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pursuitseternal · 3 months

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“Stripping,” a nsfw, hurt/comfort, and vengeance update to “Our Blood is Thicker:”

Astarion x Cordehlia (named Tav) | E | 6.3K

Summary: The fight for vengeance for her father comes at last to Ketheric, so long as Astarion is there to keep on hand on her, to keep her from getting lost in the bloodlust of the Bone Picker. Cordehlia needs healing… her burdens of her past too great to bear alone. That’s why her love is there, to strip away her old griefs, and all that covers her.

CW: Bloodlust, angst, revenge, hurt/comfort, allusions to battle-canon gore, Act 2 Spoilers, real sex, tadpole stripping (symbolic), very soft Dom!Astarion

Previous ch | Ao3 link | Masterlist

Chapter 13: Stripping…

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Moonrise Towers. A curse nearly broken. The Moonmaiden Aylin freed, and the source of that monster's immortality unchained. Only one thing remained to their moving forward.

Ketheric had to die.

They had come close, so close. The rest of his bone-chilled undead fighters were dust at their feet. But then… there was that oozing orifice now in the top of the Moonrise Towers, the illithid stink rising from its bowels. A hole where Ketheric had vanished like the coward he was, threat on top of threat, into the putrid heart of the Absolute.

Cordehlia ran right for it, blade at the ready, pursuing after Ketheric alone. A battle cry tore through the air as she sprinted. Blood spattered. Breathless.

Hellsbent on revenge.

Two sets of feet ran for her… one shifting into a bear just to make sure he got there before she did anything rash. The Druid panted as he raised up on his massive hind feet. Cordehlia slammed into a wall of fur, two lean vampiric arms not far behind to catch her against Halsin’s big bear belly.

“Stop, stop, darling,” Astarion repeated over and over. But the She-elf thrashed even as her weapons were pinned to her sides. Even as she snapped her teeth and hissed in rage at them both.

Her eyes were pure black, dilated so wide with bloodlust. Her need to kill, to avenge.

To repay the debt she had carried for a century, the weight of her Father’s lost soul.

“Let me go, damn you both,” she snarled. Her voice was deep, scratched with all her battle screams.

“Not until you see sense, my love,” Astarion tried to cajole, tried to hold her armored body against his own even as she shook, the rush of her need to kill shooting down every muscle of her body. The bear grunted, a warning, and Astarion held her fast to turn them, to keep the splatter of mud from covering their already filthy bodies as the Druid shifted back.

“Your father wouldn’t want you to fall headlong into danger,” Halsin instantly interjected the moment he could. And for once, Astarion was a tinge glad the ancient elf could help. Especially as he felt her body slowly begin to still at the sound of reason. “You need to regroup, think of your strategy before you dive into the belly of the enemy. That place reeks of Illithids and pulses with the power of the Absolute,” Halsin’s deep voice rumbled, slow and soothing tones that rippled with persuasion and wisdom.

“Ketheric must die,” Cordelia thrashed again, back to her lover’s chest, elbows trying to free herself and making her vampire grunt and hiss in the process. “To break the curse, to end the Absolute, to avenge all that has been taken from me… all that made me this… weapon. I need…” her voice grew feral, threatening in a way that made every one of her companions quake in their boot, “to crush him… I need his blood.”

“Gods,” Astarion tried to gently stroke her face, “now which one of us sounds vampiric, darling?” He whispered, catching the edge of her long and pointed ear in his fingers. Something behind her eyes softened, something that turned that black back to singing silver, slowly, stroke by stroke of his fingers.

Until she stilled completely, limp in his arms, smiling gently as she looked into his face at last.

“There now, little Raven,” he whispered only for her ear as he caressed it.

“You’ll have your justice, little one,” Halsin drew closer. And Astarion fought hard not to bristle at the way his green eyes smiled at his love. “But we need to regroup, gather our forces before we dive into that Mindflayer colony to end Ketheric once and for all.”

“Fine,” Cordehlia stood on her own two feet, finally steady, calm enough that Astarion was pretty sure she wouldn’t launch down that stinking hole alone. “I hear wisdom in your words, my Father’s own sort.” She squared her shoulders, hands quickly resheathing her weapons with a metallic hiss. “We rest a few moments, then we cut him off… cut him down.”

The whole party gave a sigh of relief, finding places here and there to sit, to wipe the blood from their eyes and sharpen their weapons a moment.

Halsin left them to do the same, beginning his work of healing whatever little wounds they had sustained. And Astairon finally felt the peace of being with her alone, for that moment. Even with her back towards him, her eyes fixed on their next move of attack, he couldn’t leave her. “My love,” he bid her softly. “Come and sit a moment with me, won’t you?”

“No,” she replied, fixed forward still. “I won’t rest until his blood is shed and my Father is avenged.”

“Don’t be stupid, Cordehlia,” he tutted his tongue, moving to put himself in her line of sight. Those eyes at first scowled at him… the same way she once did when they first… stumbled upon one another again. There was loathing, hatred. Bloodlust even. It sliced through him, pain cutting right to his slow-beating, undead heart. “What’s wrong, my love?” he frowned, folding his arms across his own armored chest.

“What’s wrong?” she scoffed, vitriol in her voice and hate in her eyes. “I am so close to avenging my Father… so close to fighting my way back to who I once was before I lost my only family to Ketheric, so close to reclaiming what I was when you first loved me…. I am so close to cleaning my hands from all the blood I shed as the Bone Picker, so close to clearing my body of the damned mantle of my former self. My dark self.”

A warm voice cleared its throat at a distance beside them. “Well, that is most encouraging, I must interject…”

Astarion had to force his lips to stay shut, to keep himself from snarling and letting his fangs do the talking. “I don't think Cordehlia invited you to join our very private conversation… Gale… and I know I didn’t extend an invitation…”

“Well,” the Wizard shifted as Cordehlia turned to look into his own face. Her eyes still hardened, her mouth still turned in a scowl, “a fresh start… a new beginning, once this is all through, it’s what you deserve, Cordehlia.”

Astarion bristled. “Forgive me, but maybe what she deserves is to know that what she was has made her what she is… perfect and stronger and fiercer. Capable of bringing down the Absolute, capable of so much more than that.” He could hear it in his own voice, that edge of a hiss, that rasp of threat he hoped made Gale quake and shut his mouth. “Unlike those of us who tried to win the love of a goddess of magic to be cursed with some magical blight… Some of us have a sordid past that has made us embrace the monster we are and use it to our… advantage.”

Cordehlia turned, her love, her fierce defender… she felt something inside her ease as he braced his whole frame, ready to attack at her side. He never saw her as a monster, never condemned her for the blood that stained her past and dripped from her hands. He couldn’t chastise her without naming the same fault in himself. Not that he saw it as fault. Only suffering and torture and loss.

For what fault was there in him? Made to be tortured, made to seduce and use his body for his master’s delight…

And she… she had been formed like adamantine… stronger than a blade, more deadly than any spell. She would end this enemy… Ketheric, the Absolute…

Crodehila took a steadying breath, drawing closer to place one gauntleted hand on Astarion’s arm. “It is the darkest forces, the most devastating pressure that forms the sharpest weapons. And you can’t escape that darkness, that pressure or else… you become brittle ....”

She watched her words take hold, sinking into his chest, his heart, the source of his blight. Gale’s eyes fluttered closed to hear her speak. “None of us need to shatter, not even you, no matter what self-sacrifice has been demanded of you by your former lover. Embrace who you are, what you have learned in the dark, and we will make it out of this.”

Astarion smiled so softly down at her—his unshakable warrior. Every head nodding in approval.

Cordehlia took a trembling inhale, almost watching her reflection in her mind, covered in that fearsome armor of Lady Corvus, smiling back at her. Brighter. Part of her. But not in control. “We can walk from this side by side, once this is all through. And we will all be made that much sharper for it.”

Even that made Gale smile, spurned as he was, jealous or determined… it didn’t seem to burn so bright inside him anymore. “You’re right,” he shook his head, “damned wisdom of the elves… I can’t argue with that.”

The vampire sucked his teeth, a little cock of his head rife with sarcasm. “If only you’d listen with that same rapt attention to me, sometime,” Astarion sneered even as he laughed.

“Not sure you count as an elf…” Gale tossed back, “or wise…”

Karlach snorted with laughter, breaking what could have been tense silence. Chuckles, giggles filled the air, until even Cordehlia’s bubbly, medical laugh peeled beside him. And that made his own lips smile.

Besides, there would be plenty of time to shame Gale as the butt of many a joke soon. Once Ketheric was dead.

That event came with such relief. Came with lots of blood and vengeance and gore. But in the end, Cordehlia stood over Ketheric’s headless corpse, the blood of his undead body caking her boots.

Her blade hung at her side, having struck the death blow at last. Its tip dragged noisily on the ground behind her as she stepped away. The scraping echoing in the massive cavern. Her voice was hoarse as she tried to speak, sore from screaming at him as she had hacked his body, howling the name of her Father, unburdening all the things she had carried on her shoulders from her grief.

Her eyes were wet, wide, and sad as she looked at her bedraggled friends. Her love. “Let's move from here,” she scratched out. “We have more things to do.”

Cordehlia straggled, barely sliding one foot in front of the other. Her eyes looked hazy… distant.

Faint. Her vision swam… a weight off her heart, she could almost feel the Shadow Curse lifting from the lands, almost see her Father’s smooth, smiling face one more time. But there was so much more to do… more enemies to defeat, the chosen of Bhaal and Bane… an army of the Absolute to vanquish, not to mention a Netherbrain to somehow destroy.

It was too much for even her adamantine-hardened soul.

Her knees buckled, but before her body smacked into blood-covered stone, Astarion caught her. Somehow, that lean, vampiric, roguish body lifted her in his arms and over his shoulder, armor and all. Somehow, she could smell his scent of citrus and hers through the tang of blood and gore. Somehow, she could hear his soothing hush inside her mind as she drifted unconscious for a moment.

She had barely moved, still breathing, as she laid in his mess of blankets inside his tent. Halsin bent his hulking body over Cordehlia, and Astarion could only watch as the healing magic glowed around her unarmored body. He kept his lithe fingers in his love’s hair, brushing out snarls, stroking up and down her ears tenderly and slowly. Just to let her know he was there.

“There now,” Halsin grunted as he sat back on his haunches. “She should awaken herself. A bit lighter in the heart I wouldn’t be surprised, after finally finishing what she thought her Father started.”

Astarion couldn’t fight the instinct to have his hackles raised when the Druid spoke about her and her past. But all the same, he forced that well-practiced friendly smile. “Thank you, Druid,” he said. “I’ll take it from here, get her cleaned.”

“Using your tongue or do you prefer the dish and rag?”

“That’s rather impertinent,” Astarion let his fangs show this time.

“I’m only joking,” Halsin chortled, deep and low in his chest as he reached for the basin of water and a rag to bring within reach. “No one is trying to take her from you, you know. You’ve rekindled a bond so strong, so thick, I doubt it will sever even in death.”

The vampire felt his nostrils flare.

“Well, a second one in your case,” Halsin quickly added, that warm smile turning his scarred face.

“There is not much that can outlast even death itself,” he took the bowl from the Druid’s massive hands, busying himself with washing her face clean first. “Not unless you are undead… immortal.”

“I’m… forgive me, I believe I touched a delicate nerve.”

Astarion kept his hands busy; it always helped him think, rest, and concentrate. “Attachments are of little consequence to those who are not in them, Druid.”

“Attachment? You mean love, surely?”

Raising his head with a snap, he leveled his gaze at the massive, crouching Elf. “I do,” he snipped. “There is nothing I would not do to keep her now. After all the mistakes I have made, all the suffering I was forced to put others through.” He paused to wipe some more of the dried blood from her beautiful face. “She might be the one thing I have done right in my life, undead or before… as long as I don’t fuck it up again.”

“If you do… love her… then it is only natural to trust your instincts. You will protect her better than anyone or anything.”

For once, Astarion looked up at the Druid and didn’t feel jealousy or hatred or even annoyance. He was… grateful. “Thank you… Halsin,” he replied, wringing out the rag to get fresh water once more.

“I’d say ‘shout if you need anything,’ but I suspect once she wakes you will be shouting for other reasons, ones you won’t want… disturbed,” he chuckled in that deep bellied way of his before he left the tent.

Astarion couldn’t help the smile on his face, wiping the last steaks of grime from her chin before he placed a soft kiss on those lips. And as her eyes did flutter open, her breath deepening the moment their lips met, he did feel that thickening in his groin. “Welcome back, my love,” he whispered, savoring the way her lips gave a small smile.

Just for him.

She stirred, her shift and leathers shuffling as she moved stiffly. Looking at her hands cleaned, her armor removed, she even touched a hand to her slightly damp cheek. Washed skin under her touch. Cordehlia slowly sat, eyes that were so dilated with bloodlust not hours ago now shined with unshed tears, her pink lips trembling as she pulled her arms around Astarion’s neck. Hanging there for a moment, he breathed her in, listening to the symphony of her heartbeat in her veins as it increased in speed. That thickening and heat in his body only surged the more to have her so close, relieved at last once she pulled his body hard to cover her own.

She was more than reward… she was the one thing he had done right in all his tormented existence.

Tonight, like every night, was bliss now, his own personal reward each day and night to be at her side. Sometimes Astarion felt the bitterest of pangs when he started to think about being denied such pleasure and love and acceptance century after century. But those grumblings in his heart were always soon swept away by Cordehlia. The one who took him just as he was. Resentment was warmed by her adoration, distracted by her warmth and wet, wherever it was. Memories of torment and torture and knives and whips and flaying punishment grew dimmer, her beauty obscuring the flashes he would get of his blood pooling at his feet, her scent covering the phantom stink of the kennels.

It was her warmth that brought him back from the dead, and he was sure there was no grave now that could keep him away from her.

What was lost was found, and for gods sake, nothing would take it away. Now that he found something he finally deserved. Not that he believed it…

Not as he gazed up into her blushing face as she rode him furiously, her hands clenching into his. Not as he had to tighten every tendon in his arms to steady her since she wasn’t watching anymore. He laughed at her carelessness, too lost to the feeling of him inside her and the waves of pleasure he called to race down her spine.

“Fuck,” she let the uncouth curse slip from her rosy lips. Something inside his mind stirred, that old tickle inside him from before, from how freely she would let the word fly as a youth, as frowned upon as it was for her status.

“Such noble lips letting out such vulgar words, darling,” he growled, his breath thin as she pushed him closer with every slap of her body on his cock and thighs.

“Oh, you like… all the vulgar things my lips do with you…” Her words turned to cries, stilted and low, only half-stifled to keep their voices from giving too much away. Cordehlia shuddered, squeezing him as her orgasm swelled. He eased her softly as she collapsed against his chest, her forehead in that sweet dip between his muscles, the top of her red head tucking neatly under his nose.

His hand strayed to the back of her neck, softly and slowly rolling her over on the ground. Cradling her beneath him instead. His body cried out for more. Always more of her. But not before he inhaled that scent, the perfume of her sweat and life itself, verdant grass and blooming flowers. That scent triggered an instant sharp return of what they once had been.

What he wanted to find again more than life itself.

It wasn’t much longer, not as he chased that past feeling of being with her in their youth. Not as he pummeled into her channel, her legs splayed in the air over his shoulders, until there was no sound but the wet slap of flesh and their groans as they burst into their climaxes as one.

Astarion stilled, pulling from her wet to lay on their sides and wrap his arms so tightly around her. “My sweet…” his voice rumbled into the damp and errant strands of her hair where it clung to her sweating forehead.

Her warm and blushing face nestled perfectly into the dip beneath his chin. The bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed and caught his breath was so loud against her ear. “Almost ready for more?” she hummed, tracing her fingers slowly over his skin, brushing over the drying damp on his stomach.

“You… insatiable… minx…” he laughed as he kissed her head again. “I know I am an eternally young, handsome, well-fed, impossibly strong vampire… but even I have limits to my near-infinite well of endurance, my love.”

She flashed him those silver pools of her eyes, glinting with mischief. And then her lips pouted. “After all we endured today… you would make me take care of myself?”

His brows shot to his hairline, mouth twisting in a devilish smirk at her game. “And which one of us is acting the spoiled little elfling now?” he taunted, hand straying to ass to give that supple cheek a little slap. “Tch, naughty.”

“Going to chastise me… punish me for being so spoiled and demanding?” she purred, a slight tilt to her head in defiance, a wriggle of her rear as a silent plea for more.

Astarion lifted his head to slink one of his arms behind it. “Perhaps later… once I’ve regained some of my vigor after you’ve made every one of my limbs ache and since you’ve already taken… so much of my seed between your thighs, pet.” He pretended to close his eyes, watching through the lowered curtain of his long lashes as she pouted and crawled over his body until she pressed herself flush against his side.

“I’ll give you five minutes…” she whispered right into his ear. “Enough time for me to tend to my own needs, I suppose…”

Wet… slick little sounds laid under her voice. Her fingers touched herself, stroking in the thick mix of their cum so loudly, so obscenely squelching.

He turned his head with a dramatic sigh, opening that hungry crimson gaze only halfway so he could watch. “You really are a demanding commander aren’t you? So bossy… so dominating… I would have undoubtedly been constantly aroused by you if I had been one of your men.”

Her perfect white teeth bit at her bottom lip, fingers still teasing slowly between her legs. “If you were under my command, you would know better than to defy your commander,” she smirked, eyes shut tight as her hips began to ride her touch.

“If I was under your command, I’m pretty sure we would both be dismissed for fucking each other every night, darling…”

Her belly swirled at that, at the mere mention of how much they indulged now, how she chase her blood lust away with more lust for him, at how very much she craved their connection, rekindling what once was and discovering what would come next. Side by side. “You wouldn’t have made it one day without coming in your leathers at the sight of me in my armor, and you know it,” she taunted, a dark desirous smirk in his lips.

“Likewise, my sweet…” exhausted, he did let his hand stray a single finger down her side, stroking up and down over her curves with barely the tickle of a feather in his dexterous touch. “There is little you do that doesn’t make me unspeakably aroused, my love, my darling, my betrothed,” he grinned as her eyes fluttered open at that last loving title.

“Gods, I’ve waited ages to hear you say that again. Lived different lifetimes, dulled blades and threw my armor into the sea just to hear it again,” she whispered. Her voice tinged with that mix of sadness and longing. Her hand stilling as she slowed touching herself.

“What was it like, your fearsome mantle of the Lady Corvus, Bone Picker?” He watched her body tense, withdrawing into memories, and for a moment he wished he had just bit his tongue. Perhaps it was too soon after the blinding bloodlust today. Perhaps it was the exact right time. He waited, nervously.

Until she gave a wistful smile. “Black and hard and sharp. Little feathers etched into the metal of my breastplate and gauntlets. Pointed spikes darted from the shoulders, like talons ready to tear the flesh of my foes. My blood-red cape would billow in the winds that carried the ash of my decimated enemies. My helm was small, enough to let my hair hang wild and free, a crown of spikes encircling my head… spikes of iron I once replaced with whitened bone, plucked from the battlefield myself.”

Astarion exhaled deeply, sensing her mix of longing and grief. “Sounds fearsome,” he whispered. His fingers traced lazy circles up her back. “Show me,” he ordered. A curious tilt to her head, and he just sucked his teeth. “Use the tadpole, darling. And don’t you stop touching your sweet little body. In fact…” His mouth brushed against her lips, her eyes fluttering shut, “those fingers can only touch where I tell you… where I will show you…”

“I thought you were too tired…” she pouted, whining right into his mouth. And he silenced her with a bite of his teeth on her lower lip.

“You’ll be doing all the hard work, darling. Come on,” he purred, “it’ll be fun.”

Oh, there it was, that taunting, “I dare you” tone that hadn’t left his voice since his youth.

She could feel his mind sticking a finger into her own, just that little wiggle for her to open wide.

Air smelled of smoke, trees burned to stumps, rocks slick with blood. Astarion looked down from this high point at the field that sprawled below his feet… bones and blood already the feast of carrion birds. But behind him on this rise, she waited nearer to the trees, the ones that still stood, that still carried some blood spattered living leaves yet.

Warm wind swept her scarlet cape, fluttering it to the side, and her arm cradled that spiked helmet in its crook.

Her face, gaunt and pale and blood spattered. More than he had even seen at her side now. A wraith of vengeance, a weapon herself, sharp and deadly.

But it was her eyes that locked into his. Even in this hellish dreamscape. They sparkled like the starlight, growing wetter and brighter as he crossed beside her. “This was me, my love, the monster… the terror… the fighter.”

From the distance, he heard that same chilling deep voice they had all silenced for good today. Ketheric’s taunt, his final words, still embedded deeply in his lover’s mind it seemed: “You think to scare me… the fabled Bone Picker… the warrior of her people. She is but a puny, pale vestige of what her own father wanted her to be. Why do you think you can finish what the great General Aquilae could not?”

Cordehlia’s voice had rung back harder than steel: “Because I’m so much more than what any Father could ever dream up for their child. As if you know anything about that… traitor… deceiver….” She raised her blade for a final swing. “Failure!”

The voices were swallowed by the sickening sound of blade and bone.

And Cordehlia could only stand there before Astarion, arms just beginning to reach for her lover. To beg him to come closer.

“Darling…” he whispered, brushing the knotted strands of her hair from her cheek and shoulder. “You don’t have to fight anymore, your father is avenged at last. Nor do you need to fight to forget me. I’m right here.”

Her breath caught in her throat, cheek rubbing tenderly into the cup of his palm. “It was more than fighting to avenge my father. It was also about you… not to merely forget you… I fought to… punish you… to make you pay for leaving me, to destroy the memory of what we were. What we could never be again.”

Her voice was a hammer that struck his chest woven with her heavy guilt. Astarion winced, facing down that void of their separation, his sins staring back in that darkness. And he sighed, “It was probably far less than I deserved, my love.”

“No,” she shook her head, armor rattling from the quick little shakes as she trembled. “No, you didn’t know, you couldn’t remember. Enslaved and compelled. Forced to obey and forget. Who you were to me was stripped from you… but I… stripped myself from my soul on purpose.”

Her hand flung that bone-horned helmet far away, its clattering the only sound around them. She watched it tumble over the rock and blood.

“Well,” Astarion’s voice was pressed, careful, “we may have both suffered, drowning in our own versions of darkness…” He paused, turning her face up towards his, waiting until those sad, silver eyes finally looked at him. “But now, neither of us is alone. And our darkness will not determine our fate, darling.”

Warm and wet, he could feel her tears on her skin, sliding down her cheek.

He could feel it on his real palm, all visions aside.

“Kiss me,” she sighed, angling closer to his mouth, eyes shut tight against the sights of battle around her.

“Yes, my lady…” he gave his sweet submission, a little tender breath from her lips as they brushed softly. “But let me take you somewhere else… let me… strip away the pain that comes from this time... this armor.”

“Please, Astarion,” she groaned. Her hands suddenly clung into the back of his shirt. The metallic scent of blood dissipated into fresh grass, the sounds of fire crackling becoming the trickle of a forest stream. She knew where she was before even glancing through her lashes.

One more lingering, slow working of her mouth on his, and she pulled away with a contented sigh. Elven trees and moss and moonlight.

The perfect remembrance of their home. Of their little spot of nowhere. Far away, and long ago.

“No more battlefield to torment you from your past. No more fighting alone. Now,” he held her by her jaw, raising her face into his, “now, we fight together.”

Her throat bobbed under his hold, another tear forming and flowing from the corner of her eye. Her hand raised to brush the tear away. “You don’t know what it means to me for you to…”

“Shhh,” he quieted her with a kiss, trapping her hand in his. A spike of mischief in his voice and a hint of command in his touch. “I thought we agreed, darling, you would only touch yourself where I say…”

Oh… she shivered. That grief suddenly ignited inside her core to something hotter and fiercer. No more longing or anger… only them. And their needs.

“I stripped away your battlefield…” he eased his grip, sliding back a single pace. “Now… allow me to relieve you of such armor, my lady, my love.” His hands skated down the exposed skin of her neck, lighter than breath. “Whatever this armor meant to you then, remember, everything is new again. You… me… we aren’t what we were.” His fingers slipped the buckles from her armor at her shoulders, barely touching her body. “We are better.”

Black metal fell harshly behind her, deadened by the moss at their feet.

Slow little strokes across that crook at the base of her throat, and he could feel her body melting under his touch in her mind. Her hands held fast against his back, edging him closer, longing to press her body firmly against him.

But he tutted his tongue. “Don’t touch me,” he taunted, shaking her hands away. “And remember, you’re the one meant to do the hard work, darling.”

He gripped her true hand from her belly, sliding it over her warm flesh to where his fingers danced over her skin in her mind.

“Let my hands be yours… and only do as I do, not one little pat or stroke more.” He growled as he caught her lips. “I’ll know if you disobey, pet.”

She arched under his fingers that traced under her neckline. Her neck craned into his touch. “You want some reward for being obedient, my love, won’t you? Still touching yourself like I asked?”

Her body shivered against him in his arms, just enough for him to feel it. But from his words or her own touch, he didn’t know.

Preferably both.

“Yes,” she moaned, drawing closer for more of his touch on his skin.

“Good girl,” he praised, feeling her shiver as another one... two pieces of jagged metal fell at their feet. “So fierce, so daunting…” he purred into her ear, tugging harder and faster through the latches of her breastplate.

“I became a lot of things to lose myself in my pain and anger…”

“Tch, you were always those things, my lovely Cordehlia. You still are, even stripped of this mantle…” He flung the metal from her upper body to the ground, letting it clatter obscenely loudly. And then, his fingers locked firmly around both her breasts, a low deep breath from his nose as he smirked down at her. “And don’t I just love you all the more for it.”

She raised on her toes for a kiss, but his hands were faster, holding her down by her shoulder, a chiding tut on his tongue. “Naughty,” he hissed and taunted. “You only touch where I show you. My hands are your hands, my pet. Nothing more, nothing less…”

She looked at him with those big, wet, silver pleading eyes. “But…”

“An excellent suggestion,” he smirked, giving his head a little nod, so pleased with himself. His hands ran down her back, caressing through the soft linen of her shirt, finally coming to rest along her rear. “Your perfect, rounded butt is still too covered.”

His hands traced around the crests of her hips, gripping into the buckle at her belly and yanking it open. There was so much to her, metal and layers, but he also couldn’t help but notice how with each little piece of her armor, her hardened shell of Lady Corvus that he pulled from her flesh, she looked younger. Happier.

Freer. Healed.

Her skin glowed, her lips smiled as she bit them sensually and slowly under his touch… her touch on her real body.

Whatever it was he was stripping her of, it was more than memory and metal. He searched her eyes for more, tried wriggling deeper into her mind for more, but she didn’t let him. She was too overwhelmed with the feeling of shedding that weight, of his hands on her skin, cold and dexterous.

Familiar.

He could feel her craving, how she was lost to the past, desiring nothing more than the future that once was. He knelt at her feet, pulling off the last metal braces from her shins. He pressed against the smooth leather that enshrouded her skin. He wanted nothing more than to tear it with his teeth. So he did. He nipped into her thigh, the salt of her breeches coated in sweat made him salivate. The little buck of her body to push closer into his mouth shook him out of his mind. He needed her. Need to have her see him, here and now, alive and loved in his arms.

Real flesh, he slid his real fingers where she caressed up her thighs. Where he had just been nipping in his dreams. A quick shuffle down her body, and he pierced the flesh of her bent leg, the tender skin of her thigh giving so easily. His mouth filled with pools of her blood. She cried, arching under him, unsure if she was dreaming or awake. Those silver eyes flew open, the tingle of their tadpoles releasing its hold.

Astarion only gave her a quick bloodied smirk before returning to have more of his fill. Her hand wove into his curls, as she always did. As she always had done.

But the way her pulse throbbed from that lower artery between his lips, she thrummed with life.

One last broad brush of his tongue over those wounds, as he crawled that chiseled body over hers again. “You are mine, Cordehlia, my raven, my love. And no armor will ever protect you better than I will.”

“Yours,” she sighed. “I feel lighter, empty of that weight.”

“Wouldn’t want you empty for long, darling. Need me to fill you with something instead of grief and anger?”

She buried her face beneath her arm for a moment, hiding that radiant smile, a moment just for her. A moment where she finally savored that weightlessness, that floating feeling he had given her as he stripped her from those memories. From the bile that had poisoned her all those many years ago. Of what she thought she knew from that time… from what she thought she… had known of him. And for a man who had starved, survived torture and assault and whoring himself out, now this man sucked the venom from her heart.

With a rogue’s dexterous touch, he had peeled off the painful layers that had built because of him, stripping her with his own two, living hands. He drew his fingers up her panting belly, his exhale deep as he stayed his hand to grip and knead her breast. Those eyes, fierce, possessive, drank in her every reaction. “Need something, Cordehlia?”

It was a simple question, but that purr in his voice, that heavy-lidded gaze that flitted over her neck, her lips, her breasts, it all spoke more than the simple words that he whispered.

“I need…” she whined, sliding her body to buck against him. Wanting nothing more than to be crushed and confined and caged by his body. “I need…” she panted. No words came to her tongue. So she thrust it into his mouth as it barely hovered over her own.

You. The rest of her words filled his thoughts. Even without the tadpole.

His hand cradling her neck, Astarion gave her everything, trying to fill that void he had seen, that agony he had witnessed with his own two eyes. The pain he wanted to carry for her, instead of her. He knew what it was to struggle under the weight of darkness and loss. He carried so many of his own burdens, but he would gladly take hers on too, if it meant she was lighter.

If it meant she was happy.

If it meant she was loved as she should have always been.

Gods, he groaned as he filled her again. It didn’t matter how many times they had done just that tonight… this week… it was never enough. He had centuries to make up for. His arms held on to her for dear life, wrapping around her shoulders, bracing his legs to keep her thighs wide. His to keep. His to protect.

Her body bent and pressed to mold to his throbbed with the feeling of him, of how he covered her every inch. With every thrust inside her, that chilling gnaw of her bloodied past receded, a flood that ebbed away. And all that was left was fertile ground for new things to grow.

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eveningepiphany · 1 year

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insatiable | H.S series, part I

eveningepiphany’s 1k special <3

summary: harry is a prince, natalia is a spy for his court. both of them can’t stand one another, but natalia having to take any direct information she learns about the attempt on his life directly to him seems to put the pair in an interesting dynamic.

SERIES warnings: darker topics, murder, death, cults, alcohol, smut, violence, royal au! harry, fem!oc, fantasy and swearing.

a/n: this is something I’ve wanted to write for a long time now. I love reading fantasy, and I think it would be fun to kind of test the waters in writing a proper series myself.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

A part of me wishes it was nothing like this.

That I didn’t live in a world where everyone was out to deceive you.

But that’s exactly what you get in Carthion. I’d say it’s all you ever get, but maybe that’s just my outlook on it.

Especially when you consider I’m no better than the rest of them.

You see, when you grow up with parents who did the worst things just to get by, you’re conditioned to it. The expectation that everyone is out to get you.

And of course, the things they did weren’t just steal some bread and fruit from the night market to get a feed, or maybe pickpocket a passerby or two bad. The kind of stuff that would have you killed if it was unearthed.

But how I grew up is realistically how I got here.

I’ve been a spy— which is really just a justified way of saying I’m a deceitful murderer— “professionally” for only three years now.

But I’d been really doing it since I was 13. Sounds young, I know. It was young.

The thing was, I was small, smaller than my dad. I could squeeze into little places, move faster, quieter.

And who would suspect a 13 year old to be the one who’d shot a gang leader in an alleyway.

Not a soul apparently.

My father accompanied me on these little “missions” for the first, maybe, forty times? Until little by little he stopped.

He’d just tell me quietly what I needed to do in the dark of our small kitchen. And I’d be off.

Previously, my mother did a similar business. But she broke her leg on an outing when I was around 9. It left her much less physically able then she used to be, leaving her to stay home with me and my elder brother, Theodore. Making small knit items and pottery to sell at the markets— while dad was out.

I’d often catch myself falling into a daydream of where I’d be if I didn’t have the upbringing that I did. If I’d be a married woman yet, or maybe a guard for one of the royal courts if I had the same amount of drive.

But all of that is rather a waste of time, i reason with myself often. I’m busy enough as it is. And it’s about to get a whole lot more hectic.

I’m not conditioned to walk in heeled shoes. Nor am I proper enough to be in the dress that’s currently hugging my frame.

But when business with Royals arises, it’s what I can only assume is a must.

The guard, who bought me in is a few steps infront of me— awful move if I was an intruder— seems to know exactly where he’s taking me.

The corridors are lined with the families crest, large cream pillars with golden accents.

A single brick from this place is probably worth more than my life.

We’d been twisting and turning through the corridors until suddenly I’m greeted with large double doors, ones that would tower above any regularly sized one..

Another 2 burly men are positioned outside of them, gesturing a quick nod to whoever led me here.

A curt knock and a few beats of silence pass. I feel a little sick, I can’t lie.

A posh feminine voice sounds on the other side of the doors, undoubtedly Queen Annabelle herself.

“Come in!”

The doors get swung open, and I’m surprised to see that at first glance, this room is only a business or lounge room. It’s large enough to be a dining hall.

My gaze snaps back over to her as she begins to greet me, something I probably should’ve done first instead of marvelling at the room were standing in.

“Natalia, dear, hello.” My eyes switch between her and her unexpected guest, who— if this room weren’t so large— is tall enough he would’ve been the first thing I seen upon entering.

I’m positive it’s her son. The Prince.

Im unsure what exactly to say even though I practiced this in my head a million times.

I drop into a quick curtesy, “Hello, Your highness.”

I falter momentarily, hesitating to greet the Prince as well.

A extend my greeting to him, after a quiet intake of breath, “and to you too, Prince Harry.”

He has a scowl on his face, hardly giving me a me nod of his head.

I’ve only ever worked with people of a medium prestige. And only ever to silently cover up their dirty work. But I’m hardly surprised to see his distaste towards me.

If I am a minor disgust to the higher class, to the royals like Prince Harry, I must be the equivalent of skum on freshly polished shoes.

“Please, come sit with us. We have much to discuss.” She strides across the room, flowing ivory dress complimenting the green rug that takes up a large chunk of the floor.

She takes to a chair at the head of the table, it’s like a mock-throne, green fabric and deep wooden accents around its frame and arms.

The Prince reluctantly seats in the chair first to her right.

Despite the fact I’ve been allowed in this room, I feel terribly out of place.

I carefully take the chair thats two down from the queen, folding my hands neatly atop the rich wooden table which has a map in the centre of it.

I almost let out a sigh of gratefulness as Queen Annabelle begins talking, and isn’t expecting me to begin.

“Alright. You know the parameters in which you are here in, yes?” She raises her sharp brows.

“I do, for the most part. From the letters I’d received. I’m aware of what business you want me for.”

The Prince scoffs at the word business, and the Queen shoots him a glare.

“There are obviously some details left out. We need to smooth those out, before you can make your pledges.”

I nod, but sense that she’s not done talking.

“You acknowledge that this is going ahead yes? All that is left to do is get it in motion.”

“I do. I have a few questions regarding this job, but they can be covered at a later time if you’d like.” I try to keep my tone steady, formal.

I’m satisfied in her reaction to my words. She wasn’t expecting me to be so put together.

I had worked hard when I was younger to achieve this. My intellect is a strong point— and it makes me appear less rough around the edges.

It’s also that of a weapon, one you can carry everywhere with you, undetected. And it’s just as dangerous as the blade of a dagger.

“Of course. As of now, I’d like to discuss the raw details.”

She gestures towards her son, “My son, here, is a key part of this job. I believe in your letters you were ran down on an attempted assassination within our family. Since it’s now certain you’ll be taking the job, and you’ll be working closely with the both of us, I figure you should know he was the target.”

He’s frowning still as a lock eyes with him. And I connected those dots the second I realised he was in the room.

I have never met him. But from the great vine I’d heard mixed opinions on his person.

“Aside from myself and our head of counsel, he will be whom you take any learned information to.”

She lets out a sigh, “I would like him to be excluded from this process, however, it was made clear it wouldn’t go ahead without his involvement.”

I ponder a moment on how he is allowed a choice in the matter, seeing she’s the Queen and all.

She looks to me for agreement, “Understood.”

“Perfect. Im aware we have little information on who has committed this crime. That is why you’re here. I fear that they will come back and finish what they started.” I steal a glance at the prince again, who looks relatively unbothered considering we’re discussing the details of his near death experience, “I expect you to prevent this from happening.”

High expectations come with exhausting hours of work. But I nod anyways.

“My head of counsel, Tyrone will also need to receive a pledge from you and then he will run you down on the smaller details I have no business in. But other than that, your work will begin after our pledges.”

A lot of damn pledges, too.

This was the worst part of working with people of such a title, the expectance of you to lay yourself down for them, to swear your life and loyalty to them. A pledge knows no time, and can only be withdrawn by the one it’s given too. So the more pledges, the more you’re shackled to. To outright break a pledge would send you straight to exile— so it’s rare to hear of it. It’s like a fucking cult out there, in the barren of the north where the exiles call home.

She prattles on over some more details, that I take as much mental note on as possible, before standing from her chair, “Harry, will you please leave the room while she makes her pledge to me.”

I thank the stars for the this shred of dignity shes allowing me, but i catch the shock on Prince Harry’s face at his removal.

“But—“ he begins and she silences him, “Out.”

He sighs outwardly, sending another glower my way as he walks out the door.

I awkwardly rise from my chair, nerves bubbling through me, trying to prepare myself on what to say.

Theres no script, its all dependent on the situation, so you must say the right things and leave no room for misconception in your words. Mistake and gaps can easily be used against you.

It’s dodgy absolutely, but a risk that must be taken for this business.

“Natalia, is this your first time making a pledge?” She asks from where she stands a few feet away from me.

“No.” It was my third, but she doesn’t need to know that.

It’s not many, especially since in what I do, some people rack them up like it’s a competition.

“Have you been let go of all your previous pledges?”

“Yes.” I nod, which was almost true, all but one.

A risky game I’m playing, lying already, but no risk no reward I suppose is what they say.

Answering no raises to many questions on her end that I hardly feel mentally prepared to answer.

I take initiative to kneel at her feet, ready for her go ahead.

“Very well.”

“Queen Annabelle the fifth, I kneel below you as I vow to uphold my loyalty to you, for as long as it may be needed. I am aware that your life must come before mine at all times, and that I’m never to withhold information that could be of detriment to you or your family.”

I draw in a breath, “All information that I learn in my time working under you will be taken to those of your request, and nothing will be kept to myself that could endanger anybody in your circle. Outside of those im working with, all that I find out is kept to myself. Gossip is for the lowly courts, and I do not wish to start it.”

I pray that ive covered the basis, and begin to close off the pledge, “My name is Natalia Atalanta Finley, and I pledge myself to you, Queen Annabelle the fifth.”

A shudder passes through me as my middle name breaches the tip of my tongue.

This is how the pledges are set in stone. Your second name is to be kept close to your heart; it can be easily used against you. Hence why business using them is unfavourable.

I had held her eye contact, and watched as she nodded. Her face was netrual, not showing whether she was pleased or not.

“Thank you. I will send Harry in for you now.” She sounded calm. Of course she was. Considering she wasn’t the one now down a point.

I only can nod.

Carefully standing, despite the fact I’m going to be kneeling again in a few moments, I brush my hands down the waist of my satin dress.

She heads out the doors, I strain to hear a few muffled whispers that are presumably exchanged between her and her son. Then the door is opening again.

I fight the urge to look away. I am not about to appear shy, or like I am now certainly below them. He strides in, and I finally get a good look at him in the full.

He’s in a black kind of overcoat, and a smooth white blouse-like shirt. The tattoos on his collarbones, which im not sure what they are yet, visible through the material.

I make note of his black trousers and my eyes make their way back to the hair on his head. Its mid length, unruly and curly is the best way to describe it.

He looks smug, yet somehow still inconvenienced by my presence, “kneel, wont you?”

These are the first words he’s said to me directly, and I already want to jam my elbow into his stomach. Terrific.

I take a few steps towards him, and slowly sink back down onto my knees, feet tucked under myself as I hold eye contact with him.

“Your highness,” I begin, but theres an unmistakable edge to my voice.

“Sound like you mean it at least.” He hums.

With a passive aggressive clear of my throat I start again, “Your highness,”

“This y’first time making a pledge?” He quirks a brow almost assuming.

“No.” You frown.

“No need to get your back up.” He laughs briefly, but it’s laced with an audacious tone, one lacking in kindness.

“Continue on, then.”

His gaze is back to burning into me as I pretty much recite what I said to his mother only minutes ago, sticking to the same promises as to not get any misconstrusions on their behalf.

The golden hour light is seeping through the cream coloured curtains that line the windows, it’s casting a glow on his sculpted face. I begin to close off my pledge to him, but he interrupts.

“Remind me again who is in charge of you?” He knows there’s hardly any need for this, considering im on my knees basically promising him my obedience, but he’s doing it to just get a rise out of me.

Which all though he doesn’t get it verbally, he can see the disdain on my face.

“You, Prince Harry.” I say, carefully.

“And you will not do anything without my go ahead first, correct?”

“Within reason, yes.” My job is too impulsive to say yes to that and it not backfire on me.

“Within reason? Elaborate, will you.”

“I must make impulsive decisions. I cannot promise you will always be debriefed on them when its an in-the-moment choice, or if you are possibly a few hundred miles away.”

His gaze narrows, “Within reason it shall be then.”

I close it off, earning a small raise of his eyebrows as he hears my full name.

“Good girl. You may rise.” He says it with a smirk, and with an air of power of me, which of course he now feels he has after my pledge.

“Do not call me that.” I state, pulling at any shred of dignity I have left as I stand up.

“What else would you prefer then?” It’s asked, however it’s clear to me he doesn’t care.

“My name.” I scoff.

“Alright then, Natalia.” He rolls his eyes.

He stares at me a moment, looking ready to leave,“I will see you, unfortunately, tomorrow then.”

I shoot him an unkind look, but keep my lips sealed.

“Anything else to say, sugar?” He teases, a cruel smirk on his face.

“Natalia.” I correct, “No, there is not.”

I decide to be the one to exit the room, uncaring if that is rude. I’ve already sworn him my life, and despite him acting like I’m of no use to him, I know I am— more then he’s leading on anyway.

I open the doors myself, and the guards are quick to check on the prince.

“Are you ok, Sir?” One of them tentatively asked, like as if I’ve hurt him.

“Just fine.” He brushes them off, eyes trailing me as I walk down the hallway despite no sense of where I’m going.

One of the guards hurries behind me,

“Ma’am, where are you going?”

He reaches my side and I glance to him, “Take me to the head of counsel, please.”

I figure I get the last pledge out of the way, and any other debriefing so I can just get out of here for tonight. Worry about it all later, in the earlier hours of tomorrow morning when I have to wake up.

The guard nods, and takes the lead while I try to memorise the twists and turns were making around the palace.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Tyrone is a fucking asshole.

If I had thought Prince Harry was rude or demeaning, I was in for a shock.

He hardly greeted me as I’d came into what I can only assume is his office. It was dark and unwelcoming, the wood was stained to the colour of black coffee, and nothing about it was homely.

He’d had me making this pledge for what felt like an hour. Running over detail upon detail.

Harshly demanding for more information, more promising.

By the time I’d closed it off— which at the rate we were going I thought was never going to happen— he made me stay for another hour going over what he wanted me to do, so I could start first thing tomorrow morning.

He basically gave me the caseload and then kicked me out.

I was mentally muddled as I left his office, and the halls were now completely dark aside from the warm casting of light from the candles, which sat in candelabras coming out of the walls.

I just wanted to go back to Mabel’s. Get this dress off and back into the confines of her cupboard and sleep.

However was almost caught off guard as someone was at the end of the hallway.

“Natalia.” I heard the deep voice regard me, walking up closer to me.

It surprised me in all honestly, I hadn’t seen them when I first walked out, “Yes?”

“I’m here to take you to your room.”

I was immediately confused.

“My room?”

“Yes. There’s a room made up for you in the western-wing of the palace.”

“I didn’t request a room.” I frown, and no one had told me I’d be staying here.

“All I know is Her Majesty had a room made up for you to stay in while you’re here. Allow me to lead you there.”

I nodded cautiously, but I knew what this was, it was to keep me under watch and control. It seems like a lovely customary gift in exchange for my work, but realistically it’s to stop me from interacting with anyone outside of the palace when I don’t need to.

I contemplate refusing to go, but figured that would just add unnecessary suspicion on my behalf.

I reluctantly followed the bulky man halfway across the palace, and everything started looking the same in the dark until we stopped outside a room. And i nodded a ‘thank you’ as I went through the again, abnormally tall doors.

The room itself was bigger than any whole house I’d ever lived in.

There was a large bed placed in the centre of it, perfectly made of course. And I noticed a closet on my left that took up majority of where the wall would’ve been.

There were a multitude of things hanging in there, ranging from gowns to things only someone like me would wear around here, like cargo pants and plain long sleeves.

The bedside antique lamps were on, casting an also warm glow to the space. The light to the bathroom was also turned on. And when I walked in there, the bath was run, with a set of silk pajamas folded on the large vanity.

It was too much. Wayyy too much for me.

Bribery at its finest.

Poor girl having to do the worst of the worst kind of business because it’s all she knows, suddenly spoiled with the kind of riches the royals had to offer.

I know just how far these kinds of people will go to earn your trust.

However, i still cave when it comes to the bath. I manage— with a slight struggle— to unzip the back of my dress and get fully undressed and into the bath.

It was perfectly warm, small petals floating atop the water.

I keep in the forefront of my mind just how well materialistic bribery like this work because god, it is nice. That’s the whole point.

I don’t know how long i stay in there, trying to soak off the grievances of the day.

But when I finally get out and slip the silky pyjamas on I’m too warm.

I pad out of the bathroom, and find myself at the balcony door.

The cooler air hits me as i step outside. I examine the surroundings. Part out of habit and other out of curiosity.

The ground is not that far away, a survivable jump at least. And if the railing would hold me up I definitely would be able to scale up onto the roof.

I’m mid-inspection when I hear another door open nearby, and my head whips to find the source of the noise.

I drop into a crouch keeping my eyes searching through the gaps in the wooden railing. My eyes fall on a room just across the small courtyard from me.

I spot the tall figure leaning against their own balcony and I realise with a sink of my heart that it was the Prince.

Why his quarters were so close to mine I could only guess. To keep tabs on me?

I stay deathly still as I watch his figure, it’s facing the direction of me, and from his angle he could probably only see the warm lamps and the light streaming out of the bathroom door.

A shake of his head, a spin of his heel and he’s returned into the confines of his own quarters.

I take a breath and am careful to keep my self low as I slip back into my room. Standing to my full height once inside and away from the window.

It is now that I need to fully accept he is going to be a terror to deal with.

I flick the bathroom and bedside lights off, and slide under the covers of the bed.

Head plagued with thoughts, I can’t help but wonder how the fuck I’ve gotten myself into this.

And how exactly it’s all going to pan out.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

thank you again for reading this. your support means the world to me. stay tuned for future parts, and feel free to reply or send me an ask saying you want to be added to my taglist if you do, since I’ve had a few people ask to be on them!

asks & requests, here.

taglist:

@straightontilmornin @hs-tpwkrry

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles series #harry styles smut #harry styles imagine #fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #insatiable #fantasy #enemies to lovers #enemy harry styles #harry styles x oc #Harry styles x fem!oc #etl #fanfic #royal au #royal! harry #royal harry styles

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etl-echo-audiobooks · 14 days

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GO REPORT THIS PLEASE!

Someone reposted Manacled back to spotify expressly against our wishes. Everything is now" "account only" on ao3, and will be removed entirely if this persists. I am disheartened and disgusted.

#manacled audiobook #manacled #etl #etl echo audiobooks #podfic #dramione #Spotify

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suzannahnatters · 11 months

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Till the End of the Moon: Unconventional Enemies to Lovers

A few months ago I posted my own personal thoughts on enemies-to-lovers that don't cross my own personal red lines. Since then, I enjoyed watching the absolutely next-level cdrama TILL THE END OF THE MOON, which is a uniquely complex and delicious take on the enemies to lovers trope which goes way harder than any other ETL I've ever seen. In this post I'd like to break down how TTEOTM addresses each of my points in turn, and I think this will highlight two unique features of this story: the wonderful complexity of the characters' alignment between good and evil, and the way that the ending, while flawed, unconventional and not completely satisfying, nevertheless makes a certain amount of dramatic sense.

In case that wasn't obvious right away, SPOILERS AHEAD.

Remember that evil is not misunderstood.

This point is about keeping your moral categories straight and not treating something genuinely problematic as though it's just a misunderstanding. One of the really fascinating things about TILL THE END OF THE MOON is that you couldn't quite call Tantai Jin either evil OR misunderstood. Instead, he's a complex mixture of both - a man who uses demon magic, wears black, and tends towards vengeance and mayhem when he feels attacked, yes, but who deep down very profoundly just needs to be loved. The show proves this over and over. Tantai Jin only acts out when he feels threatened or betrayed, when his belief that no one will ever love him is validated by the actions of those around him. On the other hand, when people show love towards him, he responds with wary but genuine trust, affection, and self-sacrifice. Our heroine Li Susu and others are quick to misunderstand Tantai Jin, but this is mainly because of the sinister vibes that surround him on account of him being picked out as the Devil God's future vessel. So, is he evil or misunderstood? He's a bit of both, and the really delightful thing about this show is that it does a beautiful job of keeping its categories straight, resolving misunderstandings quickly but doing the hard yards when it comes to addressing Tantai Jin's propensities towards vengeance.

Enemies doesn't need to mean hatred or toxicity.

Every romance needs reasons for the characters to love and trust each other, despite the things that are keeping them apart. TILL THE END OF THE MOON, again, takes a super complex approach to this point as well. Both Li Susu and Tantai Jin have incredibly mixed feelings towards each other. Li Susu deeply hates the Devil God and throughout the show, the major obstacle standing in the way of her learning to love Tantai Jin is her hatred of what she believes he will one day become. This provokes her to whip him, betray him, and plan his death. But she also sees very clearly that Tantai Jin is a pitiable outcast who has only ever known hatred and suffering. When she defends him, he quickly warms up to her. Tantai Jin, meanwhile, has heard Li Susu's vows of undying hatred and hostility, but has no defences against her practical acts of kindness and self-sacrifice. When she starts telling him that she loves him, he believes it because he so desperately wants to. Then, when she betrays him, his hostility is born of desperation: he thinks her cruel and heartless for toying with him. And when she comes back to him, he's so desperate for her love that he accepts her without reservation, making himself wholly vulnerable. Is there hatred between these two? Undoubtedly. But it's allied with an equally irresistible love and compassion. Like all the best enemies-to-lovers stories, and more than most, TILL THE END OF THE MOON gives the characters a choice between a hatred that will destroy them and a love that can heal them.

Remember that ETL is a fundamentally transformative relationship.

Normally what I mean by this is that enemies-to-lovers will usually involve a profound character arc for at least one of the characters, often from evil to good. TILL THE END OF THE MOON tackles this particular element with incredible complexity. When Li Susu gets to know Tantai Jin, he's cunning and manipulative, but just trying to survive. The two of them embark on a deeply transformative journey, but it is nothing so clear-cut as a journey from villainy to goodness or vice versa. Tantai Jin flirts with villainy before ultimately drawing away from it. By the time he actually does ascend to become the Devil God in the final quarter, it isn't because he's become evil - rather, he's playing the long game, positioning himself and Li Susu to destroy the Devil God once and for all. The important part of Tantai Jin's character arc is learning to accept love from himself and from people around him, to the point that he no longer responds to perceived rejection with vengeful rage. Similarly, the show also brings Susu to a point where she is able to let go of her deap-seated fear of the Devil God. By the end, she has become able to trust her beloved and make herself vulnerable to him even AFTER he's become the Devil God - a truly incredible arc.

I've heard a lot of people saying that the show TTEOTM differs from the book TTEOTM sharply in that Show!Tantai Jin is much less of a villain than Book!Tantai Jin. Normally, this would impair my enjoyment - I'm usually the one shouting at the screen to LET your baddie be a baddie, for heaven's sake. Not having read the book, I can't actually compare the two, but I CAN say that I'm so impressed by how the show revels in shades of grey. Instead of simplifying the male lead's morality, the story allows it to be messy and complex. Neither Li Susu nor Tantai Jin can fit easily into good and evil categories. I appreciate this immensely.

The characters should be a match for each other, especially when it comes to power and to morals.

Similarly, I'm fascinated by how TILL THE END OF THE MOON treats Li Susu, our token "good" half of the couple. She's the Lady of Light, but in the midst of her crusade she's stubborn. She's cruel. She's vengeful. She spends SO MUCH of the story refusing to believe that Tantai Jin can defy fate, and when she meets him again after undergoing 500 years of suffering to find her, she still refuses to acknowledge that she is the woman who loved him, because she fears it will give the Devil God a new foothold in the world. Throughout the story she lies to him, betrays him, and wields or withholds her affection like a weapon. (This, combined with the long stretches of the show in which she is far more powerful than Tantai Jin, reverses a lot of common gender tropes in some really fun ways). In fact Li Susu is kind of terrible, and I love that for her and for the show because now it's not about a pure and good person suffering for the love of a villain - it's about two dark and deeply flawed people hurting each other equally. Similarly, Tantai Jin just isn't a villain, despite the aesthetics.

There doesn't need to be a HEA.

I don't think that every romance needs a happy ending - look at WUTHERING HEIGHTS. While it's imperfect, I don't think that TTEOTM has an unhappy ending per se. I trust that our boy is going to cultivate himself right out of that Heart-Guarding Scale. Tantai Jin and Li Susu definitely deserve their happy ending if any couple does - they've worked through their differences and are now totally vulnerable with and accepting of each other. However, it's fascinating that they don't quite get a HEA - or need to wait a long time for it - for reasons that actually sit pretty well with me. Namely, it was Tantai Jin's fatal flaw all along that he pinned all his sense of self-worth to Li Susu and couldn't face the thought of a life without her. This is that oddest of all things: a love story which cannot end happily until the hero is able to find love and security in people who are NOT the heroine. His feelings for Li Susu are not enough to cure him, because on the deepest level Tantai Jin still doesn't consider himself worthy of love and is willing to settle for whatever crumbs he can pick up off the floor. It takes the love of his shifu and sect brothers showing him that he is worthy APART from Li Susu, before he can learn to be healthily in love WITH her. By the end, it is this acceptance of himself and all the love shown by people who are NOT Li Susu, which enables Tantai Jin to consume the Devil God rather than to be consumed BY him. It is this which gives him the strength to accept death at Li Susu's hands without seeking to avenge or defend himself, and Li Susu the ability to trust him enough to follow through with it. Again, this is an incredibly complex take on a standard romantic scenario.

Love should be what the villain needs - but not what he wants.

What I mean by this is that if the villain is driven to villainy primarily in order to possess the heroine romantically or sexually, he ought not to get her. But TTEOTM is much more complex than, say, LOVE BETWEEN FAIRY AND DEVIL*, in which Orchid represents the moral growth the Evil Overlord needs rather than the world domination he wants. For one thing, Tantai Jin is not a villain when he first meets Li Susu, he never quite becomes one, and many of his most villainous actions are are direct response to her perceived enmity. They are self-preservation or revenge. Also, for much of the story, there is nothing Tantai Jin wants as much as Li Susu, and all his actions, good and bad, are either attempts to win her favour or retaliation for perceived or actual betrayal.

In retrospect, perhaps this was always an indication of how the story was going to end. Tantai Jin WANTS Li Susu to love him from very early on. But his need is quite different. He NEEDS to accept love and esteem from himself and from others, because so long as he pins all his sense of self-worth to the murder wifey he will never be stable or sane. One of the really beautiful things about the final quarter of the story, despite its messiness, is seeing Tantai Jin flower into someone who is finally able to accept his own worthiness. After so many episodes in which he's been suffering, paranoid and hurting, he's finally able to achieve an even keel - not through the Heartless Way, but through experiencing love. This time, when he feels threatened by the rejection of one person, he has the love of others to fall back on. Thus, the ending of this show was never going to be about whether Tantai Jin could love Li Susu: he has from the beginning. It was going to be about whether he could learn to see himself as worthy of love.

For Tantai Jin, additionally, getting what he needs doesn't mean that he can't also get what he wants. Tantai Jin has never been SO villainous - so cruel, selfish, and obdurate - that getting what he wants would be a grave injustice. And, getting what he needs - the love of others - is not incompatible with what he wants - the love of Li Susu. Indeed it's the only condition upon which he CAN have a healthy relationship with Li Susu. I think this is why the ending, as messy and flawed as it is, is not a dealbreaker and even makes a weird amount of sense. The fact that Tantai Jin clearly gets what he Needs prevents it all from feeling as utterly wasteful and stupid as, say, TROS did. And then the door is left just a crack ajar for him one to day to get what he Wants, too.

In conclusion, then, TTEOTM is an incredibly ambitious, complex story which goes harder than just about any other enemies-to-lovers story I can think of and sets itself up for an unconventional ending in making the core of its story about whether the hero can learn to love himself. While it's not perfect, I feel like it's an enemies-to-lovers masterclass which I'll be revisiting early and often.

* As a footnote, when I say that TTEOTM is less complex than LBFAD, this isn't meant as a ding. LBFAD is simpler and less ambitious, but also more successful. It's often the way.

#cdrama #till the end of the moon #tteotm #enemies to lovers #etl #writing #love between fairy and devil #lbfad

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winxanity-ii · 2 months

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𝐉𝐎𝐈𝐍 𝐔𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐀 𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐄

╚»★«╝ 𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐂 𝐌𝐞𝐧: 𝐏𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 x 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐋𝐨𝐭𝐮𝐬 𝐄𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ╚»★«╝

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: fluff, cuuttteeee

‌🇷‌🇦‌🇹‌🇮‌🇳‌🇬‌: non-explicit

🇵‌🇴‌🇻‌: 2nd person; You/Your

🇩‌🇪‌🇸‌🇨‌🇷‌🇮‌🇵‌🇹‌🇮‌🇴‌🇳‌: in which, your peaceful life on an idyllic island is disrupted by the arrival of strangers.

🇼‌🇴‌🇷‌🇩‌ 🇨‌🇴‌🇺‌🇳‌🇹‌: 6.1k

🇦‌/🇳‌‌: Y'all forgive me, i'm currently addicted to EPIC: The Musical 😭😭😭 i had to get it out......so because i'm such a random ass person, expect a few one-shots of these 🥴

★·.·´��‌🇺‌🇸‌🇮‌🇨‌🇦‌🇱‌🇸‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

In the dappled shade of overhanging trees, you, a daughter of the Lotus Eaters, moved with the silence of a whisper. The island, your home, was a place of serene beauty and hidden sorrows, where every berry and leaf held stories untold. As you foraged, the unexpected sound of low voices sliced through the quiet, a rarity in this secluded paradise.

In the heart of the island, where the sun played peek-a-boo through the lush canopy, you were lost in your routine of foraging, the familiar, comforting task providing a rhythm to your day. The island was your sanctuary, a place where each leaf and berry whispered stories of peace and forgetfulness. But today, an unfamiliar murmur shattered the symphony of rustling leaves and distant waves—a discordant note that prickled your skin.

Hiding wasn't something you Lotus Eaters did often; your island was a haven, not a battlefield. Yet, instinct took over, and you found yourself crouching under the embracing shadow of an overhanging tree, its leaves casting a mosaic of light and dark around you. Your heart thudded a frantic rhythm, trying to drown out the low, masculine voices that sliced through the serenity of your world.

You couldn't catch their words clearly, just fragments floating through the air like leaves caught in a breeze—"too worried," "need to relax"—phrases that seemed out of place in the tranquility of your island. Your curiosity piqued as their voices faded, swallowed by the whispers of the forest. The urge to look, to know, overpowered your hesitation, and you peered through the veil of green, your gaze snagging on flashes of gold.

Gold here was not a common sight. It wasn't woven into your garments or hoarded in chests; it was a color of the sunsets, not of men. Yet, there it was, adorning these strangers in the form of armor, glinting with a promise of other worlds, other wars. Your breath caught at the sight of their swords, tools of harm so alien to your way of life, and a chill skittered down your spine.

They were heading toward your village, toward your people who knew no harm.

Panic, sharp and urgent, spurred you into motion. You couldn't just sit and watch. The safety of your village, of the gentle souls who had never known the cold bite of steel, was in your hands.

As you darted through the underbrush, the island blurred around you, a whirl of green and brown streaked with your anxiety. "Strangers are coming," you rehearsed in your mind, "armed strangers, with intentions as unclear as the shadowed depths of our waters." Your feet knew the way, carrying you faster than thought, driven by a need to protect, to warn.

Reaching the village felt like emerging from water, a sudden rush of air and noise. Your people, your family, they were all there, living their peaceful lives, unaware of the disturbance heading their way. You gasped for breath, words tumbling out in a rush, "Strangers… armed… heading this way…"

The village's rhythm halted, eyes turning to you, a mixture of confusion and concern blooming on familiar faces. Kio, your elder, stepped forward, his presence like a calm in the storm. "Tell me everything," his voice was the steady beat of the drum, grounding and solid.

As you recounted what little you saw and heard, the weight of responsibility bore down on you. You were a community that thrived on harmony and understanding, yet here you were, the harbinger of potential discord. "I saw their swords," you confessed, the words heavy, "weapons that shows tales of war and death."

The air was thick with unspoken fears, with the weight of what was to come. You stood there, amid your people, feeling the shift in the breeze, a harbinger of change, unwelcome and unbidden. In that moment, you realized that the sanctuary of your island was no longer a given—and you can't help but wonder what the arrival of these strangers heralds for your people, for your way of life, and for the harmony that has always been your world's heartbeat.

As the last echoes of your warning hang in the air, a sudden rustling at the village's edge cuts through the stillness. You barely have time to finish, "We must hide!" before the underbrush parts, revealing the very strangers you feared. The village, usually a bastion of tranquility, pulses with a mix of apprehension and curiosity.

Your eyes are immediately drawn to the darker-skinned man, whose presence seems to command the sun's rays, casting a warm glow on his deep-toned skin. He stands out with a demeanor that contrasts sharply with the tense atmosphere, his short, dark curls restrained by a golden headband that speaks of valor yet does not overshadow his approachable aura. His face, framed by a full beard, is alight with a friendly smile, his brown eyes reflecting a depth of wisdom and kindness, suggesting a soul seasoned by journeys and battles yet untouched by their harshness.

He is clad in a heroic ensemble that marries form and function—a chest plate of polished bronze that narrates tales of past skirmishes, worn over a tunic vibrant against the natural backdrop of the village. Golden armlets encircle his muscular arms, shimmering with each movement, while a belt with intricate designs anchors a leather skirt, designed for the dual demands of agility and protection. His attire is completed with greaves and sandals, hinting at readiness for both celebration and conflict.

Beside him, a man with lighter skin presents a stark contrast, his rigid posture exuding a sense of urgency and latent power. His armor, less adorned yet no less formidable, speaks of a life spent in strategy and combat, his expression one of focus and resolve, his eyes scanning the surroundings with a commander's vigilance.

You watch, your gaze hardening, as Elder Kio and the other respected leaders step forward, their arms spread in a gesture of welcome that's as much a part of your culture as the lotus itself; it's a silent offering of peace and welcome, a tradition unbroken for generations.

The children, with their innocent faces peeking out from behind their mothers' skirts, gawked at the men, their usual playground of earth and sky momentarily forgotten. The mothers, though curious, held their children close, sensing the shift in the wind, the ripple of change that these strangers brought with them.

A greeting that's supposed to be met with gratitude is instead met with tension.

The lighter one, his armor catching the sun's rays, draws his sword in a swift motion that cuts the air and the brief moment of peace.

The reaction is immediate. The elders halt in their tracks, their expressions morphing from open welcome to guarded caution. The villagers, their voices once rising in a harmonious welcome, now fall silent, their songs of greeting dissolving into a tense hush. The children, sensing the shift, draw closer to their mothers, their expressions morphing from excitement to a dawning unease.

"Stay back!" the command ripples through the gathered crowd, a stark contrast to the open-hearted reception offered by your people; it acts as chilling reminder of the potential danger these strangers represent.

The villagers, once buoyed by curiosity and the novelty of new faces, now retreat into a wary distance, their initial welcome cooling into a collective apprehension; unused to such intensity, leaned in, their eyes flickering between the sword in his hand and the stoic expressions of their elders. Yet, you, alongside the village elders, remain steadfast, your eyes locked on the two men who've disrupted the peace of your haven.

"We're only here for food," the lighter one said, his voice carrying the weight of command and desperation. "I need enough to feed 600 men."

The word 'food' echoed through the crowd, a simple yet profound need that resonated with every villager. Your people, always so giving, now faced a dilemma as the shadow of the upcoming drought season loomed over the island like an ominous cloud, now facing the prospect of feeding an army.

Elder Kio looked worried; his face, etched with the lines of countless smiles and furrowed brows of concern, now bore a look of deep contemplation. He's seen a lot over the years, and you could tell he was trying to figure out what to do. His eyes, reflecting a storm of thoughts, met the soldier's—an exchange brimming with the weight of unspoken negotiations.

With his stance firm and his expression unyielding, the pale one held Kio's gaze. The elder's eyes, usually reflecting pools of calm, now mirrored the tumultuous sea of issues before him. The island, a paradise of peace and plenty, was unused to such extreme demands, and Kio's hesitation was a testament of the conflict within—a battle between the inner desire to extend a hand in hospitality or the impending need to safeguard their future against the looming threat of scarcity.

Before Elder Kio could open his mouth to offer a bit of help despite future trouble, the soldier cut him off, sensing the hesitation, sharpened his stance, "Stay back, I'm warning you," he repeated, his sword gleaming menacingly in the sunlight. "If we don't get back safely, my men will turn this place into blazes."

The threat hung in the air, stark and chilling. A collective shiver ran through the villagers, a silent wave of fear that you felt keenly. Your own reaction was immediate—a frown, a tightening of your jaw, an instinctive readiness to defend your home against this thinly veiled menace.

Yet, from across the clearing, your mother's calm gaze met yours. Her presence, unswayed by the lotus's usual soporific effect, served as a silent beacon of restraint. Her eyes, so like your own, whispered a message of patience and wisdom, cooling the fire of your indignation.

Around you, the elders, those first-generation Lotus Eaters who seldom displayed such collective lucidity, stood with a shared gravity. Their usual, dreamlike detachment was replaced by a sharp, collective focus, a rare and telling shift that spoke volumes of the gravity of the situation.

"Odysseus, my friend, it's okay to greet the world with open arms, no need to be harsh," the darker one spoke in a gentle tone, trying to dispel the tension; his words, meant to soothe, seemed almost out of place against the backdrop of his companion's stark ultimatum.

The lighter one—Odysseus—still on edge, shot a glance at his friend, his expression a mix of frustration and urgency. "We need to find food for our men, Polites," he insisted, the weight of his responsibility evident in his voice.

The villagers watched, a silent audience to this back-and-forth between the two men. Elder Kio, after a moment of anxious contemplation, stepped forward, his voice steady but his concern clear. "We can offer you some of our reserves," he said to Odysseus, "It's not much, but we're willing to share what we have."

With a nod from Kio, a few of the women villagers moved toward the storerooms, their steps hesitant but determined. Kio then turned his gaze to you and a small group of young villagers standing nearby. With a subtle but firm nod, he signaled for you to assist in gathering the provisions.

Watching you all get into action, Polites' face lights up in with relief, nudged Odysseus. "See? You were worrying for nothing," he said, a small smile playing on his lips.

Just then, a young child, innocent to the tension, approached the men with a tray of refreshments, among them the lotus fruit. Polites reached out, his hand hovering over the fruit, drawn to its vibrant hue.

Odysseus's hand shot out, stopping Polites just in time. "Wait," he cautioned, eyeing the fruit with suspicion.

And as the little boy who had offered the tray turned to leave, Odysseus called out to him, "Hey, wait a minute, boy." His voice, firm yet not unkind, prompted the child to halt in his tracks and look back, a mix of curiosity and wariness in his eyes.

The boy, clutching the hem of his shirt, took hesitant steps back toward the two strangers. His gaze flitted between the fruit in Odysseus's hand and the stern look on the man's face.

"What's this?" Odysseus asked, holding up the luminescent fruit for the boy to see. The child, now standing a safe distance away, glanced at the fruit and then up at Odysseus's questioning eyes.

"I-It's what we eat here," the boy replied, his voice a soft murmur against the backdrop of the watching villagers. "It makes people happy."

Odysseus exchanged a quick, meaningful look with Polites, who wore an expression of dawning understanding mixed with concern. The child, sensing the men's unease, added, "It's good… it helps people forget their sadness."

Odysseus, still locked in his silent communication with Polites, missed the approach of an older teenager who came to retrieve the young boy. The girl, with a respectful bow, offered a gentle apology for the interruption, her actions protective as she guided the boy to stand behind her, his curious eyes peeking out from her leg.

As the villagers began to place baskets filled with an assortment of foods beside the men, Odysseus turned his attention to the girl. "Is what the child said true? You eat these?" he inquired, gesturing towards the lotus fruit in his hand.

The girl nodded, her eyes fixed on the ground, a hint of defensiveness in her posture. "Yes," she confirmed softly, "we use the fruit as a base for many of our meals." Her hand swept towards the growing pile of food offerings, which included more than just the fruit, illustrating the variety in their diet.

When the girl and child left, Odysseus picked up one of the fruits. "Look at this," he said, holding it high, its seeds emitting a faint glow. "Do you see how it glows? This is a lotus fruit. It's not just any food; it affects your mind, traps you in bliss." He then turned to Polites with a stern look, his words sharp and clear. "If we indulge in this, we could become like the lotus eaters here, essentially addicts lost to their escape, detached from reality."

With a gesture that carried a mix of disdain and warning, Odysseus dropped the fruit to the ground, his hand swiftly brushing against his pants, as if to rid himself of its influence.

You returned to the scene, arms aching slightly from helping to transport the village's food reserves, only to catch Odysseus's dismissive gesture as he dropped a lotus fruit to the ground. His words, laden with disdain, hung heavily in the air, criticizing the very essence of your people's way of life.

You felt a surge of emotions as you stood there, witnessing this display of ignorance. Anger bubbled up inside you, mixed with a deep sadness. These outsiders didn't understand. They didn't see that the lotus fruit, while powerful, was not a chain but a choice for many who came to your island seeking peace from their troubled pasts. You knew the stories well—of travelers and wanderers, lost souls who found solace on your shores, much like your own parents had.

You were a child of two lotus eaters who had discovered love and a new beginning amidst the island's gentle embrace. Unlike the outsiders' assumptions, you all lived in harmony, connecting deeply with each other's hearts and minds, a unity that was rare and precious.

Odysseus's words, though meant for Polites, echoed through the village, casting a shadow over the offered hospitality. The villagers' expressions shifted from welcome to wariness, their eyes reflecting a mix of hurt and disappointment.

The notion that your home, your culture, and your people were reduced to being labeled as 'useless' by those who knew nothing of your world cut deeply. It was a stark reminder of how the outside world viewed the lotus eaters—a place of forgetfulness and oblivion, not healing and community.

The tension in the village was palpable, a thick veil of unease that hung over the villagers, all felt but unseen by Odysseus and Polites. Polites, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, took a modest step forward, his head slightly bowed, exuding a sense of genuine remorse.

"Lotus eaters," Polites addressed the villagers with a tone full of sincerity, "I apologize for the misunderstanding. We, as soldiers, must remain vigilant and at our peak, which means we cannot partake in your lotus fruit." While his apology was sincere, it didn't sit well with the villagers. The fact that it was Polites apologizing, and not Odysseus—the one who had actually insulted the community—only intensified the villagers' resentment and frustration.

The villagers exchanged glances, questioning why the man who had caused the offense hadn't stepped forward to make amends himself.

Elder Kio, masking the village's collective discomfort with a practiced ease, responded, "The cave," he stated simply, his voice imbued with a reassuring calm that seemed to gently brush away the lingering tension.

Polites's interest piqued. "A cave! You're saying there's a cave where we could feast? Where might we find this food-filled cave?" His tone carried a mix of curiosity and relief.

Kio, with a gentle nod, extended his arm eastward, as if presenting a gift. "Eastward…There lies a cave you seek, abundant and generous, just as our village strives to be. It'll take 3 days and 2 nights to reach."

Gratitude washed over Polites's features, lighting them up with a grateful smile. "Thank you!" he exclaimed, his appreciation clear.

"You are most welcome," echoed the villagers, their chorus of voices a blend of politeness and restraint, a testament to their enduring hospitality even in the face of discomfort.

Kio then turned to you, his next words taking everyone by surprise—including you. "We also offer a guide's service to lead you there," he said, gesturing toward you. "She's the best on the entire island."

You felt a jolt of responsibility as all eyes turned to you. As Kio's gaze met yours, a silent message passed between you, clear and unmistakable. You could almost hear his unspoken strategy: 'Feed them to the beasts, since they want to behave as such.'

Understanding Kio's underlying intention, you stepped forward from the crowd, now the focus of Odysseus and Polites's attention. "I need just a moment to prepare," you told them, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of thoughts inside you. "Then, you'll guide me to your ship to gather more of your men before we start for the cave."

As you stepped out to meet Odysseus and Polites, their eyes landed on you, taking in your appearance for the first time. The tropical sun of your island home cast a warm glow on your rich brown skin, highlighting your beauty and the distinctiveness of your village's attire.

You stood there, embodying the spirit of your people with your attire that was both practical for the island's warmth and symbolic of your culture. Your outfit consisted of a dark brown loincloth, complementing your skin tone, paired with a bralette fashioned from sparkling beads that caught the light with every movement, signaling your status and style.

Your hair, a cascade of back-length, fuzzy locks, was adorned with beads whose colors denoted your age and status within the village. At 19, the azure and emerald beads woven into your hair were a vibrant mix, reflecting your youth and vigor, and marking you as one of the youngest warriors and hunters of your people.

Your arms bore white tattoos, striped patterns that ran up to your shoulders, interspersed with specks of blue and seafoam green, signifying your prowess and skill. Around your lower stomach and navel, intricate grayish designs sprawled, symbolizing your single status and fertility, a visual marker that you are of age and ready to bear children, aligning with the island's traditions and its deep-rooted connection to the cycles of life and continuity.

Beauty marks dotted gracefully along the bridge of your nose and over your cupid's bow, drawing attention to your face, enhancing your natural features, and expressing the unique blend of strength and elegance that characterized your presence.

Polites's reaction was immediate as his gaze swept over you; his brown cheeks flushed a slight shade of pink, a subtle but telling reaction to your striking appearance. There was an unmistakable look of admiration in his eyes, a clear indication that he found you to be perhaps the most beautiful woman he had ever encountered. Under his breath, awestruck, he murmured a phrase that likened you to the goddess of beauty herself, "By Aphrodite's grace…" His words were a whisper, a testament to the impression you'd made on him, acknowledging your beauty as one that could rival the goddess's unparalleled allure.

Even Odysseus, whose heart was steadfastly anchored to Penelope, couldn't ignore the striking presence you radiated. While loyalty to his wife remained unshaken, he recognized the undeniable fact that your beauty was something extraordinary, a rare and captivating elegance, one that could easily stir the hearts of men and gods alike.

He thought to himself that your beauty was such that, were it known beyond this secluded island, it might provoke kingdoms to vie for your favor, much like they once did for Helen of Troy—igniting conflicts driven by desire and admiration.

You quickly made your way to your family's tent to collect the necessary items for the journey ahead. Inside the small, familiar space, you grabbed a satchel, packing it with essential items: a few lotus fruits, a canteen of water, a bow and arrows, and a knife, which you secured around your thigh. As part of the preparation, you began to apply dark paint to your face, a method used by your village's hunters to meld into the night, a tactic you knew would serve well in the environment you were about to navigate.

Your mother entered the tent, her face etched with concern. She understood the gravity of your task, her maternal instinct overshadowing the usual lotus-induced calm. "I know you can handle this," she said, her voice laced with a mix of pride and worry, "but be cautious around those soldiers. It's not the giants that I fear for you, but the company you'll be keeping on this journey."

Your heart softened at her words, touched by the depth of her concern. Your mother, with her gentle spirit and enduring strength, had faced her own harrowing journey before embracing the lotus's forgetful peace.

The fact that her past might include such dark experiences, particularly involving men, made her caution all the more touching. It was a reminder of the life she led before the island, the trials she endured, and the refuge she found among the lotus eaters. Her concern for you now, in the context of being alone with the soldiers, was a reflection of her own vulnerabilities and the protective love she held for you.

You met her gaze, your expression resolute, offering reassurance. "I'm the right person for this," you affirmed, echoing the confidence Kio placed in you. In a gesture steeped in your village's traditions, you pressed your forehead against hers, a moment of silent solidarity and affection that transcended words.

Pulling back with a smile, you reached into your satchel and gently placed a lotus fruit in her hand. She returned your smile, a gesture of mutual understanding and love, before consuming the fruit. Her eyes soon glazed over, a serene calm washing over her as the fruit's effects took hold, guiding her back to a blissful repose next to your father.

With a final, affectionate kiss on her forehead, you ensured she was comfortably resting before turning your attention back to the task at hand. Your face now marked for the hunt, your gear secured, and your heart steeled for what lay ahead, you stepped out of the tent with a determined stride, ready to confront whatever challenges awaited with Odysseus and Polites.

☆

As you traversed the winding path with Odysseus and Polites, the latter seemed increasingly eager to engage with you, his intrigue clearly sparked by more than just your striking appearance. Polites's attempts at conversation were persistent, as he ventured to break through your focused demeanor with a series of stuttered, simple questions.

"So, um, do you… do you always assist with… such tasks?" Polites inquired, his voice wavering slightly as he sought to learn more about you.

You didn't immediately respond, your attention fixed on the journey ahead, but his persistent curiosity eventually drew your gaze. When your eyes finally met his, he was met with a flush of embarrassment, his cheeks turning a noticeable shade of red. He offered a shy, somewhat awkward smile, his hands fumbling with his shield in a nervous gesture, betraying his unease under your scrutinizing look.

"And, ah, the… the paint," he stumbled on his words again, gesturing vaguely towards your face, "Is it… for camouflage, or…?" His question trailed off, leaving the sentence hanging in the air, incomplete.

You observed his flustered state for a moment, the warrior seemingly at odds with his usual battlefield composure, now unsettled by the simple act of conversing with you. His earnestness, juxtaposed with his bashfulness, painted a starkly different picture from the soldierly demeanor you'd expected.

Odysseus, observing his friend's futile efforts, couldn't help but interject with a scoff. "I'm not sure why you're bothering," he remarked to Polites, his voice tinged with a mix of amusement and disdain. "She's probably lost in the haze of lotus fruit, like the rest of them here."

This assumption ignited a spark of anger within you. Up until now, you had maintained a composed silence, but Odysseus's words struck a nerve. Turning to face him, your eyes flashed with indignation.

"How dare you," you began, your voice slicing through the tension like a blade, "judge us so arrogantly?" The words tumbled out, sharp and unrelenting. "Men like you—soldiers—are the very reason why so many seek refuge on this island. Some of us are survivors of village plunders, forced to witness the atrocities committed by armies, the horrors inflicted upon innocent lives."

Your gaze intensified, boring into his as you took in the full measure of the man before you. "You inflict unspeakable horrors and drape them in the guise of glory, yet you stand here, with blood still staining your hands, daring to pass judgment on us? On how we choose to heal our wounds?"

Odysseus's eyes shifted away under the weight of your accusation, a flicker of discomfort, perhaps even guilt, crossing his features as he was confronted with the stark mirror of his actions.

You paused, ensuring your next words hit home. "You know nothing of our resilience," you continued, your tone edged with a cold clarity, "And for your information, offspring of lotus eaters, like myself, aren't as affected by the fruit's power. We retain our minds, our memories, and, most importantly, our judgments."

The air hung heavy between you, charged with your spoken truths. Odysseus, now looking away, seemed momentarily lost for words, the usual confidence of the seasoned warrior faltering under the weight of your piercing glare and the bitter truths it conveyed.

In this moment of silence, Polites saw an opportunity to shift the atmosphere, perhaps lighten the heavy load of the conversation that had just transpired. He ventured to draw your attention away from the discomfort, eager to see a different side of you beyond the anger and the pain.

"So, uh…" Polites began, a cautious optimism in his voice, "Do the… lotus fruits taste like… regular fruits, or are they… different?" His question, awkward yet sincere, seemed to pierce through the lingering tension.

Your initial reaction was to maintain your guarded demeanor, but something about his genuine curiosity and the awkward earnestness in his attempt sparked a different response within you. A soft laugh escaped your lips, not mocking but genuine, a sound that seemed to momentarily lift the heavy cloak of your responsibilities and the grim realities of your world.

Polites's reaction was immediate; his smile widened, his cheeks flushed with a renewed sense of hope as he heard the lightness in your laughter. It was a sound, he realized, that he wanted to understand more, to hear again, not just as a distraction from the weight of the journey ahead but as a glimpse into the person you truly were beneath the warrior's exterior.

Maybe, just maybe, he wasn't so bad after all—a thought that, for a fleeting moment, allowed you to see him not just as a soldier from a foreign land but as a person capable of recognizing and respecting your humanity.

☆

Over the two days spent guiding Odysseus, Polites, and the other Trojan guards to the cave, you noticed a shift in your own defenses. While Odysseus and his men maintained a distance, treating you with a detached wariness or outright indifference, Polites pursued a different path. His presence was a constant by your side, his demeanor gentle, marked by a curiosity that felt genuine and devoid of judgment.

His questions, simple yet insightful, sparked conversations you hadn't anticipated. "What's life like on the island for you?" he'd ask, or "Have you ever tried Pastelis?" His inquiries, far from the prying or strategic, seemed to stem from a place of genuine interest, a desire to understand your world and perhaps to find common ground.

Even when the group settled down for the night, Polites's attentiveness didn't wane. As the others succumbed to sleep or took up their watchful posts, he remained by your side, sharing stories under the blanket of stars. His tales of battles fought alongside Odysseus, of distant lands and fierce confrontations, offered a glimpse into his life beyond the armor and sword.

On one particularly windy night, as the campfire flickered and cast its glow on the weary faces of the slumbering soldiers, Polites drew closer to you. With a thoughtful gesture, he unfurled the cape attached to his armor and draped it around the both of you, creating a shared warmth against the chill of the night. There, beside the dwindling bonfire, with the sounds of the night around you and the rest of the troops lost in their dreams or watchful silence, a different kind of connection began to form.

The stories he told, imbued with his personal experiences, fears, and triumphs, resonated with you, bridging the gap between your worlds. His willingness to open up, to share the realities of his life beyond the battlefield, painted him in a more humane light, contrasting sharply with the silent, stoic figures of Odysseus and the other guards.

By the third day, with the cave's looming presence just a few hours away, your initial resolve began to waver. Polites' consistent kindness and attention gradually chipped away at the wall you had built around yourself; you found yourself engaging more with him, answering his questions, sharing glimpses of your life and views, which you hadn't expected to divulge. His attentive nature, so starkly different from the others', made you see him in a new light—not just as a soldier but as someone who might truly be seeking understanding and connection.

The thought of guiding them into potential danger, particularly the danger represented by the giants' cave, made you question not only your mission but also the potential consequences of your actions for him and his companions.

☆

As the ominous entrance of the cave loomed in the distance, you halted atop a hill, the wind carrying your firm words to the group of soldiers. "This is where I leave you," you declared, your voice echoing a mix of duty and unease. "I must return to my village."

The soldiers, heeding your announcement, resumed their march toward the cave, but Polites faltered, his steps slowing as he turned to cast a lingering glance in your direction. Odysseus, noticing his friend's hesitation, paused, an unspoken understanding passing between them.

Polites's internal struggle was evident, torn between his obligations and the connection he felt with you. After a moment's contemplation, he jogged back to where you stood, his hand extended, revealing a small, shimmering coin. "This is an Ithaca gold coin," he explained as you examined the coin with a mix of curiosity and surprise. "Consider it a memento," he added, a gentle sincerity in his voice.

His next words were softer, imbued with a shy yet profound promise. "After we complete our journey, after I ensure Odysseus's safe return to his kingdom, I will come back for you," he vowed, his eyes searching yours for a reaction, revealing a budding warmth and longing.

In a fleeting moment, Polites leaned forward, his forehead gently pressing against yours, an intimate gesture that held significant meaning within your culture. You felt a surge of emotion, your heart fluttering with a blend of surprise and warmth, as you realized he not only remembered this detail from your conversations over the past three days but also understood its deep significance.

This forehead touch, a symbol of profound trust and affection, was reserved for those you hold dear, those you would trust with your life. The fact that Polites, a man from a world so different from your own, had not only remembered this but chose to express his farewell in such a manner, spoke volumes of his respect and growing affection for you.

Leaning back, Polites adds a tender kiss on your forehead; his hand then gently caressed the side of your face, a silent affirmation of the bond that had formed between you.

With a final, meaningful glance, Polites turned and hurried to rejoin his companions, leaving you with the weight of his promise and the gold coin in your hand. After Polites's departure, you stood there, the Ithacan coin clutched tightly against your chest, a tangible reminder of the connection you'd just acknowledged. Odysseus's gaze lingered on you, his expression one of contemplation and perhaps, newfound respect.

Defensively, feeling the intensity of his stare, you challenged him with a sharp "What?" Odysseus exhaled deeply, his sigh carrying the weight of realization and regret.

"May the gods bless you," he finally said, offering a small nod of acknowledgment, a gesture that seemed to convey his admission of having misjudged you and your people. It was an apology, unspoken but clear in his demeanor.

As he turned to leave, your name on his lips as a farewell, you found yourself compelled to act. "Odysseus," you called out, causing him to pause and look back. Approaching him with averted eyes, you reached into your satchel, the rustle of leaves underfoot marking your hesitant steps.

From your bag, you retrieved a lotus fruit, its familiar weight a contrast to the swirling emotions within you. Extending your hand, you offered the fruit to him, your voice a soft murmur, "Just in case you need it…" Your words trailed off, laden with an unspoken wish for his well-being, your gaze drifting past him, lingering on Polites. There he was, amidst his fellow soldiers, his laughter a bright sound in the dense forest, his smile a vivid image that tugged at your heartstrings.

With that silent offering, you turned away, leaving Odysseus to contemplate the fruit in his hand, his expression a mix of gratitude and confusion.

As you walked back to your village, the gold coin Polites had given you felt heavy in your hand, a symbol of promise and longing.

Your steps were slow, each one a reluctant move away from the hilltop and the cave, away from the man who had unexpectedly captured your heart. The promise of his return was a fragile thread of hope, and as the distance grew, you clung to it, letting the silent plea echo in your mind, a mantra to guide you through the days ahead…

Please come back to me, Polites...I'll be waiting.

**my babbyyyyyy pollie 🥹❤️❤️❤️

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