#the demise kill ruined me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

generalllimaginesss · 4 months

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author’s note: I blacked out while writing this, so it will be as much of a surprise to me when I wake up and reread it as it will to you when you read it for the first time. It wasn’t requested, just something that my brain came up with and wouldn’t let me sleep until I finished it. It’s loosely based off of Olivia Rodrigo’s The Grudge and the movie Sweet Home Alabama (my favorite movie). Also, this is completely made up in my head and in no way reflects something that Luke Hughes has done, or will do. It’s also 2:06 AM and I can’t promise that it’s proofread very well because I can barely keep my eyes open (I worked a double today).

Warnings: cursing, ANGST, cheating, kinda sad but has a good ending. Slow beginning, but I promise it gets better!

Without further ado….

The Grudge

“Hello?”

The single word that was the catapult for the demise of your relationship. The single word that changed the course of what you pictured your future as.

Luke’s side of the call was silent, the only noise able to be heard was his breathing, heavy as if the weight of the world was crushing his lungs, deflating him of life.

He wasn’t supposed to be calling. He had told you he was having a guys week, a time for him to regroup with his brothers and friends at the lake house. It was his own little sanctuary away from the life that he had worked so hard for. A quiet place. He had asked for that time, to which you agreed, he needed a break.

“Luke? Everything ok?”

He wanted nothing more than to hang up the phone in that instance. The reality that he was about to destroy the last bit of trust that you held for him constricting him as he fought with his vocal cords, trying like hell to form some form of vocalization.

“I need to tell you something,” He managed to squeeze the words out, every bit of courage mustered into it. The feeling of facing the mistake that he had made seemed impossible compared to simply just refusing to acknowledge it. He could ignore it all, ghost you, and pretend like he had never ruined everything. He had ruined your relationship, your love. You. He had ruined you, including everything that came from the relationship the two of you developed a couple of summers before he had left to play for Michigan.

Ironic that it would begin and end during the summer.

“Ok. Are you-”

“Are you alone?”

His brothers will kill him when they find out, but your family? The thought of them being there to wipe your tears and listen to your rants that have to do with him break his heart. He had developed a special relationship with your dad, your mom always put a stocking out for him during the holiday season, your brother? He had taught your little brother how to skate, how to play hockey. Even though he couldn’t coach your little brother’s team, he had supported him since the beginning. He had bought him his first jersey. 43.

“Yeah, Luke. You’re scaring me.”

“God, I fucking hate myself. I’m so sorry,” Sobbing, the sound of his arm wiping his nose could be heard. He knew he shouldn’t cry. He chose this.

He knew he didn’t always treat you like you should have, no deserved, to be treated. He didn’t spend time with you like he should have, he didn’t tell you he loved you enough. When you yelled at him about things, he would scream back. He would never hit you, but his words cut through your core, sometimes feeling worse than what you imagined the sting of one of his slaps might feel like.

The anxiety that stemmed from Luke’s call gripped your lungs, confusion coursing through your body outweighing the blood that sucked at carrying the oxygen at the moment. There was nothing random about your relationship, he didn’t surprise you with anything, much less a phone call.

Something is wrong.

The silence was deafening, overwhelmingly so.

“I tried to tell myself that you would never find this out, but there was somebody taking pictures and I need you to hear it from me first, ok?” He closed his eyes forcing himself to find some shred of courage left inside of him.

“Ok,” The word was breathy as it left your lips, a courtesy to encourage him to continue.

“I cheated,” It flowed out of his mouth in such a casual way that it felt like somebody had stabbed you in the back, twisting the knife and watching as you writhed in pain. The taste of iron flooded your senses as you bit your cheek to hold yourself together.

“We went to one of the local bars. She was the bartender, she knew us. Trevor invited her to the house after her shift and me and her ended up alone together while the others were out back and one thing led to another…one of the guys took a picture and posted it on their story. They forgot about you.” He tried to explain it in a way that redeemed himself. He was only 20 years old…this bartender could’ve taken advantage of him, but you knew him.

He didn’t get close to just anybody, he was the gate to his space. Nobody would get through the gate if he didn’t want them to, including this girl. Which made the bile that was building in your throat much more bitter. The fact that he not only cheated, but is trying to play victim makes you bubble with rage. Luke Hughes was very good at many things, but the one thing he had never quite mastered the role of was “victim.”

The shock coursed through your body like metal to a magnet, searching endlessly for something to smash into and deciding your heart was the place to do that. It felt like you forgot to breathe, your lungs aching for a breath.

“Y/N?” He willed you to talk, silence causing more anxiety than your anger ever would have.

“I never would have done this to you,” Your whisper spoke more volumes than a scream would have, cutting through the phone and going straight through Luke’s body. He wished you would scream at him, tell him he fucked up, but the way you said those words made him feel like this was it. He couldn’t come back from this one.

“I’m sorry,” His words were meaningless, but he spoke them nonetheless.

Those two words sent you into a silent rage, one that wrecked the inside of your mind but couldn’t be seen by anyone else. You hung up the phone, throwing it across your room and immediately packing everything that had to do with Luke into a box that you found.

Packing 4 years worth of things that you acquired from him was emotionally draining, each article triggering memories through the years.

His first Michigan Hockey sweatshirt that he had bought himself packed into the bottom of the box reminded you of the date he had planned. He had snuck the two of you into the arena when no one was there and taught you to skate, skills that still stick with you to this day. His first hoodie became yours that night, the smell of his cologne long gone from the comfort it brought you many nights when you felt lonely.

A Devils snow globe and jersey that was decorated with the number 43, his number, packed next. He had bought it for you the day he was drafted, convinced that it would be worth something one day. And it was. Just not to you anymore. The snow globe was attached to a memory that was better left forgotten. It was for your birthday, which happened to be the day after his. When you had gone all out for his 20th birthday, buying him a new custom suit and designer shoes that required months of savings, he gave you a snow globe that “you could add to your collection.” You had said some backhanded things to him, a huge fight came from that. A fight on your birthday, something else that you would’ve never done to him.

The last items consisted of hoodies, a few pairs of sweatpants and boxers, and a couple of jackets. The last thing, however, was something that you didn’t know if you could part with.

It was a letter that Luke had wrote you for Valentine’s Day the second year of your relationship, a sweet surprise that you weren’t expecting with your usual bouquet of daisies and roses, your two favorite flowers.

When you doubted your relationship with Luke in the past, when arguments and fights felt like it was all it consisted of, you always found your way back to his letter. He had told you that you were his end game, that there would never be somebody else that was better suited for him. He poured his heart out in that letter, telling you that he was going to marry you one day. One day when he had made it to the NHL and could roll in money, he was going to buy a rock for your finger and a huge house for all of the babies that you talked about.

Rereading the letter normally made you remember the good times, when things were good, but under the circumstances now it made you want to burn it, to watch his words turn to ash, just like the promises he had made to you.

Meaningless. His words were meaningless now.

It wasn’t always his fault, no. There were instances where you said things that you knew hurt him, things that echoed in the back of his head every now and then. Something along the lines of him never being as good as his brothers, that he would always be in their shadow. That Luke Hughes would be known as “just another Hughes brother.”

Some days he felt like that statement couldn’t be more true, that he would never live up to the records that Quinn and Jack seemed to break every time they stepped on the ice. Some days he just couldn’t see it coming together for him.

But other days he knew he was determined to make a name for himself, for Luke. The Hughes name was a force to be reckoned with. Luke wanted to be even better than his last name. Whatever it took, sometimes at the expense of those around him.

You snatched the letter that was stuck in the corner of the mirror that perched on top of your dresser, the sound of the paper crisp beneath your fingertips. As much as you wanted to destroy the letter, you figured it would be better to send it back to Luke. He needed to see all of the promises he broke and hurt he’s caused.

The paper was the last thing in the box, folded neatly on top of everything else.

Closing the box, you carried it to your car, placing it in the backseat behind the driver’s side. If there’s one thing that could be payback to Luke, it was telling his parents. He thrived on his parent’s approval, likely a symptom of being the youngest brother of an extremely successful family.

Ellen and Jim’s faces burned the back of your mind, so many memories that consisted of the two of them. Countless games at Michigan were spent with the two of them, as well as a couple of trips to New Jersey. You had helped Ellen cook supper many times, and watched as Jim coached his sons. Ellen’s pep talks were rarely intended for you, but you always felt like something could be learned from her wisdom.

The drive was silent, muscle memory the only way you could manage to get there in the state you were in. You didn’t know if the lights were green or if you used your blinker, all you could think about was Luke admitting to cheating. All of the shit you had been through with each other, all of the petty fights, had finally come to a head. You may have gone low, below the belt at some point in time, but this? You never could have ruined him like this, no matter how bad you wanted to.

As hurt as you were, you were numb. Tears wouldn’t fall, your body still in shock over the news.

As you drove up the paved driveway to the house that had become your second home, the emotions hit you when you saw Ellen in the flower beds, digging up weeds and planting new flowers.

She had heard a car approaching, causing her to look up and recognize you. Although she loved for you to visit, you normally didn’t come over unless Luke was with you, especially now that him and Jack owned the lake house.

She wiped at the sweat that was beading her forehead, dirt from her work gloves sticking in some of her blonde locks that were glued to her face. She smiled at you, before confusion flashed and she saw that you were carrying a box.

“Hi, Doll! Luke’s not here, but I’m glad you stopped by!” Her warm tone and kind smile didn’t fade, even if she did notice something off about your demeanor.

Her voice broke you. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to bring her and Jim into this. Maybe you should have just threw everything that connected you to Luke in a garbage can and called it a day.

“Sweetie, what’s wrong?” She walked towards you with her arms open, noticing your quivering lips and teary eyes.

She was drenched in sweat from the summer sun, but you didn’t mind it. Dropping the box on the driveway, you allowed her to wrap her arms around you tightly. Her embrace gave you comfort as sobs racked through your body. How could such a loving mom and dad create such a jack ass? They had done perfect with 2/3 of their sons…what happened with Luke?

“Do you want to go inside? Jim’s working on a sink faucet, but he won’t mind,” She ushered you inside, her hand gently pushing your back.

Nodding, you wiped your nose on your sleeve and allowed her to walk you inside. She quickly washed her hands at the sink Jim was working at, earning a few objections from him, but she hushed him and motioned to you.

His face filled with concern as he noticed something wrong with you. He could fix a lot of things, but girls was something he would leave to his wife.

The leather of the couch soothed the heat that the summer sun had left on your skin. Ellen joined, sitting next to you as she rubbed your back, calming you. She truly was like a second mom.

“Is everything ok?” She held onto your arm, the pressure from her fingers sending tingles to your brain.

“No,” You croaked, the single word rattling your throat as it struggled to exit.

“What happened?” Her voice had dropped below her regular volume, but above a whisper. She cut her eyes at Jim who was attempting to listen from the kitchen.

“He cheated…”

The shock hit his parents as hard as it did you. Quinn would never cheat, Jack? It was questionable sometimes. But they’re baby? The one that had endured the lectures from his parents the longest, the one that had seen his brother’s mistakes and learned from them, the one that seemed so in love with you that nothing could ever separate you both? It seemed nearly impossible. Surely it was a mistake.

“How do you know? The press always lies…” She trailed off, your eyes connecting to hers.

“He told me,” The strength you tried to regain from your prior meltdown was useless as your voice trembled, “…said that he wanted to tell me before somebody else did.”

“Oh, Honey. I’m so sorry,” She pulled you into her arms, watching as Jim rounded the corner to join. You were like the daughter the two of them had always wanted, so seeing you hurt killed them in return. And at the hands of their son? They were immensely disappointed. They didn’t raise him like this.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know what to do, and I probably should have left you both out of it,” Your attempts at stopping the free-flowing tears were useless, so you embraced each one as it fell, “…um, I brought his stuff back. I know he’s at the lake house, but I don’t think I can see him right now. I really wish we could have worked. You two will never know how much you and your boys mean to me.”

“Likewise, sweet girl. I wish I could make this all better. You may not feel like it right now, but our family will always hold a spot for you,” Ellen reassured, a hum of agreement resonating within Jim.

“Anytime you want, and I’m serious, our door will always be open for you. No matter the time or circumstance, do you understand?” Jim waited for you to respond, a nod of your head, before embracing you again.

Their words meant so much, but the hurt still ached, seemingly never ending.

You said your goodbyes, taking in the house that you would probably never see again. The walls holding memories that only those in the house would ever understand or appreciate.

Closing the front door felt like closing a chapter on your life. A chapter that felt like it was ending in the middle with no resolve, but it closed.

It needed to.

———

As the New Year approached, your parents reminded you of the plans they had that would draw them away from home. They claimed that they celebrated Christmas with you, but the New Year meant that you were alone in a house that felt big and lonely while they celebrated with their fellow group of middle aged parents.

The months had passed, agonizingly, since Luke’s cheating admittance. The summer turned to fall and fall into winter, getting colder like you were allowing your heart to do.

A few dates here and there did nothing but remind you that the guy wasn’t Luke. They should’ve been better than Luke since they actually treated you with respect and checked every box that a girl had.

But the lack of teasing, of being the biggest pain in your ass and best friend, made the hole in your life bigger. You were sure nothing would help, not even the texts from Ellen and Jim, periodically, made it better.

They all consisted of the same topic: “How are you doing?”

It was the same old same old, until it wasn’t. Until Ellen texted you after Christmas asking you about your plans for New Year’s Eve. The Hughes had always thrown a party for the New Year, packed to the brim with people.

When Ellen asked if you had plans, you had every intention on lying and saying yes. Saying that you had a date and that he was taking you to see the countdown and fireworks that followed, but something told you to tell the truth. So you did.

After you had admitted to her that you, in fact, would be all alone, she reached out and invitation to join them.

The invitation had toggled in your mind for a few days now. On one hand, you wanted to go see how everybody was, talk to his brothers, catch up with his friends. On the other, you wanted to stay home in your pajamas and watch Andy Cohen get shitfaced with Anderson Cooper while wondering if Luke would kiss somebody for the occasion.

The saying “curiosity killed the cat” proved to be true as you had finally decided to go, a sparkly gold dress accentuated your curves, hugging you in all of the right places, the places that Luke had once yearned for. You don’t know how, but your makeup was flawless, your eyeshadow bringing out your eyes in a way that you had never seen, but you loved it. Maybe this was revenge?

Even though you hadn’t made the drive in over 6 months, you still knew it like the back of your hand. Your nerves were working overtime, anxiety squeezing your thoughts the closer you got to the Hughes’ residence.

What if Luke had a new girlfriend? What if his parents were the only ones that wanted you there? Was this actually a good idea?

Too late now.

There was probably 25 or more cars that littered the driveway, most carrying a minimum of 2 people. It was a relief, maybe you could just blend in with the rest of them. A chameleon in the house of your ex lover.

Music blared, drifting from the backyard into the front, making the walk to the door less daunting of a task. There was no use in knocking, the sound of talking and music would most likely just drown it out, so you took a breath as you pushed the door open. It appeared to be the spot for the more mature crowd, Jim spotting you as soon as you walked in.

He was confused as to who you were at first, but as soon as you gave him a shy smile his face lit up with excitement. He had missed you more than he realized.

“Y/N! What a nice surprise! Come in, make yourself at home,” He squeezed you in a tight hug before relinquishing you.

“Y/N! Oh my, I wasn’t expecting you to come, but I’m so glad you did!” Ellen squealed, the clinking of her heels against the hardwood floors becoming faster as she did her best to jog to you, embracing you like her life depended on it. It lasted a few seconds before she held you out at arms length, examining you.

“Gosh, you look absolutely stunning! That dress was made for you!” She gushed.

“Thank you! I just decided to throw something together last minute. I should have let you know I was coming, but I honestly didn’t decide until right before I got dressed,” you chuckled, explaining the lack of communication on your part.

“Honey, you do not have to explain a single thing to me! I’m just so happy you’re here!” She hugged you again, rocking you side to side.

“The kids, sorry, young adults are out back. I do have to warn you…Luke did bring a date,” As she explained the dilemma, you expected yourself to break down. When it didn’t, relief washed over you. It had been almost 7 months, why wouldn’t Luke have moved on? You couldn’t be mad at him for that part, but you still held a grudge against him for allowing you to love him as much as you did and shattering your heart in the end.

There was never another conversation between the two of you. His parents never brought him up, he had never attempted to contact you, so the resolve was the fact that you returned everything. He had nothing left connecting him to you. That was how it was supposed to be, so there was no need to communicate with you. He had gotten the message loud and clear when he had returned home to a box of his things in his old bedroom and an ass-chewing from his parents and brothers. One that he would never wish on his worst enemy.

He learned from his mistake, but felt like the very toxic situation between the two of you was better left where it was: untouched.

He had been trying to move on ever since, sleeping with any girl that reminded him of you, sneaking them out before Jack had noticed, or simply just embracing the newness of being alone. It sucked at first, but he got used to it.

Ellen’s face flushed with concern at the momentary silence that followed her statement, scared that she would scare you off with the news of her son, your ex, having a date that wasn’t you.

“Ellen, it’s ok! I’m a big girl, I can handle it,” Making light of the situation was easier to fake on the outside, but trying to convince yourself was a bit harder.

You talked to Ellen and Jim for a few more minutes, catching them up on the latest details of your life, and then grabbed a Michelob to give you some liquid courage as you walked to the backyard.

There was people dancing, circles of people talking, various games being played, the scene never-ending as your eyes scanned over them. A few people locked eyes with you, recognizing you as the ex, but most everybody just continued to do whatever it was that they were doing. It wasn’t until Quinn’s eyes softened from his party vibes to concerned big brother that you felt nerves wrack your body. He immediately excused himself from the group he was talking to, making his way through the small sea of people to get to you.

For a split second you wanted to run away, but the rational side of you talked you down. It was just Quinn. Quinn had done nothing to you except loved you as if you were his own sister, so why would you run?

“Y/N! I wasn’t expecting you…how are you?” You immediately threw your arms around his torso, him returning the gesture, his hug similar to the way Ellen had hugged you.

“I’m good! I had no other plans and Ellen seemed like she really wanted me here…”

“Yeah, she hasn’t shut up about you,” He laughed, recalling how his mom mentions you anytime a girl was over, even one that Luke brought, and always comparing them to you when they left.

You were the standard that she held possible daughter-in-laws to, but they never lived up to you, she would admit.

“Gotta love her,” You chuckled, a slight awkward tension fell between you, a foreign, icky, awkwardness.

“That you do,” Quinn tried to repair the conversation, but some friends began to pull him away. He had mentioned to not leave before telling him bye, and then left with the group.

“Didn’t think you’d show up here,” The voice turned your blood to ice, freezing up what the beer had tried to let loose prior. No matter how many ways you envisioned this interaction to go down, nothing could have prepared you for hearing his voice after so long. It wasn’t like “nails on a chalkboard” irritating, but more along the lines when you pick a scab and it starts bleeding again.

That’s quite literally what it was. He was an old wound in your life that was becoming irritated because it was being messed with. No matter how much time had passed, it was still sensitive.

“Well, didn’t think I would be here either. It’s just as much a surprise to me as it is to you,” You turned around, met with the beautiful, curly-haired boy that was once your everything and a petit blonde that was his temporary. She was gorgeous, you’d give her that. But it wasn’t real beauty. It was bought. There’s nothing wrong with that, but her bleach blonde hair, fake tan, and push-up bra was irritating like nails on a chalkboard.

“Do you mind going to get us something to drink?” He turned to his date, giving him the empty bottle that his hand wrapped around.

“Is that a Michelob Ultra?” You almost snorted, her question a breath of fresh air in this unfortunate meeting.

“Not her and I, you and I,” Luke quickly cleared up.

She left with a smirk playing at her lips, kissing his cheek and heading inside.

“God, please let’s go somewhere else,” He grabbed your arm, tugging you to a secluded, area beside the shed out back. Your brain told you to rip your arm from his grip and scold him for thinking it was okay to ever touch you again, but your deemed in control and allow his touch to erupt butterflies in your tummy.

“I don’t know what I was thinking bringing her here,” he groaned, realizing he was still holding onto you, quickly letting go.

“She seems more Jack’s type, if you ask me,” You suggested, Luke squinting his eyes at your words.

“Good thing I didn’t ask…” He may have been the reason the relationship ended, but he wasn’t going to put up with any slander that you had for his current life. The life that didn’t include you.

“Whatever, why did you bring me here?” You looked around at the spot. It had definitely been a spot where the two of you had snuck off to make out several times, escaping the teasing of his older brothers.

“To talk…” He shift his weight to his heels, his hands finding warmth in the pockets on his pants.

“Oh! To talk about you being a complete dipshit and cheating on me this past summer? Yes, let’s talk about that!” Sarcasm dripped from your voice like venom from a snake, targeting the next victim: Luke.

“I’m sorry…” Again, the empty apologies were beginning to grind at you now. You didn’t want the apologies or the excuses. You wanted him to shut up for once, hear you out, and then come up with a genuine apology. He had said his piece, now it was time for you to say yours.

“No, Luke. You’re not sorry for cheating, you’re sorry you got caught. Save the apologies for when you actually mean them,” You started, him immediately shutting up and listening.

“We were so fucking toxic. You know it, I know it. The whole world probably knows it by now. But, God, I loved you so much. I would have spent my whole life trying to fight for that stupid relationship and you turned around and threw it all away. And for what? Some temporary pleasure? You couldn’t keep it in your pants long enough to get back to me?” Your words shot through him, like bullets hitting glass, shattering the surrounding areas. He couldn’t argue because everything that you were saying was true, but he’d be damned if he let you find satisfaction in being right.

“You said it yourself, it was toxic! You probably would’ve found a problem with me being there without you, anyway!” He tried to defend himself, but he was fanning a flame that he shouldn’t be messing with right now.

“Don’t you dare try to manipulate me into thinking your cheating was justified! Luke Hughes, I’ve said some fucked up shit throughout the years, but I never have, and never will ruin your trust. That’s the type of shit that lasts a lifetime. I can’t date anybody else because there’s always that ‘what if’ of them cheating!” Tears brimmed your eyes, softening the wall that surrounded Luke’s heart. He was a tough guy, but the sight of you hurting was a soft spot for him, an Achilles heel.

“You promised me a future, and then turned around and burned it to the ground without a second thought once you got a taste of fame,” Your finger poked at his chest hard enough for him to wince, expecting to see bruises the next morning.

“You’re a liar! A fucking liar and cheater!” Your voice broke as the words left your mouth, but Luke took the verbal beating that he deserved.

“Do you think I want to be labeled as a cheater, Y/N?! I’ve prayed for months that I’d just wake up and it not be real, that we’d still be together!”

“Awe, so sad, Luke. Truly heart wrenching!” You grabbed at your heart, feigning compassion as he began to clench his jaw, the muscle flexing as his annoyance rose. It was hot, but not hot enough for you to do anything about it.

“Stop being such a bitch, it may suit you, but it doesn’t mean you have to wear it.” His eyes grew dark, almost challenging you to see who would win in a game of insults.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot I was supposed to act however you deemed fit. Even if you’re a cheater…”

“I cheated, I’m not a cheater,” he tried to correct, a viscous chuckle tumbling from your mouth in response.

“I’m not! That’s the one and only time that it will ever happen, I can promise you that!” His voice rose in volume as he continued to defend himself.

“Oh, one and done Luke! How nice! My trust is fixed, so there’s nothing left to worry about!” The sound of people counting down in the background didn’t distract you.

10…9….8…

“If I’ve had anything in the past months it’s peace in knowing I don’t have to put up with your fucking nagging anymore!”

7…6…5…

“Yeah, and I don’t have to worry about you fucking some rando anymore!”

4…3…2…

“Shut the fuck up and kiss me.”

1…

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!” The voices erupted behind the shed, but the whirlwind of a kiss muffled it all.

Luke eagerly pulled your face toward him, his lips colliding as intensely as a train hitting a car on the tracks. An accident waiting to happen, but there nothing that could be done about it.

It took a second or two, but you kissed back with the same passion as him, him pushing you backwards until your back hit the wall of the shed.

His lips were like home, sweet and comforting. The remnants of his vodka redbull tempting your taste buds to plunge deeper, but you didn’t, you let him set the pace.

One of his hands tilted your chin up, steadying it as the other pulled you closer from the small of your back. Every sense inside of you erupted in fireworks as his tongue tried to gain entrance into your mouth, but you stood your ground, or tried to at least.

The hand that steadied your chin found itself wrapped around your neck, the shock causing you to gasp as he gained entrance.

“Luke! I finally found something to drink, but we missed our-” The voice immediately tore the two of you apart, the fireworks over the lake and store bought pretty interrupting the fireworks that were going off inside of you. Your breathing was a little shallow as you tried to control it again.

“-kiss. What the hell.” She glanced between the two of you before storming off, her stiletto sinking into the grass as she desperately tried to remove it from her foot.

Luke groaned, but the chirping had just begun for you, “One and done, huh?”

“Me and her aren’t even dating!” He squealed.

“We’re talking about this tomorrow, Y/N. Do you understand me?” He pointed at you as he began to smooth over yet another failed attempt at dating, but he wasn’t going to reconcile that one.

“Aye aye, Captain,” You gave him a silly salute, earning an eye roll from him, but as soon as he turned away from you the smile wouldn’t disappear.

Call you crazy, but you hadn’t felt butterflies for a long time, probably since his note to you. What you felt tonight was an army of butterflies being obliterated by fireworks. The feeling of his fingers around your neck, his jaw muscle contracting, everything about him had turned you on.

Did you really fold that easily?

Oh well. The thought of the next day, the possibility of getting him back, along with his family far outweighed your pride.

He could be your Luke once more.

#nhl imagine #nhl fic #jack hughes #nhl fanfiction #quinn hughes #trevor zegras #alex turcotte #cole caufield #jack hughes imagines #nico hischier #luke hughes x you #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes x y/n #my brain is fried from writing this #but I couldn’t stop writing

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tw1l1te · 21 days

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Alternate Hero/Guide Rant

So I've been thinking lately of parallel universes and the question "what if this was changed", yada yada, and I thought of something having to do with our guide.

What if, in an alternate era/timeline they took the place of Link?

Like the Chain still has their normal dynamics, same meeting, etc., but in swoops the reader (the heroine/false hero?) and they are unlike any link/hero in the timeline.

Some background for their Hyrule might be that their entire Hyrule is in ruins, like completely. Think Totk but 100 times more destroyed. Yeah. Essentially, their Link mysteriously disappeared, monarchy was left in utter chaos and the country essentially destroyed itself. I think your backstory would take place 5000-10,000 years after Wild's, so you would be the most latest "Link".

One of the main deviations between yourself and the Chain is that you didn't fight Ganon/Ganondorf/Demise; you fought Hylia in the flesh.

In terms of triforce? You don't have any pieces because your Link gained them all and left shortly after that. Conspiracies say it had a more sinister motive, but you have a different idea of what happened.

Zelda was killed around the same time Link disappeared, essentially destroying whatever foundation of Hyrule was left. The different nations of Hyrule had a 50-year war and eventually, everything was so destroyed that everyone went into isolation, closing off from each other.

A religiously-motivated eruption of chaos occurs, spurring your quest to eliminate Hylia and her existence. Despite not having any relation to the royal family, Link, or Hylia's prophecy, you have the memories of each hero, which is unheard of with the Chain. Only Zelda's have previous memories, meaning you're some weird anomaly.

A bunch of shit happens, whatever, boom you're in Wild's Hyrule. THe Chain notices you almost instantly, mostly cuz you're wearing hero's garb, but none of theirs, meaning... you're a Link. Or so they originally thought.

That's all for now.

Let me know if y'all would like to see a full fleshed-out fic of this! :3

#linked universe x reader #yandere linked universe x reader #yandere linked universe #linked universe au #final promise au #linked universe headcanons #lu sky #lu legend #lu time #lu twilight #lu warriors #lu hyrule #lu four #lu wind #linked universe #lu wild

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anpanham · 4 months

Text

Hazbin Hotel character thoughts / impressions (Episodes 1 & 2)

1/12/24

UM. what a weird first actual post for my blog for this year... this is long, and i miss making ACTUAL blog posts instead of small threads... And i've explained on my twitter my thoughts on Hazbin / Helluva from a critical standpoint and artist from art separation, yadda yadda yadda---

ANYWAY... Episodes 1 and 2 of Hazbin are (Officially) out now, and i have some thoughts on the characters i wrote down after watching (In bullet points, because most of these are fresh-from-the-brain thoughts i wrote on my tablet from my bed)

(Spoiler alert, Sir Pentious isn't ruined and I AM SO GLAD. my snake babygirl... ilu)

Read on, if you wanna, spoiler warning btw!!!!!

CHARLIE NOTES

-Charlie is good., Charlie is cute, but i fear for her safety, not everyone can new redeemed. she's like steven universe at points i stg 😭 (not a jab but i think it's funny)

-i like how they gave Charlie bags under her eyes a lot, she is a tired princess just like all of us

-She gives off elementary school teacher vibes but in a wholesome way

-Charlie's hair is SO CUTE MESSY..

-PERFECT voice /gen

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- VAGGIE NOTES

-GIRLBOSS (still, but more)

-Vaggie is still cool, she just loves her gf and is sick of everyone's bs but is still supportive...

-If she doesn't get into a bloody death match with Alastor (and win) i will be disappointed /hj

She doesn't seem to have as much of a temper as she did in the pilot, but seems more dead inside

-Good voice!

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ANGEL DUST NOTES

-Angel... hm. Angel. he's Angel, for sure. Hi, Angel!

Insecure about a lot, but also YOU CAN BE THE CHANGE YOU WANT!!!!! if vox doesn't kill val angel should. please and thank u.

Also his voice is alright, just need to get used to it a little more

Also i hope he's not too bratty jealous of sirpent / whoever else charlie praises because again, it's ON HIM TO COOPERATE WITH HER CAUSE MORE??? ignoring his other stress sources (Val)

-Waiting for him and Husk to kiss. I know it's coming

-Just fucking block Val's number and rip up the contract (YES i know it goes deeper than that...)

-NUGGS. I SCREECHED IRL /POS

THEY GAVE HIM A HEART ON HIS BUTT!!!!! S TIER REDESIGN

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

ALASTOR NOTES

-At first i was kinda Eh about his voice but it's grown on me, the radio filter is a little more subtle than the pilot but it's still there which i'm glad for

Delightfully passive aggressive

-Weird magic still, there doesn't seem to be any limits to it... we need to know what his weakness is...!!!!! please (maybe that will come later??) ....... i theorize he has underworld contact (Shadow-world, because of the shadow imagery?) , the underworld might be different from Hell maybe? (Where do those fucking tentacles come from, also weird monochrome demons)

-Interesting he was gone for 7 years. 7 is an angelic number. HMMMMMM (sealed away by angels somehow??)

-Punchable (Vaggie please)

-Weirdly enjoyable and not genuinely hateable like some of the other characters, but i also want to see his demise, maybe his sadism is rubbing off on me, but i want to see it badly...

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

SIR PENTIOUS NOTES

-Sir Pentious... u are so good.. probably has some of the best writing so far, maybe... he's my favorite so. hhHHmm

his voice is different but at the same time it's what you'd expect, i like it a lot... so silly, i pat him and his silly hat

-Pathetic old man. You win my heart (50x as much)

-Only one egg spoke so far, i wonder if they'll all have unique voices this time (the Japanese dub of the pilot did that lol)

-Genuinely a joy every moment he was onscreen (Too fucking cute... GRRRR)

-How did he get into contact with Vox? Why would Vox want anything to do with him if he thinks he's a loser? (I guess easy access into the Hotel) ...Fuck em either way (DON'T BE MEAN TO SNAKE MAN)

-Cool temporary stunning hypnosis, maybe we'll see him coil and bite next, the snake attack traits are fun

-His autism vibes grow stronger and it's canon in my heart

-We LOVE a redemption song. please stay in the hotel with everyone, don't fuck it up!!! you're a good noodle.... 😭 The song was genuinely so cute... it's probably going to be the highlight of EVERYTHING for me, besides Nuggs..

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

HUSK NOTES

-i luv u kitty

-His voice is different but captures "Grumpy old alcoholic" perfectly

-His heart needs to be melted...

-Him holding the script in front of the camera was great

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- NIFFTY NOTES

-Niffty is a BIG COWARD. you can still love a "Bad boy" who's a redeemed bad boy!!!! just because he's not morally bad doesn't Not make him a Bad Boy. fuck u (i still like you)

-Her voice is really cute, also her nightgown.. though finding out she doesn't have dark bug limbs but is just wearing gloves and stockings surprised me more than it should've... put them back

-Also autism vibes, love it

-She still frightens me a bit

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

V TRIO NOTES

VOX -----

-Seems to carry the team, voice has grown on me

-I can't stop looking at his weird finger claws, they almost look like

he's just wearing things over his fingers, i dig it

-Interesting hypnosis power, i assume Alastor is immune

-Why can't Alastor and Vox just compromise and create a podcast?

-Hates Val (sorry shippers) ,,... kind of expected it since in old official sources it's been shown that he's been abused by Val too

-This isn't a note but everytime Alastor said "THE TV IS BUFFERING~" in their duet, the player kept fucking up 😭

-Decent song, I like seeing him and Al argue

-I surprisingly don't hate him! i'm glad. i wanted to like him (though, it's only been 2 episodes so far...)

------

VALENTINO ---------

-More manchild vibes than i expected tbh

-Voice is alright but his accent is weirdly inconsistent for some reason???? interesting direction

-His manipulation is shown well in the voicemail scene with Angel, he's literally got the "Nice Guy" energy

-Surprisingly didn't order Vox around as much as i thought he would

-Why does he have girl Fizzy bots...

-Die?

------

VELVETTE

-Fashion design isn't something i expected, but then again i didn't know that much about her prior other than she's obsessed with social media

-British is also not what i expected but cool

-Uh. she didn't really stick out to me that much...sorry..... she's fine tho

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ ADAM & LUTE NOTES

-Personally do not like how these angels look so menacing, i get that they're technically bad, but... make them look more angelic besides halos and wings??? they could easily be mistaken for hell residents. Also again, i feel like angels should swear less and drop swears in critical / good timed moments, it would be funnier... subtlety is not a thing i guess

-Adam's guitar solo was good tho, not really feeling his character tho, he's just an asshole but that's the point

-Adam looks like the fucking dress meme. I can't unsee it

-Lute is pretty...

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

KATIE KILLJOY & TOM TRENCH NOTES

-Brandon Rodgers

-They sure were there for a second!

-i luv tom

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

All in all...

Episode 1: 6-7/10

Episode 2: 8.5/10

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animentality · 5 months

Text

Durgetash is important to me not because I think the dark urge is themselves the best written character, or even that Enver Gortash, hit by the rushed act 3 curse, is either, but because I see the thematic potential of their romantic relationship.

Orin destroyed the dark urge because of their relationship with Gortash. I'm not projecting that, she literally said it herself in a note. Whether it was romantic or platonic is subject for debate.

But is there a more beautiful way for an evil character to die, than destroyed by their own humanity, the very thing they thought they had abandoned long ago? Is there any more fitting way for evil to be conquered, than by love itself?

Lord of the rings, our genre defining fantasy epic, from which all fantasy must borrow, always proposed the idea that evil always destroys itself in the end. Evil betrays evil. This is why Frodo is not the one to cast the ring into the fires of Mordor in the end.

Baldur's Gate more openly suggests that evil defeated evil, by the conventional way of backstabbing. Orin kills the Dark Urge out of jealousy and lust for power. Whether they die because you pick a Tav, or survive, doesn't matter because it destabilized the plan, it ruined it. Gortash and Ketheric and Orin fall into infighting, just as Saruman betrayed Sauron, just as evil often does in fantasy, and in real life, when dictators and tyrants fight off would be replacements and opportunists.

If the dark urge survives, they become the greatest thorn in the side of evil, if you do the good run, they don't just destabilize the plan, they destroy it. They end it. They save the world from their own destruction.

And that's all well and good. Evil defeats evil, yes, alright.

But if Gortash and the Dark Urge loved each other...

That adds another complex element to that theme.

It suggests that at the end of the day, even the two worst people in the world, the most evil of despots and killers, could still be fallible, vulnerable to the powerful force of goodness and morality that is love.

It could never change them, couldn't truly save them, in fact, because gortash always dies and the dark urge dies in most runs, when you don't pick dark urge as an origin.

But it was still powerful enough to destroy everything they worked for, all the evil they wrought together. It put a stop to their madness.

Evil lost, because of that critical weakness.

That flaw, in Bhaal and Bane's plans.

The fact that humans (you know what I mean) can't live without love, no matter how well groomed they are for death and destruction and cruelty. That humanity, this great, warm sliver of compassion and camaraderie and genuine affection...is just that powerful. All it took was a little slip, a little snip of threads, a small crack, to shatter completely.

It's cheesy as fuck, and it's been done to death, but love truly does conquer all. Who the fuck cares how played out it is?

I'll die for stories that say, over and over, that love will always defeat evil.

Even if it's not in the way you'd expect.

Whether it resulted in the dark urge's complete demise, or was merely the first stepping stone on their path to salvation...

Evil defeating evil is appropriate. Love defeating evil is not as boring as you'd think it would be.

And using two evil characters, who should not love, but did anyway, and allowed themselves to be ruined by it in the end...

Well.

I think that's neat.

I'm utterly demented for even thinking so hard about this, because I think the developers just meant for Gortash to just be this asshole you just have to kill, and the dark urge was just this edge lord asshole who got off on mutilation.

But I can pretend.

#dark urge #durgetash #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #enver gortash

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heliads · 9 days

Note

Can you do Peter Pan x reader OUAT? Peter goes to the modern world with Emma, Snow, David and them as they are looking for someone. He meets this girl and takes an interest to her. He’s never seen someone with facial piercings, and dyed hair before, they come to realize she is the girl they’ve been looking for.

'magic finds magic' - peter pan

masterlist

Peter Pan is leaving Neverland. Worse, he’s leaving Neverland alongside Snow, Emma, David, and Hook. In terms of traveling partners, this has got to be the lowest of the low. However, the sand in Peter’s immortal hourglass is running out, and his first attempt at prolonging his life with the heart of Henry Mills didn’t exactly go according to plan. It’s this or nothing, even though Peter is starting to wonder if it would be better to just die than put up with these people any longer.

Never in his life did Peter Pan think he’d be working with the good guys. But never in his life did Peter think he’d be dying, either. A few compromises will have to be made in the name of preserving Peter’s everlasting life, and if that means he has to put up with some princesses and pirates for a few days, so be it. In no time at all, his immortal life will be restored, and he can go back to Neverland and put all of this behind him. Hopefully.

Peter was supposed to die back on Neverland. He was running out of time, anyway. He had set up the perfect scheme: kidnap Henry, disorient the boy’s rescuers on his island long enough to win the Heart of the Truest Believer, and cut the organ out of the boy’s chest if necessary. He’d almost gotten away with it, too, except he was foiled at the last minute. Heartbreaking. So unlike him.

For some reason, though, he hadn’t been left to die in the caverns of Skull Rock. Emma and the others had needed him, for some odd reason, and although none of them trust him in the slightest, they do trust Peter’s single-minded selfishness to keep himself alive. So they claim, at least, and so they had gotten a spell to give Peter one more week of life in exchange for help. If this plan works out, Peter will have a way to continue his immortal life without needing to murder Henry. If it doesn’t, or if he betrays them, he’ll die anyway.

He can feel it now, the pang of his close call with death. There’s a pain in his chest that wasn’t there before, a certain weakness in his lungs. Peter gets tired more easily. He feels– well, he feels like Henry and Emma. He feels mortal. Like he could die at any moment.

Peter has, obviously, thought about double-crossing them, maybe even triple-crossing them, but it’s no use. He feels shakily mortal right now, and Peter does not much enjoy the possibility of his own demise. This is the closest he’s ever come to being beaten, and Peter hates the feeling. He’ll have to play along for now, but after that, he will have his revenge.

First, though, Peter has to do what the others want. They’ve been careful to reveal as few details to him as possible, but the idea is solid. There’s a magical person somewhere in the modern world, in a city far from Storybrooke. This person is like the embodiment of a true love’s kiss spell, designed to renew hope in storybook characters through small acts of power that ultimately drive two needed people together. They’re like a guardian angel of those on the brink of destruction, which is exactly what Peter needs right now.

Peter has plenty of time to mull this over. They’ve forced him into a terrible, small room with awful carpets– an apartment, Emma called it– while they talk out what to do with both him and their missing spell-person. Peter is trying to focus, but he’s getting stared at by Henry Mills again, which is absolutely ruining his mood.

“What do you want?” Peter asks, glaring at the boy.

Henry just goggles back at him. “Don’t you feel bad for trying to kill me?”

Peter snorts. “Why would I do that?”

Henry shrugs. “You pretended you were my friend. I know you like the other Lost Boys on your island, I thought you would have felt bad for killing one of them. I guess not.”

“I don’t feel bad about killing someone so I would live,” Peter says, then wonders why he’s arguing with a child. “Go preach your morals to someone who wants to listen.”

“The others are busy,” Henry pouts.

Peter eyes him unhappily. “And what, I’m your best option for polite conversation? You really are desperate, aren’t you?”

Henry rolls his eyes. “I’d say you’re desperate. You’re the one who’s still talking to me.”

Peter can’t really argue with that, so he deftly changes the topic of conversation before Henry starts looking proud of himself again. “Tell me about our target again. You said you saw them before?”

“Only in a dream,” Henry admits, “but it was a clear dream, I swear. I saw a girl who looked about your age. She seemed like any other teenager, but there was something about her that was different. The way she spoke, maybe, or the glint in her eyes. She was magical, I’m sure of it. She can save Storybrooke.”

“And save me,” Peter reminds him. “That’s the important part.”

Henry rolls his eyes again. If he keeps that up, they’re going to get stuck like that forever. “Yes, I know, you’re only interested in keeping yourself alive. So long as it helps us find this girl, though, I don’t care.”

Peter leans forward. “What’s your plan for finding this girl, then? A little scouting party? This city is big. You’ll never find her.”

Henry shakes his head. “Magic has a way of finding magic. Somehow, our paths will cross.”

“That’s a terrible strategy,” Peter grouses. Why is he entrusting his life to this boy again? He remembers something about having no other options, but it doesn’t seem as good an excuse right now.

“Ask the adults, then,” Henry tells him, and gestures towards the miniscule apartment kitchen, where Emma, Snow, Hook, and David are currently huddled around a table, talking in hushed voices about what to do.

Not wanting to mess with the kid anymore, Peter pulls himself to his feet and heads over. “Tell me you have a plan,” he says.

The adults look up at him. “Find the girl,” Hook says shortly. “That’s our plan.”

Peter scoffs. “You could search this city for months and not find her. What if she doesn’t want to be found? If this girl has any brains at all, she’ll know that people will want her magic and she’ll hide. It’s what I would do.”

Emma sighs. “We don’t even know if this girl knows that she has magic. She’s probably just living an ordinary life, and we’re about to drag her out of it with all of our trouble.”

“Don’t tell me you feel bad for her,” Peter scolds her. “You want this, don’t you? So go get it, or I will.”

Snow tries to tell him to calm down, but David, so quick to anger when it comes to Peter, surges out of his chair. “How about you do something helpful and think with us instead of just insulting us?”

“I will do something helpful,” Peter informs him. “I’ll find her first.”

With that, he lunges for the apartment door, and is out of the tiny room and down the hall before they can stop him. Peter hears the thunder of footsteps after him, but he hurries down the stairs and out of the building. He has the advantage of being quick on his feet; if Neverland taught him anything, it’s how to run when you don’t want to be found.

Peter emerges into the bright sunshine of the city and stops dead in his tracks. He’s not used to the modern world, how the knives of its buildings slash up into the sky, how loud it is with those cars and signs and people. Peter swears he can even see metal things in the sky, soaring along predestined paths. It’s all so much compared to the world he used to know. No wonder some of the others had a hard time adjusting. His mortal heart lets out a pang of sympathy.

The door of the apartment building flies open, revealing Emma and the others hot on his trail. Peter curses under his breath and takes off in one direction, hurtling around pedestrians and shooting down the sidewalk. He heads for smaller streets, hoping to lose them in a swarm of alleyways. The others, more used to the terrain of the modern city, are gaining on him, and Peter is just starting to think that he’ll never be able to shake them when someone grabs him and pulls him into a nearby building.

Peter’s first instinct is to defend himself, but when he isn’t attacked, he realizes that the stranger is only trying to help him. There’s a window just to his left, and Peter watches Emma and the others appear seconds after him. They didn’t see him enter the shop, and keep sprinting down the road in the direction they thought he’d gone. Peter waits a few more intense moments, then decides that he’s lost them for good and turns back around to see who’s gone to the trouble of rescuing him.

He’s greeted with the sight of a girl about his age. She’s eyeing him cautiously, although the corners of her lips begin to prick up with a wicked grin. “Sorry for the rough introduction, but you looked like you needed some help,” she tells him.

Peter lets out a short laugh. “I’m glad to be rid of them, that’s for sure.”

The girl arches a brow. “What, did they catch you shoplifting? I’ve never seen people run that fast unless they were getting chased by the cops.”

Peter narrows his eyes, trying to figure out how on earth he would lift a shop, then decides it’s probably some slang term he doesn’t know. “Something like that,” he says evasively.

He studies the girl’s face to see if he’d answered correctly, and, judging by her impressed grin, he had. “Nice,” she says. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“Peter,” he replies. He gets the urge to introduce himself as he usually would– Peter, Peter Pan– then remembers at the last second that Emma had warned him about telling people who he was. Apparently, telling people he was a fictional character in their world wouldn’t go over too well.

“Peter,” the girl repeats. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Peter says, and realizes belatedly that he means it. He feels like how he had at the start of it all, when the Lost Boys had first started appearing on this island, but this feeling is far stronger. He wants to get to know this girl. He certainly doesn’t want her to leave.

“I’m new to the city,” he says abruptly. “Any chance you could show me around?”

Y/N laughs, surprised. “You’re new and you’re already in trouble? You’ll fit right in, Peter.”

He grins, in on the joke a half beat late. “I like to have fun, that’s all.”

“Well,” Y/N says, starting to lead him back towards the door of the shop, “I like fun, too. Maybe we should stick together.”

“I’d like that,” Peter says, then wonders why he’s being so honest all of a sudden. When he sees Y/N’s smile– real this time, not sarcastic or joking, but genuinely because of him– he thinks he knows why.

The two of them step back out into the light. “Where to first?” Peter asks.

“I was going to ask you that,” Y/N replies. “What do you want to do? Sightseeing, maybe? We can get some food, or just talk.”

“Anything,” he says. He’d follow her anywhere. The feeling in him right now is like nothing he’s ever felt before. The pain in his chest, Peter realizes with some surprise, is gone. He feels immortal. Like living in this one moment could last forever.

They end up spending the next few hours together. Y/N shows him around the city, taking Peter to her favorite spots. Peter stares at the vast cityscape and finally starts to understand why someone might choose the modern world over the natural one. He’ll always pick Neverland first, of course, but seeing the world through Y/N’s eyes, it makes sense.

The two of them get along like a house on fire. Y/N’s got this rebellious streak to her that fits in perfectly with Peter’s, well, Peter-ness. No joke is too dark, no sarcastic comment too caustic. They feel the same. Peter doesn’t think he’s ever met someone who thinks so much like him.

As the sun starts to set in the sky, Peter feels his spirits sinking. He doesn’t want to let go of this day, not when he knows it can never happen again. He’s supposed to be finding Henry’s spell-girl, but all Peter wants to do is spend more time with Y/N.

His mood is especially ruined when they turn a corner and find Henry Mills walking towards them. Peter’s eyes widen and he tries to steer Y/N back in the direction they’d come, but it’s too late. Henry lets out an audible gasp and starts hurrying towards them.

“Peter,” Henry calls out when he’s close enough to talk, “We’ve been looking for you all over! Where have you been?”

Y/N glances at Henry dubiously. “Who’s this?”

“My little brother,” Peter blurts out.

At the same time, Henry chimes in, “My friend from school.”

Peter shoots the younger boy a quick glare, then turns back to Y/N. “Both, actually. He’s my step-brother. Recent marriage. We’re still getting acclimated. Our family is a little chaotic.”

“You can say that again,” Henry mumbles. Peter fights the urge to butcher him.

While Peter silently advises himself on why murder would be bad at a time like this, Henry stares openly at Y/N. All of a sudden, the boy’s mouth hangs open. “Oh my gosh, it’s you.”

Y/N’s brow furrows. “Excuse me?”

All of a sudden, Peter feels a sick sensation in his stomach. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t.

“You’re the girl from my dream,” Henry announces. “We’ve been looking for you.”

Y/N looks back at Peter. “What’s he talking about?”

The open, carefree expression, which had been on her face all day, is starting to be replaced with deep, unsettled fear. Peter hates to see it directed at him. “There’s something I need to tell you,” he begins. “Something about yourself.”

“You’re sounding a little creepy right now,” Y/N warns him. “Get to the point.”

“Alright,” Peter says. “You’re magical. So am I. We need your help to break a curse and save my life. How about that?”

Y/N shakes her head quickly. “This is crazy. Magic isn’t real.”

Peter can’t lose her, not like this, so he leans forward and holds out his hand. A ball of light appears inside his cupped fingers, glowing and bright. It’s a simple charm, one of the first he learned, but it has the desired effect.

Y/N stares at it, transfixed, and when she speaks again, her voice is hushed. “That’s impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible,” Peter says. “Not magic. Not even the fact that you would find me in this city by accident. Magic is drawn to magic.”

Y/N’s eyes slowly raise to meet his. “This is real, then. I have magic.”

“You have magic,” Peter confirms. “Come with us, we can show you. They’re good people, Y/N. You can trust them.”

It’s the closest he’s ever come to honesty. For once, Peter isn’t playing a game. He isn’t trying to trick Y/N over to his side. He just wants her to be safe, and he knows that isn’t through lies.

Y/N smiles at him. “I trust you, Peter. That’s enough for me.”

She reaches over and takes his hand. Now that he’s focusing on it, Peter can feel the slow loop of her magic when they touch. It feels like power, but more than that, it feels like life. A life with her, maybe. A life for both of them.

ouat tag list: @loveanimals0000, @eclliipsed, @w1shes43, @lost-ender

all tags list: @wordsarelife

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gintrinsic-writing · 1 month

Text

A Flicker in a Distant Timeline

CW: references to violence, loss of a limb, blood.

Like this, the King of Evil didn’t look like much—sweating through his robes, hair in disarray, panting through pain and exhaustion alike. He was too weakened to transform, and his baser form—his simple Gerudo body, absent of Demise’s visibly corroding influence—lacked the same petrifying, untouchable presence. Link figured he should tell him so.

“You reek.”

Ganondorf’s glare was half-ruined by the tears rolling down his face; courtesy of some well-aimed dirt, Link thought smugly. “And you,” Ganondorf managed between breaths, “sound like a dying frog.”

Link barely had enough energy to muster up the indignation that deserved, but he managed. “A frog? That’s the worst you could come up with?” He scoffed, ignoring how much it stung to do so. “Were you even trying?”

“Croak, croak, croak,” Ganondorf griped, waving a hand back and forth. The Triforce of Power shimmered like a kaleidoscope against the back of his hand. “Annoying little wheezes.”

“Oh, forgive me. Some asshole punched me in the throat.”

“Only after another asshole pulled my hair!”

“So what?” Link croaked—ah, dammit, Ganondorf was right. What a miserable day.

“So, hair’s off-limits.”

“Off…” Link paused to stare. He blinked several times for good measure. Only a little blood managed to dribble into his eyes. “It was a fight! To the death!”

“Fated by the deities themselves,” Ganondorf agreed darkly.

“And you think hair is off-limits?”

“Well, yes.” Ganondorf sneered at Link as if the hero was particularly dense. “We’re not animals.”

“You literally are, you dumb pig,” Link groaned.

Ganondorf made some weird growling sound, then coughed. “Just you wait,” he grumbled. “As soon as I catch my breath, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Link mocked. “You’ll kill me? With what weapon? You couldn’t summon a speck of dust right now.”

Ganondorf curled his lip disdainfully. “As if you’re one to talk. You can’t even get up, can you?”

Link chose that moment to finally admit to himself that he’d been managing his half of the conversation while lying prone on the ground. He was sure the Master Sword was within grasp if he needed it. Probably. “I can move,” he answered loftily, only croaking a little, “whenever I want to.”

“Sure,” Ganondorf agreed.

“I can.”

“Like I said, sure.”

Link groaned again. Dirt stuck to his lips in a very unheroic way.

Seconds passed, then Ganondorf heaved another breath. It sounded more significant than the previous ones in some strange and foreboding way. He pushed off his knees with both hands and stood up straight. His spine popped immediately. “Damn the goddesses,” Ganondorf spat, bracing a clawed hand against the small of his back as he resumed his slouch. Link couldn’t help but nod in tired agreement. “And damn Demise!”

That sounded particularly vicious. Link nodded again for solidarity. “Is Demise the reason you’re so fucked up?”

“Yes,” Ganondorf hissed.

“Ah.” What was he supposed to say to that? Something meaningful, probably. “Sucks.”

“Indeed.”

Something wet fell on Link’s face. Then it happened again. Rain, he thought bitterly. Maybe he’d be lucky enough to drown. “I don’t suppose you’re dying? Spare me the trouble of having to finish this?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Ganondorf grumbled. “You?”

“Also unfortunately no.”

Ganondorf eyed him skeptically. “I thought you’d bleed more when I cut off your hand.”

Ah yeah, that. His right wrist really hurt. “To be honest, me too.” A wave of dizziness washed over Link, which he promptly ignored like he had the last four times. “How did you survive that light magic bomb?”

Ganondorf shook his head. “No fucking idea. Luck, perhaps. I felt my heart stop for a moment.”

“Really? Cool.”

Ganondorf shrugged.

“So… now what?” Link asked quietly, licking at the raindrops gathering on his upper lip. They tasted like dirt. “You gonna kill me?” Because in all honesty, he couldn’t get up. Trying left his pulse racing and his limbs trembling. He was pretty much useless.

“I should,” Ganondorf answered just as quietly.

When nothing else was said, Link grunted. “But…?”

“I’m tired.” Simple, honest, absolute.

“Yeah,” Link muttered. “Me too.”

With a pained little oof, Ganondorf sat down beside Link, crossing his legs at the ankles and keeping his weight off of his left hip. He fiddled with his many bracelets. Link struggled to read his expression. “Perhaps I’ll feel up to it in a minute,” the King of Evil finally said.

There was something awkward about that. Something sad. Link decided to do what he did best and make a nuisance of himself. “Did you have to sit so close? I wasn’t lying earlier. You stink. Does deodorant not apply to demon kings?”

“Shut up, worm.” Ganondorf flicked a pebble at him. Somehow, it landed right between Link’s eyes.

“Ow! Fuck you.”

“In your dreams.”

Link gagged, loudly. The effect was ruined when it started to rain in earnest. Before he could think of the best way to complain, Ganondorf threw out a hand, and tendrils of dark magic formed a barrier above them.

“Oh,” Link said lamely. “Guess you’re not out of juice after all.”

Ganondorf frowned up at the barrier. “It’ll last a minute if we’re lucky.”

“Then what?”

“Then we’ll get wet. Maybe you’ll be able to walk by then, assuming you don’t bleed out in the meantime.”

A pretty bold assumption, all things considered, but Link wasn’t going to say so. He’d take what he could get. “And then?” he pressed.

Ganondorf clearly held back the first answer that came to mind. He pursed his lips before saying, “Your choice. I got us this far.”

Link couldn’t help it—he laughed. It sounded pretty terrible. “Yeah,” he wheezed after several seconds. “Yeah, I guess so. Okay.”

Ganondorf shook his head in apparent resignation. The barrier began to flicker.

#this idea hit me over the head and i had to sit down and write it immediately #but now i'm about to start ffvii rebirth so So Long Farewell it's been nice knowing you guys #honestly it'd be fun to write more for this idea #ganondorf #link #legend of zelda #loz fic #loz #gintrinsic writing

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fangsandfracturedhearts · 26 days

Text

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 14: Devil's Ploy

Summary: You helped Astarion complete the Rite of Profane Ascension and become the Vampire Ascendant. You agreed to become his spawn soon after. Once the Netherbrain was defeated, Astarion claimed the Szarr Palace, renaming it the Crimson Palace, for himself and set about his plans of domination.

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. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events. Mentions of Astarion's Trauma.

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

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

You snort and blink rapidly to clear your nose of the fetid sulphuric odour burning the membranes of your nostrils, throat and eyes. In the cramped, dimly lit sewers, where the air doesn’t stir, the stench of it lingers and never seems to dissipate.

When your vision finally becomes unimpaired by burning tears, the cambion and her fire-red hair, horns bedazzled with chains of gold, is leering at you with a conniving expression that makes your stomach sink. You’ve seen this expression on her plenty of times when she was scheming and plotting.

“Gods above,” you hiss with a rasp to your voice. “What do you want, Mizora? I thought I was good and done with your kind.”

“And here I thought we had all become such good friends,” she titters, feigning cordiality terribly. “You always did have so much… spunk. I’m happy death still hasn’t taken your lovely little spark.”

“You can ask Raphael all about my spark,” you smirk. Vivid blue lightning crackles and buzzes over your fingertips. “Oh, wait. You can’t because I killed him for seeing me as no more than a little mouse, a pawn, and I will do the same with you if you think you can play games with me.”

“Oh-yes,” Mizora giggles, not one iota ruffled by your threats. “All nine Hells were positively astir with the news of his demise. He always was such a pompous and over-confident twat, not unlike your master, I suppose."

Master. Ugh.

“I would be lying if I said it was nice to see you again, Mizora. If you will excuse me, I have my prey to hunt, and you’ve made me lose its trail.”

You can’t hear or smell Elowyn anymore. She will be deep into the ruin by now, or worse yet, in the Crimson Palace itself, but you still don’t understand what use she would have of that place. There is nothing left there but closed cells full of rotting gore that can never be opened again since you made Astarion break Cazador’s quarterstaff - Woe. Insofar as you’re aware, that was the only key to controlling everything.

“A great pity you’re in such a rush, pet,” Mizora snickers. Gods, you hate being called “pet.” You almost growl, but you’re too preoccupied with the rising feeling of foreboding swishing around in your stomach. You know that laugh and dread what’s about to come out of her mouth next. “I was going to offer to assist your Vampire Ascendant with his little… problem, but I suppose if you don’t want help… well, you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink. Ta-ta!”

“Wait!” You snap, whirling around. You’re going to regret this. “Wait… What do you know of Astarion’s ailment?”

“I thought that might get your attention,” she smirks smugly. “Let’s make ourselves more comfortable, shall we? You may be accustomed to living in such filth, but I am decidedly not.”

Mizora snaps her fingers, fire bursts to life all around you, and then you’re in a grand sitting room with glitzy settees, lounges and chairs. Rugs made of creatures you’ve never seen before litter the floor. Some appear reptile-like with scaly hides, others plush furs, others with feathers and more with something you can only begin to describe as some form of cartilaginous exoskeleton. They look at you with glassy, dead eyes ashine in their long-dead sockets.

It’s stiflingly hot, and you peer out of double doors leading to the terrace and take in the landscape. In the distance, black, jagged mountains pierce the horizon with peaks wreathed in an eerie crimson mist. Brimstone and fire dance in a perpetual inferno bordering a river made entirely of lava or possibly blood. It’s hard to tell from this height. The air is acrid and clouded with volcanic ash, and the sky flickers reds and oranges as fireballs race through clouds of darkest black.

“Avernus,” Mizora gushes. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

“I think I preferred the sewers,” you croak, wiping the sweat from your brow and going back inside. It does little to provide any comfort or liberation from the sweltering climate.

“Of course, sewer spawn,” she scoffs indignantly and drops unceremoniously onto a lounge. “It was your home for a little while. Wasn’t it? Until the Cleric and Wizard found you down there.”

“Have you been watching me this entire time?” You cross your arms and quirk a brow at her. “Do you have nothing better to do than derive pleasure from pain and suffering?”

“Oh, darling.” Her head falls back, and she laughs, “Of course! Who wouldn’t want to watch this little tragedy play out? It has been quite amusing thus far.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying the show,” you bow sarcastically with a frown. “If you’re getting such a kick out of it, why are you meddling in my nightmare?”

“Sit. Won’t you?” She gestures toward the chaise. Mizora won’t tell you anything until you do as she asks. This is all part of her little game, after all. So, you sit with a roll of your eyes. “I would have been happy to watch until the vampire killed you, but alas, all good things must come to an end. Zariel and the other archdevils have other plans.”

Fuck. If another archdevil, or several, from the sounds of it, are getting involved, this is unlikely to be good. What got you here was another deal with an archdevil, but if there’s even a chance that something Mizora might tell you can give you somewhere to start, well, you can humour her.

“Which are?”

“Oh,” Mizora shrugs. “I don’t know, little lamb. I am merely a messenger.”

“Okay,” you comb your fingers through your sweat-dampened hair. She’s lying. You can see the hinting glint in her eyes. She knows more than she’s letting on. “Well, what is it you can tell me?”

The toothy, menacing smile that sidles across Mizora’s face should send you running. She sneers, “Tell me. What do you know of Mephistopheles?”

You shrug, “I know he is an archdevil, a rather powerful one. His domain is Cania. The Rite of Profane Ascension was a contract with him. Beyond that, I do not spend much time researching devils.”

“So, nothing then,” she pouts. “Well, allow me to enlighten you.”

Fire leaps to life in a circle, and Mizora’s eyes gleam with the keenness of a wild cat as you jump and get ready to defend yourself. Everything goes black except for the inferno burning around you.

As you watch the writhing blaze, depictions form in the leaping flames, moving against them. A towering devil with bright red skin, curling ram horns and massive bat-like wings jutting out from his back. He has an unnervingly charming smile, but it’s offset by cold, milk-white eyes that stare through you, making you shudder.

The figure paces around, muttering to himself and the empty grand halls around him. His eyes bounce around with feral neuroticism. He twitches, growls, hisses and waves his hand as if shooing away an annoying insect while snarling.

Abruptly, the fiery figure lets out a blood-curdling shriek and starts clawing at his skin, tearing gashes into himself until his skin is hanging in gruesome, dripping flaps from his arms and chest. Fire explodes in his palms, and he flings around bolts of Hellfire, instantly turning everything around him to ash. He pivots quickly and appears to be looking straight at you. He roars so loud you’re sure your eardrums have burst. He charges toward you with the ferocity of a rabid animal and a fireball barrels toward you.

Everything goes black, and you fall onto the floor by Mizora, who is snickering.

“What in the Hells was that?” You snap, getting up and getting in her face. You grab that fur collar in your hands and shake her, “What the fuck did I just witness?”

“Mephistopheles, for all his cunning and brilliance, is a deeply troubled individual. As you saw, he is neurotic and suspicious and often flies into fits of explosive and violent rage. Does that remind you of anyone?”

“… Astarion,” you breathe and stumble back. “Oh Gods…”

“Yes, pet.” Mizora nods with a fiendish cackle. “I can see you putting it all together. The Vampire Ascendant was an experiment of sorts. As you can imagine, these tendencies are not becoming of an archdevil. In an effort to rid himself of his neurotic temper, he needed a willing vessel to imbue with a portion of his nature. What better way to lure a willing participant than to offer unfathomable power?”

You collapse onto the chaise, wracking your fingers through your hair, “The Vampire Ascendant was nothing more than a way for Mephistopheles to offload his psychosis?”

Gods above. It makes so much sense. Astarion’s blind fits of rage. The voices in his head. The alternate version of him that sometimes takes control. You never got to see the whole contract. Did Raphael know about this and neglect to say it?

“But.” You add, looking at Mizora, “Astarion is himself some of the time.”

“Ah-yes,” Mizora snickers, glancing at her nails. “The vessel was never supposed to have an intact soul. It’s much easier to work with an empty cask than one that is already full, so to speak. A spawn was never supposed to usurp the ritual. I would say an oversight on Mephistopheles’ part, but truly, who could have imagined a spawn would get infected with a mind flayer tadpole that broke his master’s chains? Then, he just so happened to come upon a fine hero to help him. It’s all rather ludicrous sounding. Astarion’s soul is fractured but not completely eradicated. Well, not yet at least.”

“What do you mean not yet?”

“Think of it like this,” Mizora speaks to you slowly, as if you might not be smart enough to understand the metaphor slipping past her lips. “The entity is like an infection. It contaminates him, tainting everything from his thoughts, the platelets in his blood, to the marrow in his very bones, faster than his body can heal itself.”

“Why are you telling me all of this?” You’re starting to get suspicious. Where is the catch? The line she will hook you with?

“Can’t I just want to help out an old friend?” She pouts.

You glower at her and cross your arms, “No.”

“You were always so clever.” Mizora suddenly becomes serious, “Mephistopheles is a threat. Now that he is no longer burdened by his demons, he’s set his aspirations quite high. Too high for the liking of many of the archdevils. We would like to see him reunited with himself. It’s a very fine little deal. You get what you want to rid Astarion of the entity that’s eating him from the inside out, and we get to cage Mephistopheles back in the prison of his mind. A warning, pet. It will not be an easy road.”

“My life has never been easy. Why would it start now?” You sigh, “Tell me what needs to be done, and I will do it.”

“Such a good little spawn. Aren’t you? He’s killed you, tortured you, starved you, beat you, emotionally ruined you, and stolen your name, and you’re still willing to risk yourself to save him?” Mizora giggles, “I would say it was a true love story in the making were it not so fucking tragic.”

“What do you mean stolen my name?” You growl, cocking your head at her, “I have a name!”

“Oh,” she snickers, “Then tell me, pet. What’s your name?”

“My name…” You trail off, wracking your brain for the word. It’s right there, sitting precariously on the tip of your tongue. “My name… It’s… It’s…”

Mizora’s laughter is a haunting melody, a sinister cackle in a chilling symphony. That sound could freeze the blood of the bravest soul and make the earth tremble, “You can’t remember it. Can you?”

You replay old conversations in your head. You can see Shadowheart’s lips moving, but then there’s a sudden silence where all you hear is white noise even though she’s still talking. It’s the same with conversations with Gale, just white noise in the place where your name should have been.

Astarion stole your name from you… When did that happen, and why can’t you remember? What else has he stolen from you?

“What’s my name,” you swallow the thick odium that’s erected itself into your throat. You shriek, rage sweeping through you in a gust of hatred, “What my name, Mizora! Say it!”

Mizora smiles haughtily and speaks. You focus with every iota of your capacity, watching her lips move, but it is as you feared. Your ears hear nothing but the breathy whisper of silence, and your eyes seem unable to read the phonetics on her lips.

You’re his darling. His sweet girl. His precious treasure. His consort. His nameless spawn.

And yet, you’re still prepared to sacrifice your life.

Yes, a very good little spawn, indeed.

“It doesn’t matter,” you mutter, clenching your chest as a tendril of sadness wraps around your heart and chokes it. “What do I have to do?”

“Before we can do anything about Astarion. We must first unbind him from his contract.” Mizora says, eyes narrowing, fixed on you. “I don’t care how you do it, but you must get Astarion’s contract from Mephistopheles. Steal it. Bargain for it. The choice is yours, but you must do it fast. There’s no way to know how much time before Astarion is lost forever.”

Mizora deposits you back into the sewers, and her voice bounces off the stony passageways, “Tick-tock, tick-tock, pet.”

You consider continuing to try to track Elowyn, but you’re reeling with information and cannot fathom how you would even begin to concentrate on her. She must be dealt with. That is certain, but it must wait until your mind isn’t fraught and unsettled.

How are you supposed to get Astarion’s contract from Mephistopheles? Bargaining for it should be your last resort, but how do you get to Cania, the eighth layer of the Nine Hells, survive it long enough to sneak into Mephistar and somehow sneak through an archdevil citadel? It seems like an impossible task.

Should you tell Astarion? He would usually be the first person you ran to for help with a heist, but he’s unlikely to let you go, even if it is the only means to save him from inevitably losing himself entirely. You can’t risk Astarion forcing you to stay, but you might not be able to risk going to the Hells without him. The Vampire Ascendant will likely be an invaluable asset if you meet resistance. But if he loses himself, you might not survive Astarion’s wrath long enough to get where you’re going. Whether that thing inside him is a separate entity or a version of himself that’s been infected and corrupted, you doubt it will take kindly to you trying to remove it.

Do you approach Shadowheart? You would be putting her in great peril, but she might be able to help with research. This is your mistake to fix, and you don’t relish putting your friend’s lives on the line. Karlach and Wyll are in the Hells. They may be able to help ascertain a way to get to Cania, but you’ll need to figure out how to contact them.

And Good Gods, your name…

The silent corridors echo with the foreboding sound of your heavy footsteps like the ominous rumble of an approaching storm as you work through the maze of gangways and channels. Tears stroll in rivulets down your snowy cheeks, liquid poetry to express all the emotions you can’t.

Dejection. Grief. Fear. Defeat. Loss.

Lost in the spiralling thoughts, you forget to look to the sky as you drag your weary body home. The only thing you want right now is to curl up in the strong arms of Astarion and let him hold your broken pieces and fears together because you’re not sure if you can do it by yourself.

The sun cracks the skyline, the first rays of the soft light of an autumn day embracing the streets, but the sun no longer embraces you. It blinds and broils you. Your skin glows, flakes, and melts. Deep, molten silver-blue channels crack in your arms, legs and face. The pain is so intense you can’t even remember to scream as you stand, waiting for your skin to slough off your bones and cover the street with ash.

You don’t remember reaching out to the bond with Astarion, but his voice fills your head, “Gods above. What in the nine Hells are you doing!? ” Astarion bellows. Panic infects his usual halcyon timbre, “Find shelter! I’m coming!”

The pain is all-consuming. You can’t move, can’t think, can’t speak as your nerves are melted away. Your skin dissolves like water evaporating under the sun’s heat. Every inch of your skin is being flayed in a single moment that lasts forever.

You will die nameless and alone.

“Fuck! Find shelter. Now!”

Astarion’s compulsion overrides everything else, and your body moves stiffly to obey the command even as it smokes and your skin is loosened from your frame, liquifying and dripping off your arms and legs, turning to ash in midair and being carried away by the morning breeze.

Find shelter. Find shelter. Find shelter.

Your instructions resound in your head even louder than the pain that falls to a buzz in the background. You can’t even blink as your fingers curl around the boards of a long-abandoned shack. Gods. Are those your fingers? Is that bone you see? You wrench the board off the window. The pads of your fingers squelch and ooze. When you throw the boards down, your skin sticks to them, peeling away in rangy, fibril bands like gum. Thank the Gods, you lack the capacity to mull it over much as your body throws itself inside without your consent.

With the order completed, there is a brief moment of pure, blissful euphoria - a reward for being so very obedient. The compulsion pales, the vines recede, and you’re pitched back into the residual agony that has yet to abate.

Now that the sun is no longer skinning you alive, the pain has lessened, and you remember how to scream. An inhumane noise rends your throat somewhere between a shriek and a wail. Your head lolls to the side, and your eyes fall to your arms.

You immediately wish they hadn’t.

Your skin is not the smooth pearlescent you’re used to seeing now that the colour it once held has faded to death’s grip. It’s powdery and matte. You’re sure you’re looking at the bones of your forearms in the chasmal rifts.

You hear white noise in your head, murmuring over the bond. It feels like Astarion is trying to contact you, but you hear no words. To get your thoughts off the pain still being recited by your nerves, you shift your focus to the emotions in your head, trying to sift through them. Astarion’s heartbeat in your chest is excruciating. It hammers with the intensity of a blacksmith striking an anvil. He’s petrified, bordering on hysterical.

You reach out in your head, “Astarion?”

“Little love!” He howls. You must remember to request he not attempt to dissolve your brain matter. “Why haven’t you been answering me?”

“Where are you?”

“Close, my treasure.”

You don’t know how much time elapses as you bounce between consciousness and dissociation while focusing on not moving. The less you move, the better for you, but your limbs and muscles seem to jerk and twitch without your consent, and every time, it sends another agonizing swell of suffering to break over you. Teardrops flutter on your lashes, but you can’t move to wipe them away.

Your ears pick up the thudding tempo of Astarion’s beating heart before he bursts through the door, scattering the planks and showering splinters in his haste. Astarion drops to his knees beside you. He visibly shudders as his eyes land on you, slumped against a wall.

“Hells,” he breathes, chest heaving from exertion. You can feel his horror in your head, but you need not. It’s evident in his shaky and rapid speech, “It’s okay. I’m here. I’m here. You’re safe. Look at me, darling.”

Why, after everything he has done to you, is his proximity so remarkably comforting? You let your eyes roam over him and truly appreciate the beauty before you. His scarlet eyes, dazzling like vivid, perfectly polished jewels ashine behind… tears? No. That doesn’t seem right. Your vision is blurred from your eyes being boiled in their sockets. You must be imagining the tears, but his eyes are beautiful nonetheless. His sculpted, full lips, which once held the promise of an eternity of silk kisses, are downturned at the corners. You would give anything to run your fingers along them right now, feel them on your skin, taste them on your tongue. He is breathtaking, quite literally.

“Sweetheart.” Astarion reaches to you. His fingers tremble as they hover below your jaw. He knows it will hurt if he touches you, “Can you hear me?”

You answer in his head because moving the muscles in your face to make you capable of speech will hurt, “Yes. I hear you.”

“I can compel you to not feel the pain, to sleep, but I need your permission.” His eyes bore into you. His voice is a favourite dream you long to slip into, “Please.”

It’s dangerous permission to give. You’ve told him you will leave if he compels you again, but he just did, didn’t he? He compelled you to find shelter when you could not do it yourself. He compelled you from afar. He does not need to be near you to force commands upon you. He can wrap your brain and body around his finger like twine from anywhere, anytime, on a whim. But Gods, you will do anything to make this pain end, to drift away from this fucking nightmare.

“Do it.”

Immediately, you feel your control funnelling away, like sand through an hourglass.

“You feel no pain,” he purrs, and the pain vanishes as your nerve endings deactivate. It’s a blissful respite, and you sigh. “Thank you for trusting me. Sleep now.”

Your brain shuts off. Darkness claims you, and Hells below, you welcome it.

“Wake.”

The directive floats through your comatose mind like a beam of light cuts through the pitch-blackness of nullity. Your faculties burst to life, waking one by one, unfurling like a blooming flower. The first thing you feel is hunger so painful that your body jerks to collapse in on itself as your limbs jolt and tremor insuppressibly. Excruciating cramps make your toes curl and your hands ball into fists. Your mind is raving, mad with hunger. You consider biting your tongue if only for the sweet succour of that crimson elixir.

You cannot think of anything other than the sensation of your insides gnawing on themselves, the paralyzing contracting of every ligament and tendon in your body, the desiccation that’s withered your tongue, and the grave need to feed - on anything and anyone.

Another spasm causes you to lurch and claw at your skin like you could dig yourself out of this ailing body. Warm hands clasp your wrists, and all your mind can think is warm means alive, and alive means blood. Your eyes snap open, but your addled brain simply cannot process the visual input, and you don’t think twice before fire erupts from your palms.

“Shit!”

You hear it, but you do not process it. As soon as the grip on you rescinds, you lunge at this figure before you whose beating heart is thrumming the provocative siren song of life and food. Colliding with it is like being throttled into a brick wall, but you waste no time fumbling and climbing with bared fangs. You’re so close to that beautifully pulsing vein, and it’s the only thing your eyes can focus on.

Stomach bubbling with hunger, you go to bite, jaws snapping and slobbering like a feral beast. As soon as your fangs hover within striking distance, your body arrests, and you’re instantaneously immobilized.

Strong arms wrap around you, lift, and sink you to the floor. A hand cradles your cheek, and the branching blue-purple veins make you swoon. You think about biting them only to have your body freeze up on you further. It guides your eyes to vivid crimson irises that spark recognition and reason back into your dazed lucidity.

“Astarion…”

“Stop thinking about biting me,” he chuckles and shifts you to the side. “You’ll be able to move again.”

“What?” You would quirk a brow at him, but you’re too focused on trying to push your intentions of biting him away. They do not concede to your urges, and you find your eyes wander without your permission to any vein that might be in striking distance. Astarion always gently walks your errant gaze back to his. “You haven’t compelled me?”

“Ah. Apologies. I do forget how new you are to this.” Astarion reaches for something on the dresser to his right, “No. This is not a compulsion. As my…” he trails off.

“Spawn.” You state with a palpable despondency threaded between the fog of hunger that looms over you.

“I do hate that word,” he shakes his head with discontentment as if he does not want to face the reality of what he has turned you into. “You are physically unable to bite me without my permission. Your body simply will not allow you to do it. Which is why you currently cannot move.”

Astarion holds a goblet out to you, and your stomach is set on fire by the iron sharpness that wafts from the syrupy, bright red nectar. It breaks you away from your absorption of sinking your fangs into Astarion’s flesh, and you snatch it out of his hands and drink with mindless gluttony.

The blood is fresh, hot and rich as the liquid rushes into your mouth. It waterfalls through your body, unknotting the snarls in your muscles, dissolving away the relentless twist of your stomach, and replacing the bloodlust hysteria in your mind with a sultry buzzing.

Astarion’s already holding another goblet, and you throw the empty one to the side and close your eyes as you guzzle. The blood is buttery and decadent. It’s hundreds, nay, thousands of exquisite dishes in a single swallow. It’s like a summertime dawn on your tongue. The wet warmth of it sinks between your thighs, settling with a molten throbbing in your core, and you moan at the pure bliss.

Astarion slips the goblet from your fingers once you’ve finished, and you look at him with half-lidded eyes. You rack your brain for memories of the few times you’ve tasted the blood of thinking creatures. You bit a few in the battles between when he turned you and the Netherbrain, but you cannot remember any of them ever tasting that deliciously arousing.

“That wasn’t animal blood,” you state, almost slurring. You feel drunk, or maybe Astarion is just intoxicating to look at while he mesmerizes you with those red eyes and perfect lips that foretoken pleasure. “Who did you just feed me?”

“No, it was decidedly not animal blood,” he grins as you adjust on his lap and straddle him. You’re not entirely sure what you’re doing in your desirous daze, and you trace the perfect bow of his lips as he speaks. “It was my blood.”

“You are delectable,” you giggle as your fingers help themselves and start fiddling with the buttons on his chemise. As your muddled mind starts to make sense of what he just said, you’re tripped up. You stare at him with a slack jaw and round eyes.

“The look on your face is priceless, darling,” he giggles and glances down at your roving hands as they push open his shirt and trace the defined muscles. Astarion’s fingers trace down your neck, sending shivers down your spine and making you squirm on his lap in wanton desperation for even the most minuscule friction to sate the ache, “I told you that you would taste me, and I you. It will not make you a True Vampire, though, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Right now, you could not care less about being a True Vampire. There is very little on your mind except how his skin feels on your fingers and how extraordinary he would feel stretching you.

You bury your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent deeply, placing slow kisses up the column. His fingers curl into the silk nightdress he must have changed you into at some point as he groans.

“Whatever are you doing?” He mutters near your ear, pressing his cheek to yours.

“I want you,” you sigh as you curl your fingers into his hair.

“You just attacked me,” he swallows.

“Then, let me apologize,” you grind against his hardening length in a way that makes you both gasp.

“You’ve been asleep for a week,” he mumbles, even as his arms wrap around you, tugging you close. “You have no idea how close you were to dying. Truly dying.”

You should probably be concerned with how long he kept you asleep since your time is limited, but you don’t care. You can’t care. You’ve never been quite so high on blood, on him. He is the light, darkness and blood that runs through your veins, and good Gods, you will give him everything.

“So, wake me up,” you purr as you push his shirt over his shoulders and run the flat of your tongue up his neck, relishing the salt of his skin. “Touch me like only you can. Love me like only you do. Help me feel alive, Astarion.”

Astarion pulls you back, cradling your face with this thumb pressed gently under your chin, drawing your eyes to his, and you stare at him through narrow, seductively hooded eyes like a love-sick pup. He traces your lips with his thumb, and you catch it in your mouth and suck.

“Hells,” he rasps darkly with a sharp inhalation.

You feel the offering call of the bond, and you don’t hesitate to throw it open. That beautifully overwhelming frisson shatters through you as Astarion’s lips catch yours in an eager, bordering on frantic kiss. He snakes his hand into your hair, holding you firmly against his vehement embrace. His tongue darts into your mouth, and a guttural groan thunders in his chest. His kiss is unusually clumsy, lacking the artistry and mastery he typically possesses, and your teeth click together with your greed for each other. You roll your hips, sinking your clit against his length, and your head falls back as white-hot sparks of want rupture behind your eyelids.

As far as you’re concerned, he is the definition of desire. His lips, his hands, and his taste are the only things that can bring you back to life from this deathless death, and you’re sure that you could never get close enough to him. Even with every curve of your body pressed into every contour of his, it still wouldn’t be enough. Nothing is sweeter than the serene sin of the kisses his lips press against your throat.

You peel off your nightdress, and your fingers tug at the opening of his breeches, graceless in your wild hunger to be filled, to be taken, to be his. Astarion quirks his hips up and pulls them down his hips, freeing his cock. The head glistens with evidence of his arousal. With no warning or hesitation, you sink his full length into you. The heavenly stretch makes you cry out and dig your fingers into his chest.

“Fuck,” he breathes, heavy, ragged and uneven. The pads of his fingers find your swollen flesh, sweeping and circling, and you get lost in the divine stimulation.

You set a slow, teasing pace, rising and sinking back down onto him as you delight in feeling the ridges of his head with every languid pump. Astarion pants as he lets out breathy moans. He brings a hand to your hip, trying to urge you to move quicker.

“Good Gods,” he whimpers, his gaze glossed with desire. “Have mercy.”

You are starving for pleasure, famished, and you will take it how you want it. With a warning growl, you grasp his wrist and pin it above his head to the wall. Astarion grins at your dominance and doesn’t fight it. He murmurs something unintelligible as you plunge onto his cock, and stares reverentially through thick lashes, drinking you in as you forfeit all rational thought.

Time runs away with you. You could have been riding him for hours or seconds, but eventually, your savouring pace turns reckless and erratic. Astarion bucks his hips in time to meet yours as the sound of smacking flesh, wanton cries and panting is all that fills your ears and head.

Astarion’s fingers tremble and quake against your sensitive bud, his skin sheens with sweat and his breath hitches. When you finally unpin his wrist, he clutches your hips and guides you to continue the tempo that is driving you perilously close to the edge.

His breath starts to come faster, panting hot and crude, fanning across your sweat-veiled skin. Scarlet eyes devour you as you chase your release in his lap. He penetrates you - Harder. Deeper. Animalistic.

“Oh shit—” His eyes snap open wide, almost in a look of blissful confusion. In your rapture, you barely notice the way his lips move, but you hear nothing but white noise. “I’m going to— Gods. I think I’m going to—“

A shuddering gasp escapes his lips, his body suddenly tensing beneath you. The look of ecstasy that washes over his face is enough to hurl you over the precipice, and you cry out with him. Between your walls clutching and spasming, you feel his cock twitching and pulsing, flooding you with his seed. His arms wrap around you, and you cling to him with a grip that would surely bruise. He crushes you against him as you’re both overwhelmed with pleasure so pure you think maybe it would have killed you were you not already dead.

As the intoxication of your climax fades, you sag into him, pressing your forehead against his neck. You close your eyes, breathing in the fragrance of his sweat, and focus on the rise and fall of his chest. It would be nice to stay in this darkness, snug and safe and home in his embrace, with the bond open so you can remain one pale star against the dusk of reality.

And then you remember the white noise from the moving lips of Shadowheart, Gale, Mizora, and him … You pull back abruptly, breaking out of Astarion’s arms and staring at him, tears teeming in your eyes. Astarion’s confusion is evident on his face and through the connection.

“What’s wrong?” He asks. You can feel him trying to figure it out in his head. It’s such an odd sensation, almost like your emotions are being poked and prodded. “What did I do?”

“Say my name,” you whimper, focusing on his lips.

“What?” His eyes bounce around as his brows pull down.

“My name,” you repeat with a quivering lip. “Say it.”

Astarion’s lips move, and… nothing. All you can hear is the buzzing, fizzing hiss of white noise coming from his mouth.

“Again.”

“I don’t understand —“ He yet again opens and closes his mouth with only a droning hum. Your fingers clamber against his lips, pushing his mouth open as if you might be able to grasp the word as it leaves his tongue. “Whatever is the matter?”

He doesn’t even know, you realize. He has no idea that he’s stolen your name just as he stole your life. You find some comfort in knowing that it wasn’t this version of him that did it, at least. You stare off dejected as everything rushes back to you like a slap across the cheek.

Mizora. The Hells. Mephistopheles. The Contract. The ticking clock. Your name.

“My love,” Astarion’s fingers curl into your hair, and he ushers your eyes to his. “Did I harm you? Please. Tell me what’s troubling you."

“I don’t remember my name,” the tears spill out of your eyes. “You stole it from me.”

Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things. As always, I hope you enjoy this, darlings!

AO3 [Crossposted]

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

Small Notes:

So... does she tell him what Mizora revealed?

#ascended astarion #bg3 #astarion fanfic #astarion x you #astarion #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion smut #fangs and fractured hearts

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screamingcrows · 28 days

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Sohreh's demise

It's always struck me as being odd how Sohreh dying is described in the Zandik's legacy note collection.

Read more of my depression fuelled 4pm after working 10 hours thoughts below lmao

Firstly, there's the description of the attack on the group by the killing machine. From Sumeru Investigation Team's Note we get "...We buried Dastur Sohreh and sent the wounded back." Which must mean that Sohreh was either alive during the attack on the group, or the attack happened just after Sohreh passed. Combined with the Ragged Attendance Record which states "...Dastur Sohreh of Amurta has been critically injured under the attack of Rishboland Tigers. In need of first aid..." This puts the tiger attack before the accident, how much time is unclear. (It also makes me wonder what it was Zandik did that is mentioned as the third reprimand, since him being suggesting to bring the ruin machine back happens afterwards). Another option is that they use the tiger thing to cover up what it actually was. The ruin hunter (the flying ones) has a spinning attack and a sharp pointed arm, that could have caused the lacerations implied to have killed Sohreh? I'm continuing with the theory of two separate attacks because I don't have the brainpower to process both options right now, remind me to come back to it.

Now, it strikes me as weird that they'd send the wounded back after the killing machine incident, but didn't send Sohreh back after the tiger attack. This makes me think that they must've happened very close together time-wise, although not too close since they had time to make a note for Sohreh needing first aid. I'm aware that the living cannot carry their dead with them, but them burying her tells me that everyone in attendance for this expedition (or at the very least the sage since he would've had the highest rank) must've found satisfactory explanation for how she passed. Otherwise he should've had the corpse brought back to the matra or whoever does autopsies in Sumeru.

Good, okay. But an autopsy was performed later. Yes and no, the body was dug up and examined but it is referred to as a dissection. It's clearly not an official document used for anything in the Akademiya. If it was, why would it be found outside if Port Ormos? And they would've hopefully used 'autopsy' and not dissection. A dissection is usually more of an open up and look for anything out of the ordinary sort of deal, and it's considered somewhat disrespectful to use for human subjects (even if it would technically be correct). To know where her body was, it must've been someone on the expedition or getting help from someone who attended. I don't believe it would make sense for anyone but Zandik himself to dig her up and keep it a secret.

He finds a fatal injury, a wound on her throat but can't determine a cause of death (a fractured hyoid isn't necessarily fatal, and I'm relatively certain strangulation wouldn't leave a wound. Bruises and fractures sure) Maybe someone tried to stop the bleeding from the wound on her throat and crushed the bone in the process? Like people sometimes break ribs doing cpr.

I know there's a prevalent theory that he killed Sohreh because she learned something she shouldn't and he needed to silence her. But based on the time frame gauged above, she would've had time to communicate that something was wrong.

I don't think Zandik killed Sohreh. If he did, why would he go back to investigate? And why in the first place does he go back to investigate when he was likely there for the tiger attack and certainly for the ruin machine attack? I honestly don't know. Sheer curiosity, while plausible, seems unlikely to me just because of the amount of work and risk involved in pulling something like that when you're probably already under the Matra's watchful eye. I'll continue to stew over what he could be looking for with that dissection...

#im so sorry that i never have the will to organise my thoughts #suffer with me #dottore #il dottore #genshin impact #genshin #sohreh #zandik #dottore speculation #crow with a brain

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villainsandvictimsalliance · 3 months

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What I think sucks the most about that period of time where AFO was controlling Tomura is that he turned Tomura into the type of leader he never was and always hated.

By that I mean that AFO used the members of the League of Villains as mere pawns, not caring if they died or got hurt. It was the same thing that Overhaul and Redestro did. Tomura personally cut Overhaul's arm for that, he plotted his demise and when Toga confronted him, he let them know that he cared, he wasn't just using them. He was even more nightmarish with the Meta Liberation Army. Tomura said out loud that he would never forgive them for playing with his friends' feelings.

Twice died and Mr. Compress sacrificed himself, but AFO deprived Tomura of reacting to any of it. Since before the big battle, no one has mentioned Mr. Compress or Twice to Tomura. AFO told his plan to Dabi, Spinner and Toga while Tomura was in the middle of a big crisis. Here, look at him:

Even when AFO called that body other me, he seemed to leave Tomura alone to his misery. The most AFO gave was a pat-pat to Tomura and the typical words of "we'll kill them".

Look at Spinner's face in a close-up:

He's angry and with reason. Prior to that, AFO privately talked to Spinner and told him his plan of taking Stars and Stripes' quirk.

AFO disguised his true intentions by saying it was all for Tomura, to make his dream come true. He made Spinner his bodyguard. Behind the League's back, he talked with Skeptic about how to use the League of Villains. How to change them, how to manipulate in truth.

It makes me sick. All Tomura represented to them was lost, bastardized.

The people who called Tomura home, who told him they loved him, who swore to protect him and his dream, the people who admired and respected him. The League was Tomura's exception. He said it himself. He wanted the world ruined, but not them, not the things they liked.

I just know that if AFO could have cut his hands, he would have made Tomura wear them like he wore the hands of the Shimuras.

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kingsmoot · 8 months

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i see theon's arc in acok as a very strong parallel to ned's arc in agot and i've said before that theon digging his heels in at winterfell is a wolfbrained greenlander thing to do but it specifically mirrors ned's own strategy when he's in king's landing

the parallel is in their decision making style and in their total refusal of outside help

in agot, ned is offered an "out" from his position as hand in king's landing that would keep him and his daughters safe by like, everyone. varys, littlefinger, and renly tell him to get out before robert dies because they know exactly how this is going to end for him and his young girls. but it's not the honorable thing to do and he is duty bound to stay and reveal the truth of joffrey's parentage. so he stays and he does the "right" thing and he gets his head cut off.

in acok, theon captures a mostly-empty winterfell with thirty men and understands very quickly that there is no way he can hold this castle. with bran and rickon "dead" he doesn't even have anything that can guarantee his safety when ser rodrik returns (he ends up using beth but he knows this isn't a strong play, it's a desperate one). asha tells him this (after he already knows it to be true) and tells him to come back with her to deepwood motte, but he refuses. ser rodrik tells him to face the noose with honor and spare his men, maester luwin tells him multiple times that he cannot hold the castle and must surrender before he suggests for him to take the black, and he turns every offer down.

ned's decision to follow the same mystery that jon arryn was investigating and then his commitment to reveal joffrey's parentage is a course that everyone around him (who already knows the secret and has known the whole time) know will lead to his death. and they all try to get him to leave but he won't, because that's not the honorable thing to do. theon decides that the only way he can prove himself to balon and get his own justice for his ten years of captivity is to take and hold winterfell and be its rightful prince. that's the only thing that's fair and if he gives up after taking the castle that'll ruin what he's conceived of as justice.

in both cases, their death lurks at their elbow for the whole of the journey. for theon this is very literal, with "reek" tailing him around waiting to pounce, and for ned the danger is all around him and he refuses to see it. the "open secret" of joff's parentage among the castle's intelligence, the reality of robert baratheon and his horrible regime/inability + lack of desire to rule, etc. ned ignores far more omens (dead direwolf with a stag's antler through its neck) and red flags (being ordered to kill your daughter's puppydog) than theon does on his journey to the place of his demise (theon has a pretty successful run up until he takes winterfell) but it's a very. it's a very "that's his father's son" situation. to me.

#ned tag #theon tag #my meta tag

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xxspringmelodyxx · 9 months

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Deception~

Morax(Zhongli) x Adeptus!Reader Ch. II

Hello my lovely readers! I’m going to keep it short because I don’t really have anything else to say other than I hope you enjoy! The chapter starts with Guizhong instead of you, so we are going to see from her POV to see her reaction to you and Morax having a baby. It then will switch back to you, but to start off, we are seeing Guizhongs POV. :)

Here is the second part of the request:

“It was at one of the Adepti gatherings that Rex Lapis proudly announced that Reader is pregnant. The other Adepti rejoiced; their Lord finally had an heir. Meanwhile, Guizhong seethed inwardly and she started to plot; to make Reader not only lose her child and also her life. Guizhong knew Reader would be most vulnerable during the late stages of her pregnancy and right after childbirth. On the percept of celebrating Reader's upcoming child, Guizhong sent her presents, laced with a slow-acting poison.”

Again, thank you to @sailorstar9 for this amazing request and I hope you like it! And without further ado, here is chapter two to “Deception”, enjoy~ (Ch. I is here) <333

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| Word Count: 3.1K | Warnings: None (I don't think at least) |

I slammed my fist on the table, yelling out of frustration. Why did she have to come into our lives?! Why did SHE have to be the one he falls in love with?! What does she have that I don’t?

Thoughts spiraled in my mind as the image of Y/n and Morax with a small family kept showing up. Tears were starting to form in my eyes at the horrendous image. That should be me (holding your hand). I was supposed to be the one with him, not her!

“She screwed everything up for me! She ruined my life!” I yelled, throwing the bell I was working on. It made a loud shattering noise as it broke into multiple pieces. It was going to be a gift for Morax…a gift that I had been working on for quite some time. Not that it mattered anymore...

I felt my chest tighten as I realized it was over between Morax and me. All those years of our friendship…all those years of trying to get him to fall in love with me as I did with him, tossed down the drain like it was nothing.

I almost had him as well! It was only until that rat, Y/n, came into our lives to help those damn Yaksha’s from succumbing to their Karmic debts.

I remember it still to this day, almost as if it happened yesterday. Morax and I were trying to help the Yaksha’s from their demise. I tried making potions and gadgets that would help strengthen their mind to stop them from falling to their doom, but that could only work for so long. Eventually, their karmic debts would grow stronger and stronger each passing day, making it harder for me to make anything that would fight against it. Morax and I worked hard together for many months before coming to a realization that it was only a matter of time before the Yaksha’s finally met their fate. It was inevitable. That was until a certain someone came back.

Just as we were about to give up, a woman known for her abilities of healing and purification came into the picture. Everyone was shocked to see her, though, as they thought she had died many years ago. According to the stories I was told when I was younger, this woman went on a mission to help another tribe that was dealing with a horrible disease that was rapidly spreading. Apparently, it killed over half of their population and so the woman left to go help them. When she hadn’t returned on the day she said she would, people began to grow worried. Many archons were out almost every night, desperately searching the adeptus. After a year had passed, everyone had declared that she had died on the mission and so, her image slowly but surely began to fade away.

Now that she had returned, everyone was ecstatic. She had heard of the Yaksha’s issues as there were many rumors spiralling about them. Eventually, those rumors spread outside of our area and made it to her.

That’s when Morax and I met her. She told us about herself and how she can help us stop the Yaksha’s. I was hesitant, but Morax was so desperate to find a cure for them that he was willing to try anything.

She walked up to the troubled Yaksha’s and placed her hand on their heads one by one. She spoke an ancient language that I did not recognize. As she did, her entire body started to glow, and cracks began forming all over her body. The cracks began to shine a bright white color, and a golden liquid began to seep out of the cracks. The liquid ran up her arm in a spiral motion, and once it reached her hand, the golden liquid shot up into the Yaksha’s head, spreading all over their bodies.

Within minutes, the golden liquid that was inside of their bodies began to turn black as it did its work. Soon after, the black liquid shot out of their chests and back into the woman. The woman took the black liquid and spoke to it, again with that ancient tongue. The liquid shook violently and a few seconds later, a large and dark shadowy figure came out of it. It flew away, disappearing for good, allowing the Yaksha’s to be permanently healed and purified.

Weeks had passed, and the woman who we came to know as Y/n, said it was time for her to leave. However, Morax insisted that she stayed because he felt that he needed to pay her back for helping him. I stupidly agreed with him and insisted that she stay. Oh how I regret agreeing with him. If I didn’t do that, Morax most likely would have ended up marrying me…having kids with me…we would have been such a happy family.

When Y/n agreed to stay for a while longer, Morax and her began to fall in love with each other. They would constantly go out during the night to take long walks or watch the sky. After almost a year of knowing her, Morax finally confessed to her his feelings, telling her how much he loved her, how much he craved for her. Unfortunately, Y/n had grown the same feelings as well, and accepted his confession. Not too long after, they were engaged and soon enough, they finally got married.

I was heart broken when all of this happened. I still am to this day. I HATE Y/n…I hate, hate, hate her!

Memories of them together, holding each other in their arms, enjoying each other's presence. Oh how I wish that was me in her position. Holding him in my arms, feeling his strong arms secure me, feeling his soft and gentle kisses on my lips, and hearing and seeing him the first thing in the morning and the last thing at night. Y/n didn’t deserve him! She will never fully and truly appreciate his love like I would. He’s too great for her…she is nothing compared to him!

Tears slipped from my eyes as I fell to the ground, holding my chest where my heart was. It hurt so bad. The love of my life was in love with another. I don’t have a chance now as long as she is alive and well…if only she could just disappear out of his life already like she did long ago…I would finally have another chance with him.

That’s when my sobbing came to an abrupt stop as an idea popped up in my mind.

I quickly jumped up to my feet, running to my cabinet of ingredients that I used to use to make elixirs and medicine. I swung the doors open and frantically searched for three specific ingredients. White Chicory, Blood Petals, and River Mallow. These three ingredients alone were powerful in their own way. White Chicory when mixed with a bit of water and honey allowed the drinker to heal within a couple minutes. The Blood Petals when eaten alone will cause the person to die instantly. And the River Mallow allows anything to taste absolutely delicious. The White Chicory and Blood petals taste absolutely disgusting, but once mixed with the River Mallow, they should have a delicious savory taste.

If I mix these together, it will make a poison that slowly kills the person who takes it.

I could mix these in some food and give it to her to ‘help’ her with her pregnancy. That way, she will slowly die and no one would ever think I was the culprit.

I looked at the Blood Petals, thinking about just giving her those, but I quickly decided against it. If I were to give her the blood petals with the River Mallow, she would die instantly and then Morax and everyone else would know it was I who killed her. I can’t allow that to happen. I need to make it look like it was just an accident.

I quickly grabbed the ingredients from the back, holding them in my arms as I grabbed my mortar and pestle. I placed everything down and began to work my magic.

–a few months later–

“Y/n, can I please be the godparent of your baby? Please!!” Indarius begged, holding her hands together.

“No way! I wanna be the godparent!” Bosa said, pushing Indarius out of the way.

“You!? You can’t even care for your own self, let alone a baby! Let me be the godparent, Y/n! Compared to these two, I am the best choice.” Bonanus said with confidence.

“You three are bothersome. I mean look at yourselves. The way you three fight with each other, you just aren’t prepared to be in such a position. Being a godparent takes responsibility. Therefore, I think I would make the better godparent for your child, Y/n.” Menogias said, stepping in front of the three others.

“Hey, that's not fair!” Bosa complained, pushing Menogias out of the way.

“Yeah, just because you are more reserved doesn’t mean anything. You would probably bore the hell out of the kid if you were their godparent!” Bona said, siding with Bosa

“What are you talking about? I can be fun.” Menogias said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Who are you kidding? Your type of fun is going to a hill and watching clouds move.” Indarius said

“That sounds relaxing actually.” I budded in, making the four stop and turn to me.

“O-oh uh, yes of course it is, Lady Y/n…we just meant-” I giggled at them, standing up to walk to them.

“Look, I know you all want to be the godparent for our child, but Morax and I have already decided who its going to be.” I said, seeing my husband stand up from his throne, walking towards me.

He placed one of his arms around my waist, pulling me into him. He placed his other hand on my tummy, feeling the small baby bump that was forming.

“Yes, we have.” He said, smiling down at me.

“It’s me, right? Go on, tell these three that its me.” Bosa said, crossing his arms together with a smug look

“Actually, no, it’s not going to be you, Bosa.” Morax said, making Bosa deflate while looking up at us with betrayal.

“It’s not?”

“Nope.”

“I figured as much. It’s most likely me. I am the most responsible out of all of you.” Menogias said with pride

“Sorry, Menogias…” I said, giving him an apologetic look.

“In fact, it is neither one of you.” Morax said, making all of them slightly gasp.

“It is going to be…Xiao.” Morax finished, making all of their eyes widen.

“Xiao!?” They all repeated

“But…But why him? I wanted to be the godparent in the first place-” Bona started, but Morax placed his hand up to stop her from finishing.

“Our choice is final. Xiao will be the godfather of our child.” Morax said, making them all pout.

“Oh, don’t be sad, you guys.”

“Yeah, I don’t understand why you are all throwing a fit. You will all be godparents soon enough.

“Yeah-wait, what?” I said, turning to him with surprise.

He looked down at me with love, but had a devious smirk on his face.

“Yes, my love. After this child is born, we will have many more on the way to make a big family. That way, each of our precious Yaksha’s can each be a godparent.” He said, moving his hand lower on my back.

A small squeak came out of my mouth as heat rose to my face. A big family, huh?

A small smile snuck its way onto my face as the image popped up in my head.

“Yay! I am gonna be a godfather soon!” Bosa said.

“In your dreams! I’m gonna be the next godfather soon. You will probably be the last of us to be a godparent.” Menogias said

“It’s not going to be either of you, because I am going to make sure it's me next.” Bona said

“And how do you propose to do that? Huh?” Bosa asked

“By doing the most for our precious Y/n! I’ll clean up hers and Morax’s room, I'll cook her food, I’ll even change the baby's diapers when they’re born! All I know is that I am going to do far more than you three to make sure I am the next godmother!” Bona finished.

“No way, I am going to do the most for her and Morax!” Indarius said.

“Nuh uh! I am!” Bosa said.

Morax and I looked at each other with smiles on our faces, chuckling at the Yaksha’s arguing.

Suddenly, my stomach started to grumble, making me realize how hungry I am.

“Oh wow…I am having a sudden craving for food…but I don’t know what I want to eat.” I said, placing my hand on my stomach.

“Oh! I’ll fix something up for you, Y/n!” Bosa said, running to the kitchen.

“No! I wanna make her something!” Bona yelled, running after Bosa.

“Get back here you two! I am going to do it, you both suck at cooking anyways!” Indarius said.

“I am the best chef here! You three don’t even know how to properly cook an egg!” Menogias said, chasing after all three of them.

Morax rolled his eyes at them, shaking his head at their childishness.

“This is why we chose Xiao to be the first godparent.” he said, kissing my neck

I giggled from his comment, placing my hand on his head, stroking his hair.

Again, my stomach rumbled, only louder this time.

“Wow, I didn’t know being pregnant would make me this hungry all the time.” I complained, sitting back down.

“How about I go make you something? You know, something you can actually eat. I know damn well that those four are going to burn everything they cook.” Morax said, chuckling at the thought.

“That would be nice. Your cooking always makes me happy-”

“Hello, friends.” A voice said, making Morax and I turn our heads to see none other than Guizhong.

“Ah, hello Guizhong! What brings you here?” Morax asked

“Well, I did some reading on pregnancies and I read about how women tend to get hungrier after a few months have passed. So I have been doing research on foods that help pregnant women be happier and more fulfilled. Once I found the perfect recipe, I realized I actually needed to learn how to cook it. So it took me a while to learn, but eventually, I came around and perfected it!” She said, making me smile

“Oh Guizhong, that’s too nice of you. You didn’t have to go through all of that.” I said, seeing her shake her head

“No, no, no. You two are my closest friends and I want to make sure you both are happy and well. Soooo…I made this for you, Y/n!” She said, holding up a plate of what looked to be creamy herb chicken. It looked absolutely delicious.

“Oh my…that looks…amazing.” I said, my mouth watering from the smell.

“Well go on, eat it then. You don’t wanna be hungry forever now do you?” She said, handing me the dish.

I grabbed the fork and grabbed some of the chicken dipped in the cream and brought it to my lips, inhaling the savory aroma. I quickly put it in my mouth and tasted the delicious flavor. It was so juicy and tender!

“Oh my, Guizhong…I think you outdid yourself on this. It’s so rich in flavor! What did you put in this to make it so good?” I asked, making Guizhong smirk a bit.

“Oh, just some new seasonings I got. There is one called River Mallow that I recently received from a good friend of mine. It’s from a flower that goes well with any type of meat. So I put it on the chicken and let it marinate for about three hours and boom! A juicy and flavorful dish! I’m assuming you like it?” She asked

“Like it? I love it! Oh, please tell me you have more! This is absolutely to die for” I said, taking another bite.

Guizhong smirked a bit, only this time it seemed to be more…sinister.

“Not yet…but I have many other recipes that I’d like to try and give you. They should all be just as tasty as this dish.”

“Mmmm, I’m okay with that. If those other dishes taste this good, I’m okay with anything you cook. Thank you again.” I said.

“Of course! Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go back home. I have many other events to attend to. I just wanted to stop by and let you try my new dish. Goodbye now!” She said, leaving.

“Goodbye, Guizhong! Feel free to come back anytime with more food!” I said, joking a bit. Guizhong chuckled and turned around waving goodbye at us.

“This is delicious, dear! Here, have some!” I said, but Morax shook his head, pushing my hand back

“No, my dear. It is yours to eat. Plus, you need it since you are eating for two. I can make my own food. As for you, I want you to enjoy that meal.” he said, kissing your temple while holding your upper arm.

“You’re too kind, my love. How was I so lucky to have met you?” I said

“No, it is I that is lucky to have met you, my dear. I’m so happy to have you in my life…and to have you as my wife.” He said, placing another kiss on my face.

“I love you, Morax.” I spoke, looking into his eyes with love.

“And I love you, my sweet Y/n~” He replied, rubbing his hand softly against my arm.

–--

I smiled with dark intent as I realized what I had just done. They had no idea what was really going on! How stupid!

I looked back towards the palace where Y/n and Morax were, feeling happy. There was no going back now. Soon enough, Y/n will be no more…and I can finally have my beloved Morax back.

We will, once and for all, be together…

Forever~

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