#white eared ground sparrow

[na-bird-of-the-day]

BOTD: White-eared Ground Sparrow

Photo: Eric Ellingson

"Strikingly patterned large sparrow, found locally in foothills and highlands of Chiapas and Central America. Favors tropical and subtropical forests, shade-coffee plantations, and brushy edges. Typically on or near the ground in shady understory, where quite timid; often in pairs. Striking head pattern is unlike other species in the region, with big white face spots and yellow neck patch. Populations from Nicaragua south have more black on face and breast."

- eBird

[spinus-pinus]

White-eared Ground-Sparrow Melozone leucotis

1/22/2024 Puntarenas, Costa Rica

biobeagle31 via iNaturalist, CC-BY-NC

[monocaelia]

fragile.

' you have broken down my defenses, and i don’t really resent it. ' - vita sackville west

in which you really don't want to care about him and his careless attitude, but you always find yourself coming back to him. always. feat. diluc ragnvindr & gn!reader w.c : 5k warnings : childhood friends to lovers, diluc lore spoilers, minor angst but ends w fluff, diluc ragnvindr. note : happy new year! sorry for the delay hehe, but this is for @seraphiism's 2023 collab event !! please support the other authors and enjoy the fic ^^

your mother had always instructed you to stay close to her side, to never stray far away from her lest you find yourself in trouble with the master of the winery or the other servants working the orchards and tending to the land of the estate.

but with a beautiful land of ripe grapes and friendly staff greeting you as you rush past them, how could you ever just sit still beside your mother as she did her job around the winery?

the late summer breeze rushes past your face as you weave through the wooden stakes holding the wiry vines of grapes above you. the warm sun rays heat your skin as you leap over the small rocks that litter the passage leading into the main area of the ragnvindr estate. the wind whispers in your ear, making you grin as your little legs take you wherever it guides you.

you feel free, the wind pushing past your wings to lead you to your newest adventure around the manor.

your feet land firmly on the grounds behind the manor when you hear the gentle sniffles coming from behind a couple of barrels. despite your mother's warnings echoing in your head, you take gentle steps towards the sound as curiosity takes over.

you're not expecting to see a young boy with fiery red hair and matching eyes that hold the warmest, flickering fire glaring up at you with tears at the corner of his eyes and holding a bleeding knee.

"...are you okay?" you ask, kneeling down beside him. you begin to frown when he pulls his knee away from you and his glare deepens.

"i don't need your help," the young boy hisses at you and you roll your eyes.

"really? you don't need my help even though you're crying in a corner all by yourself?" you scoff at him. he doesn't say anything in retaliation and you take it as an okay for you to help him.

you pull a handkerchief from your pocket; nothing too fancy as your family couldn't afford the finest silks like the nobles could. it's cotton, white, and had a simple design of a little sparrow emroidered in the corner.

"i don't have any bandages on me," you mumble softly. your little fingers gently wrap the handkerchief around the young boy's knee several times before tying a small knot on it. without even blinking, you lean down to kiss the wounded knee.

"what are you doing?!" the young boy exclaims, yanking his knee away.

"kissing it better," you say as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "my mother always does that when i get hurt. she says it takes the pain away and makes it heal faster."

"that's stupid," the boy mumbles with a glare.

"says the one who tripped and fell and hurt himself," you argue back. you stick your tongue out when the boy shouts out a 'hey!' and roll your eyes.

"who are you and what are you doing here anyways?" you ask the young boy, kneeling beside him once more. he's still glaring at you, but it's less hostile than it was a few moments ago. "my mom said strangers aren't allowed to be here."

the young boys eyes are red, vibrantly so. the life in them burn brightly, reminding you of a fire as it flickers with warmth and a promise of a brighter tomorrow. like the hearth of a fireplace, the young boy seems to be the incarnate of warmth itself with the way he's filled with the flame of life.

"i live here, dummy," he quips back at you with a frown and your eyes widen.

"really? i've never seen you around, and i've been everywhere on this estate," you reply, bringing your thumb and forefinger to your chin as you remain deep in thought. truly, the only people you've managed to catch were all adults working for the master of this winery. never once have you seen a kid running along.

with a bright smile of your own, you lean towards the young boy. "we should be friends! since i don't know anyone else to play with here, we can play!"

the boy looks you up and down with furrowed brows, but he slowly nods. "...okay," he mumbles and you grin brighter.

"great! what's your name then? i'm-"

your name is shouted as hurried footsteps rush towards you. your mother pulls you aside as she looks at the young boy in front of you with panicked eyes.

"young master, i'm so sorry if my child said or did anything to hurt you," your mother says in a rush. she pushes your head down to bow in front of the young boy. she hisses something into your ear and you stutter out your own apology too, even if you did nothing wrong.

you find out the young boy you helped earlier that day was the son of the nobleman your mother works for, diluc ragnvindr. apparently, he's some big deal because he's the young master, but what kind of big deal hurts himself and hides between the barrels instead of asking for help?

you huff as you kick your feet sitting down by your bedside. because of the whole debacle, your mother had ordered you to stay inside to prevent even more debacles from happening even if you explained that the young master getting injured was not your fault. the sun shining from your windowsill feels so far away as you stare outside and ponder what to do.

until you hear a light pattering sound come from your window.

your curiosity is piqued as your small frame approaches the glass panes, wide eyes peeking over the wooden frame as your eyes scan the scenery.

the foliage of the trees surrounding your home cast shadows over your house with small animals running back and forth from the greenery above, causing the rustling of the leaves. the sun trickles in through the gaps of the leaves and your eyes settle on the boy with red hair standing outside your window, a small rock in his hand.

there's a proper bandage on his knee now as it was properly dressed, and his fiery eyes meet yours. he looks hesitant at first, but his brows furrow and his lips open to prepare to speak.

"...come outside and play with me," he tells you when you push open the window in your bedroom, a slight pout in his voice.

"you got me in trouble," you reply shortly, "and now i'm stuck inside because of you."

the young boy bites his lip, pondering what he could do or say to make things better. from the way he's thinking hard enough for you to see steam coming out of his ears, you could tell that he was trying really hard to think of anything to say.

"i'm sorry," he mumbles, kicking the dirt with his shoe.

"sorry, what was that?" you ask, holding your ear out.

the young master huffs, his cheeks puffed out in annoyance. he stomps his foot before-

"i said 'i'm sorry'!"

you smile at him smugly before crossing your arms on the windowsill. it was amusing to see the supposed young master like this; for such a renowned young boy, he was such a cry baby.

"okay, i can't go outside, but we can still play inside if that's okay," you tell him with a bright smile. "i'll let you in!"

"diluc..." he says, red eyes meeting yours. he reminds you of a fire with the way he's looking at you; so full of life but almost burning you if you get him too riled up. but the flames are tame now compared to the anxious flickers you saw earlier before he apologized.

"okay; i'll let you in then, diluc!"

ever since that warm summer, you and diluc have been inseparable; every afternoon is spent exploring the land of the winery but never straying far enough to get lost or end up on the other side of the lake where monsters lurk.

you were there the evening master crepus brought home another young boy around your age home; his blue hair reminding you of the blueberries your mother bought from mondstadt for you to eat. it was a bit of an adjustment with another young boy to play with, but soon you got along well with him as well.

his bright blue eyes always sparkling as you invite him to play alongside diluc and his little hand held in yours. he reminded you of the stars above with the way his eyes twinkle with youth and reflect the night sky above you when the three of you snuck out of your homes to stargaze with your hands holding onto each other until the morning sun began to rise over the horizon.

with your hands held tightly with diluc's and kaeya's, your youth together was only just beginning.

it's a cool morning where the early frost is beginning to melt as the sun continues to rise over the horizon, spreading her warmth and love across the fields of dawn winery. the young master has been gone for a couple days now; something about some sort of knight exam or whatever happening in the city of mondstadt. you would have gone with him, but your duties lie in caring for the winery whilst your friends head off to the heart of mondstadt to finish their training and hopefully become part of the knights of favonius that crepus ragnvindr had always encouraged them to be a part of.

you know having their father's praise meant a lot to your dear friends and you could only hope for the best for both diluc and kaeya as they were off doing their duties.

your ears perk as your name is shouted through the winery along with the sound of hooves rapidly against the dirt road. over in the distance, you can make out a red haired young man galloping over on his steed at near full speed. with wide eyes, you try to tell him to slow down before you get trampled and-

"oof!" you groan as a heavy body slams into you, both his weight and warmth tackling you to the ground. you're thankful that his arms cradled your head as you both go tumbling into the dirt road underneath you and the only pain was that of your body against the floor.

you don't even get to question why diluc had tackled you to the floor when he pulls his face away from you, giving you a clear view of his expression. he's smiling brightly, a wide grin on his face and his eyes of rubies twinkling brighter than any flame you've ever seen. the flames of his soul flicker brilliantly in his excitement and you can't help your own match his energy.

"i got in!" diluc says, his boyish smile growing wider. the small divots in his cheeks are cute and evidence of how hard he was grinning at the news. "i passed the trials got to do the oath swear and- oh, i wish you could've been there!"

despite growing up into a more mature-ish teen, it is moments like these where you're reminded that even as time passes and he grows taller than you, diluc is still the bright eyed boy that you've known since you were young. he looks so cute, in an endearing way, when he eagerly tells you all about his trials and how tough they were.

you really hope that the young master stays the same as he is now.

with a gentle hand, you reach up to ruffle his hair; it's soft to the touch and your eyes don't miss the way diluc pauses in his excitement as your fingers weave into his hair. you assume it's because he's not used to your praise and brush it off, even as he leans into your touch and waits for your words.

"why don't we head inside first? i want to hear everything that happened, but inside where it's warm and comfortable rather than on the dirt floor, diluc," you say to him, a slight lilt in your voice. you laugh softly when you see his cheeks flush a little in embarrassment before he gets off of you.

"i apologize, i was just so eager to tell you," diluc says softly, reaching down to offer a hand to you. you take his hand; you can feel the natural warmth emanating from his body through his gloves and, before you know it, you've been pulled up from the ground. his arm wraps around your waist to assure that you're balanced as you stand up.

"i just," diluc begins. you watch him as the young master of the winery averts his gaze briefly before he meets yours, warm rubies enveloping you with nothing but the comfort he holds for you ever since you were both younger.

"i wanted you to be the first person i told and to tell you."

a wave of something pleasant washes over you knowing that diluc, the heir of dawn winery and one of the most hardworking and talented man in all of mondstadt, rushed back home on horseback in the early hours of this chilly morning just to announce the news to you in person.

just so he could be your first in regards to his good news.

you laugh softly as something warm settles into the pit of your heart, squeezing his hand in yours as you tug him towards the main mansion of the winery estate with no intentions of letting his go for the time being.

even with the budding flowers of youth begin to bloom and the happiness that was promised to you has yet to come, you would have never expected for the spring of your youth to end so abruptly.

it happened all so quickly; crepus ragnvindr wielding a delusion, his death and the anger of diluc exploding, and the fall of your friendship with kaeya and diluc.

you weren't given the details of either one's situation, just a witness of a near death experience and the unforgiven apologies spewing from kaeya's lips as he held his injured eye in the midst of the rain washing down on them as if mourning both the loss of crepus ragnvindr and the wound wedged deep between the relationship of the ragnvindr brothers.

it was like in a mere second, the once warm diluc that would blush and hold your hand so delicately had been wiped away and replaced by a diluc grieving the loss of his father as the flames of his anger and betrayal of both his own brother and the knights of favonius for trying to brush the murder of his father under the rug explode and engulf his entire being.

he doesn't even give you a proper goodbye, leaving only a letter dedicated to you and his vision dimly glowing on his nightstand behind.

it feels like a fever dream when you hear the news of diluc finally returning after all of these years. you don't even hear it from the man himself; rather, from the whispers and excited chatter that the master of dawn winery had returned home.

part of you is excited at the news that he's alive; with no news of his existence after he ran from home in search of the truth behind his father's death other than the faint glow and warmth radiating from his vision clutched in your hands when you missed and worried for him, you were ecstatic knowing that he truly was home now.

that he's alive and breathing and still with you.

and yet, another part of you twinges in pain that he didn't come to you and announce that he was home. he had left you without even a single goodbye, not even bothering to visit you and explain his situation before leaving you questioning whether or not he even cared about how you felt about him.

of course, you aren't entitled to being the first to know, but after growing up together and usually being the first to know of everything in your youth, your heart aches knowing you were one of the last to hear of this at the winery.

it doesn't help knowing that you have not even caught a glimpse of diluc after his supposed return.

so imagine your surprise coming home one evening, the cool night air biting against your skin as you return home after a long day's work, seeing a figure leaning against your home.

at first, your blood turns cold as your heart races in your ears; it couldn't be anyone bad... the winery is a safe place and any suspicious figures are dealt with accordingly before they even step close to the winery grounds. you don't even have anything to defend yourself against if they did happen to be someone with malicious intent.

you take a step back to turn tail back to the estate but freeze when you begin to recognize the figure outside your door; red curls resembling that of flames flickering in the air and warm ruby eyes that you could recognize anywhere. despite standing in the dim evening light and having only the glow of the lantern outside of your home, you could make out the injuries through his dark clothing.

just what did he get himself into?

you hesitate at first, but eventually let your instincts take control as you begin to walk over to your home. it's as if you were both in the blooming stages of your youth again, bringing diluc home to mend his wounds after training for the knight exams.

caring for him was like muscle memory to you, even after all of the events leading to him leaving you in the dust.

you don't say a word as you open the wooden door and guide diluc in, pulling out a chair by the fireplace. wordlessly, he sits in it as you leave to prepare to clean his wounds.

your fingers shake ever so slightly as you remove diluc's coat from his shoulders, the heavy fabric falling to the floor with a thud. you apologize softly as you begin to unbutton his shirt and, as each button is undone and reveals more of his skin, your fingers begin to flinch every time your skin brushes against the skin of his chest.

his breath is warm, you can feel it against your skin as you slide off the remaining clothes on his torso. his chest is bare to you, and normally you would be gawking at how much he has physically changed since you were younger. but you cannot help but stare at how much he had been injured in the last few years you have seen him.

aside from the scratches from the most recent scuffle which led him to your quaint home beside his manor, scars litter his chest and arms. although most of them are healed, the damage that he had experienced was still evident on his skin and you hold back a gasp at how deep some of them had been; there's a huge scar that runs diagonally from the top of his chest to his stomach and you could already feel your stomach churning at the pain.

you couldn't imagine having to sustain those injuries for so long, and being alone through it all.

and, now, you hope that the injuries currently on his body heal faster knowing that he isn't alone this time. not when he has you by his side.

diluc's eyes burn holes into your skull as he watches you dip a towel into the bucket of warm water at your side; you pretend to ignore him. twisting the soaked cloth to rid it of the excess water, you gently begin to clean the wounded man in front of you.

a man you consider an old friend, but you fear he doesn't hold the same sentiment. not anymore.

it's quiet, the only sound shared between the two of you being the occasional sound of the towel dumped back into the bucket and the crackling of the fireplace in your living space. the moon casts her illuminating rays through the window of your home, but her light is nothing compared to the comfort of the fire in your home.

the comfort of the man in front of you, even if you didn't want to ever admit it to him now.

the glass jars containing the disinfecting ointment for diluc's wounds clink gently as you open them to spread over his skin.

"why are you helping me?" his voice breaks the thick silence between you two. his sudden question makes your hands pause, but you don't raise your head as you think of something to reply.

"and let an old friend bleed to death outside my door? you think i'm that heartless, diluc?" you ask him. your fingers resume their previous job of slathering the medicine over his new wounds. "i could say the same to you, why show up to my house like this?"

another silence follows your words and you assume he's done interrogating you for your kindness to him.

"i had nowhere else to turn to," diluc says after a while. your eyes catch his fists tighten on his lap as he takes another breath. "you've shown me nothing but kindness even after i was so cruel to you."

you exhale softly at his words. of course he thinks dealing with his own problems this entire time was the worst thing he could do to you. if you were being honest, it did hurt when he seemingly pretended you didn't exist or pushed you away when he had returned home from whatever he was dealing with away from mondstadt.

you had hoped for a joyful reunion, one filled with tears as you finally welcome home your old friend. but he never announced when he was coming home and you only figured out through the grapevine. he was never home when you looked for him and when you finally caught a glimpse of him, your eyes would meet for barely a second before he rushed off elsewhere and leaving you in the dust.

according to kaeya, his brother whom you've kept in touch with throughout the years. diluc had changed even more ever since his return; he kept his feelings to himself and his face remained 'constipated,' as per kaeya's words, due to his inner turmoil.

but from everyone else, he had always been so kind to them. the old women in the city would always praise how gentle the young master was, helping them walk across the city or carrying their groceries if they needed it. the young women also constantly swooned over how mysterious, yet warm-hearted diluc was; seemingly cold in nature but treating children and animals with such tenderness.

"it did hurt knowing you were ignoring me," you confess as your fingers begin to unravel the gauze to wrap over his wounds. "even if you wanted everyone to think you've changed and have become cold and guarded, i know you're still the same caring boy i've known since we were young. i hope so, at least."

his skin is warm to the touch, another feature you realize has never changed about your old friend. with bated breath, you lift your head to let your gaze finally settle on diluc's own. just as you predicted, despite the physical changes, you can still see the diluc you once knew within the scarred and older man in front of you.

diluc has definitely gotten older; the baby fat on his face slimming down slightly to reveal a more defined jaw and the bags under his eyes were evidence of his restless nights away from mondstadt. there are light scars on his face, nothing too deep to keep from his princely demeanor but are definitely proof of a troubling journey, and he has grown taller than the last time you had seen him in your youth.

but one thing that has never changed is the fire the lights up his eyes. so red and warm, you're tempted to hold his face in your hands to get a closer look. they're so vibrant, alive like the embers that flicker in the fireplace that lights your home, as they stare back at you in anticipation of your next words.

"you would never intend to hurt me on purpose. so if i should have to wait forever for you to be ready to come to me like you've had in the past, i don't mind doing so."

diluc's stoic expression wavers at your words. a sliver of guilt shines in his eyes and he looks away briefly as he digests the words you've spoken to him.

he couldn't tell you the reasons why he always kept you at arm's length; was he wary of your intentions for always being kind to him despite how he treated you or was he so used to people close to him lying to his face that he feared you were also pulling a facade?

or was he scared of you sharing the same fate as his family should he loved you with his heart on his sleeve, a fate of being held in his arms as he feels the warmth that once comforted him when you were young fade away like the embers in the hearth of a fireplace?

diluc did not want to know and he did not need to know, not when you're looking at him with such trust and compassion that he finds it hard to even hold any distrust towards you.

his dear friend from his youth who was always there to pick him up when he fell.

you did not break through the walls shielding diluc's heart for you had already found your place beside it, holding he's life with your gentle hands and protecting his soul's flames with your faith in him.

"i'm sorry," diluc apologizes to you, looking into your eyes. one of your hands is grabbed to be held by him, rough and scarred and so calloused as it held the memories and grief of what he went through to become like the man in front of you, the gauze held in your other. his warmth seeps into your skin, heating up your skin as the flames of his heart grow and encase your entire being within its embrace.

your lips part to say something, but he continues to speak.

"i thought keeping you away would benefit us both," he takes a breath as his eyes scan over your own features, taking in all that has changed since the last time he saw you in your adolescent years; how much you've grown both physically and emotionally. you look so much more mature than the naughty child who ran around breaking their mother's rules just to play with him or the dear friend who would bicker with him endlessly during their teenage years.

the years of their beautiful youth, years that he wished so dearly he could go back to and live in that peace for eternity.

but while the winds continue to blow and move time along, you've continued to stay the same despite the change.

you're still so kind, so inviting to someone like him.

you treat him like the friend you've remembered in your adolescence, even if his hands were bloodied with vengeance and his heart is scarred and wounded from betrayal and deceit.

he is still diluc, just diluc in your bright and beautiful eyes; he always had been.

his hands squeeze yours tightly, hoping that he has the courage to say what he wants to say.

"i don't deserve your kindness, or your love. but if i imagine a life where i have succeeded in pushing you away and we no longer talk," diluc begins, the fire in his eyes wavering as they hold your gaze.

"i don't think i would ever want to live a life where you're not in it."

diluc's words shake you to your core; it's something you wouldn't expect him to say now after all these years. as much as you want to immediately forgive him and push back the years of agony, waiting for any sign that he was alive while leaving his vision behind, or even watching as he ignores you despite being home after all these years, your heart aches knowing knowing he even did this to you in the first place.

"how can i know that you won't leave me like you did?" your voice is small despite being so close to him. in fear of having him see how much his actions have affected you, you face tilts down to your lap to avoid his gaze. "i can't just wait for you forever, it hurts sitting here all these years with a promise i don't even know if you'll keep."

you take a shaky breath as you speak again.

"you didn't even say goodbye."

your voice breaks as you say those words and you can feel the burning sensation as the tears threaten to spill over your eyes.

there's a moment of silence between the two of you before you hear him gently call out your name. his free hand reaches up to cup your face, tentatively guiding you to face him. he says your name again, softly as if even saying your name too harshly would cause you to break, and you hesitantly meet his gaze.

there's a tenderness that you recognize deep in those fiery pools in his eyes, one that flickers like the hearth of your fireplace and suddenly you feel like you're experiencing the most beautiful yet fleeting moment in life once more. diluc's thumb gently presses against your cheek to wipe away any tears that overflowed from your already wet eyes.

his pinky links with your own, a childish thing to do but one that you still hold dear to your own heart.

a promise between the two of you bathed in firelight and your youth reflected back at you in the shape of the young man sitting before you.

[seaspringangel]

blood sport — ais

summary: you and ais indulge each other, in strange, strange ways. 

word count: 0.9k

content warnings: gn!reader ✦ canon typical violence ✦ suggestive themes ✦ blood kink ✦ rated A for Ais :)

notes: HAPPY BIRTHDAY AIS!!!!!

The next time you see Ais, he is cracking open the skull of a thief as if it were a jeweled egg. 

You flinch and step away as blood splatter ricochets and dots the tip of your boots. You sink into the tired grooves of a wall against your back; a tide of red apples rolling out of your bag teemed around your feet. 

There’s a part of you that wants to turn away and squeeze your eyes shut, an anxiety-ridden voice yelling at you to melt into the worn brick and curl into the crushing safety of the mortar.

But there is a malevolent light sparking to life in the pit of your belly, an insidious thrill flowing like sterling water in your veins. You keep your eyes open to the violence and drink it all in.

You watch the thief crumple to Ais’s feet, body limp and shattered, like an oak tree felled by a raging thunderstorm, and you wrestle with the grim satisfaction singing inside you. 

Ais had lovely hands. Even if they were adorned in the red silk of blood, they were still a sight to behold, a cruel beauty. He studied them, the very ones that split open the scalp of a man as if searching for the white tissue matter that lay inside, and trailed the pad of his thumb over a bloodied knuckle in contemplative silence.

You try to be discreet with your glances as you knelt to pick up your apples. 

“Should be more careful,” he murmured, and his voice tickles like tendrils of smoke at the shell of your ear. 

You scoff softly, glaring up at his imposing form above you, a bruised apple clutched in your hands. “Careful is no match for crazy.” 

Ais tilted his head down at you, and there was a dark light to the curve of his lips, a soot-stained flame sparking to life. “‘Spose not. But I would prefer it if you knew how to watch your back.” 

The sun slithered down the horizon, stealing light from the world, blanketing everything in a velveteen darkness, but Ais’s eyes were warm, too warm, as he looked at you, the hopeful red sunrise before the break of dawn. 

You hate that you enjoy basking in it. 

From where you still knelt on the ground, you reached a bandaged hand out and pulled at one of his pant legs, gripping the fabric and tugging with more force than you ought to. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Stop being irritating and help me pick up these apples.” 

Ais stared at where your hand was placed on his leg, and you witnessed a shadow rushing to speckle the light dancing in his eyes. You felt a heady twist in your gut, hot like blood baking on the pavement in the sun. 

Ais sunk to your level, quite close to you, too close, on the girt and grim of the alleyway floor, and suddenly you felt both smothered and comforted, his musk enveloping you in a cloying embrace; the spice of cloves undercut with the metallic melody of blood, kissing your nose as if in affectionate greeting. The husk of blood that you smelled on his body made you feel warm and slightly dazed, red clouds filling your head.

Ais scooped one apple up, turning it this way and that, considering it in silence. You stared at him, stared at the redness of the apple that matched the redness of his gore-slick hands, of his bright crimson eyes, his existence, and his hands blood-staining the dark that surrounded the both of you.

His eyes slid over to you now, and there was something strange glittering in the shadowy depths of his eyes, dark embers flickering in the heart of them, sparking against your skin. You have never felt so raw and vulnerable; you have never felt so elated to be seen.

“Sure,” he said, and there was a lightness in his tone that belied the honeyed darkness that festered in his eyes, “but I’m afraid you’re in debt to me, little sparrow.”

You narrow your eyes at him, trepidation and excitement warring inside you. “Since when have I ever been in debt to you?”

“Since right now.”

Making use of his strength, the apple held in his hands was suddenly split into two perfect halves. The juices from the fruit snaked a clean river through the blood coating his hands, a sweet baptism of the violence, the crisp aroma perfuming the iron-leaden air hanging heavy above you.

Eyes not leaving your face, Ais lifted one of the apple halves to his mouth and swallowed in one whole go, quick yet silent. You were too stunned to question what he was doing when he raised the other apple to your lips, waiting. “Open up.”

You could see his bloody fingerprints marring the flesh of the apple, his scarlet whirlpools imprinting himself on the delicate fruit. You felt angry. You felt disgusted. 

But above all else, you felt very, very hungry. 

You open your mouth tentatively, and he slides the apple half into your mouth, almost tenderly. Your heart skipped a beat and your gut curdled at the taste melting on your tongue, at the bitter sugar of metallic blood and saccharine wetness of fruit exploding your senses and sliding down your throat. 

Ais hummed his satisfaction, his thumb pressed gently to your lips, ensuring that you consumed every little piece. “Good job, sparrow. Didn’t think you had the stomach for it.”

“You’re sick,” you muttered, but you felt yourself relax under his warm, crimson gaze. 

His bloodied thumb was still against your mouth, radiating heat. You fight the compulsion to suck it deep into your mouth and lick him clean.

tags: @houseofsolisoccasum

[greenlaut]

death of the divine ✸

as your flatter talk shivers down my spine i hear the Holy One exposing all the lies (Lord, forgive me, i know my flesh needs to die) x

baal / lucifer / michael from angels before man and angels & man by @nicosraf

close-ups + work progress under the cut

og sketches

cleaned up sketch (i can't perceive my own messy sketch's coherency ok)

1st version. didn't like how thick the lineart and the colour palette isn't clicking with me. is so i scrapped it. decided i want to do frame/illuminated manuscript thingy so i added frame and re-centered michael.

i kind of winged it for the final version, so i don't have progress of me picking colour palette or compositions. idk how i did it, i just did it, it was hard. i had a bad day so i blanked out the entire day to just lose myself in this illustration. and then uh. tada.

now some close-ups:

and some notes:

i know i want lucifer's skin to come across as "gold", so i keep picking his colour in the orange spectrum. bcs yanno--the sun (morningstar). naturally baal is more red leaning, which i think also suits his lion associated imagery well (because lion -> strength card (in tarot deck) -> red. idk, it's how my brain is)

originally michael doesn't wear an armour. i decided last minute to put him in one because fuck it; (1) armour cool and (2) i am a masochist ig

both baal and lucifer wear lipgloss. this is entirely dedicated to rafael's (the author. not the angel.) suffering. they share lipgloss by kissing, you fools.

michael has "jellyfish" hairstyle because. the front bob kinda reminds me how catholic friars/monks in certain schoolings cut their hair in that bob hair? yknow the one?? ya?? anyway it's for that imagery.

both baal and lucifer's legs are caging michael. bcs they're what ground him (vices/temptations) ahahahahaa

i actually asked rafael (author not the angel) and he said he imagined baal is a brunette, which is the same like i had in mind. except that baal asked that he got depicted as a wizened old man/wizard. so now he gets a beard and his hair is white. (he also insisted i gave him a stylish beard)

if u look closely at the jewelries the demons wore; one of lucifer's rings and baal's visible earring have gemstones the colour of michael's eyes

in return, michael's sash is the colour of the demons

baal has a ring with heliodor (yellow) for lucifer, and lucifer has a(nother) ring with red ruby for baal

baal's other gemstones are topaz and lucifer's are yellow jasper

both demons have pearl necklaces. they're supposed to represent michael('s wings ahahahahahaahaha)

my headcanon is that michael's wings are brown like sparrow's actually. BUT during the war, god gave him more power and authority and my understanding is that he got tempered into a perfect sword; so his wings turned white. when book 3 came out and they finally bang (I FUCKING HOPE THEY DO. RAFAEL. THIS IS FOR YOU RAFAEL.) his wings will turn brown againehehhehe

lucifer's coat has wing-like cut at the ends to represent his no longer existing wingsbye

michael is blue because one time i shared this imagery with rafael; michael wearing blue because of the same reason virgin mary is depicted in blue. god's favourites are in blue; fated to suffer and be left behind.

fin.

[salford-blues]

The origins

A/n: It's been a couple weeks since I last wrote anything. I've been really busy and I'm burnt out :( Also this is my first proper written fic. I've mainly posted SMAU's, so if it's not good... I'm sorry. Would love to hear your critiques etc! Pairing: f1 x driver!reader Summary: The origins of our driver!reader - snippets of her growing up Warnings: butchered german??? Italics are the thoughts!

2008 - 5 years old

GROSSER PREIS SANTANDER VON DEUTSCHLAND 2008

The stands were crowded with energetic fans waiting for their favourite drivers to come out. Roars of laughter between friends and families. Piercing screams of devoted fans. In the middle of it all, a 5-year-old girl wrapped in the arms of her father with her hands over her ears trying to block out the deafening noise.

''It's too loud Papi. When's it home time?'' the girl pouted.

''Not just yet Spatzi (little sparrow). The drivers should be out any minute now.'' her father sighed. The child frowned and buried her head into his shoulder and neck.

Instantaneously, the crowd began to yell. Names were shrieked left, right, and centre. People pushing and shoving trying to get a picture or an autograph with their favourite driver. Luckily, the child and her father had managed to make it to the front without too much effort. They now had a perfect view of the track.

One by one the cars came out of the paddocks and lined up at the starting line.

''Who do you like Papi?'' the girl questioned, intrigued by the cars and their colours.

''I like Williams, do you see the navy blue and white car over there?'' her father pointed towards the middle of the grid.

''Uhhuh,'' she nodded, eyes lighting up at the car.

''That's the one that I really like. Which one do you like Schatz (treasure)?'' he questioned the child.

''Hmmm, I liikkeee... I think I like Williams too! Just like you Papi. I think I like the red car too.'' the girl's eyes shone as she spoke. Excitement now lacing her voice. There was a look of adoration on her father's face. Oh, how he loved his little bundle of joy.

''You can like whoever you want. The red car is a Ferrari.'' her father exclaimed.

''F-Fir-aa-r-ee? Ferrari! Yeah, I like that one too, but that one goes second!'' she said adamantly.

Suddenly, the cars were off, speeding down the track.

There was a glisten in the youngster's eyes. The screaming of the crowd was long forgotten. All she could hear was the vrooming of the cars. Wow, they're really fast. I want to do that.

''I want to be a race car driver when I'm older Papi! I'm gonna go really fast like vrrrrooomm." she held out her hands and acted as if she was driving a car.

2009 - 6 years old

''Alles Gute zum Geburtstag, Spatzi! (Happy Birthday, little sparrow!)''

The young girl stirred in her bed.

''Wakey wakey sleepy head... you don't want to miss out on opening presents do you.''

At that comment, the girl shot up in bed. Her wide eyes glanced up at her father, excitement running through her body.

''Please can I have waffles for breakfast? Can we go see Oma? Can we see Mami? Oooh can we make those doughnuts with the sugar on top for dessert? Plleeaassee?'' she gave her father her best puppy dog eyes.

''Okay, okay. How about we open your presents first and then see where the day takes us? How does that sound?'' her father queried.

A swift nod of the head gave her father all the conformation he needed and with that, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her down into the living room. The room was decorated with brightly coloured banners, balloons stuck to the wall via sellotape and streamers hung from the ceiling. On the living room table, 6 presents stood tall and were screaming to be opened by a certain birthday girl.

Once set down on the ground, the birthday girl ran over to the presents. She picked the first one up, inspecting its size before placing it down and ripping open the wrapping paper. Inside a box of Lego with an image of a Ferrari. The girl giggled with excitement moving on to her next present.

The small child was down to her last two presents. Both were small and sat on the corner of the table. Small hands picked up the thin present that sat on top, tearing open the wrapping paper. A signed driver's card sat inside. Shock spread across the young girl's face. A signed piece by Kimi Raikkonen. This just might be the best present ever!

''Oh wooooow! Danke Papi! This is the best present ever.'' She ran over wrapping her small arms around the man's neck.

''You're very welcome. But how about opening up your last one.'' he smiled at her.

She curiously looked back and took the present into her arms. The present was squishy under her touch. Possibly clothes? Carefully, the wrappers ripped open. A blue and white race suit sat inside.

''Do you like it, Schatz?''

''I love it! I love it! I love it!'' the girl twirled around with the race suit in hand.

2015 - 11 years old

''Hallo Logan!'' The girl ran up to the young lad. ''Do you want to get ice cream after the race? I'll ask Oscar if he wants to come too."

The blonde boy nodded his head and smiled. ''Yeah, I'd like that.''

''Okay, bye Logan.'' The girl waved before heading in the direction of her Aussie friend.

''Hallo Oscar! Do you want to come and get ice cream after the race with me and Logan?''

''Sure. Let me ask my parents.'' He ran off towards his parents.

Alone she stood listening to her surroundings. Loud chatter coming from children and parents. Birds chirping in the trees.

Hearing the latter she skipped towards the trees before noticing a small bird hopping around. Approaching the bird slowly, she scooped the animal into her hands and held it against her chest.

''I will help you little birdie! Papi, Papi look what I found. Can we help it get better?''

''Sure, we'll take it home with us.'' he smiled.

Strolling over were Oscar and Logan.

''What'cha got there N/n?'' Logan asked curiously.

''It's a bird... We're gonna take it home and look after it.'' She exclaimed.

''We are still up for ice cream though aren't we Birdie?'' Oscar peered a the girl.

''Of course we are Osc... birdie?? Why that??''

''Oh y'know... you've got a bird in your hand, so your new nickname is birdie,'' he uttered as if it was obvious.

''Ahh okie.'' A blush spread across her cheeks in embarrassment.

A whilst blew signalling that the race was about to begin.

''Papi, will you take care of it whilst I race?'' She turned back.

''Of course I will Spatzi. Now run along. The quicker you go the quicker you can get ice cream.''

yourusername

landonorris, georgerussell63, liamlawson30 & others liked

Ice cream dates just like old times. @oscarpiastri @logansargeant

View all comments

oscarpiastri Birdie delete this. This makes it out like we're all dating

> yourusername WAIT... WE ARENT????

>> logansargeant now look what you've done, you've made her cry...

>>> oscarpiastri We're not dating though???

user.1 why is Logan acting like a third wheel??

user.2 are they dating though? or is it two of them and then the third just tags along?

> user.3 I think they're just really weird friends

>> user.2 yhhh checks out

liamlawson30 annnd where was my invite?

> yourusername you weren't invited because you beat me at connect 4

>> user4 lmaaooo. Didn't realise y/n was a sore loser

>>> liamlawson30 you should see her when she plays monopoly

[panda-writes-kpop]

we're never getting back together (like ever?) ~ kim lip

a/n: apologies for the bad pun, but I had to. 😌 this fic is in celebration of the birthday of my favorite (fucking) boomer @kingmaker-a - thank you for being such a great friend (and for the photocards and album). 💕 sorry for the excessive boomer jokes, but it must be done 🫡 also we've got another entry in the paladin! roommates au with more lore about the Paladins (and some bullshit I made up).

tw: paladin! reader kinda reads like an OC but hopefully you can ignore it, reader and lippie get wasted, one too many boomer jokes, alcohol, parties, hangovers, katie and mala being professional little shits ™️

summary: Your roommates are little shits, but you have to thank them for (indirectly) getting you and your ex back together. Perhaps this is a funny story that you can tell at your wedding, given that you and Kim Lip are sober enough to remember the day.

♡ Masterlist ♡

Laughter was a common noise in the Paladins' apartment. You all poked fun at each other from time to time (it was mostly Katie and Mala calling the rest of you boomers).

What concerns you this time, as you nurse your nasty hangover, is the two people laughing from a room away.

Katie's bubbly laughter rings out through the hallways and into the kitchen. Her laughter was usually accompanied an accusing finger from stealing her baked goods (Mala was the one who did the crime, but you did the time with an hour long lecture about personal property) or a brutal roast about your age.

Your joints may be getting old, but your ears are doing just fine since you pick up on the second person who's laughing.

It's Mala.

Mala and Katie were little shits on their own. Together, they could set fire to an entire neighborhood or wreck havoc to your social life.

As you nurse your hangover cure of choice, you're hoping that they're laughing over their choice of lighter fluid.

"What a boomer!" Katie says before dissolving into another fit of giggles.

Fuck.

You trudge into the living room, looking like shit from the night before. Whatever the youngest Paladins are up to, it's certainly no good.

"What are you two doing?" You mumble as Katie puts her phone away and blinks innocently at you.

Wolf in sheep's clothing, I swear.

"Nothing! Mala was just showing me some photos from last night."

With a smirk, Mala presents you with their phone.

This can't be good.

The first photo you see is a picture of Katie with her arms wrapped around Dami. She's laughing as Dami's trying to pull her in for a kiss.

Cute.

Scrolling to the left, you see a more formal picture of Mala standing next to Tzuyu. They're holding hands while not making eye contact with one another. You wonder how long they'll dance around their feelings for each other before one of them confesses.

You swipe again and again, seeing various photos of your friends and their friends. In one photo, Sparrow's knocked out on the ground, curled up in between Kazuha and Yunjin. In another, Neon and Siyeon cheers each other with wide smiles on their faces. There's even a group photo of the five of you that will definitely be a wallpaper on your phone or laptop.

You swipe again.

Then you see it.

A picture of you, drunk beyond recognition, holding a beer in one of your hands. There's nothing wrong with this photo, except you're not the only one in it.

Your other arm is wrapped around Kim Lip, who is wearing a stunning white dress. If your friends didn't know any better, they would assume that the two of you were drunken newlyweds.

The problem is, she's not your wife. She's not your girlfriend. You haven't been seen together in months since she's your ex.

Maybe you two had only dated for a few months, but you really liked her. She was a goofy loser, just like you. Your heart aches as you stare at the picture, wondering what could've been.

"Do you think he's seen it?" Katie shout-whispers as Mala sighs.

"Do you think he makes that face normally?"

"Did this get posted?" You softly ask as Mala and Katie immediately shut up. "Did. This. Get. Posted?"

"We didn't post it." Katie bites her lip before looking at you. "You did."

You toss Mala their phone before scrambling to grab yours from your pocket. When you unlock your phone and open Instagram, you notice your post right at the top with you and Kim Lip in the photo.

And it has 3,000 likes. Great.

"Ah, Jinsoul texted me last night and..." Katie trails off before playing with her hair.

"What did she say?"

"Check your messages."

You click on the message bubble in the top right corner as the menu changes in front of you. Once your messages load, you notice that Kim Lip's name is right at the top.

You click on the message without hesitating.

I saw your post.

Do you have time to meet?

I want to talk things through.

~

You shouldn't be here.

It's 11:35 a.m. - she's five minutes late.

Your friends aren't late as the two youngest Paladins are dressed in the worst disguises you've ever seen - fake mustaches and all.

A few tables away, Mala holds up their phone with scrolling text that reads: you've got this! just keep your calm and relax.

Katie then holds up their phone, and her scrolling message is: don't screw this up you fucking boomer.

There's something to be said about the duality of man between your two friends, but you can't say anything to them as Kim Lip enters the coffee shop.

You wonder if she knows that this is the same coffee shop you had your first date in.

And you're sitting in the same booth where she told you that she didn't have feelings for you anymore.

You still weren't over her, months later.

She's just as beautiful as the day you last saw her.

Katie's right - You're such a fucking simp.

"Hey." She gently tucks a small bit of hair behind her ear before setting her bag on the table. "Mind if I sit?"

"Not at all."

Kim Lip slides into the booth beside you as you fiddles with the coffee up in front of you.

"Want anything to drink?" You offer before pulling your wallet from your pocket.

"No, I'm alright," She smiles for a moment before asking, "how are you feeling after last night?"

Terrible, I'm dealing with a headache in my brain and two headaches twenty feet away from me.

"A bit rough, but it's nothing that a little hangover cure can't fix." You take a sip of your drink before continuing. "But I'm sure that you didn't come here to just ask how I was feeling."

"Right," She shakes her head for a moment, "listen, I'm sorry about everything I said last night. It was completely unfair of me to dump all of my feelings onto you when you didn't ask for it."

You do your best to hide a surprised reaction, choosing to cough and cover your face with your hand instead.

What did she say? How drunk was I last night?

"You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?" Her eyebrow raises as you sheepishly nod. "Well, shit."

Kim Lip grabs her bag and pulls out her phone. She grabs her phone and quickly navigates to her gallery as you try to recall anything that happened last night.

I remember getting there, talking to a few friends, playing a bit of Truth or Drink... that's about it.

With a soft blush, she hands you her phone. You play the video, hoping that you didn't make an absolute fool of yourself.

You hear Jinsoul, the cameraman, laugh as she approaches the two of you. With tears streaming down her face, Kim Lip shakes your barely conscious form.

"I love you!" She screams into your face. "I miss you so much! I was such an idiot for dumping you. Please, please, please take me back!"

You don't even blink at her confession - how fucked up were you? - as she continuous to blubber in your ear.

The video ends with Jinsoul laughing again - you understand why her and Katie are friends after that debacle.

"So?" Her eyes meet yours as you hand her the phone back.

"Did you mean any of that?" You honestly ask as she pauses.

"I- I did." She bows her head as you take a pause of your own to process what she's said.

"I missed you." You hate how desperate you sound, but it's the truth.

You'd do anything for a second chance, and by the way her eyes lit up at your words, you think she feels the same way.

"I'd like that drink now, if you don't mind." She smiles as you sigh.

"Once I get rid of those two, sure," You vaguely gesture towards Katie and Mala, "I don't need them interfering in my boomer romance."

"They still call you a boomer?"

"They haven't stopped."

She laughs as a lovesick grin appears on your face.

"I don't mind them, really," You say, "They're just-"

"-annoying? overprotective? hilarious?" Kim Lip takes a few guesses as your eyes widen.

"-betting on us?" You say, astonished, as you witness Mala hand Katie a handful of money. "Those little hustlers!"

You go to stand up, but Kim Lip grabs your arm and pulls you back down.

"Careful, boomer, you might pull a muscle." She teases before winking at the two little shits who are laughing in the corner.

"That sounds like a you problem, since you'll be the one taking me home." You smile as she laughs.

"As long as we go home together, I don't mind what happens next." Kim Lip says, and you find yourself agreeing.

Perhaps there's still room for love in a boomer's old, tired heart.

[guiltreservoir]

in spite of the way that it is ✧ read on ao3

⫘⫘⫘

when buck first brings it up, it's to everyone in the 118, or at least anyone who's willing to lend an ear. he saunters into the kitchen with a smile bright enough to account for the unseasonably grey weather outside, megawatt-beam elation radiating off of his body and bouncing into every corner of the station. the minute he starts blabbing about how tommy came to his place late last night, at least two ears are swiftly discounted — chim walks away with his hands firmly clapped over the sides of his head, saying, "la la la, don't want to hear it," much like a petulant kindergartener.

bobby finds himself suddenly very busy with noisily reorganizing the utensil drawer, but doesn't quite leave the area; hen immediately raises her brows and takes a pointed sip of her orange juice, knowing buck will continue unprompted. ravi, just coming up the stairs himself, has no idea what he's walking into, the poor guy.

and eddie ��� eddie knows better than to involve himself in this. he could easily extract himself now, fake a phone call with christopher's school, pretend like there's something imperative that he left in the locker room. instead, he remains parked at the table, piping mug of black coffee insisting that he needs mo' joe as it sits untouched in front of him. his own uncertain reflection stares back at him from the coffee's dark surface.

"i think i finally found someone who can match me," buck's declaring, cheeky grin still lighting up his face like a marquee sign. eddie can practically see the colorful bulbs flashing above his head, a giant neon arrow and the brazen announcement: this lucky guy got his brains fucked out last night!!

"bless that man," hen snorts, shaking her head a bit. ravi's brows knit together in confusion, and when he asks for details on what buck's referring to in the first place, hen's head shaking deepens. "ignorance is bliss, ravi, you probably don't want to know."

"buck got laid last night," falls out of eddie's mouth without him meaning to let it, and fuck, he hopes it sounded more casual than it felt, bubbling up his esophagus like bitter-hot bile.

ravi's, "...and?" is reassuring. eddie feigns a laugh, relieved his cover isn't blown. he glimpses at buck, whose gigantic smile hasn't faltered for even a millisecond, and ignores the mass of earthworms writhing beneath the tin lid of his breastbone.

"and it was seriously awesome!" buck pumps his fist into the air, triumphant and ridiculous, sunbeam personified, and god. buck may be the one getting railed into his mattress by his new boyfriend, but eddie is the one who's truly fucked.

⫘⫘⫘

when buck has eddie over for drinks at his place the next night and asks him if he wants to hear more about it, he convinces himself it's a fine idea. how much can really go wrong, anyway? it's just the man who cradles eddie's whole cowardly lion heart in his unknowing palms, telling him about the way that eddie's good, kind, unbearably hot friend fucked him so tenderly he cried.

it's fine. everything is fine.

buck's never been one to spare details, especially not when eddie allows him all of the space and time in the world to lay out how he got laid. the nearly-gone beer in his hand (on his lips, on his tongue, on the collar of his shirt where an errant drop landed) is fuel for his fire, rattling the confines of his inhibitions just enough to knock a few loose, get him spilling details like the belgian white down his throat.

"he was really good, eddie." the glint in buck's eye is evidence enough, but eddie wants more; he's curious, to a detrimental degree, a tabby cat scaling a tree to catch a sparrow whose wings will carry it to safety, leaving him hungry and without the knowledge of how to climb back down to level ground.

"yeah?" he presses, like he needs to.

"yeah," buck continues. the next pull he takes from his bottle is long, slow, draining it empty. eddie's eyes track the movement, the pink curl of his mouth over the bottle's rim, the wet flick of his tongue across the cusp, the bob of his adam's apple as he swallows the dredges. "it was like he could just... tell what i needed."

eddie's stomach drops. he blames the beer. his mind offers, silently, i would know what you needed, too.

he blames the beer.

"he made sure to take it slow, to start. he's— he's not a small guy, you know."

flashes of tommy's sweat-slick skin offer themselves up readily in the eye of eddie's mind. all thanks to their sparring during muay thai, he knows how it feels to be pinned beneath that man, to feel the heft of his strong arms and legs and chest against his own, to feel so utterly surrounded. he can only imagine what it's like to have tommy inside, too. he says, rougher than he means to, "i know."

buck clears his throat, ducks his head. when he meets eddie's eyes again, his cheeks are flushed. "i... i don't have to tell you about this, man. maybe it's too much. i mean, he's your close friend."

"you're my close friend," eddie says thoughtlessly.

the expression that settles on buck's features is complicated, to say the least.

"buck, i told you it's okay. you can tell me whatever you're comfortable with me knowing." eddie's can of worms burst opened wriggles and squirms, a slimy tangle mucking up his chest cavity. he catches and clings onto buck's gaze and adds, unequivocal, "i'll tell you if i want you to stop."

if buck's face wasn't already rosy, it would be now. his mouth falls open before his response catches up to him, and the spit-glint of his bottom teeth against his tongue makes eddie grit his own together, lest he say something he shouldn't.

"are you sure?" buck asks, back turning to eddie while he reaches into the fridge behind him for a third round. when he turns around again he's got two cold bottles in his hands, tilting one towards eddie, an offering that eddie accepts as automatic as breathing.

the fizzzzz-clink of buck popping the beercaps punctuates eddie's answering, "yes."

"alright." another generous swig of buck's drink bolsters his nerve. "i didn't think he was gonna fit at first, eddie. i swear to you, it doesn't seem like it should work. it's not like i haven't had anything up my ass before, i mean, tommy's even been warming me up for the real thing. but."

warming him up, jesus. buck's nonchalance is staggering, even when frankly, this isn't even the first time eddie's been confronted with such imagery. he wishes he could forget buck telling him about the times taylor had used her strap with him. not because it wasn't an appealing thought — eddie might have complex emotions around taylor, but the idea of buck getting dicked down by anyone at all has always been one that twists his guts into feverish knots. hence the desire for selective amnesia.

he fails not to wonder exactly what the thick line of tommy's dick would look like snuggled between the cleft of buck's asscheeks and swirls his beer in its bottle before knocking back a good-sized gulp, saying, "i'm guessing you made it work eventually."

because how the fuck else is he supposed to react while he's busy painting a vivid mural of his two 'close friends' fucking on the ceiling of his overenthusiastic imagination? he might as well be michelangelo with the way he's filling in the blanks with such inspiration.

the sputtering laugh that comes from buck has no right being as charming as it is. "he did indeed get his dick inside of me, yeah, great job putting those pieces together."

"thanks, it was difficult."

"i bet," buck responds. his gaze separates from eddie's and drifts down the length of his torso, catching on the steady rise and fall of the breaths expanding his chest before continuing down his past his bellybutton. he focuses just below eddie's belt before skimming back up to peer into his eyes again. "he took his time getting me ready with his fingers, and even still i felt like he was gonna split me in half. he got maybe halfway inside and i was already seeing stars. thankfully he kinda paused and gave me a second to adjust."

"come on, man." eddie's heartbeat threshes his ribcage and echoes all the way up to his eardrums, frantic and heady, bass drum kicking a chaotic rhythm. he can't help but imagine tommy's big, surprisingly gentle hands working buck open before slicking himself up with lube to nudge inside. he wonders if it made buck gasp, if he cursed and clenched at the blunt shock and slow push and steady tilt of tommy's hips. he wonders if tommy's got claw marks on him somewhere from buck scrabbling for purchase while curling his toes and communicating without words that he needed a minute.

"too much?" the way buck's half-mast eyes glitter reminds eddie of a tiger slinking low through moonlight silver-soaked grasses. all at once he can sympathize with the position of a lone antelope lurking just beyond through the open plains, vulnerable and enticing.

he perks his ears forward, tilts his head down, looking into the eyes of the beast who's about to consume him, and says, "no."

the antelope places its fragile skull straight into the tiger's hanging maw.

⫘⫘⫘

when eddie makes it through the next couple of days without jerking off about it, he considers himself victorious. he's been doing a fine job of distracting himself, hanging out with his girlfriend, his kid. he's been reading before he falls asleep to keep his mind from wandering too far. he's been working out more, burning off the extra energy that's been vibrating through his entire nervous system since buck drenched his subconscious — and his conscious mind, who is he kidding — with the most luscious, arousing descriptions of sex he's ever heard.

he's doing fine, until he's leaving the station with buck after a long shift and tommy's there to pick him up. he's standing outside of his buck's jeep, conveniently parked next to eddie's truck, eyes crinkly with delight at the sight of them. his voice carries through the atmosphere and shudders straight down into eddie's molten core, a simple and swift, "evan! eddie."

"hi, tommy," eddie says at the same time that buck says, "hey, babe!"

evan.

babe.

eddie is going to dissolve into a cloud of nebulous vapor.

he autopilots his way through the rest of their short conversation, ears buzzing with static, cottonmouth setting in. he doesn't pay attention to the small talk, mind too busy reeling with potential. the moment he'd caught sight of buck's jeep, he was a goner.

where is tommy's car? did he stay the night at buck's, hang out at his place for the day just waiting to come play chauffeur and take him back home to pound him into the mattress while kissing him deep and lazy, like his lips are laden with ambrosia?

"catch you later, eddie," he hears tommy say over the ringing in his ears. buck knocks shoulders with him and nods agreeably, lashes fluttering and lips stretching into a pretty smile.

the best eddie can manage in response is a pathetic wave and a half-hearted, "bye, guys."

his drive home is thirty-six minutes too long. he relinquishes his willpower and allows the fog of his daydreams to creep in.

"tommy called me a good boy when he finally bottomed out," buck had told him around a drawn-out exhale, hops heavy on his breath, steaming the air between their faces. somewhere between the third and fourth beer the space between them had collapsed, eddie backed against the kitchen counter and buck looming over him, cool and collected and beautiful and dangerous, striped wildcat on the hunt.

"he told me how incredible it felt inside me, how i was all warm and tight. and god, eddie, you don't understand how crazy it felt. it was so much, but in the best way. it was warm and tight for me, too."

that's when eddie had spooked and bolted, yanking free from within the loose gape of buck's tiger fangs and nicking himself on jagged ivory edges. worms clustered and crawled up from his chest and into his throat as he stumbled away, wounded and wet. he'd choked out, "i can't," and buck had backed off without hesitation, no longer a fierce big cat but a helpless cub, saying, sorry and low, "i know, i know, i should've stopped sooner."

⫘⫘⫘

when eddie finally gets his hand around his dick, it's nearly enough to make him cry. the bittersweet reprieve of it, the way he's been craving his own attention while being even better at withholding it from himself — there's practically nothing he's more practiced at, but just because it comes fairly naturally to him at this point doesn't mean it is painless.

he sinks into a different brand of masochism found in the inviting expanse of his mattress, world narrowed down to the sensation of his slippery grip around his blood-rushed cock, to the white-hot fantasies splaying themselves out in the darkest meadows of his mind, absolutely resplendent. he tries to make his hand feel warm, tight, incredible, like buck's soft aching insides; he speculates whether or not tommy would talk to him like that, if they were to hook up. would he qualify as good, in tommy's eyes?

with barely a second thought, he brings his free hand down to play between his asscheeks, knuckle ghosting across the delicate skin of his hole. tommy's fingers are bigger than his, tommy's bigger all around. a moan wrenches itself free as he swipes up some lube from where it's dripping down his balls and presses a fingertip inside.

eddie's pace picks up along with his breathing, chest heaving like he's been running for hours, days, years. maybe he has been. maybe he still is.

"fuck," he grits out, rolling his hips up into his hand. his mind is playing through scenes of buck opening up for tommy, tommy so careful and confident, scenes of buck wrapping his limbs around him to draw him as close and deep as he can get, buck so open and wanting. buck, such a fucking good boy.

eddie's orgasm shreds through him gut to throat like the sharp starving blade of a hunter, come spattering across his stomach, stickying his fist.

there are real tears streaking down his cheeks, now, damp and unrelenting, a mix of relief and guilt and something else he can't figure out a name for.

he jams the heels of his hands against his eye sockets and thinks, i know, i know, i should've stopped sooner.

[ladyduellist]

Chapter Summary:

What happened five years ago?

Chapter Preview:

He caught her by surprise when the pin in her hair fell unceremoniously to the ground after his lithe hand snuck to remove it. A coppery dawn just for him to marvel as her mane settled around her shoulders. “No? So, it wouldn’t make you feel good if I told you how ravishing you look with your hair down?”

She reached out to brush her fingers along his crow’s feet and stared into his garnet irises. “Only about as good as me tellin’ you that your piercin’ eyes make me feel both intimidated and shy.”

Behind the pointed tip of her ear, he tucked several hair strands. “I like making you feel shy,” he said.

-☆ -

Chapter 2: Goodbye, Little Darlin', Goodbye

Ao3

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Word Count: 7.3k

Pairing: Bounty Hunter/Cowboy Astarion x female western bard OC

CW: Smut, PTSD during sex, language, blood

Five Years Ago

Astarion never cared much for flowers. Trite growths that exist for a short time, only to wither til they’d completely dried out—similar to his mortality his undeath leeched. Thirty-nine living years stolen by his master’s vampiric kiss. Then, two centuries walking with a husk of his own desiccated blood and organs like the top of some dusty mesa.

But having Bonnie Sparrows sprawled out on his grave resembling sunbathed petals, shushed those thoughts six feet under. 

A month had passed, the Reverend Szarr was plenty dead, and aside from the compulsion power he held over his spawned children that ruptured for good, there was no trace left behind. Not even a single speck of ash lay in his wake for them to find. Course that’s what he had coming to him. Reach too high with the devil’s contracts trying to crow like a rooster, one may be liable to end up as a feather duster.

Astarion and his fellow spawn never found who killed Cazador, nor did they unearth any clues as to what happened to the bastard. Fingers were pointed for a while, but they soon realized none of them really had the means to accomplish such a thing—especially being under his thrall. Szarr’s death meant “The Rite of Profane Ascension” had been halted, with seven-thousand former would-be sacrifices turned loose. The house spawn guided them, feral and bloodthirsty, down into no man’s land of the Underdark where they worked diligently to give them some sort of new life. 

Seemed almost a waste that Astarion’s plans, created with questionable heroes hankering for revenge to end his master’s eternal life, never came to fruition, but then he would have never gotten to know Bonnie. His Bonnie. She waited, patient and supportive, while he dealt with the unexpected emptiness scraping at his soul because he wasn’t instantly filled with relief or happiness untethered to his tormentor. Justice that felt unfairly denied that he hadn’t been the one putting the Reverend to his final rest. Eventually when Astarion was good and ready to seek Bonnie out after he made work out of burning Cazador’s pervertible bordello—prostitution house—down, it finally appeared like he may be a free man once and for all. 

The night sky burdened the Western Heartlands with navy and indigo blues, lush with a shimmering tapestry of white jewels, the day Astarion decided he would have Bonnie. He showed up on her doorstep, nervous with mysterious passion in his non-beating heart, and pecked the top of her hand as he asked her to follow him to the city’s outskirts. 

He whisked her away under the bloated moon to a bone orchard long forgotten, save for the occasional preacher man that wandered by with prayers to redeem its silent residents from perdition. Most of a sun-blanched, wooden fence that barely protected the place, laid helpless in the grass. Engravings on nearly all the headstones had succumbed to algae’s decay, serving them a hearty banquet.

“Here we are,” Astarion said. He quickly inspected their surroundings for any possible interruptions. 

Bonnie scanned the burial sites. “A graveyard?” she smiled. “You know, when you asked me to take a walk with you tonight, I wasn’t expectin’ such a gloomy place for our first official outin’.”

“Considering I’m a vampire, I prefer some things to remain classics for a reason,” Astarion chuckled. He anxiously cleared his throat. “I-I actually wanted to show you something. Something I haven’t shown to anyone.”

“Better not be a corn cob hidden in your pants again,” Bonnie teased, “Or any other piece of food for that matter.”

He pulled her into him and rested one hand on the side of her waist as if they were about to dance. “I don’t remember you complaining.”

She stuck her tongue out. “Cuz I let you get away with it.”

“More than you realize,” he murmured. See, there were lies he had yet to fess up to her. Lies that took advantage of her good nature to serve his benefit. How does a man turn a blow into a subtle breeze divulging something like that? He sure as shit didn't know. Tonight though, he would tell her. Clear it all up. She deserved that much…and more. “Come. It should be over here.”

Beneath a large maple tree loomed a sole tombstone, fairly tired with age. He brushed away crawling vines and leaves that claimed the darn thing with a sadness that strove to moisten his eyes. The tree was probably the only alive thing that kept the grave company these days, with no indication anybody visited to put memorial trinkets on it. Astarion was grateful for that in a sense. If he came upon a wilted flower basket, it may have done more damage than good to what was left of his mental state, having plumb forgotten everyone he used to know. Most of them were probably dead anyhow.

Above them, he looked up to admire the maple's boughs. “This tree wasn’t as big the last time I saw it,” he reflected. “When I reached the surface, coughing up congealed blood and dirt, Cazador was waiting with this maple as a ‘gift.’ He told me he planted it so I would never forget that it would continue to keep growing and living on—unlike me. And that’s why I needed him, to guide me in those ways through eternity.” He exhaled a choppy breath. “From that day on, I belonged to him, and became livestock for his needs.”

Bonnie gasped. She lowered herself to her knees to place a hand onto the cool stone. The date of his passing and name were read aloud as she swerved a finger into the elegant markings. “Hang on a tick…this is your grave?!”

“Yes, it is.” The pale elf sat beside her. He ran a hand through his silver locks. “There’s nothing inside except for a vacant coffin,” he sighed. “The man I was has laid here, dead and buried. I can barely remember who he used to be aside from some greenhorn magistrate who’s name is carved here under a tree that was meant to be a mockery of me.”

Minutes passed in silence. “I-I’m so sorry, Star,” she whispered hoarsely, balled fist against her chest. “I don’t know what to say.”

What he failed to mention was that he didn’t take her there for her to pity him. No, he brought her there because he didn’t want at least one person to forget he lived—really lived. And Bonnie constantly jabbered away at him like she was grateful he was there at all, even as a sanguinary vampire spawn. Nobody had ever cared about him in a way that made his belly ache with confusion and a longing for their presence. 

He hooked a finger below her chin, and he urged her to face him. “You have nothing to be sorry about, my dear. In fact, I should be thanking you.” 

She canted her head. “Thankin’ me? But, why?”  

“For the last six months, you’ve stayed by my side through all this anguish—this horror—foolishly trusting and caring about me, even when your life was put in danger.” Astarion caught her wrist. He grazed her fingertips against his lips to peck. “You feel like home. A safe home where I feel seen,” he answered, fidgety nerves biting like minnows at the back of his throat.

Hindsight being what it tends to be, it was hard to believe Bonnie was the same woman he almost led to her demise half a year ago. It’d been a time since he went after a beautiful victim to bring to Cazador, typically sticking to drunkards and petty criminals since they were idiotic enough to manipulate, but then she came galloping in on that spotted horse of hers through the city, with a sabre at her hip and a long barrel peacekeeper aimed at those who were doing wrong. Though she was part of some fearless vigilante gang called “The Balladeers”, he had never met someone as tough and gentle as a babe in his entire life. 

Astarion had followed her to some forgettable hole-in-the-wall saloon to stave off his usual boredom, but he wasn’t prepared for Bonnie to give him a run for his money. She’d been eyeing him the whole evening until she mustered up the courage to buy him a drink. He’d turned up the dial with his flirting, using his best lines and all, but she just wanted to get to know him. Come to find out, she liked people. Genuinely liked them to the point she gave them proper dignity and a listening ear where it was due. And that’s why that drop of honey in a world full of bad seeds had so many fluttered round her.

Eventually he learned that Bonnie wasn’t the type to sleep around with just anyone, making it impossible to lure her back to the bordello. She liked that sorta “getting swept off her feet” romance that was a slow-burning fire between two individuals. So when she denied his advances during that initial encounter, his curiosity eventually turned into a side project to scheme and work her into helping him escape his master’s clutches. 

Then, he fell for her. A falling star that smacked right dab in the middle of a solar globe.

“Don’t sell yourself short! I just happened to be rollin’ on by wishin’ to offer some kinda hope that you didn’t have to go at this alone.” A rosy blush bathed her cheeks. “You,” she began, turning his hand to peck his knuckles in return, “are one of the strongest men I know and I admire you for that. You strove to keep goin’, even when our plans to kill the Reverend were at a dangerously critical point of bein’ found out.” She pointed a finger and booped his nose. “‘Sides, turns out I winded up fancyin’ your sophisticated ass.”

“My ass is sophisticated, isn’t it?” Her wrist found a kiss pressed into it as he found her gaze under his lashes. “Tell me more.”

A dainty sigh left Bonnie’s lips. “Fishin’ for vanity?”

“Always." He smirked into her skin. “I do love hearing about me after all, but if you’re feeling a bit envious, I suppose I could pay you a few compliments in return.”

She sniped her hand back. “Lords have mercy, I’m not feelin’ envious!”

He caught her by surprise when the pin in her hair fell unceremoniously to the ground after his lithe hand snuck to remove it. A coppery dawn just for him to marvel as her mane settled around her shoulders. “No? So, it wouldn’t make you feel good if I told you how ravishing you look with your hair down?”

She reached out to brush her fingers along his crow’s feet and stared into his garnet irises. “Only about as good as me tellin’ you that your piercin’ eyes make me feel both intimidated and shy.”

Behind the pointed tip of her ear, he tucked several hair strands. “I like making you feel shy,” he said.

Blood swelled her lips. “D-do you now?” Bonnie stuttered.

“Very much so. Especially when your lips are flushed as they are now.” Astarion licked his thumb, swiped it across her lips, then put it back into his mouth to briefly suck on it. “Mmm. Sweet.”

Oh, but that wasn’t the only thing that was sweet: Bonnie was dripping for him. 

He had a mind to tell her how delicious her pussy smelled, let that demure reaction consume her entire body for him to gloat about. But before their first time, there was a certain innocent doting he wanted to preserve for a little while longer that was frequently seen in new lovers. The kind where anticipation produced excitable giggles and nose rubbing kisses. Small affections he never experienced with anyone prior to her.

However Astarion couldn’t stop Bonnie when she propelled herself forward, found his lips to knead, and desperately relieved some of that heated tension that had been baking for months. Her hands twisted into his shirt. Tender kisses led to hazy seconds slipping on until she lightly sucked on his bottom lip as a promise for more. An electric bolt shot straight to his groin when the tip of her tongue accidentally bumped his fang, and he wondered for the millionth time if her blood tasted as sugary as he fantasized. 

“S’rry,” she panted against his mouth. Her fists loosened to slightly lean away. Could her embarrassment be any more adorable thinking about his comfort first and foremost? 

Astarion cupped the fullest part of her cheek, and he prodded her to look at him. “Where do you think you’re going?” 

An unbridled exhale from her nose warmed his face when he closed the distance to slot his lips against hers, mouth all but begging to be ravaged. His eyes shut as he honed in on her delightful mewls she tried to hold back that only enticed him to continue. She gripped his elbow, using him as a pillar to steady herself from probably melting into a puddle (which he understood because he felt it too). Astarion poured everything he wanted to tell her into those kisses. Every lie. Every emotion. Every undead and human part of himself. He captured her breath over and over to suck her living spirit into him. It didn’t make sense how damned perfect their lips fit together, only that his need to wholly have her increased by each beat of her heart drumming in his ears.

Lingered kisses soon turned into satiny, ticklish pecks. Their tempo slowed enough for him to playfully shove her giggling form backwards to the earth. He climbed over top of her, a hemovore beelining it for his prey, and wedged himself in the middle of her partially spread legs. As he hovered above her flustered body, his eyes flickered to her plump, swollen lips that smiled at him. The vampire thought about how smitten he’d become with Bonnie. When did he start to really notice those first niggles turning his sentiments underside? The turkey vulture hunts? Their first kiss in the corn field? Or maybe it happened eons before, fate wiggling its way in the first night they met.

“Somethin’ wrong?” Bonnie asked, concerned. 

He lowered himself to kiss her forehead, her eyelashes. “It’s only that sometimes when you smile at me, it’s hard to believe I may be the one bringing that about.”

Her stare became magnifying glasses. “I lov—” she began to mouth, then stopped herself as if it weren’t the right moment. Her arms vine-crawled behind his neck and toyed with his baby fine nape hairs. “Kiss me again and maybe I’ll consider allowin’ you to keep on doin’ so.”

Astarion quirked his brow. “What were you going to say?”

“Oh, um,” she hesitated, “I meant to say that I love spendin’ time with you. Fangs and all!” 

Cute.

The side of his mouth curved up. He searched the shell of her ear. “You make me want to devour you," he growled into it.

Bonnie squeaked when he pecked her lobe then affixed his wetted lips to her porcelain neck to suck a purplish bruise into it. She tangled her digits in his curls, tugged him closer. The tip of his tongue slithered out to run down her cerulescent jugular vein to worship her pulsating crimson he had yet to indulge. 

His hand reached her thigh and hooked her leg around his slender waist. He rolled his hips in a languid motion to show how hard his erection was and grunted into the crook of her neck. She trembled into the dirt beneath her. 

“Hngh. Astarion, wait,” she whimpered as he kissed the column of her throat. “Are you sure about this?”

At the apex of her thighs, he prodded his aching cock against her again. “Darlin’, can’t you tell that I’ve been dying to have you.”

She pushed at his shoulder. “No, need you to look at me.” He craned his neck to provide eye contact. “Do you want this? I’d like a solid answer and not just some of those honeyed words you use.”

Bless her for asking, truly. Bonnie knew about his past dealings as a sex slave and the autonomy refused to him. Didn’t change her mind about sticking by his side, but she nevertheless made it a habit to search out every nook and cranny that regarded his true feelings about whatever the subject may be. 

A gal like Bonnie was more to him than a one nighter that’d never see the light of day again. Sex would reshape their relationship, moving from a forbidden courtship they had to sneak around with like youngsters into something more tangible. Nothing strange about that, was how all real couples connected on a deeper level, but he desperately wanted to give her this part of himself he hated. It was the only way he knew how to prove he could be with her, to demonstrate the yearning he’d felt for months. The allure of it all tempted him in a way that made him feel possessed.

He truly held onto the belief that if her faith in him miraculously led to Cazador’s death, it could also heal his mutilated soul.

His softened eyes met hers. “Yes, I want this. With you and only you.” Honesty. This was honesty. He was ready. He had to be ready. With her, anything was possible, right? Had to be. 

Bonnie blew on a stray curl that fell into his eyes. Even during such a serious discussion, she still maintained her goodness for him. “Keep in mind we can stop at any moment, no questions asked. You start feelin’ discomfort, that’s that. Same goes for me. Y’hear?” 

Astarion honored her with a kiss. “Thank you.” He clutched the meat of her thighs and impelled his iron rigidity back into her writhing physique. Choked expletives flew from her mouth. “Now, where were we?”

“Do we need…ahh, gods…to worry about anythin’?” 

Halting his dry-humping into her clothed center, he reluctantly lifted himself up on his elbows. “I assume you mean diseases or getting pregnant?” 

She nodded fast. “I don’t mean to make this unromantic, but…”

“Somehow it coming from you, is romantic.” He kissed her to quell her concerns. “But to answer your question: we both have nothing to worry about. Perks of my affliction is that I can’t get you sick and vice versa.” His hand slid down to roost on her belly. “As for pregnancy, my seed is dead. So no surprise dhampirs crawling after my boots.”

“Okay, good.” Bonnie grabbed his collar and yanked to crash her mouth into his. She invited his tongue in through her parted lips. “I need you,” she wheezed.

Course who was he to deny such a tantalizing request?

He gave her lower vermilion a precursory lick, then tunneled his deviant tongue into her open orifice. Their tongues intertwined, eagerly discovering a lazy rhythm that he knew made her cunt gush. 

She wrapped her other leg onto his lower torso and ground herself against his dick to stimulate her core. “Please,” she begged, “Please. Pleasepleaseplease.”

Her pleas went straight to Astarion’s tip, precum gathering in preparation. Something about having a morsel of control over her pleasure tightened his balls, and he almost threw away his gentlemanly manners to bury himself in her straight away.

“I know, my sweet. You’re being such a good girl for me, but I need you to hold out for a while longer. Do you think you can do that?” It was such a simple request coming from him, but the power it had over her was a sight to behold.

Bonnie flashed him a lustful gaze under her furled lashes. “Yes. I’ll do anything for you.”

To reward her, he pecked the corner of her lips. “There is,” the backside of his fingers brushed her jaw, and he inched them just so to skim her exposed collarbone, “a question that has been bothering me for months I’ve needed an answer to.”

“Yes?” she meekly wrenched his forearms as she waited for him to answer. 

Her breathing sped up as Astarion nestled kisses into her clavicle hollow. He winded a trail to the roundness of her heaving bosom until her clothes interrupted him. Bonnie donned a corset cover buttoned up past her cleavage with feminine lace sewed into the thin arm openings. Usually it wasn’t proper for a lady to walk about sans multiple layers exposing so much skin, but she didn’t care. Woman was an unconventional rarity, but Astarion liked that about her. That edge she possessed, that somehow demanded respect from even the most religious of men, had him sickeningly enamored with her.

The cover’s buttons popped open one by one to unveil her corset. Pretty thing was teal, constructed with cotton and a busk for easier removal. He carefully unclasped the busk, but took his time to enjoy her erratic breaths that fanned out in patient fervency. When he folded back the garment on either side, he grinned at her pebbling nipples that sought attention through her chemise. His index finger circled a clothed bud. She hissed and arched into his touch.

Sensitive tease.

Astarion’s teeth seized the lace chemise’s neckline, and he dragged it southwards to reveal her torso’s nakedness. What met him were two mouth-watering tits that caused his shaft to strain against his trousers. Breasts weren’t normally his favorite feature on a person, but hells, Bonnie’s bounced out practically demanding to be bitten.

“Mm.” He pinched her nipple, salaciously witnessing a flurry of goosebumps invade her flesh. “Pink. I wondered what color they were."

She watched, half-lidded and unbearably aroused, when his tongue darted out to swirl her peak. He gave it one obscene suck that hollowed his cheeks and released it with a lewd pop. Heat sweltered throughout her pores as he suctioned his chill plush lips around her nipple to savor it with modest nibbles. Her cry forced its way into the universe. To soothe her, his tongue kitten-licked her raw teat, humming as he coated it in his spit.

Noticing he neglected to tend to her other breast, he fondled it in his free hand. He squeezed it, areola puckering from his palm's applied friction. 

“Ngh,” she fidgeted, winded from his mania on her tits. “You’re makin’ me crazy!” 

He nabbed her waist to suppress her need to squirm. “Keep moving around and I may accidentally bite you,” he warned in a low growl. 

Bonnie’s hands sailed to the crown of his head and massaged his scalp. “I-I wouldn’t mind if you did,” she bashfully offered.

Man almost came in his pants right there. 

Now drinking from Bonnie had nothing to do with a lack of an actual want on his behalf, but everything to do with not being permitted to sup from humans by his former creator. Was one of the cocksucker’s commandments that all vampire spawn had to abide. Break those rules and the next year being “pampered” with torture devices became a regular routine until the offender was broken in well and good. 

Still, Astarion lusted in his daydreams after that first burst of thinking creature blood hitting his gluttonous buds, and he wondered if the gaminess he tasted in smaller animals would be replaced by a delicacy more refined. And Bonnie? Gods, he couldn’t even fathom what her life essence might resemble. Perhaps some combination of sunlight and the floating heavens. 

“A-Are you sure, darlin’? I’ve never done this before—with a thinking creature I mean. You would be my first.” He couldn’t help but be in awe of this woman, she never ceased to surprise or revoke her trust in him. 

“I trust you,” she reassured him with a smile.

A bout of thrilling unease jumped into his larynx. “I know where to bite, so you won’t be harmed. It’s only that my practice has been limited to—”

“Hey,” she poked his cheek, “said I trust you.” 

Astarion swallowed. He brushed his fingers along the velvety span of her neck. “Would your neck be okay?”

“I think so? Yes?” she tittered. “Won’t really know until we get to that point, but I’ll tell you if it becomes too much.” Suddenly her hands scritched at his shirt. “Can we take this off? I want to feel your skin on me while we do this.” 

Guilt weighed on him. He needed to confess his sins to her before they continued, make good on his silent promises to this angelic savior. If Astarion bit her without sapping her dry, it would be a sensual experience that most vampires didn’t share with mortals. He couldn't engage in something so special until he set things right.

What color was left in his face, drained out. “Bonnie, we need to—” 

A finger tapped against his lips. “Shh. Unless you need to stop, whatever you have to say can wait. I’m not goin’ anywhere,” she spoke softly. “Promise.”

He had to believe her, right? She wasn’t one to regale him with tall tales and dishonesty that was unbecoming. In the end, his bucket of dayshine would be there for him. Waiting. Always waiting for him to fall into her arms.

“Right, well, I—ahem—don’t want you thinking I don’t care about you is all. Because I do,” he sheepishly averted her sight. “Quite a lot, in fact.” It may not have been the agonizing truth he wanted to tell her, but it was a truth nonetheless.

And if presumably his sincerity was by chance remembered in a compassionate light later on when he did get the opportunity to spill the rest, all the better for him! 

Blossoming red patches splashed her entire body. Dew glazed a thin veil pane across her eyes that Astarion wanted to get lost in. “Feels like I’ve been waitin’ a lifetime to hear that from you.”

He pecked her palm several times to cherish her good heart. “I wanted to take my time with you tonight, give you as much pleasure as time would afford, but I don’t think you understand how long I’ve wanted this, wanted you.”

She bit her lower lip and untucked his shirt out of his pants. “Then, have me.”

Buttons on his shirt loosened as he facilitated her movements. He chuckled at her serious expression when she endeavored to unstick a button and shooed his hand away when he tried to aid.

He shimmied out of his shirt. “Enjoying yourself?” he teased.

“Damned right I am!” Bonnie gawked at his planes of lean chest and ab muscles. His skin virtually glowed in the moon’s beams as he canopied her figure. “You’re so handsome…“

Astarion distracted her with a roguish kiss. He moved to wrangle her skirt's petticoat past her thighs. Her blood sang a hymn to him through her vibrating vein thumps that made his need to have his cock inside her tightness on the verge of desperation to move their interlude forward.

“What are you doin’?” she puffed out.

A fang clipped her lip, all but drawing blood. “I thought I would make this enjoyable for us both. Do you object?”

“Touch me,” she ordered, legs spreading wide to his predatory touch.

His hand drifted up Bonnie’s quivering inner thigh, and she babbled a prayer when he reached the section where her thigh met her outer lips. “Gods, you’re bare,” he purred low into her ear when he discovered she had foregone her under drawers. “Can I check?” 

“Check what?” she rasped into his ear as he left a brisk kiss on the side of her neck.

Astarion didn’t wait for the wood elf’s reply, instead he ran his index finger in a straight line down her folds. It became drenched in her sopping juices. “Oh, darlin’, is this what I’ve done to you?”

Bonnie shook her head to affirm as her hands found respite on his shoulders. She must’ve remembered him confiding to her that he didn’t quite like the scars on his back touched because she never let those kind fingers of hers cross his invisible boundary once. He was grateful, cadaveric heart swelling at her consideration for him even during such a carnal moment.

Astarion’s finger soared to her clit, mindful of his claw-like nails harming her by mistake. He found her nub swollen and enlivened as she contracted her slit. His finger traced a circling halo, a payment of blissful tithes to the rapacious spot. The way she moaned his name made him bask, pride filling his ego as a man that could confidently brag he brought satisfaction to a woman like Bonnie. Then his digit stroked her clit directly, spreading her slippery labia to ensure that little bundle of nerves got the attention it deserved. 

Sweat beaded on her face. “Oh my gods…right there!” she wailed.

His stiff dick compressed into her thigh for relief.  “You’re doing so good,” he praised.

She shivered when his weight pinned her tits to his naked chest and he began to hump her thigh in succession with every pass he made over her throbbing clit. He bit back a filthy grunt as he chased after his ecstasy on her leg, images of that depraved mouth of hers gorged with his rock hard girth. 

“I want you to make me cum,” she whined, tongue dipping into his mouth to twirl round the tip of his. He presumed she must’ve gotten a taste of the mint leaves he chewed earlier because she crept her tongue further in and massaged along the topside of his tongue with an audible “mmm.”

“When I do,” he roughly hissed on a notable buck into her thigh, “you’re going to look so exquisite coming undone on my fingers.”

His fingertip edged along her whetted inner lips until it found her pussy hole. He inserted an inch into her and tested the scalding snugness. A tight fit, but he already knew she would take his cock so well when the time came. He groaned when she automatically clenched onto him. Bonnie sobbed. She positioned her hips to rock further on the inches he had yet to stick in. 

As he sensed her climax growing closer, he skirted his razored cuspids across her taut neck to signal he was going to asphyxiate his fangs in her blood. Bonnie smirked and angled her head for him to settle his mouth onto his preferred area. He licked at a salivating region where a balmy pastel blue vein frantically chirred.

The pallid elf nuzzled his lips into her, aware of her nervousness. “Breathe,” he cooed. 

Drawn out deep breaths puffed from her puckered mouth one after the other while she shut her eyes. “R-Ready.”

Astarion’s jaw unlatched. His icy teeth sank and sank and sank into the delicate peel of her flesh. At that precise moment, he had two revelations: thinking creature’s blood had to be the most addictive substance in the world and Bonnie’s cunt was as greedy to be fucked as his need to feed. 

Was there ever a lovelier sound than her gasping when he plunged his fangs and fingers into her at the same time?

Syrupy nectar flooded his mouth, and he could have sworn he was already intoxicated off a singular gulp. His five senses sharpened, two hundred years worth of forced malnutrition morphed into what could only be described as happiness. That crimson combusted throughout his body with heat. He proved himself wrong believing his shaft couldn’t fatten anymore than usual, but gods, one sip from her and it viciously tented his trousers.

Yet somewhere in the crux of his ravenous appetite being sated, he thought he heard a shrill voice echoing orders. Astarion retracted from his feast, and he unconsciously lazed his lunges into Bonnie’s wetness. Blood dribbled down his chin like some famished mongrel as he adjusted his hearing to zone in on the sounds.

He peeked at her face, lost to the throes of pleasure. Didn’t she hear it too?

“I’m going to cum soon,” she cried out. He snapped his half-hearted attention back to her. Bonnie’s vaginal walls quaked, fixing to orgasm the instant he crooked his fingers.

He struggled to redirect his salient thought-wandering. “Hmm? Yes, darlin’, cum for me."

Vulgar words exited her mouth when he burrowed his fingers deeper inside to usher her climax. Canines latched back onto the wounds he created, and he nursed a few more mouthfuls of blood. His fingers pumped at a slightly faster speed while he thumbed her clit, rising from her neck only to sweetly encourage her. And when her pussy convulsed, she sang his name and praises with a prolonged moan that accompanied the torrential liquid bombarding his fingertips.  

Astarion slid his soaked fingers out as her intensity subsided and eased her to sit upright. “Did that feel okay?”

Gradually her vision refocused, tremors reduced to mini bouts of gooseflesh. “Are you kiddin’? I don’t think anyone has ever made me cum that hard in my life!”

He clicked his tongue. “I guess they weren’t trying hard enough.”

She tousled his snowy waves, amused at his brief frown from his mussed up coif. “Or maybe it’s because it was you.” 

“They ain’t call me the ‘Buckin’ Bronco’ fer nothin’, lil’ lady,” he jested in a fake thicker accent.

Her eyes rolled. “Literally no one calls you that,” she snickered. “And if they did, you’d knife them.”

He kissed her temple and snorted into her hairline. “I hate to admit you’re right, but gods, it is rather awful, isn’t it?” 

Bonnie stretched to tickle his chin, dried blood adhering to her nail. She flattened it between her inquisitive finger ends. “Oh! Hold on.” Collecting a bunched portion of her skirt hem, she spit on it to dab at his chin. “Blood smears.”

Lines crumpled his browline. He cautiously pawed at the puncture marks. “Speaking of, how bad did it hurt?”

“Would you think me a freak if I said it felt sorta…nice?”

A dramatic hand flew to his chest. “Bonnie Sparrows, did you just admit to being turned on by being bitten?!”

For a beat, her suggestive glance flitted to his deviant smugness. She vacuumed in her lips to wet them, then resumed her labor on his chin. “I sure did.” Wanton thing couldn’t hide her desires even if she tried.

The bulged outline in his trousers was still firm when he navigated Bonnie to stall her caretaking and caress it. “Aah. You’re certainly not the only one,” he replied with a pained exhale.

A flush plagued the expanse of her décolletage as she gave his erection feather-light pats, obviously unsure of how he liked to be touched. He hid his increasing impatience for friction like something fierce as he kissed her again and bowed her back to coax her to lay onto the grass once more. Bonnie balanced herself onto her forearms, bare breasts shuddering with anticipation. 

Astarion sat back on his knees. In his haste to unfasten his fly, he ripped a button clear off. “Hmph. Guess I won’t be needing that."

Double bouts of barreled laughter conjoined, temporarily breaking the ice. 

He sighed. “You would think I’ve never done this before.”

“Well, you haven’t with me.” She scanned his expressions. “Um, do you still want to—?”

Astarion grabbed her knee, and he pecked the inside. “I need to. I want to.” He needed to be healed. He wanted to feel different.

Trousers lowered to his hips, he winced as his pre-cum covered swollenness bobbed out. Cock head was a feverish pink, warmed by her blood coursing through. He spit into his palm for extra lubrication and stroked his tip a few times, a boastful smile at his lips as he watched her study his impressive member. 

Stars were higher in the sky now, the lulling breeze that grazed their bodies seemed to cradle all their dreams and fondness for each other on its gusts. He gripped his shaft to line himself up to enter her at an impeccable angle on that first thrust. Bonnie arced herself onto his shoulders. They pressed their foreheads together and moaned in unison as his crown stretched her inch by inch until he was fully rooted inside.

His jaw and lips were bombarded with an onslaught of kisses, endearments that made him dizzy. He slowed his undulating hips to allow her pussy’s creaminess to smother him as she adjusted to his girth. 

“Ungh, Bon…B-Bonnie…so tight and,” he warbled, taking half of his length out and shoving it back in, “deep.”

She kissed his brow above his right eye. “Are you…okay?”

A blissful shiver crawled down his spine. “It just…ngh…feels different. Fuck, it feels—” 

“Beautiful” was what he wanted to say. What an odd word to describe how their intimacy felt, like it was a sensation he was being introduced to for the first time. Yet to him, it was perfect.

Astarion glued his eyes shut, there was no bile to spew from his stomach pit nor were there those loathsome drudgeries digging holes into brain. Being inside her, connected in this manner, was pure delight. 

“Feels different…haa…for me too,” she said on a jagged intake of air.

He nested into the crook of her neck, bathing in the soapy scented remnants on her flesh, then drove into her a few more times to evaluate her comfort. She reacted with more clamored sobs and embraced his prick with her hot slit.

“Yeowch!”

He immediately ceased. “What’s happened? Are you alright?”

“Stop for a minute. I think a stick is tryin’ to make its way into my butt,” Bonnie giggled. She reached behind her naked ass to pluck out the offending intruder. “Aha!”

Taking the stick from her, Astarion tossed it in a random direction. “Hopefully that will be the last interruption because,” he wreathed her legs around his waist and tenderly kissed her breast valley, “I don’t think I’m going to last long.”

She ran a finger along his ear's helix and beamed at him as innocent as she could pretend. “You can cum inside me if you’d like.”

“Gods…” His dick flexed inside her, spurred on by her treacherous invitation. He was damned near ready to explode as it was, but hearing her utter such a shameless appeal made him want to fuck her as hard as she’d allow. 

His thrusts began anew, this time going quicker. Astarion glided his hand between her thighs to give her sensitive clit a gentle swab. Bonnie’s walls quivered as he filled her. A stocking ungracefully slid down her leg while her heels dug into his lower back. She wailed when he found her nipple once more, heartlessly punishing it with added suckles. 

“‘Starion?” Bonnie implored.

He led a crusade of kisses to her mouth, all the while pounding in smooth drawn-out propels as her hands scrambled for purchase in his hair. Sweat pooled in the tragus above her plump lips, tresses wild with tangles from rubbing against the earth. Her skin turned a bright red that made her freckles stand out as teeny brown constellations inked across a rising dawn's sky that was her face.

Bonnie cupped his cheeks. She shifted her eyes back and forth. “I-I love you, Astarion.”

He stared at her. How long had he waited to hear those words in earnest from another? How long had it been since he felt this kind of elation threatening to consume him? Her love was the kind that swaddled, one that felt secure. She never faltered from treating him as an equal and a person worthy of love. Whatever the future held for them,  he wanted it all.

Astarion leaned to mouth his confession against her lips. “I lo—”

You are a fool, a piercing tone shot through his thoughts. She doesn’t love you. She loves what pleasure your cock can bring to her.

Cazador.

NO! You’re dead! You’re fucking dead!

Insolent boy! When will you learn that no matter if I am dead or alive, I will ALWAYS be with you, the remnants of the Reverend’s voice clamored. How about you slice open that pretty neck of hers so I can see how much she bleeds?

He crushed his chest into Bonnie and dipped his head back into her neck, hiding his unfocused stare. He imagined red. Everywhere red. Bonnie’s throat slit. Bonnie a corpse at Cazador’s feet. Himself fucking every dick and cunt between here and there—all for his master. Kennel chains rattling. Starvation. Weakness. Torture. His short-lived freedom but mere fantasy. Of course he’d never be free, what was he thinking?!

The numbed dysphoria Astarion had grown accustomed to, dispersed into his pores to shield him from his stressful visions. He wished to tell her what was going on, bade her to run, but the words wouldn’t come. They were lost to him.

He autopiloted as he elevated his lover’s lower half so he could fuck into her at a speed that would make him cum and end it all. Bonnie gurgled out more “I love yous” as he rammed into her, but he was too far gone in his episode to believe her. She could never love a damaged man like him. He was beyond repair.

She screamed his name, he screamed inwardly. Then he came, groaning and stuttering his hips as his release emptied inside of her. He felt nothing but misery and insecurity. 

Astarion propped himself on his elbows, wiping the thousand-yard stare from his face with a forced simper. He observed Bonnie while she herded away each wiley clump of curl that clung to his forehead. She didn’t look disappointed he didn’t tell her he loved her in return—maybe giving him a berth to chew on it—instead she hummed to herself in a state of tranquility oft seen after shared intimacies. 

“That was nice,” she whispered, cheeks flushed. “Did you feel okay during all that?”

He blinked. “It felt wonderful! You are wonderful, darlin’," he said, enthusiasm masking his sorrow.

He guided out his limped cock and put it behind his trouser’s fly. Unable to do anything more than a clinical cleaning, he used his shirt to clean her whole body down from head to foot. He wiped at their mixed bodily fluids and sweat, but he could barely look at her, downright ashamed of himself.

Bonnie clasped her corset and adjusted its cover with concentrated effort in lieu of the yawns seeping out. She threw her arms around his middle to hug him. “Mind if we rest here for a bit before the sun rises?”

“Trance. I’ll wake you when it’s time to head out.” He cradled her head to his chest, kissed it. 

After those subsequent yawns, it didn’t take much until she was snoozing peacefully in his lap. He let the clock tick away hour after hour for as long as he could, imprinting her into his memory, until he reckoned he should get a move on. He wasn’t certain if his departure was the right choice, but it was the compromise that may save them both. Didn’t matter how far he was willing to go to prevent it, Bonnie still became a victim—a victim to his trauma at that. And through that sickness that struck him, Astarion was all too aware that he could probably never provide her with the life she deserved.

“You hold my heart forever, my love," he murmured as he placed a final tearful kiss upon her hand.

Astarion glanced a final time at the woman he loved laid exposed as a vulnerable lamb in the chill air. Cazador Szarr's phantom may consume the love he felt for her, but his leaving meant his master couldn’t consume hers too. Besides, the only kind of love Astarion thought he ever deserved, would always be at the end of a whip.

[fallenclan]

Jattelik crouched amongst a clump of ferns, ears pricked. "What is it?" Sparrow wheezed, still catching her breath after the long trek.

"Shh. I heard something. Pawsteps." Jattelik wasn't in much better shape, his own heart racing like a hare being pursued by a rabid hound.

The pawsteps stopped abruptly, a brown tabby she-cat coming into view. A black and white tom was padding after her, tail dragging against the ground. Jattelik could immediately tell that the tom wouldn't be a threat, but the she-cat? The steady fire in her eyes told him all he needed to know. "We should wait," he hissed softly to Sparrow.

"Jattelik. . ." Sparrow whispered, her gaze rounded in shock. She was staring at the she-cat as if mesmerized.

"What?" he muttered, tail flicking in annoyance.

"I think that might be-"

"Who's there?" The black and white tom growled, ears pinning. The brown tabby she-cat's multi-hued gaze narrowed as well. "Show yourself."

"There's multiple of them," the she-cat hissed, her tone edged with cold fury. "Rogues."

"We're no threat," Sparrow mewed, cautiously stepping out from her hiding place amongst a swash of fronds. "We were just passin' through."

"Is that so?" The brown tabby took a threatening step forward.

"Back off," Jattelik spat, spine arching as he stalked forward, emerging from his own hiding spot. The black and white tom's eyes widened slightly upon seeing Jattelik.

"I don't think so." The brown tabby scoffed. "You're on FallenClan land."

"We ain't trying to cause trouble," Sparrow murmured, gaze darting between Jattelik and the brown tabby. "Promise."

The brown tabby seemed to relax slightly at Sparrow's words, claws sheathing. "Fine, but you wouldn't be so deep inside FallenClan territory if you were just 'passing through.' What are you doing here?"

Sparrow glanced at Jattelik. Grunting in irritation, the tom grit out, "I'm looking for some cats."

"Who?"

"Silverbelly, Hailcrash, and Moonstep. Know them?"

"I-" The brown tabby flinched as if she'd been struck. "How do you know them?"

Jattelik took a deep breath, paused. "They're my kits. My surviving ones, anyhow."

"Oh." The brown tabby stared. "I'm Cherrystar. I'm FallenClan's leader."

"Jattelik," Jattelik muttered in reply. "This is Sparrow." He motioned towards the gray she-cat.

"I'm Ripplefade," the black and white tom spoke hesitantly.

"It's nice to meet y'all," Sparrow hummed. "Can you, uh, introduce us to Jattelik's kits?"

"Introduce?" Ripplefade frowned. "You mean he hasn't met them?"

Jattelik's ears flattened in agitation. "Stay out of it."

"I wasn't trying to-to-" Ripplefade stammered.

"Enough," Cherrystar cut in. "Jattelik, how do we know you're who you say you are?"

"Is my word not enough?" Jattelik bristled.

"I don't know," Cherrystar admitted. "This is just a lot to process." When Jattelik didn't reply, Cherrystar continued, "Hailcrash was my mother."

"Was?" Jattelik looked stricken, the loss of another child he'd never even met hitting him like a stack of boulders.

"She died earlier this moon. So did Silverbelly, a few days ago."

Jattelik squeezed his eyes shut. "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry," Sparrow murmured, pressing herself against Jattelik. "Moonstep is still around, then?"

"Yeah." Cherrystar was watching Jattelik closely.

When the tom regained his composure, he asked, "So that means you're my granddaughter?"

" . . . yes. Look, Jattelik, why don't we all go back to camp? I-I believe you."

" . . . thank you."

…

"This place is incredible!" Sparrow exclaimed, eyes twinkling with delight. "Golly, it's no wonder y'all have so many cats living here."

Ripplefade let out a pleased purr. "I can show you around, if you want."

"Would you really? Oh, thank you, dearie. Such a sweet tom. I'm glad Jattelik's grandkit has such a thoughtful mate." Ripplefade seemed to fluster at the compliment, looking away while Jattelik shot him a sour look. On the journey to camp, Cherrystar had revealed a bit about herself, including her relationship with Ripplefade. "Jattelik, will you be all right with Cherrystar?"

"Hm." That was Jattelik's way of saying yes. With a dip of her head, Sparrow padded off after Ripplefade, chattering good-naturedly the entire way.

"Where's Moonstep?" Jattelik asked the moment Sparrow and Ripplefade were gone.

"He's out of camp right now, actually," Cherrystar admitted. "He went out on a walk with Quailcall." At Jattelik's blank expression, Cherrystar elaborated, "Quailcall is one of our clan's mediators. They help cats process things, sometimes."

"Oh." Jattelik glanced around. Several cats were staring at him.

"Why don't we go back to my den? We can wait for Moonstep to get back. I'll have someone come fetch us once he's arrived."

"Sure." Jattelik padded along after Cherrystar, feeling as though he were floating. After all this time, he was really in FallenClan's camp. The same place his second litter of kits had been born. The same place Toro had made her home. The same place his kits had made their home.

Once they arrived in the den, which quite frankly was far larger than any den Jattelik had ever lived in, the two cats sat down. "Can you tell me about my kits? And. . . and my grandkits?" Jattelik asked, gaze sweeping Cherrystar up and down. It was still a shock to him that this strong, well-respected she-cat was his granddaughter.

"Oh, sure." Cherrystar fidgeted. "It might take awhile."

"I have time."

"All right. I guess I'll start with . . ."

…

"Thanks, Quailcall."

"Of course. You can talk to me anytime."

"Yeah." Moonstep's tail swished dismissively. Talking to Quailcall had helped some, but a part of him still felt that the she-cat was too young to truly grasp what he was going through. He hadn't been particularly close to Hailcrash or Silverbelly, but they were still his sisters, his last surviving siblings.

Now he was alone.

To make matters worse, he could feel his clanmates staring. What in StarClan's name was making them all look at him like he might snap? "Moonstep?" It was Pocket who finally approached him, uncertainty in her gaze. "Cherrystar has someone in her den who wants to talk to you."

"Someone?"

"A loner," Pocket explained. Moonstep's brows furrowed. Padding past the warrior who Moonstep knew to be hopelessly pining after his nephew, the tom made his way to the leader's den. It felt wrong calling it Cherrystar's den. It had been Maplestar's den only a few moons ago, it seemed, and Goldenstar's den before that.

When he poked his head inside, he was met with Cherrystar speaking softly with a tom who bore a startling resemblance to the clan leader. "Cherrystar?" Moonstep questioned. Two pairs of eyes snapped to him.

"Moonstep," the stranger whispered, seemingly entranced.

Moonstep rose a brow. "And who are you supposed to be?"

"I'm, ah, I'm Jattelik," the tom rumbled.

"Yes," Cherrystar mewed slowly, "this is Jattelik. Ripplefade and I found him and his," she shot a questioning glance at Jattelik, "friend wandering around FallenClan territory earlier."

"Okay. So they want to join?" Moonstep sighed. As much as it brought him pride to see FallenClan so welcoming towards outsiders, he also knew that realistically the clan couldn't keep letting in new cats, not with so many kits being born as well.

"No," Jattelik interjected. "I wanted to meet you."

"Me?"

"Yes." Jattelik shot Cherrystar a nervous glance, causing the she-cat to nod encouragingly. Moonstep's bafflement was growing by the minute. "I'm your father, Moonstep."

" . . . what?" Moonstep stared. "Is this some sort of joke?"

"Toro was my mate," Jattelik mumbled. "I didn't know about you until very recently."

"Oh." Moonstep sat down. Staring at the ancient tom, Moonstep could see the striking resemblance her bore to not only Cherrystar, but to Hailcrash. Moonstep knew if he looked at his own reflection, he'd seem the same set of shoulders, pointed ears, and narrowed snout reflected back at him.

"How did you find out?" Cherrystar asked.

"One of your former clanmates, actually. I always thought the fella to be quite odd, but Sparrow convinced me to ask him about Toro and, well. . ." Jattelik trailed off.

Suddenly tense, Moonstep hissed, "What was the cat's name?"

"Otterslip," Jattelik said slowly, gaze narrowing. Cherrystar's ears flattened. Moonstep practically leapt out of his pelt.

"Otterslip?" Moonstep seethed. "That two-faced mongrel!"

"What? Did he hurt you?" Jattelik leaned forward, an absurd protectiveness sweeping over his features, as if Moonstep, an elder himself, was only a kit in need of protection.

"Otterslip murdered Stormsight. He tried to kill Silverbelly!" Moonstep had to stop to take a few deep breaths. To think that treacherous friend had been gallivanting with Moonstep's long lost father.

"He what?" Jattelik's voice suddenly dropped an octave, cold fury sparking in his gaze. "That damn brute. I knew he was no good. I'm going to tear him to pieces the moment I leave."

"Leave?" Cherrystar frowned. "Aren't you and Sparrow staying?"

"Can't," Jattelik answered almost immediately. "We. . ." he trailed off.

"I get it," Moonstep hummed, the cold flames of fury still simmering in his chest. It would take a few minutes to banish them fully.

"We can stay for a few nights. Moonstep, I want to get to know you." Jattelik mewed earnestly. "I want to get to know the cats who showed Toro hospitality. I want to get to know my kits' kits. My son."

"I wouldn't mind getting to know you, but I don't want you to have any false expectations. Toro is the only parent I have."

"I understand." Jattelik deflated slightly, but still pressed on, "Even if I can't be your father, I'd still like to be something to you, even if it's just that strange tom who stops by occasionally. For as little time as I have left."

"All right." Moonstep nodded, feeling slightly overwhelmed. "Can we talk later? I think I just need to go lie down." Truthfully, what he needed was to go find Quailcall again. He'd prefer talking to Mudsplash, but the older she-cat was going through her own grief right now.

Jattelik nodded. As Moonstep vacated the den, he could hear Cherrystar offering to show Jattelik around. Moonstep knew that the she-cat would be subtly trying to convince the tom to join the clan at some point. Honestly, the idea was somewhat frightening to Moonstep. In a way, life had been simpler an hour ago.

With a sigh, Moonstep made a beeline for the medicine den, where he knew Quailcall would be inside talking to Bristleheart. Even if Quailcall was busy, perhaps one of the clan's medicine cats would be able to offer some insight, or even some solace in their grief.

What an exhausting day.

...

"How did it go?" Sparrow tilted her head.

"Okay, I guess. He didn't seem too thrilled to meet me." Jattelik sighed, burying his face into Sparrow's fur. "What if this was a mistake?"

"It wasn't, Jattelik. Forming any sort of relationship with your son is going to take time. It'll be okay, I promise."

"I know, I know." Snuggling deeper into the nest he and Sparrow had been offered, Jattelik felt himself begin to drift off. It was weird, sharing a den with so many other cats. He and Sparrow had been offered a place in the elder's den for now, with Moonstep agreeing to give up his nest in favor of temporarily sleeping in the medicine cats' den.

Nearby, a black tabby with a frostbitten tail lay snoring, a fluffy black and white tom pressed against him. With a pang, Jattelik realized the black and white tom must be Flyspots, one of Jattelik's apparently many grandchildren.

As Jattelik closed his eyes, he felt Sparrow begin to groom his fur, her affection and warmth washing over him.

At least if things didn't work out with Moonstep, he'd always have her. For now though, Jattelik would hold out hope.

Perhaps there was still time to fix things.

-🐉

AUGHHHH MY HEART..... dragon your fics always manage to grab my feelings like a squeaky toy and stomp on them (/positive). I love the idea of Jattelik meeting the clan and his kids,,,,

[lunarsands]

Multi-SMP Fanfic: Which Fate’s Fairest To Us All – Ch 5

Characters: Mythical Sausage (1st), Rusty the Copper Golem, PearlescentMoon, Scott Smajor (1st), Mythical Sausage (2nd), Hermes, Mythical Sausage (3rd), Scott Smajor (2nd), Rocky the Goblin, and a couple of briefly mentioned cameos at the end!

WARNINGS: Character death (but they get better because Afterlife/New Life rules are in play), body horror

Chapter Summary: Things are literally heating up for the group in the labyrinth. Meanwhile, Smajor has an encounter with a changed Sparrow. Myth undergoes an unexpected transformation, but it seems to be just what’s needed to deal with the mutated Warden… and more. (Hi I’ve been brainfried and realized after I’d posted the other chapters that they could use their own summaries)

Sequel to Mirror Tenfold, Beyond the Wall and follows sometime after the events of Thou, O Kings, Fair Be You All.

(Also available on Ao3!)

[ Chapter One ] [ Chapter Two ] [ Chapter Three ] [ Chapter Four ]

Chapter Five

The scene at the battle site was quite fiery, indeed. Hermes hovered above, dodging fireballs and baiting Wardens to go after him, then neatly avoiding them once getting them lined up perfectly for a shot from Myth or the Ghast Mage. There were now six Wardens including the one Myth had initially targeted. The sounds behind him had gotten the phoenix’s attention, and while he did try to deliver a crippling blow to the first Warden’s legs, it hadn’t taken long for it to lumber over and join the others.

Not all of them were infested with mycelium. At least three were normal Wardens, although it was getting difficult to tell which one was which with all the fire and smoke in the air. Hermes was doing his best to be mindful of both. Eventually, though, he needed to land to get below the smoke line. He chose a spot behind the Ghast Mage since Myth was turning into a raging ball of fire once again.

The Ghast Mage looked no less angry. His face was streaked with tears, flames spewing from his lips as he yelled, “Phoenix! Aim for the sculk, too!” He turned his runny eyes to Hermes. “You, too – if you can use your lightning to spark a fire on that stuff!”

“I’ll give it a try,” Hermes said. “But are you going to be alright?”

Ghast-sage stifled a cough. “No choice! He can’t handle these things alone, even if he is able to regenerate so fast!”

As if on cue Myth’s form went up in a burst of bright flames – yet this time they were tinged blue. Hermes frowned. “He’s burning hotter every time. I don’t think that’s a good sign.”

“Worry about it later. We’ve got to stop any more of them from climbing out. TIME TO BURN EVERYTHING, BOYS!!” Ghast-sage dashed to the nearest sculk patch and uttered a ghastly shriek as he began pummeling it with fireballs.

Hermes pinched his lightning bolt earring for luck, hoping the alignment frequency remained sturdy, then gathered some power around himself and the trident’s tines. He pointed them at a Warden who was stumbling toward the Ghast Mage and unleashed a bolt strong enough to knock it off its feet.

The Warden struggled to regain its balance, giving Hermes time to direct a bolt at one of the Wardens closing in on Myth, who was peppered with bright blueish-white flames from his latest revival.

This time the glow surrounding his feathers faded to yellow instead of orange.

Just then Scott popped into view, distracting Hermes from his concern. Ghast-sage gestured to himself before pointing from one sculk patch higher up on the wall to one across from it, then to a third near the ground. As they teleported off on that route, Hermes took it as a sign to target any patches except those three – as well as any Wardens who got in the way. The senses of the creatures seemed to have been thrown off by the explosions all over the place, so Hermes decided to cause a few localized thunderclaps to add to the auditory chaos, making one or another Warden turn toward that sound and give Myth a chance to retreat elsewhere.

Not that he seemed inclined to retreat, or move to any spot clear of danger.

When not trying to set Wardens on fire, he was swooping toward patches of sculk and incinerating as much as he could in one touch. He had even managed to use a few beats of his blazing wings to sear moss hanging off the Wardens’ antennae. Concern returned to Hermes as he wondered if the phoenix would turn himself into an inferno to deal more damage.

The roars of agony from the Wardens were beginning to be swallowed up by the sound of whooshing fireballs and Myth’s own snarls. Hermes was glad his father wasn’t close enough to feel the scorching heat. Soon enough even the Staff might be at risk of igniting.

Within minutes of Scott’s arrival, the majority of the sculk patches were eliminated. Hermes had taken down two of the Wardens, while Myth had killed at least three. He was on the last one now, intent on dishing out one or more of his kamikaze bursts of blinding fire. His feathers retained a blueish tint after the latest one, white flames remaining along his arms as well as coming off the corners of his eyes.

Myth glanced around rapidly, hunting for more sculk or remaining Wardens. Scott and the Ghast Mage reappeared; Ghast-sage collapsed onto his backside on the ground, sighing in exhaustion, while Scott opened a bundle and hastily began eating to replenish his powers.

The lot of them went deathly still as they heard a splattering sound.

Somewhere, a patch of the bizarre sculk remained.

Above.

It was somewhere above. They witnessed more sculk vein hit the ground near to where the Ghast Mage sat. It spread with insane speed, forcing Scott to grab his friend and teleport out of the way.

They reappeared beside Myth, who continued to emit the blueish flames. Hermes quickly joined them. He flinched when he felt the level of heat radiating off Myth.

The phoenix didn’t notice the reaction, his stare glued to the subsequent bubbling and rapid spread of sculk across the floor. He murmured with genuine worry, “What happened to this place? It was completely abandoned the last time I was here. There’s no way Smajor could have caused all of this in the time we’ve been in that world… Everything was the same here, right down to the messes we left behind when we fought—!”

The ground rumbled louder than ever before, shaking the surroundings with enough force to send debris raining down from the tops of walls again. An arm shot up from the sculk patch, followed by another. They grasped at the floor beyond, leaving deep furrows in the as-yet unsculkified stone.

Then another arm emerged.

Then another.

Two sets of antennae emerged.

A roar rang out, amplified twofold.

A two-headed, four-armed Warden pulled itself out of the sculk. Its body was a twisted combination of blue-black and grayish-purple. Within its exposed ribcage was a warring swirl of turquoise and violet light, with the shapes similar to those of the faces on soulsand violently contorting in frenzied turmoil. Equal amounts of sculk vein and stringy purple moss hung off of it.

It was also gigantic in comparison to the previous Wardens.

Ghast-sage leaned heavily on Scott. “I… I don’t know… how much more… I’ve got in me,” he huffed. He coughed and attempted to stoke up some fire, but all that rose from his palms and mouth were feeble puffs of smoke that immediately dissipated. “We – We need to run.”

To be fair, the direction they needed to go was currently right at their backs.

But there was one problem.

“My dad and Rusty are still back there,” Hermes said, pointing past the mutated Warden.

Scott patted the bundle he had been carrying. “My power is still recharging, but I need to save some of this. I don’t think I can teleport to them and back quickly enough.”

Myth stepped forward, eyes aglow with blueish-white flames. “I’ll just have to fight it to buy enough time.”

~*~

Smajor groaned as he revived for possibly the eighth time since he had… encouraged… Myth to enter the portal. He pulled the strangling sculk vein away from his neck, grateful that it had gone slack when it perceived him to be dead. He had one block of mycelium left under each foot, but it was enough to get him powered up again.

He freed his arms then did a twirl to unwind the rest of the viny sculk vein from around his body. Mycelium appeared with every step, slowly but steadily spreading. Smajor sneered as he kicked the catalyst that had popped up during his previous death. “This stuff is more persistent than Myth is. But I guess I am giving it a perpetual source of death to multiply from.”

He stepped upward on slippery stairs toward the portal, leaving a trail of tiny mushrooms in his wake in order to give the sculk more to overcome before it tried to surge once again. For the twelfth time he pulled off the sculk vein that had gathered over the bottom of the portal frame, sprinkling plenty of mushroom spores along the frame as another deterrent. He had tried a variety of all combinations of magic that was at his disposal. The sculk was relentless. He had begun to wonder what would happen if he let it breach the portal.

He refused to let it. Not until he had some kind of confirmation on Myth’s status.

Not until he saw that hypocritically righteous oaf stumble out, with or without their missing doubles, exhausted from navigating the labyrinth. Smajor had no doubts about Myth finding his way out.

He smiled bitterly to himself. The downside was whether Myth would come back to this world, or go to their original one. Smajor had taken a gamble by tossing his rival into the labyrinth. The first time they had left it – whatever method had been used, since his own urge to kill destroyed any possibility of Myth telling him about it – obviously sent them and their goody-goody doubles back to their own worlds rather than to the same one.

Smajor directed a mushroom to grow large enough for him to sit on, then he relaxed there for the moment, enjoying what was probably going to be a short reprieve from sculk attacks. He had infinite time to wait, after all.

He didn’t bat an eye as he heard something approach from behind him. He merely prepared to slowly rise from his seat, poised to whip his arm around and make the mycelium surge.

An actual if not distorted voice made him pause. “What have you done to our shrine?!”

“Sp-Sparrow?” Smajor wheeled around and stared, shocked that the odd person had ventured this deep. He then squinted for a second, noticing the sickeningly familiar blue-black and turquoise clinging to an otherwise humanoid-looking Sparrow. “Is that you? Weren’t you a copper golem the last time I saw you?”

“When even was that, Scott?” Sparrow challenged, moving up the stairs with unwavering purpose. “I don’t think I’ve seen you in weeks. What have you been doing while sneaking about? Setting up your mushrooms even down here, I see. Well, I won’t stand for it. This is our home!”

“I only see one of you,” Smajor retorted. “And what are you talking about? I’ve been scouting this place for a while and there hasn’t been anyone else around.” He took a step back, then tried to subtly look for the mushroom closest to Sparrow that he could try using to yeet the intruder away if necessary. He didn’t like the intense look in Sparrow’s sculk-altered eyes.

“All of the Deep Dark is our home,” Sparrow insisted. “All of the Ancient Cities are ours. I didn’t start living in this one, but it is part of our network! You have no right to be infesting this place with your overworld fungus!”

“Sparrow,” Smajor said dryly, “I think you’re the one who is infested. You’ve got a little something growing on your cheek, there. And your neck. And both hands. Might want to check your eyes, too. Have you looked at your reflection lately?”

“Don’t mock us, Scott!!”

“Mock who? You’re still the only one I see.” Smajor let a tiny smile slip onto his face. None of these fools even realized their friends had been replaced.

“The sculk, Scott!!” Sparrow’s volume increased along with the distortion in his voice. “We’re not going to stand for being stifled any longer! They told me something was going on in this city! They told me foreign soil had been placed and it was trying to consume them! But we’re stronger than you think. Did you really expect to transform the whole of the Deep Dark into mycelium? Don’t you have enough places to spread your inferior children?”

“Now, now, Sparrow. Mushrooms grow best in low light, damp environments. Surely we can share? You and I are basically relatives.”

Sparrow drew back as if stung. “You’re nothing like us!” He went still for a moment, then a smile of his own crossed his face. “But maybe I can make you like us.”

Smajor raised an eyebrow in doubt over whatever that would entail. He reconsidered two seconds later, however, when Sparrow’s body dissolved into a cloud of sculk spores and rushed at the fungal mage’s face. He flailed, attempting to bat them away, but as they swarmed close to his nose and mouth he inevitably inhaled some of them.

Some then led to all of them as the first ones took control of his body, the spores seeming to flood his brain. Smajor panicked – but only over the possibility that Sparrow might somehow get access to his memories and learn that he wasn’t the real Scott of this world.

He wasn’t sure why he should care about that. If anything, maybe it would scare Sparrow when he learned just who, exactly, he was dealing with.

Smajor let Sparrow walk his body down the stairs, an obvious choice to get Smajor away from the portal. The fungal mage’s powers were temporarily dampened by the possession, but Smajor was very accustomed to being confined inside his own head without any other stimulation – aside from rolling a clock across the floor of an obsidian-lined cell over and over again. Sparrow hadn’t cut off his mental connection to his mana yet, only his ability to manipulate fungus spores.

“I can make you leave,” Sparrow’s voice inside his head threatened. “I can make you walk to a desert, where it’s all blinding light and drought. I can make you walk into an abandoned corner of the Nether and strand you there. I can do whatever I want with you! All I have to do is leave you on the brink of death, and then you’ll become something else that has no power over fungus! What do you say to that?”

Smajor regained control of his mouth muscles, which he used to smirk. Maybe Sparrow couldn’t see the expression for himself, but he might be able to feel it. “Actually, I have a neat trick for just such an occasion! Watch this – and by that I mean you might want to leave my body.” He instantly expelled all of his mana at once, causing every mushroom in a three-meter radius to sprout up to gigantic height. Mycelium spread across the floor to the same distance.

The cloud of spores that was Sparrow ejected itself just before Smajor dropped lifelessly to the ground. Sparrow reformed himself and stared down in shock. His voice came out normal and trembling. “S-Scott? Scott??” No response came from the fungal mage. “W-Why would he do that? I – I thought he was trying to accomplish something here. He – He fought off all the other attempts to stop him, right? That’s why I had to come down here…”

Sparrow clutched at his head. His voice became distorted again. “It doesn’t matter – he doesn’t matter! If that was his choice to avoid being controlled, then so be it! Now we can clean up this mess in peace.” He walked toward the nearest tall mushroom and directed a strand of sculk vein to begin spiraling its way up the stem, corrupting it as it went.

A polite cough behind him made him turn. Sparrow was unbothered; they could easily deal with the intruder regardless of what he had become—

The fungal mage stood up, looking exactly the same. The smirk was back on his face. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m unkillable. What about you, Sparrow? How many lives do you have?”

~*~

Myth hated to admit it but this new Warden was a lot tougher than the others. Each time it swung around it left gouges in the walls on both sides, leaving the floor littered with even more debris. Ghast-sage had rustled up enough power to finish incinerating the new patches of sculk that had cropped up, but afterward Scott had to teleport him to safety.

After a few minutes Scott had returned to teleport very short distances, acting as bait to keep the mutated Warden busy by warping away just as it tried to grab him. Hermes was still doing likewise, although now his zipping through the air was accompanied by zapping the Warden with lightning strikes. Myth was flying low to the ground back and forth around its legs and launching fireballs into its lower body to try to bring it down a level.

When it finally dropped to its knees and slammed two of its arms against the ground to stay up so it could fend off its attackers, Myth allowed a smug smile of victory. Well, at least it wasn’t completely invincible. He did wish they had another offensive hitter available… He swooped around to where Hermes was taking a quick breather. “Hey! Can you see if The Protector is able to use any of his spells yet? They’ll probably be more effective on this thing than the guy we fought that one time – he’ll know what I’m taking about!”

“The Pro— oh, my dad? A-Are you sure you want me to leave you to fight alone?”

“I can handle it,” Myth assured him. He began to look away. “Where’s Scott? Maybe he can get you there—”

He abruptly shoved Hermes hard in the chest, sending the young man stumbling to the side—

And took the brunt of the mutated Warden’s angled sonic shriek himself. It flung Myth into the wall, where he slumped down gulping for breath, his midsection pressed concave. Half a second passed then his body burst into blue-white flames. His silhouette stood up within the fire, then the flames retreated to limn his arms, shoulders, and wings.

Another sonic blast followed. Myth fell back a step but he was too freshly reborn to be taken down so soon.

Hermes launched into the air, trying to distract the Warden by striking its antennae with lightning that forked in a continuous circuit among the four. He could tell that his attunement was starting to diverge from the trident’s frequency; he needed more time where he wasn’t using it. He pinched his gold earring then summoned his reserves to try for a more powerful strike – only to come to a stop as the Warden directed another shriek at Myth.

The phoenix’s revived strength didn’t hold this time. He felt the wind get knocked out of him just as he was releasing a fireball made of the flames that had been clinging to him mere seconds ago. Myth’s field of vision narrowed. Maybe he had taken another hit too soon after reviving? His energy seemed to drain out of him. He looked down at his hands in horror, unable to summon more fire to his fingertips.

The Warden threw its heads back and roared, rattling Myth to the bone. He looked around frantically for a path of escape. The fallen bits of wall appeared to block any avenue past the Warden. His vision darkened further; he couldn’t see any trace of Hermes or Scott, no flashes of lightning or bursts of teleportation sparkles.

Myth berated himself over how he should have asked The Protector sooner about lending some spells. Even a defensive one would be helpful right now. All he could do was drop to his knees and stubbornly face down the Warden while bracing himself for a final blow, whether it be another shriek or a swipe of the Warden’s massive claws as it raised two arms above him.

He was unsure of which it was, but flames engulfed his body once again. As he regained awareness he realized it felt different this time, like it was actually burning him this time.

And then…

And then…

His orange feathers were burned away, leaving behind smokey-grey ones. The concept of control over fire fled his mind. It was replaced by a different power that raced through his veins. It was familiar to him and yet long, long removed from the line of abilities that he had been through.

The second in that line.

He spared a single rasping breath to look down at his hands again. They had taken on a bony look – but he still felt strong enough. He briefly clenched his fists then threw himself at the Warden, hands now held outward with fingers poised like talons ready to latch onto prey.

Time to find out if these wither powers still worked like he remembered.

If he could cause an entire church to decay, surely he could do some serious damage to a giant Warden. Myth uttered a loud sound similar to an inverted breath, bringing chills to whoever heard; they were all aware of which creature made that sound.

Or, at least it brought chills to four of them. For Sausage, who had been cautiously but steadily approaching the Warden-riddled battleground, perked up. He didn’t know how one of his old allies would have even gotten there because he was fairly certain he hadn’t created a new pocket reality to even have a Deep Dark, but any help would be appreciated.

However, it was not the robed figure of his ally The Wither of Mythland who was attacking the mutated Warden. It was someone with the appearance of a wither, pale eyes flashing between bright blue and white, with a somewhat skeletal visage but with the stature and aura of someone accustomed to being a powerhouse, unlike The Wither’s reserved manner.

Sausage noted the dark grey wings plus now equally dark grey hair, then caught a glimpse of the singed clothes and face as the figure took to the air, and realized it was Myth. The sight made him mumble, “Is that what happens when a phoenix burns out?” He gripped the Staff of Sanctuary tightly, then glanced around for the others.

To his left Scott and the Ghast Mage, holding each other up, came limping out of a cloud of billowing dust stirred up by the Warden’s wildly swinging attempts to hit Myth as he swooped around both heads, his arms outstretched to either side to try to snag an antenna on his way. Hermes wasn’t immediately visible, which made Sausage worry. A brief yet dim flash of lightning sparked out of a dust cloud that was raining down from one of the walls. A shadow beyond it was revealed when Myth flew past and momentarily cleared the air with his wings.

Sausage recognized the sign of his son’s power waning regardless of trident, but he knew his own capabilities were better spent helping the other two. He whispered a spell that lifted Scott and Ghast-sage off their feet and pulled them toward him into the safety of cover provided by one of the larger fallen pieces of wall. They smiled gratefully.

Sausage then handed Scott another bundle of food while in exchange offering to help the Ghast Mage stand. “That’s the last of it. Chew wisely.” Scott nodded. He quickly downed a cold empanada and saved the rest. The three then directed their attention to the ongoing battle.

The Warden was now short one antenna on each head as well as missing one arm. There was no sign of the appendages, but an ashen gray coating was slowly spreading from the shoulder portion on the Warden’s right side where the arm would have been. No blood or bone was visible, only the creeping decay.

“Ah. Hmm,” Sausage whispered. Might as well not draw the Warden’s attention their way by talking at normal volume. “I came back to help but, uh, I’m pretty sure he’s got this.”

They watched another arm crumble away into drifting ash. Ghast-sage quietly cleared his throat. “You know, I used to worry that my Ghast side made me seem like some kind of monster. I don’t really think that anymore after seeing these two.”

“Hmm.” Sausage uttered the thoughtful sound again. However, this time his tone held disappointment.

The Ghast Mage was oblivious. “I guess that’s wither powers at work. Good thing he’s on our side! Sheesh!”

Scott leaned to say to both of them, “One question. How did he go from a phoenix to a wither? He basically just kept rising from his own ashes from what I saw – figuratively speaking, since he didn’t, like, literally become ashes?”

“But the Warden is,” Sausage and the Ghast Mage pointed out at the same time, their voices blending together.

Scott stared. “Okaaaay. That sounded incredibly weird. Please try not to do that ever again.”

They seemed about to apologize at the same time, too, but then looked at each other and then merely nodded at Scott. The transporter smiled sheepishly back at them before returning his attention to the fight between Myth, the mutated Warden, and occasional small forks of lightning from Hermes.

. Myth attacked the Warden with gusto, yet without the madness that had gripped him when he had previously been a wither. He hadn’t wasted much time wondering why, but maybe it was only because neither Smajor nor the shining seraph were in front of him.

Pieces of the Warden continued to decay like crushed fungus but instead of emitting spores, it was turning into dry dust. It mostly roared and ineffectually flailed its top right remaining arm. Myth allowed himself the high hope that having two heads interfered with its ability to produce a sonic blast in its current beleaguered state. He had been disappointed when the decay didn’t spread from the antennae to either head. He supposed that would have just been too easy.

Right after he landed to its useless left side to take a momentary break, his attention was ensnared by a popping sound coming from high on the Warden’s remaining shoulder. A patch of roiling sculk had appeared there. To Myth’s horror, multiple strands of sculk vein slid out of it and began to form a net – or a bandage – over the damaged cavity beneath it. The glitter of regular sculk bubbled up between the strands.

Myth grimaced. The mutated Warden could regenerate itself.

Of course it wasn’t just going to be that easy.

He needed to figure out how to bring it down before all of its limbs reformed, which would leave it less distracted so it could dish out sonic screams again. As he sought an attack plan he saw the roiling sculk surface on the left side of its chest, oozing toward its damaged shoulders. “Hermes!” Myth called. “Distract it a little longer! I need to—”

The Warden sharply jerked toward Myth’s location; its auditory senses were apparently unhindered by the lack of antennae. As it did so, its intact arm smacked into Hermes, knocking him to the ground. The contact with a solid form as well as the involuntary cry Hermes let out when he met the ground made the Warden turn again.  Hermes struggled back to his feet quick enough, but the Warden’s upper arm was already raising above him to smash him flat.

A greenish-golden dome of transparent light formed from out of the ground to encapsulate Hermes. The Warden’s fist bounced off of it, the sheer force of its own strike causing the creature to totter backward from the recoil. Sausage’s voice carried over the distance. “¡¡CORRE CORRE CORRE!! ¡¡ESE CABRÓN TE VA A MATAR!!”

An unexpected pang of panic shot through Myth’s chest. He needed to take this Warden down now. He frantically racked his brain for a way to boost his powers. He ran into a road block of memories tainted by madness; his instincts kept circling back to causing decay. Destroying from the outside. Bring it down, bring it all down, collapse the whole church onto the head of the thieving angel—

He forcibly gasped out loud to break himself from the soul-deep scar of that moment. He couldn’t rely on his own experience of being a wither anymore. But… there were other memories he could attempt to access. Not his. Ones exchanged by accident without his permission. Yet maybe, just a glimpse of events in a parallel life—

He mentally shifted his own perception aside, allowing his mind to relive the ones experienced by his opposite, the shining seraph, who selfishly took a glance into Myth’s soul and memories all just to locate a portal.

Myth’s eyes turned completely white. He launched himself directly at the Warden’s chest, hands held out with palms flat rather than curling his fingers to grab. He had no idea how this was going to feel, or what effect it would have on him – dread had accompanied the borrowed memories, but the process of extracting soul energy was burned into them.

And a Warden’s open chest showcased quite a large number of souls.

Myth shoved his palms directly into the ribcage cavity. He had no intention of pulling them out to eat them, instead focusing on absorbing their energy into his skin much like he could do with fire as a phoenix, and as a blazeborn, and as an angel before his fall. That memory of his own incited his rage. He let out the bone-chilling sound of a newly formed wither again, then began to both exude his power of decay and draw the soul energy into himself, creating a loop that ramped up the speed of the decay. The Warden roared—

The roar abruptly cut off as the light within its chest went out. The behemoth collapsed, its body rapidly overtaken by the decay, leaving it to crumble in on itself and leaving Myth to stand over the pile of dust, suffused by the glow from the energy he was still in the process of absorbing. The shapes of forlorn souls writhed throughout this glow, making him a grim figure, indeed.

The others were hesitant to approach. Hermes was still lying under the protective shield, although he did stare through it at Myth in astonishment. The phoenix-turned-wither calmly pivoted toward the larger group, lowering his arms to his sides to show that he hadn’t lost his mind and wasn’t going to pull out their souls next. The ghostly forms orbiting around him disappeared one by one, furtively being absorbed into his palms when they passed behind him. He had decided this was a less morbid way than capturing them two at a time in each hand and eating them to get them out of the way faster.

It was only after all of the souls were gone that Ghast-sage approached with a companionable grin. “Well, if we weren’t related by fire before, we sure are brothers in Nether now! That was awesome! You took that thing down like it was nothing!” He attempted to clap Myth on the shoulder in congratulations and perhaps also to show he didn’t fear the other, but Myth stepped back with a nervous look. The Ghast Mage yanked his hand away. “Oh, sorry! I should have asked first if, um, touching you might make me turn into dust or get my soul sucked out! Uh, no offense.”

Myth shook his head. His hands clenched into tight fights, trembling slightly even though he knew what he said next was the truth. A lingering remembered fear that wasn’t his own echoed through his head. “I have to be actively using these powers that way, and it’s only if I touch something. It’s safe to touch me. …I just… don’t…”

“Sorry sorry sorry,” the Ghast Mage blubbered. “Let me, ah, say thank you instead! And let’s get out of here before anything else shows up to kill us!”

Myth nodded. He went about searching for a stable part of the wall they had been traversing, passing Sausage as he dispelled the shield and lent Hermes a supportive arm. Ghast-sage retrieved Rusty, then trailed after Myth until an ideal section was found. Scott and Hermes then worked together again to get everyone onto the top of the wall.

This time Myth accepted the transporter’s help.

.

The rest of their journey proceeded without issue. Myth kept folding his wings in tightly, perhaps subconsciously bothered by the sight of them and what they meant for him going forward, only to loosen them a moment later either in anticipation of maintaining his balance or of flying ahead to confirm that they were going the correct way. He was glad that at least he still had feathers this time and actual flight rather than bare wing bones and the limited hovering capabilities of a real wither.

On his final glide he was able to spy the cluster of portals. He circled a few times, pointing downwards to signal the others that he had found their destination, then he perched on the wall nearest to the best spot to get down from. There seemed to be fewer portals than he remembered, though many still hung at different heights and overlapped in front of others by just enough margin that someone could pass between their positions. Maybe his warning to the Superhero had paid off, and word was getting around the multiverse somehow, leading to the portals on the other side to be destroyed.

A much more dismal realization came to haunt him: maybe the worlds on the other side of those missing portals had been destroyed. How would his warning have spread, anyway? The thought ate at him as he checked if the others were close to reaching him, it continued to do so as he glided down to the ground alone.

He had an idea on how to rectify that situation, which he would keep to himself for the time being. He switched his focus to the portals that were still there, attempting to orient himself among them. It took some deliberation because he couldn’t recall which of the missing portals had overlapped in what positions near others. He knew, of course, that the shining seraph had utilized the soul energy of an additional person to get attuned to the matching portal’s energy… but he was on his own to find his.

Not that he had plans to leave Smajor where he was. This was just for the sake of reference.

Really, it was.

As Scott appeared in a flurry of orange particles to create his anchor point then immediately disappeared to begin ferrying the others down, Myth managed to find the best angle to see two portals that lined up perfectly across from each other. This didn’t guarantee that one of them led back to his world; if he and the shining seraph were opposites of each other, it was possible that there were other sets of Mythical Sausages who had opposite fates. He amused himself with the thought of the Superhero clashing with a villainous version of himself.

While Scott was off retrieving the last person – Sausage – Hermes drifted down by himself while holding the Staff of Sanctuary, the trident stashed at his back again. He leaned on the Staff once his feet touched the floor. He smiled wearily at Myth then gazed around in wonder at the cluster of portals. Myth held a hand out to the young man. “I need to test something.” Hermes offered the Staff on the assumption Myth wanted it back, but the phoenix-turned-wither shook his head. “No. Your hand.” Myth did realize that the Staff would probably serve the same purpose, but there was another reason for the test.

Hermes complied, shifting the Staff to lean on it with one hand while grasping Myth’s hand with the other. Myth mentally braced himself—

But there was no need. He didn’t experience a flood of memories being exchanged. Rather, he saw a solid gold sphere at the young man’s core. It was ringed by orbiting lines that were colored in two different shades of green, intersecting each other diagonally. An occasional spark of purple lightning dancing along each ring in turn.

With eyes glowing white, Myth peered around at the portals. One to his right, suspended about two meters off the ground, had green light sparkling within the gemstones the same shade as one of the rings around Hermes’ soul. Myth released the young man’s hand and reached to touch the Staff. He glanced at the portal again; now the light in the gemstones was the other shade of green.

When Myth let go of the Staff the light faded out. He pointed at the identified portal. “Stand over there. That one goes to your world.”

“How can you tell?” Hermes asked curiously as he walked over to it.

“It matches your soul.” Myth turned away before Hermes could ask anything else. He strode over to where Scott, Sausage, and the Ghast Mage were staring agog at all the portals. The last was holding Rusty to keep him from wandering off. Myth eyed Sausage for a moment. He didn’t need a third confirmation, and he was reluctant to touch the Protector using his soul-viewing power anyway, but an urge itched at the back of his mind.

Maybe that same urge is what had driven the shining seraph to grab Myth’s hand and steal a glance into his soul beyond just using the connection to identify a portal.

Myth waved for Sausage to follow him partway to where Hermes stood. Then he took a breath. “I just… want to doublecheck. If Hermes and the Staff both have celestial origins, I might not be right.” He steeled himself, then held a hand out to Sausage.

When the Protector accepted, it was not his soul that stunned Myth but the fact that two portals resonated with Sausage’s energy. The expected one matched exactly the same as with Hermes and the Staff, but another – directly vertical above it – also stood out, yet in a horrifically different way. All of the gemstones were broken, lifeless; what had drawn Myth’s gaze to it in the first place was the stuttering magenta lightning that flashed erratically along the frame, bringing emphasis to the red substance filling cracks in the stone holding the shattered gemstones.

Myth had the gut-wrenching feeling that this was what a portal that led to a destroyed reality looked like.

He made himself blink the power away, then let go of Sausage to gesture at Hermes. “Uh, yeah, still the same. Go over there. And I guess now we see if I, uh, locate a different one when I check with them.”

Sausage nodded, although Myth didn’t see the motion since he had already turned to hurry over to the other three. He also didn’t see the rueful expression on Sausage’s face as he peered upward, having noticed Myth’s head tilting when he became aware of the desolate portal.

Oblivious that he had actually given away his shock but needing to process the unsettling revelation, Myth pushed a reluctant sigh out of his lungs before regarding Scott, Ghast-sage, and Rusty. He couldn’t be sure if a soul connection would work on Rusty. He didn’t want to see the soul of someone who resembled Smajor. That left the Ghast Mage, along with another possible risk of sharing memories. He had already assumed that Sausage’s powers had prevented him from finding out anything else about that second portal.

Myth’s gaze fell on Ghast-sage’s vambrace with its opaque green crystal. The metal was tarnished by burns in a few places but intact otherwise. He wondered if it really did have any other significance beyond a piece of armor.c

“What’s wrong with you?!”

Rusty’s exclamation broke Myth from his thoughts. Out went his hand toward the Ghast Mage. “Give me your hand for a second.”

Ghast-sage adjusted Rusty so he was resting on his hip, freeing up an arm. He was warier than Hermes had been, but then he carefully clasped Myth’s hand. He gasped as a jolt shot through his mind.

Rusty leaned to place a hand over theirs.

Myth pushed away an invading mirrored memory of stumbling out of a Nether portal into the unfamiliar overworld and turned his once-again glowing eyes to the assortment of portals. Due to a blank portal that happened to be situated at the exact inconvenient angle to block it from where they stood, he almost missed the dim series of six colors that oscillated over the surface of the gemstones. It was only when Myth began walking – Ghast Mage in tow – to have a better view that he caught the shimmer of the lights.

“There,” he muttered, letting go of Ghast-sage to use that hand to point at the portal. It was a slight distance to the right of where Hermes and Sausage stood.

“Okay,” Rusty responded, holding onto the front of the Ghast Mage’s robes while his creator stood dumbfounded, apparently processing the shared experience now rattling around his mind.

It was Scott who asked, “‘There’, what?”

“Your portal home,” Myth clarified.

“How do you know for sure?” Scott asked next. He took Ghast-sage by the elbow to steer him toward the indicated spot.

“Wither’s intuition. …I can match soul energy to the world it came from by touching someone. That’s how the other me I met here found the way out.”

Seeing that a major conversation might be about to get underway, Sausage cast a spell that outlined the closer of his portals with golden light, then he and Hermes headed over to listen.

“About that…” Scott decided to go forward with the very question he had been pondering earlier. “How or even why did you turn into a wither? And what were you doing to the Warden that didn’t look like normal withering?”

Myth didn’t know if this was the best time to divulge the labyrinth’s secret influence but there was no way to guess what they might walk into on the other side of the portal where Smajor could be waiting. “This place can unlock someone’s past abilities. It didn’t happen to me last time, but it did happen to the version of me and you that I met here. They came in with one set of powers each and during our fight with them, they regained all the ones they had before. … I’ve been a wither before, but I’ve been over two dozen things since then. I think they only had three or four at that point in their timeline.”

“Wait, back up,” Scott held his hands out in a halting gesture. “From the sound of things, I thought it was you and them fighting Smajor?”

“Smajor and I were both very disagreeable at the time and didn’t trust our doubles. Or, well, I didn’t trust them. Judging by those first holes in the walls we came across, Smajor – predictably – must have attacked my double thinking it was me. They were both gravitals at the time, so it’s no wonder they were leaving craters after throwing each other into the floor and through walls. All that mess you saw back there, where we all met up – that was mostly done by me and Smajor. I was a blazeborn back then, so all I did was burn stuff.

In a tone trying to bring some levity Sausage commented, “You’ve got a theme going on with that, huh?”

“I’ve been the opposite a few times, just so you know,” Myth informed him. “Where I’m from, what you become next after you die is completely random. Except for the time right after we left the labyrinth and Smajor killed me the first chance he got. I became a seraph that time. I… let the power go to my head, because I started as a guardian angel, and it was like the ultimate promotion, so I went ahead dishing out what I thought was appropriate retribution.” Myth was rambling now, the full story pouring out of him. His brain felt like a swirl of emotions that he couldn’t contain; it soon dawned on him that it might have something to do with the vast variety of souls he had absorbed.

He made no effort to stop the tide of words.

~*~

To Be Concluded in [ Chapter Six + Epilogue ]

~*~*~

Translations:

“¡¡CORRE CORRE CORRE!! ¡¡ESE CABRÓN TE VA A MATAR!!” - “RUN RUN RUN! THAT BASTARD IS GOING TO KILL YOU!!”

[aimfor-theheart]

My darling cielo 🥺✨ thank you so much for taking the time to write spooky drabbles!!!!

So…I would LOVE to see your take on spooky fae Gojo 👀 🥀

Im sending you all my love and early Halloween candy!!!

hello erika my love!!

and OF COURSE! i will give you some spooky fae gojo!!

sending you sweets and treats and love too! thank you for requesting!!

dark fae!gojo x reader

cw: a smidge of predator/prey

***

You peer into the forest.

It peers back.

Bare birch trees, their leaves freshly fallen, stand stark white against the bleak sky, the ground laden in burnt gold and copper. Berry bushes with fruit overripe with late autumn hang heavily along the path, tempting, perhaps overly sweet smelling. Cloying.

You know this path well and have walked it many times.

You hug your cloak, worn and navy, tighter as the wind kicks up. Brisk, hungry wind. The type that bites.

The sun is fading, watery light streaming through the trees and you never want to be out here past sundown. As if to warn you, the caw of a magpie above you, it's wings twinged a vicious, bright blue.

It takes to flight, shimmers in the dying light.

You begin your journey back; you should make it just in time.

You know the path, you tell yourself, even as you move deeper and the trees grow thicker. As the forest swarms you, surrounds you. A strange fork in the road—you don't remember it being so soon. You take your usual left.

The path veers sharply. The wind howls.

Strange...you could've sworn—

You peer into the forest.

A pair of eyes peers back.

You yelp in surprise, lurching away from the figure now in a grove of trees.

Your hackles rise and something deep and innate and raw clangs inside your furiously heaving chest. Run, it screams, run.

You are frozen, a fawn uncertain, still as you can be.

He's tall and long-limbed, unnaturally so. His hair is the color of the birch trees, of spun starlight, a shock of white, vines curling atop his head, plush flowers and berries halo him. His eyes as brilliant as the magpie's wings.

“Hello, little sparrow.” And when he smiles, his teeth are sharp, a flash of white.

You lurch like you might run, jerk away from him but something catches you. Keeps you.

“You have something of mine.” He hums, waltzing towards you in an easy, lazy gate. He bends down suddenly, shoulders at a slanted angle, as he puts his face in yours.

Your heart rabbits quick and hard. He’s inhumanly beautiful with white lashes and glass skin. This close, you notice—his ears. Delicately pointed. Sharp. His canines, sharper.

His finger, nimble and long, dip into your neckline and now you really do stumble away from him. But he’s snagged the necklace you wear; just a smooth, river stone on a cord that you’d found when you were small and—he’s grabbed it. Keeps you held around the neck with it, like a little leash.

“I’ve had this since I was a child,” you manage to get out, “it’s mine. It can’t be yours.”

It is one of the only things that has lasted your whole life.

He tsks, tugging gently, “not at all. You stole this from me some time ago.” His eyes flash like a crack of lightning, and oh god his teeth are so, so sharp—“I’ve come to take it back.”

You pull hard until the stone is yanked from his hands. It thuds dully against your chest, reverberating against your heart.

This time, you listen to the animal in you that says run.

Your feet hit the earth. Wildly, you peer into the forest. You feel it peer back.

It blurs before you. Night swallows the sky.

But you hear his laugh, near and yet far, behind you and yet in front of you, surrounding you.

You force your legs to move faster, harder, feel the ache deep in your bones. You don’t dare look back. You grab at the wildly swinging stone to still it. It’s freezing cold.

“That’s okay,” and you feel his voice like a lovers caress;

“I love a chase.”

***

i hope you enjoyed a lil dash of him erika!!!!! genuinely would love to write more of fae gojo!!!

send me a monster and a character and i’ll write a drabble!

[spinus-pinus]

White-eared Ground-Sparrow Melozone leucotis

3/5/2024 Puntarenas, Costa Rica

brewmaster via iNaturalist, CC-BY-NC

[na-bird-of-the-day]

Hello!! The last ask about CR birds inspired me, have you done the white-eared ground-sparrow? They're one of my favorite sparrows! Also I appreciate this blog, always love seeing the posts on my dash :)

That one's actually been in my drafts! I'll queue it for you :) and thank you for the kind words!

[lorum-strap]

Manos pt. 1

MANOS

 Deep aromatic skin. A bartender in a taverna. He smelled of cigarettes, bitter sweet compari, disaronno, Mastika with lemon and pipire. Not all at once. It was the flood of memory that made me associate these scents with him. The flavors stuck to my tongue. Just as he stuck to the psyche.

    The taverna called “Fidiou 2” located in Athens, Greece. Fidiou translates to snake funny enough. If I want to be reminded of his essence I will lite a freshly rolled cigarette let it burn by a window like an incense. The nicotine honey that collects on the paper - I will touch to my lips. I will put compari and lime in a shot glass, swirl it around with my finger and suck on it until I get a touch of arousal. Then listen to his voice note that ends with “Kisses Goodnight.”

 A local girl in Athena brought my friend and I to Fidou. We entered the alley in which the tavern was perfectly placed. I was simply enchanted. The energy of the people in the street really fulfilled every small fantasy I had around the European way of life. Traditional music echoed off the marble buildings that towered over us. A meloncholy voice be the proud possessor of a middle aged woman with a tambourine. Accompanying her stunning vibrato, a well seasoned bouzoukia player. Very similar to a mandolin in sound and design. United their soft trance like melodies reverberating around us. 

 Upon entering this place I noticed him sitting at a table and thought to myself - what a beautiful man. I don’t think he noticed me. I was fixed on his traditional zorro-esque, young Jack Sparrow type energy. He stood out from the others. When asked what my type is in a man. I always say its never really physical but more energetic. I am attracted to the man who seeks, who ponders, who embodies. Something I’m reluctant to admit- someone who is slightly troubled at a caliber that doesn’t cause much harm. When you are curious you are always searching for other. Someone who challenges their current state in attempts to evolve.  I know this from the direction in which he gazes - down to the ground. But his shoulders are strong and reach up to the sky. So I know he will find what he’s looking for. 

The staff darted in and out with trays of shots and Greek tapas. They’re all so warm to one another. They were hugging, laughing and sharing kisses cheek to cheek in the European fashion. Shots were poured and the crew broke out into song before they were taken. Their arms layed over each others shoulders smiling from ear to ear. Ive never felt so safe around a group of strangers allowing their love to be shamelessly expressed. It was infectious. After a good many shots we danced to the next party location, this one more modern with a Dj playing mostly American top 40 from 2016. 

My company for the greek portion of my trip were Rea and Nefeli. Rea being a half greek girl from the states strong in her conviction and a great love for the culture. Nefeli, a full blown Greek and very proud to say so. Both unique and gorgeous. 

  We were receiving a lot of attention from the opposite sex. The attention was very respectful and never predatory. The boys were cute and very fun although it was the man I saw at Fidou who pulled up a chair and sat in the front of my mind.

The girls and I danced, sang and laughed until the black sky turned a dark blue. Initiation to the break of dawn. We had been out for a while. A few of the people from Fidou 2 had gotten off work and walked past the small club, rolling their cigarettes, staggering a bit dressed in black and grey colors. I loved their style. Piercings, Mohawks, and buzz cuts. Less punk and more dark bohemian in dress some could say- grunge. Us girls really enjoyed their company. There is something about a sweet and salty mix of characters that are biologically magnetic towards one another.  I asked one of the bartenders from Fidou about the guy with the small hoop earrings, low ponytail and white shirt. Ahhh! Manos! He declared. Yes, yes! Where is he tonight? Ehh he is not here tonight he works at the bar tomorrow - You should come by! He said in a thick Armenian accent. Looking towards the girls my eyes lit up. They chuckled and teased me a bit. Once my compass points a certain direction its hard for me to steer away until its proven unworthy of my attention. So I had to give it a shot.

[aurabird]

Desperate Measures

Sparrow attempts a risky experiment on himself out of his desperation for abilities. The results of his efforts are nothing short of painful and traumatizing.

Owen’s latest New Life episode gave me many thoughts so I bring you this.

Tw: Implied body modification, body horror, self-experimentation.

Ao3 Link

----------

Sparrow checked the machine for what was probably at least the hundredth time. It had to work perfectly, otherwise...

...he didn’t want to think about the outcome of what would happen if just one of the mechanisms was even the slightest bit off, shaking the unbidden horrific images from his head.

Everything was in order, yet a sense of dread washed over him. He was desperate...so, so desperate, for some kind of power, ANY kind of power.

Gaining abilities after death was not a certainty, for while some of the residents in this land had in fact in fact died and simply come back with different abilities, they were hybrids to begin with. He was only human, nothing more; there was no way he could be sure what brought them back would work on him.

He could have approached this in some other way of course, it had crossed his mind to simply experiment on the hybrids in this land and try and figure out what made them what they were so that he could then replicate it.

But he’d shot that idea down instantly at the image of Scott in a cage laying in his own blood, the carefree and joyful glow in his heterochromatic eyes dulled from being drugged or tortured. No, Sparrow could never do something like that to him; or any of the other hybrids he’d met for that matter.

That’s what led him down the path he had gone. If he refused to experiment on hybrids then he would experiment on himself instead.

It began to rain as he shakily approached the chamber, trying to ignore the various devices that would dig into him once he sealed his fate.

The door of the chamber closed once he was inside, his back against cold metal. Restraints clamped around his wrists and ankles, a precaution to ensure he would not struggle.

The walls shut around him, casting darkness over everything. Sparrow was alone now with only his fear and mechanical whirring sounds for company.

All at once pain shot through every atom in his body. It was like he was being torn apart and then pieced back together on a molecular level. He supposed, that probably was exactly what was happening to him, given what he designed the machine to do.

Sparrow could not fight back the reflex urge to cry out in sheer agony as the machine worked, even though the scream was simply swallowed up by the sounds of everything else.

The worst part of everything was that Sparrow could feel the overwhelming energy that came with having far too many conflicting powers, feel his body try and adjust to the changes being made to his DNA.

Everything hurt, everything burned. Sparrow just wanted it all to stop! Please! Make it stop!

Once more a cry was wrenched from his throat, this time followed by a resounding BANG as behind his closed eyelids Sparrow saw a flash of white, felt the warmth of the explosion that had occurred.

And then he was on the ground, sobs racking his body as he cried, curled up tightly in a ball for comfort.

Elemental particles of all kinds swirled around him, parts of his body ever-shifting between various stages of corporeal. Two pairs of wings had torn free from his back, the feathers and leathery membranes coated in a deep crimson; feline ears were pressed flat against his head, curling horns nestled between them.

Even his scaled tail thrashed with discomfort and pain.

Sparrow forced himself to open his eyes, finding his vision was mismatched. From one eye, he could see color; from the other, only monochrome shades.

It was then that the horrifying realization of what he’d done in his desperation finally dawned on him.

He’d introduced several types of hybrid and fauna DNA into his own without any care for what it may do to him.

He almost didn’t want to see what he’d turned himself into, the newfound feeling of appendages he definitely did not have prior to stepping into the machine and the fact that his body felt like it was floating but also on fire told him everything he needed to know.

Despite his fear, Sparrow began to crawl; away from the machine behind him, away from what he knew were several sharp objects stained with his own blood. He made his way over to the edge of the peninsula he called home, towards the ocean to get a look at himself.

He tried to ignore the fact his arms were not human anymore.

Cool water lapped against his webbed and scaled fingers as grass turned into sand. The ocean called to him, yet his instincts also told him to get far, far away from it.

The face that reflected back was still his, save his mismatched eyes and the horns and ears. At least some of his facial features from before had remained; he didn’t want to think about what would have happened if no one realized that he was still Sparrow.

He then turned to inspect the rest of him, being met with the sight of something not human nor hybrid; some kind of chimeric, humanoid creature.

This was the price for his hubris...and it was something he’d have to live with for the rest of his life.

That was all it took for him to break. Sparrow curled into a ball once more and wept, his sobs the only thing audible underneath the static that filled his still-ringing ears.

He didn’t know how long he lay there in the sand, but soon another sound aside from his sobs could be heard. Were those...voices?

Sparrow opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out, only a hiccup and a gasp. He could feel nothing but pain, couldn’t see anything but a mess of colors blurred by tears. If someone...or something was here, maybe they would just put him out of his misery.

A whisper of reassurance and a brief flash of orange and cyan broke through the fog of his mind, a familiar face...before everything went black.