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fettuccinealfred0 · 4 months

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Til Death Do Us Part | Part 5

Series Masterlist

Astarion x f!reader, Arranged Marriage AU

Word Count: 13.6k

(CW: SMUT 18+, vampire biting/blood drinking, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, handjob, mentions of past sexual assualt and trauma)

Summary:

Astarion reaches out, feeling the soft petals on one of the flowers. He smells the sweet, floral scent in the air. The smile on your face seems to be wavering the longer he’s silent.

“What do you think? Do you like them?” You ask, nervous.

“I adore them.”

I adore you, he thinks, before he’s able to stop himself.

Astarion quickly snaps off a blossom and faces you.

“But, you’re still my favorite little flower,” he says, tucking the stem behind your ear. Your eyes close at the touch of his fingers against your cheek as he pulls away. He’s struck once again by how badly he wants to kiss you. It physically pains him to step away.

But he must distance himself from you. Because love is a sickness, a weakness. Love is about trusting someone enough to offer up your very soul to them, to give them the power to own you. And Astarion wasn’t going to allow that to happen. No one would control him ever again.

Read on ao3 here.

There’s blackness.

Astarion reaches his hands out, but they hit a wall.

He reaches to the side. Another wall.

He immediately knows where he is. The dread settles into his bones. He’s back in that cursed coffin, buried beneath the earth.

He’s scratching and clawing at the wood surrounding him, throat raw from screaming, desperate and choking on his hunger. A vampire without enough blood was driven to madness and he had spent so much time down here with nothing but unending thirst.

And just when had resigned himself to that eternity, Cazador was digging him out and torturing him anew.

Astarion’s head is pounding and he can’t think straight. Has Cazador finally caught up to him? Is this punishment for escaping?

No, Cazador is dead.

Astarion is sure of that. And he’s all too sure he’s been here before.

This is a memory. One of those twisted, ugly things that claws its way out from the back of his mind and he’s helplessly forced to watch it replay.

He can’t remember what came before this. There was white?

No. It was snowing. The first snow of the season. Tainted red by blood and dead bodies. They had been ambushed by the Gur.

Your hand reaching out to him, blood dripping into his mouth.

Astarion closes his eyes and focuses on your face in his mind, filled with a sense of calm and warmth. His pretty wife welcoming him home.

The image in his brain warps.

“I have something for you,” you say, poking your head into Astarion’s study. You’re careful to hide your body behind the doorframe so Astarion can’t see what you’re holding, but you’re practically vibrating with excitement. It sends a pleasant thrum through his own chest to see you like this.

“Why, do tell, darling, I can hardly stand the suspense.” Astarion hears himself say without really saying it.

This must be another memory, though his muddled mind struggles to place it.

You step through the door frame, holding an ornate vase filled to the brim with flowers.

“You need to liven this room up a little bit,” you tell him, setting the vase on an empty table. You take a moment to rearrange the flowers to your satisfaction and step back to inspect your work with your hands on your hips. “It’s not that much longer until the first frost and it feels a shame for all those pretty flowers out in the garden to go unappreciated.”

The bouquet you’ve made is stunning. Red chrysanthemums, red roses, and red asters surrounded by clumps of tiny little white flowers. Heliotropes, Astarion thinks they’re called.

Astarion is vaguely familiar with the meaning of flowers. In the back of his mind, he can hazily recall his mother telling him their meanings when he was a boy. But he must be misremembering because he’s fairly certain all these flowers you have given him mean love and undying devotion.

“I thought you’d appreciate red. I assume it’s your favorite color, what with the blood and all,” you tease, sounding entirely too proud of yourself for coming up with that little quip.

Of course you weren’t trying to indirectly communicate with him via flowers. It made much more sense that the bouquet was a joke for you to amuse yourself with. It’s still a sweet gesture. Astarion isn’t quite sure why his stomach sinks with disappointment.

“A vampire loving red. You’re very clever,” Astarion says sarcastically, coming to stand beside you and inspect the flowers more closely.

“Wrong answer.” You turn to face him, hands still on your hips and a stern look on your face. It’s cute. “This is the part where you thank your lovely wife for bringing you flowers.”

Astarion huffs, rolling his eyes. He’ll humor you today because you’ve put him in a good mood. Though, he does try to sound as annoyed as possible. “Thank you for the flowers, dearest wife. They are the highlight of my day.”

Deep down, he knows he means every word of what he just said. If anything, you were far more than the highlight of his day. The highlight of his week, of his year, of his life, more likely.

And you do look so very pleased with yourself. Giving in to you was undeniably worth it, then. He adored that little look you got when you felt you had bested him. More and more often, he found himself conceding in your little verbal sparring matches just so he could see that look.

“I have another surprise for you, too, tonight! Plan for a walk in the gardens.” Your voice is so light as you beam at him. His personal ray of sunshine. He wants to keep you like that forever, fill your days with nothing but joy and laughter.

You hum as you slip down the hallway, practically skipping.

Drink, Astarion hears you say, but that doesn’t make sense. You left already.

His head hurts so bad.

Something cold is pressed against his lips. He opens his mouth and tastes the sweet, metallic tang of your blood against his tongue. His brain is too foggy to question what’s going on, so he just revels in your taste, lets it coat his mouth and dance against his taste buds.

He drinks and drinks until there’s nothing left.

It’s not enough. He could never get enough of you.

His eyes flicker open and you’re leaning over him. Something warm presses against his forehead and he recognizes that you must be wiping down his face.

This isn’t a memory, though, the corners of his vision are a bit too crisp. He can feel himself starting to squirm, an attempt to sit up and orient himself.

“Shh,” you reassure him and your soft voice is music to his ears, even if it does sound clouded and distant. “Rest. We’ll have more for you soon.”

—----------

It’s dark in Astarion’s mind. He’s walking down the streets in the city of Baldur’s Gate.

“Where are we going?” The man’s voice behind him calls and he tugs insistently on Astarion’s hand.

Astarion takes the opportunity to spin, pinning the man to the wall. He licks up the man’s neck, biting softly on his earlobe before murmuring in that practiced, seductive voice, “Come now, don’t be impatient. Are you really so desperate for me to fuck you?”

He knows the man is. He was one of the creepy ones that were easy to pick up in a seedy tavern. And Astarion can feel the hard length of the man’s cock pressing into his hip.

“Yes, take me here,” the man says breathlessly, head falling back against the wall.

“Be a good boy for me, wait just a moment longer. I have the perfect spot for us. Then, I can take my time with you,” Astarion purrs, with all the control he can muster. If he could just get him back to the castle quickly enough, he might not actually have to do anything. He might still be able to spare himself that little agony.

Astarion had been through this so many times- he knew exactly what to say, exactly what to do. His whole body felt numb as he continued his way back to Cazador’s palace, his new victim’s hand wandering and groping as they walked. Astarion laughed and pinched him back, even if he hated the feeling of the man’s hands on him.

It was easier this way, if he just let his body act out the part. If he went to that little part of his mind and hid away in there until this was over.

Once he gets the man inside the palace, it’s finished almost immediately.

Cazador makes Astarion watch as he drains the man dry. Makes him stare into those desperate, scared eyes of the man he betrayed. That part doesn’t bother Astarion. But the fact that Cazador enjoys a feast Astarion himself will never get to experience has him nearly going blind with hatred. He soothes himself by imagining he’s prying out Cazador’s fangs.

“Good job, boy. Here’s your dinner,” Cazador hurls a rat at Astarion and he drinks greedily. If he was quick enough about it, he almost couldn’t taste the gamey, bitter blood that barely kept him alive.

The man’s body creates a loud thump when Cazador drops him to the ground.

Only, when he looks again, it’s your bloody face staring back at him. Astarion’s crawling forward to you before he can even think- let Cazador unleash his worst punishments for this transgression. Astarion nearly retches at the sight of your once-beautiful eyes staring open at him, lifeless.

No, no, no- this is all wrong.

Astarion is sobbing and crying, pulling your dead body to his chest, pressing his forehead against yours. Your skin is so cold.

Astarion closes his eyes, focuses on the feeling of your cold skin against his hand.

When he opens them again, you’re in the gardens, shimmering and swimming in the moonlight of his memory.

“Close your eyes,” you tell him.

“What are you going to do to me, you little minx?” He flirts and he can hear you shushing him as he shuts his eyes.

You grab one of his hands and your palm is so warm against the cool night air that stings at his skin like needles. Astarion didn’t like the cold before he was turned and after, it was as if his tolerance to weather was nonexistent.

With your finger intertwined, you lead him, giving gentle instructions on where to step. He practically runs into you when you stop and has to steady himself with his hands on your waist.

“Oof, sorry, should have told you to stop. You can open your eyes now,” you say, but you don’t really sound too sorry. Astarion opens his eyes, but keeps his hands firmly on your waist, pulling you back against him a bit tighter.

In front of him is a new patch of white, star-shaped flowers. They’re pretty, undoubtedly. But Astarion can’t quite figure out their significance or why this surprise had mattered to you so much.

“They’re moonflowers!” You rush to explain. “They bloom at night! And they look like stars so they reminded me of you, little star.”

He can hear the nerves in your voice as you say the last part. Little star. Just like his mother used to call him. For the first time in centuries, he thinks that perhaps he can feel his heart beating in his chest, can feel the pounding pulse reverberating in his head, making him dizzy.

“I asked Gale to help me find them in the woods and then Halsin helped me plant them! I thought you deserved to have something that looked prettier at night than during the day. Something special just for you,” you continue to explain, twisting in his arms so you can study his reaction.

Astarion used his beauty as a shield, as a distraction. Keep it flirty and light and people’s minds become clouded by desire and they give you what you want.

But you watch him, study him. He can feel your shrewd eyes on him, catching every involuntary twitch and movement in his face. He can see you categorizing and sorting them away in your pretty little brain. It’s the first time in many years that he hasn’t minded someone’s gaze upon him.

But it’s endlessly frustrating how you keep poking and prodding at him in an attempt to dig deeper? Why couldn’t you just be distracted by the beauty like everyone else? Why did you make him want things that were impossible?

Astarion is speechless. You had given him these beautiful flowers, a gift just for him. Watching this memory play out before him, he’s forced to remind himself that this was just as real as the memories of Cazador. That despite all the trauma of his life as a spawn, his mind also contained these beautiful moments with you.

His hands drop from your waist as he moves forward to inspect the flowers. It’s amazing to see. Where most flowers would sleep for the night, these large white blossoms are opening up their petals to the full moon, drinking in the silvery light. Astarion misses the sunlight, desperately. He misses the warmth on his skin and the way colors used to look so bright. But the way these little flowers worship the moonlight, Astarion thinks that perhaps a life relegated to the dark might not be so bad. Not if he has you to worship.

He reaches out, feeling the soft petals on one of the flowers. He smells the sweet, floral scent in the air. The smile on your face seems to be wavering the longer he’s silent.

“What do you think? Do you like them?” You ask, nervous.

“I adore them.”

I adore you, he thinks, before he’s able to stop himself.

Astarion quickly snaps off a blossom and faces you.

And that’s not what this feeling is anyway, Astarion tries to reason with himself. He wants to kiss you because that’s what his body is trained to do. To repay. Even if he knows your kindness has no expectations attached to it, Astarion thinks that this desire is a side-effect from centuries of conditioning. Love isn’t possible after what he had experienced.

But then, that doesn’t explain why he wants to kiss you nearly every time he sees you. Or why he spends half his day thinking of silly lines he can say at dinner that will make you smile. Or why he wants to hold you so close to him that your bodies nearly fuse together. Or why he wants to flutter his eyelashes against your skin until you’re laughing and pushing him away.

It’s perverse- the soft, domestic things he wants to do to you.

“Astarion,” he hears your gentle voice coo out, though you’re growing hazy in front of him.

He’s trying to reach out to you, to keep you with him.

He opens his heavy eyes and your worried face is looking down at him. You’re so blurry.

“You need to drink more,” you say softly, and the goblet is being pressed against his lips again, the irresistible taste of your blood in his mouth.

—--------------------------------------

When Astarion wakes again, it’s night. He finds you sitting next to him, alternating between pretending to read a book and staring out the window. The curtains must have been drawn back after the sun went down. Astarion can tell that you’re worried by the little crease in your brow and the way you chew on your lip. He lets himself watch you for a couple moments before he pushes himself up to sit, finally alerting you that he’s awake.

“Here, drink.” You’re rushing a goblet to his mouth immediately and this time, he’s able to take the cup from your hands and actually raise it to his own mouth with minimal shakiness. He tilts the cup back, throat still burning with hunger as he swallows thick mouthfuls of your blood.

“You’re looking better. You’ve been pretty out of it for a while,” you say, taking the cup from him and sitting on the bed beside him.

You reach out to brush a curl away from his forehead and Astarion doesn’t miss the slight shake of your hands or how ashen your skin looks.

How much blood have you given to him? Astarion makes a mental note to ask Shadowheart to make you a special tea to help deal with any nasty side-effects of blood loss.

“What happened?” He asks, trying to piece together how long he had been unconscious.

You frown. Astarion hates when he makes you frown.

“You were staked. Not through the heart, thank the gods, but you lost so much blood. Shadowheart called it blood madness. She said that your body was returning to death,” you explain.

Blood madness. Everything starts to make sense. The weird visions and memories. Falling in and out of consciousness as his undead body struggled to stay reanimated with so little blood in his system.

Astarion’s shocked when you let out a laugh- a hysteric, sorrowful thing that sounds all wrong coming from you. “You know, it’s funny. I don’t know why I thought vampires would have less blood. But you bled so much.”

“You gave me your blood,” he says and you nod in confirmation.

“Shadowheart knew some way to drain it from my arm. It was… pretty gross.” You wrinkle your nose so sweetly and Astarion is struck by the desire to reach out and feel the way your skin creases with his thumb. “I passed out the first time she tried. We had to do it a few times so that you’d always have something to drink if you woke up.”

Your hands are folded in your lap and Astarion reaches out to cover them with one of his own. “Thank you.”

“I wasn’t going to let you die,” you scoff.

“I’m not that easy to kill, pet, but I appreciate the sentiment.” Astarion shoots you a wry grin that has you rolling your eyes before he turns serious again, giving your hands a little squeeze. “I know that your life would be easier without me. So, thank you. This was a gift. I won’t forget that.”

Your eyes are a bit teary when you look up from where his hand rests over yours in your lap and you say with a watery smile, “We’re just lucky they didn’t get you through the heart.”

You lean forward and pull Astarion into an embrace, your arms circling tightly around his torso. He grimaces, letting out an involuntary grunt of pain at the sharp throbbing in his abdomen where you had brushed against his wound. His body must still be starving for blood if his wound wasn’t healing at its normal vampiric rate.

“Oh, sorry, sorry,” you rush to apologize, drawing away from him.

“S’okay, little flower, just be gentle with me,” Astarion reassures, pulling you back against him. Your arms circle around him again and you’re careful to not put any pressure on his wound.

He’s shocked for a moment at how warm your body feels against his. Slowly, he lets one of his own arms wrap around you, tucking you tighter into his side and resting his cheek against the softness of your hair.

Astarion could live without the warmth of the sun forever, so long as he has this- his own, personal sunlight.

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” you say, so quietly that Astarion is sure he has mistaken your words.

You pull away too soon. Though, if it were up to him, he would hold you in his arms forever.

—-----------

You sit with Astarion and read to him while he continues to regain his strength. His wound heals quicker and quicker the more blood he gets back into his system. By the middle of the night, you finally allow him to get up out of bed and move around.

He pities any patient that would have you as a nurse. The power went straight to your head. You were far too bossy- yelling at him not to move every time he tried to get comfortable and forcing him to drink some disgusting tea Shadowheart had made to help him heal.

But Astarion won’t lie, it’s nice to have you fussing over him.

And now that you have finally deemed him safe to take a bath, he shooes you out of the room, sending you off to eat what he is sure is your first meal in days.

He calls for Gale, who arrives with a flurry of other servants and water a few minutes later. The other servants leave the room after dropping off the water, but Gale stays. He doesn’t need to- they both know that overseeing a bath is beneath his status. But Astarion thinks Gale’s probably sticking around because you asked him to.

When Astarion peels off the bandage on his abdomen, he finds that the wound has already closed and his skin is an angry red.

“You always did have a flair for the dramatic, didn’t you?” Gale jokes. Astarion knows this really means ‘glad you came back alive, you really scared us all.’

“You can’t even go on one measly trip to Emerald Grove without me or you come back half dead.” Gale pauses for a moment, to laugh at his own words. “Or, more dead than usual.”

This is the sort of light mockery that served as the basis of their friendship. Only, Gale’s wrong that he could have been of any help when the Gur attacked.

Astarion had a… complicated history with the Gur that had started with a number of key rulings against them during his days as a magistrate. He still didn’t think that warranted beating him to the brink of death in a dark alley, though, so the distaste was mutual. Add to that, the fact that Cazador had ordered Astarion to kidnap a large number of Gur children at one point and that Astarion is now a thriving and powerful member of nobility again and well, the Gur certainly weren’t pleased.

And there were just so many of them during the ambush.

Karlach is a masterful fighter and Astarion certainly knows how to hold his own and is quick enough to dodge most blows, but it had been a losing battle from the start. They never had a chance. Not when all the Gur seemed to have their eyes trained on Astarion. Not when they all had stakes and seemed content to die so long as they attempted to land a killing blow to him.

Perhaps if Lae’zel or Wyll had been there, it might have made a difference, but they were off searching another spot. Gale would have just gotten in the way and likely found himself killed in the crossfire. He always did seem to have a knack for getting himself injured in the stupidest of ways back when Astarion had first hired everyone in Baldur’s Gate.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Gale.” Astarion says, instead, rolling his eyes as he steps into the bath. The warm water feels glorious against his skin, his internal temperature still a mess from the blood madness. “The only thing you could have done was bore the Gur to death by talking in Latin.”

“I’ll remember you said that the next time you need me to translate something,” Gale narrows his eyes, moving a pitcher of water over the fire to warm it, knowing that the cold radiating from Astarion’s body will seep into the bath water all too quickly.

“And you’ll translate it anyway because you can’t resist showing off to everyone about how smart you are.”

They settle into silence after that. Gale continues to tend to the fire and Astarion begins washing himself with a bar of soap.

“Lady Ancunin was really worried about you,” Gale says, completely changing the subject. It causes Astarion to pause for a moment, the bar of soap slipping out of his hands into the water. Gale pretends he doesn’t notice as Astarion scrambles to catch the slippery thing at the bottom of the tub. “She spent the whole time you were gone pacing like some sort of caged animal. And when you were injured, Shadowheart had to practically chain her to the bed to get her to sleep.”

Gale laughs a bit, but Astarion doesn’t find it amusing. He hates himself for causing you distress.

“You didn’t tell her anything, did you?” Astarion asks, suspicious of why Gale would bring you up.

“Ye of so little faith,” Gale feigns offense.

“Perhaps I just know how much you like to talk.”

“Careful, Astarion, or I might think you’re being mean.” Gale says with a tone of warning. They’ve known each other for years now. They know each other’s tells. And they both know that Astarion can grow volatile and catty when he’s defensive.

“But no, my lips are sealed.” Gale makes a motion like he’s zipping up his lips and throwing away a key. “None of us have said anything about…” he trails off, dropping his voice to a loud whisper, “C-a-z-a-d-o-r or R-a-p-h-”

“I’m being serious, Gale,” Astarion interrupts. “And she knows how to spell, idiot, so that was a useless code.”

Gale laughs, pouring the final pitcher of warmed water into the tub and dumping the last bit directly over Astarion’s head. Astarion couldn’t be too mad because his hair was a mess from his days of bedrest and definitely needs to be washed, but it’s about the principle of the thing.

Astarion pushes the wet hair out of his eyes and glares at Gale, who looks entirely too pleased with himself. They’re silent again for a few minutes as Gale starts tidying up and Astarion washes his hair.

“She’s a smart one, your wife.” Gale says, always trusted to break the silence. “And loves to read. Might be a big help doing research if we just give her an idea of what we’re looking for.”

Your wife.

It has that jealous, possessive part burning within him. Yes, he thinks, she is mine- and it’d serve you right to remember that.

But he doesn’t like the rest of what Gale’s saying, hates the idea of involving you in the plot that he’s been so careful to keep you out of. At first, he had been so secretive because he didn’t trust you. But now…

“That’s a slippery slope.” Astarion says, trying to keep his tone careful and not betray the panic that he feels rising in him at the idea. “First, we let her read a few books and then she’ll start getting ideas about coming with us on trips.”

And then she’ll be hurt and I won’t be able to live with myself, Astarion thinks.

He sighs, “And then it’s only a matter of time before someone mentions Cazador. And you know how she is when she gets something in her head. She’ll torture us all with questions until someone breaks.”

And Astarion knows there is no way you will ever love or respect him if you know who he truly is. No, it was best for you to only know him as the man he is now- not the weak, worthless spawn he once was.

“You’re just as stubborn as she is,” Gale responds.

It makes his heart beam with pride to be compared to you, even if Gale did mean it as an insult.

Astarion steps out of the tub and dries off, pulling on the clothes that had been set out for him- white shirt and comfortable trousers. His fingers run comfortingly along the words embroidered on the hem of the shirt before he tucks it in. His secret poem, his constant reminder.

“Thank you, Gale,” Astarion says, dismissing him.

“I’ll let her know you’re finished,” Gale nods in acknowledgement as he leaves the room.

It’s like he can smell you as you come down the hallway. Gods, how could he possibly want you more now that he’s tasted your blood. It’s pathetic.

When you knock at the door, Astarion can hear your heart beating so fast, like a little bird.

“How was your dinner, darling?” He asks, opening the door and leaning against the doorframe. “Devastatingly dull without my company, I assume.”

You completely ignore his teasing, which has Astarion worried immediately. You never passed up the opportunity for a good battle of wits. Instead, you brush past him into the room, wringing your hands together nervously.

“What’s wrong, little flower?”

“You’re doing better now, but you still need blood. You can drink from me, if you need,” you offer, words coming out in a rush.

It’s everything he ever dreamed of- here you stand, offering yourself up to him. And he does need blood.

He’s practically tripping over himself to accept. Only a fool would say no.

“How do you want me?” you ask and it’s sweet how nervous you are underneath your poor attempt at a calm, unbothered demeanor.

“In every way imaginable, darling. But let’s start on the bed.” Astarion says, shamelessly. He can hear your heart quicken at the words, how the breath gets caught in your throat. This is exactly why he loves teasing you- the involuntary reactions you always have that let him know his flirting is working, your unconscious admission that he has at least some effect over you.

Astarion reaches out for your hand gently and leads you over to his bed, sitting on the edge of it and patting the spot next to him. “Come on, pet, I don’t bite. Not until you ask nicely.”

“Oh, you were serious about the bed,” you say, looking at him with nervous, wide eyes.

“In case you get lightheaded. I don’t want you to hurt yourself if you pass out again,” he explains, reassuring you with a light smile.

Astarion guides you down so you’re resting comfortably against a pillow. Selfishly, he’d really rather have this experience be a pleasurable one for you so you’re more likely to let him do this again.

“And it saves us time when you’re unable to resist me after this and demand I ravish you,” he adds when you’ve finally settled next to him on the bed because he can never pass up the opportunity to tease you. The playful elbow you ‘accidentally’ poke into his stomach has him laughing.

His lips are almost on your neck when he hears your voice, barely a whisper, “Will it hurt?”

“Just for a moment, like you’re pricking your finger on a thorn.” Astarion runs the back of his fingers against the soft skin of your neck, soothingly. “Then it won’t feel like much of anything.”

You nod, but he still feels you moving restlessly. Frankly, it’s a bit distracting to have you rubbing against him like that when his pelvis is pressed so snugly against your skirts.

“Relax,” he breathes, as he gently moves your hair away from your neck.

Astarion takes a moment to savor the smell of your blood rushing through your veins, to feel your pulse fluttering so sweetly underneath your skin before he sinks his teeth in.

The little whimper you let out at his bite has lightning running through his veins straight to his cock. Astarion had seen every sort of depraved, erotic display a person could imagine- had participated, even. Had he really fallen so far from his former grace that just a breathy little sound from you had him half-hard?

You taste just as good as he can remember, perhaps even better, because this time he’s fully conscious and can fully appreciate the rich, savory flavor of your blood. He could buy every expensive wine in the world and he would still be chasing after your full-bodied tang.

Your head falls back against his own and your hand moves up behind you to curl in his hair, pulling him closer. He feels you shiver with delight, feels the gentle thud of your heartbeat ringing in his own ears. He drinks as slowly as he can manage in his half-feral state- he wants this to last, wants to drag this out as long as he can since he’s unsure when you’ll allow this again.

Tearing himself away from you is perhaps the hardest thing he’s ever done in his life.

He preens at the little puncture marks on your neck.

Mine, he thinks.

He leans down to lick up the drops of blood forming on the surface of the wounds and the gasp you let out has him nearly out of his mind with how badly he wants to fuck you, just to see what other pretty little sounds he could conjure up from you.

“That’s enough for tonight, I think,” he says, pressing a gentle kiss next to the mark on your neck. He turns so he can shuffle around on his nightstand and find one of the bandages Shadowheart had left for his own wound, pressing the cloth carefully against your skin.

You settle your head back against his chest and let out a hum of thanks. Astarion gives himself this moment, lets himself pull you closer and begin carding his fingers through your hair.

Oh, the heavens must have blessed him tonight, indeed, because you let out one more content little sigh as your heavy eyes fall closed. Astarion knows you haven’t slept soundly in days, that the last time you slept longer than a couple hours was probably before he left.

But, Astarion is also sure that you don’t want to spend the night in his bed, so when your breaths become even and your heartbeat slows, he wraps you in his arms and carries you softly back to your own room. You stir a bit as he pulls the blankets up around you, eyes dreamy and unfocused as you pull Astarion down to press a kiss to his cheek.

Thank gods your eyes have fallen shut again because Astarion is sure his face is bright red. In his own room, his hand immediately moves to hold his cheek, as if that will somehow allow him to revive the sensation of your warm lips against his skin.

Astarion practically crawls on his hands and knees to your room the next night, unable to stay away. From you? Your blood? Both? He doesn’t think about it too hard. All he knows is that he asks and you offer up your neck to him so sweetly that he wants to cut himself open for you and let you dig around inside his chest.

He comes begging to you the next night and the next night and the next. Had he lost all sense of humility? And did he really even care how weak and foolish he was acting right now?

Every night, he allows himself to press his lips against your throat in a parting kiss. He allows himself to hold you against him as you fall asleep before he carries you back to your room.

Until one night, your hand clutches behind you blindly, reaching out for any part of him you can catch onto. He thinks you’re going to yell at him, chastise him for taking too much blood, tell him never to come back to your room. But instead, you call out for him to stay.

Astarion is given a new gift that night as you turn around to curl against him, tucking your head underneath his chin and moving one of your arms to wrap around his torso. Your breath is soft against his collarbones and the two of you are so wrapped up in one that Astarion can hardly fathom how he was able to rest before this.

It starts to become a sweet little ritual. You, reading aloud to Astarion as he fights to pay attention and not be distracted by how lovely your voice is. You, pressing against him, sweeping your hair to the side and offering up your throat in sacrifice. Him, worshiping at the altar of your neck. The safety of holding you, or being held by you, as you sleep.

Astarion is pleasantly surprised one night when he’s wrapped around you, pressing soft kisses near his bite mark after he’s fed, when one of your hands comes up to curl around his own and guide him nervously under your chemise.

Astarion hesitates.

He’s more than a bit worried about how present you really are, worried that your mind has gone fuzzy from a lack of blood. He shifts a bit, so he’s able to see your face, able to see the way your eyes are boring into his with a desperation that’s so uncharacteristic of you.

You, his sharp, guarded little heart, who always pretends to be so strong. You, his little wife who hardly ever asks for anything. And here you are, presenting yourself to him like a feast.

And Astarion wants this, he thinks. For the first time in a long time, he wants something sweet and innocent, a moment that belongs just to him. He aches to make you feel good. Perhaps in part to repay you for the blood, but mostly because you’ve made him feel so impossibly happy these past few weeks. He hopes that this will make you become as dependent on him as he is on you. Then, you would never dream of leaving him.

He lets his fingers trace against the warm, smooth skin of your inner thigh and feels you shiver against him.

It had been so long since Astarion had felt this desire to discover someone else, since he had felt genuine curiosity at the reactions of his partner. And right now, he can’t seem to tear his gaze away from your face as he lets his hand press feather light, teasing touches right next to where you need him most.

A cruel part of his mind almost wants him to make you beg for it, to make you pay for all the times he’s so willingly fallen at your feet in submission.

“I had no idea you needed me this badly, pet. You’re so wet you’re practically dripping,” the voice that comes out of Astarion is breathless and full of astonishment, so far away from the low, seductive tone he had mastered long ago.

“Astarion,” you whimper and he feels your hips shifting slightly towards him, chasing after more. The way his name sounds falling from your lips has him wondering if it’s possible to die twice.

“In time, little flower,” he shushes you, the pads of his fingers ghosting over the thatch of hair covering your pubic mound. “I intend on drawing this out as long as I can. You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.”

He feels a bit of pride that he will get to make this an exquisite experience for you. Not like the first time he was touched, fumbling around in a back alleyway with another young lord.

Astarion finally dips his hand so that his fingers can stroke your inner folds, watching intently how your eyes flutter closed as you lose yourself in the sensation.

Astarion knows bodies- knows their signs, knows their cues, knows how to play them like a maestro.

But, this is you. This matters.

This is about taking his time, about learning you better than you know yourself. About watching each little gasp and every little muscle that moves in your face, carefully saving them all away to replay in his brain forever.

For a while, Astarion works with no real purpose. He’s careful to keep his hands away from your clit, which he knows is aching to be touched. Instead, he spends his time learning the folds of your cunt, cherishing the warm, velvety soft skin that just begs him to come inside.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” He croons, desperately trying to distract himself from the blood rushing to his own cock. This was meant to be about you, damn it, not him.

He accentuates that point by finally, mercifully swirling his thumb in teasing circles around your clit, feasting on the way that your mouth falls open in pleasure.

He’s finally rendered you speechless, it seems. For once, you don’t have a snarky rebuttal or quick little jab.

No, Astarion is graced with something far better when a shivery little moan escapes you as one of his fingers presses into you. He feels his own mouth water as the soft, wet heat urges him deeper.

Astarion is filled to the brim with lines that he used to make his lovers sing, but somehow, none of those seem enough. All too rehearsed, too empty for the depth of the longing he feels for you. His brain is growing empty as his finger continues to move in and out of you at a torturously slow pace. He feels your own hips moving against his hand, trying to quicken the motion.

“Uh uh, pet,” he chides, impressed with himself that anything other than incoherent praises are managing to tumble their way out of his mouth right now. “You’ll take what I give you and nothing more.”

It’s easier, trying to revert back into that self-assured, confident persona to regain some semblance of control over the situation, so sure is he that he’s about to lose himself in how velvety soft and sticky sweet your cunt feels against his hand.

He can only imagine how it would feel to be wrapped inside you. It would probably take every shred of his concentration to last more than a few shallow thrusts. Gods forbid if you clenched your cunt around him, he might just ascend to the heavens.

He sees you nod, catches how your hands claw desperately at the sheets as you try to still your hips. He feels the growing need to grind his own hips against something- to feed that aching, burning desire pooling low in his stomach.

“Astarion, please.”

And oh, how pretty you beg.

It’s far better than anything Astarion could have conjured up in the dark recesses of his mind. He considers dragging this out for hours- forcing you to beg over and over and over for him.

But he’s too needy right now, so instead, he leans down to lick a stripe up your throat, savoring the twin droplets of freshly congealed blood that he picks up before he practically groans in your ear, “Tell me what you need, my love.”

Oh. Evidently you liked that based on the fresh surge of wetness that pools around his hand. He’s not sure whether it’s the endearment or the soft command that affected you so, but he’ll have to experiment with that again in the future.

“More,” you whine out, one of your hands brushing softly against his jaw before you reach up to curl your fingers in his hair and press his forehead against your own. Your eyes are screwed shut and he can feel your sharp pants of breath on his lips.

He almost thinks about making you answer- more what? But he’s not sure you’re capable of stringing together more than a couple words at the moment and truthfully, he knows exactly what you need.

“I know, little love,” Astarion says, slipping another finger in and letting them curl against your soft walls. Your hand tightens almost painfully in his hair at the added sensation. He gives you a moment to adjust before his thumb is moving against your clit again.

“Oh, gods, Astarion. So good… so, so good,” you cry out.

He feels the soft insides of your cunt fluttering against his fingers. He hears the sharp intake of your breath, your heartbeat erratic as you orgasm. He continues, riding you through the high and working his fingers against you until you’re shaking against him.

It’s then that he finally grants himself release, finally allows himself to lean down and press his lips to yours.

It’s just a kiss, but it feels like so much more.

Astarion has kissed many, many people. But fuck… it felt like a disservice to call this just another kiss. Not with how slowly and sweetly your lips slide against his own. Not when you release a happy little sigh into his mouth.

Astarion feels the warmth in his chest, surrounding his unbeating heart.

When he pulls away, the sight of you underneath him is breathtaking. Your hair is fanned out against the pillows, pupils blown dark and wide, skin flushed with exertion, the bite on your neck that marks you as his.

He’d do this forever, until his hand went numb from overuse if it meant you would keep looking up at him with those warm, gooey eyes that feel like sunshine against his skin.

Astarion pulls your chemise back down from where it’s bunched up around your hips and shifts to pull your head down against his chest. His fingers card softly through your hair as he whispers how proud he is of you, how good you did for him, how you listened so well, little flower.

Your soft, even breaths as you fall asleep and the relaxing, repetitive motion of running his fingers through your hair help to soothe the burning desire he feels within himself. It was easy to ignore his own needs, after all. He was used to that.

But he can’t help thinking that if this is what the rest of his days are like, an eternity seems too short.

————

The next day is totally normal. As if the world hasn’t undergone some massive shift that has knocked Astarion’s center of gravity completely off balance.

It’s not until you’re getting ready for bed that you bring it up, when Astarion finds you nervously pacing the length of his bedroom.

“Last night…” you start, but trail off. Astarion knows what you are going to say- last night was a mistake, it should never happen again. He’s completely taken by surprise when instead you say, “I liked when you kissed me.”

“Oh, you liked that, did you, pet?” He purrs, confidence now firmly back intact since you had reassured him. “Can I do it again?”

You nod so eagerly. Astarion lets his hand come up to cup your face and tilt it up to him. Slowly, with all the restraint he can manage (he’s barely holding on by a thread), he lets his lips press against yours.

Like last night, it’s slow and sweet how your lips slide against one another’s. One of his arms comes to wrap around your waist, to pull you closer.

The longer you kiss, the braver you grow. But what else did he really expect from you, his wild wife? You run your tongue along the seam of his lips and Astarion opens his mouth, welcomes your tongue as you explore.

Astarion nibbles on your bottom lip, letting one of his fangs scratch the delicate skin inside. He feels the warm rush of blood and sucks your lip into his mouth to drink from the little cut. An appetizer for the meal yet to come.

You bite his lower lip in retaliation and Astarion groans, pulling away from your lips so he can press kisses along your jaw as he makes his way to your neck. The familiar wounds have only just begun to heal from yesterday. Astarion sucks at your skin, pulling the blood up to the surface. Then he bites.

He’s rewarded both by the rush of blood into his mouth and the pretty sigh you let out as you wrap your arms around his neck, beckoning him impossibly closer.

He will never tire of this- of the taste of you in his mouth and the way you writhe against him. He will want this forever, drinking and pleasure and whatever else you bless him with. He will want this for as long as you’re willing to indulge him.

Astarion is sure to keep a steady arm around your waist in case you get dizzy. But all too soon, you pull him up from your neck and crash your lips onto his again, your tongue licking into his mouth. He’s shocked because he knows the metallic taste of blood must still be heavy in his mouth, but based on the way your tongue slides against his, you don’t seem to mind it at all. If anything, you rather seem to enjoy it.

Astarion presses one last soft, slow kiss to your lips before he breaks apart from you, resting his forehead against yours. Your fingers play with the short curls at the nape of his neck.

“You’re really good at that,” you say. Astarion panics a bit about what you mean but your voice is sweet and relaxed.

“So are you, little flower,” he says, nudging your nose gently with his own. You giggle at that.

“It’s like dancing,” you respond, “Anyone is a good dancer if they have the right partner.”

“Is that so?” Astarion starts to sway and you move with him, feet taking small steps as the two of you dance in a little circle. “If I recall, you were an exceptional dancer. Other than when you stumbled over your feet when you first saw me.��

Astarion was chasing after the exact reaction you give- a little indignified huff as you pull away a bit to narrow your eyes at him.

“Don’t be upset, darling. You’re hardly the first person to trip when they saw me. And you certainly won’t be the last,” Astarion jokingly reassures.

You stop moving and purposefully stick one of your feet out so that Astarion stumbles a bit over it.

“Oops.” You look up at him all innocent, but you’ve got that dangerous little gleam in your eye that means trouble.

“Cheeky little pup,” he says, shooting you a wicked grin, and you look so proud of yourself.

“Lay with me?” You ask, tugging on his hands to pull him toward the bed.

And how could Astarion ever refuse you?

He gladly welcomes the few sweet, sleepy kisses you give him as you cuddle together.

“Goodnight,” you murmur against his lips.

“Goodnight, little flower. I lo-,” Astarion cuts the words off, clearing his throat to cover what he was about to say. You give him a curious look, but lay your head back down against his chest.

Had he almost told you that he loved you?

No, that was ridiculous. He doesn’t love you- it had just been such a long time since he had kissed someone he actually wanted to. It had been so long since kissing was an enjoyable enough experience to be able to stay in his body.

Even after Cazador, when Astarion had thrown himself headfirst into all sorts of debauchery as a way of proving his bodily autonomy to himself, it all felt wrong.

And this didn’t- this felt right. Wires were just getting crossed in his brain, that’s all. He’s pushing heavier emotions onto you because you’re the first person he’s felt comfortable with in centuries.

He feels satisfied with that explanation so he lets himself relax and close his eyes.

—---------

Astarion likes how your nightly routine has shifted and evolved. You still read and talk before he drinks from you. But now, afterward, you kiss him until he’s dizzy. And some nights, his hand will slip down under your chemise or he’ll bunch the gown up around your hips and settle himself between your thighs to eat you out like a man starved.

It’s strange. Astarion can’t remember the last time he was excited about sex. But now, he takes such great pride in how easily your body responds to his touch, at how he’s able to make you sing and writhe with pleasure. He’s never felt so clear headed.

And when your own hands begin to wander lower down Astarion’s body, he dutifully redirects them. He’s too worried about what might happen if you do touch him- worried that he might slip away to that little part of his mind and begin moving on autopilot, worried that he wouldn’t even be able to enjoy how wonderful you felt.

And gods, you deserve nothing less than his full, undivided attention.

Astarion could smell your arousal tonight, could feel the way you shift your hips up to meet his own. He’s more than happy to oblige.

“Can I?” He asks, sliding your nightgown past your waist, moving to pull it off you. He watches you hesitate for a minute, hears your heart racing nervously.

He’s always fascinated by how certain aspects of intimacy make you shy. It had been so long since he had blushed about anything. He was so used to his body being on display.

He waits for you to decide, moving to pepper soft kisses across your jawline and reassure you, “You’re so pretty, darling. The sun and stars themselves bow to your beauty.”

He feels you shiver a bit at his words- you always were so wonderfully responsive to praise- and slowly, your own hand moves down to help him drag the soft fabric higher up your chest and over your arms.

The only thing remaining on your body is the necklace chain with your wedding ring. It sits so beautifully against your bare chest.

Possessiveness flares within Astarion at the sight. If it were up to him, he’d keep you bare like this forever- covered in only your wedding ring and his bite marks.

Let the world know you belong to him.

Astarion’s finger draws a line along your breastbone and he slips the ring over the tip of his finger, using the chain as leverage to pull you closer for another heated kiss. One of your hands tangles in his hair and he feels his groan reverberating in his chest when your nails scratch lightly against his scalp.

“Trying to show off your claws, my love?” Astarion purrs. He reaches up to gently disentangle your fingers from his hair. Lacing them between his own, he pins your hand to the bed.

He grabs your other hand from where it had been working to untuck his shirt and pins that one down, as well. You let out a wonderful little moan. He chuckles darkly, “You should know it’s dangerous to tease a vampire. You might get bitten.”

“I seem to get bitten plenty even when I don’t scratch,” you tease back breathlessly. Astarion nips playfully at the column of your throat in retaliation.

“And yet, you keep coming back for more,” Astarion speaks against your skin. He presses a kiss over the bite mark he left the previous night, “But you’ll have to wait. I have something else I want to taste first.”

Astarion releases his hold on your hand so he can drag one of his hands down to trace his fingertips in teasing patterns over your slick folds. He presses gently into your cunt to collect some of your wetness on his fingers before he pulls his hand away.

You huff out a frustrated breath that has Astarion chuckling. You always had to make your opinion known- his sweet, stubborn wife.

Astarion brings his hand back up to his mouth, his eyes falling shut as he sucks his fingers into his mouth to taste you. He moans, “How do you always taste so much sweeter than I remember?”

He’s done these actions so many times before as part of some performance. But it never felt rehearsed with you. Everything just seemed to flow so naturally.

You’re looking up at him with wide, loving eyes that nearly pull the breath from his lungs. For a moment, you both just stare at each other, a bit stunned, before Astarion feels your warm palm against his stomach. Your gentle hands nearly burn where they press against his skin, pushing his own shirt higher up his torso.

He’s hesitant to take it off, to let you see the poem Cazador had carved into his back. He knows you- knows you’ll have questions that he doesn’t want to answer.

“It’s only fair,” you pout and yep, he’s a goner. He’ll just have to be careful about how he angles himself so you can’t see his back. He pulls the shirt off and throws it blindly behind him as he soaks in your victorious little grin.

Astarion is used to his body inspiring awe in people. And yet, when you gaze upon him, it feels as if he is being worshiped by the sun, herself.

It’s too intense, the ache nestled deep in his chest feels too much like love. A nervous little shiver runs up his spine that he tries to hide.

“You can touch, darling, I won’t break. And I certainly plan to touch you,” he says, leaning down to press a slow kiss to your lips.

If he could just get you distracted, he could tamper down that little part of his brain screaming out to him that he should whisper those three little words against your skin and watch the radiant smile that would light up your face.

You whimper, but your soft, warm hands descend upon him almost immediately, fingers tracing along the lines of his collarbones and feeling the sinewy muscles in his chest. It feels divine. Astarion could lose himself in this forever. The little voice screaming at him from the back of his mind is soothed and placated by your gentle, wandering hands.

When one of your hands starts to move its way over his shoulder, getting uncomfortably close to his scars, Astarion distracts you by nipping at your neck. Your hands give up their search immediately, content to hold on to his biceps as he sucks and kisses at your skin.

Astarion continues to trail kisses along the column of your throat, stopping for a moment to enjoy the beautiful scent that sticks so heavy to your skin before he continues downward.

Your nipples have hardened from the cool night air and Astarion ghosts his finger on the underside of your breast, watching the goosebumps rise on your skin. He had forgotten how living skin was able to do that.

Fascinated, he squeezes your breast, feeling the soft, warm weight in his hand.

“Astarion, stop teasing,” you whine. He can feel your hips grinding subtly against his own.

“You like when I tease,” he smirks, faintly tracing a circle around your nipple before he gives it a pinch. “And I’m not teasing right now, I’m appreciating. It’s completely different.”

Astarion is sure to provide your other breast with equal appreciation, so dedicated to balance is he.

And as he appreciates you, he’s fed with the most salacious little noises. Your hands claw desperately against his skin, looking for purchase. The soft sting of your nails has his own cock aching.

Astarion adjusts slightly before he rolls his hips against you. You gasp, head sinking even further into the pillow. The curve of your throat, decorated with his bite and little love marks has something akin to pride blooming in his chest. He moves his hips again and this time, you move your own to meet his.

He grinds his hips against yours, the fabric of his pants growing damp where it rubs against your wet cunt. It makes the fabric cling impossibly closer to his own cock. He has to stop himself before he makes a total mess of his pants by coming inside them.

You pout when he stops moving, but that quickly disappears as he presses kisses along your chest. His journey continues lower- he’s still hungry tonight.

With each gentle kiss along your sternum, he can feel your stomach muscles tightening with anticipation. He takes his time, savoring how you squirm beneath. When he finally reaches his destination at the juncture of your thighs, he nudges your legs further apart to frame his shoulders.

How was Astarion expected to find roses beautiful after this? Not after he had feasted on the nectar of the beautiful flower that resided between your thighs.

“Oh, look how desperately you need me,” he says, astonished.

Astarion is always amazed with the things you let him get away with saying when you’re spread open before him. You do try to make a noise of protest, but that quickly dies in your throat when Astarion leans forward to lick a flat stripe against your cunt.

It’s an act of reverence as he licks and sucks at your soft folds, an act of devotion when he dips his tongue inside to taste you, an act of veneration when his tongue rolls over your clit. He can feel your little tremors and he’s studied your body so intently that he recognizes the signals of your impending climax and pulls away.

“I was so close, Astarion,” you whine out his name so pitifully, the fingers that have curled in his hair attempting to push his face back towards your cunt.

“In time, beloved,” he runs his nose along the inside of your thigh, smells the blood rushing underneath your skin, “I just need a taste.”

You recognize that he’s asking for permission, smart little thing that you are, and you’re nodding your head so fast and eagerly that it nearly falls right off. “Gods, yes. Yes, please.”

You open up your leg a bit so Astarion has easier access to your thigh. As had become his new habit, he presses a soft kiss to the skin of your inner thigh before his teeth sink in.

It should be a sin how sweetly your blood mixes with the taste of your cunt in his mouth. A concoction made by the devil himself to personally drive Astarion insane. How is he supposed to sustain himself on anything other than this? How is he ever supposed to drink the blood of another when he has tasted the gods’ ambrosia?

When he’s had his fill (it will never be enough), he moves his mouth back to your center, lets his tongue dip and lick and suck. He presses a finger into you and curls in in the way that always makes you let out a pretty sigh.

The room is filled with the wet sounds of him feasting on your cunt and all your sweet, delicious noises. Astarion’s chest blooms with an unfamiliar warmth.

He insists on pulling at least three orgasms from you before he relents, pressing a kiss to your hip bone before he’s moving back up your body.

“You’re so sweet, little flower. Would you like a taste?” Astarion asks and you’re surging up to kiss him, tongue sliding hungrily against his.

He feels your hand trailing down his stomach, moving closer and closer to where he desperately needs you to touch him. His brain is almost short circuiting.

He goes to move your hand away, as usual, but you’re insistent tonight, evading his grasp as you play with the waistband of his trousers.

“What are you doing, my love?” He asks when your hand dips even lower, tracing along the outline of where his erection strains against the fabric of his pants.

“Show me,” you tell him, eyes boring pleadingly into his. “Tell me what to do. I want to make you feel good, too.”

Oh, how is he supposed to resist you when you look at him with those warm, loving eyes?

Astarion’s not even sure anymore why he had been resisting your advances so ardently. He deserves to feel good, he deserves to feel loved. And how could he possibly slip into the darkness of his mind when there’s this electricity running through his veins?

“Okay,” he agrees, moving so the two of you are laying side by side. He manages to pull his pants down and kick them off his legs while still looking moderately graceful.

You start with innocent, feather light touches that have him almost in agony before you wrap your hand around him and move slowly along his shaft.

“Tighter,” he instructs you, bringing his own hand down to guide you, to help you adjust your grip and show you how to move up and down a bit faster. He can’t help but think about how tight and hot your cunt would feel wrapped around him.

Tracing his thumb across his tip, Astarion collects some of his precome and spreads it along his length as lubricant. Your fingers chase after his own, eager to learn, and dance over the head of his cock. His whole body nearly jolts in response.

Astarion’s trying to watch your face, studying how your own curious eyes dart down to glance at his cock and how you bite your lip so sinfully. But your hand moving against him feels so good and it’s been so long and it’s all just getting to be too much.

“Tell me how it feels,” you murmur, shifting to kiss and suck at his neck while your hand continues to move.

Astarion wonders if you’ve noticed that he was starting to lose himself. He’s eternally grateful to you for helping to anchor him back to reality.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Astarion calms his mind, focusing on how your soft hand is moving against his cock and he manages to choke out, “Warm… your hands are so warm… and so soft.”

And oh, you start twisting your hand a bit toward his tip and that has Astarion’s hips rocking into your hand involuntarily.

“That’s- so close. Fuck… Feels so good. So…” Astarion groans as he trails off.

He faintly feels you smile against his skin before your teeth are sinking lightly into the base of his neck. It feels unbelievable- the gentle sting only serves to amplify the pleasure. He completely understands why you’re always so eager for him to bite you.

He comes hard, spilling over your hand and the soft skin of your stomach.

You keep moving your hand against him, his cock pulsing in your hand, until the sensation starts to hurt a bit and Astarion’s steering your hand away from him.

“You did so good for me,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to the side of his mouth.

It’s so sweet to have you whisper the words back to him that he always tells you after he’s brought you to ruin.

“You’re so handsome,” you continue, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. “Always so patient with me,” you press another kiss to the spot between his eyebrows. “My wonderful husband.” A final kiss on his forehead.

There’s that lovely, fluttering warmth surrounding his heart again at your words. Astarion catches your chin and guides your lips to his own for one last slow, sweet kiss. You let out a content little sigh into his mouth.

But Astarion feels sticky where his come is drying uncomfortably against his own skin, so he can only imagine how you feel.

“Let me clean you up,” Astarion says, pushing some strands of your loose hair behind your ear.

He detangles himself from your arms and you eventually let him go after trying unsuccessfully to pull him back into bed a couple times. Your actions have Astarion smiling with a goofy grin, happy that you seem to crave his embrace as much as he craves you.

After wetting a cloth at the wash pitcher and basin, he comes back to the bed, where you have spread yourself out in his absence.

“And where am I supposed to sleep, little flower?” He teases.

“In a coffin, probably,” you giggle and Astarion snorts out a little laugh at your stupid joke. You kick playfully at him when he tries to sit back down on the bed.

“You never make anything easy, do you?” Astarion rolls his eyes before catching your foot. He presses a kiss to your ankle before he sets your leg back down on the bed.

“Where’s the fun in that? You’d get bored.”

Astarion is sure to keep his touch gentle as he wipes down your stomach and he moves his attention to the bite on your inner thigh. The blood had already started to coagulate and heal, but the skin around it was angry and red.

You will have a nasty bruise tomorrow. Astarion will probably get an earful from Shadowheart.

Oh well, it was worth it.

“You always take such good care of me,” you say with a dreamy sigh, reaching out to wind your finger around one of Astarion’s curls that had gotten dislodged when your fingers were threaded into his hair earlier.

He reminds himself that you don’t really mean this- that you’re probably just feeling a bit faint from blood loss and are caught up in the afterglow.

“You’re just tired,” he mutters, avoiding your gaze and continuing to wipe away any remnants of stickiness from your skin.

“No,” your palm moves from his hair to cup his cheek and your eyes stare into his desperately, like you need him to really hear your next words. “That’s not- I’m trying…”

You huff out a frustrated breath of air. Obviously, you’re going to tell him you’ve grown tired of him- that he had served his purpose and you’d be moving on now. He’s desperately trying to come up with ways to bargain with you in his mind, to convince you to stay.

“I’m not very good at being nice,” you say.

That’s a lie, Astarion thinks. You’re plenty good at being nice. You can be a bit brazen and you are certainly obstinate and headstrong. But underneath all that, you are deeply kind- you gift Astarion flowers, you offer him your lifeblood when he’s on the brink of death, you save him from the worst parts of his mind even after he has already given you pleasure.

“I just…” you trail off again, biting at your lip. “You take very good care of me. You let me set boundaries and try things at my own pace. I appreciate that. I appreciate you. Sometimes it just overwhelms me how lucky I am to be married to you.”

That’s… oh… That’s not what Astarion expected at all.

And he knows that if he sits in this moment, if he lets himself say what he’s really thinking, he’s going to finally realize that the feeling you inspire in him is love. And that maybe it’s been love for quite a while.

“Did you ever imagine yourself saying that when we first married?” He says instead, and he can feel his lips splitting into a wide smile.

Teasing was easy. Teasing was comfortable. Teasing distracted him from that little feeling gnawing at him.

You groan in embarrassment, bringing your hands up to cover your eyes.

“It’s cute, you get all blushy and flustered when you’re embarrassed.” Astarion continues, pulling on your wrists gently to move them away from your eyes. You give him a little pout that makes him chuckle. He leans down, pressing a quick kiss to your pouting lips, “Makes me want to take a bite.”

“Down, boy,” you laugh, lightly pushing Astarion’s head away from you. “You’ve had plenty today. I’m cutting you off.”

“A shame.” Astarion gives a big, dramatic sigh and settles his head against your chest. He feels you shake with laughter.

The rhythmic movement of your fingers through Astarion’s hair and the loud, steady beat of your heart has him nearly purring. He uses his own hands to draw swirling shapes on the soft skin of your stomach that have you giggling and swatting at his hands.

When Astarion rests his chin on your chest to look up at you, he can’t ignore it any longer.

The only emotion that can possibly fit what he is feeling is love.

It terrifies him. How could he let himself be so weak, so foolish?

Astarion nearly falls out of bed, attempting to put as much distance between you and himself as quickly as possible. He needs to get away from here, needs to think.

“Astarion, what’s wrong?”

He can hardly hear your voice over the roaring in his ears, the bubble building in his chest that’s pushing away all of his air. When your hands reach out for him, to pull him back to you, your hands are too hot against his skin. He steps away as if he’s been burned.

“I have to go,” Astarion manages to choke out, pulling his clothes back on before he’s stumbling out of the room. His feet carry him back to his study.

He paces the length of the floor. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

It was never supposed to go this far. He was never supposed to love you. It’s just that at every step, he kept craving more, kept getting carried away.

He shouldn’t have concerned himself at all when he overheard your father and that vile man at the party, talking about you like you were an animal up for auction. He shouldn’t have gotten the foolish idea in his head that he could help you. Should have never even conceived the plan to marry you as a solution.

He should have killed you when you found out he was a vampire.

But you had such fire, such tenacity. He was intrigued. And he had already concocted the plan to marry you. It had seemed so simple, at that time, to twist his own reasons for why marrying you would help keep his secret from getting out.

He shouldn’t have started inviting you down to dinner, shouldn’t have entertained you in the library in the evenings or taken walks in the garden with you.

He never should have tasted your blood. He should have woken up from his nearly comatose state and demanded that they fetch one of his blood bags from the village.

He certainly shouldn’t have allowed himself to drink from you every night. Never should have pulled you into his bed, never should have let you read to him or comb your fingers through his hair or hold him while you sleep.

He never should have let himself become intoxicated by the taste of your cunt and those delectable noises you make.

You were the sun, the best and worst parts of you. You were bright and brash, the gentle touch of a spring day and the angry blistering heat of summer, creation and destruction. If Astarion stayed on course, he would become consumed in your sweet warmth.

Without even recognizing it had happened, Astarion had become your moon- existing solely to reflect your own brightness back upon you.

No, his transgressions would end here. From now on, you were just someone who he shared a house with and nothing more. Whatever that feeling was, whatever love he thought he felt needed to be gone. He couldn’t confront Raphael if his heart had such an obvious gaping wound.

“Are you alright?” Gale asks from the doorway, shocking Astarion out of his pacing.

“I’m fine,” Astarion nearly snarls back at him.

“It’s just… It doesn’t seem like you’re fine?” Gale says, hesitant. “Lady Ancunin sent me to check on you, she was worried.”

And the idea that you’re worried about him nearly has him reversing all his plans again, nearly has him crawling back to you on his knees and begging you to forgive him for causing you distress.

But, no, he must stand strong.

“Is this another one of your episodes?” Gale asks when Astarion still hasn’t answered.

Astarion feels his face twist in rage at Gale’s unknowing implication that you- his precious, lovely heart- could even be compared to the vicious monster that was Cazador and the horrors Astarion would be forced to relive forever.

No, this anguish was something entirely new, something entirely foreign that Astarion didn’t know if he would ever be able to navigate.

“Leave,” Astarion commands. “I need to think.”

Gale looks reluctant, but follows the instruction, letting the door click shut behind him.

Astarion throws himself back into research. He has been too distracted lately, too willing to forget his mission so he could spend more time with you. But, the quicker he can find the final gem that Raphael needed to complete the crown, the quicker he can get out of this idiotic contract, the quicker he will be back in your arms…

No, Astarion stops that line of thinking.

There would be no returning to you. Love is a disease that festers and grows and spreads. Even after he is free of Raphael, growing close to you would grant him nothing but suffering.

You were human, you would die.

He spends the rest of the day pouring over books, reading until his eyes hurt. Even then, he doesn’t take a break. His mind has to be wholly consumed by getting out of this deal with Raphael. If he lets any part of himself think of you, he might lose his resolve. Deep down, he already knew he was a weak man when it came to you.

“Astarion,” you knock gently at the door to his study, interrupting him from his reading.

Astarion shoots a quick glance over to the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. It’s evening again. He had hardly noticed the day passing.

When he looks at you, it feels like someone has staked him through the heart. The circles under your eyes are dark, like you didn’t sleep after he had run off. He quickly turns his gaze back to the papers on his desk.

Had he really been driven so mad that the mere sight of you threatened to ruin him?

Pathetic.

“Astarion, talk to me. What happened this morning?” You approach him where he sits at his desk, hands reaching out to relax the muscles in his tense shoulders. He jumps away at the contact and the look on your face is so heartbroken.

“What’s going on? Has something happened? Tell me and I can fix it,” you plead.

“Nothing’s wrong, I’ve just been thinking…” he trails off because the words he needs to say next are getting caught in his throat, his body and his brain at war with one another. “I just think it’s time that we end our little arrangement.”

“Our… arrangement?”

“I don’t need your blood anymore. I have someone else.” He tries to keep his voice as measured and even as possible, tries not to choke around the bile threatening to rise up in his throat.

“Someone else…” you take a deep breath and it looks like you’re forcing down tears. His hands are itching, shaking at his side with the need to reach out, to cup your pretty face and apologize as he wipes away every single tear.

But no, Astarion knows the next words out of his mouth will ruin everything with you forever.

“I just need someone who could keep up with my tastes, darling. Not that you weren’t fun for a while, you’re just a little… bland,” he says, trying hard to make it look like his face is contorting with disgust and not anguish. “You were a fun challenge at first, but now, you’re just too easy. Too desperate.”

Astarion does recognize that it is a bit ironic to call you desperate when he is the one who requires your attention as a basic need for his survival.

You look as if he has split your ribs open and dug the beating heart out of your chest cavity. Astarion wishes that the gods might smite him where he stands so that he can escape this agony.

“That’s just- that’s not-” you splutter and for a second there’s a warmth that blooms in his chest like there always is when he manages to catch you off guard. Your face twists, anger taking over, “Obviously I haven’t been thinking clearly from the blood loss or I would have never let you touch me!”

And just like that, Astarion’s very worst fear is confirmed. He had been taking advantage of you.

You always have to have the last word, Astarion knows this about you. It’s what he lov- likes about you- that his nettling and teasing always gets him some sort of response.

But he also knows when you’re angry, when you’re really, truly angry, that your words can almost border on cruelty, and can cut him so deeply in ways you could never understand. He shouldn’t go poking and prodding at you when he knows you’re this upset.

“Well, consider this,” Astarion points his finger between the two of you, “finished, then.”

He’s fighting with everything in him to keep his even, trying not to betray the hidden storm brewing beneath the surface.

“I hate you,” you spit out at him before you’re leaving, slamming the door behind you.

You should, he thinks. He will never forgive himself for what he has done to you.

Astarion pours himself a glass of wine and finally lets the wave of emotions crest.

For once, Astarion had something good in his life, something he enjoyed. Something just for him. But of course, he was too selfish, too greedy, and had pushed you too far. He had turned into the monster, Cazador, that he always hated. Someone who took and took and took until the people around him were drained dry.

And Astarion thought he was being so careful, too. He had waited for you to initiate intimacy. He had checked to make sure you were level-headed. He had thought he had known what you wanted…

But it doesn’t matter what he thought, he reminds himself. It only matters what you think. And you have just confirmed that he is just as bad as Cazador, Worse, even. Because Astarion had done this to someone who he loves.

It was a vicious cycle that he seemed doomed to repeat- the monster and the victim. He had been on both sides of it now. They felt equally miserable, equally terrifying.

It’s good that he is finished with this dalliance, with this weakness. Astarion would never let love hurt him again.

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

Notes:

*squirts Astarion with water* No, bad Astarion, stop overthinking and self-sabotaging.

To everyone who made it to the end, thank you for sticking with me! I know this chapter was long and had quite a few emotional ups and downs as well as a lot of plot.

As always, thank you to my wonderful beta-writer AliensNSuch on ao3!

Okay, now time for a couple notes. I do not know the logistics of being bitten by a vampire every day. I’m pretty sure you would just, like, die… HOWEVER, this is fiction and I like vampire bites so I like to imagine that Astarion’s just taking a lil sip every night and that Shadowheart brews a really awesome tea that prevents death by daily vampire blood draw.

Second note, I have fully lost the plot on whether it’s day or night in most of these scenes lol. In my head, the reader is fully nocturnal by now and it’s like late fall into winter for this chapter, so the nights are longer. But if there’s ever weird night/day mix ups- oops, my bad.

Also, I love you all! I cannot even begin to express my gratitude to everyone who has read this fic and left likes/kudos or sweet and encouraging comments. I see them all, I love them all. It makes me so excited to sit down and keep writing the rest of this!

Chapter 6 will be up next Sunday! It’s somehow just as long as this chapter…

Taglist: @ayselluna @idkbrodontaskme @maruichio @fanfic-share @the-littlest-bruja @asterordinary

Feel free to let me know if you would liked to be added/removed from the taglist for future chapters!

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 fanfic #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic #x reader #til death do us part

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mousetoe-wc · 7 months

Text

I Got bored one time awhile ago and made a list of every prefix plus some into organised sections so I thought I might as well share.

All the ones that aren’t cannon to warriors, yet at lest are bold

Describing names

Colours: red, russet, copper, golden, amber, yellow, green, blue, violet, pink, white, gray, black, ebony, dark, pale, silver, brown, tawny, fallow

Pattern, Texture + Size: spot/ted, dapple, speckle, freckle, brindle, patch, mottle, ragged, tangle, kink, bristle, fuzzy, curl/y, wooly, soft, sleek, little, tiny, small, slight, short, tall, long, big, heavy, crooked, broken, half, stumpy, shred, torn, jagged

Actions + Character: flip, pounce, bounce, jump, hop, crouch, down, low, drift, flail, strike, running, fidget, mumble, whistle, snap, sneeze, shiver/ing, shining, flutter, fallen, lost, rush, fleet, quick, shy, sweet, brave, loud, quiet, wild, hope, wish,

Other: claw, whisker, dead, odd, one, spike, fringe, echo, song, hallow, haven

Elements

Time + Weather: day, night, dusk, dawn, morning, sky, sun/ny, moon, storm, lightning, thunder, cloud/y, mist/y, fog, snow, blizzard, ice, frost, dew, drizzle, rain, clear, wind, breeze, gale, shadow, shade, bright, light,

Earth/Water/Fire names: stone, rock, boulder, slate, flint, pebble, gravel, sand/y, dust, mud/dy, meadow, hill, rubble, river, ripple, whorl, float, rapid, shimmer, lake, swamp, marsh, wave, wet, bubbling, splash, puddle, pool, creek, fire, flame, flicker, flash, blaze, scorch, ember, spark, ash, soot, cinder, smoke

Plants

Trees: alder, aspen, birch, beech, cedar, cypress, pine, elm, willow, oak, larch, maple, bay, rowan, timber, bark, log, wood, twig, acorn, cone, seed, spire

Berry/Nut/Fruit/Herb: juniper, elder, sloe, holly, yew, mistle, bramble, hickory, hazel, chestnut, nut, apple, cherry, cranberry, olive, pear, plum, peach, chive, mint, fennel, sage, basil, mallow, parsley

Flowers: aster, poppy, primrose, rose, bluebell, marigold, tansy, pansy, briar, cherry, daisy, dandelion, daffodil, tulip, violet, lily, myrtle, thrift, yarrow, heather, lavender, blossom, bloom, flower, petal

Other: leaf, frond, fern, bracken, sorrel, hay, rye, oat, wheat, cotton, reed, pod, cinnamon, milkweed, grass, clover, weed, stem, sedge, gorse, furze, flax, nettle, thistle, ivy, moss, lichen, bush, vine, root, thorn, prickle, nectar

Animals

Mammals: mouse, rat, mole, vole, shrew, squirrel, hedgehog, bat, rabbit, hare, ferret, weasel, stoat, mink, marten, otter, hog, wolf, hound, fox, vixen, badger, deer, doe, stag, fawn, sheep, cow, pig, lion, tiger, leopard, lynx, milk

Birds: robin, jay, cardinal, thrush, sparrow, swallow, shrike, starling, rook, swift, dove, pigeon, crow, raven, duck, goose, heron, wren, finch, swan, stork, quail, gull, lark, owl, eagle, hawk, kestrel, buzzard, kite, hoot, feather, bird, egg, talon

Fish, Reptiles + Amphibians: pike, perch, pollack, trout, tench, cod, carp, bass, bream, eel, minnow, fin, snake, adder, lizard, turtle, frog, toad, newt

Bug type Names: bug, lady or ladybug, moth, spider, ant, snail, slug, beetle, bee, wasp, dragon or dragonfly, bumble, worm, maggot, cricket, fly, midge, web, honey

Skyclan + Warriorclan: Bella, Billy, Big, Harry, Harvey, Snook, Ebony, Monkey

#warrior cats #wc

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asterhaze · 10 months

Note

Happy Storyteller Saturday!

Are there any places, objects, or even people in your stories inspired by or directly borrowed from your real life?

Share a snippet if you like 💜

Thank you for the ask~

So the Sunniva kindred has two bases in my story. Both are completely made up in my head as far as how the buildings are placed, how the inside of the buildings are, what the inside of the rooms are like, etc. However, one of the bases is outside of a large wooded area that crosses into a national park. The woods, the park, the types of trees, the birds, are all inspired by Mammoth Cave National Park and the many woods I traveled through growing up in southern Kentucky.

In the first book of Masterpiece, I describe Glen walking down the street to get to Vlad's house. (This is from the second draft, so please excuse any errors.)

Along the street was a series of separated townhouses and tiny homes. The entire area seemed quaint, older than the rest of town, but well kept. The streetlights seemed new, their artificial light bright and unwavering. Mature trees lined the sidewalk, a predictable length between each one, and their branches were trimmed to create space for people to walk under them. Glen hated areas like this where humans attempted to mesh nature and architecture together for aesthetics. The vampire never understood why humans would cut down trees, build their homes or cities, and then plant new ones. There was plenty of space for humanity around the trees, plenty of space for polluted cities away from forests. On top of everything, humans had a way of replanting things so unnaturally, equal distances apart, this way or that way, to make it look pretty. Glen knew for a fact that humans were a natural occurrence of the world, and despite being human himself once, he still didn’t understand how they made everything they touched so inherently wrong. Vlad’s house was different, at least on the outside. Glen had been around the property plenty of times, trying to keep tabs on the psychiatrist, and was familiar with it. The front of the house was boring, three steps leading up to a tiny covered porch, a strip of grass around the house. Around the back however, was a decent backyard. There were three large trees in the back that shaded most of it, tiny wildflowers dappling through the grass and spotting it with pink and white where the sun shone. A tiny natural paradise in a town of boring grass lawns. Copyright © 2023. Aster Haze. All rights reserved.

I wrote this with the idea of walking down the outer New Orleans area and downtown Pensacola, Florida. The houses there are older, well kept, but obviously meticulously planned by super neat architects a long time ago. Glen's thought process about how unnatural humans make things is ripped straight out of both mine and my spouse's feelings and conversations concerning that subject while walking down those streets. We don't hate people and we don't hate that they have to do that, but we think it's goofy.

Vlad's backyard is actually the front yard of my childhood home, only smaller. Glen and Vlad are both actually based on me in different parts of my life, even though they are very different from each other. Ska is loosely based on my spouse so it's neat that my spouse is my sensitivity reader for him. How I describe Silvia is based on the feelings I had for someone I was engaged to before we broke up and I met my spouse.

Finally, all of Glen's mental what-the-heck is based on my own experience with PTSD.

#ask answered #masterpiecewip #glen the vampire #dr vladimir hayes oc #ska the demon #writeblr #writing #writers of tumblr #writers #writerblr #write #writblr #writing community

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herstroywritten · 3 years

Text

Magix Inn: One bed, one shirt, two idiots in love

OK. Confession time: I LOOOVE tropes. All of them. The oh I’m so cold and I don't have a jacket, so you gave me yours. Oh no, we’re paired together and I don’t like that. Oh look, we have to stay in this hotel together and (*cure shocked face*) there’s only one bed! All of it. Like, ALL of it. And when it’s done well... Ughhh, my heart can barely stand it. (If you want an A+++ example of it, go ahead and read Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo and watch the new Shadow and Bone adaptation on Nextflix. Helnik serves all the tropes in all the best ways.) Anyways, my point is that that’s all this is, and I am fully aware of that. I needed more of these tropes with Rivusa, so here we are. Enjoy.

She's going to kill them. Every single one of them. And she was going to make it as painful and slow and agonizing as she could. Now that she knew how to extract mind control, she figured she could easily learn how to enact it. She would learn to do it overnight. She would! And she would most definitely use it on every single one of her suitemates, no moral obligations holding her back. In fact, she was doing them a favor by not opting to do it with her knives, the ones she'd begun training with a month ago or so. She was going to do it, no hesitation-

"You can take the bed."

Riven's words snapped her out of her fantasies. She forced herself to finally turn and stare at him. He was already standing in the middle of the room they had been assigned. The room that had a single king sized bed in the middle of it. There was a small window on each side of the head board, with thick tattered curtains covering the view of the barren land outside. A couch was positioned to the right of the bed, a door stood just a few feet above it. There was no dresser in the room, no closet.

Not exactly a five star hotel, she thought to herself. But then again, they were in hiding from a psychopath who thought herself to be the future ruler of the world, not on vacation. The cracks on the walls and the dust that could be seen covering every surface fit the murderous mood of their escape so much more than a nice cozy bedroom.

Musa wondered how Stella was holding up. Bitterly, she hoped that she was hating it. Served her right for leaping at the chance to spend the night with her ex-bodyguard instead of opting to share with one of the girls.

It had been a long night of traveling and by the time Dowling, Silva, and Harvey had finally located their destination, the whole group was practically a squad of walking zombies struggling to maintain awareness long enough to not fall asleep while standing up. After escaping Alfea, they had trekked through the woods continuously for 36 hours straight, needing to get as far away from the school as possible without using magic for fear of giving away their plan.

Their little group had been led by Professor Harvey, who somehow knew exactly where they were headed without using a map to navigate through the veils of greenery that they had bypassed. How, Musa wasn't sure. It all looked the same to her, and quite frankly after a while she seriously considered the possibility that they were just walking in circles. Sam and Terra had followed behind their father, pointing out harmful weeds to avoid touching or stepping on for the rest of the group. The rest of the girls had followed their orders, Bloom and Sky leading the charge, then Brandon and Stella, Aisha, Musa, and Riven. Dowling and Silva followed a few feet behind, making sure that no one was following them as they went. Needless to say, the journey had been endless and there seemed to be no end in sight. The students had been unsure of where they were headed, as the professors had refused to divulge any sort of extra information unless it was explicitly necessary.

In the end, they had walked out of the woods and into an abandoned city. White bricks and cracked cement littered the ground that they passed through, exerting great effort to not step on any broken shards of glass and cut themselves.

"Aster Dell" Bloom had whispered when she had seen the jagged outline of the town. Professor Harvey had nodded his head at her words, verifying their truth, and that had been that. No one spoke and no one asked the millions of questions that swarmed their minds. How were they able to see this place? Wasn't Queen Luna supposed to have it covered up? Why were they even here? Wasn't this a little too obvious of a hideout? Musa's curiously was running high, but her desire to just sleep was even greater so she had just followed right along as the professor led them through winding streets and in front of a rundown building that seemed to barely be holding onto its hinges.

Dowling had broken the silence, "Welcome to Magix Inn, or what's left of it. We'll make camp in here for the night."

Turns out Magix Inn was just that, and inn. And a tiny one at that, just ten boarding rooms to offer. Each boasted a king sized bed and minimal furniture. Unfortunately, the four rooms located on the south side of the building had been completely destroyed in the wreckage, so they were left with six to pick from. Dowling and Silva had taken the one at the very beginning of the eastern hallway, for security measures. For that same purpose, Professor Harvey had taken the one at the very end of the corridor, and Sam joined him. Sky had insisted he stay with Bloom for the night, attached to her as he had been for the last 36 hours, fearing that she would lose control of her magic again. No one bothered to mention that there was nothing he could really do if that happened again, they just let the couple slip into the room diagonal from Dowling and Silva's. Their door had barely closed before Stella had basically dragged Brandon into the room next to theirs, shouting over her shoulder "Good night everyone!" That left Aisha, Terra, Musa, and Riven. And two rooms. There had been an awkward silence, during which the girls looked back and forth between the three of them, daring each other to make the first move. When Aisha scooted slightly closer to Terra, Musa knew she was about to lose. Frustrated, angry, and just plain tired, she'd huffed and spun around to face the devil himself.

"Well, would you look at that?" Riven's grin was basically a smirk as he cocked his eyebrows in her direction, eyes roaming up and down the whole of her, his usual form of acknowledgement when it came to her. "Looks like we're playing roomies for the night." For some reason, he did not sound very disappointed at that idea.

"Not another word," Musa had growled at him, before making her way to the room second to last from the end of the hallway. In any other scenario, she would be happy that he was choosing to speak to her again but right now she couldn't be bothered.

And now, here they were. In a room. Alone. With one bed. Two sets of curtains. A couch that was definitely too small for either of them to sleep in comfortably. One door that led to the bathroom. Oh, and did she mention the one bed?

She finally stepped away from the doorway, letting the heavy wooden door lock behind her. As she crossed the room and headed for the bed, she couldn’t help but notice the dust that kicked up at her feet as she walked on the oriental rug that had to have existed for at least 16 years and who knows how much longer before then. The idea of sleeping here was almost revolting, but at this point she would give anything for a place to lay down, so whatever. They'd fought monsters and survived, they could outlive a bit of dust. What she might not be able to outlive, however, was sharing a room with the specialist standing behind her.

She dropped her backpack on the bed, choosing to ignore the dust that resurfaced with the motion, and turned to face him.

"Yeah, no. As much as I would love to watch you try to squeeze into that tiny little couch, it would be extremely cruel of me to make you do that after a day and a half of constant walking. Plus, it's a king sized bed. I don’t need all of it. We'll just share." She hoped that came out as causal as it sounded in her head.

Riven's smirk, the one that hadn't left his face since the sleeping arrangements had been decided, grew even wider at her words. "I suppose, if you insist. An Alfea gentleman would never ignore a lady's wishes, after all."

She scoffs at him. "I doubt you would count among the gentlemen of Alfea."

"Oh, I don't know. I've been told I have a way of outdoing myself when it comes to ladies' requests. Especially in the bedroom." He's eyeing her from the corner of his sightline as he makes for the bed, dropping his own bag diagonally from hers. She's suddenly flushed, from anger or blushing she's not sure. But she's not about to give him any ideas.

"We are not, I repeat NOT, completing any sort of requests tonight." She narrows her eyes at him, her voice strong and unwavering. It surprises her, the sheer strength behind those words because honestly it's the opposite of what she wants to say. The opposite of what she wants to do.

"Whatever you say." His statement is short, filled with hidden messages. He shuffles through his bag as she shuffles through her thoughts, watching him and biting her tongue so that all her questions don't come tumbling out.

He heads for the bathroom, and once she hears the door close, she pulls out her phone.

"Hello!" Aisha's voice is all cheer and chuckle on the other side of the line. Musa thinks she can hear Terra's giggle in the background, too.

"I'll kill you." Musa's reply is a lot less cheery and a lot more lethal.

"Oh, come on!" It's Terra's voice this time. "We're practically doing you a favor. You should be thanking us."

"I'll kill you. All of you." She repeats it, just to make sure they're really catching it.

"Musa, love, you know this has to happened at some point." Aisha's words are calm. "We're headed into a war. We're running away from school. We're going to have a lot more shit to deal with in a couple of hours, and you're still not in the right mindset for all of it. You’re in a completely different world. If you're so worried about it, just ask him. Better yet, just tell him."

"I don't know what you're talking about, " Musa mumbles angerly.

The sighs that she hears from the other side of the conversation tell her just how little Aisha and Terra believe her. It's silent for a second, and Musa can just feel the two girls going back and forth on who's turn it is to confront her. Terra's sweet voice comes through the phone after a few seconds, "Musa, we're not going to tell you what to do. It's not our place. But we will tell you what we see, because you're our friend and we love you and want you to be happy-"

"Terra, we're heading for a war. There is no happy in war." Musa's voice is monotone.

"Musa," her name is a warning on Terra's lips, a sign that she's used this excuse before and it hasn't worked. "Look, I know you like him. I know it's weird between you two. You had to go digging into his brain to break him out of a spell and he didn't appreciate that, but quite frankly, I don’t think he appreciated being Beatrix's little pet and Rosalind's spy either. So he can be bitter and mad about it all he wants, you did what you had to do to save his ass and ours."

"That's the problem though. He's no longer mad about it. At least, I don’t think he is. He's talking to me. Like, now that we’re in the room. He hadn't even looked at me since the I broke that stupid spell…" Her voice drops at that last sentence.

"That's good. Right?" Aisha's voice is a mix of encouragement and confusion.

"Since when are you in on this, Aisha? I thought you hated the guy?" Now Musa's just curious. How did they even get into this situation in the first place? How did she get here, sharing a room with a boy that has one too many demons on his shoulders and whom she's embarrassingly crushing on?

Aisha's reply is quick and defensive. "Oh, I still do. But, he's still Sky's bff or whatever and he's still your…" There's a pause that follows that particular thought and Musa takes the time to wonder how Aisha is going to finish that sentence. "You know what, I don't really know what he is. But he helped you train and you two had something going before, well, before he started disappearing to go do Rosalind's dirty business. Plus, for some unknown, godforsaken season, you're into him. As your friend and roommate, I feel the need to support all your dumb choices, within reason of course. So, yeah. I guess I'm in on whatever this is too."

"You sound like Stella." Musa's mouth quirks into a smirk as she picks up Aisha's groan from across the line.

"Don't remind me. Pretty soon, I'll start swooning over ex-bodyguard-turned-teammate Brandon too." They all get a laugh out of that line.

"God, I'd pay to see that. Poor guy has his work cut out for him, I wonder what they're doing right now." Terra's inquiry needs no answer, but Musa feels the need to comment on the situation at hand.

"I can't believe she did that! She just left us! You know what, she's the first one I'm killing. You two can pick between second and third place."

Aisha chuckles at her words before a yawn overtakes her and she replies, "Alrighty, it's bed time. We've got a long day tomorrow. And, Musa, just do it. Just talk it out and get it off your chest. You don't want to leave things unsaid, not when we don't know what tomorrow brings. You've already played that game before and it was not fun." Aisha's right, of course. Musa has played that game before.

Right before Riven disappeared, they had been training together for a while, which had somehow turned into them having lunch together on the daily, which had then turned into secret meetings at night in the greenhouse. They'd both needed some alone time, to catch their breath and just marvel at their messed up lives and all the fucked up shit that was going on. And for some reason, his little quips and their constant banter had become her new safety net, a web of comfort and solace, something she hadn't had since Sam and her started drifting apart. But unlike Sam, who was all calming waters and steady footing on a gentle boat, Riven had been all of the tumultuous oceans in the worst of weathers. She never really found her footing in the storm that was Riven and his thoughts, and that had brought her a comfort like no other. In a world where all they had was scheduled to the minute thanks to Rosalind's insane regime, his inconsistent thoughts had drawn her in. She'd wanted to break him open, tuck herself into the blanket that was his mind, and lay there until his emotions numbed both her and him. And, then, somewhere between aching to be numb and heavy innuendos, she had found herself staring at him more often than she should and thinking about him in ways she knew would do her no favors if she let them continue. But, she let them continue. And pretty soon, his loud emotions weren't just comfort and she didn't just want to drown in them. No, at that point, she had wanted to dive deeper into them so that she might try and shift through them. Try to untangle his deepest fears and settle them. To mold her own pain into the shapes that formed the cracks of his heart, so that she could somehow fit him and be a comfort for him in the same way he was for her. She'd wanted it so bad. So, so very bad. And she'd almost said so, too. Too bad Rosalind had chosen that day to start using the spell she had placed on him months before.

Aisha's voice pulls Musa away from her own thoughts. "Hey, Musa? You still there?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, sorry. Just dozing off a bit, it's been a long day."

"Ugh, tell me about it. Look, if you two won't talk it out for yourselves, do it for us. We're all on edge with all the sexual tension that's coming off of you two."

"Aisha!" Terra's voice sounds horrified. "Actually, she's not wrong. As Stella so kindly suggested, you two might want to just fuck it out. See if that helps break the ice."

It's Musa's turn to be horrified now. "Terra! You did not just say that! And we are NOT fucking anything out!"

Her friends, however, don't give her the satisfaction of listening to her defense. "Goodnight Musa!" And with that the phone call ends and she's left listening to silence and feeling even more agitated than she did when she first called them. She screams and throws her phone across the bed, watching as it haphazardly hangs from the corner of the white duvet.

"Now what's all this about fucking?" Riven's voice nearly sends her digging her own grave. Great. Just great. Of course he chooses now to make his way back into the room.

"Nothing." Her rely drips in venom as she makes a point to angerly dig into her bag and pull out her toiletries. She pushes past him and into the bathroom before he gets the chance to question her again. She worked quickly to strip herself of the heavy layers she had on, and into a long white t-shirt that she often wears to bed. She had forgotten to pack a pair of shorts, as she usually just took them off and slept in her underwear. For a second she considered wearing jeans to bed, but she decided she wasn't about to sweat to death for Riven's sake. He'd seen naked girls before. Plus, if it wasn't jeopardizing her modesty, she doubted it was harming his innocence.

When she came out, however, she started to question her decision. The second she stepped out of the bathroom, Riven's voice greeted her.

"So, now that you're done hiding," he started, scrolling through his phone in nothing but a set of sweatpants. "Do feel free to explain to me who's fucking who, besides Brandon and Stella." He'd looked up then, and that had been their demise. His eyes had gone to her face first, but she'd watched as they moved downward in a slow motion, as if he was committing every bit of her body to memory. She understood now why girls raved about him, because if he gave them all that look… well, Musa supposes they would all feel exactly how she is feeling right about now.

Oh, for god's sake. Why her?

She waits for the comment she knows is coming.

"Please tell me you're not planning on sleeping in that." Well, that's not what she expected.

"What?" She raises an eyebrow at him.

"You need to put on something else if we're really not completing any requests tonight." He's still staring at her legs as she chokes a laugh at him and makes her way to her side of the bed.

"Get your head out of the getter, idiot. I can sleep in whatever I want and you can handle yourself. You'll be fine."

"I know you can sleep in whatever you want. Me controlling myself, that's where our issues start, love. You have a little too much faith in me." He catches her eyes and quirks an eyebrow her way as she shuffles to unhook her bra from behind and slips it off under the shirt she's wearing before throwing it on top of her other clothes. "For fuck's sake, are you serious right now?!" Honestly, she was going to keep the bra on before she saw his reaction to her bare legs, but at this point they’re so far in over their heads that she might as well pull out all the stops. His continuous reactions are just icing on top of the cake.

"Oh, absolutely." She's smirking at him, eyes dancing with mischief as he stares at her full of lust. She laughs as she tucks herself into the covers. "Relax, I'll keep my underwear on." His face is heating up, frustration evident in the line between his brows and she longs to reach over the expanse of the duvet and press her thumb to the space between his eyebrows and smooth it out. She doesn't.

"This isn't fair," he protests.

"Says the guy who's shirtless right now," comes her reply.

"That's not the same thing and you know it." His voice is strained and she's eager to see when it'll snap, when one of them will finally just admit defeat.

"Isn't it? The feminist in me disagrees."

"Don't. Don't you dare take that stupid shirt off." His hands are shaking as he points a warning finger her way, and she laughs. She's enjoying this way too much. But she knows if she keeps it up, he'll keep true to his word and she won't push him away, and frankly that thought should scare her. Instead, she finds herself wondering how many buttons she can push before he caves.

"Turn off the lights and come to bed Riven." Her voice is light now, no longer teasing. He watches her snuggle further into the covers, eyebrows still furrowed at her and she can practically hear the turmoil in his mind. "Ugh, honestly, calm the fuck down. Your emotions are so intense right now, it's hurting my brain. I promise I'll keep the shirt on. Now, come on. Come to bed."

He mumbles something about staying out of his mind, but he closes the small lamp by his bedside and crawls into bed beside her. Well, calling it beside her is a bit of a stretch as he's practically at the edge of the huge bed. She huffs at his child-like manner and rolls her eyes at him.

"Seriously, Riven? I thought you'd be jumping at the chance to get a girl into bed and here you are avoiding me like the plague. You know I don't bite, right?"

"Whatever," he mumbles. She finally turns to face him, reaches her arms across the mattress and digs her fingers into the waistband of his sweats, tugging him closer to the center of the bed. He jumps at the feel of her hands on his bare stomach, his breath catching at this throat as they now stand face to face and mere inches away from each other. She watching his eyes as they take her in, and she's vaguely aware of the fact that this is too intimate. This moment is exactly what she was trying to avoid, but she can't bring herself to care. So, instead she takes this time to study the green of his eyes. In the dark, they're illuminated by the thin sliver of moonlight the peeks from between the curtains of the window on her side of the bed. They're dilated, more black than green, but she can just make out the color around the edges or his iris. Hazel on the inside, and impossibly green on the outside ridges. She remembers when she was younger, she'd once told her mother that she wanted interesting eyes, by which she meant she wanted blue or green eyes. Something other than her brown orbs. In a way, she was vainly excited when her powers had come in and her eyes started to glow lavender and purple. How naïve she had been, how stupid. She knows now, looking into Riven's eyes, that interesting eyes had no color attached to them. Interesting eyes were ones that held stories, emotions. And Riven's eyes held so many stories, and so many emotions. They gave him away, at least to her they did. She swears that even without her powers, she would be able to feel the pain, the hurt, the mischief, and (right now) the undeniable want by just looking into his eyes. The want is especially pungent. She hopes he can see the want in her eyes too. She bitterly thinks to herself that her girls are right, the two of them are hopeless. They've been cascading through this thing between them, her and Riven, and after she broke his mind control, he'd refused to look her in the eye, let alone talk to her.

They stand face to face with each other for a while, before she finally ducks her head below his chin and tucks herself against his collarbone. She feels him tense below her (feels her own breath catch, fearing that he'll push her off) before he relaxes a little and his breathing slows down. She listens to his heart beating beneath her, and the pounding of it against her ear lulls her mind into a peaceful state. Once she feels like she can finally breathe normally again, she works up the nerve to ask him the questions she's been meaning to ask for about two days now.

"Are you angry?"

He pulls away from her, just enough to look down at her. But she won't look at him. Instead, she traces his collarbone with the tips of her fingers, burning holes into it with the intensity of her gaze.

"Angry?" He sounds genuinely surprised.

"Yeah," her reply comes in a whisper. Tears are welling in her eyes, but she refuses to let them slip as she continues to bore into his skin.

"Why would I be angry?"

"Don't." She doesn't want to say it. Doesn't want to be sorry for what she did, because she's not. She's not.

"Don't what?"

"Don't make me say it." It's a whimper this time, her voice threatening to crack along with her heart.

"Musa," he lifts her chin up. "What is going on? Why would I be angry at you?" She stares into his eyes again and curses the gods above for making her do this.

"Because I had to go into your mind. I had to dig around and manipulate it. I know you've never liked that about my powers. I know that it's no better than what Rosalind and Beatrix did to you. I know that, but I'm not sorry. I'm not sorry, Riven." She says it as though she's trying to convince herself. A deep breath, and then she's talking again. "I'm not sorry because it freed you. So, I'm not sorry about my powers or about what I did." She notices the line between his brows growing more and more as she speaks, and this time she does reach across the space between them and smooth it out with the pad of her fingertip.

She's not expecting an answer, but she was hoping for one. And as the silence between them grows, she figures she has overstayed her welcome.

As she moves away from him, his arms snap into motion. They wrap around her waist, pulling her back into him. She squeezes her eyes shut as his scent engulfs her once again.

"I'm not angry." His words, mumbled against her hair, are the final straw. Her tears come ripping through her body, unwelcome but inevitable. She hates this, hates crying. She's not a quiet crier. When she cries, her whole body cries with her. She shakes, she hiccups, and her breathing speeds up. There's no way he doesn't feel it.

"Musa, really, I'm not angry. And hey," he's pulling away again, gently pushing her back so he can look at her face when he says the next words. "For the record, you are NOTHING like them. Nothing. Do you hear me?" She hiccups and looks down. "You're not. I swear to you, Musa. You're not. And, just so you know, I don't hate your powers. Never have, never will."

"But you said-"

"I know what I've said. It wasn't because I hate you, it was because I hate my own mind." He pauses, looks away from her as if trying to work up the courage to continue. "Sometimes… a lot of the time… I can't stand myself. What I hated was the idea of anyone, especially you, seeing all my bad parts. And fuck, Musa, there are so many shitty parts of me. So, so many. I mean, I've been helping Rosalind execute a war for months. Fuck." He chuckles a laugh with no humor behind it, looks up to the ceiling. "Fuck. I'm so fucking broken, Musa. And the idea that you felt that. God, I don't know…"

She watches him struggle, feels his inner turmoil. She finds herself wanting to sort out his feelings for him, mend his aches.

"Is that why you keep pulling away? From me, I mean?" She needs to know. She can't be imagining this thing between them, can't be the only one with her heart on the line right now. He moves so that he's looking at her again, but doesn't answer her right away.

"You're good, Musa. You're so fucking good. Nothing about you is bad. You're good, and you're smart, and you're fucking gorgeous." She feels her heart flutter at his words, her hopes taking flight and jumping to the sky. She wants to scream with joy, wants to kiss him. But his words are laced with a treacherous kind of tone, she can feel the desperation in him, and just as quickly as her excitement came, it leaves.

"I can't do this, Musa. I can't do it. Not to you. You deserve better than this." He's pulling away, and her heart is sinking.

"Better than what?" She sits up as he gets out of the bed. He walks to the end of the bed, looks at the door that leads to the hallway. She can feel him pulling away, wanting to leave.

"Better than what, Riven?" She's louder this time, angry that he's pulling away again after all she's told him.

"Me!" The intensity of his voice causes her to jump back. "Ok? Better than me!" His body is shaking, and so is hers. Because honestly, how dare he?

"And who are you to decide what I deserve?"

"Fuck, Musa. We're not doing this. We're not playing at this game." She feels like she's being scolded, as though she's a child he's refusing to answer to.

"You don’t get to decide what I deserve, Riven. And you sure as hell don't get to decide what I want-"

"And what do you want, Musa?" His words stop her. "What do you want? Because I have been racking my brain for so fucking long trying to figure out what it is you want. And as much as I think I have you figured out, I can't possibly be right."

She runs the question through her mind a couple of times, questioning how to answer him. She's tired of lying. Tired of wanting him when he's scared to want her back, of constantly being on edge around him. So she decides she might as well tell him. "You. I want you."

"No, you don’t." Fuck him.

"Yes, I do!" She's angry now.

"No."

"Yes!"

"Musa, no."

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?! Are we really doing this right now? Are we arguing about this like middle schoolers? You asked what I want. And I want you!"

"No, Musa, you don't."

"Why is it so fucking hard for you to accept it?! I want you and that's the end of it." She getting angrier as they keep going, and it furthers her anger that he's so calm about it.

"You can't want me, Muse. You can't." The despair that she feels from him is intense and it, along with his nickname for her, knocks the breath out of her.

"What do you mean I can't want you?" She's trying to keep her voice down, fully aware of the thin walls and the fact that everyone else is probably asleep by now.

"Just… I'm not good. Not in the way the rest of you are. I'm a walking mess and I can't do anything without fucking it up." His voice is small and Musa can see the broken boy behind the persona he's managed to construct for himself.

"But I do, Riven."

"Why?" A broken question.

She mulls it over in her head, chuckling. "Because, Riv, you've never been able to walk away from me and I've never been able to let you. We play games, you and I." They do. They ring around the rosies, a pocket full of kisses just waiting to spill out of their carefully constructed gates. "We circle one another, Riv, until we're both dizzy with desire and want and fear and fatigue… but we never break the circle. We never stray off path. You lean forward and I lean in, ready to give you my all, and then you pull back. And then we go back to the circle." It's a long metaphor and honestly she's not exactly sure if she's getting her point across. He watches as she pushes herself to her knees on the bed, shuffling closer to him with every word.

"The circle is our game, Riven. You run, I chase. I run, you chase." She reaches for his hand. "I've never wanted to lose a game so badly." His eyes are on her as she pulls him back onto the bed. She leans in slowly, making sure that she maintains eye contact with him the whole time. She wants him to know she means it, all of it. She's not going anywhere. Her fingertips trace their way up his stomach, chest, neck, winding into his hair. They're millimeters away, noses pressed against each other, breaths mingling.

"Your move, Riv." And she feels her words break his concentration, just as his hands snap up to her body. It’s a quick movement, but his hands etch a trail of fire on her as the move roughly from her knees to the back of her thighs, up her back, and to the junction of her shoulders. When their lips finally meet, it’s anything but gentle. He bites at her lip, she gasps against him, and he takes the chance to tug on her bottom lip. She can't help the moan that leaves her, thoughts of the others already asleep leaving her mind as he does things with his tongue she didn't know were possible. He moves to her jaw, kissing his way downward as she cranes her neck back so that he has all the space he needs to do whatever he's planning on doing. She doesn't know what he's aiming for, but she knows what she wants him to do. She lets her hands fall to his pants, tugs them down. He moans against her collarbone and she swears she's going insane. She's burning but she's also shivering. She can't breathe and yet she feels like she's breathing for the first time in her life.

"Shirt," she gasps. And then it's off of her, the one thing that he swore needed to stay on her if they were going to make it through the night.

They spend the night doing everything they've avoided doing for months. He fills the silence with whispers of how gorgeous she is, and she feels her heart burst at its seams. They don't sleep, and she doesn't want to. This is better than sleep, she's never felt more awake than when he's tracing the lines of her body.

He's resting on her chest, arms slung over her body as his fingertips play with the ends of her hair, when it hits her.

"I'm going to have to tell the girls that we did fuck it out." And as much as she hates the idea of her roommates being right, she thinks that maybe his laugh makes it all worth it.

#rivusarevolution2021 #rivusa #riven #musa #one bed trope #i'm a sucker for tropes #it never gets old #forced proximity

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wellhalesbells · 3 years

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✨✨ TOP FIVES FOR 2020 ✨✨

2020 was, i think we can all agree, a massively chaotic year but i have never consumed as much media before in my life, so i thought others might benefit from my slothery uh, connoisseur.... ship? yes, that. below are the books, comics, shows, and movies that got me through!

B O O K S .

the starless sea, by erin morgenstern - i loooove this book because it loves me back. it says: ‘oh, you’re a reader, well i have just the thing for you.’ it luxuriates in language and story and riddles and fairy tales and it feels like an entire library in a single tome.

they never learn, by layne fargo - oh fuuuuuck, this was satisfying. i thought it might feel a little exploitative as it is very aware of the zeitgeist and likely would not exist without the #metoo movement but it never ever did. this was a fucking ROMP, period. reading about a woman getting away with murdering skeezy guy after rapey guy after shitty human just made me happier and happier.

moonflower murders, by anthony horowitz - this is the second in the susan ryeland series (and the first was hardcore good fun too) and really feels very classic mystery with the artful twist of catering to the literary community. mainly because: susan isn’t a detective, she’s an editor and she gets drafted in this time because the clue to what happened to a missing woman is in a book she edited, if she can find it. both of the books in this series have such an excellent coming together moment that is rare af to find.

the invisible life of addie larue, by v.e. schwab - the writing in this is just so good. it has that feel to me where i just want to drop the book and open up my own page and let my fingers fly. it’s that inspiring kind of writing that reminds you of all the things language can do.

crown of feathers/heart of flames, by nicki pau preto - aaahhh, this series is SO FREAKING GOOD! why is there not more of a fandom for it, why???? it is so many of my favorite tropes all resting perfectly together to the point where you almost forget they’re tropes because they just so naturally evolved there. ugh, it’s just.... it’s so heart-bursty good.

.... number 5, part 2? raybearer, by jordan ifueko - this was just so original and i was invested af. like, what a brilliant idea though and an even better execution?? i loved every character and am so looking forward to the next in the series so i can get to know them even better!!

honorable mentions (sh*t i still liked a whole heckuva lot): you/hidden bodies, by caroline kepnes // writers & lovers, by lily king // i’ll be gone in the dark, by michelle mcnamara // the faceless old woman who secretly lives in your home, by joseph fink & jeffrey cranor // girl, serpent, thorn, by melissa bashardoust // a little life, by hanya yanagihara // the guinevere deception, by kiersten white // obsidio (and the entire illuminae series), by amie kaufman & jay kristoff // the bone houses, by emily lloyd-jones // house of salt and sorrows, by erin a. craig // we hunt the flame, by hafsah faizal // savage legion, by matt wallace // blacktop wasteland, by s.a. cosby // crier’s war, by nina varela // the empress of salt and fortune/when the tiger came down the mountain, by nghi vo // upright women wanted, by sarah gailey // the monster of elendhaven, by jennifer giesbrecht // a deadly education, by naomi novik // you let me in, by camilla bruce // when you ask me where i’m going, by jasmin kaur // the lights go out in lychford/last stand in lychford (and the entire lychford series), by paul cornell // the devil and the dark water, by stuart turton // serpent & dove, by shelby mahurin // one by one, by ruth ware // ruthless gods (this was SUCH an upshot from the first book - it’s worth sticking with if you’re on the fence), by emily a. duncan // cemetery boys, by aiden thomas // the inheritance games, by jennifer lynn barnes // the fortunate ones (2021 release), by ed tarkington

C O M I C S .

cosmoknights, by hannah templer - the art was gorgeous, the gayness was glorious, and just.... hot HOOOOOOOOT lady knights in space?! a princess winning her own hand? find something not to love in there, i dare you.

don’t go without me, by rosemary valero-o’connell - wow. wow wow wow wow wow. the writing was stunning, so lyrical and atmospheric and deep, and rosemary has to be one of my favorite artists but even that managed to come as a beautiful surprise because it was just so freaking bold.

through the woods, by emily carroll - i loooove emily carroll, the convergence of spine-tingling horror and art that feeds into it, that is both visually and aesthetically pleasing, is hard to beat! p.s. i also read beneath the dead oak tree from her this year and it was also a BANGER.

the impending blindness of billie scott, by zoe thorogood - zoe is someone that i just want to follow. she’s just starting and i want to be there for every single step. i love her art style and her ability to tell a story with it.

above the clouds, by melissa pagluica - this was so unique, and such a baller concept, as nearly half the entire book is conveyed only through the art and yet you’re never once lost, never once confused as to what any character is thinking or feeling. it’s a story within a story and only one of those gets words though they both are chock full of emotion!

um.... number 5, part 2? crowded, by christopher sebela - everything about this series is fun af. crowd-funded assassination and a hirable bodyguard who’s rated like an uber driver??? and the chemistry between the two mains is so great and gay!!

honorable mentions: monster and the beast, by renji // long exposure, by kam ‘mars’ heyward // fence, by c.s. pacat // invisible kingdom, by g. willow wilson // ms. marvel, by g. willow wilson // heathen, by natasha alterici // not drunk enough, by tess stone // giant days, by john allison // die, by kieron gillen // be prepared, by vera brosgol // ascender (sequel to descender, which is also great), by jeff lemire // the unbeatable squirrel girl, by ryan north // bang! bang! boom!, by melanie schoen // gideon falls, by jeff lemire // life of melody, by mari costa // cry wolf girl, by ariel slamet ries // the tea dragon society, by katie o’neill // ptsd, by guillaume singelin // heartstopper, by alice oseman // solutions and other problems, by allie brosh // finding home, by hari conner // the magic fish, by trung le nguyen // something is killing the children, by james tynion iv // the weight of them, by noelle stevenson // spill zone, by scott westerfeld // skyward, by joe henderson // miles morales, by saladin ahmed

F I L M S.

parasite, dir. bong joon ho - oh it was satisfying, oh it was suspenseful, oh i had to watch some of it through my fingers but i loooooooved it. such a good story and so well made.

knives out, dir. rian johnson - okay, everything about this movie was amazing. every single character was fun as hell and i could’ve watched an entire movie about each of them. what a great fucking mystery!

blindspotting, dir. carlos lopez estrada - this made my heart hurt so damn much. what glorious writing, acting, and story!

portrait of a lady on fire, dir. celine sciamma - gooooorgeous cinematography, amazing chemistry, and such a soft, atmospheric film.

the farewell, dir. lulu wang - i cried and my heart felt so full and i love it so so much.

um.... number 5, part 2? someone great, dir. jennifer kaytin robinson - no part of me expected to love a netflix movie this much but it’s a love story that doesn’t get told that often?? the end of a relationship and the true love of friendship and i love these girls and i love jenny and nate’s broken relationship.

honorable mentions: eighth grade, dir. bo burnham // booksmart, dir. olivia wilde // midsommar, dir. ari aster // the curse of la llorona, dir. michael chaves // the secret life of pets 2, dirs. chris renaud & jonathan del val // jojo rabbit, dir. taika waititi // the invisible man, dir. leigh whannell // the favourite, dir. yorgos lanthimos // can you ever forgive me?, dir. marielle heller // troop zero, dirs. bert & bertie // ready or not, dirs. matt bettinelli-olpin & tyler gillett // brave, dirs. mark andrews & brenda chapman & steve purcell // the half of it, dir. alice wu // palm springs, dir. max barbakow // doctor sleep, dir. mike flanaghan // uncut gems, dirs. benny sadfie & josh sadfie // birds of prey, dir. cathy van // bloodshot, dir. dave wilson // the old guard, dir. gina prince-bythewood // enola holmes, dir. harry bradbeer // hocus pocus, dir. kenny ortega // always be my maybe, dir. nahnatchka khan // finding dory, dirs. andrew stanton & angus maclane // die hard, dir. john mctiernan

S H O W S .

black sails (2014) - this show, this shooooooooow. i cannot, it just makes me want to cry with how good it is. the characters, the EMOTIONS, the story, the plaaaaaan. like, the creators clearly had a plan for every single step of this show and it was a gOOD, GOOD PLAN.

the untamed (2019) - truly, cheesy good fun with one of the best gay romances ever. i love these characters and their relationships to each other and the way it glories in its own ridiculousness.

the righteous gemstones (2019) - one of the things that bothered me about my next choice (the ratio of female to male nudity) was so much more realistic in this one (i mean, we’ve all gotten five thousand dick pics and i know like three people? so the fact that there is so rarely male nudity in shows when there are tits everywhere..... no, how does that even make a tiny bit of sense?). this show was such great, wonderful, awful fun. they’re not great people and the show is under no delusion about that and it’s GLORIOUS!

the witcher (2019) - this was just hella fun, i loved the characters and the fantasy elements. i’m excited for the next season, it’s just entertaining swashbuckling through and through!

fargo (2014) - all of this was really very enjoyable with the through line being somebody fucks shit up and gets involved in something they really shouldn’t be involved in that’s going to swallow them whole. season one and season three were my stand-out favorites but they were all so violent, clever, and vicious!

um.... number 5, part 2? central park (2020) - um..... so many of the hamilton actors in a muscial cartoon drawn and written by the bob’s burgers team? WHAT ABOUT THAT DOESN’T SOUND AMAZING?! it was such a joy to hear daveed diggs and leslie odom jr.’s voices again!!

honorable mentions: schitt’s creek // the mandalorian // mr. robot // broadchurch // mindhunter // jack ryan // the good place // the end of the f***ing world // big little lies // elite // kidding // servant // letterkenny // curb your enthusiasm // i am not okay with this // ozark // buzzfeed unsolved: true crime/supernatural // you // runaways // dear white people // dickinson // brooklyn nine-nine // will & grace // 9-1-1 // dead to me // solar opposites // never have i ever // killing eve // what we do in the shadows // grace and frankie // avenue 5 // roswell, new mexico // the bold type // evil // tuca & bertie // impulse // the umbrella academy // watchmen // infinity train // corporate // search party // on becoming a god in central florida // a.p. bio // criminal: uk // the morning show // mythic quest // last week tonight // prodigal son // the great

#the starless sea #the invisible life of addie larue #the untamed #knives out #2020 favorites list!!#i tried to stick to shows i both started and finished in 2020 otherwise like schitt's creek and the good place would be in top five #same for comics #uh oh i've found the keyboard again

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starffledust · 3 years

Text

Ether’s Calming Fumes (Bunny/North)

[originally posted on AO3]

Original Summary: Nicholas St. North was many things: a warrior, an inventor, a bandit of riches unknown. But he always came bearing gifts.

He stopped walking when his boot hit a bucket of water, its contents turned brown from months of dyes and overuse. Across the ground lay bundles of paint brushes and sponges, colored water and reeds. North did not pick up the mess, but he did smile.

A rabbit was near.

There was life here.

In the greenery and the blooms, it pulsed with an ancient heartbeat. It thrummed through the ground, in the brittled bark shed from trees. There was even life in the rocks, hardened by years of wind and rain but nonetheless alive.

Green spoiled the senses, invading the air and the ground, everything washed in fresh soil and moss. Across color pools and shrubbery, stone statues sat, their engravings moss covered and bleached. Their rounded shapes rooted into the ground with a mighty weight—indeed, they were buried within it—just as alive and green as the land around them.

The stubborn rocks rose and turned their tops sharply, stone grinding against weathered stone as an intruder dressed in red stepped through a canopy of vines, out from the tunnels. Over his shoulder slung a beaten burlap sack.

He nodded at the sentinels with a merry smile upon his face. “At ease, my friends!” he chorused softly, like the whisper of wood in a gentle breeze. “There’s no danger.”

The statues shared a glance, and their faces ground around, turning into sharp smiles.

“Yes,” the friendly-intruder reached into his sack, “is good day. Must not waste it with battles.” His face skewed in concentration as he reached further down the sack, his ear placed against the burlap swallowing his shoulder. “And with” —he huffed and peered into the sack, his arm still reaching— “the circumstances… Oh, where is it?”

He pulled his hand out and switched to his left. His lips pursed as his left arm was thus also swallowed by the bag.

Immediately, his face lit again, blue eyes twinkling as he pulled out two bundles of dark green fabric.

“Move down a bit, please. Must throw present on you.”

One of the stones leaned forward upon the request, and the man threw the fabric onto its head. Then the other, and he did the same.

“There! Is bad chill in Warren during winter, even for rock.” He smiled and lifted his bag from the ground, slinging it over his shoulder once more. He looked next to the large expanse of fields and trees, and the vines which reached their tendrils up to the dirt ceiling.

One of the statues, now clad in a pine green and pink scarf (a large length of fabric, specifically designed for the statue; Warrior Eggs were taller than most humans who normally wore the things), stood and turned its top. Its lips quirked into a stagnant, worried warble, and the eye engravings turned into that of a fish. With a large thump, it sat looking down a different tunnel.

The other statue followed, and they both turned back to their new friend in unison.

“Is Bunny that way?” he asked them, still quiet.

The second wobbled a bit in a nod, and both of their smiles returned with scrapes of stone.

The man smiled and readjusted the bag on his shoulder. “Thank you, friends!” He patted one of the statues on the side and then started forward with a jovial skip, making sure not to jostle the bag too terribly in his excitement.

Nicholas St. North was many things: a warrior, an inventor, a bandit of riches unknown. But he always came bearing gifts. It would not be by his carelessness that they were ruined.

North hummed quietly, a long overtold classical piece with sharp notes and cheerful verses. It had lived with him since his days of banditry, throughout his days of battles and plundering, and here into the present of pop and electronic synths.

He stopped when his boot hit a bucket of water, its contents turned brown from months of dyes and overuse. Across the ground lay bundles of paint brushes and sponges, colored water and reeds. North did not pick up the mess, but he did smile.

A rabbit was near.

Despite his heavy boots, North toed around the river, crouched low to the grass. His coat, lined with white fluff and shining a deep red, was a shadow under the lush trees.

Then someone lobbed a paintbrush at his head.

“Thought to sneak up on me? I’m not a bloody sprog,” came a deep voice of chocolate, the tone as ancient as the Earth was round—and even more so, for it had been with its own paws the voice had molded the land, those same paws which were now outstretched in the aftermath of a throw.

North jumped and turned around, eyes and smile wide. “Bunny! My friend, comrade, brother-in-arms.” He stepped forward, reaching for touch and embrace. “Good to see you.”

E. Aster Bunnymund, Pooka and Guardian of Hope, the nurturer of Earth, flinched away like a startled cat. “What’re you doin, mate?” He gazed at North with big green eyes and a scowl upon his grey muzzle.

“Bunny,” North laughed, “is Christmas.”

“So?”

“So, have presents!” North placed his sack on the grass, right before Bunnymund.

“Yeah, okay.” Bunnymund smiled wryly. “Stoked to have you, mate. You don’t need to bribe me for Warren privileges.” He glanced at the art tools strewn across the ground.

“Ah, no. It’s not bribe.” North’s smile faded into worry, his lips held up with a fishing line of sincerity.

Bunnymund squinted at him, arms crossed over his bandolier. “What d’ya want, then, cobber?” His ears twitched, then perked in realization. The scowl darkened, but his eyes sparkled with a familiar fire of the soul. “Come for another round of Easter vs. Christmas? Mate, Chrissie got nothin’ on me googies, and you know it.”

“No, Bunny. Is time of giving, and I have come to give you Christmas present!” North reached into his sack once more and quickly produced a small, wrapped box the size of his hand. He held it out to Bunnymund. A smile scrubbed the worry from his face, but the tension remained in his eyes. “Is, um, Christmas gift. I had help from others.”

Bunnymund glanced down at the present, at the teal wrapping paper which glistened, and the string tied in a bow. His paws twitched under his arms, longing to touch. But he clamped his wrists harder against his chest and looked North in the eye. “What is it?” he asked stiffly.

North’s smile faded. “Uh. Well, not so fun to know before opening, no?”

“Look, mate.” Bunnymund sighed and bent over to grab a handful of the abandoned art supplies from the ground. He hopped around and away from North.“I don't have time for this. Easter is heaps o’ hard yakka on a good year. I’ve only just begun to clean the destruction from the Nightmares, and then there’s the normal mess that’s left by the dyes and holiday googies. Not to mention your bloody elf.”

“Yes, Yaloo has expressed concern for that one.” North chuckled nervously and shrugged as he turned to keep pace with Bunnymund. “We just don’t know how he gets into Warren. No snow globes, no tunnels. It’s a mystery!”

Bunnymund’s eye twitched as he continued along the riverbank. “The mongrel would bail if he knew what’s comin’ to him. Givin’ me a bloody headache, keepin’ track of the colors and the tools and the googies. Even the human ankle biters are more reliable than that thing.”

“Now, Bunny—” North began softly.

Bunnymund sighed and stopped moving, eyes closed.

North stopped as well and glanced down at the gift in his hand, then back to Bunnymund. “You don’t want Christmas present, then?”

“Nah, mate, that’s not right.” Bunnymund dropped the art tools onto the grass, where a flurry of walking eggs came up to roll and push the paintbrushes away. One tumbled onto its side. “But I don’t think today is a time to accept such a thing.” Bunnymund held a gentle paw against the fallen egg, lifting it slowly like a mother caring for a chick.

When it stood upright, the egg bowed and ran off to join its siblings, who slowly carried the mess away.

Bunnymund stood to full height, watching the eggs go with a fond smile, eyes nostalgic.

North’s boots rooted into the Earth, and he did not move his feet. As if he himself were one with the lively grass and trees, a gentle pulse touched his feet, a comforting presence of life under the Earth, keeping him grounded as his mind searched for the next step. His eyes alighted again on the gift, and he thumbed the paper sadly. “We’re a team, Bunny,” he said softly.

Bunnymund stiffened and slowly turned to look at North, who still gazed down at the sparkling teal of the present. “I know that,” he returned just as sincerely, his voice rich as the darkest chocolate, rippling with curdled milk. “Gave the same speech to Frostbite not eight months ago. I’m older than the planet, cobber. Eight months passes fast enough.”

“I don’t mean as Guardians,” said North.

Ears went up, their grey fluff swaying lightly in the Warren breeze. His eyes—the same color as the grass and leaves surrounded them and so, so full of life now that he allowed himself access to feelings—landed back on the wrapped gift. “This isn’t about Chrissie, is it?” He took a slow step toward North. “And it’s not about Easter either.”

“No.” North smiled and held out the box once more. “Is about us. Not Guardians, not centers. Us.”

Bunnymund stood frozen, green eyes locked in blue, before finally reaching toward the gift. He stopped just shy of touching the surface, glancing up again.

North nodded and pushed the box into his grip.

Immediately, Bunnymund took the gift into his paws and fiddled the string away. With precise movements, he folded and ripped away the wrapping paper, throwing it to the ground when he was done. More eggs appeared on their tiny legs to push away the waste, and the string snagged on one, who thus wore a small bow on its surface as it ran away with the others.

A hitched breath caught the humid air, and even the light breeze quieted as Bunnymund turned his face up to North, paws wrapped possessively around the wooden music box in his palms.

It was of Pookan design, etchings of flowers and eggs and galaxies beyond human imagination. On the underside, there was a list of song names, all written in forgotten script with unskilled hand. But Bunnymund knew whose work it was and did not mind in the slightest.

He opened the lid gingerly, as if it could dissolve into his memories like everything else from his home planet.

A jingle rang out without bells or chimes, a chorus of lost instruments painting the air with melodies sung under Bunnymund’s breath for centuries. They were light, airy things which fleeted from existence the moment they landed. It was a song of hope.

“This—it’s, but how?” His words all stuttered.

But North only smiled and pressed a finger to his lips. “Magician never reveals secrets,” he said, that familiar twinkle in his eyes.

Bunnymund closed the lid and breathed deeply. Satisfaction and reparations quirked up his lips; although the song had stopped, he could revive it later, when he was ready.

And he knew he would be, now more than ever before.

“Bunny?” North leaned closer as Bunnymund’s eyes glistened.

Bunnymund wiped at his face. “Shuddup.” A smile brushed his lips, and his nose twitched minutely. He moved forward. “Just shuddup, you bogan. Hundreds of years, shoulda known you’d never grow past the hopeless romantic.”

“Perfect for hope rabbit,” North pronounced triumphantly.

Bunnymund rolled his eyes, and a faint pink shown through his grey coat. “Never change, North.” He reached a paw out to grab North’s face and bring him closer; his whiskers brushed the man’s cheek, and he let their foreheads drift together.

North smiled and pressed a soft kiss to the base of Bunnymund’s ears before connecting their heads again. “Never,” he breathed, pulling the other closer. He only held tighter as Bunnymund’s arms wrapped around his own frame. “Merry Christmas, Bunny.”

“Merry Christmas, ya dag.”

And if a sliver of moonlight somehow found itself underground, then it just meant that somewhere, high above the children and spirits of the Earth, a solitary man smiled for his Guardians.

#fanfiction #rotg #rotg fanfiction #rise of the guardians #christmas presents #rarepair #e aster bunnymund #nicholas st. north #there is a significant lack of north in this fandom #christmas #yes i know it's january

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akp-1327 · 4 years

Text

the parallel

Pairing: Beckett Harrington x f!MC (Meghan Scott)

Word Count: 2.6k (it’s a longer fic but definitely worth the read :)

Synopsis: The Pend Pals have just finished their exhausting sophomore year at Penderghast and are in desperate need of a break.

Enjoy! :) <3

Meghan placed her hands on her hips and let out a sigh of relief. It was the chaotic night before the last day of school and she’d been packing her belongings all day, preparing to go off on the internship adventure with Professor Harrington, AKA Katrina, as she insisted on being called. Beckett begged her to let him come along with her, though Katrina said no; she wanted some one-on-one time with Meghan to get to know her as more than a student and more of a friend. Exasperation wasn’t even a strong enough word at Beckett’s reaction. Regardless of whether her boyfriend was going or not, Meghan was ecstatic to get off campus and explore the wide and unknown magickal world with her powers; her magick was practically bursting from her fingertips at the thought of exploration.

Meghan’s crystal blue eyes wandered around her lifeless room, once decked out with books, movie posters, and various knick-knacks that were now boxed and ready for the quick trip back home in the morning. It was just a mattress and a sad afghan blanket that she was borrowing from Aster. Sophomore year, as amazing and eventful as it may have been, was definitely allowed to end in Meghan’s opinion. It was enough of an adrenaline rush as it was a headache. With Kane, Alma, Gemma, her mom, her strengthening powers, Beckett...it was all just a lot. She was in desperate need of a proper break.

She was about to turn in for the night and change into her pajamas before she heard a loud knock at her door. The sound sent Ivy, her arylu, on a wild goose chase around the room to find its source. Meghan giggled before she walked over to the door (trying to tame her messy blonde waves first, of course) and cracked it open, seeing the Pend Pals on the other side.

“Hey, Megs? You need to get out of this tiny space. You’ve been cooped up in here all day.” Shreya commanded, though there was no form of malice in her tone. Meghan smiled and looked back at her room, opening the door wider so everyone could see the bare walls and the boxes piled up everywhere.

“Sorry. Cleaning tape off the wall and packing a million things isn’t exactly a quick job, especially when you do it all alone.” Meghan sighed, glaring at her twin. Atlas only smirked. “What’re you all up to?” Everyone glanced at each other, then back at Meghan.

“It’s a--” Zeph started, though Meghan interrupted him with a groan. She already knew what word, what god awful word he was about to utter.

“Surprise,” Meghan said, leaning against the door frame and crossing her arms, “why can’t you guys just tell me? I’m always the victim to these kinds of things and I don’t appreciate it as much as you think I do.” Griffin let out a loud laugh and Beckett’s face was dusted in a rose tint.

“It was Beckett’s idea, actually!” Aster cheered, her leaves rustling with happiness, “He was the one who wanted to surprise us! No one else actually knows what’s happening.”

Meghan’s eyes flitted over to her boyfriend who was now fidgeting under her gaze. “Oh, is that so?”

Beckett instantly stammered and bashfully smiled. “I thought we deserved something after this year, and so it’s more of a surprise for everyone,” Beckett explained, collecting himself a bit, “so I planned everything myself in hopes of relaxing for a little while before we all go our separate ways for the summer.” Shreya hummed and looked back at Beckett.

“You know, Beckett, I have a suspicion that this little extravaganza is being held at the library for some reason. Please tell me this isn’t just my intuition speaking.” Shreya teased, arching her eyebrow. Beckett scoffed.

“As if I’d spoil my plans after keeping them a secret for so long,” Beckett said, looking back at Meghan halfway through his response, “are you going to stand there all night or are you coming with?”

Meghan lovingly rolled her eyes at him. “Let me get my sandals.”

The evening air was warm as the Pend Pals followed Beckett through campus. They passed the library and dorm buildings as the sun sank further beneath the horizon. Meghan fell back into step with her sister who trailed behind everyone; Atlas wore a small frown and had her arms tightly wrapped around her chest, seemingly trying to protect herself.

“What’s up, sis?” Meghan asked, giving her a small nudge with her shoulder. Atlas sighed and gave her sister a half-hearted shrug.

“I hate surprises,” Atlas said, “we’ve had too many bad ones this year. Too many for a lifetime.” She looked down at her scuffed boots and started to kick a pebble along with her as she walked.

“You do know that Beckett would never put us in danger, right?” Meghan asked, looking back at Atlas. Her platinum white hair had been tied up in a ponytail, making it easier to spot the tension fade from her features.

“It’s a habit of mine to think the worst of surprises, Megs. You know that.” Atlas said, unfurling her arms from around her chest. “And you can’t say that. Remember last year when he almost killed the entire school with the ward incident?”

Meghan was the one to shrug. “He’s changed a lot, Atlas. Besides, Raife and Kane are long gone. We’re alright and in no sort of danger.”

Atlas nodded with a small relieved smile, bumping Meghan’s side with her elbow. “Old habits die hard.”

“And new ones create happy memories! Now, loosen up and enjoy tonight for me. Can you do that?”

Atlas rolled her eyes. “Ugh, fine. But I won’t do it for your pleasure.”

Meghan laughed, watching everyone ahead of them slow down and eventually stop next to an empty field.

“Uh, Beckett, sorry to burst your bubble,” Griffin started, gesturing to the openness around them, “but there’s nothing here.”

Zeph and Shreya laughed.

“Maybe it was at the library after all!” Zeph joked. Beckett smirked, crossing his arms.

“No, no. We still have a bit to go,” Beckett started, looking at Meghan, “but I was hoping a certain Sun-Att would care to help me?” Meghan smiled warmly and walked over to him. He gently grasped her hands and threaded their fingers together.

“You two are adorable and I love you both, but I’m on the edge of my seat over here. Save the cutesy stuff for when we get there, please!” Shreya laughed. Everyone nodded in agreement as Beckett sighed, shaking his head with a smile. He gazed into Meghan’s eyes with pure adoration and love that Meghan had started to lose herself in the moment, only before he blinked and snapped her out of her reverie.

“I need you to light the way for me, okay?” Beckett said, squeezing Meghan’s hands. She nodded and, a moment later, was emitting a soft and golden glow that lit up the area around them. “That’s perfect. Now, stay close to me.”

Meghan tightened her hold on one of his hands and let the other one go, now standing at his side. “How about I hold your hand?” Beckett beamed and hummed, pulling her close before he started to walk again. The path ahead was a little more narrow and wooded. Aster giggled as she looked around.

“These woods were the ones I used to play in when I was growing up,” Aster said, brushing her hand along the dark brush, “I’d love to branch here. There’s so much character and uniqueness about the area, so much to learn about.” Everyone continued to walk in the soft light, trying not to trip or get whacked in the head by branches.

“Big B, was this treacherous path really, ow, necessary?” Zeph complained, a branch hitting his forehead. Atlas, Shreya, and Griffin laughed quietly to themselves.

Beckett was about to respond before strikingly bright blue sparks burst on the ground in front of them, slowly forming into a circle. Instead of dirt, the inside had been a blur of purples, pinks, yellows, and greens. Beckett laughed and turned back to his friends.

“To answer your question, Zephyr, this path was the only one that we could take to find this magnificent portal.” Beckett said wondrously, pointing at the portal on the ground behind him. “Because of the rock formations beneath--”

“Oh, shut up already!” Zeph rushed forward and cannon balled into the portal. “Waahoo!”

Griffin and Shreya laughed, running in after him.

“Incoming!” Griffin exclaimed.

“Aaah!” Shreya howled.

Aster and Atlas looked at each other for a second before they jumped in as well, a bit more hesitant.

In mere seconds, it had only been Beckett and Meghan, their hands tightly intertwined as she continued to glow.

“This is what we were looking for? Coooool!” Meghan laughed teasingly, moving closer to see his face of shock. “Beck?” He blinked rapidly.

“What...did...did that just happen?” Beckett asked, a smile starting to encase his features. Meghan giggled and kissed his cheek.

“It did,” Meghan said, wrapping him in a hug, “and I think we should join them!” She pushed off the ground and made them both stagger on their feet. Before he could react, Beckett was tumbling into the portal and free falling into the depths of it, Meghan wearing an expression of amazement in his arms.

“Whoa!” Meghan shouted, clinging to Beckett as wind whipped through her hair. Beckett’s body started to relax from the shock, now starting to laugh and holding Meghan closer.

“Wooo!” Beckett shouted. The colors whizzed together and created a mural of bold and interesting patterns around them. It was as if they were inside an abstract painting! Though, before they could comprehend the moment once more, their descent slowed and they landed on their feet in a world parallel to theirs. Everything seemed the same, everyone looked the exact same as they did before, but the colors of the terrain...the colors…

The land, the trees, the leaves, the bushes, the ground...it was all glowing!

The world of bright light came to life around them. The rest of the Pend Pals eagerly crowded around Beckett and Meghan, still catching their breaths.

“Where are we?” Shreya huffed, putting her hands on her knees. Beckett looked around, gaping.

“This is the Parallel. It’s the universe that’s ours, but,” Beckett started, gesturing to the area around them slowly, “the colors are all fluorescent and the Earth’s gravitational pull is less strong.”

Griffin gasped. “I didn't think the Parallel actually existed!”

Beckett shook his head, still looking around with bewildered eyes. “Neither did I.”

“Wait, so if the gravitational pull is less strong…” Meghan pulled away from Beckett and jumped, her body starting to float before slowly coming back down. “No way! This is amazing!” She jumped with more vigor this time, launching herself higher into the air. The laughs of her friends rang out behind her as they experimented with their weightlessness as well. Zeph and Shreya did flips, Atlas and Griffin did corkscrews, and Aster spun. Beckett, still quite uneasy, tried to do a somersault but to no avail. Meghan laughed and made her way over to him.

“Hey, need some help?” Meghan giggled, taking one of Beckett’s hands. He gingerly smiled before she launched them both high into the air, their bodies spinning through the vivid world around them.

“Jeez, a little warning would be nice!” Beckett exclaimed, though his tone lacked any sort of malice. He had an excited smile on his face as Meghan led him through a flip, then another, and then another. They laughed as they landed, the ground finally halting them of their seemingly endless cycle of flips.

“That looked like so much fun!” Aster cheered, launching herself to do the same exact thing. Eventually everyone had been laughing and tumbling through the air.

“Griffin! I bet I can jump higher than you!” Atlas challenged. Griffin narrowed his eyes and the two were high in the air, flipping and laughing, pushing each other away when they came close.

“Shreya--” Zeph warned, though Shreya still crept up on him until she grabbed his hand and threw him across the forest in slow motion, sending him sprawling. “Aaaaah! Meghan, get revenge!”

Meghan narrowed her eyes towards Shreya and then looked to Aster and Beckett for reinforcements. With a huge grin, they all leapt at Shreya and sent her the other way, also tumbling through the neon landscape. “No!”

“Yes! Justice for Zeph!” Meghan giggled, doing a victorious flip and high fiving Beckett and Aster.

Everyone continued to play around before they started to wind down and tucker themselves out. They were now laying on the ground and looking up at the starless sky.

Beckett swiped Meghan’s hand into his and placed a kiss on the back, inviting her into his arms.

“Did you have fun?” Beckett whispered into her ear. She sighed and cuddled into his embrace, her gaze wandering to her friends pointing up at the sky a little ways away from them. She smiled and leaned up to look at Beckett.

“I had an amazing time, Beckett,” Meghan started, leaning closer to him, “but something’s missing.”

Beckett arched an eyebrow. “What is it?”

Meghan leaned even further, her lips now hovering over his. “I’m missing a kiss, silly!”

Beckett grinned and brought his hand up to cup her cheek, “Say no more, then,” and pressed his lips to hers in a tender kiss. Meghan closed her eyes and smiled against his lips as they kissed, pulling away breathlessly only a moment later to rest her forehead against his.

“Now everything’s beyond perfect,” Meghan whispered, though even more quietly added, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Sweetums.” Beckett responded, pressing a kiss to her nose. Someone’s cough, presumably Atlas’s, scared the two apart.

“A-hem. Lovebirds.” Atlas teased, causing both Beckett and Meghan to roll their eyes. “It’s almost one in the morning.”

The group synchronized a yawn, Meghan’s head resting on Beckett’s chest once more as she settled back down next to him. Despite the implication of needing to leave, no one moved nor spoke. They all just basked in the peace and quiet of the different world for a few minutes, everyone’s breathing slow and calm. Suddenly, Meghan took a deep breath and let it out slowly, sitting up.

“Atlas and I have to leave in a few hours,” Meghan said sadly, “we should probably get our butts back to campus. Beckett, how do we get out of here?”

Beckett sighed and stood. “Back the way we came. Follow me.”

The Pend Pals trudged exhaustively back through the woods and towards campus on the long path. Everyone was leaning on each other for support, everyone’s eyes drooping, and everyone’s smiles never fading. Once they were standing in the middle of campus, they all gave each other hugs and goodbyes.

“We need to go back there next year.” Griffin said, running his hands down his face. Atlas pushed his arm teasingly.

“You just want a rematch at that race. What a sore loser you are, Langley.” Atlas said. Everyone laughed as a comfortable silence fell over the group. Meghan giggled and spoke up.

“Well, I’m going to bed. See you all at breakfast tomorrow?” Meghan asked, looking around at everyone’s nods and attempts to hold back yawns.

“Good night, everyone!” Aster said, walking away. Griffin waved with a warm smile and Zeph saluted. Shreya gave them a dazzling grin and walked off towards her dorm. Beckett took Meghan��s hands in his, staring into her eyes.

“See you in the morning,” Beckett said, pressing a kiss to Meghan’s forehead, “sleep well.” Before she could respond, Meghan watched Beckett walk away towards his dorm. Atlas sidled up next to her and wrapped her arm around Meghan’s shoulders.

“C’mon, Megs. We need get some sleep before we work our butts off tomorrow.” Atlas said, leading her towards their dorm. Meghan wrapped her arm around Atlas in return.

“Happily, sis.” Was all Meghan could say before they returned to the bare room and turned in for the night.

#the elementalists #pend pals for the win #beckett harrington #beckett x mc #beckett harrington x mc #choices stories you play #fluff

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blacknovelist · 3 years

Text

Half-Empty, Half-Full (FE3H Fic)

hey hi what’s up lads, so I like, 100% forgot I could post my piece for the @threehouseszine Beneath The Banner (also available on Twitter under the same name) and as such I’m like ten years late. :) But the zine has been sent out, and I finally noticed like the fool I am that others have posted their pieces, and thusly, I too will post mine! Because I can. And I want to.

My focus was on the Golden Deer post-skip, specifically in some nebulous point during the war. Being part of this zine was really, really cool -- I can’t wait for all the books and merch to arrive with everyone!

(will reblog with links because we all know tumblr likes to break things.)

A beat of something nice, amid the fragments of harder times.

In the spaces between war — between scattered supply checks and ration distribution, bandit skirmishes and long watch nights — Hilda finds the time she needs to breathe.

It came easier, back in the academy. She could simply step back and let the world move around her, steadfast in her belief that it would still be standing when she returned. Nowadays she steals the air in her lungs from glances at the sky and quick delivery walks, from the chip of chisel and steel against stone and wood, from the sensation of gems and petals inlaid on clothes, chains and hooks when she can afford to lay down her axe. Infrequency makes the beats between battles all the more precious.

With the professor around she can afford more pauses still, but Hilda watches herself. She knows, all too well, just how young she is. Claude lies at one year her junior and the professor, with their five year hiatus, sits at two. It wouldn't do for her stubborn leaders to find someone they can’t believe in among their ranks, now.

She’s on the run for errands when she spots a hint of not-plant green and wood not far off the beaten path, and she wastes no time following that tried and true Deer instinct to take a peek. Ignatz is there, as expected, easel propped on a patch of flat land, what she can see of the canvas a tasteful blend of browns and golds. He leans in, fingers dabbed in the same off-white his paintbrush dusts onto his scene.

Now, Hilda doesn’t paint, but she does understand the stress and struggle of art, different forms aside. Which is why she waits until he leans back before she steps forward and taps his shoulder.

“Hey, Ignatz.”

Ignatz yelps, almost drops his brush and earns himself a stripe on his palm for his troubles. “Hilda! Hi. I’m sorry, I didn’t notice you there.”

“Don't worry about it.” She clasps her hands together. “What’re you painting?"

"I wanted to capture the cathedral, while it's still under repair." He gestures to his piece — the white forms the glint of sunlight off patches of rubble, steel and glass, along with the robes of monks and priests as they shift and sweep aside what debris they can. "A lot of artists depict places in their prime, or utterly destroyed, or after they've been restored to their former glory. I thought it would be nice to show the in-between for once. People from every background imaginable, coming together to rebuild for the future. A little different from what I usually paint, but sometimes a little variety is nice."

"And you're doing it all the way out here because…"

"I didn't want to be in anyone's way, and I come out here a lot. I've got plenty of references with me, so it's not a problem." Ignatz shifts and Hilda catches sight of a stack of sketchbooks, some more worn than others, half-spilled from a bag. The top one gets plucked up and held between them as he flips from page to page. Statue busts, the altar and rows of pews among pillars rendered in charcoal and sleek pigment lines. Sometimes, she catches glimpses of green and blue and other colors, or shapes that don't quite match the church art he focuses on, but Ignatz flips too fast for her to see.

Or, almost. "Go back two pages," Hilda says. A grin tugs at her lips. "Was that Claude?"

"Oh! Uh, yes." Though Ignatz learned to leave embarrassment and nerves about his art behind, something in his chest still squirms, just a bit. An image of their leader in the library, face cast in candlelight and more at peace than he ever is during daylight, stares up at the duo. "It's easier when I’m with a person, but sometimes I'll do studies on my own. Practice makes perfect, after all."

"It's beautiful." She reaches out, pauses. "May I…?"

He passes it over. "Here. You can look at the others, too. I don't mind." Then he turns back to the easel and reaches for his paint. "Anyway, I thought this was as good a spot to work as any. There's a field down that way you can see best in the spring, and I like the view of everything from here."

"You'll have to show me when it's in season."

Her eyes flicker over thick paper. Statues. Flowers, trees, forest paths. Distance shots of people, strolling towards town. Swirls of filigree and patterns fill whole pages in patches, tiny stylized animals and the occasional dragon tucked into the empty space. Silhouettes crowd around the pews, and even if she recognizes clothes, many of these smaller figures are faceless.

But she finds a loose sketch, hair popping blond against black ink, of Raphael and a young girl with the same square jaw and broad shoulders. Claude himself appears once more, this time in wireframe form, ordinary steel bow drawn all the way back and arrow pointed to the left. When she plucks one of his other books from the stack it follows a similar trend — renderings of the cathedral, inside and out, stuck in among horse-drawn carriages and sunlit grass patches and clothes and people, both familiar and unfamiliar, faceless and defined. A few drawings are from the past few months: Sylvain in his armor, Baltie with his open-chested shirt, Leonie and her long hair, the monastery scaffolding.

Most of his drawings are from the academy days.

Lindhardt, leaned against a tree, the shadow of leaves mottled on his lap. Herself and Marianne seated in the dining hall. Lysithea, with a book in one hand and a swirl of magic in the other. Claude and Lorenz mid-argument. Felix as he trains blade blurred and bent as he lunges. Dimitri and Dedue bent over a table in their classroom. Edelgard as she strides across the courtyard, Hubert one step behind. Busts of the professor and Jeralt, side by side, the faintest quirk in their lips.

Hilda looks up and pauses. Ignatz presses so close to the canvas he’s peering over the wire frames of his glasses rather than through, brow furrowed and jaw set. She shuts an eye as the sun slips out from behind what’s left of Garreg Mach’s spires. Greyscale flowers peer up from the pages, a reflection of the few asters scattered around their feet. Mountain monastery air goes down sweet and full in her lungs.

"I gotta say, Ignatz,” she says, the edge of her thumb smudged in stray charcoal. "These are amazing. How long have you been doing art?"

"Since I was little." He leans back, considers his work, then leans in again. "My parents are merchants, so we delivered paintings and statuettes to a lot of noble houses in the Alliance. One day I found some extra supplies lying around so I just… picked it up and gave it a shot."

"Well, I'm glad you did. Even these plain sketches look much nicer than anything I could do, and don't even get me started on painting. No offense, Ignatz, but no thank you. Definitely not my wheelhouse."

Ignatz pauses. "None taken, and thank you. You draw?”

"Not much." She waves a hand. "My talents lie in accessories. I like to plan before I start working, figure out how it should come together and doodle in the margins a little sometimes, that's all."

"You're always wearing beautiful jewelry, but I didn't realize you made them yourself." A smile breaks out across his face. "That's amazing, Hilda!"

A blush rolls across her cheeks and she can't stop the tug of her lips into a matching grin. "Oh, stop it. Really?"

"Of course! The colors and shapes you use match your hair, complexion, and the clothes you tend to wear quite beautifully." His brush plunges into a cup of water by the foot of his easel and faces her fully. "When did you start?"

"A long time ago, now – I'm not even sure exactly how long, anymore. I used to make flower crowns and necklaces with my big brother, and it just spun out from there." The book lies closed in her hands now. Her finger runs up and down the paper, feels the grooves between unaligned pages. "I could make them as pretty or ugly as I wanted, so long as I was happy in the end. No one ever expected anything more or less. Not that I ever made something ugly, mind you."

Ignatz hummed. "Have you ever considered selling them?"

"Not really.” Hilda tilts her head. “Do you think it'd be a good idea?"

"Absolutely! You should consider it, once the war is over. I bet people would love them."

She taps her chin. “I’ll give it some thought. What about you, Ignatz? What do you plan on doing once this whole mess is behind us?”

“Well… Ideally, I’ll keep painting,” he says. “Even if I have to do it between my duties as a knight. It might make it hard to find a household to serve, but I don’t want to just stop.”

“Why are you aiming to be a knight? How come you’re not just going off to be an artist or something like you want to?”

“My parents sent me to the academy since my brother’s taking over the business. They didn’t really approve of the whole artist thing.” Ignatz shrugs. “I don’t really think I’m all that cut out for it, to be honest. Fighting’s never been my strong suit.”

“Well that’s a shame,” Hilda says. “Have you ever spoken to them about it?”

He shook his head. "Not much recently, at least."

“You should. Maybe you can convince them, after all this. And if you can’t, then just come to House Goneril, okay? I’ll let you paint as much as you want.”

“That would be nice.” He smiles, then bends to reach for his bag. “Thank you, Hilda.”

“Any time.” She holds the sketchbook out. Ignatz takes it, tucks it gently alongside the others. Before he can put his brush away, he pauses.

“If you have time,” he starts. "Would you like to join me out here again tomorrow? We could work on our projects together, if you have any."

Hilda smiles. "I'd love to, but I'm on stock duty tomorrow. No shuffling off the responsibility for that."

"I see. That's too bad. Maybe next time?"

"... Sure. I'd like that."

#Fire Emblem Three Houses #FE3H #FE3h Fic #FE3H Zine #Beneath The Banner zine #Blacknovelist Writes #long post #(in case readmore breaks tho it shouldn't really)

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vampire-himbos-of-santa-perdita · 4 years

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A punk music novel research masterlist...

Here are all the artists referenced in my girl punk novel, Heaven’s Tiny Daggers!

Gerard Way: Finn (lead singer of HTD) shares Gerard’s origin story of being in art school in New York when she decided to start HTD.

Frank Iero: Davina, rhythm guitarist for HTD comes from a long line of musicians, just like the rhythm guitarist for My Chemical Romance. Penny, HTD’s lead guitarist also shares Frank’s erratic stage presence and general penchant for Trouble.

Mikey Way: Davina’s the first to leave La Bellemort after the hauntings prove too much for her, just like Mikey had to leave the Paramour not long after arriving to work on The Black Parade. Grace and Aster Maddox are also siblings in a band together, like the Way brothers.

Ray Toro: Davina’s got Ray’s calm, sensible demeanor as the mom friend in HTD. She’s also got Ray’s sick fro.

Lynz: Grace has a penchant for the Mindless Self Indulgence bassist’s famous backbends while on stage. Finn and Aster get married on the last day of tour for their third album, just like Lindsey and Gerard Way.

The Used: Aster was so impressed with HTD, he had to bring them on the Crossroad Burials’ European Tour, and then Warped Tour, just like The Used did for MCR. Finn and Aster become inseparable, just like Gerard Way and Bert McCracken.

Hayley Williams: Grace shares Hayley’s origin story of signing a record deal at 15, refusing to become a solo popstar, and instead insisting on fronting a band. Finn Begby is also aesthetically closest to After Laughter-era Hayley.

Panic! At the Disco: Precocious 16 year old Cat Dammit! formed The Dammit Dolls from her Las Vegas circus troupe. While Panic! At the Disco was never a literal circus troupe, the imagery plays out in their music video for “I Write Sins”. The Dammit Dolls’ first album is also set in a cabaret, like A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out. Cricket and Clover was Panic!’s lost album they wrote in a secluded cabin the woods, which they ultimately scrapped due to the band members wanting to go in different directions. The alleged cabin fever that hit them is also present in the bands’ time at La Bellemort. They mention at one point getting so crazed, they set instruments on fire. Cat has her bouts of arson during her time at La Bellemort.

Fall Out Boy: The Resurrectionists are another literal take on FOB’s repeated imagery. The concept of resurrection and immortality plays out in many of FOB’s songs, and necromancer, Noah Carver doesn’t just sing about it...

Pete Wentz: Noah Carver has a knack for seeing potential in new artists. Pete has a habit of discovering fresh up and comers for his record label, Fueled by Ramen. Noah and Davina strike up an immediate close friendship during Warped Tour, just like Mikey Way and Pete Wentz.

Green Day: The Dammit Dolls’ album written in La Bellemort is lost in a fire, similar to the album that would’ve preceded American Idiot, which was lost in a burglary. As a result, both bands chose to go in a much different, political direction.

Frank Iero Andthe Patience: A character is caught in a horrific car crash, just like Frank’s band in 2016.

Vince Neil: The fatal car crash is also inspired by the lead singer of Motley Crue, who was arrested for killing his passenger, the drummer for Hanoi Rocks, while driving under the influence.

Nikki Sixx: Aster was declared dead for 15 minutes before coming back to life, just like Nikki Sixx from Motley Crue.

Led Zeppelin: Grace gets put in a mental institution for attacking Aster. Aster later writes a song for her while she’s recovering, reminiscent of “Wish You Were Here” and “Comfortably Numb,” about Syd Barrett’s suffering from schizophrenia.

Florence Welch: Helene Saturnine is one half of the “Florence & Hozier are Hades and Persephone” meme brought to life. ...only she’s a demon. She also performs astride a hanging moon, like Florence’s “Cosmic Love” tour.

Hozier: Haigh is the other half of the Florence & Hozier meme ....only he’s an angel (and a bog witch). He and Helene spend a lot of time doing dark rituals in churches to solidify their love for one another.

Lady Gaga: La Comtesse shares Gaga’s flare for drama and fashion. She also performs a similar bloody death scene during the VMAs as Gaga’s “Paparazzi” performance to call out the brutal hounding of the media.

Avril Lavigne: Maeve Kennedy shares Avril’s skater punk style and falls victim to a literal take on the “Avril Lavigne is Dead” conspiracy, coming back as a mindless pop-punk princess drone.

Ian Curtis: Aster shares Ian’s manic depressive state and epileptic seizures.

Joy Division: Grace was made to sign her record contract in blood, just like the members of Joy Division did for Factory Records. She and Aster are both also from Manchester.

Kurt Cobain: Aster goes through a grunge phase during his solo tour where he sings broodily with his guitar in knit cardigans like Kurt’s.

The New York Dolls: Someone’s body is found stiffened into a U-shape in rigor mortis after curling up under a table during a drug overdose, just like Johnny Thunders.

New Order: Co-owners of Manchester night club, The Hacienda. Aster takes Grace there (to see them play?) for her 15th birthday.

The Dead Boys: In 1978, Johnny Blitz was hospitalized after being stabbed in a knife fight. CBCBs hosted a Blitz Benefit to raise money for his medical bills. Grace and Aster’s parents show up at this event.

The Misfits: The bands sneak out for a midnight stroll through a New Orleans cemetery and get chased down by the police for trespassing, like The Misfits, who were arrested while searching for Marie Laveau’s grave.

The White Stripes: The Crossroad Burials eventually consists of Grace on drums and Aster on lead vocals, like Meg and Jack White.

#heaven's tiny daggers #sophie writes #girl punk novel #emo problems #punk rock #I was gonna say yes I know Gaga's not punk #but I take it back #she's punk AF #maybe at some point I'll do a masterlist of my reading materials for this one #though I feel that one's gonna be more extensive #with biopics AND reference books AND albums #half of which I haven't even delved into yet #but have this for now

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solaneceae · 5 years

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EGOTOBER DAY 1 - FLOWER

Robbie loved flowers.

That one was a given. Since the undead ego had come into existence among his strange, dysfunctional family members, he always displayed a certain fondness for plant life; they may appear still and lifeless at first glance, but that misconception would be shattered under more scrutiny: the way they would oh-so-slowly move to always face the sun, or grow in a certain direction to reach the light.

Flowers were, in a sense, conscious. Responsive. Alive, despite a misleading appearance.

No wonder the zombie felt a sense of kinship around them.

The other egos must’ve noticed it back then; memories of his family’s warm smiles and excited murmurs as they led him out of the house and into the woods. There, in the mossy clearing surrounding an elder willow tree -his favourite nap spot in the warm months- had stood a little glass house that wasn’t there just a few days before.

“This is a greenhouse,” Jackie had said. “We all had a hand in makin’ it. Even Glitchy McGee over here.”

Said glitch had sneered, but the purple-haired ego had only giggled at his antics; he could tell Anti wasn’t mad. He always could.

“It’s for you,” Marv had continued, rolling his eyes, “we know how much ya like flowers, so we thought you’d like to grow some yerself. It’s tiny, but we made it cosy!”

To say Robbie way thrilled that day was an understatement. He remembered whispers of thank yous and I love yous tumbling from his pale lips, his gangly arms reaching out to embrace the people he cared about most. Schneep’s stern advice about proper growing conditions, Chase’s laughter, JJ fondly ruffling his hair. He remembered warmth and unbridled happiness.

But now, he only felt cold.

Robbie let out a distressed whine, fingers slowly brushing along the decaying asters and daffodils. He didn’t understand. He had worked so hard! His body may be slow and unfit for precise handiwork, but back then his natural patience and gentleness had been enough to make his greenhouse flourish. “Even… asked Host… last time we visited…”

So why? Why was everything turning brown? What did he do wrong?

He shivered; the air had become chill the past few days, and his trusty striped sweater didn’t quite cut it anymore, especially for a creature devoid of warm blood. Robbie knew he rarely ever left the heated comfort of the house during the colder months, so he’d been worried about the state of his plants if left unattended for too long.

Looked like he wouldn’t need to worry about that since they were all dying anyway.

The zombie shook his head; what was he thinking? He could still save them! Surely one of the others would know what to do. His milky white eyes steeled in resolve, he walked out of the greenhouse, rubbing his wool-covered arms for a semblance of warmth; he had a magician to find.

***

“You want me to do… what?”

Robbie stared, tilting his head to the side; Marv was at his desk in the library, a bewildered expression on his face, as if the undead ego had just sprouted another head. “Fix… my flowers? With your magic?”

The masked man stayed silent. A few seconds ticked by, heavy and increasingly uncomfortable, as Robbie’s determination started to crumble. “...please?” he tried, thinking it would somehow defuse whatever issue his brother seemed to be having with his request.

The older ego took off his kitty mask and shook his head, an apologetic expression on his face. “Buddy… I can do lots with my magic. But reversing the course of nature?” He grimaced. “I tried it once, and… well, it felt like shite. Like I was tampering with something way bigger than myself.”

The zombie’s hopeful expression crumbled. “So… you can’t help me?”

The magician felt awful letting his little brother down, but primordial magic wasn’t to be trifled with, and he wouldn’t budge on his decision. “I’m sorry Robster, but you gotta let this go. Flowers wither eventually, that’s a fact of life. They’ll regrow when spring comes back, you know that, right?”

Robbie frowned; he did. He knew flowers couldn’t thrive in the cold, he’s read it in one of Schneep’s books back when he first started growing his own plants. But he’d grown so used to always looking after these fragile, colorful lifeforms, the prospect of spending months without caring for them didn’t sit well with him.

“I… understand.” he drawled sadly, looking up at the taller man. “Thank you… for being honest.”

Marvin offered him a gentle smile, setting his hand down on the young ego’s head to ruffle his purple hair. “It’s alright. They’ll be back in no time, you’ll see. Want to clear up the greenhouse with me tomorrow? That way it’ll be all nice and clean for next year’s sprouts.”

As the undead nodded -if a bit unenthusiastically- at his brother’s idea, a pale, green-haired ego quietly scoffed from behind a bookshelf, before vanishing in a burst of neon-colored static.

As Anti found himself outside, he rested his back against a tree and put his face in his hands, glowling; Robbie had the annoying tendency to project his emotions outwards without any restrain, especially when he was upset. The glitch could almost taste it in the air whenever he came close, and it brought up something within him he wasn’t quite willing to face. To make matters worse, Anti suspected that Robbie wasn’t even aware of this particular ability of his, and the glitch was apparently the only ego sensitive enough to pick up on it.

In any case, he did not like the feelings the zombie radiated right now. It pissed him off.

Coming to a decision, Anti glitched into Chase’s room, a plan slowly forming in his mind. “Brody, I- Stop screaming, it’s me- Chase, I swear to fuck, if you don’t shut up right now I will strangle you. Look, I need help with something.”

***

“Robbie? Hey bud, wake up.”

The zombie stirred, milky white eyes fluttering open. Chase was kneeled down next to the couch, gently shaking him awake. Robbie’s face scrunched up in a high-pitched yawn as he carefully sat up from his nap spot in the living room. “Wha…? Do you… need me to move?” The fatherly ego chuckled. “Something like that. Wanna follow me outside? There’s something we wanna show ya.”

He nodded, still lethargic; he’d been feeling down since he and Marv had cleared up the greenhouse the day before, so any distraction was welcome in his book. “Okay…”

***

And what a nice distraction it was.

Robbie gasped, gaze fluttering excitedly around him; dozens of strange, flowerless plants he’d never seen before. Shiny and plump, ranging from deep emerald green to pastel pink, reaching high or hanging low from suspended pots above his head.

He stared, enthralled by the discovery. So pretty… he kind of wanted to much on them a little.

“Do you like it?” JJ signed cheerfully from beside him.

He turned around; his brothers were watching him expectantly, gauging his reaction. He timidly smiled at them. “I… love them… they’re pretty…” he drawled, smile morphing into a worried frown. “But...”

Schneep cleared his throat. “We- well, some of us couldn’t help but notice you were distressed when your flowers wilted.”

Jackie squinted at the doctor’s words. “What’s that emphasis for?”

“Ah, Bitte verzeih mir, I mustn’t have been clear enough. You are about as observant as a mole and I cannot believe we are related in any way whatsoever.”

“Hey!”

“Aaaanyway,” Chase rolled his eyes as the two kept bickering next to him, “those are actually succulents. They’re very durable in both hot and cold weather, and barely need any water. Anti thought you’d like something you could care for all year-long, in addition to your usual summer plants.”

The zombie tilted his head. “Ant…?” Was this his more elusive brother’s idea?

“Yeah,” Marvin scratched the back of his head, grimacing. “He was really weird about it too. Like, you being sad made him angry somehow? So he threatened us to make it stop?” he shrugged. “We would’ve done it regardless, but you know how dramatic he can get.”

“Look who’s talking.” Schneep deadpanned. The magician laughed, flipping his long green braid behind his back. “Bitch, I’m fucking fabulous. There’s a difference.”

Robbie only watched as his family kept throwing jabs at each other, warmth blooming somewhere in his chest as he smiled. He’d have to thank Anti next time he caught him; he might have fooled his brothers with his cold and aloof facade, but he couldn’t hide from Robbie. He was less naive that most would think, and really good at figuring other people out.

The zombie would make sure the glitch understood that. -----

@lilakennedy @tabbynerdicat @egopocalypse @humblecacti

dm me if you wanna be tagged in my egotober fics!

#egotober2019 #egotober #flower #robbie the zombie #jse #jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye egos

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m4st4rd · 4 years

Text

Fly Away (Bucky x Faery!OC)

so because i’m bucky trash, i decided to write a little pre CA:TWS fic of him saving a character i made. there isn’t really that much interaction til the end, but i’m cool with dat :)

i hope you enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it!

warnings: spiraling thoughts, panicking, spider mentions

INDIGO KNEW THE sound. The steel rain, the other fae called it. The strange giants that thudded through her woods with their metal machines and strange language. She knew what to expect.

It happened often and suddenly. A shout or a whistle would sound from high up in the trees, and soon, her clan would be speeding into the leaves. At first, they covered their ears and cried in time with the sound of their weapons, but now, they counted the seconds until it was over. It never lasted long

Ivy and Aster pushed on leaving the forest. They said that it was too dangerous for the fae, with the changing seasons and the humans. But Indigo’s father insisted that they were wood fae. There was nowhere else for them. They’d just have to brave the seasons of steel rain.

She wasn’t prepared for this attack, though.

She was flying absently through the snowy forest, admiring the blanket of white across her trees. Running her twinkling hands along the snow-capped branches and the pine needles that stayed on the bark. She didn’t think anything of the faint noises from behind her. But the moment the first shot cut through the air, she was frozen, suspended in the cold. She couldn’t process anything. Alone, too far from camp. Vulnerable.

When the shouting got closer, she finally started to fly. When she saw the huge, dark shapes trampling through the snow, her silky purple wings fluttered as fast as they would, and her tears were freezing on her face. Her lips trembled with each panicked breath. Her ink black hair whipped around and got into her eyes. She couldn’t see anything. She didn’t see the trees thickening and changing.

For one fleeting moment, she turned around, flying backwards. She couldn’t find the familiar pines that filled her clan’s territory. Vivid red leaves filled her vision and coated the forest floor. Red, like the blood of the fae that had fallen to the ste —

Before she went any farther, she was stopped abruptly. Her shoulders protested as her bare neck touched something terribly sticky. Her vision blurred, and with each cool breath, she inhaled a sickly sweet smell that sent her head spinning.

Indigo was tangled in a spider web.

Despite the frigid air, sweat beaded on her skin. As the rain echoed through the forest, her vision turned red and her ears rang with every shout. She’d die, entwined in a monster’s nest, as its next meal or from the freezing weather. Her clan would have no idea where she met her fate. They’d endure years of steel rain without her, push through the seasons one less. The web trembled every time she twisted, trying to at least pull her arm free to wipe the wetness from her cheeks.

The giants, now tiny in her view, stopped several feet from her. Their sleek black armor glinted from the white sun, and their strange, bitter language was audible even from afar. One man shouted something to his friends — an order, no doubt about it — and they turned and marched through the blood snow.

Indigo almost screamed, fighting a war with herself to not get their attention. What was she thinking? Those humans were a thousand times her size, with weapons, no less. They’d kill her for sure, or at least capture her and poke her with their strange tools and laugh at her and —

She needed to stop. The steel rain was over. The humans were gone. And she was still trapped and alone. A fresh tear made its way down her face.

Before her vision was blurred from the tears, something caught her eye. A tree, not too far from where she hung, and a dark, looming shadow slipping out from behind it. From what she could see, a metallic glint hanging heavily at its side. Pale, stubbled skin and damp, dark hair that brushed a chiseled jaw. Clouds of breath floating through the air. It was dressed in similar clothes to the other giants and dragged a similar weapon through the snow. But something about this one was different. One of its massive arms was made of steel, a red star painted onto its shoulder. Two enormous hands flexed shakily, and its lips moved quickly.

It was walking in her direction.

With a start, Indigo’s heart leaped to her throat. Her tiny fingers tore helplessly at the web, her breathing picking up the pace with each step the giant took. She’d rather die from the cold than at the mercy of a human.

But something stopped her struggles. Something was burning into her head. When she looked up, she was met with the gaping face of the giant. He stood mere feet away from her, staring at the sight in front of him: a helpless faery entwined in a spider web. Probably his next kill.

A pair of steely blue eyes blinked at her. And then he was speaking. To her. He was speaking in the same bitter language that the other giants spoke in, but instead of sounding harsh, it sounded soft and gentle coming from him. His weapon fell to the snow, and before she could translate anything he’d said, he was walking towards her. Slowly, carefully. His shadow engulfed her. His soft gaze bore into her miserable form.

“Маленький,” he murmured. Her brain worked to interpret it, but failed miserably. “Ты боишься.” The man knelt before her, forcing her to stare at the eyes bigger than her entire head. His breath ruffled her damp hair and warmed her shivering body. “Не пугайся, дорогая. Я вытащу тебя отсюда.”

Suddenly, he was moving. Those giant hands were surrounding her, prompting a shaky gasp to escape her lips. They hesitated, and for a moment, the human was gazing sorrowfully at her, but she still couldn’t stop the thick fingers from delicately pinching her aching wings, pulling the sticky strands off of her freezing body and laying her into his expansive palm. It’s that easy for him. Indigo was on her hands and knees in the giant’s hand, coughing up the goo that had accumulated in her throat. She couldn’t even begin to think of what a sad sight she was. And for one horrible moment, she was waiting for the man to close his fist, to crush her right then and there. Because that’s what humans did: kill. She squeezed her eyes shut and waited for her inevitable death.

But nothing came except for the soft rumble of his deep voice. “Улетай, красивая,” he breathed, “ты в безопасности.”

When Indigo looked up, she gasped. He was smiling at her. She felt her gears click into place; she could finally translate this strange language. Fly away, beautiful. You’re safe. A gentle thumb nearly as tall as her brushed against her tear-stained cheek. He was letting her go.

For a second, she was in shock, staring up at the face that towered above her. There was no way. But when he smiled expectantly, flattening out his fingers for her, she knew that he really was freeing her. Her heart fluttered as she stood on the uneven surface, taking in the scene around her. A fleeting thought passed in her mind: I don’t want to leave. She dared to smile shyly up at him. Her tiny hand rested on one of the fingers surrounding her. A silent thanks.

Her tired wings flickered to life, and Indigo floated above the strange giant for a brief moment. He stared up at her, surprise mingling with the grin on his face. “Прощай,” he called to her. Goodbye. She thought it, too.

As she flew through the quiet woods, she made a note in the back of her head to find him and thank him properly.

#gt #giant/tiny #bucky barnes #oc #faery oc #faery #marvel #mcu #original writing #i am utter trash #i wanna make a part 2????#i love gt bro #g/t writing #mustard writes

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ahamiltongarden · 5 years

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CRATHIE AUTUMN FLOWERS

Plumbago, dahlia, zinnia, aster, rose, salvia, and anemone, with foliage of aquilegia and pelargonium. When you go around the garden in search of possibilities for an arrangement, there doesn't seem to be much available, but when you pick this and that, and then bring it inside for conditioning in deep, cool water, you see possibilities. Before I went outside I knew I wanted to use the Chinese vases so I stuck to a mainly analogous scheme of pink into red into mauve into purple into blue. The one white spray of tiny wood aster flowers is the ‘wild card’. The pale grapes, the neutral backdrop and black cup help cool down the palette.

#Crathie #Autumn flowers

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afterganon · 5 years

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After Ganon Part Two

Zelda awoke in an unfamiliar room, daylight breaking through the window to her left. The bed she occupied felt soft as the goose down beds of Hyrule Castle... Or what was once the castle. Below her pots and pans clanked, a sizzling faintly calling her to the cure for her empty stomach. At the foot of the bed were her new folded clothes, their blue and white pattern reminiscent of her old blouse, but padded with heavier material. The pants were a strong leather, with metal kneecaps and a pair of good boots to match them, metal greaves reinforcing the shoes. Changing quickly into the well tailored clothes, Impa having remembered her fittings after so long apart, Zelda made her way downstairs. A stair creaked beneath her foot. Link spun in an instant with a butcher’s knife in hand... Only for it to clatter against the floor when he met her eyes. The knight looked down to his hand in horror and Zelda crossed the kitchen floor to pull him into a tight embrace. Over his shoulder she saw the finely chopped ingredients of whatever he had been cooking. Did he always know how to cook? Link’s arms came around her, and although she was the one comforting him, Zelda couldn’t help but feel safe in the circle of her champions arms. She stroked the back of his head slowly. “It’s okay, it’s okay. I understand. It’s okay.” They parted, Link smiling thankfully as he returned to the simmering concoction on his stove. “What are you making Link?” The princess inquired, taking a seat at the table and looking around with interest at the house of her champion. Upon the walls were weapons and shields of legendary might, enchanted bows, swords of great magic and science. Nestled between an Ancient Shield and a Savage Lynel Shield was a simple Pot Lid, something that made Zelda chuckle. Link took the recipe he was following from the counter beside him and handed it over to his guest as way of an answer. “Hearty Salmon Meunière?” The princess asked with raised eyebrows. “How long have you been cooking for?” Link cocked his head and smiled in confusion, jostling his damp hair. “Not long, I wanted to have some food ready before you woke up.” Zelda giggled, “No, I mean when did you start learning to cook like this?” Her champion frowned, plating her meal up carefully. The young woman waited patiently, knowing that Link would speak once his thoughts were organized. “When I woke up, Hyrule was gone and I didn’t know anything or anyone. I just knew I had to fight, to survive, to save you.” He put the meal in front of her, along with a knife and fork. He waited for her to begin eating before speaking again. “I had to cook my own food, so I figured I should learn to make it an enjoyable experience.” “Are you not going to eat?” Zelda asked in concern, but Link only smiled as he gestured to a dirty plate beside the stove. “Oh you already ate... What time is it?” Link chuckled. “You were very tired. you slept from noon yesterday until... I think it’s almost sunset.” Zelda’s eyes widened in surprise, her mouth filled with salmon and the delicious sauce that Link had made for it. No wonder she was so hungry! The princess swallowed her food and looked sheepishly at Link, who was delighted to see her wolf down his cooking in a far from refined manner. “I’m sorry.” She said, taking a cloth from the center of the table and dabbing at her mouth and chin. “My manners are atrocious.” Link shook his head emphatically. “Food must be good.” He said with a wink, smiling at Zelda’s laughter. The meal passed in companionable quiet, Zelda complimenting Link’s cooking at many points and Link blushing at many points. When she was done the princess picked up her plate and and collected Link’s dish, before looking around in confusion. Link stood up and tried to take the dishes from her. “No, I want to help.” Zelda insisted. “Where do you wash up?” Link stood for a moment, amused and appreciative that the princess was offering to, for what Link assumed was the first time in her life, wash dirty dishes rather than have him do it for her. He shrugged and opened the front door, grabbing his pot, pan, and a bar of soap from the shelf beside the door on his way past. Outside he gave Epona a pat as he passed her and squatted by the pond, scooping sand into a pot, soaping the water, and then scouring it vigorously. Zelda watched him for a few moments, then mimicked them. They washed in silence, before Zelda huffed. “Surely there’s an easier way?” “Hot water and a wire scrubber clean things faster.” Link nodded. “I don’t like using wire brushes though, they scratch the plates and cookware.” “Did you learn all of this after you woke?” Link nodded, his movements practical and efficient. “When did you buy this house?” Zelda asked curiously, quietly noting the room at the back of said house. “I had been journeying for two months, crossed the Gerudo Desert, climbed to the peaks of the Hebra Mountains.” Link put his cleaned dishes to the side, taking cutlery from the pile beside Zelda without a struggle. “I was getting stronger, saved Vah Naburis and Vah Ruta, but each time I was hurt or exhausted and crawled back to a stable or a nearby town it didn’t feel quite right...” Link turned and shaded his eyes from the setting sun, looking towards the colourful, boxy houses across his bridge. “The people who live there, Bolson and Karson, along with my friend Hudson, built this house and gathered almost all of the furniture in it for... A fair price.” “How much is a fair price?” Zelda frowned, concerned that he had been swindled. “I could afford it well enough.” Link shrugged. “Rupees weren’t important to me at the time, I was focused on getting stronger and freeing the Divine Beasts.” Zelda’s next question was cut off, as light footsteps hit the wooden slats of Link’s bridge at a rapid pace. Link stood up and took his washed dishes back to the house, with a curious princess in tow. A child was knocking on Link’s door frantically, crying as she did so. “MISTER LINK! MISTER LINK PLEASE I NEED HELP!” “Mister Link” quickly rushed to her side. “Aster calm down! What’s wrong, you’re meant to be home by now.” Aster drew in a ragged breath, tears and snot running down her face. “The monsters took Teebo!” Link’s comforting expression became thunderous in a moment, his muscles stiffening as he firmly held Aster’s shoulders. “Where did they take him Aster? Which direction? Quickly!” “W-we were playing in Mi-Midla Woods.” Aster croaked, wiping at her face. “And they came out of the trees, a big monster took Teebo and ran towards the big tower, the blue one!” Link nodded and dashed inside the house to arm himself, Zelda knelt down and hugged the girl to her. “Shhhh, it’s going to be okay, Link will find him.” “Th-they eat people!” Aster cried into the princess’s shirt. “It’ll be my fault, it was my idea to play hide and seek!” “No no, you mustn’t say that.” Zelda said, rocking gently from side to side. “This is no one’s fault but the monsters who took your friend. It is because of you that he could be saved.” Link burst from the house at a dead sprint, rushing past Zelda and Aster, trusting in the princess to keep the child safe and calm. The champion’s pace did not let up, not when he rounded the house, crossed the paddock, or when he approached the cliff beyond. He jumped, Revali’s Gale catching his glider as he swung it above his head and launching him into the sky. Zelda gasped behind him, shocked to see Revali’s power lift Link upwards, but she quickly overcame her shock to attend to Aster. Link was flying, wind whipping at his clothes and hair, the Bokoblin Tree Fort rapidly coming into focus before him. His eyes scanned the space quickly, accounting for the three Bokoblins (Two red, one blue) and the larger Moblin. Link growled under his breath, the damn thing had skin too dark to be blue and in its hands was a sack. A sack that moved. Link landed behind their lookout, a red Bokoblin that squealed as Link ran it through with his glowing Ancient Sword, turning on the balls of his feet to arc his blade around and pass through its blue friend’s neck. Above him the last Bokoblin squeaked in fear and scrambled for its bow, but the Hero had already found his own. An arrow buried into the flesh between that monster’s eyes, and another slammed into the black Moblin’s spine, the creature grunted and turned, dropping the sack in surprise. Good. Thought Link. Now I don’t have to worry about hurting Teebo. The Moblin ran at him with a bellow of rage, its claymore coming down in a vicious swing that Link nimbly ducked under and rolled behind, his Ancient Sword flaring once more as he cut a path across the monster’s back. The beast roared as the arrow wound Link had given it moments before was sliced with that burning weapon. The Moblin swung a desperate and wide sweep with its sword, catching Link’s left arm to the Hero’s surprise and chagrin. Pressing the advantage, the monster stepped forwards and gripped the claymore in a double handed manner that... Left it wide open. Link surged forwards and the point of his sword found the soft flesh under that Moblin’s chin, unhindered there it continued up into the massive creature’s brain. Right in the off switch. Link grimaced as his sword shattered from the strain. Wasting no time, he ran to the upper platform, taking his dagger from its sheath and carefully cutting open the sack. “TAKE THIS!” Teebo screamed, slamming his tiny fist into Link’s jaw. The champion rolled with the punch, trying to save Teebo’s knuckles as best he could, still the young lad left out a pained yelp as his fist connected with the chiseled stone of Link’s face. The hero rubbed at his mouth indignantly, but with a twinge of pride. He noticed Teebo’s glasses by the boy’s feet and bent down to pick them up, wary this time of the boy’s powerful martial arts. Gently, but still with some haste, Link slipped the glasses back onto Teebo’s head and stepped back. The boy blinked as his eyes adjusted, but they flew wide as he finally recognized the kind young man that lived across the bridge. “Mi-Mister Link?” He said, tears welling in his eyes as he rushed forwards to cling onto his rescuer’s side. “MISTER LINK!” Link laughed, more in relief and to assure Teebo that it was okay, that he was alright, than out of any particular humour in the situation. “Hey there T-man.” “I’m sorry! I’m sorry Link!” Teebo sobbed as Link picked him up and carried him down from the fort, careful to avoid the monster remains. Huh, that’s weird. Link thought to himself. Their bodies haven’t disappeared. “Sorry for what T-man?” Link asked jovially, swinging the boy around so that he was seated on the hero’s shoulders. “For- For hitting you.” Teebo said, sniffling as he tried to stop crying. “Teebo, if I wanted to be friends with anyone, it’s the kid that comes out of a sack ready to punch monsters.” Link told him, reaching up to pat the boy’s side. “You’ve got a mean right hook, if I didn’t flinch you’d have taken my head off.” “My hand hurts.” Teebo replied simply. “They do that, after you hit someone.” Link chuckled. “You should thank Aster when we get back, she ran all the way to my house so that we’d know you were in trouble.” “I th-thought Bolson went home when it started getting dark?” Teebo asked, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “Oh that’s right, you were off with Azu when I got back.” Link muttered. “I have a friend staying with me, I think you’ll like her, T-man.” “Is she from Lurelin?” Link scanned the forest as they passed through, wary of any opportunistic monsters that may have heard the fight. “Noooo... She’s from the castle.” “The castle?” Teebo asked suspiciously. “No one is from the castle, monsters live there.” “Not anymore.” “What do you mean not anymore?” “I made them go away.” Link hedged. “Like the monsters that took you.” Teebo, atop the shoulders of a man that had just beaten more monsters than he had seen in his life, thought on this for a moment. “So she’s from the castle?” Link smiled. “Why don’t I tell you about it tomorrow? Tamana must be out of her head worrying about you.” “Promise?” “Promise. We’ll play tag afterwards yeah?” Back in the village, Link found Tamana’s house empty, and her Cuccos untended. Sighing, the champion decided to take Teebo to Aster, so that she knew he was safe. They were barely halfway across Link’s bridge when a cry of “TEEBO!” came from the house, and both Tamana and Aster rushed to the boy. Seeing his mother and friend brought fresh tears to the youngster’s eyes and he ran to his mother’s embrace, Aster joining the hug as Tamana held her son close. The young mother looked up to Link from where she clutched Teebo as the champion stepped closer. “Thank you, by the Goddess thank you Link. If anything had happened to him I wou-” “Don’t worry Tamana.” Link quickly interrupted, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. “Teebo had it wrapped up by the time I got there, half a dozen Bokoblins beaten to a pulp, right T-man? All I had to do was wrestle the Moblin down.” Teebo, red eyed and wet cheeked, shook his head. “Mister Link killed a black Moblin Momma, if he wasn’t... wasn’t there then-” “Then the men from the village would have saved him instead.” Link said firmly. “Dantz would have cracked their skulls with a shovel, I’ve no doubt.” Zelda came over from the doorway, helping Tamana to her feet. “Aster rushed here as fast as she could, it’s because of her that Link got there so fast.” Tamana nodded, reaching out to give Aster a tight hug. “You’re a good friend, but please, stay. out. of. those. WOODS.” “Yes ma’am.” Aster squeaked. “Monsters don’t kidnap children usually.” Link said with a frown. “Tell the other kids to stay near the village from now on you two.” Aster and Teebo nodded dutifully, both trying furtively to clean themselves up. “For now go and get some rest.” Zelda said, patting Aster on the head and giving Teebo’s shoulder a squeeze, before looking up at Tamana. “And maybe a warm bath?” “Absolutely.” The mother nodded. “I’ll tell Medda what happened, and make sure Aster gets a good meal, maybe a new toy or a dress, I can make her a dress if I have some spare time in-” “Tamana.” Link said patiently, used to the woman’s rambling. “The kids are probably getting cold.” “Right!” Tamana nodded, taking Aster and Teebo’s hands in her own. “C’mon kids, let’s get you clean and warm.” Link waited until they had disappeared behind the Bolson Construction display homes before he took a hissing breath and clutched at his arm, going over to the cooking pot by his house and taking several things from his belt pouches, Zelda glimpsed a fairy and some grisly looking remains in the mix before he tossed them in the pot and quickly combined the ingredients into a health elixir that he downed before it even cooled. The slash across his arm closed up, and the blood that had seeped out evaporated, swirling into a stream of mist that Link inhaled and sighed as he was righted. “A hard fight?” Zelda asked with concern. “Ganon knocked more out of me than I realized.” Link explained sheepishly. “I let the Moblin get the better of me. I don’t like this kidnapping business, I’ll have to watch out when they come back under the blood moon.” Zelda tilted her head, confusion weighing down her brows. “Come back? Link, they won’t come back. Ganon is gone now, his power won’t resurrect the monsters anymore.” Link stopped, halted, paused, and froze all at once. His brain broke for a moment as that reality settled into his logical reasoning, before fixing itself and processing what the princess had said. A giggle escaped him, quickly it evolved into a chuckle, and then a full blown rolling laugh. He held his stomach and doubled over as mirth overtook him. “I can gain ground!” He exclaimed, gripping Zelda’s shoulders in joy. “I can push them back!” His grin faded as he looked to his hands, a blush spreading over his face. After the heat of battle and the joy of defeating Calamity Ganon, hugging his Princess had felt natural, expected, but now that he had a cool head? The difference in their station was never so clear. He quickly stepped back. “I- I’m sorry Princess, I didn’t mean to-” “Link.” Zelda interrupted him tiredly, stepping forwards to close the distance he had placed between them. “You don’t need to apologize for just... Just touching me.” She reached out and took his hand in hers, holding it as she spoke. “We haven’t been near one another for a century, but I feel like there is no one else I could be closer to. It’s because of you that I’m alive, that ANYONE is alive. You died because of me, and slept for a hundred years recovering, when you woke up I felt like hope had returned to the world... And fear. You had every right to deny me, to abandon me, but without your memories, without any idea who I was, you decided to listen and rescue me.” Link’s hand gripped hers tighter. “There was no choice.” “Of course there was.” Zelda said with a bitter huff. “You could have decided I was finally too much of a-” Link’s other hand bumped into her chin, tilting it up so that Link could look into her eyes. “If I woke up in that cave a million times over, each and every time I would walk out knowing my purpose. Save the princess.” “Why?” Zelda asked. “Because it’s your destiny?” Link shook his head, letting his hands fall to his sides. “Because if I didn’t save you, I wouldn’t be me. Just like how if you didn’t seal Ganon, you wouldn’t be you.” The two headed inside, Link pleasantly noting that Zelda had brought the dishes inside after he rushed off to save Teebo, they turned and ascended the stairs. The tired knight sat down on his stool, lent back against the wall with one arm upon the banister and the other on his bedside drawers, propping up his head. Zelda sat down on his bed, scooting until she was lent against the wall beside the window. “Do you get injured often?” Zelda asked quietly, a tone in her voice that made Link wary. “Not anymore, at the beginning I did, but as I improved and grew stronger there were less opponents that could worry me.” Link shifted his shoulders. “Riju thinks I could stand to carry more durable shields with me.” “Smart advice.” Zelda said with a raised eyebrow. “Who’s Riju?” “The Gerudo Chieftain.” Link revealed, a grin curling his lips. “She’s very young, but quick as a whip and loved by the Gerudo. You could say she has their... Seal of approval.” Zelda smiled as Link snickered at his own joke, not quite sure why it was funny, but enjoying her stoic knight showing off his happiness. “I’d like to meet her sometime, if she’s anything like Urbosa I’m sure...” Link looked over with a frown, finding the princess on the verge of tears as she looked to his side. At the picture of the Champions. Link was at Zelda’s side in an instant, his concerns about touching her forgotten as he embraced the young woman and tried to comfort her. “It’s like I saw her yesterday Link.” Zelda told him, keeping a vice-like hold on his torso. “Like I saw all of them.” “They’re at rest now.” Link told her, not sure if it was the right thing to say. “I saw them briefly, after defeating the pieces of Ganon within the Divine Beasts. They guided the attack that decimated Ganon from above.” “Could... Could they still be in the Divine Beasts?” Zelda asked tentatively. “Even a piece of them?” “Maybe.” Link acknowledged. “With spirits as powerful as theirs, I wouldn’t bet against it.” Zelda grew quiet for a time, her hold on Link unbroken. “Can I go to see them? If they truly are still there?” “I’ll take you myself when I’ve recovered.” Link assured her. “I was planning on seeing Dorephan as soon as possible, we can visit Vah Ruta while there.” Zelda nodded, a yawn overtaking her for a moment. “And then... I would like to travel to the Gerudo Desert, to see Vah Naboris, and Chieftain Riju.” “That shouldn’t be a problem.” Link said, his own eyelids heavy, his muscles aching. The champion shuffled backwards, until both he and Zelda were laying down comfortably on his bed. “We can go there first even, if you want.” “Mhhmmm.” Zelda murmured, shifting against his side. Link chuckled softly, tucking a pillow under his head and settling in. Out of his window a full moon was rising, a pale white moon.

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ernestsinclairs · 5 years

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Griffin Langley Wedding Board

**Request any LI for a wedding board!**

The Ring: Drawing from your Sun Attuned powers, Griffin chose a simple solitaire diamond, but surrounded by a tiny floating halo of minuscule crystals. Every time it hit the light, the ring would flash and glow, sending a tiny swirly pattern of light into the air.

The Dress: Shreya got you an appointment with one of the finest dressmakers in the Attuned world, who proceeded to craft you a dress of a soft nude fabric inlaid with endless yards with fine white lace. The dress seemed to be a part of you, there was no telling where it ended and you began.

The Ceremony: Griffin had always been devoted to the forestry of his Earth Attuned powers, so you did it where he did best - one of Aster’s nymph’s forests in Ireland. The entire walkway was covered with flowers, and wood nymphs played echoing music as you walked down the aisle. Cost? Free. Experience? Priceless.

The Cake: You and Griffin settled for a vanilla cake, but with a filling that changed flavors with the guest’s preferences. When you bit into it, you felt the tart, but sweet zing of blackberries. Griffin insisted that his was chocolate. Even at the end of the ceremony, three slices each later, you still hadn’t come to an agreement.

Extra Notes: Everyone pitched in for the wedding. Beckett footed the bill, Shreya brought in the grandest designers, Aster made the location perfectly magickal, and even Atlas managed to add some luminous lighting to the entire venue. All you and Griffin had to do was show up - which you most happily did.

First Dance Song: Bloom, The Paper Kites

#te #the elementalists #griffin langley #griffin langley x mc #griffin x mc #griffin headcanon #griffin headcanons #griffin langley headcanon #griffin langley headcanons

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kaknzn · 6 years

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My contribution for KakuHida Week! Theme: Crossover!

@kakuhidaweek

♥ Hidan had been grown on the stories of the gods. He’d learned from a young age not to cross fairy circles, and the importance of a name. Hidan had been taught incantation, and he had been given the talent to use it. His often overflowing home with baubles, beakers, brewing cauldrons, and old leather bound books spoke back to a time where he had been much younger.

♥

Full Fic Under the Cut or Read it on Ao3 Or DeviantART!

Hidan had been grown on the stories of the gods. He’d learned from a young age not to cross fairy circles, and the importance of a name. Hidan had been taught incantation, and he had been given the talent to use it. His often overflowing home with baubles, beakers, brewing cauldrons, and old leather bound books spoke back to a time where he had been much younger. A beautiful witch with white hair and eyes like asters, she had taken him out to her garden and shown him the little people under the leaves of the pumpkin plants.

“Brownies,” his mother told him with a giggle. “They don’t like to be noticed, hush,” she put her finger to her lips, and he had watched with wide eyes and an open mouth while they pulled weeds and carted them away. These little people built their furniture from his discarded toys, fixed his broken crafts, and kept his messy room immaculate. All they ever seemed to want from him was a bowl of cream, and a little sugar. The day they left, Hidan had missed them, and looked in their tiny home to find all of the lost and shiny trinkets that they had felt valuable enough to keep. As he touched the cool surface of a marble with his little finger, he came to the realization that things discarded could still be of great significance.

His mother had taught him when he was young that humans were not the only things with two legs that walked their earth; sometimes creatures of many legs, feet, paws, and abundant hands were behind the shadows enmasse if you looked for them. They knew about kindness in an intimate way that humans just could not always grasp. His mom had told him about a great many things before she died. When she was young, and living at the edge of the woods, often her gardens bloomed brightest when she had opened her gates to the lost and wandering spirits on the road.

“Be careful with spirits Hidan. They’re tricky things sometimes. There are all manner of things in this world that will lead you down paths winding through the wilds, and you’ll never come back home again.” She told him.

‘It sounds like exactly where I want to be,’ he’d thought to himself, grasping the pendant on his chest. The inverted triangle within a protective circle, denoted in silver, and gifted to him from a man that reached down to him through the red rain. Hidan knew more than most about spirits, gods, and demons. He had been loved by things ghosted away by the wind, and loved things in return in a way that made them dwindle and die. Hidan had a hand of death, and things he tried to grow would wilt away. When he was in his mid twenties he found he was not a human at all; shinigami were not often born of the earth, but it seemed Hidan was different. Because of this, humans were dangerous to care about, he’d learned. Things that died after a handful of tens of years were just not for him.

With thunder that would roll like roiled waves on the ocean, and clouds that took the shapes of many reaching hands from hades, Jashin had plucked this boy from the edge of his home and loved him. He’d taught him that he was on the edge of life and death itself. His mother had given him the gift to walk the line of shinigami. Through the eyes of a god, Hidan learned what life and death meant. He had seen vast expanses of trees at the beginning of time, and he had seen old and crumbling train stations, he’d learned about doors to nowhere, and passages out of time.

Jashin had blessed him. His mother had taught him. And Kakuzu would _test him._

In the peak of one of the hottest summers Hidan had ever encountered in his many long years, he’d had to deal with an abundance of humans coming down into his valley outside of Safflower city. They brought him offerings of bread (home-made), stones, wreaths, and even money. They all had their complaints about the heat-- surely it had to be an angering of spirits, they complained. From his experience, spirits didn’t mess around turning up the heat of an entire city unless they had a serious vendetta. As long as he’d lived on the outskirts of Safflower, never had he seen anything more than wanderers and witches. There were gnomes aplenty, and sometimes trolls, and deer with human faces, but he’d never seen anything powerful enough to turn up the sun. Some time ago, they’d even gotten their own resident witch.

Oh-- that definitely had been some time ago. They’d left behind their familiar in their passing as well. The cat had made his home in Hidan’s, chasing brownies and mice. While Hidan listened to the woes of the human from the city, Scorpion, the old ginger tom-cat would hop himself up into the window to turn his yellow eyes up to the crystalline webs of spiders. So long as Scorp was calm, Hidan found he didn’t need to be suspicious of the people in his home.

It wasn’t until a priest, Deidara, came to his small stretch of land, that Scorp arched his back and hissed, his fur bristling harshly and his claws making lines in the dirt. The little people in his pumpkin patch scurried away. The soot sprites in the door of his home cowered back and dropped their stones and herbs. Hidan clicked his tongue with a tsk as their spell came undone in the presence of a priest. Often magic that used ingredients from the shadows couldn’t stand up against holy men, but something didn’t seem quite right.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” the priest said, his blond hair falling down over his shoulders as it had been picked up by a rare and fleeting breeze. “I’ve brought you something for lunch, hm. Do you mind if we have a chat?” If sunshine were a man, he was certain it was standing before Hidan. That much spiritual light made him squint a little, but he found his stomach unable to resist the smell of basil and pumpernickel. His mouth practically watered from the thought of aged cheese on soft and fluffy bread.

“Sure. I could eat-- talk. I have time to talk,” he stuttered, gathering himself up into a more formal posture. Hidan ran a hand through his hair and beckoned the priest into his home. “Pruinae,” he whispered to the rune in his doorway, and frosty wind chased the heat out of the walls and through the open window. Scorp followed at Hidan’s ankles and grumbled a hiss out at the priest that had crouched down to offer affection with an outstretched hand.

The inside of Hidan’s home was well kept, even if it took him a good ten minutes of rearranging the alembics, beakers, and cauldrons of various broiling substances and sizzling spells to get room for lunch on the table. Some reacted more violently than others to the presence of the holy man-- a simpler spell for a cleaning sprite tried to climb up his arm, and Hidan could feel himself bristle with the raw energy against his skin. It felt like his hair was standing on end as he hastily brushed the spell back into the jar it belonged in and shoved a cork in it.

“What brings you out into the valley? Are you here to bullshit me about spirits making it hot?”

“No, hm,” the priest sat down at the table, disappointed that the cat wanted nothing to do with him. He pulled out a loaf of bread and set it in front of him, and proceeded to slice up pieces of cheese, along with tomato. He unpackaged some meat from the butcher, and hummed a little tune as he worked. Hidan pulled open his cupboards as he listened to Deidara’, his finger running along the labels of several bottles.

“This is going to sound a little strange, hm.”

“I doubt it,” Hidan said under his breath. He pulled a bottle of bubbling red liquid from the shelf. Inside the glass confines, it swirled with a certain glimmer that was strongly reminiscent of blood; Hidan pulled the cork with his teeth, and spat it into his hand. He paused for a second to inhale the deep scent of raspberry and wild cherries. The bottle overflowed with an ethereal mist, and Hidan poured two glasses of the sanguine appearing liquid.

“The church, I think, is haunted by a demon.”

“What--?!” Hidan nearly dropped his glasses, fumbling with the bottle in the process. Without enough arms to hold it all, the liquid careened toward the floor. “Vitae; luculentam et bene servetur,” he commanded, and before it could stain his carpet, Hidan told the liquid to lift itself and tidy back into the glasses. With his teeth on edge, he set one glass in front of Deidara with an unimpressed scowl.

“And why the fu-- why are you, a priest, coming to me about your church?” Hidan could almost be offended. It was massively a conflict of interest to him to deal with anything including christian churches. They were new in the area, to him, and all they seemed to do was sew a seed of stigma against spirits, gods, and the beyonds. “Isn’t that kind of your domain, HM? Isn’t it your job to keep your ground consecrated and demon free or something? In fact, I remember last year when I came to help out one of your flock and I couldn’t get past the threshold!”

“Are you mocking my speech impediment, hm?”

“I don’t know, are you mocking my craft, HM?” Hidan drank straight from the bottle of red liquid, a line of it dripping down his chin as he kept eye contact with the less than enthused priest at his table. Deidara blinked slowly and offered a piece of buttered bread out to Hidan.

“No… Actually, I’m serious. It started at the beginning of summer, yeah,” Deidara looked thoughtful, chewing his lunch as he cast his eyes heavenward. “I guess I started noticing something wasn’t right when the statues started to cry.”

“The statues?” Hidan asked impassively.

“Yeah hm. It was like the whole room got chilly and filled with this deep and grim sadness. It’s hard to describe.”

“THAT was the first thing you noticed?”

“Yeah.”

Hidan bit the inside of his cheek and wondered sometimes just how blind humans really were to the endeavors of the other realms.

“You can’t get rid of it because?”

“Well can you keep a secret?” Deidara leaned in and adjusted one of his sleeves up to the hem of his white glove.

“Like a vault,” Hidan replied, and leaned forward on his elbows, bread forgotten for the bits of juicy gossip. Truthfully, he’d been skeptical of Deidara since he came to the city some time ago. How long ago had that even been? It had to have been years by now.

“I’m not really a priest,” Deidara revealed. “I didn’t even believe in ghosts until it started messing with the statues and the bibles--” Hidan could tell he was at least partially lying. “--Ripping them to shreds hm. Well see, the priest that lived there before-- he kind of entrusted the church to me and I really owed him one.”

“Jashin help me,” Hidan muttered under his breath. He placed his face in his hands and prayed for strength from his own god. “This city is full of blasphemers and heathens. No respect for the sanctity of death.” The holy light emitted by a false priest; it was no wonder a familiar wanted nothing to do with Deidara.

“You’re so bad at your damn job your church is haunted by a demon,” Hidan told Deidara firmly. “You should retire,” he spat, then stood up and grabbed what looked like an old farmer’s sickle from a rack beside his door. He knew the grip of the handle like an old friend, and it thrummed in tune with him with the voice of a lover, too intimate with carnage. Though it looked like an old sickle now, when the circumstances were right, it would reveal its true form for Hidan, and they would reap whatever stood before them.

Hidan didn’t care for demons. They were a nasty lot, tricky like the fae, and self serving without remorse for fiendish actions. Hidan had cleansed his share of demons that were more trouble than they were worth. This sounded like a petty little thing looking for any sort of attention it could get. What better way to stir up a ruckus than to haunt a church? It likely wasn’t even a demon at all. Just a wayward spirit without anything better to do.

Hidan walked out passed the garden and looked down the road to the city. Beyond the buildings, he could see dark clouds gathering and building into towers of cotton grey. The heat of the day had broken to a chilly wind that rolled the grass. Even the brownies had taken shelter. Perhaps he was wrong.

As he attached his scythe to his back, the phony priest appeared in his doorway again, looking out toward the gathering anger in the sky.

“Demons aren’t really so bad it seems, hm,” Deidara sighed. “It’s just starting to freak people out n’ all. I dunno. I asked it to leave and that made everything worse.”

“Of course it did, you have no idea what you’re doing. You could have got yourself cursed you know? The gods of death aren’t very forgiving to people who pretend to be what they’re not and scam others. seriously,” Hidan snapped. Maybe he was getting a little old and a little tired of humans assuming they knew what was best for things that were out of their control.

“Oh it’s far too late for that. We all have our own curses to bear.”

“Don’t you mean “Crosses”?” Hidan asked, one of his brows lifting quizzically.

Deidara shook hands with Hidan, a tongue darting out of his palm to lick between Hidan’s fingers, sending a shiver up his spine that made him want to leave his corporeal form behind.

“I don’t think I do,” Deidara whispered back to Hidan, who became further unnerved when something underneath Deidara’s shirt giggled at him.

---

Wild in his frenzy, Kakuzu stalked toward the doors of the church and hissed when his skin began to fade into translucent obscurity. Parts of him became the floating specs of dust in the sunlight, dispersing to settle on the pews. After thousands of years of being in power, it had come down to the last of his temples crumbling to ruin. The last place he had to call home had been destroyed in an earthquake that cast it down into the ocean. The scripture in scrolls, the remaining gold coins, all of his treasured belongings and books had been washed into the sea. There wasn’t a soul left who remembered the name of the god of knowledge. It had been reclaimed by the earth that gave rise to him.

How ironic.

The way humans had advanced, they didn’t need to commune with the other side about their history. There were paleontologists, anthropologists, scientists, artists; there were libraries, there were computers and phones. Somehow in the busyness of the chaotic growth of humans, they had taken claim over his domain of learning and teaching, and had lost his name to history. Kakuzu had lived through the tragedy of book burnings, and the way humans stole and coveted knowledge like greedy little gremlins reaching for coins in the muck. They didn’t need him anymore. And how it hurt to be left behind in a world so full of knowledge. There was so much for even him to learn, and he would never get to see it.

Forgotten, his form was fading.

Desperately, Kakuzu waved his hand in front of a patron of the church and watched her shiver and close the window to return to reading her bible. And how his heart soared to watch her faith grow the more she learned. It was beautiful to see someone learn their passion for the first time, and so he stood there and savored the moment, as it likely would be one of his last times he would get to see someone discover a subject they loved.

What was truly in a name?

He could barely remember it himself. When he said it aloud at night, it felt like a lie coming off his tongue. The void in his chest would get bigger, and Kakuzu would shiver as he felt himself fading away. It had been 200 years since he’d been able to speak to anyone. That particular morning, Kakuzu was so violently frustrated with his own oncoming death that his sorrow had made the statues weep. The congregation before jesus on the cross had gasped and thought it a terrible sight. The panic raising in the crowd of their voices, he felt the sting in the unknown. He could help them understand. Kakuzu tried to reach out to the people fleeing through the doors, and became horrified as a child ran right through him, leaving a chill in his stomach.

Eventually the woman in the pews left, and he was left alone again peering out the stained glass windows. The holy ground he stood upon could only fuel the flickering fire in his soul for so long before it would be put out. He was just another light in the dark becoming smoke. He had minutes left.

Eventually even stars had to die.

His body had come unstrung, and the strings of fate inside of him spilled out onto the stone, dying as they touched the ground. His essence was gone, and Hidan found him there, weeping over the loss of his ability to perform miracles. Lost, alone, and angry-- how dare they call him a demon? He’d given them everything. He’d given them the word “history” and watched them grow.

“It’s not very often I get to witness the death of a god,” Hidan said sympathetically, and planted himself on the floor beside the threads that lost their gold, withered to grey, and melted into dust.

“You’re--” Kakuzu croaked, his voice drying with the efforts to sustain his form. “A shinigami, yeah. Don’t worry. I haven’t gotten your name or anything. I don’t think I’m supposed to collect your soul. Just a complaint from the local rabble about some crying statues.”

“You can--”

“I can see you just fine. You’re in a bit of a sorry state though. What’s your name?”

Kakuzu felt hope soar through him and he opened his mouth to speak but found… he had no memory of it. His name died on the tip of his tongue, and Hidan scowled looking up at the obnoxious cross and man that towered over them. Not fair. Everyone knew who Jesus was. Everyone knew Death. Everyone knew Fate. But that was how the world worked. When gods were forgotten, they died. It had meant that not even the gods had left this one to perish.

“Why are you here then?” Hidan asked, and set his hand on Kakuzu’s back.

“I have nowhere else,” he confessed. “When I try to leave… it hurts.”

“You’re prolonging the inevitable,” Hidan said sternly, but it garnered no response from the form before him. He’d always been taught about the importance of accepting death, but then, he’d never had to be on the other end of his scythe. He’d only ever been the one to take the hands of the dying and help them reach out to the spirits on the other side. Death was always tragic, and abundant. How many hands of starving wartorn children had he held and watched the fireflies with?

It was different when a god died. They didn’t have an afterlife, they didn’t exist with the same rules as humans did, as a soul within a body. They were whole, and holy. There was no physical or spiritual barrier. This was their before, their present, their after. There would be no second chances, no heaven, no hell. Hidan was at the crux of the end of something ancient, and he had no words of wisdom to make it any easier.

“What god were you?” He asked quietly, and watched the light inside of Kakuzu slowly die away.

“I don’t remember,” Kakuzu replied and looked glumly at his hand as it disappeared. What a miserable way to die. Something inside of Hidan made him inhale his anger and choke on it. The sorrow in the room was palpable, and that’s what he blamed for the welling of tears in his eyes that gathered on his cheeks, and dared to slide down and drip off his chin. His heart would break for this dying god. This would be him one day. Would his death be this lonely too? The injustice of this death made him want to defy everything that he had been taught about the definite line that everyone had to cross. Why would fate send a reaper without the order to collect?

His attention was drawn to the corner of the room, where the floorboards were parted to give way to something living, coming up from the soil beneath the church. How stubborn nature was to defy the constructs of the people around it. There had been a time when the forests had revolted so violently against the settlement of humans. The gods then had died to defend a home that gave way to an uncertain future. There were paths at times even that lead to hungry towns that ate souls because they couldn’t have one, where nature was so angry about being taken over that it tried to claim the lives around it back. The clash of human and nature had led to a lot of evil, and to Hidan it seemed truly evil that this entity wept beside him, nearly alone.

Like the dandelion cutting through the floorboards, this god was stubbornly alive, clinging to the last spark of himself.

“So there is death, there also is life,” a voice in the back of his head reminded him. He couldn’t stand it anymore.Being unafraid of taking risks is what had made Hidan good at his job in the first place. He decided to reach into the depths of the dying god beside him with fingers outstretched and yearning to touch that dying light. His hand slipped through the god’s back, into his chest, and found the tiny doomed glow inside of him.

The god’s soul looked like an ocean.

It wasn’t something Hidan was expecting, to open his eyes again and look up through the waves of rippling light as pages sank through the water to disappear into the pit below. Above him, a school of little red fish swam passed; the daughters of the moon, as beautiful as ever. Somewhere in the vast, and cold unknown of the unexplored, there had to be a name.

‘What is your name?’ He asked into the darkness, though his voice came from his heart, not his throat.

‘I don’t know,’ the darkness replied, and an eerie stillness came over the sun illuminated waves. It wanted him to move toward the surface, but the surface was not where names were kept. As he did with so much of his life, Hidan gripped his scythe and walked down a path into darkness. Like his mother warned him, letting his essence into the soul of a dying god was an endeavor he might not return from. If the god died before Hidan could rescue his name, they would die together. It was a risk he was willing to take.

‘You need to tell me, it’s the only way I can help you,’ Hidan pushed deeper, finding the water give way to smoke and choking flames. This must have been when humanity had started to forget him.

‘They burned my libraries.’ A voice wept.

‘It’s not your fault,’ Hidan replied.

‘I let them.’

‘You loved them. You wanted them to love you too.’

‘They didn’t. Facts aren’t kind.’ That was true. Humanity didn’t like facts.

Hidan frowned and pushed through the smoke. It was no wonder that the ocean was so dark. Humans craved knowledge, but they didn’t care where it came from. This god had found his love in the pages of books, in the light of people learning. He’d become rich in the bounties of their discoveries. Over time, they stopped thanking him. They became ungrateful. The smarter people got, the more ignorant they truly grew sometimes.

Hidan continued forward, backward through history. He watched as whales above his head became larger and more profound. Creatures swam beneath him that had been dead for millions of years. There were gates that no longer opened, realms that no longer existed, Hidan balked at how ancient this god was. The tragedy of his fading into obscurity compounded the colder the ocean became around him. Before there were people, before consciousness, the original gods that had put the worlds together and opened up realms between creatures. This god was never born of another. He was an original. An offspring of the universe. He was timeless, turning to dust in a church with a phony priest.

When Hidan finally walked through the stars at the bottom of the ocean, he found the lonely soul with shackles around his wrists of self made doubt. They weighed him down in a place without light, where he couldn’t see his own accomplishments. There were no living creatures down here aside from the drowning boy who looked toward the surface of the water. It was clear that not only had he been forgotten by history, he had been alone long before the birth of humanity. He loved them for the curious creatures they were, bringing order to chaos. They had not loved him in return.

He had just been too much chaos for them to explain.

“What is your name?” Hidan asked one more time, his voice breaking the silence like the eruption of time itself. The stillness of the water echoed back silence as Hidan’s purple eyes stubbornly kept the gaze of the god’s green ones. Hidan could read his lips and--

And suddenly Hidan opened his eyes. Whole, and in his arms, sinking against the warmth of his affection, the god trembled at the feeling of being truly alive again.

“Your name is Kakuzu, and you are the god of knowledge,” Hidan proclaimed. “And as long as even one person knows your name, you can’t die. I won’t let you.”

---

Scorp liked Kakuzu. There still weren’t very many beings that could perceive his presence, Scorpion was one of them. Hidan had grown used to the way that Kakuzu stared at him while he read. Three weeks had passed since the incident where he had touched Kakuzu’s soul, and he was trying to ignore the way he smirked whenever he caught Kakuzu staring. He spent a long time looking at Kakuzu too. The way he wrote down little notes for things he learned, the way he helped bumble bees off the hot stone paths. There was so much love in one creature, it was a wonder to Hidan that this god presided over something as cold and technical as knowledge.

But then… Hidan had learned that there were different kinds of knowledge. There was wisdom, selective, competitive, fictional, non fictional, and the world was so vast that the possibilities were boundless. Sometimes, Kakuzu would love something new so much that wind would pick up around him and turn the pages of all his books, and knock over ink bottles and potted plants. It would ruffle Scorps fur, and he would blink contentedly before stretching his back and moving somewhere with a little more sun.

Hidan had a plan. If there was one thing he was good at, it was being obnoxious. There was a reason he lived out in a valley outside of the city, and it wasn’t for HIS peace of mind, that was for damn sure. As loud mouthed as ever, Hidan put together an informational pamphlet which could be described as a spiritual resume, he thought. He took these into the city every day, to any place that looked like it could use a little more help in the smarts department. (He’d crammed several fistfulls of these fliers into Deidara’s mailbox: “Have you heard of the god of knowledge?”)

Toting his fliers in a messenger bag, with his unimpressed little cat peeking his head out amongst the envelopes, Hidan faithfully delivered these to every house that would open their door.

“Good morning. Can I have just a minute of your time? Have you heard about the god of knowledge? No-- oh, no it’s not a religion. I’m just trying to help him out. No I’m not crazy. Well fuck you too buddy, have a nice day.” He waited until he heard the fading of footsteps, and scratched a pixie rune into the door. The jerks would be coming to him in a week. Tops.

Inevitably, this strategy worked. He had more business than he’d had in years, paying off the pixies to leave people alone after he’d sufficiently talked their ear off about Kakuzu. He talked at length about how the guy had helped humankind since they were tiny, and that while they really didn’t have to worship him, they really should be more grateful for him because without Kakuzu, they wouldn’t have the lives they had now. Most people rolled their eyes, and went back to their phones, or news papers. Kakuzu, who’d followed Hidan from house to house, thought that at the very least it was an accomplishment to get people reading.

It wasn’t until Hidan met a young blind man near the law district that he actually saw the effect of his work. The man’s name was Itachi, and he lived with his younger brother in a single story home. Fake flowers lined the windows in their kitchen, and beyond the door Hidan noticed children’s toys scattered everywhere. It was just the two of them, and despite the man being blind, he carried the toddler on his hip and kept up with the housework flawlessly… or so he thought.

There were so many brownies in the guy’s house Hidan had to be careful not to step on them, and as a preemptive strike, he zipped the messenger bag shut so Scorpion wouldn’t be tempted to chase after the creatures and piss them off. There was a dull meow from his bag, and Hidan pat it wish a stern shh! He watched the way the faithful little workers followed after Itachi and helped him pick up after Sasuke. They closed cupboards he forgot about, and carried off more than their share of fresh fruit. Though they eyed Hidan warily, stepping away from him in their instinct not to be observed, he did his best to keep them comfortable and pay them no mind.

Hidan spent the afternoon drinking badly steeped tea, and telling Itachi all about the god of knowledge. Politely, the man nodded along, but Hidan was sure he was listening more to the toddler who was chattering about the night before. How he’d been absolutely sure that there were dragons out in the sky last night. As Hidan was leaving, his shoulders sagged in fatigue at another loss, Itachi prompted his baby brother: “Wave and say bye bye, Sasuke,” he aided the boy’s hand, but Sasuke smiled and looked over Hidan’s shoulder to Kakuzu, whose head tilted back at him in confusion.

“Bye bye Kazoozoo!” As Sasuke noticed Kakuzu, so did the brownies crawling about the home. Everything went silent as they all stared at the person who hadn’t been there a moment previously.

“Um,” Kakuzu whispered his unease, and Hidan simply picked up Kakuzu’s hand and the same way Itachi had done for Sasuke, and prompted him to wave.

“Keep reading kid,” Hidan chirped, and pulled Kakuzu along to the next house.

---

Hidan didn’t truly consider his plan a success until he’d been such a pain in the ass to the entire community, that Kakuzu had trouble bumping into people when they went to the market. It wasn’t long before Kakuzu had himself a job at the library. There had been a tentative silence between him and the head librarian who had been actively denying the existence of a supposed god of knowledge since Hidan had started his endeavor.

Every time they would come across each other on the street, logical reasoning versus spiritual experiences would clash. Hidan, inevitably would head back to his little home with Kakuzu in tow, having embarrassed himself screeching about how Shikamaru was literally trying to murder Kakuzu.

“It’s like he doesn’t even care! I’m telling you! He looks right at me-- I’m not a human! I mean for shit’s sake, he talks to shadows! I know he does, I’ve seen them! They follow him around like the plague. If anyone needs your help it’s probably him! Those shadows are gonna kill him, mark my words, Kakuzu. Seriously. Are you sure he’s a genius? Because he seems pretty fucking stupid!”

Kakuzu could only smile indulgently. If there was one thing Kakuzu knew about information, was that the spread of it, true or false, could bring things into existence. Whether Shikamaru believed in him or not, enough people were beginning to know his name that soon, they wouldn’t have to listen to Hidan rambling on embarrassingly about some of his greatest accomplishments.

So when Shikamaru approached Kakuzu and told him he started work on monday, his suspicions were confirmed. Shikamaru had been able to see him since the first instance of their encounter. He’d just had too much fun messing with Hidan.

----

So it came to be that Hidan had saved the god of knowledge. Satisfied with the efforts of his savior, there were nights where Kakuzu would feel the glow of warm golden threads inside of him, and he would spin them into dreams while Hidan slept. In the darkness of the cabin, where soot sprites sorted herbs and magical ingredients, and Scorpion filled the silence with his whirring purr as he loafed himself at Kakuzu’s hip, the god would his affection into Hidan’s subconscious. The light bounced off the walls, warm, and pure, and ancient.

Each night he remembered how that hand had cradled inside his chest, and how hands that had only ever brought death, gave life. Kakuzu thought himself not easy to love. His spirit filled entire buildings, his temper shattered glass and broke spellbound spirits into chaos. He was too big to fit through doorways, he crossed fairy rings without second thoughts, and actively chased the brownies down for his coin collection… But in Hidan’s dreams, where he laid back against the grass and stared up at the lights from the calm sanctity of the bottom of the ocean, he would remember how his mother told him that those who were the most difficult to love often needed it the most. He found that a lot of things that he was taught to be wrong, and he supposed that’s how knowledge really worked. It evolved. It was a living, breathing, loving thing.

Kakuzu was easy to love, and there was definitely nobody who deserved it more in Hidan’s opinion. He was there every morning, reading. Always reading. And he was there every evening before HIdan went to sleep, with pondering eyes that shone like emeralds reflecting the stars.

Hidan was a devoted creature. To his craft, of course, but nobody would ever be able to find anyone more dedicated to the people he considered his. No two creatures had ever been made so perfectly for one another. There would always be a challenge on Kakuzu’s lips to everything Hidan considered true, and there would always be a hard headed stubbornness to argue what Kakuzu had to teach. They were alive within each other, and the nearer they came to one another, the stronger their bodies attracted. From touches, to holding hands, to silences laying side by side, curled into each other.

The first time Kakuzu kissed Hidan, with their lips colliding like light against the earth, it was like Kakuzu had taken his first deep breath of air when he’d been drowning for so long. When his hands found the small of Hidan’s back as he pressed their bodies together in the shadow of their home, Kakuzu realized he didn’t care if anyone else ever knew him. He only ever needed one person to love him.

So long as they had each other, there was no line of definite, there were no impossibilities; Hidan made his home in the greatest thing the universe had ever tried to throw away. What a home it was.

End

#KakuHida #Kakuzu #Hidan #Akatsuki #Naruto

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