your heart. With gritted teeth and a frown, you pulled on the sleeves as hard as you could and ripped the shirts to shreds. Seeing the heap of white cotton pieces gave you a small feeling of victory. You couldn't let a dead Deku control you like that.

After putting the bandages around your chest again, you took a deep breath and slowly opened the door to the bedroom.

Kid's back was turned towards the room, and he was breathing steadily, probably meaning that he was sleeping. As quiet as possible, you made your way to his desk. There must have been a place where he stored his clothes, but the desk was really the only option in this room. Actually, thinking about it, you had never seen him with a shirt on.

You carefully pulled out one of the bigger drawers and to your surprise, you saw a few neatly folded shirts in there. All black.

I bet Killer folded these...

You grabbed the first one and couldn't resist taking it up to your face. It smelled as you expected: Fresh laundry and metal. It smelled comfortable.

You shook your head rapidly and slipped the shirt over your head. You looked absolutely lost in it, but it would do for sleeping.

On tiptoes, you neared the bed and slipped under the covers. You didn't feel the need to roll one of the blankets into a sausage anymore, and you looked at the ceiling wondering why. So many thoughts were ghosting around in your head...

Why do I trust him all of a sudden?

Just because he killed someone who did me wrong?

He didn't just do me wrong though, he literally had my parents killed.

But still, why would Kid kill him? There's no personal gain for him.

Why is he so keen on helping me lately?

What's in it for him?

Does he still hate me? He's still complicated, but it feels different.

He could have done unspeakable things to me the last week, but he didn't.

Don't even get me started on the other night... or today.

How he touched me. Like I'm precious.

I haven't felt precious in such a long time.

And why do I get butterflies when he touches me?

Why the fuck did I feel lust when he touched me tonight?

Oh my God, what on earth is wrong with me?

Your eyes widened almost comically when another thought hit you.

Do I like him?

You covered your face with your hands and tried not to scream into the quiet room. You gave yourself a small slap, but you couldn't deny that Kid was... interesting. He definitely was, but that didn't mean that you liked him.

Yes. Yes, that's the point. He's interesting, but that's it. It's just a very stressful time I'm going through. Of course I would feel fascinated by someone like him.

You sighed in content. You found an explanation that was fitting your narrative.

The mattress shifted abruptly, and your heart jumped, thinking that Kid was awake. But he had just turned around and his face seemed peaceful, the kind of peaceful look that one could only have while sleeping.

You couldn't turn your face away without studying his. You took in the sight of his sharp features and his fluffy, red hair. It fell on his forehead because it wasn't held up by his goggles, making him look a little younger. It was refreshing to see him without his furrowed brows.

You couldn't resist the urge to take a strand of his hair into your hand. You never touched it before, and it was just as soft as it looked.

It was also the first time that you could look at him without him noticing. There was no smirk, no angry eyes or frown.

He didn't look like a pirate anymore, just like a young man. He almost looked vulnerable, and you realised that he must have seen a lot. You wondered about his motivations to become a pirate and if all the things he had experienced left marks on him, inside and outside.

Like you said, he was fascinating.

You watched him breathing calmly, the blanket raising and lowering in a steady pace. It hit you like a brick.

"You saved me so many times", you whispered so quietly that he couldn't wake up from it.

You were right when you thought that killing Deku had no personal gain for him. He could have taken his ship and his belongings anyways, but he made sure that you decided Deku's fate and then acted accordingly.

It was a twisted sense of justice, but you had to admit that you didn't care.

It had been another hard day that left you absolutely drained. The knowledge about the circumstances of your parent's death scooched in between the thoughts about Kid and became prevalent.

You never got to say goodbye and they died without knowing what had happened to you. They never got the chance to see Deku's real face. You regretted not telling them about the conversation in the garden back then, maybe everything would be okay right now. Deku's words were ringing in your ears.

You chose to disrespect me that night, so I made you pay.

Yes, your parents wouldn't have backed out of the marriage deal. Deku had them wrapped around his fingers. He had buttered them up completely to make sure that anything you would say about him would fall on deaf ears.

You tried to steady your breathing when you felt hot tears forming in the corners of your eyes. The insufferable feeling of guilt washed over your whole body. Throughout your childhood you had learned how to speak to a future husband, and if you hadn't decided to throw all that courtesy stuff overboard at some point, your parents would still be alive. Of course, your life with Deku would have been horrible, but at least your family could have been happy.

Screw you for becoming your own person with your own wishes and morals.

Deep down you knew that it wasn't your fault, but the guilt felt so strong. It was crushing you, causing you to question every decision you ever made.

Suddenly, your heartbeat was picking up. It happened so rapidly that you were scared it would rip your chest open, so you clutched at your shirt and pressed your hand down. But feeling your speeding heartbeat like this made it even worse. It made your chest hurt like someone had punched you. It tightened and it was becoming gradually harder to breathe, a lump of suppressed tears forming in your throat. Your body felt hot, and you couldn't move, only shake. Your eyes darted around frantically and breathing felt more like choking. You wanted to get up, get fresh air or a glass of water to calm you down, but you were losing control over your body. Wheezing breaths mixed with the sound of quiet sobbing, while your vision blurred. Every cell in your body was screaming for help. You tried to get at least some air into your lungs, but it felt like they had shrivelled up.

You weren't in the right headspace to think anything of Kid opening his eyes suddenly, now looking at your shaking body while you still fought for air, your sobbing and whimpering filling the room. He let out a low growl and moved his hand towards you.

You tensed up immediately but surprisingly, his touch didn't scare you at all. As soon as he saw that you didn't flinch, he grabbed the small of your back and pulled you into his chest, enclosing your trembling body with both of his arms.

"Breathe with me", was all he said.

Your chest was flush against his and you could feel how he inhaled and exhaled slowly, in a steady pace. His heartbeat was calm, and you tried to concentrate on his breathing, mentally counting the intervals between each breath.

After a few more ragged breaths, your heartbeat synchronised with his and you followed his breathing pattern. You were still shaking a little, but the scariest part was overcome. Soon, the sobbing died down as well.

With each inhale and exhale you got calmer, and soon you felt like you were in control of your own body again. Hesitantly, you wrapped your arms around Kid's body as a silent thank you.

He stiffened but didn't push you away. He expected you to let go at some point, but you didn't. You didn't want to. You experienced the same feeling as earlier this evening when he held you after saving you from Deku. It was a comfortable feeling of absolute safety, like nothing in this world could do you any harm.

You wanted more of this feeling, so you kicked off your blanket and went under his instead, entangling your legs with his. He let out a breath he had been holding and snuck his other arm around your head to place his hand on it, brushing your hair with his thumb.

There was no empty space between the two of you, but at this very moment this was exactly what you needed. You forgot about all the pain and guilt in his embrace and enjoyed the comfortable feeling of warmth and safety.

It didn't take him long to fall asleep again, and you followed soon after.

Memories of the last week rushed through your mind and you realised that being here wasn't all that bad.

[monstersdownthepath]

Monster Spotlight: Sayona

CR 12

Chaotic Evil Medium Undead

Bestiary 4, pg. 231

Often mistakenly called “Weeping Vampires” by people who do not know or care about the distinctions, Sayona arise spontaneously from the corpses of women whose vanity and pride led them to committing horrifying acts while they were alive. Unlike their lesser kin, the Baetriov, there’s no real way to turn one’s self into a Sayona on purpose, no real ritual or steps one can take. LIKE the Baetriov, though, they possess numerous vampiric strengths with none of the well-known weaknesses; even the Baetriov had Light Sensitivity, but Sayona aren’t impacted by the sun’s presence, nor are they repulsed by mirrors, garlic, or prayer. ... Well, not mechanically, anyway. If you held a mirror up to one of these creatures in their natural form, they would probably hate you immensely.

Sayona also require far more blood than both vampires and Baetriov combined. They must deal at least 1 point of Con damage to a living creature every single day they wish to maintain their Living Forms, which doesn’t SOUND like a lot, but much like how a weasel or shrew is uncaring how many insects and rodents must die for their appetites, the Sayona aren’t especially patient or willing to just take a bit of blood from a willing victim every day and let them go about their business. Twisted in death by envy, they don’t just want themselves to be beautiful, they want other people to not be, capturing and torturing victims over days to harvest their blood and even going so far as to skin young women who catch their attention and gruesomely wear their flesh to impersonate them for a time. The blood they drain must also be fresh, no storing it away, which combined with their malice mean Sayona tend to go through a lot of victims in a very short time.

Most victims of a Sayona’s attention, captured suddenly when the horrors swath themselves in their Invisibility or creep into their homes with a 3/day Gaseous Form, simply die from the torment, but the vain undead can freely Create Spawn as they need. Anyone slain through exanguination becomes a Ghoul under the Weeping Vampire’s complete control, and these poor souls are often sent out into the world to gather yet more victims, get used as playthings for the undead’s cruel sadism, are used as soldiers to defend them, or all three. Even free-willed undead can fall under the thrall of a Sayona, as they can use Command Undead 3/day to make other zombies, ghouls, and ghosts bend their knee. When out of their Living Forms, the Weeping Vampires can often be found among their congregation of undead thralls, miming the lives they once had among poor souls that have no choice but to adore them until they find and drain a victim and can walk once more among the living.

While IN their Living Forms, Sayona resemble beautiful young versions of who they used to be. Their Fast Healing 5 becomes Fast Healing 10, they read as living creatures to all forms of detection, and they only sustain half as much damage from positive energy effects... But exposure to holy water or positive energy shortens just how long their Living Form remains in place. They can maintain it 24 hours per victim, but each dose of holy water or misplaced healing spell shaves 1d4 hours. Unlike the Baetriov, this makes them much easier to unmask in front of an audience; Sayona tend to mingle with society only long enough to bask in adoration before claiming another victim or four and disappearing, but in that brief window, splashing one with holy water or giving them a friendly Cure Light Wounds could unveil them before the population they sought to slaughter.

Then again, while it may be much easier to explain why you’re killing an Undead monster, it’s a lot harder to fight a Sayona who’s shed her mortal disguise. A Sayona in her Living Form cannot use either her Staggering Gaze or Cone of Fear ability, both requiring a DC 23 save (Fort and Will, respective) to avoid being afflicted by. The sight of a Sayona is so repulsive that lesser beings instinctively flee from them, and the hatred of her gaze causes a nigh-permanent stagger (1d4 rounds per affliction but you have to succeed the save every round she’s looking SO--) so long as it’s leveled on the victim. Once forced out of her disguise, she can freely use both of these powers as often as she wants, combined with her horrifying melee abilities.

The CCB of a Sayona doesn’t seem too impressive, each claw and bite dealing only 2d6+1 damage, but each strike also inflicts 1d6 bleed damage, which they take advantage of via Absorb Blood. Any bleeding creature that begins their turn adjacent to the Sayona has their blood pulled from their wounds and onto the horror’s skin, where it’s rapidly absorbed, dealing 1 Con damage to the victim and allowing the undead to assume its Living Form of it wishes. However, this isn’t the primary danger of their natural attacks: much like the ghouls they create, they can paralyze victims who fail even a single DC 23 Fortitude save when struck by their CCB. The paralysis lasts 1d4 rounds but is renewed with every strike, and with the power to paralyze up to three targets in a single full-attack, Sayona can end battles very, very quickly, either coup de gracing stunned victims right away or repulsively embracing their target and drinking their blood out of them through their skin, dealing 1d4+1 Con damage per round of contact.

Even if someone manages to avoid being paralyzed, Sayona can build harems of the living by using their 3/day Dominate Person, which can include members of your own party if you go in without protection against mental invasion. Sayona are able to use their spell-likes even while disguised, allowing them to turn innocent civilians into their thralls while they slip away with their 3/day Invisibility and/or Gaseous Form. Thankfully, a properly prepared party who’s taken steps to protect themselves from the Domination and the paralysis shouldn’t have too much trouble, as Sayona utterly lack defensive abilities (aside from 30 Cold Resistance) and no ability to suddenly escape battle... unless they can cover their retreat with Fog Cloud into Invisibility, but so driven by hatred and envy, it’s unlikely a Sayona would ever think to retreat when the option of killing everyone in the room with it is available.

You can read more about them here.

[chyanxrene]

One More Drink

♡ Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Y/N

♡ Summary: Y/N and Draco have a one night stand, however things are not as straightforward as they seem (I’m not sure how to describe this one)

♡ Warnings: Pure smut, female receiving (anything else let me know)

Working as a healer was Y/N's dream ever since she studied at Hogwarts. The countless hours she put into her studying did not go unnoticed. So when she left Hogwarts two years ago she was immediately offered a high position in St. Mungo's.

Her efforts in the war were appreciated by many. She wasn't fully trained, nor did she know what she was doing when she was presented with injured wizards. But she tried, her ambition, the way she tried her hardest to not let a single soul die beneath her touch was admired by almost everyone.

So for the past two years, every Friday at 8PM. After she had finished her evening shift, she headed down to her local bar. Although she was a strong individual, her mind was haunted by the blood, the injuries, and it only followed her when she went to work.

So Friday was her day, her day to drown out the horrific images, her day to let loose, because she deserved it.

She liked being alone, she enjoyed her own company. The war changed everyone, she barely spoke with her friends from Hogwarts. They all lived their own lives, the thought of them only forced her to remember everything that had happened.

So here she was, alone in her local bar. It was her second drink of the night, the alcohol yet to mix into her blood. This week had been long, gruesome and tiring, she wanted something stronger. Something to provide her with temporary amnesia.

She flicked her hand up, signalling the bartender over. This bartender was new, he was young, slightly shaky. She was sure he was overwhelmed with the amount of people in the bar.

He sent her a weak smile, sweat dripping off the tip of his nose. He rubbed it off with his forearm and immediately had apologetic eyes, Y/N couldn't help but feel sorry for him.

"I'll have another Martini please" Y/N smiled, she bit the olive off the toothpick and shoved it back into her glass.

"Right away" the bartender rushed, he was sloppy with his work. Loud men, flirty women all called him in unison, wanting his attention. Craving their own taste of poison.

Y/N looked around from her bar stool, the place was rammed. There were no empty chairs, no spare tables, bodies were everywhere. This only heated up the small bar, Y/N pushed her jacket down, settling it on her lap as she waited for her drink.

She fiddled with her fingers, she would enjoy some company right now. Perhaps she should start bringing her friends, or find a lover.

She shook her head at the thoughts, men were too complicated. She didn't have time for them, besides, she was picky when it came to the opposite sex.

After a few moments her drink arrived in front of her, except there were no olives. She thought to complain, but the poor boy was already under pressure. She didn't want to add any more, she swung the drink back effortlessly.

This was the drink that done it, the gin burned her throat, she could feel the alcohol swim through her veins. Her stomach fluttered, even though her jacket had come off, she had heated up again.

Y/N went to request another drink, but something else had been placed in front of her.

Brown liquid gold in a shot glass— fire whiskey. She smirked to herself, every Friday an unknown admirer purchased her a single shot of fire whiskey.

Was she really hot, or did she just want to take off her jacket so her admirer could see her bare skin. Y/N didn't know, some parts of her wanted to find out who it was. Other parts of her wanted to keep on playing their little game.

It must've been someone from Hogwarts— in the Muggle world they done shots of Vodka, tequila even rum— never fire whiskey.

She held the drink to her lips, pressing them on the rim. Her nostrils burned, smelling the strong smell of the alcohol. She counted to three before swallowing the contents of the shot glass.

Her mind was full of memories in Hogwarts, the times that her and her friends would sneak fire whiskey into a party. Drinking after exams, before quidditch games and after, any excuse for a good time— fire whiskey was there.

Her heart warmed, that's it, she had to know who was sending her these drinks, every Friday for two years straight— she had to know.

Whoever it was, they were smart. Friday was always the busiest day, so no matter how hard Y/N tried to look for the unknown person, her mind was always cloudy by that time. So she would give up, plus the bartender would never tell her who it was.

A light bulb went off in her head, she then realised— this was a new bartender.

She called him over, he ran to her. His face was red, he looked like he was on the verge of passing out.

"Who sent this drink?" She asked, her voice was laced with excitement.

"I— I don't know."

"You must know— he obviously told you— what did he look like?"

"Oh— yes right— white hair— he's tall, wearing all black."

"Thank you" Y/N smiled, she rose from her chair. She was going to find him, whoever it was.

She checked, table after table, there was no sign of this white haired man. She almost gave up, wanting to return to her seat. She internally screamed seeing it was now occupied.

She spun around ready to head to the exit, her face then collided with a hard chest.

"Looking for me?" The male spoke.

Y/N frowned, she pushed back, raising her head. She had seen him before, she knew who he was but she couldn't pin point where she knew him from.

God he was beautiful, his face was carved sharply, his eyes a stormy grey colour. He was powerful, just by his stance, his skin was clean, like porcelain, there wasn't a scratch on it.

"I— uh-"

"Would you like to sit down? You're welcome to sit on my table" he spoke again, his voice was deep, it almost went straight to Y/N's core.

She couldn't speak, she was in awe at this beautiful man.

"If I'd had known that you were going to react like this then I would've made myself known sooner" he chuckled.

His hand wrapped around her wrist, his cold fingertips snapped her out of the trance. Before she knew what he was doing, he dragged her back to his table. It was in the corner, dim lit, her eyes went to where the bar was, she realised he had a clear view of her.

He was watching her all this time.

"I— do I know you?" She asked, her eyes met his, she was intimidated by his strong gaze.

"I don't know, do you?" He responded, picking up his drink and raising it to his lips.

"You look familiar" Y/N mumbled, watching him, his pink tongue fell out and licked the rim of his glass before he sipped on the contents.

Her breath hitched in her throat, he knew that, he had been watching her for so long.

He set his glass down and turned his body so that their knees were touching, "we went to school together."

"Hogwarts?" Y/N frowned.

He hummed, conjuring more fire whiskey from the tip of his wand. Y/N looked around to see if anyone had watched but luckily no one did.

Then she realised who he was, the annoying, pompous asshole that got underneath everyone's skin.

"Malfoy" she grimaced.

"Huh, you were eye fucking me less than two minutes ago— now you're saying my name like you hate me Y/L/N."

"Piss off— I was not— you've just changed— that's all."

"In a good way I'm guessing" he smirked, his fingers tapped the table below him. She couldn't help but stare at his long fingers, decorated with silver expensive rings.

She let out a breath, the fire whiskey had clearly taken over her body and her mind, "very good."

Draco was taken aback by her response, she had always been bold. But after the war, everyone had lost their spark, it seemed she hadn't which only enticed him more.

"So, Malfoy, you've been watching me all this time, buying me drinks— what's the catch?" She laughed, she picked up his drink and sipped a little of it. Some escaped from the corner of her mouth, due to her rushing to swallow the drink.

His finger reached out, collecting the fallen liquid. He brushed it against her bottom lip, letting it sit there before he pushed his wet finger into his own mouth.

Y/N sat there with her mouth open, her thoughts ran wild. Imagining what Malfoy would be like in bed, he was an arrogant bastard, so he must have something to show for it.

She could faintly remember him in school, however all her memories of him were negative. Him bullying the golden Trio, treating girls like toys. She had despised him, she couldn't remember him in the war— or if he was even there.

"There's no catch" he said, bringing her back to reality.

"I find that hard to believe, there's always a catch with you Malfoy."

"Call me Draco— darling."

Y/N hadn't noticed that her thong had became wet, only when she shifted from leg to leg. She felt the cool breeze travel up her skirt and right onto her underwear. She unknowingly had a blush painted across her face, which Draco had noticed.

"Everything alright?" He whispered, he leaned closer to her, his strong scent overpowering her nostrils. His hand found her knee and rested it there, Y/N secretly hoped he would move his hand further.

"I— I'm fine, it's just hot in here" Y/N nervously laughed.

"You seem flustered Y/N" Draco said in a hushed tone, he leaned even closer to her, his breath now hot against her ear.

"I'm— I'm just hot Draco" she lifted his glass to her mouth, drinking slowly, trying to avoid his eyes.

"Mmm, are you wet too?"

Y/N choked on the drink, liquid flew out of her mouth landing on the table. She didn't expect him to come out with that, how did he know, was it that obvious?

Draco picked up a piece of tissue and dried the table, "I'll take that as a yes."

She was embarrassed, more than embarrassed. She wanted to run out of the bar and never return, but she couldn't. His pull was strong, that's what kept her there.

"No— I'm not."

"I think you're lying darling."

His hand had moved to her thigh, massaging it with his hand. Her skin quickly covered in goosebumps, he left a light kiss on her cheek and pried her thighs open as they were firmly shut from her crossing them.

Draco looked in her eyes to see if there was any sign of protest, but there wasn't, her eyes were full of lust and want.

"I think," Draco paused, his index finger drew circles up her inner thigh, edging closer and closer to her wet thong.

His mouth was brushing her ear, "you should let me, clean this little mess you made."

His finger dragged along the centre of her thong, an almost inaudible groan escaped past his pink lips. Y/N's hand grabbed onto his forearm, holding it in place.

She whimpered feeling his finger slip underneath her thong, he ran his finger up and down, collecting her arousal on his finger.

He stilled and looked at her, Draco had never seen a prettier sight. He was going to enjoy this thoroughly, "would you let me do that?"

Y/N had forgotten that he had asked a question, all she could focus on was his slender finger touching her ever so carefully.

"Hmm? Answer me love, would you like that— would you like me to clean this up?" He whispered, circling her clit slowly, his eyes stared into the side of her face. Waiting for an answer, he knew she was in a trance.

He removed his finger, hoping that would force her to answer his question.

Y/N's mouth ran dry, she couldn't remember the last time she had been touched like this. She wanted to say in Hogwarts but everything before the war was fuzzy to her.

"Yes" she managed to whisper.

He nodded, he downed his drink and leaned back into the chair. Y/N frowned, looking at him, she thought he was going to move out of the way so she could exit the booth.

But he just sat there, he ran his tongue over his teeth, smirking slightly whilst he watched her.

"Ladies first."

"But you're in the way."

"I'm a gentleman, ladies first Y/N" he said, his bottom lip was caught in between his teeth as he watched her scramble and collect her belongings.

She stood up, praying silently to herself, do not fall over him. He widened his legs and allowed her to step over one of them until she was standing in between his legs.

She almost fell but he caught her by her waist, she looked down at him. His eyes were already on hers, they are dark, he looked at her like she was his prey.

"Careful love," his eyes wandered down her body until they reached her ass. His tongue ran across his lips, moistening them before he moved his hand off her waist.

Y/N managed to climb out of the booth safely, without falling on him again. She threw her coat on and waited for him to stand up, he immediately towered over her.

His hand fell to the small of her back and guided her through the sweaty bodies. He didn't need to push anyone out of the way, his presence alone made people stand to the side.

Once they had reached the empty street he held out his hand for her to take. She knew where this was going, she always hated apparating but it was the fastest way to transport to places.

She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the wave of nausea run through her system. Apparating and alcohol were not a good pairing, she knew not to make this mistake again.

Finally back on two feet she waited for her body to regain its normal composure. She looked at her surroundings, a simple flat. It was modern but with dark accents to it, typical for a Slytherin she thought to herself.

The kitchen was attached to the lounge, a nice open space. Y/N wondered if he lived by himself. It was a large flat, the floor to floor windows overlooked the streets of central London. I guess he still had money even after the war.

Y/N placed her bag on the floor and stood by the window, watching the river Thames in the background, then glancing to the busy streets, full of life.

Draco stood next to her, watching everywhere she was watching.

"It's nice isn't it?" Draco said, Y/N hummed and leaned against the window. She was no longer watching the view, she was watching him. The way his eyes glowed against the moons natural light.

She couldn't help the butterflies in her stomach, his hand cupped the side of her face. His thumb brushed up and down her cheek before he leaned in and kissed her.

She welcomed his mouth with hers, instantly deepening the kiss with her tongue. Draco let out a groan, he waited two years to get her like this. He didn't know how much longer he could wait.

Y/N's arms wrapped around his neck pulling him closer to her. He bent down picking her up by the back of her thighs, their mouths never disconnected.

Each second the kiss became more desperate, full of hunger and need. Both of them needed this, for two complete different reasons, but neither of them knew what the others were.

Draco managed to set Y/N on top of the island in his kitchen. His hands ran up her sides, brushing past her breasts and then back down to her thighs.

Y/N tried to get his shirt off, only managing to tear the top three buttons before giving up. She instead put her fingers through his hair, tugging on his neatly gelled hair, making it a now disheveled.

She swallowed his groans in her mouth, allowing him to push her legs open, which he settled between. He removed his mouth, Y/N was catching her breath, gasping heavily.

Draco made his way down her collar bone, sucking and biting at the spot which he knew would drive her crazy.

She whimpered, feeling him lick her pulse and then bite on it gently.

"God, Draco."

He let out a laugh and pulled her legs to the edge of the table so she was sitting half on it. She fell backwards waiting for him to touch her.

Her skirt had been bunched up around her waist, Draco pushed her thighs apart, he could see everything now. Her wet underwear, so flimsy, he was almost angered seeing her wear something so skimpy to a bar full of perverted men.

But he pushed his thoughts aside and kissed along her inner thighs. Wet kisses scorched her sensitive skin, she could still feel each kiss even when his mouth had left the area.

She was in a state of bliss, her thoughts and senses were overpowered by pleasure.

"Draco" she moaned, feeling him lick a long stripe up her pussy. The friction between his wet tongue and lace underwear caused her to jolt forward.

His finger curled underneath her underwear, he pulled it down her legs, throwing it on the ground carelessly.

His face was now centimetres away from her aching pussy. If she moved closer his mouth would be touching it, but she waited for him.

He sucked in a breath, the heat from his mouth fanned against her bare pussy. Sending chills down her spine which was already cold against the marble slab beneath her.

Draco could've said a thousand words, but he bit his tongue. He didn't want to make her feel weird or uncomfortable, so he kept his thoughts to himself.

His middle finger entered her without warning, Draco shut his eyes feeling her pussy clench the single finger. He let out a breath, eyes peering up at the beautiful witch in front of him.

She was still, frozen, only her chest heaving up and down. Draco was unsure if she was okay, but the way her pussy tightened around his finger showed that she was still with him.

He pushed it in and out a few times, testing her tightness, he wanted nothing more than to replace his finger with his cock, but he would wait.

"More" Y/N managed to squeak out.

He abided with her command and added a second finger. He would do anything she asked him to do at this moment.

He used a scissoring motion, stretching her, preparing her for his cock, which he knew he had to do. After watching her countless nights, he was fully aware that she hadn't had anyone since Hogwarts.

He wanted her to be ready for when she took his cock, he didn't want her to feel an ounce of pain. Only pleasure, and he wanted to be the one that gave it to her. The only one, to give it to her.

Y/N couldn't breathe, she hadn't felt like this in a long time. She couldn't even make herself cum, she was close, the teasing from the bar and now this.

"You look so beautiful Y/N— do you like that? Do you like feeling my fingers stretch your— tight little pussy?" Draco groaned, she didn't respond, only clenching her pussy again as a somewhat answer.

"God— I can't wait to feel you around my cock."

Draco latched his mouth onto her clit, sucking on it gently. His fingers were fucking her quickly, never losing there pace even when she gripped his hair tightly.

The wet noises made Draco hard. It was painful, he didn't know how to contain himself anymore. He wanted to be inside her now, he needed it— more than anything.

But her pleasure came first, always.

She was close, her low screams partnered with her squirming beneath his touch made Draco fully aware. He moved his fingers and replaced it with his tongue— finally tasting her.

He lapped up her arousal, savouring the taste. His fingers rubbed harshly on her clit as he prodded his tongue in and out of her.

She suddenly stilled and screamed his name, followed by multiple curse words. The orgasm washed over her, but Draco never stopped. He continued licking her until she was clean before he raised his head again.

His mouth shiny, covered in her cum. He licked his lips, humming at her taste.

Y/N's head fell back onto the table, she let out a shaky breath and sat up. She watched as he palmed his cock through his neatly ironed trousers.

His movements were slow, Y/N couldn't help but become aroused again. He was teasing her, he undone his belt slowly and unzipped his trousers. All while maintaining eye contact with her.

The room was filled with heavy breaths, Y/N couldn't wait to see what he had to offer. Never in a million years did she think she would fuck Draco Malfoy. But here she was, silently begging for him to do so.

His trousers were pushed down first, leaving him in his black boxers. They hardly disguised his erection, the tip was peaking out of the top, a wet patch surrounded it.

"You want this?" He smirked, rubbing his cock through his boxers. He squeezed the base and ran his hand up to the tip, groaning at his own pleasure. Y/N felt jealous, utterly jealous.

Y/N nodded quickly, licking her lips. He laughed, pushing his boxers down to his ankles.

A gasp tumbled out of her mouth, his cock stood up, reaching his belly button. It was hard, it looked like it was causing him pain.

How was she going to take that when she hadn't had sex in so long. Thank God she was a healer, she laughed to herself.

He pulled her to the edge again, "I'll stop if it hurts."

Y/N rolled her eyes, "just fuck me Draco."

He shook his head, lining his tip up with her entrance. He didn't enter just yet, he ran the tip up and down her pussy, nudging her clit with it a few times.

She chewed on her bottom lip, watching him closely. He just stared between them, sweat was trickling down his temple. He gulped heavily and closed his eyes.

"Draco?"

"Wait" he mumbled, he pushed inside of her, a strained groan coming from his throat.

Her pussy hugged him so tightly. He didn't know if he could ever pull out, or if he even wanted to.

Draco's hand went to her throat and held onto it tightly. He composed himself before pulling out and thrusting into her again, he tested a few different paces before deciding which one to go with.

He knew he wouldn't last long, so he went with short deep thrusts. That's what Y/N received, short, deep, delicious thrusts.

His hand was tight around her throat, making it hard for her to even breath— let alone moan. Draco's eyes were fixated on where the two were connecting.

"Fuck— your cunt is so— fucking tight" he grunted. His hips moved faster, and his hand only clasped tighter.

He leaned down and kissed her forehead. The coil in Y/N's stomach was about to snap again. When she closed her eyes she saw stars, her head was fuzzy, she felt disoriented.

"You're taking me so well— just like you us-"

He was cut off by a loud moan, Draco moved his hand from her neck, his thumb circled her clit leisurely. He watched her come undone for him, and that's all he ever wanted.

Y/N choked as her second orgasm bulldozed through her body. The way her pussy clenched around Draco forced him to come to an early orgasm.

It hit him unexpectedly, that had never happened before.

The two tried to regain their breaths. Draco was still inside her, currently too unstable to pull out. Y/N was desperately trying to get her normal vision back.

After a few minutes they were able to find a sense of normality. Draco raised his head, watching as Y/N gave him a lazy smile— no— a freshly fucked smile.

He pulled out of her, resulting in a wince escaping from her mouth. She sat up slowly, waiting for him to help her down from the island.

Y/N asked where the bathroom was, which Draco directed her to. She was weak, unstable, she needed help from him to find her way there. She felt uncomfortable, usually she would leave, but something about Draco made her want to stay.

But she couldn't, she didn't have time for men. After she cleaned herself up there was an awkward silence. Neither of the pair knew what to do.

Draco offered her to stay over but she refused. He put on a light smile, brushing off her rejection. But deep down the pang in his heart made him want to disappear.

"Goodnight Draco" Y/N whispered, placing a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

"Goodnight darling" he smiled.

He watched as she disappeared into the night. Hoping she would turn around and say she wanted to stay but she never.

Draco shut his flat door, he sighed in content, knowing he was one step closer to being reunited with his lost love. One day he would tell her everything that had happened, why he had to obliviate her.

But for now, he would just buy her one more drink.

[warcraft-lore-archives]

The Folk & Fairy Tales of Azeroth Lore Facts

Editor’s Note: “Some of the tales you’ll encounter here may be rooted in canon, or they may be another traveler just telling a tall tale.” 

Eyes of the Earth Mother

Though the Earth Mother heard the whispers of the Old Gods, she could not be swayed by them (13).

Pregnant, the Earth Mother sought a place away from the Old Gods’ corruptive influence to give birth to her children. Unable to find such a place, however, she decided to shape the world and, in doing so, create her own safe haven (14). 

All of Azeroth’s lands, waters, and even the elements themselves came forth at this moment. They were suffused with enough of the Earth Mother’s essence so soon after their inception that they kept the Old Gods’ powers at bay (14). 

The Earth Mother gave birth to twins: first An’she, a beacon of life and warmth, then came Mu’sha, who was to bring rest, tranquility, and healing. The elements called them the “sun” and the “moon” (15). 

Eventually, both An’she and Mu’sha developed connections with the elements. An’she found himself able to wield the light and warmth of fire while Mu’sha maintained some control over the tides and winds (15-16). 

The twins even went so far as to use the elements to create weapons to spar with. Mu’sha opted for a bow and arrow, whereas An’she’s weapon of choice was a set of blades (16).

To keep her children safe from the Old Gods’ ever-present influence while she slept, the Earth Mother took both An’she and Mu’sha up into her eyes. Their power was so great that she had to keep one eye open at all times (16).

This, however, meant that Azeroth no longer received An’she’s warmth or Mu’sha’s guidance of the wind while the Earth Mother rested. Cold slowly spread across the land and blizzards raged until she finally woke again (18).

The Earth Mother’s cycle between periods of sleep and awakening would come to form the basis of the seasons as we know them, with her time of work the summer and her time of rest the winter (18).

As the twins grew in power, they developed the ability to bring on the change of seasons at will, though they took care to do it slowly and give the world time to adjust. As the Earth Mother rested, An’she and Mu’sha continued to tend to Azeroth from behind her eyes (19). 

After waking at one point, the Earth Mother found that there was new life walking the earth. Plucking wheat from the plains to sprinkle over them, the Earth Mother called them “Shu’halo,” - the tauren (19).

Just as the Earth Mother taught her children, both An’she and Mu’sha taught the Shu’halo in the ways of the elements and caring for the land (20). 

When the Earth Mother next slept, however, the Old Gods extended their influence to the tauren, causing them to grow violent and turn on their own kind (20).

Saddened to see the tauren fall to such corruption, the Earth Mother shed a single tear. She realized that the land was no longer able to hold the Old Gods’ power at bay, meaning anything it touched could be corrupted (21). 

Knowing that she was not safe for her children anymore because of her own connection to the land, the Earth Mother removed An’she and Mu’sha from her eyes and laid down in despair (21-22). 

The single tear that the Earth Mother had shed became a blue baby, later named “Lo’sho,” or the Blue Child (22, 24). 

Seeking to put an end to the Old Gods after what they had done to the tauren and the despair they instilled in their mother, An’she and Mu’sha fought against some of the eldritch beings’ manifestations. During the battle, An’she was wounded grievously. Though Mu’sha sought to heal him with wind and water, he continued to bleed (24).

The Earth Mother, stirred by her distant children’s dismay, eventually found her way to them. She urged them to take Lo’sho and go to the heavens so they could protect Azeroth from above, while the Earth Mother chose to root herself in the earth and prevent the Old Gods from ever claiming her children (26-27).

Mu’sha, the moon, continues to follow An’she closely across the sky so she can keep tending to his wounds (26). 

One Small Tuskarr

The tuskarr etch their clan and family symbols into their tusks. Though this is customary, some do engrave other symbols - such as marks indicating deeds of great distinction - into their tusks as well (32, 36). 

The catch master, who weighs the tuskarr’s catches, has a counting staff adorned with cords in the colors of each of the clan’s active fishermen. In accordance with how big a tuskarr’s haul of fish is, the catch master ties a single knot or more into their respective cord. These knots can be traded for tools, weapons, and coins, among other things (32-33). 

A single knot is customary for those who meet basic requirements, while additional knots are allotted to those who catch more (33). 

One can also earn knots from other tasks, such as fine embroidery, though they do so at a much slower rate than those who fish (38). 

Food is shared equally among the tuskarr (33).

The tuskarr perform nomadic journeys that take them to various kalu’ak towns. While the fishers take their own boats, most of the mothers, adolescents, and children trek across the ice (34). 

Fishing practices are passed down from parent to child. Though it is unclear if that is “law,” some of the tuskarr refuse to teach others to fish if they are not their own blood, going so far as to withhold information about the currents and places fish gather (36).

Tuskarr sometimes dye their moustaches (36).

It never gets fully dark in Northrend (38).

Oacha’noa is the tuskarr’s deity of both the sea and wisdom. Her symbol is that of a kraken (39). 

The spearhead on most tuskarr weapons is made of sharpened bone (42).

A type of manta ray known as the stargazer can be found in Northrend’s waters (44).

The tuskarr can survive in water so cold it would kill other races native to Azeroth in mere minutes (45).

The tuskarr typically fly kites for fun, though they have been known to use them to send signals to others at great distances (48).

Lay Down My Bones

According to Vulpera beliefs, the first of their kind was born from the magic of the desert. Though they are a nomadic people, an old tale about an artifact called the Wailing Bone claims the desert calls their bodies back to where they began when they die. To ensure they find their way back, the vulpera follow the Wailing Bone (55-56). 

Once one of their own has passed, it is customary for the next of kin to carry the bone at the head of the caravan while the vulpera wander in search of the proper place to bury them. The journey may take anywhere from days to weeks, but when the Wailing Bone begins to cry, the vulpera know they have found their loved one’s final resting place (56, 61). 

A poem is carved into the Wailing Bone: “Wander, roam; bring me home, / Down paths at my behest; / Among the stones, lay down my bones, / So I, at last, may rest”. Few can read the script it is written in, but most all vulpera can recite it from heart (54). 

Two vulpera, frustrated at their inability to find their elder’s final resting place, neglected their duty and left his corpse in a river in the hopes that it would bring him there for them. Refusing to obey the Wailing Bone caused it to crack. From that night on, the vulpera of the caravan found themselves cursed for failing to heed the Wailing Bone (62, 65).

Cracking under the pressure of the curse, the two negligent vulpera ultimately died gruesome deaths at each other’s hands. One of their bones was made into the next Wailing Bone (65).

A caravan always needs a Wailing Bone (65).

The Uninvited Guest

One goblin adage goes like so: “Every great goblin invention was born from necessity, bubble gum, or an accident” (69).

The goblins have a nursery rhyme: “In the dark of night and bright of day, / Keep in your hand a tossaway. / Guard your fortune, mind your greed, / Or else the Uninvited Guest will feed” (70).

The Uninvited Guest is a goblin boogeyman of sorts who is attracted by greed so egregious it offends even the dead. It is incorporeal, invisible, and has the ability to move through walls (76).

The Uninvited Guest feeds off of greed, but it can never be satisfied. It will latch onto its host like an invisible parasite to feed, inciting strange charitable behavior in them until they have given away all of their earthly possessions (76-79). 

A “tossaway” is a shiny gold-painted coin stamped with the face of the very first trade prince. These fake coins get their name from the way goblins quite literally toss them away in a symbolically superstitious act to protect themselves and their fortunes from the Uninvited Guest (70, 74). 

Tossaways were invented by Slixi Boompowder, the wife of one of the former trade princes of the Steamwheedle Cartel, after her own run-in with the Uninvited Guest. She only escaped from it because she distracted it with actual gold galleons, which inspired her to create the tossaways (83).

Legend has it that the Uninvited Guest still roams Azeroth to this day, looking to feed off of hapless greedy goblins (84). 

Klaxz Boompowder was one of the former trade princes of the Steamwheedle Cartel. His rival was Rikter Hogsnozzle, the trade prince of the Bilgewater Cartel (70-71).

Tradition dictates that goblins are buried with their most valuable possessions so they can enjoy them at the Everlasting Party, the goblin afterlife. They are then given burial gifts by other goblins from their own riches, though most goblins are too greedy to truly part with anything important (73).

Once the coffin is sealed, goblins dance on top of it to usher the deceased on to the Everlasting Party (75). 

Prominent goblins typically serve as pallbearers while goblins contractually obligated to serve as pack mules carry the rear (75). 

The goblins used to employ golden galleons as their form of currency, but it fell out of fashion. Nowadays, they are incredibly rare and expensive (74-75). 

Trolls have a tale about an invisible evil that sucks the souls from living beings and leaves them mad. It can only be seen in the light of a full moon (80). 

Sister is Another Word For Always

Vereesa felt Sylvanas’ death at the hands of Arthas the moment it happened (89-90). 

Sylvanas’ eyes were gray as a high elf (91). 

In the midst of her sorrow at her sister’s death, Vereesa sought many escapes. At first she tried to sleep, but when rest and forgetfulness would not come, she embarked on a journey across deserts and forests with little in the way of proper food or nourishment except that which she found (90, 93). 

It is very possible Vereesa perished at some point on this journey, for she came across a spirit healer, though she was told it was not yet her time. The spirit healer offered Vereesa a deal: if she could bring her the willing soul of Sylvanas without ever touching her, the spirit healer would restore her to life (96-97). 

When Sylvanas first died at the hands of Arthas, it seems as though the Arbiter sent her to Ardenweald (98-99). 

After she struggles to locate her sister in Ardenweald, Vereesa is inadvertently pulled into the Maw. There, she still has difficulty finding her, and is told by the Jailer that Sylvanas is not there - at least, not yet. He then urges her to leave, telling her she does not belong there (99, 102-103).

Eventually, Vereesa spots a silver glimmer she knows to be Sylvanas, though it is only a fragment of her soul (103-104). 

Before she can escape with the soul of her sister, the Jailer stops Vereesa and inadvertently tricks her into touching Sylvanas, rendering her deal with the spirit healer null and void (106). 

At the end of this journey, Vereesa awakes at the foot of a statue, her memory of the experience hazy (109). 

The Paladin’s Beast

Uther is originally from Stratholme (117).

Introduced as a fable beloved by the princelings and princesses of Lordaeron, the Paladin’s Beast is a tale that follows a young Uther as he finds himself in a mysterious and unfamiliar land. Determined to prove himself and bring back a prize to his fellow paladins, Uther joins a tournament put on by a foreign kingdom despite the protests of its princess. Though he is a strong warrior, she insists the beast of the tournament kills every knight who challenges it. Still, Uther refuses to back down, confident that his faith in the Light will give him the strength he needs to prevail. However, the princess’ words hold true, as every knight who goes to fight the beast before him perishes. When it is his turn, Uther decides to stay his hammer rather than fight, remembering the princess’ words. The beast withdraws, defeated by his act of compassion. It is revealed afterward as Uther goes for his prize that the princess actually was the beast all along, cursed to fight in the tournament for disobeying her father and breaking the royal lineage. She casts a spell on Uther, making it so that when he returns to Lordaeron, he will not remember anything of who she was or his experience there until the day he finds himself in a fiery field. Though the fable ends there, it is said that Uther dreamt of the silver kingdom and its princess for many years to come. It was not until his final moments, trying to fell a beast with weapons rather than compassion, that he would fully remember the princess and her story (111-127). 

For Lies and Liberty

Most undead do not get all of their memories back immediately once they are raised (or given free will). It takes time and encouragement (133-134). 

On the long-standing issue of whether or not undead have ichor or blood running through their veins, it appears one Jeremiah Pall still has blood in his body, though it has stopped moving on account of his still heart (134).

The story of the “Fearless Flyer” - a man known as Captain Whitney - is famous among some of the Alliance forces. According to the man himself, Whitney and his outfit had been fighting orcs for months to no avail when he hatched a bold plan to launch himself by catapult into their camp and take them by surprise, hence the nickname the “Fearless Flyer”. This story, unfortunately, turned out to be nothing but hyperbole. As it stands, a drunk Whitney accidentally got tangled up in nets, fell in the catapult, and was unceremoniously flung into the orcish camp. Believing themselves to be under attack, the orcs retaliated and killed most of the unsuspecting humans while Captain Whitney hid (136, 142). 

Stones, Moss, and Tears

Though female elves traditionally mark their faces after they have achieved a rite of passage, they can continue to add embellishments to commemorate any further deeds (155).

At least one kaldorei lorekeeper was charged with knowing the name of every Sentinel and recording details of their more noteworthy battles (156).

The Bloomblade druids were one of the oldest, unbroken lines of night elf druids (158). 

A species of insect known as glowmoths migrate through Mount Hyjal every autumn (164). 

The Embrace

The White Lady and the Sun were charged with keeping watch over Azeroth as it dreamed (171, 176). 

Though she loved the people of Azeroth dearly, the White Lady found herself growing lonely and in want of a family (173). 

The moon cycles are thought to be the White Lady turning away and hiding her face in her sorrow, though she would always look back upon Azeroth to watch over it (174).

It is said that the White Lady loved Azeroth and its denizens so much that a child - the Blue Child - was born of that love (174-175).

The Blue Child, ever curious, began asking the White Lady questions about the mortals that weighed on her heart, as she could not answer (176).  

One night the White Lady woke up to find the Blue Child gone. Unable to find her, she swore off her charge until the Blue Child was returned to her (177-178).

Without her guidance, the planet sped up and the tides ceased. The White Lady was only convinced to return to her duty after the Sun urged her, telling her the Blue Child might return if she had the moonlight to guide her (178).

The White Lady began to glow even more brightly over time in the hopes that her child would see, her light quickly growing to rival that of the Sun’s. This, too, caused problems, for crops burned and navigators could not see the stars to travel by (179). 

Upon seeing the terrible effect this was having on Azeroth’s denizens, the White Lady dimmed her light and retreated (181). 

The Blue Child ultimately returned from her long travels to her mother. They embraced in the sky, creating a beautiful eclipse (182).

Ever curious, the Blue Child was bound to grow restless again and leave for the stars, but the White Lady knew she would always return (183). 

When the moon turns red, it is a sign of her anger (177). 

Why the Mermaids Left Boralus

Back when Kul Tiras was still a Gilnean colony, Boralus had hardly any walls or structures protecting it from the wind or sea. More often than not, when the Great Sea churned at the city’s edge, it took houses, ships, and even men down into its depths. So many would drown in these incidents that those remaining covered them with weighted nets, causing them to sink to the seafloor (187-188, 190). 

Many of the roads out of Boralus flooded during great storms, making it deadly to try to leave the city on foot or by ship (198).

The Kul Tirans declined to build a seawall for fear that it would have done nothing and also because repairing it after a storm would have been just as dangerous as the storms themselves (188).

Most of Boralus’ early inhabitants were seamen of some sort, whether fishers, sea priests, sailors, or pearl-divers (188). 

During storms, the tidesages would act as a makeshift seawall and use their power to cut the waves before they made it deeper into the harbor (199).

Mermaids appeared quite openly near Boralus in its early days. Though they lived much deeper than most could naturally dive, they liked to sit on the rocks and watch ships go by, among other things. Most lived in temples beneath the sea that belonged to Kul Tiras’ former inhabitants (189, 191). 

According to superstition, sighting a mermaid was bad luck and presaged many inauspicious things including a doomed voyage, a brutal winter, and poor fishing. They were also seen as the harbingers of storms (189-190). 

Tidesages were (and still are) always the first and last to disembark from a ship. As a result, they usually went down with their ships (191).

The tidesages’ unrivaled dedication, combined with the frequency of drownings and shipwrecks, often meant they died young (191). 

Mermaids are spawned from eggs and leave no corpses when they die (191, 203).

The mermaids had very little understanding of the Kul Tirans’ mistrust towards them (191). 

Mermaids have some power over the rocks and water - granted to them by the Tidemother from birth -, but they use it sparingly because it is finite. Once a mermaid runs out of magic, they die. As a result, mermaids can live up to five hundred years (192). 

Mermaids consider sirens lazy and murlocs deplorable (192).

According to legend, the bubble seaweed in Boralus Harbor is actually discarded pearls. A mermaid by the name of Halia fell in love with a tidesage and kept secretly gifting them to her as a token of her affection. The tidesage, Ery, was far too pragmatic for such a gift and dumped the pearls back in the water every time (195).

The mermaids believe that the Tidemother will give tails to those who slit their feet from toes to heels and walk into the harbor at dawn (197). 

According to legend, Boralus’ great stone seawall was formed through the combined efforts of dozens of mermaids and one lone tidesage. A virulent tempest had come upon Boralus one day, taking men and ships alike with it. Though the city’s tidesages gathered to push back the waves, all but one were lost to the storm over the course of five long days. The last remaining tidesage, Ery, persisted despite her exhaustion while the mermaid Halia, too afraid to watch her lover perish, began using her own magic to craft a seawall. Though the storm repeatedly broke it down, her fellow mermaids joined her, ultimately expending their magic and sacrificing themselves to raise a wall so grand it towered over even the mightiest of ships and waves. Ery herself nearly died after this, though Halia saved her by invoking the Tidemother. She cut Ery’s feet from toes to heels and dragged her into the harbor, performing the ritual necessary for her transformation into a mermaid (198-203).

All but one of the mermaids - Ery notwithstanding - perished to save Boralus, which is why none are seen there today (204-205).

As a result, the sailors of Boralus now see mermaids as a symbol of the highest honor, good luck, and sacrifice (205). 

During calm sunsets when the red of the sky is reflected in the harbor, sailors refer to it as “Ery’s blood,” after the tidesage who fought the storm so valiantly. Ery’s blood is a sign of good weather to come (205). 

The Courageous Kobold and the Wickless Candle

Kobolds tell a sleep-time story (209).

Kobold families live together in caves. They have their own nests, but congregate in common areas for stories, among other things (210).

Some time ago, the Whiskersnoot kobold tunnels crumbled, submerging the Whiskersnoots in total darkness. They lived like that for generations, having decided it was no longer safe to dig higher after the cave-in. This spawned a saying: “Never pick above your snout, else the darkness snuff you out!” (210-211). 

Granny Whiskersnoot, however, dug just a little bit upward every day until one day she broke through to a light above. She intended to lead the other kobolds to it, but could never find her way back through the tunnels again. It wasn’t until her granddaughter persisted in finding it that they made their way back above ground (211, 222). 

The kobolds think of the sun as a “Wickless Candle” (211). 

Visage Day

On a dragon’s Visage Day, they choose what mortal form they will take. This is significant, as it shows the Aspects trust them to adopt the guise of one of the mortal races and walk among them. It is the dragons’ hope that through choosing a form to embody and relate to mortals, the more mortals can understand dragons in turn (228, 234). 

Onyxia, on the other hand, maintains dragons choose visages that allow them to control the mortals (241). 

In accordance with tradition, the Visage Day ceremony occurs on the uppermost level of Wyrmrest Temple. Each of the Aspects are usually present for members of their own dragonflight, though Alexstrasza herself has been known to officiate on occasion. It is also customary for each flight to send emissaries (243). 

During the ceremony, all attendant dragons take their own mortal forms in honor of the dragon whose Visage Day it is (245). 

Before they publicly choose their form, the dragon in question traditionally makes a proclamation (245).

The Visage Day ceremony can be delayed (244). 

Nozdormu has helped many bronze dragons prepare for their own Visage Day (230).

When Nozdormu sits in the sands at the heart of the Bronze Dragonshine, intricate patterns form around him (233). 

Both Kalecgos and Chromie performed a short incantation to assume their mortal forms, though Nozdormu did not appear to need to (234, 236, 246). 

Kalecgos says that he chose a half-elf form - which he calls a “blend of mortal worlds” - in order to symbolize his own attempt to blend together the dragon and human worlds (237). 

Onyxia, on the other hand, opted to take the form of a beautiful human woman to better manipulate mortals (241). 

The dragons often go by nicknames in their mortal forms because they find their full names sound too formal to humans (238). 

The drakonid were fashioned by the dragons to be helpful and loyal (238).

The black dragonflight practices how best to inflict pain (239). 

[cherri-cherri]

Pairings - Yuuji Itadori x Reader x Ryomen Sukuna

Synopsis - Ever since Yuuji moved away to Tokyo, you've been noticing some odd changes from him, it's almost as if...he was becoming another person all together.

Theme - Monster by Imagine Dragons

A/N - An idea hit me in the head while I was working and I wanted to try this out so badly with both Yuuji and Sukuna! A concept of 'What if the vessel wasn't just the vessel?'. The vessel would eventually merged with the being to become something new altogether, and I thought...yes. why the heck not. This is gonna be a long one, So let's hop right it! Because I really like this idea, theres a good chance this is going to be either split up into parts or I'm gonna keep visiting this every now and then.

Warning - The characters in this story will be aged up due to NSFW content here. Dirty NSFW scenes sprinkled in, Gore Warning, Abuse, Etc.

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He didnt want this...

All he wanted was to keep those he cared about safe. Lying to you at the time seemed like a good idea, especially since you weren't tied into the mystical world he was now tied to, and he didn't want you too. But now, perhaps he should've told you everything.

About the finger, about the school, and...

About Sukuna.

You couldn't exactly remember why you originally said yes to the pink haired boy when he asked you to join his occult club activities that night. Maybe it was because of the fact you have nothing really better to do, or maybe because traveling through a forest of possible gruesome death seemed the most attractive thing to you at the time, yet you an Yuuji grew close together that night. Truth be told, walking through those woods during the dead of night was actually creepier than you thought but he was there by your side to comfort you the entire time, holding your hand while cracking a few jokes every now and then to calm your nerves.

"You're not scared? You seem so..well calm?" You asked, looking up at Yuuji with furrowed brows as he just smiled down at you. "Nah, not really. It's just darker and a few trees are around. Not really anything scary, right?" He said, rubbing the back of his neck while chuckling.

Maybe it was because of the warmth of his hands wrapped around your own or how comforting the presence he gave off was to you but it was probably then that your feelings for Yuuji began to grow.

"What you're going to Tokyo?" You questioned, watching Yuuji prepared a few boxes to pack his things. "Yeah, transferring schools. I'm, um .. I'm recieving a sports scholarship at a school there." Placing a few more of things away was when he finally turned to see you, clearly upset over just now being told this. Sure, you should've been happy to see your best friend be able to leave to accomplish more out of his life but it was the thought of him leaving you here that hurt the most. When he saw your face and the conflicted look on it, Yuuji stepped over towards you before wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you in your embrace.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. I just—" before he could finish his sentence, you stood up on your toes and wrapped your arms around his neck and simply smiled to him. "You don't have to say a thing, Yuuji, I'm happy for you. Just promise me that you'll stay safe out there for me, 'kay?"

Your words alone reminded him why he had to leave, why he had to go and leave you here. It was to keep you safe, safe from curses and safe from the curse lying dormant inside of him now. "R-right...Thank you, Y/N"

The school days were quiet once when Yuuji transferred schools. Sadly enough, the occult club had to disband after he left due to them not having enough members with Iguchi still hospitalized. Now it just seemed..boring without him there but he still seemed to have brighten your day with the photos he would send you every day of the bright city lights and bustling streets. His little messages and calls always well timed to reassure you that just because you aren't blocks away from each other anymore doesn't mean you won't still be friends.

So far, you've became pretty happy with Yuuji and how he's able to come so far in Tokyo. He speaks greatly about his sensei and his new classmates known as Fushiguro and Kugasaki, who from the sound of it, are a bit of a handle but great friends who still treat him well. Every week when he had his day off, he would spend time on video call to talk to you and even show you cool things that he either found around the city or around the school's campus.

Tonight however..he was late. Sure, it didn't bother you really if he was punctual or on time since this was Yuuji we were talking about here but there was a tad bit of worry lingering in your head. Soon enough, as soon as that ugly feeling of worry and doubt began to surface, Yuuji's icon appeared on the screen on the laptop as it began to ring to which you quickly opened.

"Yuuji, hey— oh my god, your face." You said right away, gasping a little at the cuts and bruises littered not only on his face but from the looks of it, his arms and shoulders too. Has he been fighting? "What? Oh, oh! These! Yeah, Fushiguro and Gojou-Sensei kinda roughen me up a little today during training but it's no sweat, really! Barely feel a thing," Yuuji tried to give you a reassuring smile while patting his right shoulder only to wince a little in pain from the impact of the pat.

"First the weird scars on your face, now bruises? Dude, I get that this is a sports thing but don't you think it's a little extreme?"

Hearing the worry in your voice, Yuuji rubbed the back of his neck with his left hand nervously as he tried to think of a way to reassure you until a deep voice came from that same hand, chuckling softly.

"What's this? A woman talking to the brat...? How amusing." Sukuna.

Hearing the voice, Yuuji instantly flinched and lowered his arms out of the camera's view. Panic shot through his body as you stared at the screen with a raised brow. "Oh, is someone there with you now? Didn't know you had a roommate."

Oh good, you didn't see him. It wasn't as if he was afraid of you meeting Sukuna, he was afraid of telling you the truth about everything. About how he was now a vessel for ancient being, how he was studying cursed energy and jujutsu, how he died yet came back to life..dumping so much on you with the chance that you might never speak to him again out of fear, out of disgust. That you stop being his friend, and that he would never..he would never—

"Yuuji?" Tapping the screen a little on your laptop as it shook the camera, he soon stared back at you and laughed nervously. "O-oh right, he's only here for a little bit of time, so I figured what's really the point in telling you"

"Really now? Could've swore I was here to stay with you forever. You could at least introduce me to your friend here." Sukuna felt a great amusement watching Yuuji squirm just to keep you in the dark. Yuuji quickly began stammering on his words, throwing you off as he made a quick excuse to leave the call early. Before you could even say a single word, he clicked ended the facetime before sighing to himself and leaning back against his chair.

"...What is the point in keeping me hidden? We are practically one now, me as you and you as me, Brat." Sukuna said, his mouth now appearing on the left side of his cheek with the eyelid opening to stare up at the boy. "Are you scared of me paying your little toy a visit? Young and no doubt a virgin, I could have some fun with her—" Yuuji quickly slapped a hand against the mouth in attempt to hush the curse only for Sukuna to migrate to the hand.

"I won't let that happen, Sukuna." Yuuji said, frowning as he heard the curse chuckle. He didn't like the sound of how he described his bond to the soul sleeping inside of him, how they were one in the same. Shaking his head, the boy tried to reassure himself that he was nothing like Sukuna and simply went to turn off the lights and sleep on it. The last thing he heard before slumber took him were the ominous words of Sukuna,

"You'll see I was right soon enough, brat..."

A week later, Yuuji came back home to visit you. It was one of the days where the school allowed their students a break from their studies and classes and so he wanted to spend it with you as a surprise. And indeed you were surprised. When you had rushed downstairs, you did so wearing only a red sleeved t-shirt that the pink haired male might have left behind with a pair of gray shorts, and so when you opened the door to see the cheery face of your best friend well...it may have left you a bit flustered.

"Hey, Y/—" you quickly shut the door in his face, collapsing on your knees as you felt your cheeks beginning to burn. 'Why of all days, Itadori?!' You thought to yourself as she slowly stood back up and cracked the door open to see Yuuji's baffled face. He looked like a puppy..a sad puppy who was just kicked off his owner's bed and it broke you. Before long, he was now in your house and sitting in the living room couch while you were in the kitchen preparing tea. Your father was currently away on business while god knows what your mother was..it was just the two of you.

And it was awkward.

As you prepared tea on the kettle, Yuuji couldn't help but look at the shirt you were wearing as a small pink blush was lightly spreading on his cheeks. In a way, it filled him with a strange feeling seeing you walking around in something of his, seeing you wearing his shirt made him..prideful. didn't help with how short your shorts were either, it was practically hugging onto your as—

"So, it's just you? Dude, you should've told me you were coming! I would've been more prepared..I barely have any snacks or anything here right now." You grumbled, snapping his attention away to listen to what you were saying. "Hey, no worries, Y/N. Honestly, I'm just hungry for something else..." that last part through him off as he covered his mouth. That wasn't his voice. No, it was but that wasn't him speaking.

As he turned his head to the side to the balcony door, there the boy saw it in his reflection. The eye of Sukuna staring right back at him, causing him to quickly cover the eye.

"Huh? Alright, well what are you hungry for? Theres probably some ramen around here someone or we could just go out to a place to eat if you want.." you questioned, back turned away from him as you began to take the now whistling kettle off the stove. No, he couldn't deal with this now, not while you were only feet away from him. Yet the more he watched you in the reflection, the more he saw your curves in those pretty little shorts or your braless breasts bounce with ease under his stolen shirt...

Shaking his head, Yuuji soon stood up from the couch and placed on his jacket. "I'm sorry, N/N, But I have to go—"

"Wait what but–"

"Sorry, u-um, Gojou-Sensei said something came up and I have to go back! I'm sorry but I'll make it up to you— I promise!" Before you could even protest, he was already out of the door and gone. As he left, you could've swore you saw an eye on his cheek where one of his scars were but that was impossible, right?

-----------------------

He honestly had no idea where he was going to run off to but the boy knew that if Sukuna had a chance to take over and you were in front of him, would've hurt you or worse. Seeing your disappointed face yet again almost shattered his heart completely and when Yuuji finally came to a halt, he found himself beside a small stream and sighed. This was all for the best. It was to keep you safe, or so he kept telling himself.

"Damn, to think you would actually run away when she was begging for you to take her there. What a wimp.." Sukuka said, mouth manifesting on Yuuji's neck as his eye looks up at frowning boy. "Its not often you get an open invitation from a woman. If I was in control, I would've taken her then and there and ram my co‐" Yuuji quickly slapped a hand over the mouth as a faint blush appeared on his cheeks, him now thinking back to you and how pretty you looked wearing his shirt. "S-shut up. Don't go saying such gross crap."

"You know you feel the same. I can see that she affects you even now judging by the sight of your pants. You wanted to stuff her with your seed just as much as I did." Sukuna said, the mouth now on his hand. Much to Yuuji's surprise, his dark brown eyes quickly shot down to his pants and just as Sukuna said, there was a raging boner standing up at attention. Swallowing his guilt, he tried to cover it only for his pinky finger to slowly graze the fabric and giving his cock a small jolt. The boy hissed a little and quickly placed his hands to his side.

"I-i..I just.." "No need to be embarrassed. That girl isn't anything typically special but just seeing her, seeing her ass in such revealing clothing. Women of this era must be extremely dirty~" Sukuna chuckled "and hearing your thoughts, you certainly surprised me, Brat..." the more Sukuna spoke, the more Yuuji thought back to you. Seeing your breasts and ass was truthfully hot, even if you weren't exactly his type, he still found you beautiful. Slowly without him even noticing, his hand slowly motioned for his cock once more and in the silence of the forest, Yuuji Itadori thought only of you during his time in pleasure.

-----------------------

It wasn't until later on into the night that Yuuji had finally texted you back, saying he would back tomorrow to make things up with you. Sure, it did cheer you up that he would be back but the way he was acting lately made you feel like something was wrong. If you ever asked, he would change the subject or just smile at you awkwardly as if admitting to hiding something but you won't force him tell you what was wrong. When He was ready, he would tell you for sure and you'll wait for however long he wanted.

"N/N, Everything alright?" Yuuji asked, gaining your attention as you snapped back to the present and out of your thoughts. Looking around, you found yourself staring ahead at a bag of popcorn and the large bright ights of a ferris wheel constantly in motion. That's right, the local fairgrounds, Yuuji had wanted to go one more time before he returned back to Tokyo and since you always liked the food here, you of course said yes. "O-oh, yeah! I'm fine. Just looking ahead at the wheel. Remember last time we were here some kid ended up puking on Sasaki from a cart above us?"

"Haha! Yeah, she smelled of salty tuna for weeks afterwards and it left a stain on her uniform" He laughed, staring at the wheel as he thought about the memory. As you stared at him and watch his smile, it had then reassured you that this was still your best friend and you smiled back. For a moment, the two of you were having a blast at the small fair, playing some of the games set up by the booths (and being turned away after Yuuji broke a few with his strength..) it felt like old times all over again. "Wanna play another game or play at bumper carts? We still have some time to kill before you gotta go back?" You asked, carrying some of the plushie prizes the two of you (mainly Yuuji) earned, you looked over to your side and saw a cotton candy display before your attention turns back to Yuuji, The two of you decided just for a moment to sit down at a small metal bench to rest your feet for a moment

Seeing the display, an idea popped up in his head and the words of Gojou appeared in his mind. 'You want advice on how to swoon a girl? Well take small hints when she gives them to you, if her eyes are lingering on something then that's probably a sign she wants it—'. Seeing as how you kept looking up at the cotton candy, he thought this might have been his chance and sat down his own plushies. Without saying a word, Yuuji got up and walked over to the stand, leaving you there by the table alone with your horde of plush creatures.

Seeing you seating there at the bench by yourself, a group of punks who looked to be close to your age strolled up to you, two of them taking a seat on each side of you while the third one was standing right behind you. "Fine evening, isn't it, love. What's a sweet little thing like you doing here by yourself, you looking for some fun?" The purple haired male said on your left side, lowering his shades as he stared noticeably at your chest. "Actually, I'm here with a friend and this seat is for him so if you could jus—" "oh a 'friend'? But I don't see this friend now, so maybe you could tag along with us back to our place and we'll show you a fun time." The punk behind you said, his hands now pressed firmly on both of your shoulders as he leaned in a bit closer to you, causing you to flinch at his touch. "I, um.."

"N/N?"

Turning your head back to in front of you, you saw Yuuji there holding a blue and pink cotton candy stick and face emotionles. "N/N, huh? That's a cute name. This your friend, N/N?" The purple haired punk said, chuckling while rising from his seat "....." Yuuji remained silent for a bit as he stared off at the hands touching you, gripping onto your shoulder and clearly making you uncomfortable. He was typically known for being a calm guy but see this angered him beyond words.

'You see what they're doing to your woman, brat? You're just going to let it happen..?' Yuuji heard the inner words of Sukuna in his head, his eyes dart away from you to the guy standing in front of him, smirking as he touch the cotton candy from the pink haired boy's hand and taking a large bite of the webby treat. "This doesnt have to get rough, all you need to do is walk away and we'll show N/N-chan here a good time she'll never forget." He said, licking his tongue over his lips.

As Yuuji's lips parted, he heard a groan coming from you as you squirmed in the other guys hold with the second punk was now leaning into your neck. Seeing your frown of discomfort, they way they were touching what was rightful his , All he needed to hear were those small words from Sukuna.

'They're touching your woman, they're hurting her. Finish.. them.. off.'

Yuuji stood there for a moment, remaining silent as he lowered his hand, a shadow now cast over his face. Opening one of your eyes as you squirm in the punk's hold, you saw something that made your heart almost stop beating altogether. That smile on his face, that malevolent smile and empty eyes as he held onto the purple haired Male's now broken arm.

The next thing was a blur. The screams of your harassers echoed around you and you heard a wet sound looping over and over again as well as hard thuds. Opening your eyes, you saw it. Two of the thugs bloodied and bruised as their limbs were bent in ways you couldn't imagine, one of them dangling up above you on a tree branch while the other one was limp inside of the cotton candy stand. Looking around for the third one, you saw him behind held against one of the food stands while Yuuji was there gripping his hand over the punk's neck. You couldn't exactly show him any mercy and yet Yuuji was clearly taking things too far, even when the guy tried to beg for mercy and claw his way out of your friend's hold, all Yuuji did was stand there with a grin you've never seen before. It wasnt one of his innocent smiles or mischievous grins, no, it was one of pure sadism. "P-please stop, I'm sorry..I'm sorry.." "you didn't stop when she wanted you too, So why should I?" Yuuji tilted his head to the side a little, chuckling a little as his grip tightened and the man gasped out for air "you'll pay for what you did. You'll all fucking pay..."

The air in your chest almost stopped filling your lungs completely as you watch this. That wasn't the Yuuji you knew, he would've never went this far just to prove a point! Slowly taking a step forward and then another and then slowly speeding up, you reached out and held onto the arm Yuuji was holding the punk up with. "Yuuji, stop it! You'll kill him if you keep this up!" You yelled only to feel a blow strike your face and send you tumbling back a few feet, causing you to scream out in pain. "Stay out of this." Was all he said until freezing and slowly turning back to see what he had done.

Crimson was spilling from your nose onto your shirt and it was gushing out by the bucket to which you quickly covered as you stared up at Yuuji with teary eyes. Regret instantly overwhelmed him as he dropped the thug and slowly reached over to you, his senses coming back to him. "N/N?" He questioned, almost checking to see if you were alright but you backed away as he stepped over to you. What has he done..? Why did he..? He watched you slowly back away with each step, fear in your bright (E/C) eyes and it broke him. "Hey, w-what's wrong? I was only trying to protect them from you, you don't have to be scared."

As people began to crowd in, brought in by the noise of fighting and your scream, Yuuji hand ghosted over the skin of yourself shoulder and you flinched. You flinched at his touch..So many feelings began to overwhelm him that he didn't notice the look of horror in your eyes as you watched what thought were scars slowly twitch and open up, revealing bright red eyes staring directly at you.

"They were going to hurt you," 'She's scared of you now after all you've done' "I saved you! They won't touch you like that again!" 'She sees you for what you are, brat.' "I just wanted to keep you safe!" With each yell, Yuuji watched as you grew more and more scared, the people around all of you terrified as they watched and some even grabbing whatever they could that could be a weapon. Gripping his head as he felt an intense pain through his skull, it was then he noticed..how small you looked as he towered over you. When did you get so small? He thought to himself, bending down to grab you when he saw his arm.

His nails were a dark purple shade, sharper and three black markings were on his wrist. Turning his head a little to one of the booth's and staring into the window was when the truth hit Yuuji hard. His body was different and taller now for some reason and Sukuna's markings were slowly appearing over his face. He was..slipping?

"Y-yuuji, what the hell is happening to you.." he heard you whisper yet before he could respond, there was the sharp pain of something blunt hitting his shoulder. Looking to his feet, he saw a medium sized rock and there another and another. The people were launching what they could at him, yelling at him to leave the girl alone and to leave. Yelling for his death, calling him a monster, calling him a curse. He stared at you for a moment, seeing how now tears leaking from your eyes and Yuuji stepped away before fleeing.

"Yuuji, wait!!" He heard your frantic yell from behind him but it didn't slow him down as he kept running further into the distance and leaving you behind. Your yells becoming drowned out by the mad laughter of Sukuna echoing in his mind.

-----------------------

No, he didn't want this at all. The day was meant to go differently, it was meant to be just the two of you having fun together and end with the ferris wheel and him finally telling you that he...

Thunder crackled outside of the decrepit shrine the boy had taken shelter in, rain pouring outside by the gallons. As he watched the raindrops in silence, Yuuji saw how the scenery slowly began to shift around him as the sky became more malevolent and the cold concrete he was sitting on now a pool of crimson water with piles on top of piles of bones surrounded him. The memories of the fairground echoed in his mind over and over again on loop of him hitting you and your look of fear haunting him, causing his eyes to water.

"Aw, are you going to cry, brat..?"

Yuuji remained silent as he waited for Sukuna to appear at any moment, yet he never came, only his voice lingered around him. "This is all of your fault.." Yuuji whispered, staring off into the rain. "My fault? I don't understand. If I recall, you were to one who eat my finger. You were the one who signed up for being my vessel, everything that has been done was all you..I merely watched from here."

"Bullshit! You made me hurt her..you made me like this!" Yuuji screamed out, flashes of who he did to those thugs showing through his mind, "You made me hurt them!"

"...No, that was all you. You can blame me all you want but I felt what you felt, saw what you saw and you loved every second of that fight. Whipping those who displease you in place, kicking the asses of the men who touched what was yours. Gotta say, made me tear up watching everything unfold" Hear the curse's chuckle echo around in the shrine, Yuuji quickly stood up and yelled out for Sukuna to show himself, only for him to collapse on his knees when feeling an sharp pain in his torso.

"No need to show myself, I'm already with you as close as I can."

Gritting his teeth in pain it was then that Yuuji saw his reflection staring back at him in the water, grinning ear to ear with malice in those sharp fangs.

"You see , Brat, becoming my vessel didn't just mean I was trapped inside of you..no no..You would slowly become me. Your small soul means shit compared to mine and it will be swallowed whole by me. I just needed us to be bound for some time and you would be mine..."

As the reflection spoke to him, Yuuji screamed out in pain as he felt his bones inside of him crack and twist as if they were rearranging themselves. His stomach felt as if it was being cut open entirely as the flesh began to slowly pull apart while tearing open the yellow hoodie in the process, the meat of his torso was forced open as a tongue lulled out and licked his abs like they were lips. The sides of his waist felt as if someone was taking a pair of axes and were merely swinging it down as flesh began to bubble through and bones formed one by one until two new pair of arms were fully shaped. Taking a deep breath, Yuuji slowly chuckled as one of his hands reached up to his head and gripped it and the others wrapped around his waist.

"N-no..no..i.."

"You should be honoured, Yuuji. You get the privilege of becoming one with me, my power is now yours and yours mine." His lips, against his will, began to speak the words of Sukuna as they formed into a forced grin. "N-no..I haven't told her yet. I haven't told N/N that I love—"

"Yuuji?"

Once when he blinked, Yuuji found himself no longer in the shrine but sitting inside of his desk in his old desk with you standing beside him. Seeing you before him, safe and smiling at him, the boy quickly stood up and wrapped his arms around you which took you for surprise in the process but you simply allowed him to let it all out when you hugged him back. "Well hello to you too, welcome back to earth, how was your trip to space..?" You said, chuckling before feeling something wet on your shoulders. His tears.

"Y/N..I..I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for everything, I should've told you everything. I should'nt have hit you. I just wanted to protect you because...because...I love you!" His words surprised you but you simply smile. "I love you too, Yuuji."

Staring back down at the reflection before him of the boy hugging onto you tightly as he weeped, dark brown eyes shift to that of a bright velvet shade. Sukuna chuckled while stretching out his newly formed body. How good it felt to be back in control, to have actual flesh again and to see this brand new world all to himself. Sure, his power was not what it used to be but he would regain all of his fingers soon enough. As his domain faded away and he found himself back in the decrepit old shrine, he smirked to himself while debating his next order of business.

"Y/N L/N...Maybe I should do this body a favor and seize you for my own."

-----------------------

He wouldn't answer any of your calls or texts. No one has heard or seen of him but now there was a witch hunt for your best friend. As you laid in your dimly lit bedroom with bandages over your nose, you stared down at your phone anxiously awaiting something from Yuuji.

Ring~~~

Ring~~~

Hearing the sound of your phone vibrating, you quickly shot up from the covers an grabbed the phone, unlocking it right away and placing it to your ear.

"Hello?" There was nothing but silence on the other end, the soft howling of the wind being the other thing you could really make out. "Hello..?"

"N/N.." your heart practically stopped for a moment but you felt almost a wave of relief hearing his voice on the other line. "Oh thank god, Yuuji..Are you ok—" "N/N, open the window." Was all he said before then line went dead and you were left sitting there baffled. Did he make it back to your house? Slowly crawling out of the bed and slipping on your bedroom slippers, you walked over towards the window and moved the blinds down only a little to peep outside. Standing there in your backyard, shirtless and with his hands in his pockets was Yuuji, seemingly back to normal and everything. There were not increased height, no weird markings, he looked fine and apart of you wondered if it was just the force of his punch that made you see him change. No..because everyone else saw his appearance too.

Taking a deep breath, you lifted up the blinds and unlatched the window. The second that it was free and opened up, Yuuji had jumped above onto the roof and crawled inside to your room. "Y-yuuji, you have a lot of explaining to do— Whoa, whoa!" You took a step back cautiously but he soon grabbed ahold of your wrist and pulled you close to his chest, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head in the crook of your neck. "I know I do, but first I just want to say I'm sorry to you, Y/N. I never meant to hurt you.." he said, whispering in a soft tone as his hold on you tighten a bit.

"I'm leaving here after tonight but I just had to see you to tell you that I..I love you. I love you, Y/N" Taken back by his words, you felt yourself being pushed onto your bed and watched as the boy loomed over you before crawling onto the mattress.

He loved you. Those words practically made your heart skipped over so many times that you were positive that you had stopped breathing. "Let me come with you, Yuuji." You said, reaching up to his face and caressing his cheeks, "I don't know what's happening but you can trust me. I won't let you go through this alone and I'll always be here with you."

He didn't say much after that. All he did was lower his head a little until your lips were merely inches away from each other before he pressed them together. The sensation you felt was one like fireworks. Those butterflies in your stomach exploding and multiplying over and over again as you felt his tongue licking your bottom lip but you pulled away before he could fully explore your mouth.

"Always..? So you will always stay with me, N/N?" He whispered, head dipping down to your neck as he left a trail of kisses down your warm skin until he kissed the base of your throat. "Yeah..I will." "Do you swear..?" His hands began to grip your hips, running the tips of his fingers against your clothed thighs while he began to press his own hips to your own.

"I-I swear.." you said, staring up at Yuuji with a small smile. He stared at you for a moment, smiling down at you before sitting up, his large hand covering the upper half of his face.

"That's all I need to make you mine." Sliding his hand upwards was when you saw it. Those spare eyes once again on Yuuji's cheeks, staring at you as if it you were nothing but glass. That sincere smile that calmed your soul became a mischievous grin, showing the sharpened fangs he now had. You watched as those pitch blackp markings began to spread over his skin and yet the moment you sat up, two fully grown arms pinned you down onto the mattress. "Almost as naive as the brat himself but I suppose there is some charm to the naivete of a woman. Makes it easier to influence, to change.." 'Yuuji' said, dipping his head down to your ear before biting down on the lobe of it. You gasped out, squirming in his hold.

"Let me go, Yuuji! I don't know what's going on but I want to help! Just let me help you!" You yelled out to him but soon silenced yourself as you noticed the scenery of your bedroom changing. All of your furniture began to disappear one by one as a red hue began to spread around the two of you

In the blink of an eye, you were taken to Sukuna's innate domain. The water that replaced the softness of your bed now causing your back to soaked and your hair now spread out and floating in the depths. "Yell all you want but that brat can't hear you anymore. Gone forever in a dream that will never come true, but I promise I will keep you company in his stead. By the time I am done with you, will forget all about him. All you'll want is me, all you'll ever need is me. The name Ryomen Sukuna will burned into your soul and you'll learn to worship me, N/N..."

With a single swing, the soft yet wet cotton fabric of your shirt and shorts was torn off of you with ease and revealed your now exposed flesh to the cold. Sukuna stared down at them, his tongue licked over his long and sharp fangs as his eyes motioned down to your folds. His hand traveled down your thighs before his finger swiped against the outer circle of your lips yet he looked displeased from what he felt. "Dry as a drought but that's fine. I'll be fucking you regardless" he said, his index finger slowly pushing inside of your virgin cunt causing you to gasp out for air and arch your back. "You tighten just now, dirty whore...Did you often fantasise Yuuji stuffing his cock inside of you...?" he whispered into your ear intimately, he kissed the bottom of your ear and moved onto your neck, sucking until he found the soft spot that made you inhale deeply. 

Sukuna sucked on your neck while constantly kept inserting his finger in you, pumping in and out, eventually adding a second digit. He curled his fingers and caused you let out a faint moan as his finger crept closer to your sweet spot over and over. It was too much, you thought as he bit down onto your soft skin, and you were feeling so good from it so far and it made you ashamed. this demon, this thing was in your best friend's body and now he was using it to currently assault your body but the feeling of it all was too good. You had to keep your eyes shut for looking up at Sukuna tugged at your heart as all you saw was Yuuji.

"Oh you are loving this..." parting from your neck,he looked pleased seeing the angry red hickey left behind.

"I-im not...I'm not..." A moan escaped your lips, feeling something wet replace his fingers. Lifting your head, you saw a mouth on the palm of his hand and its tongue gently licking the nub of your clit almost like a lollipop. "Feels good, doesn't it, N/N..?" His tone was nothing less than mocking, the mouth taking ahold of one of your lips with its teeth causing you to scream out. "I said, it feels good doesnt it? Speak when your master is speaking to you. "

"Y-yes! It feels amazing!" You tasted so sweet on his tongue, circling your clit, lapping at your clenching entrance, kissing your folds. "A-Ah~" You whimper when he folds your legs to your chest, He takes another nip at your clit, as he listened to your hushed whines. Your moans were music to his ears, yet what he wanted from you was his name. The thought of his former vessel's love screaming his name turned him on, the thought of keeping you only fueling the flames. It was harder and harder for him to contain hisself when you're drowning in the pleasure of his mouth licking and sucking at your sloppy pussy.

"I'll take you as mine. You'd like that wouldn't you? Being the woman of the king of curses, waiting for me to return to fill you to the brim." sweat felt like it was pooling out of your body from the attention he was giving to on your clit. Your bucking hips were a clear sign that you were close and so, he pulled his hand away.

"You don't get to come yet. You're only allowed to when you're milking my cock."

The things he did to were things no man has ever done before. Scratches and cuts littered your flesh and bruises were on your sore ass and stomach. There a few times to where you had even blacked out from the amount of pleasure he had given you..

Now you found yourself with you riding his swollen cock as he stared up at you with satisfied eyes, grunting while large hands were pressed against your abused breasts as his hips pumped up into your leaking cunt. Your head felt like it was spinning as you screamed out, orgasm crashing hard as your cunt tightened around his shaft.

As you felt his throbbing cock inside of you, his hand grabbed ahold of your chin and your lips made contact. Sukuna only pulled away when he silently cursed, his seed releasing inside of you for what felt like the billionth time. Taking a deep breath, he stayed inside of your warm hole, not wanting a single drop to spill and kissed your cheek.

Fucking you only assured his choice of keeping you as he own. Sukuna was going to original kill you while taking Yuuji's appearance after taking you but holding you close like this as you soon became limp (no doubt exhausted), your warmth against his own and staring down at your cum stained face..it made something inside him feel strange.

A weakness no doubt, but one at the moment that could keep him entertained. Combing a loose strand of hair behind your ears, Sukuna chuckled.

"From this day forth, you will be my bride. Consider yourself lucky..."