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gffa · 4 months

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STAR WARS PREQUELS - A TIMELINE

So, what's this about, huh? After recently sitting down with Star Wars Timelines, I was genuinely surprised at just how much they were willing to nail down to a specific year and sequence of events, which admittedly is a reference book and those are pretty low on the canon totem pole so be prepared for future retcons down the road, but it's shockingly useful information to have! Because the more I paged through it, the more I realized just how useful it would be for fic writers, especially for anything that might be referenced by a prequels character. Do you want to know how old the Jedi Order basically is? What the eras were called, if a prequels character wanted to reference them? What year did Dooku leave the Jedi? When did Naboo join the Republic? When was the Republic founded? When was the Jedi Temple built? When was Yaddle born? When did the Togruta ally with the Republic? Was Anakin born on Tatooine? When did Plo discover Ahsoka? When did Anakin get his first kyber crystal? When did Obi-Wan join the Jedi Council? WHEN DOES THE MANDALORIAN CIVIL WAR TAKE PLACE?? Some of this is SO INTERESTING to have nailed down into place--like just how old Huyang is or that the Jedi Temple was constructed on Coruscant BEFORE the Republic existed! Useful for me to know, but also my prequels-era characters to know! This book is willing to tell us A LOT and I collated everything I thought would be useful for a prequels character to know! ERAS:

c.5,000 BBY– 1,032 BBY: Ancient conflicts "The Jedi and Sith wage a series of wars throughout their history so ruinous that at points each is brought to the brink of destruction."

c.500 BBY–330 BBY: "The Age of Exploration" "After centuries of governing in regions near the galactic Core, the Republic sets out to explore the Outer Rim. This era of exploration on the frontier presents many adventures and opportunities for the Republic and the Jedi Order alike, but growth also leads them to uncover new mysteries and dangers. Soon the Jedi Order’s very connection to the Force is put to the test."

c.500 BBY–100 BBY: "The High Republic" The four hundred years that are collectively referred to as the High Republic era.

TIMELINE:

c.25,025 BBY: BIRTH OF THE JEDI

"The Jedi Order is founded. Among the earliest locations, and likely the first, is a temple constructed on the planet of Ahch-To. Later, the temple retains the most treasured Jedi texts and earliest writings on the Order’s faith. For eons, these noble protectors stand united by their ability to harness the power of the Force itself for good."

c.25,020 BBY: Professor Huyang powered up "The architect droid Professor Huyang begins training Jedi younglings in the delicate art of lightsaber construction."

c.20,000 BBY: Dawn of the Republic

"The foundation of the Republic is formed through an alliance including Coruscant, Corellia, and Alderaan, prompted by the dawn of hyperspace travel."

c.5,000 BBY: Creeping darkness

"A dark-side sect splinters from the Jedi, causing the formation of the Sith. This fracture is the genesis of a millennia-long rivalry."

c.5,000 BBY–1,032 BBY: "The Sith battle the Jedi in numerous conflicts for thousands of years before their struggle comes to an end, resulting in the destruction of the Sith Empire."

c.5,000 BBY–1,032 BBY: "The Sith build shrines on planets, including Malachor and Moraband. They covet these locations for their connection to the dark side of the Force."

c.1,050 BBY: A Mandalorian Jedi

"Tarre Vizsla becomes the first of the Mandalorian warriors to be inducted as a member of the Jedi Order. The unique lightsaber he constructs comes to be known as the Darksaber, later stolen to be used as a symbol to unite his planet."

c.1,032 BBY: Coruscant Temple erected

"The main Jedi Temple on Coruscant is constructed at the same location where there was once a Sith shrine."

c.1,032 BBY: "Darth Bane, the last surviving Sith, recognizes that infighting and back-stabbing ultimately led to the downfall of the Sith Empire. He declares the Rule of Two, whereby there can only be a sole master and single apprentice of the Sith. The practice safeguards the inherently selfish Order from self-destruction, thus ensuring the survival of the Sith for centuries to come."

1,000 BBY: Reformation of the Republic

"The first incarnation of the democratic alliance of planets, the Galactic Republic, is reformed."

c.972 BBY: Rules of war

"The Galactic Accord of Systems establishes a set of rules of engagement, in the event another war should break out."

896 BBY: Yoda is born

"The future Jedi Master Yoda is born."

832 BBY: Construction of Theed

"Naboo’s capital city, Theed, is built. The floating city on the banks of the river Solleu becomes the jewel of the metropolis."

867 BBY: Naboo joins the Republic

"The planet of Naboo officially joins the Galactic Republic. The event will be commemorated annually with The Festival of Light."

796 BBY: Students of Yoda

"Master Yoda begins training Jedi. He will maintain this regular practice, teaching the newest members of the Order, for about 800 years."

600 BBY:

Jabba Desilijic Tiure is born.

509 BBY:

Yaddle is born.

c.392 BBY: PATHFINDERS

"The Republic and the Jedi establish Pathfinder teams to explore new hyperspace lanes in the farthest reaches of the galaxy. A team of Pathfinders typically includes two Jedi, a master and their apprentice, who work together with their Republic allies to discover new ways through dangerous and unexplored places. They work with communications teams who lay the groundwork for the infrastructure needed for Republic growth. In return for their efforts, the Jedi Order hopes to gain new understanding of the galaxy, new cultures, and the Force."

c.383 BBY: THE HYPERSPACE RUSH

"Independent explorers also race to discover new paths through hyperspace. These prospectors risk their lives in perilous, uncharted corners of the Outer Rim, hoping to find safer, shorter routes. Families like the Grafs and San Tekkas earn great fame and fortune by selling their knowledge of these new hyperlanes."

382 BB The First High Republic book of Phase II

The High Republic: Path of Deceit kicks off the second phase of books, set 150 years before the previous phase.

382 BBY: Battle of Jedha

"The Path of the Open Hand instigates a battle on the sacred moon of Jedha."

232 BBY The First High Republic book of Phase I:

The High Republic: Light of the Jedi, which kicks off the original era of the High Republic (out of universe, not in universe), starting with the Great Hyperspace Disaster where a ship explodes in hyperspace over the planet Hetzal Prime. This ignites an intergalactic conflict with the Nihil that draws the Jedi and the Republic into a massive connected, long-running series of battles against them.

232 BBY:

"Dignitaries and Jedi gather at the Starlight Beacon for its official dedication ceremony."

The Great Hyperspace Disaster (the Legacy Run explodes in hyperspace) happens and the Jedi rush to help mitigate the disaster and evacuate as many people as they can.

"The brave deeds of the Jedi Order [in the Great Hyperspace Disaster] are cast across the galaxy via holotransmissions, making Kriss and her fellow Jedi heroes."

The Emergences: "Though Hetzal has been saved by the heroics of the Jedi, fragments of the Legacy Run continue to threaten the frontier. Fear grips the Outer Rim as blazing wreckage of the ship appears with little warning from hyperspace. As the Republic seeks answers to these Emergences, a group of Jedi stranded in a forgotten corner of space unknowingly cause a far older and more sinister threat to emerge: the Drengir."

"Wreckage from the Legacy Run scatters through hyperspace, endangering the Outer Rim. The first of the Emergences after the Great Hyperspace disaster occurs at Ab Dalis, killing 20 million beings."

"The Nihil strike on Elphrona, intending to ransom well-connected homesteaders and capture a Jedi for Marchion Ro’s evil machinations."

"The Jedi Council votes to join the Republic against the Nihil."

232 BBY: A BEACON OF HOPE

"With the Great Disaster behind them, the Republic and Jedi refocus on the opening of the Starlight Beacon. This towering space station located in the Outer Rim is one of Chancellor Lina Soh’s Great Works, meant to provide a symbol of hope in a dark corner of the galaxy. This shining example of Republic unity and progress serves as a vital base for the ongoing struggles with the Nihil and Drengir."

"One of Chancellor Lina Soh’s Great Works, the Starlight Beacon, begins operation after a dedication ceremony attended by Republic dignitaries and prominent members of the Jedi Order. The station is to be just one of many beacons, serving to connect, inspire, and serve the Republic’s growth in the Galactic Frontier. The Jedi maintain a permanent presence on the station under the leadership of Marshal Kriss and the watchful eye of the exacting Jedi Master Estala Maru."

"Hunting the Nihil - Though it lacks a formal military, the Republic forms a special task force to hunt the Nihil, with Joss and Pikka Adren among the first volunteers."

"The Jedi broker the Ayelina-Ludmere trade agreement."

232 BBY: GROWTH OF THE DRENGIR

"The carnivorous Drengir take root across wide swaths of the frontier. Their lust for living flesh, which they consider “meats,” leads them to attack hundreds of worlds. Defenseless settlers and the Jedi alike struggle to repel these horrifying plantlike creatures."

231 BBY: THE REPUBLIC FAIR

"Chancellor Lina Soh’s next Great Work is a magnificent fair on Valo. Meant to celebrate the Republic and its many achievements, the event turns into a tragedy. The Nihil mount a merciless raid on the fairgoers, destroy the event, and nearly kill the chancellor. The Jedi defenders mount a valiant defense but are outnumbered."

231 BBY: FIGHT FOR THE FRONTIER

"The Jedi march across the frontier as they seek justice for the attack on the Valo fair. With the Drengir threat seemingly settled, they turn their attention to the scattered Nihil forces. The Jedi believe that they are gaining the upper hand, but are unaware of who leads the raiders and their ultimate goal. The Nihil Tempest Runners bear the brunt of the assault while the Eye of the Nihil, Marchion Ro, prepares a new weapon to fight the Jedi."

"The Republic-Togruta Alliance is formed."

230 BBY: FALL OF STARLIGHT

"The Nameless wreak havoc among the Jedi, who fight valiantly in Starlight’s final moments. Master Estala Maru sacrifices his own life to delay the top half of the station from burning up in Eiram’s atmosphere. Below, Master Stellan Gios stays behind to ensure the lower portion will not strike a populated city on the planet’s surface."

"The Jedi recall their members to safety on Coruscant."

"The Republic readies a Defense Coalition fleet to strike at Nihil space. The Jedi, concerned that they cannot yet combat the Nameless, remain on Coruscant."

c.200 BBY:

"Births: Chewbacca— Wookiee hero and copilot born on Kashyyyk."

102 BBY:

"Serenno foundling Dooku’s family abandons him as an infant after discovering his Force abilities. The Jedi bring him to Coruscant to join the Order." (Dooku is born this year.)

Sifo-Dyas was also born in 102 BBY.

86 BBY:

Dooku becomes Yoda’s Padawan.

Sifo-Dyas becomes Lene Kostana’s Padawan.

84 BBY:

Sheev Palpatine is born on Naboo.

c.80 BBY:

Rael Averross becomes Dooku’s Padawan

72 BBY:

Mace Windu is born. (Take with a grain of salt, it's from a De Agostini booklet and never appeared anywhere else that I can find.)

c.70 BBY:

"Averross is knighted and encourages Dooku to take another Padawan."

68 BBY:

Qui-Gon Jinn becomes Dooku’s Padawan.

c.58 BBY:

"After attaining the rank of Jedi Master, Dooku is offered a seat on the Jedi Council."

Qui-Gon becomes a Jedi Knight.

57 BBY:

Obi-Wan Kenobi is born on Stewjon.

54 BBY:

"Obi-Wan Kenobi begins his Jedi training." (Presumably this means he was 3 years old when he was adopted by the Jedi and began his training then.)

52 BBY:

Palpatine is elected Senator of Naboo.

50 BBY:

"The Nightsisters sell Asajj Ventress to Hal’Sted."

46 BBY:

Padme Naberrie is born on Naboo.

44 BBY:

Obi-Wan Kenobi becomes Qui-Gon Jinn's Padawan.

"Stranded on remote Rattatak, the Jedi Knight Ky Narec discovers Asajj Ventress and trains her as his Padawan."

c.44 BBY - "Amid concerns about the corrosive effects of dynasties, the Naboo Reformations limit monarchs to a maximum of two two-year terms."

42 BBY:

Rael Averross introduces Dooku to Palpatine.

Dooku leave the Jedi Order and returns to Serenno to reclaim his title.

c.42 BBY: "Civil war engulfs Mandalore, a planet with a proud honor code and a war-torn history. Its clans form factions, with the conflict evolving to pit tradition-minded clan fighters against New Mandalorians who see the warrior past as a dead end."

c.42 BBY: "Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan protect Duchess Satine Kryze during the Mandalorian Civil War. Obi-Wan and Satine fall in love and he offers to leave the Jedi Order to be with her. They decide that their duties won’t allow them to follow their hearts."

c.42 BBY: "The Mandalorian Civil War ends with Satine’s New Mandalorians ascendant, though traditionalists—including Satine’s sister Bo-Katan—organize to resist her rule."

41 BBY:

Anakin Skywalker is born.

"Distant secret Ancient Jedi lore leads Obi-Wan to the Force-imbued planet Lenahra, where he forges a deeper connection with the living Force." (These are the events of the Padawan novel.)

c.41 BBY: "Holiday interrupted While visiting Kashyyyk, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan foil a Trandoshan raid aimed at taking Wookiee prisoners during Life Day celebrations." (These are the events of Star Wars Adventures 2020, issues 3-4. Unclear if this is before or after the novel Padawan.)

40 BBY:

c.40 BBY - Maul becomes Sidious’ apprentice.

Qui-Gon is offered a seat on the Jedi Council. He does not accept by the end of Master and Apprentice.

"Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan visit strategically located Pijal to oversee the signing of a treaty between its monarchy and the Czerka Corporation." (These are the events of the Master and Apprentice novel.)

39 BBY:

c.39 BBY: Sifo-Dyas joins the Jedi High Council.

38 BBY:

c.38 BBY - "Shmi and Anakin Skywalker are brought to Tatooine. Their enslaver, Gardulla the Hutt, soon loses them to Watto in a bet."

37 BBY:

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan mediate a conflict on Bri’n. (Age of Republic - Qui-Gon Jinn #1)

36 BBY:

Orson Krennic and Galen Erso meet.

Ahsoka Tano is born.

34 BBY:

"Mace Windu helps overthrow the warlord Guattako." (These are the events of Age of Republic - Special #1)

"A skilled mechanic, Anakin begins gathering spare parts to build a protocol droid, C-3PO, to help Shmi with household chores."

"Sidious tests Maul on Malachor."

33 BBY:

"Plo Koon discovers a Force-sensitive Togruta toddler named Ahsoka Tano. He brings 'Little ‘Soka' to Coruscant for training."

"Sifo-Dyas orders a secret clone army to be created on Kamino."

"Eager to test his abilities against the Jedi Order, Darth Maul kills the Twi’lek Padawan Eldra Kaitis on Drazkel’s moon." (These are the events of Darth Maul 2017)

Caleb Dume/Kanan Jarrus is born.

32 BBY: THE PHANTOM MENACE

"The former Padmé Naberrie is just 14 when elected and has barely taken office when the Trade Federation blockades and then invades Naboo."

The events of The Phantom Menace take place, the Trade Federation invades Naboo, Valorum sends Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon to help Naboo, Anakin Skywalker is adopted into the Jedi Order, Qui-Gon Jinn dies.

"Count Dooku pledges himself to the ways of the Sith, replacing Maul as Sidious’ apprentice and taking the name Darth Tyranus."

"Palpatine is elected supreme chancellor."

"Obi-Wan takes Anakin as his Padawan."

"The Sith take over Sifo-Dyas’ project to create a clone army, ordering inhibitor chips implanted in the clones to ensure their obedience."

"With Sifo-Dyas dead, Dooku takes over the clone project, altering it to serve the Sith’s purpose. In his guise as Tyranus, Dooku recruits the bounty hunter Jango Fett as the genetic template for the Kaminoans’ clone army. He then instructs the Kaminoans to secretly implant inhibitor chips in the clones’ brains to ensure their obedience. The clones will fight for the Republic, but the Sith will be their true masters."

Han Solo is born.

Boba Fett is born.

Yaddle is killed by Dooku.

31 BBY:

"Kuat Drive Yards receives an order from a secret buyer to create massive numbers of warships and weapons."

30 BBY:

"Sidious’ minions begin constructing a massive Observatory on Jakku, the first of several built as part of the Sith Lord’s decades-spanning Contingency project. As Palpatine, Sidious orders the secret establishment of bases, shipyards, and colonies in the galaxy’s Unknown Regions."

29 BBY:

c.29 BBY: "Anakin seeks out his first kyber crystal on Ilum and creates a lightsaber, an important step in his Padawan training."

"Anakin goes on a mission in Coruscant’s underlevels with a disguised Chancellor Palpatine, whom he comes to see as a mentor."

"Influenced by Palpatine, Anakin tells Obi-Wan he wishes to suspend his Jedi training and surrenders his lightsaber. With Anakin’s path undecided, Yoda sends him and Obi-Wan to Carnelion IV to investigate a distress signal. [Eventually] Anakin decides to remain Obi-Wan’s Padawan." (These are the events of Obi-Wan & Anakin 2016)

Hera Syndulla is born.

28 BBY:

Queen Amidala's final year as Queen of Naboo, where her successor, Queen Réillata, asks her to be Senator for Naboo and Padme agrees, taking office that year.

"Remembering her experience after fleeing Naboo, Padmé sends Sabé on a mission to investigate how to end slavery on Tatooine." (This ultimately doesn't really go anywhere/accomplish much, unfortunately.)

"Padmé becomes friends with two young fellow senators: Rush Clovis of Scipio and Mina Bonteri of Raxus." (These are the events of Queen's Shadow.)

c.28 BBY: "Obi-Wan and Anakin are sent to retrieve a Holocron from Dallenor, leading to a confrontation with the Krypder Riders." (These are the events of Age of Republic - Obi-Wan Kenobi #1.)

27 BBY:

c.27 BBY: "Cliegg Lars buys Shmi Skywalker’s freedom from Watto. They marry and live on Cliegg’s moisture farm."

26 BBY:

"While on a mission to Sullust, Dooku kills the Jedi Knight Jak’zin and forces the Kaldana Syndicate to serve Sidious’ interests." (These are the events of Age of the Republic - Count Dooku #1.)

"Obi-Wan and Anakin rescue Yoda from raiders on Glee Anselm, but discover the incident was actually a test engineered by the Jedi Council [to help them get along better]." (These are the events of Choose Your Destiny: An Obi-Wan & Anakin Adventure.)

24 BBY:

c.24 BBY - "Dooku founds the Confederacy of Independent Systems, attracting planets that wish to secede from the Republic and beginning the Separatist Movement."

"The Senate passes the Emergency Powers Act, allowing Palpatine to remain in office for the duration of the Separatist Crisis."

"Palpatine forms the Loyalist Committee to advise him during the Separatist Crisis. Senators belonging to the committee include Bail Organa of Alderaan, Padmé Amidala of Naboo, Ask Aak of Malastare, and Orn Free Taa of Ryloth."

"The Senate begins debating the Military Creation Act, which would allow the Republic to create military forces for its defense."

"Adrift after the death of Ky Narec, a grief-stricken Asajj Ventress embraces the dark side and becomes a warlord on Rattatak."

"Osika Kirske imprisons Ventress on Rattatak, forcing her to fight as a gladiator. Dooku frees her and offers to make her his apprentice in hopes of one day supplanting Sidious. Ventress agrees to serve as the count’s agent and assassin." (These are part of the events of Dooku: Jedi Lost.)

22 BBY–19 BBY: The Clone Wars

"A political crisis propels the Jedi Order into a galaxy-wide war against the Separatists, secretly led by the Sith."

22 BBY: ATTACK OF THE CLONES:

"Obi-Wan and Anakin help defuse a crisis on Ansion." (Mentioned in Attack of the Clones: "He's just returned from a border dispute on Ansion," Mace says of Obi-Wan.)

The events of Attack of the Clones take place, Padme is attacked for her stance against the Military Creation Act in the Senate, Jar Jar introduces a motion to give Palpatine emergency powers as Chancellor, including the discovery of the clone army, Shmi Skywalker dies, Obi-Wan and Anakin and Padme are held captive by the Separatists and rescued by the Jedi, many who die in the arena, as well as Jango Fett dies, and the start of the Clone Wars.

Anakin and Padme are secretly married on Naboo.

Poggle the Lesser gives the Death Star plans to Dooku.

The Clone Wars begin on Geonosis.

22 BBY: THE CLONE WARS:

"Mace Windu leads a Jedi mission to Hissrich. As a member of Windu’s team, Jedi Prosset Dibs accuses the Order of wanting Hissrich for the Republic. He duels Windu and is defeated. Dibs is found guilty of treason and confined to the Jedi Archives in hopes that he’ll find his way back to the light." (These are the events of Jedi of the Republic - Mace Windu.)

"Padmé and Captain Typho help Sticks’ squad of clone troopers free Separatist hostages on the embattled planet Hebekrr Minor." (These are the events of Queen's Hope.)

"Anakin becomes a Jedi Knight."

"Obi-Wan becomes a Jedi Master and is elevated to the Jedi Council."

"Obi-Wan investigates a bombing on Cato Neimoidia and discovers the attack bears the hallmarks of both a Republic and Separatist operation. He brings this disquieting hint that someone is manipulating both sides of the war back to Coruscant. Anakin duels Ventress on Cato Neimoidia." (These are the events of Brotherhood.)

"Captain Rex, formally designated CT-7567, is assigned to Anakin Skywalker, who saves his life during the Battle of Arantara. A mutual respect soon blossoms between the brash, bold young Jedi general and the sturdy, by-the-book clone officer."

"Anakin’s troops run afoul of hostile wildlife while searching for Separatist forces on Benglor." (These are the events of Star Wars Adventures: The Clone Wars – Battle Tales #1.)

"The Techno Union’s Wat Tambor destroys the Nexus trading post on Quarmendy to keep Plo Koon’s troops from reclaiming it." (These are the events of Star Wars Adventures: The Clone Wars – Battle Tales #2.)

"Yoda assigns Ahsoka Tano to Anakin as his Padawan, hoping to teach Skywalker how to let go of his emotional attachments."

"The Separatist battlecruiser Malevolence terrorizes the galaxy’s inner systems before it is tracked and destroyed at the Dead Moon of Antar."

21 BBY: THE CLONE WARS:

"The Republic invades Geonosis for a second time to destroy a dangerous new droid foundry constructed by Poggle the Lesser."

"Padmé and Jar Jar discover a bioweapons lab in Naboo’s swamps and must stop Nuvo Vindi from releasing the Blue Shadow Virus."

"General Grievous and Asajj Ventress lead a Separatist invasion on Kamino, with the Republic’s clones fiercely defending their birthworld."

"Sabine Wren is born on Mandalore but raised on neighboring Krownest."

20 BBY: THE CLONE WARS:

"Anakin experiences a disturbing vision of his future in the Force realm known as Mortis and must make a wrenching decision."

"The Republic defends Mon Cala during a Separatist-engineered civil war between the Mon Calamari and the Quarren."

"Republic forces suffer heavy casualties while storming Umbara, a strategically located world with advanced technology that has become a Separatist stronghold."

"Maul returns from exile, bent on obtaining revenge against the long list of those he believes have wronged him."

19 BBY: THE CLONE WARS:

"Maul forms the Shadow Collective, forging several of the galaxy’s crime syndicates into a single underworld organization under his leadership."

"Mandalore’s Duchess Satine Kryze is overthrown by Death Watch’s Pre Vizsla, whose own rule is quickly ended by Maul. Maul has manipulated events to bring Obi-Wan to Mandalore, and now has the hated Jedi at his mercy. He strikes Satine down in the throne room."

"Responding to a disturbance in the Force, Darth Sidious arrives on Mandalore. Maul swears fealty to his old master, but Sidious rejects him. He kills Savage, blasts Maul with lightning, and takes his former apprentice prisoner."

"Anakin and Ahsoka return from Cato Neimoidia to investigate a bombing at the Jedi Temple amid rumors that a Jedi was involved."

"Ahsoka is expelled from the Jedi Order, which believes her guilty of the Temple bombing. She is then arrested by the Republic and prosecuted by Admiral Tarkin before a military tribunal, with Palpatine presiding and Padmé representing the defense. [She] leaves the Jedi Order."

"During the Battle of Ringo Vinda, the clone trooper Tup turns his blaster on Jedi General Tiplar, forcing a Republic retreat. Fives and AZI-3 discover a tumor in Tup’s brain. He dies after its extraction. Palpatine and Nala Se insist the tumor be sent to a Republic medical facility, but Shaak Ti decides it must go to the Jedi Temple first. Kix helps Fives arrange a meeting with Anakin and Rex. Fives tells them about the inhibitor chips and the plot against the Jedi, but his story sounds like a paranoid conspiracy and he becomes agitated. Commander Fox and clone troopers arrive, sent by Palpatine, and try to arrest Fives. When Fives resists, Fox shoots him dead. Tup’s action is blamed on a parasitic infection, and the inhibitor chips are delivered to Dooku."

"Padmé travels to Scipio to expedite a Banking Clan loan for the Republic and discovers Rush Clovis is serving as their representative. The Banking Clan is dissolved and Palpatine takes over its holdings."

"Plo Koon discovers the crash site of Sifo-Dyas’ ship, prompting the Council to investigate the Jedi’s long-ago disappearance."

"On Oba Diah, spice kingpin Lom Pyke tells Anakin and Obi-Wan that the Pykes were paid by Tyranus to kill Sifo-Dyas. Dooku arrives and is identified as Tyranus. He kills the Pyke leader and duels with Anakin, but escapes."

"The Jedi are disturbed to learn Dooku was responsible for the creation of the clone army, but decide to keep this revelation secret."

"Yoda obeys Qui-Gon’s voice and travels to Dagobah, where Qui-Gon’s spirit tells him to learn how to retain his identity after death."

"Anakin teams up with a mysterious Chiss military officer, Thrawn, to locate Padmé and destroy a cortosis mine." [Thrawn: Alliances]

"Yoda helps Kashyyyk’s Wookiees defend their planet against Separatist raiders, earning the honor 'Defender of the Home Tree.'"

"Mandalorian commandos free Maul from Stygeon Prime. Sidious and Dooku allow him to escape in hopes of drawing out Mother Talzin. Maul lures Grievous and Dooku into a confrontation on Ord Mantell and takes them both prisoner—a dangerous gambit of Talzin’s aimed at luring her old enemy Sidious into the fight. Grievous and Sidious come to Dooku’s aid on Dathomir. Grievous kills Mother Talzin and the Mandalorians drag Maul away to safety."

- "Ventress asks the Jedi to help abduct Vos from Dooku’s service in hopes of saving him. Vos returns to the Jedi, claiming his turn to the dark side was a ruse. But his true loyalties are unclear. Vos defeats Dooku on Christophsis, but agrees to join him to defeat Sidious. His secret hope is to kill both Sith Lords. Ventress confronts Vos and Dooku, saving Quinlan before Dooku attacks her with a devastating blast of lightning. The count escapes. Vos and Obi-Wan return Ventress to the waters of Dathomir. [Ventress dies.]"

"Having left the Jedi Order, Ahsoka befriends Trace Martez, a mechanic in the Coruscant underlevels, and her sister Rafa. Ahsoka discovers the Pykes are working for Maul, who is on Mandalore. She uses the Force to escape with the Martez sisters, and the Pykes conclude they were targeted by the Jedi. Ahsoka returns to Coruscant, where Bo-Katan Kryze recruits her to fight Maul."

"Separatists commanded by Admiral Trench invade the Republic stronghold of Anaxes and repeatedly defeat clone counterattacks. Rex is disturbed that the Separatists seem to be adapting rapidly to his strategies and suspects Trench is using some new combat algorithm. He proposes raiding the Separatists’ cyber center to discover their secret. The mission succeeds with assistance from an unorthodox unit of genetically altered clones known as the Bad Batch."

"Anakin joins Rex’s clones and the Bad Batch to raid the Techno Union’s facility on Skako Minor, fighting their way through Wat Tambor’s droid legions. They discover Echo confined in a stasis chamber and hooked up to Separatist computers. Anakin confronts Trench to obtain the rest of the sequence to disarm the bomb, saving Anaxes. He then kills the admiral. Echo joins the Bad Batch."

"Grievous launches a Separatist counteroffensive. The Republic sends Aayla Secura to Felucia and Plo Koon to Cato Neimoidia to hold the line."

"Obi-Wan and Anakin rout Separatist forces on Yerbana. ["Old Friends Not Forgotten"] Ahsoka and Bo-Katan approach the Jedi to propose a joint mission to capture Maul and free Mandalore from his crime syndicate. The Jedi agree and split the 501st in two, with Rex leading troops under Ahsoka’s command."

"A Separatist armada launches a sneak attack on Coruscant, hammering the Republic warships of the Coruscant Home Defense Fleet. Grievous ambushes Palpatine in the Federal District, killing Roron Corobb and knocking Shaak Ti unconscious, then kidnapping the chancellor. The Open Circle Fleet arrives from Yerbana."

19 BBY: REVENGE OF THE SITH:

"Anakin and Obi-Wan fly through the titanic space battle, dodging salvos of laser fire exchanged by Republic and Separatist capital ships in an effort to reach the Invisible Hand, where Palpatine is being held. With the Separatists cut off from their jump point, the battle degenerates into a brutal slugging match, with ships burning up in orbit and debris raining down upon the Coruscant cityscape below. Anakin and Obi-Wan rescue Palpatine above Coruscant. Anakin kills Dooku and Sidious plots to make the Jedi his new apprentice."

"Grievous retreats to Utapau, where the Separatist Council is in hiding. Sidious orders him to relocate the Separatist leaders to Mustafar."

"On Mandalore, Republic forces take the docks of the capital, Sundari. Prime Minister Almec orders Gar Saxon to retreat into the undercity. Bo-Katan’s commandos capture Almec. Ahsoka confronts Maul in the undercity. He is disappointed to see her, having hoped to lure Obi-Wan into his trap."

"Anakin dreams of Padmé’s death in childbirth. Palpatine appoints Anakin to the Jedi Council as his personal representative, to the alarm of Yoda and Mace Windu."

"Bail Organa meets secretly with Padmé, Mon Mothma, and other senators determined to resist Palpatine if he doesn’t surrender his wartime powers."

"Yoda heads to Kashyyyk to bolster its defense."

"On Maul’s command, Saxon shoots Almec before Ahsoka can finish questioning him, then makes his getaway."

"At Coruscant’s Galaxies Opera House, Palpatine plays on Anakin’s anger and doubt about the Jedi’s integrity, guessing that they asked him to be their spy. He tells Anakin the story of Darth Plagueis, a Sith Lord who could save people from dying. Anakin, fearful his nightmares are a premonition of Padmé’s fate, is intrigued—particularly when Palpatine tells him it is not a power that can be learned from the Jedi."

"Obi-Wan travels to Utapau to hunt for Grievous."

"Clone troopers, Bo-Katan’s commandos, and Saxon’s warriors battle in the streets of Sundari, with the Republic’s forces winning the day."

"Ahsoka confronts Maul again, who tells her Sidious is behind everything and Anakin is the key to destroying the Sith. Maul reveals that he had hoped to lure Obi-Wan and Anakin to Mandalore in order to kill Anakin, so Sidious could not take the Jedi as his new apprentice. Ahsoka and Maul duel. Maul is captured by Rex’s clones, with Saxon apprehended as well."

"On Utapau, Obi-Wan confronts Grievous. He duels the Separatist warlord and then chases him through the city’s winding tunnels and warrens."

"Palpatine reveals his true identity to Anakin and begs him to use his knowledge to save Padmé. Anakin vows to turn him over to the Jedi."

"Obi-Wan corners Grievous in a hangar on Utapau and kills the mechanical monster with a shot from a blaster."

"Imprisoned in a device that prevents him from using the Force, Maul is brought aboard a Jedi Cruiser destined for Coruscant, escorted by Ahsoka."

"Told of Palpatine’s identity, Windu orders Anakin to wait at the Jedi Temple while he arrests Sidious with Kit Fisto, Agen Kolar, and Saesee Tiin. Sidious kills Tiin, Fisto, and Kolar and duels Windu. He attacks Mace using lightning, which the Jedi Master deflects back at Sidious. Anakin arrives and pleads that Sidious be allowed to stand trial, but Windu says he’s too dangerous to be spared. Anakin makes a fateful decision, stopping Windu’s attack by severing his hand. Sidious blasts Windu with lightning, sending him through the broken window. Anakin pledges allegiance to Sidious, who grants him the name Darth Vader. He tells Anakin to go to the Jedi Temple and kill everyone there—that will make him strong enough with the dark side to save Padmé."

"Ahsoka and Maul sense a strong disturbance in the Force."

19 BBY: ORDER 66

"Sidious issues Order 66. Clone troopers across the galaxy obey their inhibitor chips and attack the Jedi, decimating the Order."

"Commander Cody targets Obi-Wan Kenobi on Utapau. The Jedi survives the attack, escapes offworld, and is rescued by Senator Organa. Aboard the Jedi Cruiser Tribunal, Rex manages to tell Ahsoka to “find Fives” before trying to kill her. She evades Rex’s fire and flees from his troopers. Commander Grey and his clone battalion execute Depa Billaba on Kaller. oda avoids death by killing Commander Gree and Captain Jek, and then escapes Kashyyyk with help from Chewbacca and Tarfful. On a Jedi Cruiser above Bracca, Jaro Tapal is cut down by clones from the 13th battalion, sabotaging the warship before he dies. Captain Jag downs Plo Koon’s starfighter during a patrol flight on contested Cato Neimoidia. Ki-Adi-Mundi is cut down by Commander Bacara’s Galactic Marines during infantry maneuvers on Mygeeto. Luminara Unduli is captured on Kashyyyk. After her execution, the Inquisitors spread rumors of her survival to ensnare other fugitive Jedi. Stass Allie is blasted by Commander Neyo while flying BARC speeders in a mop-up operation on Saleucami. Commander Bly gives the order to shoot Aayla Secura amid Felucia’s colorful fungi."

"Ahsoka prevents other clones from killing the imprisoned Maul. She releases him to create a diversion. While Maul wreaks havoc aboard the Tribunal, Ahsoka activates a trio of astromechs to help her evade Rex’s troops. Ahsoka locates Fives’ records, learning what happened to him and that Rex suspected the clones’ inhibitor chips have some ulterior purpose. Ahsoka subdues Rex and removes his inhibitor chip. Maul destroys the Tribunal’s hyperdrive, sending the doomed Jedi Cruiser careening toward the surface of a remote moon."

"Bail Organa arrives at the Jedi Temple to investigate the uprising and is confronted by clone troopers. He retreats under fire."

"Anakin, now known as Darth Vader and backed by the 501st Legion, marches on the Jedi Temple and slaughters its defenders. He shows no mercy, believing that the dark side is the only pathway to the unnatural powers he must command to save Padmé. As his rage and lust for power swell, not even younglings hiding in the Jedi Council chambers are safe from his lightsaber. Elsewhere, young Grogu survives a clone trooper attack but is haunted by his memories of the event."

"Anakin obeys Sidious’ command and kills the Separatist leaders on Mustafar, shutting down their droid armies and ending the Clone Wars."

"The Senate holds a special session, during which Palpatine—now scarred after his battle with Mace—details the Jedi plot to kill him and take control of the Senate. He proclaims the Republic is to be reorganized into the first Galactic Empire."

"Obi-Wan and Yoda fight their way into the Jedi Temple and recalibrate a signal to warn any surviving Jedi away."

"Padmé arrives on Mustafar, unknowingly bringing along Obi-Wan as a stowaway. Anakin uses the Force to choke her. As C-3PO and R2-D2 tend to Padmé, Anakin and Obi-Wan fight a running duel through the lava flows of Mustafar’s mining complex."

"On Coruscant, Yoda confronts Sidious and the two duel in the Senate Chamber, with Sidious hurling Senate pods at his Jedi enemy. Ascendant with dark-side power, Sidious proves too tough a foe for Yoda, who flees their duel, evading clone troopers sent to hunt him, and is whisked away by Bail Organa in an airspeeder. Sidious senses his new apprentice is in danger and hurries to Mustafar."

"Anakin is left maimed and burned after dueling Obi-Wan on Mustafar. Obi-Wan takes Anakin’s lightsaber and leaves him to die. Anakin survives and is encased in life-preserving black armor. As Darth Vader, he becomes the subject of rumors as the Emperor’s servant and enforcer"

Padme gives birth to Luke and Leia, then she dies. Bail Organa takes Leia to Alderaan and Obi-Wan takes Luke to the Lars' farm on Tatooine, going into exile there, while Yoda is on Dagobah.

"Ahsoka and Rex bury the clones at the Tribunal’s crash site. She leaves her lightsaber behind to find a new path."

19 BBY: GALAXY IN DARKNESS

"Tarkin tells Lama Su that the Kaminoans’ contracts are void and the need for future clones is being questioned."

"Padmé, appearing to still be pregnant, is laid to rest after a solemn funeral procession on Naboo."

"Mas Amedda presides at an Imperial rally held before Coruscant’s Jedi Temple to celebrate the defeat of the Order."

"Sidious abandons Vader on the desert planet Gattering with orders to seize a Jedi’s lightsaber and make it his own. Vader travels to a dark-side locus on Mustafar and bends Infil��a’s kyber crystal to his will, making it bleed red. By compelling the Force to serve his purposes, Vader takes an essential step in his journey as a Sith."

"Sidious puts Vader in charge of the Inquisitors, Force users who once served the light but were seduced or brutalized into following the dark side and are now responsible for hunting down and killing the galaxy’s fugitive Jedi. Vader proves a ruthless taskmaster, brutalizing his new underlings in combat training sessions and eliminating those who fail to live up to the standards demanded by him and the Emperor."

"Sidious orders Vader to lure the Jedi Order’s fugitive archivist Jocasta Nu to Coruscant’s Jedi Temple and capture her. An enraged Vader kills Commander Fox after clone troopers under his command fire on the Sith Lord at the Jedi Temple. Nu explains to Vader what he’s failed to realize: Sidious wants the memory crystal and its list so he can find a potential replacement for his apprentice. Vader kills Nu, tells Sidious she died trying to escape, and crushes the crystal."

"The Empire builds up its forces and begins enlisting and training conscript stormtroopers to replace the Republic’s clone soldiers."

"The Empire bombards Kamino’s cities, destroying all traces of the cloning program that played a critical role in the Clone Wars."

SOURCES & NOTES:

Star Wars Timelines by Kristin Baver, Jason Fry, Cole Horton, Amy Richau, and Clayton Sandell is the primary source for much of this, anything in quotation marks is sourced from here unless otherwise noted. This timeline is only quoting a small minority of what's available in the book, so it's recommended that you check it out for yourselves!

I have done my best to put everything in order even within the specific years, noting where I'm not 100% sure of the sequence of events.

If a "c.[YEAR]" is included, the spot is estimated, not hard fact, but in general it's a pretty trustworthy placement! Except for birthdays--they're not placed directly on the timeline, so I just kind of threw them in at the end most times.

Observation: Holy crap, the Clone Wars was NUTS.

#lumi.txt #star wars #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #yoda #ahsoka tano #count dooku #mace windu #qui gon jinn #jedi order #meta #reference #resource #timeline #long post

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dostoyevsky-official · 10 months

Text

Grandi has dedicated his career to debunking the myths around Italian food; this is the first time he’s spoken to the foreign press.

Grandi’s speciality is making bold claims about national staples: that most Italians hadn’t heard of pizza until the 1950s, for example, or that carbonara is an American recipe. Many Italian “classics”, from panettone to tiramisu, are relatively recent inventions, he argues. [...] And his mission is to disrupt the foundations on which we Italians have built our famous, and famously inflexible, culinary culture — a food scene where cappuccini must not be had after midday and tagliatelle must have a width of exactly 7mm.

[...] “It’s all about identity,” Grandi tells me between mouthfuls of osso buco bottoncini. He is a devotee of Eric Hobsbawm, the British Marxist historian who wrote about what he called the invention of tradition. “When a community finds itself deprived of its sense of identity, because of whatever historical shock or fracture with its past, it invents traditions to act as founding myths,” Grandi says.

[...] Panettone is a case in point. Before the 20th century, panettone was a thin, hard flatbread filled with a handful of raisins. It was only eaten by the poor and had no links to Christmas. Panettone as we know it today is an industrial invention.

Parmesan, he says, is remarkably ancient, around a millennium old. But before the 1960s, wheels of parmesan cheese weighed only about 10kg (as opposed to the hefty 40kg wheels we know today) and were encased in a thick black crust. Its texture was fatter and softer than it is nowadays. “Some even say that this cheese, as a sign of quality, had to squeeze out a drop of milk when pressed,” Grandi says. “Its exact modern-day match is Wisconsin parmesan.” He believes that early 20th-century Italian immigrants, probably from the Po’ region north of Parma, started producing it in Wisconsin and, unlike the cheesemakers back in Parma, their recipe never evolved. So while Parmigiano in Italy became over the years a fair-crusted, hard cheese produced in giant wheels, Wisconsin parmesan stayed true to the original.

“Italian cuisine really is more American than it is Italian,” Grandi says squarely.

[...] Today, Italian food is as much a leitmotif for rightwing politicians as beautiful young women and football were in the Berlusconi era.

[P]oliticians understand the power of what Grandi terms “gastronationalism”. Who cares if the traditional food culture they promote is partly based on lies, recipes dreamt up by conglomerates or food imported from America? Few things are more reassuring and agreeable than an old lady making tortellini.

It wasn’t always like this. “The grandparents knew it was a lie,” Grandi tells me, finishing the last of his prosecco. “The philologic concern with ingredient provenance is a very recent phenomenon.” Indeed it’s hard to imagine that people who survived the second world war eating chestnuts, as my grandfather did, would be concerned about using pork jowl instead of pork belly in a pasta recipe. Or as Grandi puts it, “Their ‘tradition’ was trying not to starve.”

[...] As Grandi points out, a tradition is nothing but an innovation that was once successful.

Everything I, an Italian, thought I knew about Italian food is wrong

the most hated man in italy is a historian on a mission to prove that most immemorial italian traditions—like many elsehwere—date from 1860-1960

#focaccia is an ancient roman recipe however

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wineauntie · 3 months

Text

TWO GHOSTS — LUKE HUGHES X CHILDHOOD BESTFRIEND!READER

Ceilings Part Two, part one here

summary: Luke Hughes was your childhood best-friend and boyfriend until one mistake sent it all crumbling.

note: ellen hughes is my lord and saviour 🙏

warnings: fem!reader, use of y/n, reader has not-so-great parents, panic attacks, swearing, nicknames such as: pretty girl and baby, questionable moments on both of your behalf, boys being jerks. Use of names Brock and Julia (if they’re your name change it!). The name Brock being slandered.

word count; 3k+

What people don't tell you about being cheated on is that the world around you seems to fracture into a reality in which everything appears false. What's usually right feels wrong, things that taste good now taste bad, songs that once breathed life now hung with the remnants of ghostly memories.

You had fallen into a state of loneliness. Your parents still refused to come home unless they had to. You hadn't seen them in days, you presumed they'd both decided to stay at separate hotels instead of risking having to sleep beside each other.

And Luke... you hadn't spoken to him in a week.

You hadn't called or texted him nor had he done the same. Why would he? It was all just a game for him. He'd used you and when he was done, he tossed you away like a broken toy he was bored by.

Yes, you had other friends, but the only person you wanted to help you stitch yourself together was the very person who'd been the one to rip you apart.

Since Julia had driven you home the night of the party, she'd been texting you daily to ensure you were okay and offering her shoulder to cry on. You appreciated the texts but you usually left blunt responses, too drained to give anything else.

You didn't even think you're heart was broken from Luke cheating, that was a small piece of rubble from the major wall. What hurt the most was how willing he was to tear down your years of friendship, to the point where thinking about going across the road, a simple feat, was now unthinkable.

And so the loneliness grew and you seemed to become one of the many ghosts haunting your house.

You felt pathetic as the situation warped your every way of life. You'd let him weave you in his web and he left you to rot there.

Your loneliness was eating away at you slowly but steadily. You found yourself less inclined to get out of bed each morning, less likely to eat breakfast or lunch, less likely to leave the house, go shopping, go to school– it all seemed impossible. Everything had built up in your life and one askew brick had sent the foundation crumbling.

It was exactly seven days into your stupor when a fierce knocking caused you to shift in your spot from the couch. You'd had a nightmare last night, and you'd woken up and vomited all over your bed, yet instead of cleaning it, you simply left your bedroom and moved yourself to the living room.

It's not like anyone but you would care about it.

Your head didn't even move to look as the knocks on the front door persisted. Nor did it swivel when a clunking of keys jingled before the door was unlocked and pushed open cautiously.

"Y/N?"

Your eyes welled with tears as the kind voice echoes through the empty halls. A sudden sinking feeling brewed in your stomach, as you curled further into yourself, your knees to your chest as a singular pair of footsteps traipsed across the house.

"Y/N? Are you here, sweetheart?"

You let out a small whimper, so small that it escaped you before you could even think to hold it back. The footsteps paused before they hurried in your direction. You bowed your head between your legs, tears streaming down your sunken cheeks. You felt the person crouch before you, their hand running over your hair comfortingly.

"Oh, darling,"

Ellen Hughes' soft voice caused you to crack completely as your body was wracked with silent sobs. She sat on the couch to your left, pulling you into her side as she tried to soothe your cries. You knew you probably smelled awful and that your clothes were days old but you couldn't find yourself caring as you leaned into the only comfort that had been offered to you since Luke had cheated on you.

Ellen didn't seem to mind, or if she did, she didn't mention it. She stroked a steady hand over your tangled hair and gently shushed as she allowed you to curl into her. You see, Ellen had always wanted a daughter...that's not to say she doesn't love her sons, hell, they were the greatest gift she had ever been given. But when she was younger she always imagined caring for a girl, teaching her hockey, taking her shopping for clothes, and being able to have someone else know what it's like to be a girl.

You were the closest thing she had to a daughter and right now, she was more than willing to mother you all you needed.

"Y/N, sweetheart...what's going on?"

Ellen sat down opposite you at the kitchen table, placing a glass of water and two slices of toast in front of you. Your downtrodden figure was wrapped in a blanket, still frazzled from crying. You felt your hands shake as they picked up the glass and raised it to your lips so you could sip.

"'m sorry," you croaked through a sniffle, "'m really sorry." Ellen's eyebrows furrowed, and for a moment she looked exactly like Luke. The sight made you lower your gaze as you focused on the food in front of you.

"You've got nothing to apologise for," Ellen stated softly. She leaned forward, her hands encasing one of yours as she tried to meet your gaze. "I need you to know that you can talk to me. You're not okay, sweetheart, and that's perfectly okay sometimes, but we can't let you continue like this."

Tears pricked your eyes once again as you sniffled, your hoodie sleeves wiping away stray drops. You took in an unsteady breath, your face crumbling as you met Ellen's warm eyes.

"Luke and I have been dating," you confessed, your timid eyes scanning hers for any resentment. "For roughly three weeks, we dated and we were exclusive– I thought we were exclusive, I mean usually that's what boyfriend-girlfriend means."

"And I really liked him, Ellen, really, really liked him...and he told me he really liked me too." You continued, a steady, continuous stream of salty tears running down your face. "Only for another week to pass and I found him kissing someone else and now everything is all messed up!"

"Not to mention the fact I don't know where my mom or dad are, and they haven't texted me and Ellen, I'm so lonely...so goddamn lonely. It's like I'm stuck in some never-ending labyrinth, where everything is some deceitful decoy out to get me and I can't breathe and I can't do anything I'm just stuck."

Your chest tightened significantly as you finished, the world around you narrowing. You could see Ellen's lips were moving but you could barely hear her, it was as if she was whispering in a hurricane– her voice lost to the wind.

"Breathe, y/n..." Ellen urged, standing up to round the table and rub your back. "You're having a panic attack, you need to breathe. Follow me...in...out...in...out."

You sucked in lungfuls of useless air, struggling to maintain it in your lungs. You gripped Ellen's hand as you tried to focus on her rising and falling chest.

"Breathe in, and through," she instructed, raising her free hand up and down slowly as your chest carefully slowed until the foggy haze around your head slightly lifted. "Good...very good."

She waited patiently until you'd fully returned to somewhat normality before she gave you the glass of water once again for you to drink from it. You took a few sips of water, the cool liquid soothing your dry throat. Ellen's calming presence helped anchor you in the moment.

“I'm so sorry, sweetheart," Ellen spoke with genuine concern, her hand still comforting your back. "It must be incredibly tough for you right now, but you're not alone. We'll figure this out together, okay? I'm here for you, sweetheart," Ellen reassured, her voice a comforting lull.

With those words, a glimmer of hope flickered in your eyes. And you could feel Ellen's genuine concern and support began to slowly mend the fractures within you, piece by piece. You nodded, grateful for the warmth and understanding Ellen offered.

As you sipped the water, Ellen continued, "First things first, I'll sort out your parents. It's not right for them to leave you like this, no matter how bad things are between them, they should never let that interfere with your well-being. And as for Luke, well, we'll deal with him too. I raised him better. No one should treat you that way."

As the morning unfolded, Ellen helped you navigate through the tangled mess of emotions and uncertainties. She'd gotten you to eat before she sent you off to shower and change whilst she stripped your bed and opened all the windows to air out the stagnant air.

Ellen became your anchor, guiding you through the storm. The loneliness slowly receded throughout the day as you continued to open up to her about everything that had happened from your parents to dating Brock and to the entirety of you and Luke's relationship, letting the walls around your heart crumble in the safety of her warmth.

You could feel strength returning as she stayed with you the entire day, not leaving your side for too long, not even when she left multiple scathing messages to both of your parents. She'd forced you outside the back onto the rickety bench to get some air, whilst the two of you continued to talk and every little thought you had, you'd tell her.

She may not have been your mother by blood, but you'd be damned if you denied that you hadn't wished she was.

- "Back porch in 5."

Your trembling hands could barely keep your phone straight as you reread the message for the thousandth time. Ellen had left your house half an hour ago after cooking you dinner, ensuring that you ate it all. She instructed you to text her when you were going to bed and when or if your parents came home. If by the morning they weren't, Ellen welcomed you into the Hughes home for however long you needed.

You found your legs shaking as you grabbed a cardigan from the stair's bannister and shrugged it on, letting the comfort engulf you as you made your way towards the back door.

The chilly night air greeted you as you stepped onto the back porch. The weak glow of a single porch light illuminated the worn wooden planks beneath your feet. You wrapped the cardigan tighter around yourself, seeking solace in its familiar warmth.

As you approached, you saw Luke standing to the side of the porch, his hands shoved into his pockets. His face was painted with nerves, uncertainty etched across his face. The moonlight cast shadows on his features, almost emphasising the gravity of the situation. You shuddered at the sight, it was almost as if he was a ghost standing still as time continued. His head snapped towards you as you settled on the wooden steps of the porch, your knees drawn up to your chest.

"Hey," He spoke tentatively, his eyes searching yours for any sign of emotion as he stepped closer.

You remained silent, your eyes watching him as he moved to sit beside you. You were waiting for him to explain himself and the world felt suspended, time frozen as you said nothing, facing the person who had shattered your trust.

"I guess we should talk..." Luke finally spoke, scratching his head awkwardly. At his words, you found yourself tearfully scoffing.

"You guess?" you asked in disbelief, your voice steady but laced with pain. Your eyes remained ahead of you as you tried to keep a straight face. "Why did you do it, Luke? We were supposed to be more than this."

"Why did I do what?" Luke huffed, anger weaving into his tone. "I came over for you to explain why you did what you did at the party."

"What I did?!" You exclaimed, your hands fidgeting. "You mean having to watch you shove your tongue down a girl's throat in front of everyone while they laugh at me?"

"Why should that matter?" Luke rolled his eyes, "it's not like you did anything different."

"I don't know what you're talking about," your voice cracked, taken aback by his cruelty.

"Don't act clueless,"

"I don't know what you're talking about,"

Luke's sharp gaze scanned yours for any sign of a lie. His face slowly dropped, his eyebrows scrunching as your teary eyes remained locked on his.

"I saw you and Brock in the kitchen," Luke breathed out, "you kissed him!"

"Kissed him?" You choked on a tearful laugh, "I did not!"

"Then how do you explain what I saw, huh?" Luke spat at your laughter, his hurt plastering across his face. "I saw you..."

"You saw him grab me, and pull me towards him?" You asked rhetorically, "You saw me close to him? Wake up, Luke...Brock grabbed me, he pulled me, he yanked me closer, see the common denominator here?"

"That doesn't explain the kiss," Luke mumbled, his hands running over his eyes in frustration and exhaustion.

"There was no kiss!" You burst as stray tears flooded through the dams. "He was taunting me, Luke! He was being a dick insinuating that I was a whore filled with diseases!" Luke was ashen when he raised his head. You felt yourself deflating, growing smaller in yourself by the second.

"I didn't kiss him...I didn't," your voice broke off as you looked away from the boy you still loved despite everything. "I would never do that to you."

"But you... And they said..." Luke's nose scrunched up a confusion, which seemed to be interwoven with despair."...and I saw you!"

Your body shook, and this time it wasn't from nerves, but from the sound Luke made when he turned to face you again. It was almost an animalistic send one so inhuman, you thought there may have been some little creature out beyond your back garden, whimpering.

"...but I swear, they told me...they told me they saw you and him... And then I went, I went and I checked and then I saw..." Luke paused his rambling, barely taking a breath. "You didn't kiss him?"

Luke's voice trembled as if his world was collapsing around him, every lie he had convinced himself of, every brick in the foundation had come tumbling down on him leaving him in the ruined rubble.

"I thought you knew," Your voice came out as a breath, "I thought you knew I would never do something like that to you."

"...I thought you had. I saw you and him in the kitchen and you were so close. I thought you were kissing and all I could see was red. All I could see was a hazy fog and I... I didn't know what to do."

"So your best idea—your best idea was to go and kiss someone else?!" Your voice now betrayed your brain as it stammered, letting the hot tears streak down your face. "Instead of coming to talk to me, and instead of asking me, instead of coming over...you kissed someone else? You jumped to conclusions, and that is not on me..."

Luke's eyes, the eyes which you loved, were welled with unshed tears. You see, he knew what he did was wrong, but Luke?

Luke had a tendency to lash out, a tendency to jump before he even knew it was safe. He was known to leap from one place to another without any guarantee of a landing space.

And you knew that about Luke. You knew that a part of him was hurting so much and that the reason he kissed someone else was a twisted way to get back at you for hurting him all while protecting himself.

"Why didn't you just come over?" You whispered your heart dropped to your stomach. And the churning feeling of anxiety has long settled in your gut. "I thought we had the trust in one another to communicate, to be open to each other."

Luke sighed, a mix of guilt and shame crossing his features. "I don't have a good reason, Y/N. I got caught up in the moment, and I let everything unravel. I was stupid, and I hurt you, and I hate myself for it."

The raw honesty in his words pierced through the silence. You remained still, absorbing the weight of his confession. Ellen's guidance echoed in your mind, encouraging you to express your feelings.

"It's not just about the cheating, Luke," you spoke, your voice revealing the depth of your hurt. "It's about the trust you shattered, the friendship you trampled on. I never thought you'd be the one to hurt me like this."

Luke took a step closer, his eyes pleading for understanding. "I know I messed up, and I don't expect you to forgive me overnight. But I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make things right. I miss you, Y/N. I miss us."

Tears welled up in your eyes as conflicting emotions swirled within you. The loneliness, the betrayal, and the desire for connection warred in your heart. You glanced at the cardigan's sleeves, trying to muster the strength to say what needed to be said because looking at him in that moment it felt like you didn’t know him at all.

"Luke, I need time," you said, your voice firm but tinged with vulnerability. "This can't be fixed overnight, and I can't pretend everything is okay."

Luke nodded, understanding dawning in his eyes. "I get it. Just... don't shut me out completely. I'm here, whenever you're ready."

With those words, he turned and walked away, leaving you alone on the porch. The night air felt colder, but a sense of clarity embraced you. You allowed your head to lull backwards, the tears slipping from the corner of your eyes as you gazed at the stars overhead. You knew the journey ahead would be challenging, but with Ellen's support and your own resilience, you were determined to rebuild from the broken pieces.

Anywayssss, don’t hate me but this is getting a part three!

#luke hughes x reader #wineauntie #nhl x reader #luke hughes fluff #luke hughes x you #luke hughes x y/n #luke hughes x oc #luke hughes fanfic #luke hughes fanfiction #luke hughes imagine

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mintmatcha · 1 month

Note

talk about fatgum, Mint 🎤 tell us about how he yearns. tell us what goes through his head when he’s with her

cw: sex work mentioned, reader is bruised, implied abuse

He should be more concerned about you being seen coming to his apartment, especially when you're dressed like that.

"Mmm, I'm so glad you called." You gently close the door with your hip, hands full with a large brown bag and your purse. Your dress is short enough that he's afraid to see you bend over, tight enough that he can't help but watch. "Hope you like take out because I ordered a lot."

He's starving, of course. He's always this ravenous after a big fight, but he's been holding off for you. If he gains the weight and you end up figuring out who he is... he's not sure what the consequences will be. Nothing good could come from seeing an escort, but he can't keep you away.

You stride in like you belong here, placing your things on the coffee table before flashing him a smile. Then, you frown, comically big.

"Tai, baby, you look worse than ever." You reach over to his place on the couch and pinch his cheek. The little pressure aches, but not as badly as his chest does when you sound like that. "Is your nose broken?"

It's fractured up to the ridge, but it'll get healed tomorrow. "Just a little."

"Part of the job, I guess," you say, even though you don't sound convinced. You still think he's a boxer, spending his little winnings on nights with you.

"Don't worry about me." He reaches out and pats your side. "I'm just happy to see you."

You glow at that and Taishiro pretends it means something. He's not naive. He understands this is a business transaction to you, but he still lets himself pretend that this thing between you is something.

"Can I borrow one of your shirts?" You're already up and walking towards his bedroom. "This dress isn't comfortable."

"Second drawer down." You already know that. The real perk of being so tall and (normally) big is how cozy you look in his clothing. "I'll put on a movie."

"You're the best."

A couple minutes later, you're back, a comically oversized shirt acting as your new dress. Despite himself, he wonders if you're naked under there. He'll never act on it, he'll never expect or ask for sex from you during these little dates, but he can't pretend that his mind doesn't go there, especially when you bend down just like that and your neckline gaps-

A string of dark, uneven bruises trails down your bare chest. You're picking through the bag of food you ordered, none the wiser, but he's watching you, picking the spots that have been painted with concealer; the middle of your throat, a line straight under your jaw of both sides.

"You're bruised too."

You start at that.

"Yeah, well-" you inhale, then pop a dumpling into your mouth. You chew for a very long time, trying to postpone an answer. "Part of the job."

Again, he's not naive. He knows what men do to you, what you do to them. That doesn't bother him; what makes his skin crawl is the thought of their hands, closing a bit too tight, or coming down to make marks-

"It shouldn't be. If anyone's hurting you-"

"It's not like that." Suddenly, you settle down on his lap, feet tucked under one thigh. Your skin smells like saffron and sweetness, a hint of sweat underneath. Upclose, he can see your foundation is thicker than usual, poorly evened up over one cheek. "Here, say 'aw.'"

You hold a piece of food out by your fingers.

"I'm not hungry."

You sniff the air. "That's a lie-- come on, you're too skinny."

He hates and loves your little quirk, the ability to literally sniff out when something is wrong--

His lips close around your fingers for a moment longer than they need to.

"You're sweet." You say. "I wish all of my regulars are as sweet as you."

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sangoziethesimp · 2 months

Note

That would be really cute if Acheron and reader had a child together. You should totally write that :D

Fractured Family | ACHERON X FEM!READER

And I did it.

MEN AND MINORS DNI.

Y/N lives on the Astral Express, a spaceship traveling between planets. Their child, Orion, has striking purple features like their missing partner, Acheron. Acheron vanished on a mission months ago, leaving only a cryptic message. One day, Acheron returns, weary and dusty. Confusion and tension fill the air as Y/N reveals Orion is their son. A flicker of hope emerges as Acheron connects with Orion, hinting at a chance to mend their broken family.

The hum of the Astral Express lulled you to a knee as you wrestled a giggling toddler into a pair of mismatched boots. (H/c) curls, stubbornly mirroring your own, bounced with every wiggle, intermingled with a defiant streak of violet – a clear echo of Acheron's unique hair color. However, the most striking feature on his face was a pair of bright purple eyes, a perfect inheritance from his mother.

"Hold still, Orion," you pleaded, finally managing to secure the laces. His laughter echoed through the cramped cabin, a sound both familiar and foreign at the same time.

"Mommy," he exclaimed, pointing at the battered leather satchel by the bunk. "Is Mama coming home today?"

Your heart squeezed. Acheron. The name still sent a jolt through you, a bittersweet reminder of a love both passionate and fleeting. Months ago, she'd vanished on a solo mission to a remote outpost, leaving only a terse message on the ship's communication board: "Gone rogue. Taking care of it myself. Sorry."

The cabin door hissed open, revealing a weary Acheron coated in dust and grime. Her eyes, the same piercing purple you knew so well, scanned the dimly lit space before locking on the small figure huddled by the bunk.

Silence. Acheron stood frozen, her expression unreadable. Orion, sensing the tension, tilted his head and chirped, "Hi, you must be Mama!"

Acheron's brow furrowed. She slowly approached the bunk, her gaze darting between you and the child. The air crackled with unspoken questions.

Finally, she spoke, her voice a husky whisper, "Y/N... who's this?"

You took a deep breath, bracing yourself. "Acheron," you started, your voice steady despite the nervous tremor in your heart, "this is Orion. Our son."

The revelation hung heavy in the air. Acheron stared at Orion, her eyes wide with a mix of shock, disbelief, and a flicker of something you couldn't quite decipher. The stoic huntress's mask seemed to falter for a moment, a glimpse of vulnerability beneath the weathered exterior.

Then, a hesitant smile touched her lips, a sliver of recognition lighting up her purple eyes. She knelt beside Orion on the worn rug, her movements tentative at first. But as his infectious laughter filled the cramped space, a playful glint returned to her gaze.

Tentatively, she reached out a hand, brushing it against his cheek. Orion, unfazed, leaned into the touch, a contented sigh escaping his lips. A flicker of warmth crossed your chest, a fragile hope blooming amidst the years of unspoken words.

As you watched them, Acheron's calloused fingers gently traced the contours of a mismatched sock on Orion's foot. You saw a flicker of something else in her eyes then – a flicker of regret, a silent apology.

Gathering your courage, you shifted closer, leaning into the space beside Acheron. The warmth of her presence, familiar yet distant, sent a shiver down your spine. She didn't pull away, and in that small gesture, you saw a sliver of hope for the future – a chance to mend the rough patches on your relationship, to build a new foundation for your fragile family.

#sangowrites #honkaistarrailwomen #honkai star rail #hsr #acheron #acheron x reader #acheron x you #hsr acheron #fluff #hsr fluff

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itsmeatballworld · 2 months

Text

| it ends in heartbreak |

pairing | daryl dixon x f!reader

summary | you both knew he would break your heart. he couldn't help himself.

wc | 1400

warnings | cursing, sadness/heartbreak [aka the title]

a/n | I've had this in my drafts forever lol I forgot about this one! Also this is the first time I've ever written pure angst so go easy on me <3

You always knew this day would come.

There were signs pointing to the downfall of your relationship, signs you chose to ignore to enjoy the moments of happiness.

But the signs couldn’t be any clearer–it would never last. It couldn't.

It was the end of the world, for starters. Life was always in shambles. The group never stayed in one spot long enough. Even the prison wasn’t safe. With everything unstable, it should’ve been obvious this would happen, but you were naive to think you’d would be any different.

Because the reality was: this was always how it was supposed to end.

He was built on a fractured foundation. He set up walls and built his life around a broken base, worn down by his past that he couldn't escape. First, parents had cracked and hardened his outlook on life. Then his brother taught him he meant little to others by leaving him behind. Not once did he ever learn how to fix the ache in his heart.

Yet when he met you, things changed.

It was gradual. Pieces of him started to align and heal. The tough outer shell wasn't as indestructible as he first imagined. After some time he opened up and let you in.

But you both knew he would break your heart.

He couldn't help himself. It was in his nature to push back, to fight and wrangle away from anything that became too real. Too good.

But for the time being, you enjoyed the blissful moments of his affection.

When he kissed you goodnight it was over.

He lingered, almost as if he was allowing his lips to memorize the feeling of your skin on his. His fingers fell against your curves as you pressed into the cellblock’s cool cement wall. It was in these seconds of quiet where you both had a chance to breathe.

Pulling back, Daryl rested one arm above your head. He leaned in close, gazing sweetly down at you. His other hand slowly traveled to your face and Daryl’s thumb brushed against your bottom lip.

Without hesitating you whispered the words he never imagined hearing from you.

Love you.

There. Right there. You saw the spark in his bright blue eyes dim. The crystalline color washed away into a deep ocean blue. Rocky and turbulent. Daryl’s eyes were no longer filled with love, but rather, fear.

You lost him, right there, pressed against the concrete wall of Cellblock D.

This was destined to fail.

“Please don’t do this.”

“Have to.”

“No…no you don’t have to, Daryl.” Your chest tightened. It was like the air was on fire. No matter how deeply you breathed in and out, pain still resided in your chest. He was crippling you.

“Daryl–”

“Ain’t up for debate.” He stepped back, snatching his crossbow from the watchtower’s metal flooring.

Your hands fumbled to find your shirt, hating how he sprung this on you in the middle of the night. He didn't have patience to wait, apparently. Just break your heart and go, like it was nothing.

“I’m not trying to…I just…” you groaned. “What happened? Was it me? Did I do something?”

His eyes went wide. That scared, fearful expression washed over him once again.

Fuck, you squeezed your eyes shut. That was it. That look. It was just like the other night. When those stupid words stumbled out of your mouth, falling to the ground at Daryl’s feet. Just before he crushed them with his silence.

“Was it something I said?”

He didn't answer and his silence (unlike most nights) wasn't good enough. You needed answers.

“So that’s it then. You say ‘I’m done’ and leave before sunrise?”

The broody man fought to glance in your direction. Instead, he focused out towards the tree-line. He grabbed onto the windowsill and squeezed so tightly that the white of his knuckles appeared. But his tactics to avoid the conversation at hand weren’t getting past you tonight.

You shot up from the floor. “Daryl.”

“I ain’t got time for this.”

“You fuck me, say we’re done, and leave? Like this was all nothing? Like we mean nothing to each other?”

Daryl paused. He turned to you with lips curled into a tight frown. Even in the darkness of the watchtower, through the bright white moonlight, his frustration was clear.

“I said ‘I love you’, Daryl.” There was a desperation behind your words. Your voice was so deeply distressing it made your chest ache. It was heavy and exhausting to display your feelings out to him in the middle of the night. But you wanted more–deserved more–than a shitty ending to whatever you had with him.

“You think this is love?”

You gawked, “yes!”

He paced the small room like a caged animal ready to pounce.

You love this man.

“This ain’t love.”

You love this man. This jerk.

“Then what the fuck is this, Daryl? Tell me.” You paused, tears welling in your eyes but you refused to let them fall. “Fucking tell me!”

The shirt in your hands balled up tight around your closed fist. You were hurt. Everything about him was trouble and you let him in.

“I said ‘I love you’. I said it and now you’re pulling away.”

As he watched you, just for a moment, his eyes didn’t fill with fear or confusion. There was something there. Between the declarations, he looked apologetic. His blue eyes softened, letting the emotions he desperately tried to conceal slip past those walls he built back up.

“Well, shit! I’m sorry I said it. I fucked this up, didn’t I?” The gravel in your voice scratched your throat. Everything burned.

The apologetic stare turned pitiful. A deep scowl crossed his face and your heart sank. “Can’t mess it up when there was nothin’ here, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. It was so condescending as his drawl pulls at the syllables. That tightness in your chest balled into a pit of rage. Fire that burned you before ignited an anger inside.

You moved closer towards him. “You sleep with me every night. You kiss me before leaving on runs. When you think nobody’s looking, you hold my hand. We talk about our past. Our future. This is real, Daryl.”

“Nah.” He grabbed his belt, twisting it through the loops. “This ain’t real.”

Your fingers tightened on the fabric as you tugged the shirt on. “That’s not true—“

He huffed, staring out into the cloudy night sky. “You’re better off without me anyway.”

“Don’t. Don't say that. I’m not better off without you. I’d be worse.”

Daryl paused.

But the hurt and anger fueling your body didn’t stop. “So don’t make me feel crazy for falling in love with you. Like it was a choice? If I was fucking smart, I would’ve ran far away from you the second we met. But I didn’t. Because I saw you for more than the asshole you pretend to be. So excuse me for feeling blindsided by your decision to leave me.”

“Leave you?” He spat. “Get it through your head, girl. You ain’t mine! You’re just some bitch I screwed.”

The frogs croaking down by the creeks ceased to exist. Trees stopped rustling in the breeze. Crickets no longer sang under the stars. The world froze as his words were thrown at you with such haste. Like he didn’t think twice.

Your arms wrapped around your waist, tugging at the fabric clinging to your body.

He didn’t look back at you. His eyes seemed to drift anywhere but you like he couldn't face the fact that he said it out loud.

No, no. He doesn’t really think that…

Your voice cracked as the tears from earlier were not going to wait much longer. “Daryl–”

He turned on his heels and was out the door. Down the ladder, each step was louder than the last. You paused, bawling your fists as the tears finally spilled across your cheeks. Loud and heaving gasps, muddled together with hot tears.

He broke you down within seconds. The tears and sobs continued on for what felt like forever until you finally had a moment of rest. The tightness in your chest subsided, thankfully, but this was the easier part. Tomorrow will be harder when you’ll have to put on a fake smile, wipe away tears in the dark prison hallways, and avoid him.

Forget him. Forget him…right like it would be easy. It’ll be fucking impossible to forget him.

You wished you could hate him. But you don’t.

So for tonight, you let yourself feel the heartbreak and planned to stand taller tomorrow. Because in the end you knew it would never last.

But it didn't matter.

You loved that man.

Yet after everything, he might have been right. You weren't truly with him.

And maybe he never really cared for you at all.

-xx-

a/n 2.0 | daryl PLEASEE {as if I didn't write him to act this way}

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #dary dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #y/n x daryl dixon #reader x daryl dixon #you x daryl dixon #angsty angst #sad reader and broken daryl #daryl twd #daryl x reader #the walking dead daryl

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ask-spw-mercenary · 2 years

Text

( Continued From Here )

Darkness. That’s where Umbra awakens, in a dark void filled with nothingness. She is confused as to how she ended up here, but a stained glass floor appears underneath her, which only makes her even more confused. The stained glass had an image of her sleeping, and a figure obscured by shadows that right next to her. “Where... am I?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” A voice says, before Destati appears before her, unmasked. “We’re at the heart of your soul.” As soon as she saw the boy in black, Umbra held up a defensive stance, causing him to sigh. “I’m not going to fight you, sister.”

“I thought you were assimilated back into me after I beat you! How and why do I keep seeing you, and how did you take over my body!?”

“I was made from your malice, but the oni essence you absorbed and expelled brought me to life. So like it or not, we’re stuck with each other, plus I was trying to defend you.”

Umbra just laughs at the notion of this embodiment of darkness ‘protecting’ her by attacking a frail old catholic cultist. “Really? By trying to kill a frail old cultist and getting his son to knock out our lights?”

“Well let’s just say you’re spot on about Father Saishi being lied to.”

Now the red haired girl is shocked. “Wait, for real?! By who?!”

“Who do you think?”

Umbra then puts two and two together. “OH THAT OLD-”

“Yep.” Destati then walks over to Umbra as his mask covers his face. “Best we wake up now. I wish I could’ve told you more, but if I had to guess, we’ve been out for a while so we need to get up. Plus it would be fun for you to put the rest of the pieces together.”

“What the hell are you-” Umbra gets slapped across the face and then, she wakes up for real... in a hospital room, and within a matter of seconds, Arden and Thomas run up to her bed after noticing she’s awake. “Dads?”

“THANK GOD YOU’RE ALRIGHT!” Arden yells, gently squeezing his daughter.”

“It’s a relief to finally see you awake.” Thomas says.

“Wait... how long as I out?”

“A day.”

“A DAY!?”

#(Shadow of The Chaos) Umbra #(The Foundation’s Devil) Arden Presley #(Electro Vampire) Thomas #(Fractured) Destati #Vento Aureo #plot #//Remember how I wrote in that Umbra froze up sometimes while just casually talking with someone in rps sometimes

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0v3rcast · 11 months

Text

Gnaw: Grudge Match

For the first time, the Archon War and its ending are subject to a second opinion.

(And that opinion is yours.)

Osial banks across the stormy sky, feathers of his right wing dipping into the clouds above, water and wind forming beads against his wingtips that follow him as he dips back down. You lend him your energy, and Electro arcs across the vast plumage of his wings and pools inside the beads.

He flaps his wing. A single storm bead rockets down from the sky.

Fishing boats and trading ships are reduced to soaked splinters and fractured metal. The remains of sails, now naught but tatters, writhe in the wind before falling into the sea.

Those who do not die from the sheer enormity of the impact drown in the harbor, bleed out from shrapnel of their own ships, or meet their end at the hands of your contributed Electro energy.

Within fifteen seconds, the harbor has been reduced to a graveyard, the ruined husks of an entire fleet now skeletons lying in deathless slumber on the seabed.

Osial laughs, wild and untamed, just this side of lost to mania, and he dives, his wings glimmering with Anemo.

The Golden House didn't really stand much of a chance.

Electrically-charged Mora are funneled en masse into the vortex above, glinting gold with lightning tails flowing up into the sky in chaotic patterns. Some magnetize against each other, some fly alone, others ricochet into the sea or embed themselves into the land.

Several unlucky souls are punched cleanly through by the symbol of their nation's prosperity, leaving gaping holes in their flesh and ruined bones.

Their screams, warped by the wind and rain and the song of thunder, are a beautiful chorus to you. A performance to welcome you home and give warning to those who foolishly stand against you.

Thunder roars, deafening, and lightning falls, piercing Millelith members. Rain weighs them down, wind steals their breath, and the wind chill robs even the most hale and hearty of a steady aim.

Osial flicks out another storm bead. Several buildings are blasted apart, their rubble crushing their neighbors, metal and stone and wood making a cacophony of ruin.

Entire lives are being uprooted. Centuries of tradition are vanishing under the onslaught. The work of thousands of human lives simply vanishes as it topples into the bay, the waves hungrily lapping at the base of the city and greedily swallowing all that cannot escape.

A small smile stretches over your face.

They deserve this.

With a flick of your wrist, the remaining Mora cluster together into a single massive ball, and you will it towards the wreckage of the city with a little mental exertion.

It crashes down into the heart of the city, right where Rex Lapis once died, and it then erupts as all the force keeping it together simply ceases to do so.

Golden coins and human gore scatter in every direction as fleeing civilians are reduced to mulch by this world's most ostentatious fragmentation explosive.

Osial howls in glee, currents of vicious wind tearing humans from the streets and into his waiting maw as he dives again and again.

In the distance, there is a roar.

The earth shakes to its foundations as immense stone pillars rip free, aimed for Osial, their normally flat tops ground to geometrically perfect diamond spearpoints.

"Morax," Osial sneers. "Come to watch your miserable excuse for a city die under my wings?"

The being that appears then is not Zhongli, or even Rex Lapis. It is Morax. An ancient dragon, Archon of Geo. The God of Contracts and War. This is no simple serpent, no puppet meant to be majestic and awe-inspiring - this is the war-form. The true face of a draconic god, plated in metals hewn from the heart of the world, innards glowing with yellow-orange energy.

This Morax is the face of death.

Morax roars in wordless fury at his old foe... but then his eyes catch sight of you.

The roar becomes deafening, full of such hatred and vitriol that Osial briefly forgets to fly from surprise, leading him to dive instead.

On some cruel instinct, you give Morax the smuggest, most shit-eating grin you can conjure, and you mouth 'where were you when they needed you?'

If looks could kill, Morax would have just reduced you to subatomic particles.

You gesture to Osial, your gift helping to subtly translate, and he launches up into the storm and the highest points of the atmosphere.

Morax follows, howling threats in a language you don't know.

(The elements lean forward in their seats. You've just invited them to the best fight this eon. Bets are already being made. Geo and Anemo both grin at the other, eager to see whose champion is superior.)

Meteors fall, carved apart by wind.

Voices carry for thousands of miles, roaring in pain and glee and fury.

Bones shatter, scales are torn apart, wounds ooze blood in quantities enough to bathe Liyue in a red rain... and Gods war.

On the ground, the storm has only increased in strength, now that so much more energy is being poured into the area.

Not helping is the hail of immense stone pieces.

Where godly blood lands, life is burnt away by the acidic touch of divinity.

Those who did not flee before can flee no longer without risking swift, painful death.

(Ganyu weeps, the work of thousands of years falling apart in less than five hours. What use were her labors?)

(Ningguang vanishes into a bunker beneath the stone, where she can wait out this chaos. She will build herself back up. This is simply a setback.)

(Hu Tao watches from a distant field as her home is utterly destroyed.

...some morbid little part of her gleefully remarks that business is about to be skyrocketing.)

(Shenhe is unaware of this happening, having been spirited away into Cloud Retainer's realm the moment said Adeptus realized just who had been given a burial at sea.)

(Yanfei is luckily out of the country right now, instead in Fontaine to deal with a reappearing case she'd long thought solved.)

(Xinyan assists in evacuation efforts, her flames burning away godsblood and rain to shelter those nearby.)

(Chongyun and Xingqiu barely manage to stem the tide of raging Hilichurls that are dead set on killing the escaping civilians.)

(Kequing lies in the collapsed rubble of a multi-story building, her Vision repeatedly shocking her as Electro takes the moment to be immensely petty.)

(Xiao drowns in his Karmic Debt, feathers trying to force their way through his skin as his more animalistic instincts refuse to obey.)

(Baizhu has already fled, knowing that he neither can be nor wishes to be of use in this fight. His work is not yet done.)

(Yaoyao stands guard over the population who have made it to her home village.)

(Yun Jin helps to gather scattered families back together amongst the crowds of refugees. Xiangling and her father work to feed the masses while they are all displaced.)

(Beidou watches the storm from the far horizon on the deck of the Alcor. Going in would be suicide, but not helping is just as unthinkable. She must choose, but the sheer weight of the choice is paralyzing. The fleet follows behind her, whether that is into certain death or into retreat.)

(Qiqi stands in the heaviest torrents of the storm. Where the blood of gods stains her skin, life is breathed back into dead flesh.))

Far above in the heavens, Osial and Zhongli are tangled, claws gouging into the new Anemo Archon's innards as coils attempt to shatter the Geo Archon's ancient spine.

There is a deafening crack as Morax's spine bends in a way it was never supposed to.

Ribbons of intestine hang from the massive wound in Osial's underbelly.

Both of them begin to fall to the face of Teyvat tens of thousands of miles below, and you are along for the ride.

Osial lets out a wheezy cackle as he tightens his grip on Morax, drowning in his own blood.

Morax writhes, wings unresponsive.

You hug yourself against Osial. Impact comes far sooner than you expected.

There is darkness.

When you wake, you are in the shallows of an immense crater, exactly where Liyue Harbor should have been. The moon glows pale white above you.

Shattered pillars and ruined buildings jut from the not-quite-bay.

Sitting next to you is a not-very-undead Qiqi. She gives you a relieved look when she sees you're alive. You offer her a thumbs up, as though that will solve the issue.

She accepts it with as much grace as anyone in her situation can and returns the thumbs up, smiling at you faintly.

Beneath you is Osial, dying from mortal wounds but still very alive. Somewhere in the distance is a similarly wounded Morax.

You climb down from your dying companion and come to face him.

"Ah... good. You still live. I did not fail you," Osial gurgles. "Thank you... for helping me settle the score, my maker."

You tell him to hold on. You're sure there's something you can do to heal him. He lets out an amused huff.

"Your kindness is touching, but I know my end is coming. I can feel the Abyss."

You refuse. Osial is yours, damn it. Your friend. Your first Archon. Your protector.

A feeling wells up inside of you.

He will not die. You won't allow it.

Your eyes burn as tears stream down your face. You rest a hand against his scaly face, and ask him to trust you one more time.

"Of course. Always."

You let your power flow. The world erupts into starlight as a new constellation is born, sky adorned with a new pattern of stars: Serpens Fidelis.

The loyal serpent.

Where once laid your dying companion is now a male of mortal human size, who sits up, obviously quite discombobulated. He manages to find his feet, though repeatedly stumbles as he takes his first steps.

Scarred tan skin faintly reflects the moonlight, bathing him in an ethereal glow. Silver locks of hair with deep blue accents seem to drink in the moonlight.

He turns to you, finally, and grins, canine teeth closer to fangs than human, Cherenkov blue eyes glimmering with undeniable joy.

"Thank you, my maker. This new form is far less damaged."

From his right hip dangles a Hydro vision. The Anemo Gnosis is in your hands instead. It appears the cost for his life was you reclaiming the archonhood you bestowed upon him.

He is otherwise entirely nude and doesn't particularly seem to notice this. Maybe that's because he's never had to wear clothes before.

You kindly point this out to him, more than a little embarrassed on his behalf, your hands over Qiqi's eyes so she doesn't see.

Holy shit, was he always that built?

He grins at you, shooting you a salacious wink. "Yes, yes. Get an eyeful of my statuesque physique. I worked for many years on it."

You ask how he managed that as best you can while dying of embarrassment.

"You become quite proficient at lifting weights and swimming at the same time while trying to struggle free of stone javelins pinning you to the seafloor," he says mildly.

He manipulates the water and stormclouds into a set of luxurious robes. A sash at his waist now holds the Hydro vision.

On his back rests a fragment of the Jade Chamber carved into a massive greatsword.

"Shall we gloat over our dying adversary together, my maker?"

Yes, this sounds like a phenomenal idea.

You let Qiqi go, now that Osial is not running a one-hydra nudist colony, and she follows behind the two of you like a lost puppy.

Morax has returned to the form of Zhongli by the time you get to him.

The Vortex Vanquisher lies shattered at his side, and hundreds of rips and tears in his clothes display his grievous wounds.

Osial confidently struts over.

"Why hello, hated enemy mine~"

Zhongli weakly snarls up at him, and also at you, his fists curling feebly at his sides.

"Damn you both. May the Creator strike you both down into the depths of the Abyss."

Osial lets out a small 'snrk', begins to lowly chuckle, and slowly escalates to peals of howling, gleeful laughter. Zhongli just looks offended while Osial laughs himself nearly sick.

"By the maker, you have no idea who you're talking to right now, do you?" He wheezes, tears in his eyes, clutching at his sides.

"The destroyer of my people and an abomination wearing the skin of the Creator of All." Zhongli fires back, indignant. "Are you blind?"

"Go ahead and pray for our maker to save you. See what happens," Osial says, grinning cruelly.

Zhongli murmurs a prayer for protection from evil.

A faint glimmer of magical energy escapes his lips and swirls just above your hands. You cringe at it and wave it away like it's smoke.

Zhongli goes ghost-white, his eyes becoming impossibly wide.

"Creator?"

Tears bead at the corners of his eyes as his actions finally begin to play back in his mind.

"Please, my maker, forgive m-"

Osial cuts off his head.

"What an asshole," he snickers, some blood now on his cheek, a massive grin on his face. "I'm glad he's dead."

You just look at him like he's crazy. Which he probably is.

"Oooooooooohhhh, that's who you are." Qiqi says from behind you, having caught on to your true identity.

Another massive hydra erupts from the ocean in the distance and lets out a sound akin to whalesong.

"HI, HONEY!" Osial yells in her direction before immediately bolting towards her.

You let out a distressed sigh. Exactly what kind of mess have you just gotten into?

(Taglist:

@the-dumber-scaramouche @thatdeadaquarius @ssak-i @imyme20 @fried-lotud @acacla @itz-luna @iruiji @crierofirony @itsredactedlove @sweetsthetik @leafanonsforest @oxyotl @kkazuyass @featuredtofu @resident-cryptid @d4y-dr3am3r @crimson-ashes @red1sg0n3 @the-real-fandom-person @code-roevember @yourlocalsourwolf @rhoswen-drake @minimari415 @reversearrowhead @call-me-shroom @evqnescents @valeriele3 @mochicurls21 @sinnful-darling @fleshdotmp4 @ash1 @chilling-on-the-moon @fluffy-koalala @extremelytoastybread @euphoricaldemise

This should probably be all of you.))

#genshin sagau #sagau gnaw #sagau cult au #genshin angst #hopefully one of you likes this #WOOO FIRST DEATH #of non you people i mean #im a little late but whatever #osial is a stud and you cant convince me otherwise #totally has the anime pretty boy muscles

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celaenaeiln · 6 months

Note

Hi, do you have any recommendations for Dick and Slade fics where their relationship is explored? It doesn't matter if it's a pairing or not. P.S.: I really love your posts

Thank you!!

And boy do I have them! All of these are my favorites. They're fics I specifically saved separately because I loved them. I hope you do too!

FAVORITE!! The thrill I get when I read this. The high. It's almost incomparable. Sladick in cyberspace. I don't even like cyber punk but I loved this fic - Gray Area

FAVORITE!! I talked about this one before but it's the perfect fic for apprentice Sladick. Read it so many times, I can't get enough of it. - Nightwing Protocol

FAVORITE!! This is one of my comfort fics, I love the whole collections so much. Slade and Dick get married and run off to the Maldives - I Guess Time Will Tell What the Come Down is Like

Slade comes for his Talon. That's his Dick Grayson dammit - Reclaiming an Owl

Favorite! I hope you don't mind but I'm sneaking in this Tiger/Dick fic forgive mee. Tiger's infuriatingly attracted to Dick's lips - Soft lips

FAVORITE!! Jedi Dick meets Sith Slade. And their relationship is always the same - Breathe With Confidence

Slade and Dick are soulmates much to the displeasure of Joey and the happiness of Rose - family in any form

Slade is a god of war and Dick is the demigod of shadows. They meet on the battlefield - Echoes of the Battlefield

Dick is a bartender. And Slade doesn't have identification - The Barkeeper

FAVORITE!! Dick is Aphrodite and Slade is Ares but Dick is a terrifying figure when spurned - Contradiction

FAVORITE!! Dick is Persephone and Slade is Hades and the story fits perfectly - When September Ends

FAVORITE!! Dick and Slade are both Alphas but that's not going to stop Slade in the force of his attraction for Dick - Ready or Knot

Favorite! Dick comes back with bruises, Jason thinks he lost a fight, Tim knows better, and the truth accidentally comes out - B is for Bruises

Series of prompts for Omega Dick and Sladick - Omega!Dick Week

Sladick if Dick had become Slade's apprentice from the start. He's coming back home - Home for the Holidays

FAVORITE!! Slade and Dick take care of each other - Follow Me (Don't Be Such a Fool)

Favorite! Slade takes Dick along South to a bar and Dick has some new discoveries - As Sweet As Strawberry Wine

Favorite! The whole collection! I really love the one with Deadshot but here's the first one with Slade! Remember when Dick paid of Deathstroke not to take a hit on Amy? Here's what happened after - Sell Your Soul

Slade's straight. So is Tiger. And so is most of the harem. They just like him - Attack of the Exes

FAVORITE!! The whole freaking collection?! Star Wars AU of Sladick. Taken to the dark side - Want is a Full Contract

Actually victoriousscarf's stuff is just too good - victoriousscarf

Dick basically goes fuck it. I'm tired of being good. and butts off to be slade's apprentice - Subverting Expectation

Favorite! Dick is a witch and the massive bloody wolf at his door is obviously just a wolf, right? - My Beloved Deathstroke

Slade can't just let Dick stay as Ric. He's too good for that - Madness Started the Moment We Met

FAVORITE!! Ric meets a man at the fight club. And that man is a little too interesting to let go - Like a Virus

FAVORITE!! Dick receives some interesting videos from Slade. Slade has always been good at enticing Dick - Puppet Show

FAVORITE!! Supernatural AU where Dick is Sam and Slade is Ruby. Jason's gone but Dick's gonna get his little brother back. No matter what it takes - On the Head of a Pin

FAVORITE!! Same as above! - Point of Fracture

FAVORITE!! I will sink my teeth into this collection and shake it because it's so good. YJ! Dick becomes the spy instead of Kaldur - Foundations

Favorite! Slade visits Dick in the hospital but Dick's not awake. Although Mar'i is - Give Us This Day

FAVORITE!! Midnighter/Dick/Slade. Dick's gone, right? Then who is then man with a swirling face that reminds Slade of him? - The Third Kind

Favorite! Dick is a sailor and Slade is a merman - I am a Sailor, and you are the Sea

Another Star Wars AU - Resolute in Resurrection

FAVORITE!! Slade acted so unaffected before. There's none of that now - every shadow filled up with doubt

Dick swears he's only here to rescue Damian. It's not his fault Slade was also locked up - (practice our prayers) until some hope crystallizes

FAVORITE!! Dick's mother always told him never to deal with the Fae. But some situations call for it - deal with the devil

FAVORITE!! They had a deal. But Slade's deal never was supposed to be about catching feelings - Maroon Haze

FAVORITE!! Dick has magic and Slade is cursed - i have hurt and hungered before (flesh against flesh)

FAVORITE!! I have read this fic over and over again. I love the younger Slade and Older Dick dynamic - running fever

Not a ship

FAVORITE!! When Slade took in Robin as an apprentice, he was a kid. A teenager. Get woke slade. Funny!! - Why did I think this was a good idea?

Dick is Robin and Slade's protective father instincts kick in - Made Peace

FAVORITE!! One of my all time favorites. Dick's name gets pulled out of the hogwarts cup as the Hogwarts Champion. But..he never put his in - heavy is the crown

Favorite! Bruce doesn't get to get away with Spyral. Dick leaves Bruce for Slade - deeds of men depraved

I have way more but this is a good starting point I think. Lemme know if you're interested in more!

#dick grayson #nightwing #slade wilson #deathstroke #sladick #cl anon asks #thanks for the ask!

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sunkendreams · 1 year

Text

TO THE WOLVES.

𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺𝗮𝘁. | one-shot — not requested.

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴. | bo sinclair / fem!reader / vincent sinclair.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁. | 5.8K.

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀. | threesome (m/f/m), mild degradation, spitting, vaginal fingering, dry humping, vaginal sex, breast play, tiddy sucking, dirty talk, descriptions of cum, breeding kink if you squint, begging, choking, biting, etc. this was extremely horny and I’m not apologizing.

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿’𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲. | wow I’m back ?? this was my first big writing project of the year and I think I’ll probably do more with it, honestly. thanks for being so patient. I said I’d have this done a month ago (lmao I lied) but here it is. extremely proud of this one. thanks for your support, I love you all so much!

TAGLIST: @dootys ; @reveluving ; @sat10 ; @milland ; @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better ; @iamcautiouslyoptimistic ; @darklylucid ; @sirstompely ; @chaotichellscape ; @callsigncrash ; @peachygothgirl ; @manicpixiimurderdoll ; @sandeepics ; @rainbowcreepie ; @kiki-dohedo

August hung like a noxious cloud, oozing with sticky humidity and a brutal heat like no other. Crawdads sang in the dead of night, a cacophony that rose above the thick, Louisiana marshlands. Any heat was enough to drive you away indoors, to the cooler gloom of the Sinclair household — windows down, curtains billowing in the night.

Hikers and sightseers became increasingly prevalent, roaming the woods with a giddiness that would soon be snuffed out forever. It was best if you kept away from the onslaught that was to come, but you were never very far — screams echoed from the basement, silenced by a wax tomb.

A passive accomplice, that was what you were. Present for it all, never dissuading the twins from persuing their town of terror. Perhaps a sliver of you, a depraved splinter enjoyed it all, unconsciously reveling in the suffering, but you didn’t know yourself anymore.

Faces came and went, faces forever sealed inside wax, inside of the museum. Each with eyes that screamed fear, begging for a quick demise — eyes that lost such a lively sheen as time passed.

Sometimes you wondered what it was like to inhabit Bo’s brain, or perhaps Vincent’s — those fractured, mystifying minds that were capable of such immeasurable destruction. You would never exude chaos like they could, never be molded into their protégé, but you were their anchor.

Bo liked to pet your hair, whisper strings of vulgar words into your ear, tell you how much he wanted you. He was the thunder — tumultuous, rancorous and boisterous, yet clouded with a gloom that you couldn’t quite place, nor penetrate. Many people feared thunder, as it meant a storm was approaching, but thunder often paled in comparison to lightning.

That was Vincent — the lightning. Quick, unpredictable, unyielding — beautiful in the most terrifying of ways. He was some coiled predator, his rage subdued, agony subtle. It was hidden beneath the pale visage of a mask and beneath the many wax statues he’d poured countless hours into. Vincent’s hands were delicate, yet forged to kill, perhaps more than Bo’s ever were.

As you laid in bed, layered in a sheen of perspiration and trapped within a snare of sheets, you were only half-awake. Floorboards creaked underneath the quick, haughty steps of Bo, whose calloused fingers dragged against your cheek, his gentle way of rousing you.

“Hey,” A hoarse utterance emerged from his chapped lips, temples glittering with sweat from the fog of Louisiana heat. “Need your help.” Bo felt a pang of irritation for waking you, but it was urgent.

Stirring to consciousness, your vision swam with the bleariness of sleep, brows furrowing together. It wasn’t common for Bo to wake you in the dead of night like this, but you pushed yourself upright anyway, reaching for your robe. “What’s wrong?” You asked, attempting to swallow the growing lump within your throat.

Bo’s resolve was steadily fracturing, like the cracking of a stone foundation. He maintained a tempered glower for now, jaw set with an uncomfortable tension. “Vincent.” It only took a singular word for you to understand the gravity of the situation.

Haste drove you as you skittered out of bed, following Bo down the stairs and into the kitchen. You could make out the back of Vincent’s head — raven-coloured tresses somewhat disheveled, lithe form slumped-over within one of the wooden chairs. He was never out like this — you knew how much Bo’s twin preferred the sanctuary of the basement, his slice of seclusion.

Part of Vincent’s sweater had been torn apart, frayed fabric seeped in barely-dried crimson. The basement door was agape, and so was the front door. A shape of a body was laying just outside on the front steps, and you wondered if one of the victims had attempted an escape.

“He asked for you,” Bo’s voice did not retain the usual venom. The elder Sinclair was possessive over you, but the grievous injuries his brother had sustained far outweighed his own volatility. “M’askin’ you t’do what you can for him.”

Something pulled at your heartstrings, then and there — Vincent rarely requested your company. It was enough to warrant a look of surprise, but you couldn’t afford to stew within your own feelings.

“Of course.” Your gaze shifted, meeting Bo’s own fiery hues as he edged toward the doorway. A new pressure arose, taking care of his wounded twin, but you had stitched Bo up countless times before. This wouldn’t be any different.

It was the first time you had witnessed such vulnerability from Vincent, though unwilling, it still struck you as foreign. You fumbled around the kitchen for everything you’d need, returning to his side without an utterance.

Bo took care of the corpse outside — a likely distraction from the present. It was always him in Vincent’s position, bloodied and beaten, being torn apart and sewn up by you more times than he could count. His helplessness in the matter would be his own undoing if he didn’t keep himself occupied.

From the shadow of the front steps, Bo watched as you cleaned his brother’s wounds, gentle as to not startle him. It wasn’t your actions that made him grit his teeth, but the haunting manner in which Vincent ogled you, head canted downwards. Bo knew that look — intimately understood how his twin must’ve been staring, raking you in over and over — because it was the very same way he looked at you, too.

For the longest time, Bo deprived his twin of you, afraid that he’d come to blows over his own ugly, possessive desire, but his mind began to change. His own thoughts began to blossom into something insidious, fueled by a multitude of things — lust, frenzy, you, and perhaps an understanding of his own flesh and blood.

An understanding of what it was like to want — to fester with desire, bleeding want and endlessly yearning for something that you couldn’t have. In a moment of vulnerability, Bo felt a pang of sympathy for his twin.

As he hauled the body toward his truck, it left the both of you out of-sight, for now.

Vincent’s cerulean hue fluttered toward the door — Bo no longer stood vigil, lost to the dusk, prompting him to focus on you. He could detect his searing glare from the beyond, as if he possessed some sixth sense for his brother’s disdainful jealousy. He valued his twin’s feelings, but a sliver of it evaporated when it came to you.

You — uncomfortably seated on dirtied floorboards, knees digging into decades-old wood as your hands scurried to tend to him. Vincent wholly understood why Bo was enamored with you. It was difficult not to be, in truth — what man wouldn’t be?

Nimble fingers curled into the dirtied, rib-knit fabric, keeping his sweater aloft, allowing you to work unhindered. It was a deeper gash than he thought, but never enough to incapacitate him. He was stronger than that, pushing himself to the very edge over and over again.

His torso resembled a battlefield, scars etched deep into his pale flesh, livid and seething. Each mark told a story — a victim, an incident, or perhaps something more. Vincent kept a thinly-veiled investment into your movements, gaze fluttering across the delicate bend of your digits. Warm water cleansed the blood from his skin, towel and pressure soon to follow.

Feeling the residual effects from Bo’s tempestuous stare and aloof demeanor, you kept quiet, dutifully working on Vincent’s wounds. The silence was deafening — perhaps too loud, filling the gap with an unusual tension. He was eerily still, glittering eye glued to you, fluttering back and forth as he followed you.

Vincent often experienced something close to jealousy whenever he saw you and Bo together — some concealed sliver of his being yearned for that closeness, too. Envy became an understatement, and his fantasies were often locked away within wax statues. He wouldn’t dare intrude on what he presumed to be Bo’s, yet a string of intrusive thoughts began to take root, salacious seeds soon to blossom into something darker.

Both were callous in their own way — Bo was verbally obtuse, whereas Vincent was physically indifferent. Yet, both were violently possessive in similar ways, more than you were aware of. It would be a volatile clash if they were both involved at an intimate level. Vincent knew that Bo would never relinquish you without malice and hostility involved somehow.

Even now, with his twin nowhere in sight, he maintained a great deal of self-control, digits tensing against the tabletop. A sanguine glow enveloped you, cast in blood-orange and the dismal, pale kitchen light — the prettiest creature he’d ever seen.

It would’ve been so swift — brushing the top of your hair, ghosting his fingertips across the contour of your jawline, or perhaps leaning closer to inhale your scent. Yet, it all felt wrong, as if he were attempting to take something that didn’t belong to him. Vincent exhaled, slow and melancholy, before leaning back within the chair.

Curiosity and concern brought about your voice, words bubbling to the surface at last. “What happened?” The wound could’ve been a product of a great many things, and you decided to not voice your list of assumptions.

“Glass.” Vincent’s digits moved sluggishly, his signing seemingly exhausted. His hawkish gaze drifted toward the glittering shards that were partially scattered across the living room floor. It must’ve been a sizable shard of glass — he’d taken a gruesome hit.

Your brow furrowed, expression twitching with concern. “I’m sorry.” The apology slipped from your lips, laced with an underlying apprehension.

“No,” You apologized for things beyond your control, and your understanding — Vincent was to blame for the carnage, and he was willing to accept accountability. “Happened more times than I can count.” He signed, a soft grunt escaping him as you began to stitch flesh together again.

Sorrow sank into your bones — Vincent always had Bo present to pick him up, stitch him back together again. You wondered what would happen if he wasn’t around to do so. You weren’t a constant in their lives until recently, but you envisioned Vincent mending himself with those dexterous hands, hands that breathed life into wax, and snuffed it out all the same.

“Tell me if it’s too much, it isn’t a shallow wound.” Your mumble emerged from between frowning lips and a voice that commanded concentration. It was easy to immerse yourself in Vincent — he was noticeably different from his brother. Vincent was wiry and musculed, but wore it like a sleek jungle cat.

Bo held muscle in his arms — the taut, working hands of a skilled mechanic, rugged and calloused. The rest of him was stout and not nearly as lithe as his twin, who stood above him in stature. You enjoyed mulling over the comparisons, the intricate details that caught your eye, be it a scar or otherwise.

Hawkish eyes carefully roved over you, drinking you in as if he’d never seen you before — again, and again, and again. Vincent could watch you like this for an eternity from behind the curtain of midnight hair and the wax-laden visage.

He tensed and bit at his sleeve as you gained ground with the stitching, over halfway through. You could detect his pain — it was palpable, rolling off of him in red-hot waves that you wanted to quell so very terribly. “Almost done,” You breathed, noticing his white knuckles grappling at the tabletop. “Sorry.” The apology emerged, rushed as ever.

Vincent’s hands were terrifying and beautiful altogether — and in the midst of mending flesh, your mind descended into a flurry of depravity. What would it feel like for him to touch you, mold you in the way he did with wax? It was sudden, took you by surprise — so much so, that heat consumed your body, a purging fire.

Only his twin had touched you — it was often rough, twined with spurts of need and carnal lust and affection all twisted into some unruly knot. Bo was good to you, better when he wanted to be, but your thoughts began to dwell on Vincent.

How would he make you feel?

As you completed the last stitch, your throat grew tight, as if this foreign swarm of newfound sensations had stolen the breath from your lungs. Part of you felt guilty, as if this was the start of a horrible betrayal against Bo — none of it was intentional.

Sluggishly, Vincent began to uncoil his body, as if the tension washed away all at once. Despite the searing pain from his abdomen, the worst was over — medication could fix it.

“Vincent,” Your voice had dropped an octave, strenuous from tension and soft all the same, “You okay?” His lack of a reaction had prompted your concern, but maybe that was just it — he was accustomed to the pain.

“I’ll be fine.” Vincent signed, slumping backward into the rickety chair, despite the uncomfortable nature of the object itself. A soft, breathy sigh escaped him, barely audible through the waxy seal of the mask. He watched you stand, fingertips matted with his blood.

As you lingered at his side for a moment longer, goosebumps erupted like a plague across your flesh, feeling the sensation of his hand catch yours. Vincent’s touch was unusually gentle, perhaps an extension of gratitude, but it lasted much longer to be only that — your throat became tight, warmth soon to follow.

“Vincent,” A hapless gasp escaped you, likely worried of Bo’s impending return. “Is everything —“

The vice-like snare of his grasp began to tighten, as if commanding you to stay for only a moment, no recoiling. With his available hand, he signed, piercing gaze boring right through you like the bite of a knife. “Thank you.” The calloused pad of his thumb drifted across your knuckles, then.

“Y’finished with ‘im?” Bo’s tempered drawl filled the room — his hands were dirtied, in the process of being wiped clean by a stained rag. He pretended not to notice his twin clinging onto you, crossing the threshold from entryway to kitchen.

“Yeah.” Reluctantly, you slipped away from Vincent, nearly leaping sideways when Bo made himself known. An uncomfortable sensation began to flourish within the pit of your stomach, a gnawing that refused to cease.

It would’ve been dishonest of him to admit that he didn’t feel some seething streak of jealousy when Vincent grasped for your hand — Bo felt it fester, snap like the crack of a whip, before diminishing. He keenly studied the startled look you wore, picking it apart, dissecting you as you passed him into the kitchen.

Bo made the short stride toward his twin, crouching down in the very same spot you were in just moments beforehand. This was done intentionally, swiftly — while you were distracted with cleaning up, he spoke in hushed whispers to Vincent.

The brothers kept low, a conversation done in rugged utterances and the brief movement of curious fingers. Bo momentarily peered over his shoulder, hawkishly watching as you washed yourself free of his twin’s blood, tidied up the kitchen afterwards.

It was agreed upon, then — Vincent’s gaze held a vast amount of understanding, and perhaps a twinge of gratitude. Bo fought against a salacious grin, yet it forcefully tugged at the corner of his mouth anyway. Both of them moved at once, as if their minds were one. Vincent lingered at the fringes of the table, movements unhindered by his injury.

You entered the fray, cleansed and dazed — your countenance reflected a semblance of confusion as Bo sauntered toward you. Something seemed off, as if the tension had suddenly flared to life, but a different tension — it lacked envy or malice, this one more familiar to you.

“She’s real pretty, ain’t she, Vince?” Bo drawled, clicking his tongue as he began to circle you like a predator flying overhead. He reveled in the way you shrank — a sheepish, bashful little thing. It was the instantaneous nature of it that left him feeling victorious, chest swelling with pride.

“Bo,” Your voice rose above a whisper, but only slightly. Instead, your stomach fluttered with butterflies, a nervousness gnawing its way into your very bones. “Stop.” Meek — your trembling tone reeked of it.

Bo finally stopped by your right side, swiping the pad of his thumb over your jaw. “Real sweet too, must be, puttin’ up with th’two of us,” As you opened your mouth to protest, he squeezed, forcing you to tense — your lips quivered. “Should hear her in bed. Mewlin’ like a little kitten.”

Vincent’s posture remained unnaturally rigid, though as Bo rambled on about the lascivious nature of your relationship, he slacked. Instead, he inched forward, tall and lithe as he leered in your direction — the electricity felt from his ogling alone was enough to make your knees shake. Dark tresses framed his visage, no obstructions this time.

“Yeah, you’ll see,” Bo purred into your ear, calloused digits stroking along your flesh, evoking a wave of gooseflesh that prickled across your skin. “Bet y’think ‘bout her, don’t you?” His inquiry was sharp, fringed with a faint venom, directed right at his brother.

You froze, a shudder rolling down your spine, skin feeling like an open furnace, as if fire had devoured you whole. The tension had reached an uncomfortable high, able to be sliced with the dullest of knives. “Bo,” You urged, unsure of where he was going with this. “What are you doing?”

He was hungry — a leering wolf, with sharp teeth and a ravenous stare. “M’brother likes lookin’ at y’too,” Bo husked, bleeding heat from behind you now. It was enough to evoke a shudder, your flesh creeping with an insatiable warmth. “You want him?”

There were little indications of humour — Bo’s voice remained steely, impervious to your bewilderment. Roughened digits slipped underneath your chin, directing your stare toward Vincent. It almost felt akin to some fever dream, a mirage that teased you in the dead of night.

No — this was reality.

“I—I…” Your stammer turned uncertain. If Bo expected honesty, he surely knew the answer already, didn’t he? Concern ate away at your gut — you were terrified of hurting Bo if you admitted your growing desires. What were you supposed to say?

“Be honest, sweetheart. M’bein’ real generous right now, he knows it.” Bo uttered along the cartilage of your ear, teeth gently scraping enough to make you shiver. He liked that — he drowned himself in making you so wound-up. “I ain’t a fuckin’ fool.” He murmured, nipping at the skin just underneath your earlobe.

A flame burned within your belly — a fire that demanded to be extinguished. You felt feverish, feeling the heat creep along your skin like a virus, or some haze. You were staring at Vincent now, who was closer than he was moments prior. Suddenly, the gravity of the situation began to feel heavy.

“Yes,” There was a relief you felt, in confessing. “I want the both of you,” Your voice nearly trailed off into some pathetic whine. “I want you both so bad.” You felt so desperate, in the best way possible. You knew that you were in for it, but the exhilaration replaced the nervousness.

“Mm,” Bo smirked, pressing a chaste kiss against the side of your head, nose briefly nestled atop your crown. “Hear that, Vince? She wants us both.” Leading the charge, he shamelessly reached around, groping at your breast in front of his twin who stood mere inches away, within arm’s reach.

Two layers of thin fabric was all that separated you from them — your baggy nightshirt and panties, concealed by the hem of the shirt itself. Bo was itching, chomping at the bit to see how much of a mess you’d become, a listless lust dancing beneath his mischievous stare.

Vincent finally closed in, peering toward his brother for approval. His dexterous hand closed around the hilt of his ivory knife, which sat soundly against his hip, begging to be utilized.

“No kissin’,” Bo uttered, his command directed toward Vincent — not you. “If y’fuck her, pull out, or this’ll never happen again.” The regulations were set — Vincent was willing to adhere to them. Kissing wasn’t something he sought from you, anyway. “Everythin’ else is fair game.”

Bo liked your mouth — that was his. He was being benevolent enough by sharing you, and Vincent knew this. As both twins shared an unspoken acknowledgment of boundaries, the fun was set to begin, and it was off to a jarring start as razor-sharp silver sliced down through your shirt.

A hapless gasp escaped you, emerging from the back of your throat. Vincent watched, endlessly hungry, desire flickering to life within his singular eye. He tugged the torn garment away, and your flesh prickled with goosebumps, due to some sick thrill coupled with the cool air.

Using the sofa as a crutch, Bo was comfortable enough to keep you pinned against him, his chest pressed snugly into your back. “Don’t be shy, Vince.” He growled, kneading your breasts between calloused fingers, planting a string of hot kisses along your neck.

You moaned, sheepishly ogling Vincent through half-lidded lashes. His breathing hitched — your eyes connected for a moment, enough for him to smooth his palm across your stomach, teasing the waistband of your panties.

It was brief — he lifted his hand toward his mask, slipping it aside enough to place two fingers into his mouth, coating his digits in spit. The realization of his intentions was what hit you the most, a pang of arousal that gathered between your legs.

Vincent’s hand lowered, quick to journey toward the juncture between your thighs. One hand tangled into a fist around your panties, tugging them down enough to barge in between, parting your legs with his sinewy frame.

His touch was incendiary — hot like the lick of an open flame, raking embers across your aching cunt. Vincent’s wet fingers found their way to your clit, causing you to sputter, whimper his name in as he stroked along your slit. He kept a steady rhythm, though it almost felt exploratory, as if he were dissecting you.

“Vincent,” You moaned, hips jolting into his hand, body beginning to rattle. Bo’s hands kept busy, nipples tugged and tortured through his thumb and forefinger, teeth grazing along the dip between your neck and shoulder. “Vince.”

The stark contrast between the brothers became glaringly apparent as time passed — you could find favor in both methods of intimacy. Vincent’s touch was borderline obsessive, yet he reveled in the compliance, the surrender. His digits continued to rub against your slit, until he began to work his way inside of you.

Your breath hitched, heart hammering erratically as his fingers sluggishly invaded your cunt. Swallowed by your tight heat, Vincent easily fell into some sort of pattern, moving his digits forward and back, just enough to make you squirm.

Bo’s digits wove their way into your hair, tugging you back at an angle, enough for his mouth to collide with yours — teeth, tongue, and lust. His jeans chafed against your backside, met with friction and the tangible protrusion of his erection. “Y’like that, don’t you?” He mumbled.

In between a flurry of feverish kisses, you could barely catch your breath, trapped between Vincent’s dexterous fingers and Bo’s greedy maw. He bit your lower lip, sharp enough to draw blood, coppery twang spattering against your tongue. Another simpering moan escaped you as Vincent curled his digits inside of you, thumb pressing to your clit.

“Yeah,” Bo exhaled, tongue catching crimson as he lapped at your mouth. “Lemme hear you.” He slurred, one hand wrestling with his belt in a desperate attempt to relieve the pressure mounting within his cock.

You moaned again, cunt clenching around Vincent, legs beginning to quiver. “M’close.” A whimper tore past your lips, haplessly wedged between them. The taller twin let his fingers increase in speed, slipping in and out of your wet slit with a newfound haste. His free hand fell to your hip, as if guiding you toward an orgasm.

There wasn’t any room for recuperation — you came on Vincent’s fingers, nearly seeing stars, a white-hot haze blurring your senses. Bo spun you around, at his mercy as you faced him. Vincent was right behind you, chest nudging against your back, dark tresses brushing against the exposed skin of your shoulder.

“Open that pretty mouth, baby.” His voice was an alluring husk. Bo’s countenance was glazed with lust, hues dark and fiery — it was intense, more than you’d ever seen before. His thumb pried your mouth apart, caressing your lower lip as a show of affection.

Bo was shameless as he spit into your mouth, palm clasped tightly against the side of your jaw, digits unnaturally tense. It was more than enough to send another surge of heat between your legs, cunt still oozing with wetness and warmth.

“Fuckin’ slut, aren’t ‘cha?” Grit and desire struck you right to your core, his tone dropping an octave as he watched you swallow his saliva without an ounce of protest. Bo kissed the corner of your mouth, his hand now replacing Vincent’s. “Wet from that, look at you.” He crooned.

“Please Bo,” As pathetic as it seemed, you were desperate to have him inside of you — it didn’t matter for how long, or how much. You wanted to scratch the itch, to have the brothers fill the void within you. “Bo, fuck,” Your voice ran ragged, high-pitched and needy. “Please, Vince.”

Vincent purred — a sound akin to the low rolling of thunder. His fingers deftly swept across your shoulder, sweeping tresses aside as one hand loosened his belt. It made your heart skip a beat, stomach sloshing with anticipation.

“What d’you think, Vince? Should we let her have it?” Bo smirked — wolfish, a true mastermind as he toyed with you, as if you were nothing more than fodder for hungry predators. “She’s real needy.” He uttered, digits caressing along your cheek.

The jingling of an unclasped belt caught your attention, followed by the feeling of Vincent’s cock nestled against your rump. Gooseflesh tore across your skin like a tidal wave, and you swallowed the growing lump within your throat — he wasn’t shrewd by any means.

Bo let out a derisive snort, lip curling in a sneer. “Guess yer goin’ first,” He wasn’t thrilled, but at least he could take his time with you afterwards — torture you a little. Instead, his mouth lowered to the column of your throat, teeth playfully nicking sensitive flesh. “Mm.”

Vincent was less practiced, and twice as vigorous as his twin — his cock found its way to your cunt, and without warning, he thrust himself into you. A strangled whimper left you, devoured by Bo’s hungry kiss. Wax-laden palms clasped the curve of your hips, fingers gripping hard enough to leave bruises as he began to fuck you.

It was rough — you half expected Vincent to be sluggish, but his excitement and adrenaline had contorted him into nothing more than an avatar of lust. His cock smacked into your cunt with a plethora of lewd noises, stretching and filling you in a way that Bo couldn’t.

“Fuck,” You groaned, body glued to Bo’s. He was keeping busy, lips lowering from neck to collarbone, and then to your breasts. He was bent at an awkward angle, but as soon as his mouth wrapped around one of your nipples, it was pure bliss. “Bo, Vincent.” A whine left you.

Vincent’s grunts resonated just beside your ear, then. Every inch of him was consumed by your cunt, tight around him as he continued to fuck you. It was hot and messy, his pace sometimes scattered and erratic, as if he didn’t know what rhythm to adopt.

You would’ve given anything to stay static within the moment — within them. The voracious way in which Vincent clawed at your flesh, fucked you as if it would be his very last, kept your head spinning around in circles. Bo handled you as if you were molded from obsidian — unbreakable and precious, lips greedily sucking at your breast. The sensations you experienced were prodigious — you felt worshipped, no — coveted.

Wax had shuffled aside, spurred by Vincent’s yearning to just taste you — even if it was brief. Goosebumps prickled across your shoulder as roughened, misshapen lips graced your flesh, unusually gentle. It was a stark contrast to his animalistic thrusts, cock buried deep inside of you whilst his mouth treated you like a princess.

Ragged breathing fanned out across your skin, staggeringly warm, coming in erratic spurts to match Vincent’s sporadic thrusts. It was where he’d always wanted to be — next to you, tangled within you, and now, his opportunity had become reality. His hips snapped forward again, swiftly recoiling to spill himself on you.

Ropes of sticky cum lay glistening against your rump and back. He obeyed Bo’s wishes, despite every fiber in his being urging him otherwise. Vincent watched with silent glee as your legs trembled, rattling like leaves. You hadn’t come again, but Bo was about to leave you unable to walk.

“How’s about another,” Bo crooned, teeth gently nibbling along your earlobe. You scrambled for the correct words, to beg again, but it all died within your throat when you felt Bo’s cock slide against your slick heat. “There we go.”

Vincent’s warmth had left you, his figure retreating away, far enough for him to watch. He had been deprived of watching your countenance when he’d fucked you — his own obsessive tendencies kicked in, a dark and twisted thing. Now, he wanted to see — wanted to hear you, let the memory linger.

Bo was being beyond generous, a sentiment that waxed and waned. If his brother was content with being an observer, he was going to put on a little show. His lips curled into a devious grin, swiveling around to push you up against the sofa, placing high enough to wrap your legs around his hips.

“Want you t’beg for it,” Bo snarled, playfully nipping at your lower lip. “Let m’brother hear whose cock you want.” It was lewd — filthy expletives leaving his mouth in ragged strings. You felt a twinge of guilt, prepared to give Bo exactly what he wanted, but your relationship was, admittedly, much closer.

“Yours, Bo,” Instantaneously, your voice climbed in octave, reaching a pitch of desperation as you haplessly clawed at Bo’s arms. You clung to him, grappling for his shoulders. “I want you, Bo, please!” You whined. “Fuck me!” You weren’t very shy about the volume, either.

Satisfied, Bo thrust himself into your tight cunt, gritting his teeth at the familiar sensation. One hand kept you steady, poised against the curve of your waist, the other finding purchase around your throat. Calloused digits sat snug just underneath your jaw, occasionally applying spurts of pressure.

Your lips fell slack, head lazily lolled backwards as Bo began to fuck you, his pace steady and somewhat sloppy. He’d been waiting, he’d been patient — he wanted what was his. For a moment, your gaze flickered toward Vincent, who hadn’t moved, hadn’t taken his eyes off of you whatsoever.

It made your body burn, flesh crawling with an incendiary heat. Vincent wasn’t focused on the act itself — he was fixated on you. The fluctuations within your visage, the hooded glaze of desire that danced within your eyes, and the supple curves of your form — that was what Vincent reveled in. He cared little for his brother’s antics, but you made it all worthwhile.

Bo’s mouth tangled with yours, effectively tearing your attention away from Vincent altogether. It brought you back to now, to the scent of sex, the growling, bodies all wrapped up within one another. His fingers pressed against your neck, lips all-consuming and ravenous, teeth and tongue and boastfulness.

His cock battered away at your cunt, thighs quivering from the amount of stimulation you’d already been subjected to, enough to make your stomach tighten. “Bo!” You squeaked, nails digging into the jean fabric of his button-down, holding onto him for dear life. “Bo, I — m’close.”

“Gettin’ shy?” He teased, pressing a kiss against the side of your face. Bo was borderline ruthless, picking up his pace from steady to needy, staking his claim, festering with a desire to cum inside of you. “Jus’ a little more, sweetface.” Bo murmured.

Every fiber of your being was set ablaze, and to the brothers, you looked so beautiful like this — succumbing, all ensnared within your own lust, just laid bare.

You felt euphoric, legs trembling as he fucked you senseless, about as rough as he could be without really hurting you. Precum slathered his groin, tendrils of it shooting into your cunt, his cock pulsating and throbbing with warmth. He pounded into you like a man possessed, letting his hand fall away from your jugular, slithering in between your thighs instead.

As soon as his thumb circled your clit against, you cried out, and it was over for you, then. Your body jolted and jerked, reduced to putty within his grasp, cumming on his cock without any warning. Vincent savored the blissful look you bore — eyes nearly closed, lips agape, head rolled back.

Bo grunted, snapping forward once more for good measure, cumming in-tandem with you. Virile ropes of cum flooded your cunt, all inside of you, just as he wanted. It was the rapturous aftermath that allowed the both of you to settle, chests heaving with exhilaration. Perspiration had built up upon Bo’s brow and along the valley between your breasts.

Once he pulled out of you, messy and sluggish, your feet wobbled as you landed upon solid ground. Vincent had stood up somewhere in between, lingering around, as if awaiting commands.

“Fuck,” Bo sighed, unable to wipe the affectionate smirk away from his features. You appeared pleasantly disheveled, but the unusual tension had soon settled in. “Y’should clean up.” He stated, as if he played no part in your current state.

“Asshole.” You grumbled, tone jocular as Bo planted a kiss against your mouth. You squeezed Vincent’s hand in-passing, the gesture enough to catch Bo’s attention. His heart clenched within his chest — the realization that you loved them both was beginning to settle in.

Both of the brothers watched you awkwardly clamor up the stairs — disrobed and flustered. Bo almost felt a sliver of pity, seeing as you could barely walk, but it was partial amusement, too.

Vincent stood at his side, casting a sidelong glance toward his sweaty twin, who was busy basking in all of his post-fucking glory. “We could share.” He signed, a proposition that Bo knew was inevitable. Of course, it was your choice — a choice that he’d have to live with.

“Yeah,” Bo pondered aloud, but his thoughts soon drifted into perverse territory. The way you looked, wedged in between the two of them, was too tantalizing to pass up. “We could.”

#slasher x reader #slasher fanfiction #slasher x you #slasher fandom #house of wax #house of wax smut #bo sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #bo x reader x vincent #house of wax fanfic #bo sinclair x you #vincent sinclair x you

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fangsandfracturedhearts · 5 months

Text

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 4: Little Lamb

Summary: After embracing eternity as a vampire spawn under Astarion's wing, the Crimson Palace becomes a haunting symbol of the man he once was. As his personality unravels into a dark abyss, you flee. A year of hardship unveils the harsh reality of existence as a vampire spawn.

Just as all hope seems lost, a twist of fate reunites you with Astarion, revealing a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. As you navigate the complexities of your relationship, you must confront the unsettling truth behind the Rite of Profane Ascension and the devilish secrets it holds.

In a race against time, you embark on a daring quest to save Astarion from his descent into darkness. With each choice you make, the stakes grow higher, testing the limits of your courage and determination.

Will Astarion find redemption, or is he destined to succumb to his own inner turmoil?

Word Count: 6K

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience]

As soon as you make it out of the city to a secluded spot, you fall to your knees brokenly and start to weep. Your body wracks painfully between your sobs, and your eyes burn as if they can’t shed the tears fast enough.

Of course, he had moved on from you and found someone else to entertain ... Ugh, even thinking the word sickened you to the very foundation of your essence.

Did I really expect any different?

Raphael’s words echo in your head, “The arousals of man will return to him.”

That had scarcely been the case. Except for the night you agreed to be his spawn, Astarion had barely laid a finger on you unless you specifically requested it, and you never did, knowing intimacy was complicated for him. Perhaps you duped yourself into believing that he just needed time, but you wonder if so easily agreeing to be his spawn had a role.

Or maybe he just prefers warm flesh. Now, he’s bedding that… that harlot!

Sitting on the hard ground, you bring your knees to your chest and wrap your arms around your legs. Resting your head on them, you let your eyes drift shut. You’re too exhausted to fight it anymore, and you let the misery wash over and consume you.

How many times will I have to endure losing him?

The sanguine hunger is gnawing at your insides like a rabid animal. Your empty stomach spasms so painfully it makes you retch dryly between scattered sobs. Every muscle, tendon and ligament in your body convulses, making your limbs jerk sporadically, begging for sustenance. You should hunt, but instead, you choose to wallow in your dismal self-pity.

When did I become this hollow shell?

You have never lived an easy life. You’re not born of wealth, nobility or with a silver spoon in your mouth. You lived a challenging life. You were not prone to pathetic displays of weakness such as this. You had the blazing fire of your draconic ancestors coursing through your veins, and you always defiantly faced any hardships that came your way, whether by diplomacy, persuasion, or, if all else failed, scorching them from the earth.

When you met Astarion on that beach, that dagger of his threatening to gut you, you had been so close to turning him into a charcoaled husk until your tadpole resonated with his dousing your flames.

Now look at me.

You’re not sure when it happened, but that raging vigour you had possessed had been snuffed out. What was left behind was a yawning void where your willpower to survive once resided.

The next time you look up, you can see daybreak threatening on the skyline. You consider letting the daylight consume whatever is left of you, but you remember Shadowheart’s promise to Astarion if you didn’t return home.

“I will kill you, Astarion, even if it’s the last thing I do.”

She would make good on her threat, even if it got her killed.

Which it surely would.

Your will to live may be dead and buried, but your concern for your friend’s lives is alive and well. The dejection that kept your body planted on the ground all night suddenly lifts its burden, and you take off in a sprint.

You enter the house quietly, hoping that Shadowheart is still asleep, but you find her pacing in the large living room, muttering to herself. She jumps at the creak of the door, the radiant glow of divine magic on her fingertips.

“I was almost out of my mind with worry!” She says, distress rampant in her voice.

“I’m sorry.”

“Wait... what’s wrong?” Fury bursts into her eyes, “What did he do to you!?”

Your back slides down the rough wooden door, splinters catching on your robe as you just let yourself sink to the floor, “Nothing, I didn’t bring on myself.”

“Did he hurt you!?”

“No.”

Yes.

“You’re lying,” she knows you too well, “tell me the truth!”

“He didn’t hurt me.”

He broke me.

Her voice softens as she realizes tears have begun to spill out of your eyes, “Tell me what happened.”

“Another time. Can we... can we please drop it for now?”

You don’t think you could bear to speak any of it aloud, not right now.

Suspicion runs over her features, “Fine.”

You can see the anger in her eyes, her mouth set in a stern, grim line. Her heart is rattling around in her chest.

“Please do not go looking to start a fight with him.”

She huffs, “Why are you still protecting him? What has he done to earn such loyalty?”

“Astarion doesn’t need my protection or anyone else’s - not anymore.”

She folds her arms over her chest, “I’m sure he believes that.”

“Shadowheart, please.”

She sighs reluctantly, “Fine. How is your wound? Do you need more healing?”

“I will be alright. I heal fast.”

Or I should…

Your side still aches with a grievous burning that makes your eyes water.

An uneasy silence stretches out between you, “and the hunger?”

“Keep your distance.” It sounds more like a threat than it had in your head, and you wince at the severe intonation, “Sorry, that didn’t come out right.”

“I understand.”

You drag yourself off the floor, and your wound smarts in objection at your movement, “I think I’m going to go get some rest.”

“Good idea,” she brightens, “you look terribly pale.”

You smirk at her and make your way to your bedroom. Your trance does not come easily to you, and even when it does, you toss and turn as echoes of memories play out in your dreams.

You’re back in camp, curled up in your tent but unable to sleep. The city is close now, and your mind is troubled. Your draconic fire pulses and dances over your fingertips in a mesmerizing display. The glorious heat of your ancestors radiates from your skin. With nothing but your thoughts and control of the Weave, you will the flames higher, lower, brighter, dimmer, hotter, colder in a measured cycle.

“Neat trick. What other things can you do with that fire of yours?”

Astarion pulls back the flap to your tent. The reflection of your fire prancing along your fingertips highlights the vibrant cardinal red of his eyes.

“Can’t sleep?”

Relinquishing your hold on the weave, you let the flames sputter out, “No. Successful hunt?”

“Your necks may rest easy tonight if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“Astarion, I didn’t mean-”

He chuckles low, “I’m just playing with you, my dear.”

He crouches down and takes your hand in his. His skin feels like ice compared to the feverish warmth your flame has left behind.

“Come, my love. Why don’t you join me tonight?”

"Join you? Where?”

“In my tent.”

You hesitate, “That’s not necessary.”

“Please?”

You eye him intensely, probing him, searching his body language, his expression, his eyes, for that well-practised, albeit false, veneer he wraps himself in.

“I’d really rather you disrobe me for real, beautiful. Come.”

Alarm bells blare in your head, “Astarion…”

“My sweet, sweet girl. Do I look uncomfortable to you?”

"No.”

It’s the truth; his expression is relaxed, and perhaps it’s part of the reason you feel so perturbed.

“I want you close tonight. Are you truly going to deny me the pleasantries of your fine company?”

You start to stand, and he rises from his crouched position with you. When you’re nearly on your feet, he gives your arm a quick tug, jolting you forward and off balance. You stumble and fall into him.

“You’re beautiful.”

His lips meet yours, gently at first, but the pace quickens to a ravenous frenzy as if he’s been starving and you’re the sustenance he needs to survive.

His mouth expertly parts yours, and you feel the groan rumble in his chest as his tongue explores, tasting you. Your body pushes into him further, and your arousal awakens in a visceral torrent.

When he breaks the kiss, you moan your displeasure with your eyes still closed, “Not fair.”

"Oh, darling. Don’t fret.” he leans close to your ear, “I’m not done with you just yet.”

Jolting awake, you nearly propel yourself out of your bed. You take deep breaths, even though you don’t need them. Your dead body seemingly has a hard time letting go of the comforts of life. The air fills your lungs with a whistle as the rigour battles with your panicked breathing.

He was so gentle, so sweet, and I ruined him.

With a groan, you lay back down. Holding up your hand, you stare at your unnaturally pallid skin, and you mourn the colour your complexion once held. Desperate to feel the comfort of something familiar, something tangible that you can control, you take hold of the weave. Blazing fire springs into life from your palm born of your draconic ancestry. You let the flame frolic and lick climbing up your hand, over your fingertips and back in a captivating parade.

This is something no one can take from me, not even him.

You register frantic pacing coming from the floor below, and you can faintly hear the elevated pulse of a pounding heart. You douse the fire still burning hot in your palm and relinquish your hold on the weave. Sitting up, the wound afflicting your side bellows in radiating bursts, but you push the sensation away and focus on the restless stomping below.

Something is wrong.

You stumble out of bed, momentarily confused by the clumsy feeling of your limbs.

I’m not graceful by any means, but tripping over myself getting out of bed, that’s new.

You don’t have time to consider it further, so you let it go. You scramble into your clothing and walk to the top landing of the staircase.

“Shadowheart? Are you okay?” You call down to her in a raised, concerned voice.

Even from this distance, you’re already fighting your bloodlust; your body tenses, shakes and trembles, waging warfare on your restraint. Squeezing your eyes shut, you pray to any God that will listen to grant you strength.

“No. I need to speak with you urgently. Can you come down?”

No.

“Yes, but-”

She cuts you off, “I will keep my distance.”

“Get your weapon.”

She scoffs, “I trust you.”

Gods, she has no idea how good she smells.

“Please, Shadowheart. It… It's really bad today.”

“Fine, if you insist, but I’m not scared of you.”

You should be.

Your hunger is frantically digging its talons deeper and deeper into you. It feels like it’s ripping you apart from the inside out. Your mind whispers repulsive thoughts, and you can feel it's starting to take any of the control you had away, draining it out of you.

The pain. Gods, the pain.

You descend the stairs with shaky steps as your stomach once again starts to convulse and cramp sickeningly. Shadowheart smells like fear, and her heart beats so fast it sounds like a roaring thunder. You can hear her lungs expand and contract with her rapid breathing.

This is how Astarion always knew when I was upset even when I told him I was fine. He could hear it the whole damn time.

He had explained this to you, or tried to, on multiple occasions. Experiencing it for yourself was vastly different. Suddenly, all his weird, often poetic metaphors make perfect sense.

As you get to the bottom of the stairs, you keep your hand tightly grasped around the rail, giving yourself something to focus on. The wood complains under the pressure of your clenching hold.

Shadowheart is standing on the opposite side of the room. Her weapon is in her hand as she promised you. It gives you a sense of comfort.

“Are you okay, Shadowheart? You don’t sound like yourself.”

“I received a letter from my parents. They have requested that I see them. It said it was an urgent matter.”

Shadowheart mother had fallen unwell some months ago, and she wasn’t recovering from whatever ailed her. You had tried to push Shadowheart to stay with her parents so she could help her mother, but she had refused.

“You need to go to them, Shadowheart.”

She nods, “I know, but I am not keen on leaving you.”

“I’ll survive. I am well equipped to care for myself, as you well know. Plus, if I remember correctly, a vampire spawn is difficult to kill.”

Her eyes narrow, “Not if Astarion comes for you.”

“Astarion has a new toy he’s busy playing with right now. I doubt he will give me a second thought.”

Shadowheart’s brows rise, “What? A new spawn?”

“No. She still possesses her life, so far anyway.”

Her voice softens, “Are you okay?”

She pities me.

“I will be. Go see your parents, Shadowheart. It sounds important. Please don’t let me keep you from living your life.”

“Yes, I think I should. I won’t be gone too long. Stay out of trouble, will you?”

“I can’t promise that.” You shrug, “Trouble seems to find me.”

Shadowheart gives you her best disapproving glower.

“I will stay out of trouble. Go.”

Shadowheart starts briskly moving about the house, collecting her belongings. Her heart’s pace picks up further, pounding in her chest until it’s the only thing you can hear. Your grip intensifies on the wooden rail, and it splinters.

“I’ll be in my room. Travel safe, Shadowheart.”

Returning to your room, you stuff your head under all the pillows you can find, trying to drown out the raging thumping in your head. You dig your fingernails into your skin, scratching long weeping lacerations up your legs, giving yourself something to focus on in a desperate attempt to remain in control.

Astarion had mentioned that there were times he was so hungry he was all but robbed of speech and reason, and you wonder if you’re getting to that point.

Shadowheart knocks on your door, “I’m leaving now. I will be back as soon as I can.”

You groan at her closeness, “Go, Shadowheart. Don’t worry about me.”

You hear her bound down the stairs and out the door, leaving the house in a blissful silence. With her gone, the hysteria of your bloodlust fades just enough that your thoughts become your own again.

That was close. Too close.

Glimpsing at the window, you eye the boards nailed over it to protect you from the sun. You reach out and hover your hand over the rough wood. Slight warmth radiates off their surface, letting you know the sun still shines.

Your mind plays the memory of Astarion. His arm wrapped around you protectively as he held you firmly against him. The scarlet of his eyes alight while they gazed at you as his thumb swept across your cheek.

It’s a pleasant memory until - the mulberry-haired woman. Her sapphire eyes. Her triumphant smile. Her disgusting, sensual saunter.

You recoil, shake your head, and scold yourself for letting your thoughts run away with you. Moving away from the window, you stumble over your own feet again, your ankle rolling gruesomely to the side as you misstep.

It should alarm you. This new incoordination is bizarre, but you’re too fatigued to give it any pause. Energy feels like it’s being siphoned out of your body, debilitating you.

You drag yourself back into your bed and allow your trance to take you.

Your condition worsens steadily over the following days. Blood still percolates out of the wound on your side, with no signs of healing to be seen. Black streaks now stretch up your torso, down your side, and low into your thigh.

You’re disoriented and weak. Your vision is hazy, and reality feels like it’s ebbing and flowing like waves over a rough sea. Your legs feel feeble beneath you as you get up to check your bandages, which are once again saturated in blood.

I need help. Something is very wrong. Can I die from this? What ailments can kill a vampire spawn? There is so much I still don’t know.

But I know who does.

With shaky hands, you manage to re-bandage yourself sloppily and slide into a robe. You fiddle with the laces for far too long. You see double, triple, even quadruple, and your fingers grasp at nothing but air. It makes your eyes cross, and your head drum cruelly. Putting your boots on is challenging as your knees quack and you tumble to the floor repeatedly.

You should be terrified for your life, but you’re walking the fine line between delirium and complete incoherence, and you find it all rather… amusing. You giggle to yourself, grinning widely as you try and figure out which door handle is the corporeal one.

The walk to the Crimson Palace is long and arduous. You can barely pick up your feet, embarrassingly tripping over yourself repeatedly and falling to your hands and knees in the streets. Thankfully, there are few people out as most would be packed into the various taverns found in the city. Those who are around to witness your uncoordinated lumbering laugh at your ineptitude for walking.

They think I’m drunk.

The thought makes you giggle.

Rounding a corner, you prop yourself up on the wall for a second to catch your breath, only to laugh to yourself at such a silly notion. You don’t need to breathe anymore.

I’m dead.

More giggles.

Wait, where was I going?

You glance up and vaguely make out the shape of the Crimson Palace bathed in the darkness of a cloudy night, triggering your fading memory.

Oh, yes, to see my master, Lord Astartion.

You giggle again, rolling your eyes at the factitious thought. It sends your vision whirling, and you groan.

You look up at the Crimson Palace while you struggle to force your failing body to continue moving forward.

I wish I had reduced that place to nothing but a pile of rubble when I had the chance.

Through the murky darkness, a voice calls out, “It’s so nice to see you again.”

You know this voice, but you can’t seem to place it, and your brain makes sluggish attempts to connect that familiar tone with a memory. You have trouble getting your thoughts to form coherently.

You squint your eyes to peer through the fog clouding your vision and catch the colour of mulberry.

It’s her.

“Ugh. Go. Away.”

Not her. Anyone but her.

She blocks your path.

“You don’t look so good, sugar.” She says in that upbeat, harmonious tone that makes you want to puke.

I should kill her.

A sinister smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, and you try to stifle the feverish giggle erupting from your mouth. In the diminished and very nearly incoherent state you’re in, she would be more likely to kill you, but alas, it was a lovely fantasy.

You don’t bother dignifying her with a response and clumsily try to dodge around her.

“I can’t help but notice you appear to be walking towards the Crimson Palace. Are you going to see Astarion?” she pauses, “I’m not sure he will be up for visitors. We have been having a lot of fun every night. He is quite generous, but you would know all about that, wouldn’t you?”

No. No. No. No. No. No.

“Sweet thing, you do know what I mean by fun, right? Or would you like me to spell it out for you?”

Keep walking... just keep moving forward.

“Sex, sweetness. I mean sex.”

Despite your deranged state, your heart still breaks, and a single tear escapes your eye and rolls down your cheek, thinking of him and her together.

“I’d offer to buy you a drink, but it looks like you’ve had one too many already.”

Pure rage surges through your body, and in an instant, your palm ignites, and fire sways and oscillates over it.

“The only drink I would ever accept from you is your blood. Every. Last. Drop.”

You didn’t feed on the blood of thinking creatures, but you would exuberantly make an exception for this wretch.

You stand up straight, your fury parting the daze veiling your mind, allowing you to think lucidly for the first time in days.

You grin menacingly as you will the fire in your palm to balloon into an enormous glowing sphere, “Or I could just reduce you to an impotent pile of ash where you stand.”

The woman’s mouth drops open, and she watches the fire blazing on your palm, “Pardon me?”

“I’m sorry, sugar,” you mock her, “Do you need me to spell it out for you? I will kill you!” “Astarion will not be pleased if you kill his lover.”

Her emphasis on the word lover makes your stomach lurch, and you grit your teeth, your jaw clenching hard.

She’s trying to get under my skin, and it’s working.

A menacing laugh rises from your throat, and you fix an intimidating gaze on her, “Well, Astarion isn’t here to save you now, is he?”

Her confidence falters. The broad, toothy grin plastered on her delicate features dissolves under your dangerous glower. Her heartbeat accelerates, thrumming the chorus of a grand symphony in your ears. The smell of fear drifts laden in the chilled breeze.

To your immense dissatisfaction, she recovers her serenity quickly, and the beaming, albeit phoney, smile returns to her rosy lips.

She speaks to you pleasantly, as if you two were old friends, “I’m sure we will meet again soon.”

Gods, I can’t stand her.

It sounds reminiscent of a promise, and you pray it's not one.

“Surely, you should be in a better mood by then. Have a lovely night!”

The picturesque mulberry-haired woman swaggers off down the road, disappearing into the murky darkness of an alleyway. The fireball hovering above your palm burns out as your rage recedes. I should have eaten her.

The walkway to the palace door is long and meanders slightly uphill. The stupor clouding your mind surged forward as soon as your adrenaline fell, and you are once again in that dreamlike state. You hesitate at the door of the Crimson Palace.

This is a bad idea.

You have escaped him twice already. Now, here you are, willingly coming back to ask for his help.

He would probably slam the door in your face on the spot at best or throw you into the kennels at worst. The wound in your side aches maddeningly, reminding you of the reason you’re standing here in the first place.

Not possessing enough coordination to knock in the traditional sense, you slam the palm of your hand as hard as you can against the ornate door. It makes your fingers croon with a sweet sting. Quiet minutes tick by with no answer or sound of movement from inside.

Of fucking course.

You sag into the door dejectedly, closing your heavy eyes with a dismal sigh.

I am so tired.

The hefty door swings open abruptly, and you don’t have time to steady yourself. Without the counterbalance to keep you upright, you nosedive forward.

Astarion’s arms quickly slip under yours, halting your fall, “Little love, you simply must stop falling for me like this.”

He sets you back on your feet, keeping an arm out to steady you, but you push it away, still irritated by your exchange with that horrible woman.

Not bothering to wait for an invitation, you stagger weakly into the palace.

His eyebrow cocks at your awkward lumbering, “Do come in.”

“I hate her.”

“Who would you be referring to, my dear?”

“That... that fucking trollop!” You say spitefully.

The dim room seems to undulate around you, and your words are slurred, “I’m going to eat her one day.”

His eyebrows rise in a vexingly handsome expression, “Well, now I am intrigued. Do tell me who you are talking about?”

Jealous anger slithers hot through your veins, “Your.... your purpled-haired hussy!”

A wide grin crosses his face, “I see. I knew you were jealous but murderous?” He chuckles, “I’m impressed.”

His forehead furrows slightly, and he cocks his head, “although, you don’t look entirely yourself.”

“Something is wrong with me.”

"Now that, my treasure, is something we can agree on.”

Rolling your eyes, you continue, “I need help.”

“Petitioning me for help, are you? Cute.”

You huff at him, exacerbated, “You know what? This was a bad idea. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

You start towards the door, stumbling awkwardly.

“Wait.”

His hand reaches out and tenderly encircles your forearm, steadying you. Your eyes drift to his. Is that concern you see reflected in those deep crimson irises?

I must be truly delirious. "What's wrong?”

“The wound from the stake isn’t healing.”

His eyebrows furrow, “Show me.”

Your fingers fumble with the lace ties of your robe in uncoordinated rigour. Your vision sways, rocking like trees in a blustery wind. Cursing under your breath, you squint, trying to focus.

Astarion steps forward, coming close enough that you can finally see him clearly. He’s shirtless, and his trousers are untied at the front.

Good Gods…

“Have I ever told you how pretty you are?”

The words spill out of your mouth dreamily, and you giggle at how free you feel. You’re no longer shackled by the fear or sadness that has consumed you and hollowed you out. You feel unencumbered, a great weight lifted from your shoulder.

“Yes, I think you have mentioned it a time or two, but please, do feel free to tell me again.”

You stop squinting and fumbling with the laces on your robe to look up at him doe-eyed, “You’re beautiful.”

“You are in quite the state, aren’t you?”

His hands brush yours away, and he starts to deftly untie the laces.

“Hey… Rude.” You stick your tongue out at him childishly.

Losing your balance, your hand finds the smooth skin of his shoulder to stabilize yourself. His body stills under your touch, muscles tense.

A sharp pang of guilt slides down your throat, “Sorry.”

You withdraw your hand. He catches it and places it back on his shoulder before undoing the remaining laces holding your robe.

Astarion gently slips your robe over your shoulders and lets it fall to the ground around your feet, leaving you in your underclothes. He eyes the blood-soaked bandages wrapped carelessly around your abdomen intently.

“May I?” he asks, pointing to the sodden dressing, “I need to examine it.”

“I can do it."

He scoffs, “My dear, you can barely stand. How about you just focus on keeping that pretty little face off my floor.”

You scoff back, imitating him, but nod your consent, “I hate her.”

“Yes,” he laughs lightheartedly, “we have established that.”

“Do you love her?”

The question erupts from your lips before you have time to stop yourself.

Do I even want to know?

The question makes him flounder as if he had physically tripped on your boldness, “Am I capable of love?”

“I don’t know. Are you? Loving your reflection doesn’t count.”

He smirks, “Hold onto me.”

“What?”

“Little love, you are not wearing these grimy boots in my house. They need to come off.”

“I’ll do it.”

“My dear, we’ve been through this. For once, will you just listen to me?” Astarion kneels before you, one knee on the floor, “Are you ready?”

You tentatively reach out and put both hands on his shoulders to keep yourself upright. Astarion lifts your weak, trembling leg and starts slipping off your boots.

“What are these?”

You glance down at your legs, where your fingernails ripped long, jagged cuts into them to fight your revolting temptations.

“They’re nothing."

Astarion looks at them studiously, running his fingers over the irregular long gouge. He leans in closer, and you try to pull back, but he grabs your leg and holds it firmly in place while giving you a stern look.

When you stop fighting, he leans in and places gentle kisses on those long wounds, slowly trailing them up toward the apex of your thighs, making you squirm. He stops short.

Moving onto the next leg, he repeats the process of sliding your boot off while you use his body to steady yourself and then trailing those long cuts with gentle kisses, once again stopping short.

You can’t help yourself, and you groan loudly.

Once Astarion has stripped your boots from your feet, he slowly rises to his full height so he doesn't throw you off balance since his body is the only thing keeping you on your feet.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He motions for you to follow him deeper into the palace, but your legs buckle under you. Before you can fall again, his arm hooks under your knees and the other cradles your back as he sweeps you off your feet effortlessly.

You struggle weakly, “I can walk.”

“Truly? Can you?”

He looks at you with an obvious imitation of melodramatic astonishment, and a laugh rumbles in his throat.

He’s having too much fun at my expense.

Astarion walks with an agile grace as he cradles you in his arms and carries you through the familiar dark halls you called home for a short while. The floor barely creaks, and his footsteps are all but silent.

Not fair.

Candlelight bathes the bedroom in a saffron-coloured warmth. The room smells pleasantly like finely aged brandy, bergamot, and rosemary. It smells of him, and that comfortable recognition envelopes you. Astarion eases you down on the fine, silk bed cover, taking care not to jostle you about. Grabbing a clean cloth, he wets it in the washbasin perched on a carved table. He crouches smoothly, positioning himself between your legs.

Oh…

Memories flash across your vision of him in the forest clearing, him in that bedroom the night he turned you, and heat pools between your legs. A needy groan escapes your lips as you tear your eyes off of him meekly. If your heart could beat, it would be battering against your ribs as if it were trying to rip itself from your bosom. A sensual chuckle rattles deep in his chest, fully aware of what he’s doing.

Oh no.

You are starved for physical affection, having spent the last year distanced from your friends or locked away entirely. They had tried to comfort you, of course, but you couldn’t be trusted to get too close to anyone with a heartbeat. Except for a few brief uncomfortable hugs or reassuring squeezes of your hand, you haven’t been touched since before you fled this place. You craved it like the desert sands crave moisture during a drought.

You struggle to push yourself further up the bed and away from him. You squeeze your legs together, trying to shut him out. You feel too vulnerable, almost stripped bare with your legs spread, and entirely too aroused, given the predicament you currently find yourself in.

His hand grips your thigh tenderly but firmly, keeping it to the side and pinning you in your place.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he tuts, “hold still.”

You groan loudly and cover your face with your hands, surrendering to him.

“Good girl.”

With light, gentle strokes, he starts wiping the smeared blood from your midsection. He looks at the injury curiously, cocking his eyebrow. Blood continues to weep gradually from it, and the black streaking spreads out like inky tendrils across your ghostly skin. He pushes his fingers on the wound, coating them in your blood.

You wince at the uncomfortable pressure, “What are you doing?”

His crimson eyes meet yours with an intensity that makes you hold your breath, yet another reflexive habit. Bringing his fingers to his mouth, he sucks on them while holding your gaze. It’s oddly sensual until his face contorts into a grimace. He spits your blood out into the cloth.

Well, that can’t be good, he would never waste blood.

“Poison. You need an antidote and rest, pet.”

“Don’t call me pet.”

“I’ll call you whatever I like.” He hisses.

“Why do you do this?”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He pouts sarcastically.

“Don’t you? You swing from one extreme to the next so fast I can hardly keep up. You’re nice one moment, and treating me like a belonging the next.”

He frowns, “You do belong to me. I made sure of it.”

He’s trying to get under my skin.

“Yes, you did. Are you proud of yourself, love?”

“Indeed I am.”

You grumble, “Pompous prick.”

He laughs at you, “Sassy tonight, aren’t we?”

"You didn’t answer my question.”

A malevolent smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, reaching his eyes, “I do rather enjoy you like this, you know.”

You swallow hard, “Like what?”

“Nearly naked, laid out before me on my bed, and entirely at my mercy.”

Levelling a glowering look at him, “You don’t scare me.”

If nothing else, your incapacitated mental state gives you courage, or perhaps you are just too far gone to feel fear. Either way, speaking your mind feels magnificent. You have muzzled yourself too often around him, but the muzzle is off, and your fangs are bared - sort of speak.

“Oh?” he pouts innocently, “I suppose I will have to try harder then, won’t I?”

“I suppose you will if that’s what gets you going.”

“I would be happy to demonstrate what gets me going.”

Astarion rises slowly from his crouched position between your legs. His hand holding your thigh starts to glide leisurely up your body, delicately skimming over every curve. You try to push him away, but it’s like a feather trying to push over a brick wall.

His knee nudges your legs further apart, and he pushes his hips into you, anchoring you between him and the bed. The friction is serene, sending waves of need rocketing through you. You would be lying if you said his proximity was entirely unwelcome.

“When did you eat last?” he whispers as his lips ghost over yours.

What a weird question.

“Why? What difference does it make?” You squirm under him, the pressure of his body overwhelming your senses.

“I have my reasons, darling.”

Your eyebrow pulls down slightly in confusion, “Which are?”

“None of your concern.” He says curtly, “When did you eat last? I won’t ask again.”

Do I dare?

Yes.

Yes, I think I dare.

You meet his gaze, dead on, challenging him, “None of your concern.”

Astarion scowls harshly, “Shall I force you to tell me, my sweet, sweet spawn?”

You scoff, “Oh, spare me the bullshit, Astarion.” You roll your eyes at him, but it makes your stomach lurch. You fight the wave of nausea and continue, “If you’re going to force me, then just do it already. I’m beyond sick of your threats.”

He pushes himself back abruptly, ending the decadent feast of friction you have been savouring. He paces back and forth menacingly in front of you. A terrifying expression is painted across his face.

Did I push him too far this time?

Astarion strides over to a cabinet and flings the door open, nearly pulling the door straight off, grabs a bottle and comes back to you. He looks at you with animosity brewing in those cold red eyes.

“Drink this and get out.”

He throws the bottle on the bed beside you.

You finger it hesitantly, “What is it?”

“Antidote. Drink it and leave.”

“Fine.”

Astarion leaves the room and fades into the dark hallway. You swig down the bottle of antidote as fast as you can, trying to get the least amount of it on your tongue as possible. The taste still makes you want to throw up.

It works fast, and you can already see the constant dripping of blood from the wound start slowing, and the black streaks start to recede slowly. The haze clouding your mind dissipates, and you are once again lucid... mostly.

You manage to get yourself up off the bed, but your limbs are still weak, trembling and not complying with the orders you’re giving them.

Astarion returns with your robe, chucking it to the floor at your feet. By the time you manage to get your boots on and out the door, you realize that dawn is not far off.

I don’t have enough time to get back.

“Astarion, dawn is soon. I’ll-”

He cuts you off, “Burn, yes. I am aware.”

I pushed him too far.

His brows pull down, low in a sinister glare, “Run, little lamb.”

Big thank you to everyone who takes the time to read/follow/like/reblog/comment/etc -- I hope you're enjoying it as much as I enjoy writing it :)

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I have another with Spawn Astarion x Tav called -Shadows of the Past

AO3 [Crossposted]

#bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #bg3 fanfiction #astarion fanfic #astarion x you #astarion x reader #ascended astarion #bg3 #astarion smut #astarion #baldurs gate 3 #astarion ancunin

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