#it takes a part of their soul to do so/strong magic to do it without a partner

[crowsyart]

Okay I wanna try and space my posts out but also. I wanna keep updated to where I am on Instagram with my fresh new art so. Ragnaroks design is changed for sure, I plan on making him a shovel nosed cobra instead of a black mamba. Could’ve been fun to make him a not snake animal but. I kinda like the two headed snake look. And as for Medusa I couldn’t decide on one species so she’s a few/a hybrid. She had crona on her own via magic stuff so I don’t have to worry about species genetics. If crona ever had been venomous their black blood would’ve nullified it. It also stunted their growth

#Medusa Gorgon #crona Gorgon #soul eater #soul eater au #beastars #beastars au #also one of these days I’ll deep dive into witch politics and reproduction because they’re a mostly female. species? #idk if that would be the word #but think of a cross between whiptail lizards and garder snakes #crona. isn’t technically a witch because. not girl. and while witches can create others on their own #it takes a part of their soul to do so/strong magic to do it without a partner #still getting the details out for both this au and . normal stuff #i just think witches and witch politics and cultural stuff is fascinating #also in normal soul eater. crona is very snakelike as well I should post my old ref for them #I’d redraw it but crona is so hard to draw for me even though I love them

[badkitty3000]

Weak

Even Five Hargreeves is no stranger to temptation. He tries so hard to stay away. He wants to do the right thing for once in his life. If not for himself, then for her. But every man has his breaking point.

Five Hargreeves x Reader Smut

This one shot is an accompaniment to my other work "Addicted". This can be read on its own, but is a different side of the story, as told from Five's point of view.

As always, I am open to requests. Thank you!

My Master List Of Number Five Fanfiction

Weak:

I never meant to take it this far. I never meant to be cruel. That’s not who I am, or at least I didn’t think I was. I also thought I was strong and had will power. But I guess I was wrong about that, too. Because as much as I try to stay away, I don’t.

I know who I am and what I’m made of. The terrible things I’ve done. That’s not a secret and I’ve never lied to myself about that. My morals can’t even be called a gray area anymore; they’re more like an indistinct blur. But in this one tiny part of my soul, I was trying to be better. For her, at least.

I have failed miserably.

She knows what I am. When things got too comfortable and too familiar, I told her as a way to push her away and to scare her. It didn’t work, though. In fact, it had the opposite effect. She fucking loved it…and I didn’t know how to say no to that.

How could I say no when she was tearing at my clothes, practically panting with desire, and shoving her hand down my pants? All over a bloody stain on a shirt collar and the feel of my Glock against her skin. I’m sure there’s a way to resist that, but fuck if I know what it is. I’m not smart enough or strong enough to figure that one out.

I don’t particularly like all of the killing. But I’m pretty fucking good at it and someone has to do it, I suppose. I certainly never considered it sexy in any way. Then, after that first time, when she begged me to tell her all of the gruesome details, and I watched her skin start to flush and her pupils dilate…well, fuck, that put a new spin on everything.

I still don’t like it, that part hasn’t changed. I get no pleasure from pulling that trigger and watching their skull break open like a fucking pinata, spraying the contents of their brains all over the floor like the world’s worst party game. Now, however, there is a sick little spark that will ignite in me after it’s done. Because I know how it will turn her on.

And, fuck, I am weak.

That’s what this all boils down to. Weakness. For most people that meet me or know me in any way, weak is probably the last word they would use to describe me. Cold; bitter; sarcastic; asshole. Those adjectives are much more likely to be used. But weak? Doubtful.

I know the truth, though. Deep down, that is what I am. Because when you continue to break someone’s heart time and time again, just because you can’t control your own basic urges…that’s weakness. Pure and simple.

She has told me how much I’ve hurt her, and how much I am ruining her life. She has screamed and cried and told me all of the things I know I deserve to hear. She has called me an asshole more times than I can remember, and I have never disputed it. So, I stay away, like I know I should. Until she inevitably calls again. And I slip right back into it without another thought. Like the absolute fucking bastard that I am.

Weak.

Because even though I know it’s wrong and I’m slowly poisoning her with my selfishness, each time I think maybe it will be different. Maybe this time will be the time when I stay. When I will finally be the person I should be and really want to be.

All the way up until the early morning, I will convince myself that this is it. I’ve finally seen the light and I can be the man she deserves; it will be so easy. Because when it’s just the two of us, in our own little cocoon, hidden away from the outside world, the idea is magical. I would give anything to stay there, tucked away, fucking like animals until we’re both too exhausted to talk anymore. I want to stay there and listen to her voice, and her laugh, and feel her hands on my touch-starved body. And I think, yes, this is it. This is what I want.

Then morning comes and the spell is broken.

Once that first peek of dawn starts to light up the sky, all of my anxieties come rushing back, and I remember why I can’t stay. Morning brings back the real world, and with it all of its problems.

I will freeze up, practically paralyzed with fear, as she sleeps next to me, an arm draped over my chest. I will remember what kind of person I really am, and how that just doesn’t translate to boyfriend material. And it’s not just the little fact that I am a hired assassin, although that does put a slight snag in any future meetings with parents and the like.

It’s the mixing bowl of fucked up thoughts and feelings and history that lives inside my brain. Guilt. Regret. Sadness. Rage. Take your pick, none of them are great. And I can mask them for a night or two, while I’m pretending to be someone I’m not. But they will come back again, and that’s just not something anyone needs. Especially someone you care about.

So, I do the worst, shittiest thing in the world, and leave while she’s asleep. No kiss goodbye. No note. Not even a quick morning fuck. I grab my shit and leave in a flash of blue light, like the weak coward I am. Can’t even bother to use the god damn door.

I will stay away after that. At least for a while. I will ignore the incoming texts and voice mails that sometimes will follow, and sometimes don’t. I’ll pretend I don’t care about the lectures and pleas and rightly-deserved insults. But I do care. And that’s why I won’t answer.

A month might go past, maybe more. Just enough time for me to start thinking she really is done with me. Then the call will come through, late at night, and I won’t ignore it. Because, as we’ve determined…I am weak.

She is the only one, although I’ve never told her that and I bet she thinks she’s not. I’m not interested in anyone else. I don’t need anyone else. And when she stops calling for good, which one day I know will happen, that will be it. It’s either her or nobody. And it’s barely even her.

Our paths almost never cross outside of our little midnight meetings. After that first night when all of this started, I’ve never seen her anywhere else besides her apartment. I assume it’s because the types of bars and clubs I frequent are not anywhere a normal, sane person would want to spend their free evenings. But tonight, as fate would have it, I do see her. After I grab my drink off the cracked and peeling bar top and turn to look at the room behind me, I see her. And she’s not alone.

With my glass half way to my mouth, our eyes meet, and for a second neither of us move. It’s not a big place, so we aren’t that far away from one another. But it’s loud and crowded, and the guy is leaning in close to her ear, talking loudly to be heard over the constant bass thumping through the shitty speakers on the walls. Who the fuck is this guy?

It’s not fair, I know that. Believe me, I know that. And I try to give myself a stern talking-to inside my head. She is not yours. Not even remotely. You are an asshole and she deserves better. Leave her the fuck alone.

I take a drink. And then I see his hand disappear under the table, and I can see everything from where I’m standing. He’s squeezing her thigh, leaving his hand there to rest on her leg, rubbing his thumb across the bare skin that isn’t covered by her short skirt. A skirt I know I’ve had my face under before.

Fuck. I hate this guy.

In the thirty seconds that it takes for all of this to happen, she is watching me. Reading me. A faint smile plays on her lips and I know I’m caught. My thoughts must be written all over my face like a fucking billboard, and it’s too late to pretend I haven’t seen or that I don’t care. She’s got me.

If I were stronger, or a better person, I would leave. Pay my tab, collect my coat, and get the fuck out of there without another glance in her direction. Leave her be. Let her live her fucking life. But I am not. And I’m pissed.

My first instinct is to reach behind me, grab the Glock that’s hidden in the waistband of my pants and covered up by my suit jacket, and take care of this asshole right then and there. That would probably be the nicer thing to do, honestly. Then she’d finally see what a fucking psycho I am and that would end things once and for all. But I’m also not that stupid. Or that nice.

Instead, I stay and watch. I let her see me watching, too. I lean with my back against the bar, casually sipping my drink, and my eyes never leave her. I want her to know, even if it makes me more of a giant dick than I already am. I want her to know I am not pleased.

I have no idea who this guy is, and I don’t care. Maybe it’s their first date; maybe it’s their tenth. It doesn’t matter, I want him dead. And now that she knows that, because it’s pretty fucking obvious by the way I’m coiled like a cobra ready to strike right now, it’s quickly become a game. If she had feelings for him before, that seems to have been forgotten now. Because everything she is doing is for me.

Her eyes leave mine and she returns to what I can only imagine is a very dull conversation with the Neanderthal sitting next to her. She smiles and laughs, and moves her leg closer to his so that they are touching. She reaches up and fixes his hair, tucking a stray piece of it over his ear. She rests her chin on her hand and stares at him like he’s the most interesting person she’s ever encountered. And he’s eating this shit up; kicking his game up a notch with even more inane talk and rubbing her thigh up and down with his whole hand. He thinks she’s into him. Fucking dumbass.

That’s the only thing keeping me slightly calm at the moment. Knowing it’s all a play. She is a really good actress, I’ll give her that, but I’ve paid more attention to her than she realizes. I know her tells. I know the difference between her fake laugh and her real one. I can tell when she’s actively engaged in the conversation or she is just waiting for you to shut up. I know how she touches her face when she’s nervous and I know what she looks like when she wants to fuck you.

And, buddy…I got bad news for you.

The corner of my mouth lifts in an arrogant smirk as I take another drink. I shouldn’t be proud of this; I should be appalled. How dare I think I have any right to any of her little traits and quirks? I haven’t earned that. That kind of thing is reserved for boyfriends and husbands and people that can stand to stick around for more than a few hours.

When she runs her tongue over her lips in an obvious gesture meant only for me, I actually laugh out loud. Fuck, she knows what she’s doing. And it’s one hundred percent working.

As I order my second drink, feeling the calming buzz of the booze fill my brain, I start to care less and less. I don’t care if this is not fair. I don’t care that I’m being a complete and utter shit head. I don’t care if I’m weak. I’ll deal with all of that later.

I take out my phone and type out a quick text.

Enjoying yourself?

I watch as she glances to her phone on the table as it lights up. She picks it up, angling it away from Caveman Cliff, and reads it. It’s subtle, but I saw it. A brief twitch of her mouth and a quick flit of her eyes in my direction. I see her type out a quick reply and then she is back to him, completely enrapt in his droning.

Immensely, thank you

Not able to resist, I counter with:

Even I can tell from way over here that your panties are as dry as the desert

She holds in a smile as she responds back.

Too bad you’re not going to find out

Honey, if that pussy of yours is even slightly wet, it’s only because you’re thinking of me bending you over that table you’re sitting at right now

I see her legs shift and she crosses one over the other, squeezing them together as a faint blush covers her cheeks.

And why would I be thinking that?

Because that dipshit you’re with isn’t going to give you what I know you want

I watch as she swallows and then glances at the idiot to her left that is oblivious to all of this, the poor bastard. Her response is short.

Fuck you

She puts her phone away to end this exchange, but I see the small smile she is trying to hide and the way she touches her hand to her face. I can see her chest expand as she sucks in a deep breath, biting at the inside of her cheek.

I give a short snort of satisfaction and put my phone back in my inside jacket pocket. I got what I wanted. I throw back the rest of my drink, leave a few dollars for a tip, and head for the door without another look in her direction. But I know she saw me leave.

As I wait there in the dark, I think about how awful I’m being; what a shit bag move this is. I’m using her, that’s what it boils down to. Using her for her warmth and her openness, and to temporarily calm my mind. Also, for her body and her touch. She sees something in me that isn’t there; or at least something I can’t see. But I can’t or won’t give her what she needs, and I’m also not letting her move on.

Fuck, I’m an asshole.

I hear their voices coming down the hall, the rattle of keys in her hand. As they near the door, I can hear her made up excuses. She’s tired; she had too much to drink; she has a headache. Maybe next time. She’ll call him tomorrow. Then she slips inside her darkened apartment and the door closes behind her.

I’m on her before she has a chance to turn the light on, pressing her against the door as she drops her keys on the floor. Since I’ve been waiting, the anticipation has already made me fully hard and I push my groin into her while I circle my hand lightly around her neck.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart? No love connection tonight?” I growl next to her ear.

She never even screams or fights back. She knew I would be there. But her hands grab my forearm and I hear her suck in a loud breath.

“I never knew you were the jealous type,” she smarts back.

 “Only when I see someone try to take what’s mine,” I hiss hotly against her neck, drawing my lips and then my tongue across her skin.

“I’m not your fucking property,” she snarls, but I can hear the break in her voice and she swallows hard against my hand.

I laugh cynically. “Well, then I can go and you can let him fuck you instead. Is that what you want?”

There’s a long pause and it’s just our loud breathing in the dark of the room. Then I feel her head move slowly from side to side.

“No,” she whispers.

As I crash my mouth onto hers, my hands in her hair and on her face, and down to her tits, she is reaching for the front of my pants. I had already removed my jacket and belt when I got there, as well as the pistol that I always carry with me. Our little act back at the bar was already enough foreplay and our bodies are screaming for each other.

Our hands can’t work fast enough as she is shoving my pants down my legs and tearing my shirt open while I rip her top off and yank her skirt up. My fingers are already pushing her panties to the side and entering her, sliding right in with no resistance.

I smile proudly against her neck. “I knew you were wet for me.”

As she moans and throws her head back, she is reaching down to stroke my cock, her warm hand tight and firm as she drags it slowly over my shaft.

My hips are already jerking into her and I want to be inside of her so badly I can’t think straight.

“Get these panties off so I can fuck you,” I snarl.

I pull my fingers out, pushing her underwear down roughly and she quickly steps out of them. With one pull of her hips into me, her arms clutching tightly to my shoulders, I lift her up and start fucking her against the door.

I tip my head back and groan loudly as she whines and pulls her legs tighter around my waist.

“Can he make you feel this good?” I ask between clenched teeth as I ram into her harder and the door rattles in its frame.

“No!” she cries out.

“Do you think about him when you’re alone and fingering yourself?”

Her moans are punctuated by the slamming of my body against hers and her fingers press deeper into my skin.

“No,” she breathes out. “No.”

“You think about me, don’t you?” I say with a sneer. When she doesn’t answer fast enough, I ask again, louder. “Don’t you?”

“Yes,” she whimpers pitifully, her nails digging sharply into my shoulder blades.

I can’t believe what I’m saying and what I’m doing. But she’s loving it and so I continue.

“I’m going to fuck you until you forget all about him, and then I’m going to fuck you some more. And if I ever see you with him again, I will kill him.”

���You wanted to kill him, didn’t you?” she asks, and that knowing smile starts to form as she closes her eyes and bites her lip. “When you saw him with me?”

“Fuck yes I did,” I groan loudly into her neck.

She’s almost there, I can tell. So am I, but I’m going to make her finish first. I pick up the pace, thrusting into her as hard as I can, her back and head slamming against the door, my fingers digging deeper into the flesh of her thighs and ass. I’m practically ripping into the side of her neck, latching on with my mouth and teeth, desperate to mark her as my own.

I listen as she repeats my name over and over in gasps and moans and I can’t hold back anymore.

“That’s it, sweetheart. You are all mine.”

She is falling apart in my arms, violently shaking against me as I penetrate her one last time, letting out a loud, guttural moan. I’m as deep inside of her as I can be, and I fill her up with so much cum, I know it will start sliding out; dripping down her legs and onto the floor. Somewhere deep inside, in the primordial part of my brain, I take satisfaction in knowing that it’s my seed, and only mine, that is coating her insides.

Once the last spasm has left my body, I let her down and she falls back against the door, breathing hard. Her bra is still on, but the straps have fallen down, and her skirt is bunched up around her waist. I look at the painful looking purple bruise I left on her neck, which is large enough and obvious enough that she won’t be able to cover it. Her eye makeup is smeared and her lips are swollen and red. She looks completely ravished. And then she starts to cry.

It’s because of me, I know it is. Because of the things I said and the things I did, and the way I needed her so desperately. She had been trying to break away from me and I reeled her back in. And I did it knowingly and deliberately, just to feed my ego and maybe not feel so alone. I could have found anyone for that. But, like the prick I am, I only wanted her.

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly, my lungs still working hard to get air in and out.

She just nods silently, wiping her face with her hand, and pulls down her skirt. She picks her shirt and underwear off the floor and heads to the bathroom without a word. I’m left standing there with a softening dick and my pants around my ankles.

Fuck.

I could leave now, while she’s in there, and maybe I should. That feels wrong, though. But then again, so does staying. I feel like shit and I’m so full of shame that I want to punch my fist through the wall. Instead, I zip my pants back up and walk over to her couch to wait. I turn on the table lamp and even though it’s dim, it feels blaringly bright and I have to squint my eyes.

When she comes out, she has changed into some soft shorts and a t-shirt. Her face is cleaned up and I assume her thighs and the area between them are too. She is no longer crying, but I can still see the tell-tale signs of red-rimmed eyes and flushed cheeks. I’m surprised when she comes and sits down next to me, laying her head on my shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” I say again, because I can’t think of anything better to say.

“I know. Me too,” she says and she leans her body against mine.

She has nothing to be sorry for and I’m not sure what to do, so I put my arm around her and hug her to me. I kiss her forehead and she closes her eyes. I don’t know why she’s letting me do this, but it feels good and I like it. Just like every other time, I tell myself that maybe this time will be different. I can do this; I can be that person. I don’t want to be that other jealous, callous, hurtful person. I don’t want to be the asshole.

“Just don’t go yet, ok?” she says quietly with her cheek resting against my chest.

I smooth her hair and run my hand down her back. I don’t want to go. She feels good and warm and soft against my tension-filled body. She feels right. I want to tell her all of that, too. I want to say I’m sorry a million times over and beg for her forgiveness. I want to wake up with her next to me every day.

“You’re so beautiful, you know that?” I murmur into her hair as I brush my chin across the top of her head.

“Don’t do that,” she pleads, her voice soft. “Please.”

I decide I’m going to tell her how I really feel. Before the night is over, I’ll come clean. And then I’ll stay. If she’ll still have me.

“You are, though. I mean it.”

She doesn’t respond, but sighs and nestles in, holding me around my waist. Fuck, I have craved this. More than the dirty talk and the biting and the ferocious fucking. I want this. I want her. And I’m going to tell her.

The rest of the night goes by in a blur. It’s there, on the tip of my tongue the whole time. All I have to do is say it. But I don’t.

We fuck again, rough and hard, on the couch and on the floor. I leave more marks on her chest, branding her as my own. I tell her she’s mine, and I make her scream my name again, but I don’t say what I really mean.

We fuck in her bed, while we’re both tired and slightly drunk. I pump lazily into her while she lies underneath me and moans softly. I kiss her lips and tell her how gorgeous she is, and it’s not a lie because she is. I worship her body, running my tongue over every part of it, tasting her skin and her delicious arousal. I can taste my own cum as I lick into her soft folds and inside her pussy that’s been stretched and abused by my cock several times over.

There are so many opportunities and I don’t take any of them. I let her fold her body into mine as I hold her in the dark and I can say it right now. It would be easy and it would be the truth.

I want to be with you.

I want to be yours.

I want you to be mine and mine alone.

I want to stay.

But I am weak, and so I don’t.

She sleeps against me and I listen to her rhythmic breathing while I lie there wide awake. I think about all of the things I should have said. Everything I should have done and should not have done. I hate myself for all of it.

When the sun creeps in, and the faintest light is leaking through the curtains and cutting through the safety of the darkness, it all comes crashing back. I remember why I can’t stay and why those words just wouldn’t come out. The reality of the real world is glaringly obvious in the light of day and I remember all of it.

The real world is filled with everyday things like jobs and homes and bills to pay. Coworkers and families that want to meet you. Graduation and birthday parties. Movie and dinner dates, holidays and vacations. Marriage. Children. Normalcy.

There’s just no way any of that would work. I can’t fit into that life, even though I want to. I think of all of the things holding me back and they keep piling up until they are crushing me and I feel like I can’t breathe.

I am an assassin. A killer. A murderer. I have seen the end of the world and survived the most horrific things. I have PTSD and crippling anxiety. There are nightmares and paranoia and episodes of manic rage. I am old and I am tired. There is nothing left of me and nothing left to give. I am not meant for normalcy.

As I slowly remove her arm from across my chest, she stirs but she doesn’t wake. I take a moment to look at her. Her mind isn’t betraying her with vivid dreams of the world collapsing around her in a fiery blaze or sprays of bullets piercing her body. She is at peace and I am envious of that.

I am not good for her, I know that. I need to go and stay gone. She deserves stability and happiness and a million other things I cannot give her. So, I will be the asshole that leaves in the morning before she wakes, just like I always do. She will hate me and curse me and cry for me. And I will stay away this time. I have to.

I chance it by leaning in and brushing my lips across her forehead. Her face wrinkles up and then relaxes again, but she doesn’t wake. I slip out of the bed and out of the room, following the trail of discarded clothes and put them back on one by one. Then I am gone in the same flash of light that allowed me to enter there in the first place. A convenient exit that I have misused way too many times.

Outside, the sun is bright and the world is waking up. I can feel my resolve growing stronger as the new day builds. That was it, I am done. It was awful and I shouldn’t have done it, but it’s over now and I will not be repeating it. I am a pillar of inner strength. That was the last time and she is finally free of me. I am doing the right thing.

My strength is impressive, both inside and out. But it is not impenetrable, especially when darkness falls and the world around me grows quiet. When I am alone with nothing but my thoughts, and I just need to feel something good again.

Everyone has a weakness.   

#number five x reader #five x reader #five hargreeves smut #number five smut #smut #the umbrella academy #five hargreeves #number five #tua #umbrella academy #number five fanfic #five hargreeves x reader #one shot #female reader #five hargreeves imagine #umbrella academy fanfic #fanfiction requests #tua fanfiction #tua fanfic #fanfiction #requests open

[readychilledwine]

Bound by Fate - part 3

Summary - Kaylee's life has been filled with training. But as her mate is left with no choice but to distance himself, it allows another connection to form.

Warning - none really? At least I don't think so? There's fire at the end?

A/n- you know that one song from lion king? Reflections of Mufasa? All I can hear at a certain point in this part is that dramatic build and crescendo that starts around 3:55 mins into the song. Hopefully the writing shows that.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5

Kaylee was panting, her hands on her knees, and sweat dripping from every inch of skin. Despite the two-piece cropped tank top and leggings Cassian had her training in, she was still so hot. 

He handed her water his own sweat making his muscled forearm glitter in the sunlight. "You're doing great, Kaylee. The perfect little partner for me to spar with right now." She looked at his beaming smile, a brow raised, before sticking out her tongue and making the male laugh. "We're done for today, but Rhys and Amren will be coming to work on magic with you." Kaylee looked at Cassian, her brows raised, waiting for the information she secretly knew was coming. 

Cassian sighed before continuing. "Azriel is still holed up with Nesta and Elain at the House of Wind. He's the only one Elain will respond to. I'm sorry, Kaylee. I understand your frustration." She knew Cassian did just based on the distant look in his eyes. 

It had been two weeks since they discovered Elain would only speak or allow Azriel near her. It drove the new feral part of Kaylee's mind and soul to madness when he'd come to bed, reeking of Elain's soft floral scent. He would comfort Kaylee however he could those first few days, but at the start of the second week, a switch had flipped. Az stopped sleeping with Kaylee. He stopped eating lunch with her at the Riverhouse. He stopped sending his shadows to spend time with her.

Kaylee had never been a jealous person before this. She had never once questioned her self worth or value, but this had her wondering why her mate wouldn't spend time with her, why he actively avoided her, when she stopped being enough for him. 

A hand on her shoulder ripped her from the void she was allowing herself to fall into. "Stop doing that to yourself," a soft voice said. "He misses you too. She just-" Rhysand paused to turn Kaylee to look at him. "Elain only eats when Azriel is there, and therefore Nesta will eat. I know it hurts, little bee. I am sorry." Cassian muttered an inaudible phrase before kissing Kaylee's forehead and moving inside. "Take a bath and a nap, Cass. It's an order." Cassian lifted a single finger over his shoulder as he moved inside. 

Rhysand crossed his arms over the black t-shirt he was wearing. He was dressed casually today, indicating to Kaylee they were heading into the forest. "Once she is stable, Kaylee. He will be comfortable coming home." He offered her his arm. "Amren is already in the clearing we will be using." She took his arm, closing her eyes tightly as he winnowed her away.

They had left Kaylee in the center of the clearing meditating. She was acutely aware of every sound around her. From the rushing water in the creek, to every soft scurry of small rodents around her, Kaylee heard it all. 

Even with her eyes closed, she felt as though she was seeing clearly. She was watching the forest move past her slowly from higher than she had ever stood. Strong legs carried what felt like her body. A stable mind moved her without thinking about it's path. She watched as hooved feet moved into a crystal blue lake, enjoying the feeling of the cool water on warm legs.

Two heart beats became one as Kaylee tapped further into that feeling. She focused solely on that rhythm beating into her own chest until it overtook every sense she had left.

And then, to Rhysand and Amren's shock and horror, Kaylee disappeared.

Rhysand ran the clearing, searching in the air for any signs of her, before landing and looked at Amren. "Did she just shatter the shield we had in place?"

Amren smirked, her voice light and airy. "She did. I told you she would. You didn't listen. Idiot."

Rhys immediately called for Cassian and Azriel, cursing himself loudly as Amren smirked and began to walk along the forest line, watching for any indication of the young sister.

While Rhys was too lost in panic causing him to only look for obvious signs, Amren had predicted this day's ago when Kaylee's power first tried to tap into her own being, and then Rhysand's beast form, only to have both of them turn her away. And this was confirmation to one clear thing to Amren, their beasts only turned them away because sweet Kaylee was not strong enough, yet.

Her silver eyes locked on several butterflies and bees, dancing together, twirling together, and flying into the same direction deep into the trees.

Azriel appeared first, his face exhausted from lack of sleep. "What happened?" 

Cassian landed at the same with a loud thud, a brow raised at Rhysand. "It happened, didn't it?"

The High Lord nodded slowly before turning to Azriel to explain. "Amren and I have been working with Kaylee to distract her. She started almost tapping into the essence of an animal in the forest after she unknowingly attempted to tap into my beast form." 

Rhysand held his hand to Azriel as the shadowsinger immediately began to try to speak. The sun had begun to set, and finding Kaylee was going to be impossible in the dark.  "It was almost as if her powers made it so she and this animal could become one being, one mind, one body, one soul."

Rhysand paused. "Yesterday things came to a head. She almost tapped into it fully, but she could not sync something. She became frustrated and we could not figure out why, and she could not express why. Armen suggested quiet meditation today instead of us guiding her, and we learned today what it was. She needed to sync their hearts. As soon as she did, she disappeared. I could not tell what she was linking with before it happened, though."

Azriel felt anger setting in slowly and his shadows immediately left him to search for his mate. "So my mate with powers we do not understand is somewhere in the forest with Gods knows what? Why did no one tell me this was starting? I should have been here! I should have been with her! If you had not ordered me to take care of Elain, I could have been here."

Rhysand wanted to answer but he was interrupted as Amren whistled and pointed up and then to the ground. "The creatures are all heading the same direction." The ancient being began to slowly follow their path. "Are you idiots coming or are you just going to stand there with each other's dicks in your hands?"

They trekked for what Azriel's heart felt like was hours. Every snap of a twig, rustle of leaves, and song of a bird had him on edge. 

His Kaylee, his sweet defenseless Kaylee, was somewhere in this forest, a forest he, Cassian, and Rhysand rarely even entered because of the dangers that lay in it. Not even the trees themselves in this forest could be trusted. They almost moved with minds of their own at times, trapping fae within the hallowed ground that these woods have become. It was filled with wildlife that had a taste for blood, lower fae that enjoyed harming others, and countless predators. This was not a safe place for his mate who had hardly begun to use her magic and hardly knew how to fight. Azriel had already made up his mind. If anything happened to Kaylee while she was alone out here, he'd kill Rhysand, and based off the look his brother had just shot him, the High Lord knew that.

Amren was far ahead of them. Watching closely as each bird flew further and further into the heavy bush. She had no choice but to believe they would lead her to the High Lady's youngest sister. After another few miles, she finally paused, stopping them on the edge of another clearing that surrounded a quiet lake. 

They were all surrounded by countless animals who seemed to be watching with anxiety and anticipation. Rhysand moved to step closer for the ancient being to turn and growl slightly. "Not a single step closer, boy," her voice was hushed and tight.

There centered in the lake, her long blonde hair completely loose from the tie she previously had it in and blowing gently in the breeze was Kaylee. 

She was waist deep into the blue waters, the sunshine was kissing every inch of her skin in golden light. It was as if she was radiating, as if she was almost glittering in her power. It was intoxicating for all of them. Seeing her like this had a small smirk forming on Cassian's face, it had Rhysand's breath hitched in his throat as worry and pride set in, it had Amren feeling her own soul almost buzzing, and something primal and deep in Azriel began to stir, something he hadn't even realized was there until now.

The sight was beautiful, but it was what stood before Kaylee that had Azriel, Cassian, and Rhys on edge. A great  creature stood in front of her. It's head lifted in pride and dignity as it looked down at her form. 

It towered before her on long sturdy legs lean with muscle, its dark red coat shone with health. It was at least triple her size and could easily harm her if it had wanted to. she barely reached its cream underbelly. The beast released a loud call, making the other animals all seem to flutter with joy. Itss antlers were twisted and numerous. Had they been in Autumn, this would have been a prized buck hunted for sport and hung above a mantle. Here, in its domain, though, it was clear this beast was the King of this forest, and on his head did not sit horns, but a crown.

It commanded respect, and clearly was testing Kaylee to see if she would offer it. Kaylee's right hand slowly raised, and she held it in the air, waiting for the red stag to welcome her touch, allowing it to make a choice. She would not force the being to her, but instead let it decide.

Not a single word came from the fae or animals as the King studied her, evaluating if Kaylee was indeed worthy for him in all of her glowing power. Azriel almost laughed as Amren's hand gripped Rhysand's wrist almost anxiously until Cassian's hand found his, gripping it tightly as well in support and worry.

In minutes that felt like hours, the great antlered animal began to move its head lower to Kaylee, and his decision was made as he put his long nose to Kaylee's palm. 

Unknowingly to the four of them, the beast sent Kaylee a single message in the bond that was beginning to form between them. You are enough, little one.

Light came between the two as her skin made contact with his fur. It was white and almost blinding screaming of innocence, of untapped potential. It was warm, welcoming, but fierce in its own right. 

"Beast tamer," Amren finally said slowly. "Kaylee is the Cauldron and Mother's beast tamer."

The two beings began to nuzzle each other closer, and Kaylee's forehead came to rest on the King's. 

Azriel would have given the world to frame this moment. His mate shining as her powers were finally acknowledged and known. The happiness radiating from her soul. The tranquility between her and this monstrous animal was almost deafening.

His Kaylee, his honeybee, blessed with the powers long lost to the Cauldron. 

And in turn, his Kaylee, his mate, cursed by the Mother with powers so ancient they had not been seen  since the Gods of old roamed the lands.

Kaylee felt warm wet tears streaming down her face as the stag released another loud call, causing the other animals around them to begin to cry and call in celebration. 

It is time to step into your power and responsibility. A deep voice rang into her soul. I am glad to be your first companion on this journey, Kaylee. Now go to your mate. He is terrified.

Kaylee turned around, seeing Amren and Rhysand smirking behind her. Cassian was wearing a beaming smile as he smacked a hand to a stunned Azriel's shoulder.  The Little beings of the forest moved, creating a pathway. "Az, I made a new friend."

Azriel moved forward. Stepping into the water and getting close to her. "I can see that, my heart." He moved closer again slowly. "Am I allowed to come get you?"

The king, in response, pushed gently on Kaylee's back, throwing her into Azriel's arms. I will be in the clearing you normally train in tomorrow. He moved with another call, causing the animals to return to their normal lives. 

Azriel held Kaylee tightly as they flew back home. Amren had opted to fly with Rhysand ahead of them, looking back at the two of them and Cassian. 

Once they landed at the Riverhouse, Azriel did not give Rhysand and Amren a chance to ambush his mate and carried her up the stairs to her room. 

He slept in her bed that night, his arms locked tight around her, wings cocooning them in. He fell into a deep sleep, accompanied by dreams of them living in a cabin near that clearing with three small children and countless animals.

Meanwhile, Kaylee's dream was filled with darkness, the only light source coming from the lit torch she was holding. Her footsteps were the only thing she could hear aside from deep, heavy breaths and her own humming.

A huge creature with scaled skin was suddenly looking at Kaylee with one of its black eyes. It roared loudly, teeth bared to her before turning its large head and neck up. Fire erupted along the ceiling, allowing Kaylee to finally see its gargantuan body, rows of jagged sharp teeth, and massive wings. Kaylee woke up screaming in terror for Azriel. Her heart raced as she sat in silence, hand clutched to her chest, breath coming out in uneven shakes.

Azriel was immediately up, comforting his mate as Rhys ran into the room, his eyes wide in disbelief and locked on Kaylee. The high lord and shadowsinger held eye contact. "Kaylee," Rhysand began slowly. "Did you feel a call before you ended up in that cave? Did it feel similar to the buck?" She nodded, trying to calm her racing heart. "Kaylee, look at me. I need you to make sure you do not sync with what you just saw until we have a better understanding of your powers and more control. Bond with it in your dreams, speak with it, but you do NOT sync with it. Am I understood?"

The young sister just nodded. Azriel looked between his brother and his mate before gently touching Kaylee's cheek and moving her head to face him. "Baby, what did you see?"

Kaylee's eyes met Azriel's, they were filled with fear and tears causing his heart to clench. "A dragon." Kaylee took another still deep breath. "I saw a dragon."

Bound by Fate taglist:

@impossibelle @luvmoo @wallacewillow0773638 @nightless @cat-or-kitten @knmendiola

@holb32 @mis-lil-red

#acotar #acotar x reader #azriel acotar #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x oc #azriel multipart fic #multi part fic

[theskeletongames]

Based on the info you've given on UF Bara Sans- would you say he can at least "read" a human, on body language?

Sorry if it sounds confusing, but I mean like- Look at a human and go "Oh, yeah, they look sensitive. Better be careful"??

Idk how to explain it 😭

Yeah he can read human body language for the most part.

Most of his issues stem from being an Underfell monster, so he's rough and use to saying things like it is without much filter on his mouth about other people's feelings. (Unless he's trying to get something from them) He has some of the same rage issues as regular UF Sans where he doesn't like people insinuating that he's weak or "inexperienced" or being made the complete butt end of a joke (*It's okay if he makes himself the butt end of a joke to annoy people) and similar bullying tendencies where he gets a high whenever he gets one over on someone, particularly if that someone has ever made fun of him, or is someone he doesn't like for some reason. ex: other versions of himself

While he says he has 0 standards in romantic partners, he does prefer to target people he thinks are weaker than himself due to a general unease about power dynamics from being underground and getting dusted. He's still a 1 hp monster with a flavor text reading *the weakest monster

Intimidating and strong monsters were seen as attractive underground, so he may not realize intimidation doesn't work as well with humans particularly when he's so large. Along with age not relating to height and size, monsters also don't consider size to be as much of a show of strength and intimidation as humans do, so he doesn't realize just how intimidating he can be to humans. (Monsters consider soul stats more important, and smaller monsters with more magic can easily take out larger monsters) One gender being weaker than another was also not a concept as many of the UF Female monsters are much scarier than the male ones so he doesn't quite understand the way humans may view him. (This is the same with nearly all UF monsters including Boss who, when introduced to the human concept of needing to be gentler with female humans, quickly took it way too far, and thinks they may die at any moment from his awesome strength) "OH MY GOD! SANS, YOU CAN'T DO THAT, OR THEY'LL INSTANTLY DIE!"

[choices-and-voices]

Quotes from Kieran that straight-up sound like Shakespearean love poetry: a comprehensive list

‘None may touch me. None but you.’

‘What is left of my heart belongs to you. When you leave, it will shatter anew.’

‘Tell me I did not hurt you.’

‘How am I expected to pass another century without the taste of you on my tongue?’

‘After so many decades spent hating each sunset, knowing nightfall would take my freedom from me... I began to yearn for the moonrise instead of cursing it. Because dreams of you might be waiting on the other side.’

‘I would rather be cursed to roam the wilds as a beast every night than live endless lifetimes without you.’

‘Wherever it is that souls may go, you will find mine waiting for you at the end of all things.’

‘You shall pay dearly for every spilled drop of her blood.’

‘I was not lying. Were you?’

‘Just this once, beloved... I wish you could not lie.’

‘You hold all of my heart, beloved. Now, and always.’

‘I would make and unmake the world for you, beloved.’

‘Believe me when I say I want every part of you. Every version. Now and future.’

‘Look, beloved. Your skin is a canvas covered in stars.’

‘If I were you, I would begin by thanking her and throw yourself on her continued mercy. Because you’ll get none from me.’

‘What would be the point of immortality without you?’

‘No magic. Like an everyday mortal.’

‘Insult her again, and I will carve my refusal into your flesh, so that you may never forget it.’

‘I don’t care what your title is. Every breath, every beat of my heart belongs to you. You are mine for life.’

‘Thank you… for sharing the sky with me.’

‘If you lay a single hand on her, there will be nothing left of this place but a hole in the ground.’

‘Let us live in this moment long enough that I may love you the way you deserve.’

‘I will let nothing separate us… I shall always find you. Your heart calls to mine in a language beyond words.’

‘For you I would set worlds aflame, tear the sun and moon from the sky. I did not live before I met you.’

‘Perhaps you are the most courageous of all, for choosing to live among us. A mortal among gods.’

‘Welcome home, beloved.’

‘You helped me find peace in my grief. I will always help you find peace in yours.’

‘You sacrifice too much for me, beloved.’

‘I cannot give you my heart. It already belongs to someone else.’

‘There will always be tasks vying for our attention. But you are more important to me than any of them.’

‘I like being in here. I always want you to have the freedom of a place to call your own… and it means everything, that you welcome me in.’

(And finally, BONUS: Quotes from *other* characters in The Cursed Heart that straight-up sound like Shakespearean poetry, because the writers of this book just do. not. rest.)

‘I know you. I’m not afraid.’

‘I love him so terribly, it hurts.’

‘You are so much stronger than you know. And a love as strong as this is worth fighting for.’

‘Even if you kill me, I’m glad I met you. Because you deserve to be happy. You deserve to be loved. And I will love you until my very last breath.’

‘The world is rarely gentle to those who are so kind. It is you who must be the strongest of all.’

‘What do you want with that cursed thing?’ / ‘To cut the Sun and the Moon from the sky.’

‘Anything here that wishes to eat me had best prepare to choke.’

‘I know you. And I love you. Both your darkness and your light.’

‘You are everything I want. Just you. Just like this.’

‘If love could forestall death, we would all be immortal.’

‘All stories end. Even ours. That’s what makes them beautiful.’

‘I don’t care where I sleep, so long as it’s beside you.’

#UPDATE: the series is finished and so is this list #and i am so so sad to say goodbye to it #but what a journey it’s been #playchoices #choices: stories you play #the cursed heart #kieran x mc #prince kieran #fandom essay #original post #prev tags: #i went back through every screenshot i’ve ever posted to make this list #and i will continue to review every screenshot i ever take #and it was and will continue to be worth every minute #this book deserves an award

[gingerbreadmonsters]

better half

or: here comes the... um...

gn!reader, strong language and innuendo, good old-fashioned fluffy stuff. my undying love and gratitude to the gang over on discord who have kept me sane for the last two months or so - @zozo-01 @pinksparkl and @autisticempathydaemon i would be LOST without you!! a veritable tropefest of all my favourites - just don't ask me when it's set, i beg. astarion taking matters into his own hands in 20,700 words or less.

“No, no, do go on. And the marigolds?”

Dear gods.

“Well, they’re a fine variety, to be sure - and fresh as anything, just come in this morning from-”

It was the right thing to say - the man keeps talking, voice lifted slightly over the bustle of the market as he chatters on about petal density and stem texture and who knows else. You’re only half-listening, nodding along and making encouraging little noises whenever he starts to run out of steam, but you’re not really paying attention.

You’d only come to this damned city in search of some complicated magical artefact that Gale’s been wanting - according to him, there’d been an auction back in Waterdeep not long after he left, and the nobleman who’d bought it arrived back home here just a few weeks ago. As luck would have it, he’s throwing a party in a little less than a tenday’s time for a bunch of the city’s rich folk, so naturally you’ll be taking advantage of the distraction to quietly sneak in and steal the artefact when nobody’s looking.

Or at least, that had been the plan, until closer inspection had revealed some pretty nasty enchantments protecting the manor from intruders. Gale and Shadowheart had both had a look, and agreed that while they could probably break them, given enough time, it wouldn’t exactly be discreet - rather, it’d probably set half the house on fire or something equally ridiculous. You’d all been standing around a few streets away, trying to figure out a plan for how exactly you were going to pull this off, when-

Really, now. Did they teach you idiocy at wizard school, or did it just come naturally?

You’d turned, surprised - Astarion, appearing out of thin air and self-satisfied as ever, swanning past Gale with a dismissive flutter of his fingers. I don’t suppose you’d know, but some of us have actually been to parties before.

Ignoring the affronted squawking from behind him, he’d dropped an expensive-looking roll of paper into your surprised hands, before looking down at you expectantly. Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be an invitation to the manor, addressed to some minor lord you’d never heard of.

How on earth…? You’d been shocked at his good fortune - what are the odds he’d run into someone carrying an invitation for a party that’s happening days from now? Where did you-?

All taken care of, darling, he’d said dismissively, even though you could see the smug smile tugging just slightly at the corner of his mouth. A word in the right ear is a wonderful thing. We won’t be interrupted, believe me.

It had been that sort of smile - you’d said a silent prayer for whatever poor soul he’d lifted the invite off of. ‘We’?

Please. As much as I’m sure Lae’zel would love to spend an evening hanging off my arm - he’d dodged the kick to his shins with infuriating grace - I think we both know that the answer is obvious.

He’d gestured to the paper in your hand - ah. You hadn’t seen that part.

What say you, dearest? he’d said with a bow, taking your free hand with a princely flourish and laying a delicate kiss against your knuckles. Shadowheart had rolled her eyes at Astarion’s antics, mouthing something at you from over his shoulder before turning to start herding the others back towards the tavern you’re staying at. Fancy an evening as my beloved?

Obviously, there was no way this could possibly go wrong. You’d replied with your best Astarion impression, gasping in theatrical shock and trying desperately not to laugh. You could at least ask me properly, you know.

We’ve no time for courtship, sweetheart, he’d groaned as if in pain, kissing further and further up your wrist, your forearm, your elbow. I simply must have you - and tonight, no less!

Tonight? At least wait ‘til we’re wedded, dear, you’d gasped in return, smacking him in the shoulder and utterly failing to hide your grin. I’ll have the ring first, then we’ll see.

Conniving little magpie. He’d said it like he’s any better, the bastard. Is that how I’ll win your heart, then? Dangling sparkly trinkets over your head, putting a shiny ring on your finger?

The others are long forgotten, vague shadows in the street. If it were from you, my lord? Nothing would please me more.

He’d raised a single, silver eyebrow, something unreadable sitting just behind his smile. Nothing, you say?

Well. You’d shrugged as he laughed at your faux-serious expression, looking him up and down with an exaggerated leer. I can think of at least one thing…

He’d been about to reply, but you’d caught sight of Karlach halfway down the street behind his shoulder, leaning over to Wyll and whispering something with a chuckle. At that distance, you hadn’t been able to make it out, but that’s what vampires are for - Astarion’s jaw had dropped theatrically with an indignant I heard that, you-!

An unapologetic middle finger from Karlach, and an outraged huff from Astarion as he took your arm and started after them. Defend my honour, won’t you, my love?

For sweet Astarion, paragon of innocence? Dragged laughing after him by the elbow, you’d not really had much of a chance to protest, but it’s not like you were going to anyway. Why, always.

Yesterday evening and today have been dedicated to prepping the pair of you for this little mission, and you really can’t tell if you’re more excited or terrified of the whole thing. Is it a bad idea? Yes. Is it a ridiculous solution to the problem? Yes. Are you going to do something that inevitably gets you both discovered and kicked out of the house empty-handed at best, or run through with something sharp at worst? Almost certainly.

That being said…

What’s the right way to put it? It’s not good for you, to be doing this. It’s not going to do you any favours. It’ll be nice at first, but when the glamour falls away, it’ll hurt even more than it did before.

You like him. Or maybe you don’t. Or maybe you’re scared of what liking him might mean, so you’re trying desperately to convince yourself that there’s nothing out of the ordinary about the way you like him. It could mean anything, the way your eyes always seem to fall upon him first. It could mean anything, the way any joke you tell isn’t funny unless he laughs. It could mean anything, how his voice makes your stomach drop and his smile makes your lungs hurt and his fingers on your skin make you want to tear your heart in half.

He’s something else entirely. The sting of his fangs in your neck, the comforting way he sits in the corner of your eye. This is going to destroy you.

For what it’s worth, the others have been doing some intelligence gathering on this nobleman that Astarion’s supposed to be. Wyll and Halsin ventured out to one of the nicer parts of town last night to see if anyone might have drunk enough to spill anything good, while Shadowheart and Karlach had been making the rounds of some of the… less respectable establishments to try and dig up what dirt they could.

According to their collective notes, he’s one of the younger sons of a relatively unknown house somewhere up north, and he was due to arrive yesterday on some sort of business for his father. It can’t be for anything too complicated or expensive, seeing as a wealthier house would probably have a more famous name, and likely wouldn’t want to be seen sending a fourth or a fifth son as a negotiator.

He seems to be a fairly private figure - no especially distinctive features, and no particular public scandals or habits that Karlach or Shadowheart could discover, which is definitely good news for Astarion’s cover. Gale didn’t recognise the name in a magical context, and Lae’zel hadn’t heard of them as a notable military house - altogether, it’s likely that they’re probably a merchant family that’s come into money through trade, as opposed something like land or banking or politics.

Unusually, he seems to have brought someone with him - the invitation is addressed to him and a nameless betrothed, but none of you have been able to find anything out about them whatsoever. Nobody’s seen them, or heard about them, or even seems to know their name. As far as the people of the city have let slip, they might as well have never existed. Astarion had even said as much when you’d asked him.

I mean, he certainly didn’t look the type, he’d said, grimacing faintly as he pictured the man he’d pickpocketed. I’m more than aware that travelling can be a thoroughly unpleasant business, but really. If he does happen to be affianced, as you say, then I do pity the poor creature - it was barely the afternoon and the man reeked of alcohol.

An easy target, then, you’d replied with a grin. Please tell me you left him with some gold for a place to sleep last night.

He’d made a face, waving a hand dismissively. Oh, don’t be ridiculous, darling. He’ll be halfway home by now, I expect, if the look on his face was anything to go by.

A few seconds had passed.

What? I’ve told you before, I can be very persuasive-

And the fiancé?

You’d been able to feel the headache coming on already. No. No, you didn’t.

…Ah. He’d had the good grace to at least look a little bit sheepish. I, um-

You mean you sent him home without the fiancé? Who I’m supposed to be impersonating? By this point, you’d had your head in your hands, already picturing the myriad of ways this could so easily go wrong. Who’s probably going to turn up at this stupid party and tell everyone that w-

No, no - none of that now, dear. It’ll be fine, I promise you. He’d not sounded entirely sure, but you’d grudgingly let him shush you, featherlight pressure on your shoulder. I’m sure this fiancé - you know, are we even sure there is a fiancé? That it wasn’t conjured up at the bottom of a bottle? The fool was practically pickled - I’m telling you, darling, it wouldn’t be out of the question.

I’ll pickle you in a minute, you’d grumbled, not entirely joking. If we die, I’ll kill you.

Oh, my love. I look forward to it already.

“You know, I had a gentleman come by, not half an hour ago, swearing up and down I’d got these confused with the peonies - peonies! Can you imagine!”

Startled out of your daydream, you’re left blinking back at the man in hapless confusion. “Sorry, come again?”

“Well, that’s just what I told him - but apparently…”

The flower seller launches right back into his monologue, and you’re starting to wonder if there’s a reason nobody was looking at this stall when you arrived. Curse these ridiculous noble types and their ridiculous fashions! Wyll had taken one look at your - admittedly somewhat slender - wardrobe and declared that none of it would do, either for the sin of being far too cheap or terribly out of vogue. Fortunately for your wallet, you’d collectively been able to cobble together something halfway decent out of bits and pieces your little group had thieved over the last few weeks.

Unfortunately, they don’t exactly fit too well, so you’ve been sent out to get it all tailored into something suitably expensive-looking to wear. Astarion, true to form, had jumped at the chance to take you shopping, although you couldn’t tell if it was because he’d been dying for the chance to indulge in a little retail therapy at your expense, or just all of the various trinkets and knick-knacks he’d be able to swipe from unsuspecting merchants.

Oh, and you mustn’t forget about our little ruse, dear. Who knows who might be watching?

And thus, you’re stuck at this damned flower stand where he said he’d meet you, trying desperately to avoid whatever increasingly-unsubtle flirtation the flower seller aims at you, and really wishing you’d brought a book. Maybe that would have distracted you from the horrible, twisting feeling in your stomach at the thought of what might happen when he does show up.

Is it going to be weird? Oh, it’s a stupid question - it was always going to be weird, doing something like this with him. Acting as though you’re faking liking him, pretending to have to pretend, the double-triple bluff. It’s bad enough as it is, heartstrings all stretched and sore from the weight of keeping it all inside - but to be allowed to indulge, just this once? Falling into the fantasy of what could never be, letting yourself believe for a long, golden moment that he might actually love you the way you dream of. You’re afraid you’ll snap completely.

To be honest, the waiting isn’t helping. He’d rambled something last night about having some sort of business nearby - what sort of bloody business could he possibly have in a town he’s never seen before? - and that he’d catch up with you by the flower stall by mid-morning at the latest.

Naturally, that means that it’s nearly midday and you still haven’t seen hide nor hair of him, one eye on the crowd as you stare absently at the colourful buckets of flowers. The noise of the market all around you, the sun in your eyes, the mild breeze that’s more hot than cold - you were right, you definitely should have brought a book or something, because where in all the hells is that blasted-

“There you are, dearheart!”

Your head whips to the right at the sudden weight of a cool arm around your waist, pulling you to the side. Surprised, you’re already reaching for the borrowed dagger at your hip, only to be met with-

“I - oh, darling!” Before you really know what’s happening, you’re swept into an uncharacteristic embrace, face-to-face with a slightly-harried, definitely-late, maddeningly-beautiful Astarion. Hurriedly, you paint on a smile, looking up at him with what you’re hoping reads as blissful excitement. “Back so soon?”

“Soon?” He takes you at your word, the bastard, like he wasn’t supposed to be here hours ago. “Oh, it’s never too soon to be with you, my sweet.”

It’s infuriating, how your heart stutters at the rakish grin he gives you as he says it, at the thought - fake as it may be - that he might actually mean it. Pressed against him like this, strong hands keeping you close as you steady yourself against his chest, it’s even worse than usual. Can he hear it? Does he know?

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see the flower seller trailing off clumsily in the middle of his sentence, clearly now at something of a loose end. He settles for reaching down to adjust one of the displays, but you can feel his eyes on you even while he pretends to look away.

He doesn’t suspect something, does he? No, he can’t - why would he even be suspicious? He doesn’t know that this isn’t real.

Astarion must notice too, diving down to kiss your cheek so lightly that it almost tickles - you make the mistake of letting the involuntary laughter show on your face, and immediately regret it when it means he goes right back in for another one. Then another, then another, dipping you further and further back and smothering your protestations in kisses that shouldn’t feel as good as they do.

“Wh-hey, hey - darling!” Embarrassed, you struggle against him, trying to escape his hold, but it’s no good - he’s just too strong. “We’re - this is hardly the time-!”

He relents slightly at that, bringing you back upright and turning you around to face back towards the flower stall, before draping himself over your back and locking his arms once more around your middle. Somehow, it’s even worse than before - now you can definitely see the awkward flower seller, trying not to stare at the absolute mess that you two must be right now.

“Mmm, my apologies for the interruption,” Astarion mumbles against your throat, thoroughly unrepentant, and you can feel him smile as he kisses over the soft, tender space where his fangs normally go. “You were saying?”

You wrack your brain, but there’s nothing there except the swirling, flustered mist that fills your mind whenever he gets this close. What would you say, if this were real? Blindly, you reach for something to say - anything, that might get him off your case. And your neck.

“Did you, um-” You pause, stumbling over the words slightly. He probably doesn’t want all and sundry knowing what he was up to before he arrived, and he probably isn’t going to admit it anyway. Better to just make it part of the charade from the start.

“Did you find anything good?”

“Mm, nothing much,” he hums, fingers tracing tiny spirals across the front of your shirt. “A little bit of this and that, you know how it is.”

Okay, great, a total non-answer. Good to know that he’s really trying to make this act believable.

  “Very well. Keep your secrets.” You turn your face away in faux-offence, before softening with a smile as a petulant hand comes up to turn your chin back towards him. “Did you at least get everything you wanted?”

“Really, dear,” he huffs, soothing the blow with a barely-there kiss against your temple. “Can’t a man have any secrets from you?”

Gods below, he’s up to something. If your brain wasn’t too busy melting into goo, you might even wonder what it is - alas, you just have to settle for discreetly elbowing him in the ribs.

“Of course not,” you reply matter-of-factly, even though the words make your heart ache just a little bit. If only it were true. “What’s yours is mine, and all that.”

“How could I forget?” Sweet hells, he says it so softly, like he’s trying to make it hurt. “As if I could ever be free of you, my love.”

You roll your eyes, even as you lean back into his chest - you’re vaguely aware that you were supposed to be doing something, but you’ll be damned if you can remember what it is. “You make it sound so appealing, you know.”

“Do I? It’s not on purpose, I assure you.”

You gasp, hand limp against your forehead in a mock-faint. “Rude.”

“All part of the plan, darling,” he says, nonchalant, and it’s ridiculous how it does actually make you feel better. “For a prize as lovely as you? I have to find some way of keeping you all to myself.”

You’re about to respond when the flower seller clears his throat awkwardly, evidently not really sure what to do with the pseudo-couple flirting incessantly in front of his stand - you jump slightly at the reminder, feeling weirdly like you’ve just been walked in on.

Astarion, meanwhile, remains annoyingly unfazed - when you turn to look at him, he’s… smiling? No, not quite. It’s less of a smile and more of a smirk, but not his usual one - and yet you can’t quite put your finger on why it’s different.

“Go on, then,” he prompts you, nudging you gently in the side. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your new friend here?”

“Right, right, um-” Shaking your head slightly, as if to clear it, you smile as brightly as you can at the flower seller. Fuck, what did he say his name was again? “Love, this is - oh, this is…”

“Osric, sir.” The man comes to your rescue, tipping his cap in Astarion’s direction with a friendly smile. “Pleasure to be of service to you both.”

True to form, Astarion meets him with a flat, haughty stare, seemingly unimpressed. “Charmed. Now, sweetheart, I believe we were just on our w-”

“Ah - just a moment.” He recoils ever so slightly at the interruption, a tiny tremor that you feel but don’t see. Got him. “I might like to look a little longer.”

It’s only really for show, but you make a point of umming and ahhing over the display, surreptitiously stepping on the toe of his boot as you do it. If he’s going to try and empty your wallet today, as you’re sure he will, you’re not going to let him have all the fun.

“Really. If you want me to buy you flowers, pet, you only have to ask.” Astarion shakes his head indulgently as he catches your drift, rolling his eyes at the young man behind the stall in pretend commiseration. “Trust me to find the one creature in all of Faerûn who’d rather I spend my fortune on dahlias than dinner.”

You twist slightly in his arms without looking away from the flowers, one hand slipping idly up to cradle his jaw as the other drifts over the box of tulips. “But you do it anyway.”

He sighs, exasperated and achingly fond in a way you wish he meant, turning to press a gentle kiss to your palm. “Yes, I do it anyway. Fool that I am.”

You’re forced to step slightly to the side as a lady comes up beside you and starts chatting to the vendor, which gives Astarion the perfect opportunity to dial down the act a little bit. It’s hard work even for you, and you’re not even really faking it - you can only imagine how annoying it must be, having to do all this with someone you’re not actually in love with.

For some reason, though, he doesn’t. Instead he seems to double down, swaying the two of you lightly from side to side as you examine the flowers on display, cold hands warming with your body heat as they smooth absentmindedly up and down your sides.

“Tempted by anything, darling?”

A classic line - somehow, it makes the whole thing easier. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and you know exactly what he wants to hear. “Oh, plenty,” you say, not even trying to hide your grin. “Nothing fit for polite company, though.”

You don’t even have to turn and look - your mind’s eye is enough to see the faux-outraged face he’s making. “Do I look like polite company to you?”

“Well, now that you mention it…”

The lady accidentally bumps you with her bag as she walks over to look at some of the other displays, and you can’t be sure, but it almost sounds like you can hear Astarion muttering something under his breath. “I don’t think you want me to answer that, you know.”

“Mind if I answer for you, then?” He waits for you to nod, cautiously curious about what he’ll say, before lifting a blasé hand to the flower seller and beckoning him over with a lazy wave.

“Six of the roses, if you will.”

“Certainly, sir,” the vendor replies with a nod. “Right away.”

What?

Utterly bewildered, you watch detachedly as Astarion points to the colours he wants, some comically cliché blend of red and pink and white. He can’t be doing what you think he’s doing. “What in - what on earth do you think you’re doing?”

A sideways glance, faintly bemused. “Pardon?”

You should probably be more embarrassed about the way you’re tripping over the words, but you’re more concerned with wondering if he’s actually, genuinely lost his mind. “I don’t need - it’s fine, let’s just-”

"No, no, you're right, six won’t do." He’s unmoved by your futile attempt to drag him away, free arm locking around your waist to keep you trapped against his chest as he corrects himself to the flower seller. "Make it a dozen."

“Astarion!” you hiss, as quietly as you can so that nobody overhears. “This is - you can’t just-”

“I’ll have you know I certainly can,” he replies, producing a handful of coins out of nowhere and casually dropping them into the flower seller’s palm. Absentmindedly, you notice that he’s wearing more rings than usual - your eye is drawn to a particularly lovely gold one on his left hand that you haven’t seen before. “In fact - oh, would you look at that? It seems I just have.”

You - he - you’re going to m-

“Do close your mouth, sweetling,” he sighs, eyes bright with concealed mischief, one elegant finger pressing up under your chin. “It’s dreadfully unbecoming.”

Sweetling. You’re going to strangle him.

The excellent retort that you were surely about to give is cut off by the flower seller, bouquet in hand and clearly very amused by the whole situation. “There we are - a dozen roses, compliments of your gentleman friend.”

He’s certainly no gentleman, but that’s hardly the worst of his crimes. Hateful, traitorous creature, that scheming villain, tormentor of your mind and thief of your heart.

“Excellent taste, sir,” the vendor says innocently over your shoulder as you lean forwards to take the flowers from him. “They’re some lovely blossoms, those!”

“Mm, aren’t they just?” Damn it all, you know what it means when he uses that voice - when you turn around, his eyes flick back up to yours with a shameless grin. “And the flowers are rather pleasant, too.”

“I - you-!” Oh, you could just smack him for that - you can guess what he was talking about, and it certainly wasn’t a bouquet. The vendor hastily stifles a laugh behind you as you glare daggers at Astarion, sorely tempted to take a swing at him. “When I get my hands on you-!”

Cackling wildly, he dances out of the way with an annoyingly dignified sidestep, bidding a quick farewell to the flower seller over his shoulder before looping his arm around your waist and sweeping you away further into the market. “Careful there, petal. We wouldn’t want the whole town to know about where you’ll put your hands on me, would we?”

You’re going to kill him. You’re actually going to fucking kill him, and nobody is going to blame you.

“Come now, darling, no need to look so glum,” he murmurs, leading you gently through the crowd. “Don’t you like them?”

Irritatingly, you can’t actually say you don’t. The roses really are stunning, each one beautifully rich in colour, all soft, velvety petals and long, elegant stems wrapped in thick paper. They’re also far too expensive for him to be wasting money on like this, but you know exactly what he’ll say if you try to protest.

Instead, you settle for honesty. Staring down at the delicate flowers in your hands, you let yourself believe, for just a single second, that they mean what you wish they would mean. That he gave them to you because he loves you, rather than as a prop for a foolish charade - that the kiss marks burned into your skin spell devotion, instead of duplicity.

“They’re gorgeous,” you say. “Thank you, my love.”

A sudden, scuffing sound from close by - next to you, Astarion suddenly lurches forward slightly, fingers digging almost painfully into your sides for a fraction of a second before relaxing. If it was anyone else, you’d say he’d just stumbled over his own feet. But this is Astarion you’re talking about, fleet-footed master of thievery and rogue extraordinaire, so that can’t be what just happened.

There’s a momentary pause, before-

“You’re very welcome, dearheart.”

He says it softly, low and unusually sincere. You don’t want to think about why. “And for what it’s worth, I do think your blossoms are really rather lo-”

“Alright!” You cut him off before he can finish the sentence - that’s quite enough about your blossoms, thank you very much - and practically drag him after you, bouquet cradled in the crook of your arm as your other hand reaches down to grab his. “No need to lay it on too thick, now.”

He doesn’t stop laughing until you’re almost there, magnanimously letting you pull him along with a shocking lack of complaints. The tangled streets that surround this part of the market are something of a maze, but before long you’re standing outside the tailor’s shop that you’ve been tasked with finding.

Thankfully, it doesn’t look like it’s too busy inside. There’s a few people working, but it’s not as packed as you’d feared - with any luck, it’ll mean that they’ll have the time to work on your requests, rather than just rejecting you outright.

“Ah - just a moment, dear.”

Your hand freezes on the door, and you turn to see Astarion fiddling with a hitherto-unseen pouch of some kind. It looks like leather, and the way he’s holding it makes it look like there’s something delicate inside. How odd. Did he steal it? You don’t recognise it.

“I have a little something for you that might help with our…”

He trails off, eyes not quite meeting yours, gesturing awkwardly with one hand as he tries to find the words. “Our little arrangement, shall we say.”

“Really?” Intrigued, you step away from the door and back to his side. “What is it?”

No reply. Instead, he takes your hand in his and holds it flat, before upending the contents of the little bag into it and letting you see for yourself.

“I do hope it fits.”

It’s just a prop. It’s just part of the disguise, and he would have done it for anyone. Your mind doesn’t stop, your heart doesn’t ache. It doesn’t mean anything, the lovely engagement ring sitting innocently in your palm.

“I…”

Wordless, you can only stare. Perhaps a more critical eye would call it plain, but to you it’s nothing short of beautiful, a tasteful gold band with a delicate tear-shaped ruby in the centre. It looks new, polished and pristine in its finish, not at all like any of the rings you’ve picked up on your travels so far. There’s something inscribed inside the band, but the letters are quite small and difficult to make out - is that Espruar?

Of everything about it, that’s probably the strangest thing. As much as it stings to admit it, at the end of the day it’s a fake ring, so why bother having it engraved at all? Nobody’s going to see the inside except for you.

He can’t possibly have bought it. He just can’t have. Creature of luxury though he is, he’d never waste money on something so… so frivolous. He must have stolen it. That’s the only explanation. He didn’t know it was engraved when he took it, so it doesn’t mean anything at all. And in any case, he’ll probably want it back when this is all over - you’re sure it’ll fetch a lovely price when he’s sold it by this time next week.

You’re interrupted in your examination by Astarion, discreetly clearing his throat, and oh, hells, your face feels like it’s on fire.

“Here. Let me.”

Ever so sweetly, he takes the ring from your hand and slides it carefully onto your finger. Head bowed, gaze fixed on his task. He’s so close. If he looked up, right now, you could almost be kissing. You’d only have to lean forwards a tiny bit.

The thought sends a shiver right through you that you try to hide - but true to form he notices anyway, pulling his hands away like it’s his cool touch that startled you, and you mourn the loss as soon as he does it. He’s right that the metal is cold at first, but it quickly warms with your skin, and you smile as you realise that he’d guessed correctly. Slim yet sturdy, a reassuring weight. It fits perfectly.

“I…”

Sunlight. Washing him in gold, filling the street with light, sparkling on your finger. Vaguely, you remember thinking something about a ring earlier, but you can’t quite remember what it was.

“Let’s get you inside, darling,” he says, and something in his voice aches in a way you can’t describe. “We can’t have you catching a cold out here.”

The bell above the door rings cheerfully as he pushes it open for you, one hand on the small of your back to steady you as you step inside. It’s a tiny little place, jam-packed with all manner of fabrics and half-mended garments - you’re barely able to get the words sorry, it’s kind of last-minute out before the no-nonsense lady by the counter is ushering you back behind a curtain, plucking the roses out of your hands, and pulling it shut with a brisk nod and instruction to the assistant there to help you get dressed.

You can vaguely hear Astarion being pelted with questions as you retrieve the bundle of clothes from your bag. Now that you really look, it’s obvious that some of this stuff has suffered somewhat over time, what with all the fraying seams and threadbare patches, but all things considered it’s not that bad. With a little bit of love, you should be able to decently pass yourself off as the minor noble you’re supposed to be.

It’s lucky that Astarion has such expensive taste, magpie that he is. He’d managed to come up with a reasonable ensemble last night with relative ease, thanks to the various spoils he’s picked up while you’ve all been travelling. His doublet is a little bare, though, so he said he was going to see if they could embroider something for him.

Ordinarily, you know he would have done it himself. He tries not to let on, but you’ve seen him picking through his little sewing box - yes, he does have one and no, he refuses to admit it exists - at camp in the evening when he thinks nobody’s looking. Perhaps the others haven’t noticed how his clothes seem to magically repair themselves overnight after a fight, or perhaps they just don’t care to comment. Either way, he’s certainly more skilled with a needle than you’d first thought, but life on the road doesn’t exactly lend itself to fine embroidery thread. He almost certainly doesn’t have any, or at least not enough, and he’s far too proud to ask if anyone else happens to.

He really is very particular about how he looks, and you suppose it makes sense. Considering all that’s happened to him, the monstrosity of his servitude… well. It’s hardly a surprise that any measure of control, even over something as seemingly trivial as the shirt he wears, might be intoxicating. If he wants to dress himself in nice things, however gaudy or over the top they might be, then he may as well. Hopefully, nobody out there is getting on his bad side about it.

Actually, now that you think about it, it’s probably not the best idea to leave Astarion unsupervised in a room full of people who you need to like you. Hastily, you start changing a little faster, in what little space there is behind this curtain - clothes like this are so complicated that the assistant back here has to help you, but there’s so little room that you’d almost rather be alone. At the very least there’s no shouting from the rest of the room yet, but you know what he’s like. No point in risking it-

“-haah-!”

“Darling, are you quite alright in there?”

Wincing, you emerge from the cramped little corner, fully dressed and clutching your banged elbow. You can’t move all that fast, seeing as some of these clothes are a fair bit too small, but it doesn’t really matter. The lady has you up on the riser in the middle of the room, and you’re swarmed by a handful of shop assistants armed with pins and measuring ropes, all chattering away about letting one seam or another out, let’s put darts in here, this’ll need covering up, I see what you mean about the sleeves…

To be honest, you’re not really paying attention, content to have them just get on with it. Wyll had said that this place deals with rich types all the time, so you’re sure they know what they’re doing far better than you do. Astarion, meanwhile, seems to be having the time of his life lounging in his little chair and making snide comments here and there, occasionally getting up and pointing at various bits of you that need embellishing - you’re strangely reminded of a child playing dress-up with a favourite dolly.

“Lift your arms a moment, if you please.”

The tailor gestures for you to raise your arms at your sides, so you do. Her voice is nice, sweet and smooth like honey, and you idly follow her instructions as she tells you how to move. Some of the assistants have gone off to sift through fabrics, but most of them are still clustered around you, honeybees to a flower.

How long have you been up here again? You’re surprised there are any bits of you they haven’t measured yet.

Your mind starts to drift as they keep picking at you, but fairly soon it catches on one of the girls closer to the front of the shop. She’s strikingly beautiful, all fine features and gentle grace, pointed ears peeking out of long, silky hair that reaches all the way down to her slim waist. She hasn’t come over to you, and at her bench it looks like she’s working on a doublet of some kind, so it makes sense that she’s talking to Astarion. It makes sense, because she’s probably asking what he wants embroidered on it.

Yeah. Yeah, that’ll be why she's standing so close to him, so she can hear every detail of exactly what he wants. She’s smiling so much and laughing at every little thing he says, because she wants him to feel welcome here. She’s guiding him away from you and closer to her workbench, so that he can make sure that she’s embroidering the right pattern.

It makes total sense. Nothing out of the ordinary.

“And if you could just turn this way, please?”

Only it doesn’t make sense, because you know for a fact he’d never be caught dead in that particular shade of coral pink - it clashes horribly with my eyes, don’t you think? - and he’s never liked that type of slashing on the sleeve.The laces are in the wrong style, and the length is all funny. Astarion wouldn’t wear anything like that, not even as a disguise. It’s garish and tacky and altogether far too tasteless. It can't belong to him.

So what in all the hells does that girl think she's doing?

Astarion, for his part, doesn’t seem too fussed about her - rather, he looks to be fairly entertained. It’s fine, though, right? He’s probably just humouring her, isn’t he? To say nothing of the way his fingers flex at his side, like he wants to reach out and touch her, or the way his gaze fixes on her face like he can’t bring himself to look away.

It’s fine. It’s fine. It doesn’t matter - and it’s hardly your place to tell him what he can and can’t do, anyway. This whole thing is just a ruse. He doesn’t know how much you wish it were true, and he doesn’t need to know. If it hurts, that’s your own fault.

Besides, he’s probably just looking for some fun, right? He’s never exactly been shy about it. He flirts with everyone, but it’s not love that’s on his mind - and you’re not stupid enough to think he’s any different when it comes to this. Whether it’s out of boredom or hedonism, it isn’t because he wants to make you feel good, and it isn’t because he’s just so friendly. It’s because he wants something.

You’re not so naive to think he might actually mean the things he tells you, pretty though they may be. When he says he wants you, when he says he wants to please you - every time, it’s as charming as it is frustrating. Charming, because you think you’d give anything for it to be real, for him to like you - desire you - care for you the way you do him. Frustrating, because you know that someone like Astarion would never bring himself to settle for someone like you.

“Face this way for a second, please?”

Even men like him need a change of pace. When he makes faces at you across the campfire when Gale starts rabbiting on about his magic tricks, when he presses his lips against your neck for just a second before he bites, when he softens every practised line with a flick of his wrist and a teasing smile. You know what it means. It means he knows he doesn’t have to pretend, doesn’t have to play the fool with you - he’s not worried about getting you into bed, because he knows you know he’s out of your league.

He doesn’t want you. He trusts you to not want him either. And you, idiot that you are, thought you’d go ahead and ruin that by falling in love with him. How much worse could it be?

He’s your friend, loath as he is to admit it sometimes. You can’t bring yourself to hurt him with the admission - the part of you that knows he doesn’t come to you for sex, and the part that can’t help but wish he did. If he’s looking for somebody to warm his bed tonight, why would he ever waste time talking to you?

Yeah, that’ll be it. That dull ache deep inside, soaking into all the soft parts of you, watching the man you love give in to a girl he met fifteen minutes ago. And you can’t blame him at all, because it’s your own stupid crush that’s got you into this mess. The pain isn’t his problem. If you were the sort of person he could love, then maybe you wouldn’t have to hurt this way - but you’re not, so you can’t complain.

Gushing, sloshing, seasick. It’s not like he’s actually in love with you.

He’s turned slightly away from you to face her, so you can’t see exactly, but it looks like he’s… smiling? And look, he’s beckoning her closer, leaning down as if he might have a secret to tell her, and if you didn’t know better you might think he was just about to-

“Darling!”

Both of them whip around to face you, and neither of them are as good at acting as they think they are. The girl is breathing hard, pretty lips stretched into what you’re sure she hopes is a convincing grin, and you’ve seen enough of Astarion’s fake, hasty smiles to know when you’re looking at one.

You hadn’t really thought about what you were going to say next - blindly, you scramble for an excuse to get his attention back. “Won’t you come and help me choose?”

“Choose what, my love?” The girl scurries back to her bench as Astarion looks pointedly down at her, but you can still see how she watches him walk over to you, wide-eyed and flushed even as she tries to go back to her work. “Are you finished already?”

Fortunately, one of the assistants comes over to you at just the right moment, holding out a hand to help you down off the riser. Astarion clearly notices what she’s doing and offers his hand to you as well - and if it’s a sick sort of pleasure that runs through you as you deliberately ignore him, taking the assistant’s hand instead of his, then that’s nobody’s business but yours.

(In the corner of your eye, as you step down, he looks almost… well, it doesn’t matter. The moment has passed.)

“The sampler’s on the table, when you’re ready,” says the assistant to you, bowing slightly before vanishing behind a table piled with rolls of fabric, and you take a shallow breath as she leaves.

“The - um, the embroidery. You can pick.”

Your voice is small, too small, and you can’t quite meet his eyes as you say it - by all the hells, you’re pathetic. Don’t let him know, don’t let him see what this curse of a crush does to you. Weighed down, one hand that’s so, so heavy.

“Are you sure, dear?” Something dangerously close to worry crosses his face, just for a moment, but that can’t possibly be real. “Wouldn’t you rather decide for yourself?”

“It’s fine.” You shake your head and smile as best you can, already starting to step backwards towards the curtain where your ordinary clothes are. Anything, just to get yourself out of this for a second. “I’m sure you’re better at this than I am.”

He nods stiffly, eyes narrowed, and lets you go. You’re obviously not off the hook just yet, but there’s nothing he can say in front of everyone in here - gratefully, you take the reprieve and disappear back behind the curtain. It’s almost certainly your imagination, but you could swear you feel his eyes on you the whole way, burning through the back of your skull, setting your skin alight.

It’s only after about thirty seconds before you realise the problem at hand, and you can’t help but swear under your breath at the thought. This fucking outfit - you can’t even reach half of the buttons and laces that keep it on you, and this time there’s nobody back here to help you. Trying on your own will be pointless, seeing as you’ll probably just get yourself even more stuck, and if you go back out there now, you’ll have to face-

“Let me.”

Another lie. You should have known.

Quiet, slipping unnoticed behind you, cold hands searing through the layers of silk and velvet that separate you. Inch by inch, button by button. As always, he sees right through you.

“Careful,” you say, trying not to notice how hollow it sounds. “You and I, all alone. People might talk.”

He scoffs, and it’s something like lighthearted. “What would they say? Heavens forfend, I should spend a little time with the love of my life.”

Does he have to be so cruel about it? Stinging, smarting, lemon juice in the cut.

“I’m told that said time is normally meant to be spent fully clothed.” His fingers work their way deftly across your back, unbuttoning and unlacing all the pieces of your silken armour, and you fight to keep your voice steady. Whose idea was it to put you in this many damned layers again? “You’re a wicked man, my darling.”

“Oh, certainly,” he replies, and you don’t have to look to feel the careless shrug he gives. “Can you blame me? Between you and a second-rate sampler, I know which is the better view.”

“Depends how much you like embroidered flowers.”

“Not at all.”

“Then I commend your choice of entertainment.” The final button comes undone, and you gesture over your shoulder for him to step back outside. “That’s everything.”

He hums quietly in acquiescence, but he doesn’t leave. Instead, he just turns to face away. The rustle of fabric is loud in the sudden silence as you step out of your outfit, skin burning with the closeness of him - as you reach past him to the pile of your ordinary clothes, careful not to accidentally touch, you can feel the coolness of his body in the air. A shadow on the wall, drinking in the heat of you.

“It looked like you were having fun.”

It’s a normal thing for you to say, in a normal tone of voice. Easy, casual, teasing in the way a friend might be. Judging from the way he tenses, spine stiffening ever so slightly, you very nearly manage it.

“Did it?” he asks, and there’s something in his words that you can’t quite figure out. “From a distance, perhaps.”

“You know, I think she likes you,” you sing as you pull your shirt back over your head, poking him in the shoulder to disguise the fact that the note is slightly sharp. “How’s that for a scandal?”

“Hardly her fault.” He makes a show of preening himself in front of the invisible mirror, inspecting his nails and raking a practised hand through his hair - if your tongue didn’t taste so sour, you’d laugh. “An occupational hazard for a gentleman such as myself.”

See, if you weren’t already so stupidly infatuated with him, you’d keep pushing. If you were just a perfectly ordinary, entirely platonic companion, that’s what you’d do. So you say it, and you try your best to ignore the horrible churning feeling that settles in your stomach as you do.

“You ought to go back to her,” you muse, as lightly and sweetly as you can. “If you asked, I’m sure she’d make time for a private fitting.”

To be entirely honest, the innuendo isn’t your best work, but that’s not the problem here. It’s a perfectly ordinary comment for you to make, a normal sort of joke that he really should have been expecting. So then, why…?

Astarion freezes, unnaturally still, one hand still tangled in his curls as the words register. Maybe it’s magic, or maybe it’s just your blood running cold - either way, the temperature between you plummets until you could swear you see your breath turning to mist in the air, frozen solid with the chill.

“A pri- sorry, a what?”

It’s a good thing you’re mostly dressed by now - he turns back to face you with an almost comically incredulous expression, looking for all the world like you’ve just told him you’re thinking about asking Lae’zel for ballet lessons. “And why in all the hells would I want to do that?”

“Well, you know…” Your hand waves clumsily in place of words you can’t quite say - surely he knows what you mean. “I won’t stop you, if you want to stay and let her, um… ”

“What?”

It’s a thoroughly bizarre situation, watching the gears turning uselessly in his brain. Normally, you’ve barely had time to think of the innuendo before he’s already said it, and you were expecting this time to be no different. What’s changed? Isn’t that what he was after?

“Darling, you don’t - I didn’t-”

Wait. Oh, shit, don’t say it’s true. You’ve got this totally wrong, haven’t you? He must have genuinely liked her, must have wanted to speak to her - you know Astarion well enough to know that he won’t waste his precious time on somebody he doesn’t care for. That’ll have been why the girl was so close when you saw them speaking, and it’ll be why he’s so confused now. Shame blooms deep and bitter in your stomach as it finally dawns on you - gods be good, he must really think you’re an idiot now, accusing him of trying to solicit some torrid affair when he just wanted to have a chat with someone h-

“Um… excuse me?”

Both of your heads whip towards the voice coming from just outside the curtain - one hand instinctively flies to the still-undone front of your shirt, while the other darts out to cover the sudden flash of light in the corner of your eye. Astarion nearly jumps a foot in the air at your touch, uncharacteristically on edge, but he lets you push the half-drawn dagger back into the sheath at his hip regardless. As much as he might protest, whoever’s speaking probably doesn’t need to be greeted by several inches of sharpened steel.

“Yes?” he snaps, and you notice that he’s moved slightly to put himself between you and the curtain. “What is it?”

“The alterations, sir,” the voice replies. “We can’t start without the, um… without the actual garments.”

Right, yeah, that does make sense. Astarion looks at you as you swallow down the furious humiliation bubbling in your throat, but you can’t look back. Turning around, you’re just reaching for the pile of clothes on the floor when-

“Five days should be more than enough, yes?”

Fortunately, you have the presence of mind not to shout as the world blurs around you, cold hands shoving you gracelessly through the curtain and out into the room proper. Stumbling over your undone boots, you barely avoid tripping headfirst into the poor tailor’s assistant standing just outside.

“I, uh - well, we’ll do our best, sir, but-”

“Excellent.”

You can only watch as Astarion grabs the pile of clothes and dumps them into the woman’s arms along with a sizeable handful of gold, before practically lifting you off your feet and carrying you out of the shop entirely. The elvish girl from before looks up with wide eyes at the kerfuffle, but he swans past without even sparing her a glance.

“Right, then. I suppose we’ll be seeing you all soon, won’t we, sweetheart?”

He’s gone mad. Absolutely mad. It’s the only explanation you can think of, head spinning from the speed, dazed and dizzy as he coos the words down at you - there’s just enough time to catch the confused assistant’s eye and point to one of the nicer embroidery patterns on the forgotten sampler as he whisks you past it, before the door swings shut behind you and you’re back in the sun-bathed street outside.

(Numbly, you realise that you’re holding your bunch of flowers again, tucked loosely into the cradle of your arms, and that your bag is slung over Astarion’s shoulder along with his own. When did that happen?)

  Silence. Thorns, crawling up your throat, greedy stems clawing their way out of your soft, bloody mouth. Everything tastes like roses.

“Well, then.”

Your voice is remarkably calm, if you do say so yourself. Red sunlight, dancing on the wall every time you move your hand. It’s cold.

“Love, I-”

“Let’s just go.” He recoils slightly at the undertone of venom in your voice, cutting him off, but it doesn’t send more than a faint twinge of regret through you. The more you play this game, the worse it gets - you’ve already put your foot in it once, and you’d rather not do it again. “You don’t have to pretend when it’s just us. I won’t make you.”

Anger and embarrassment bubble in your chest, a sour cocktail that sears a hot flush all down your cheeks and your neck as you extricate yourself stiffly from his hold. It’s useless to try and hide it, but there’s something small and shameful inside that forces you to turn from him anyway, quick steps down the street.

Upset over nothing, you’re making a scene. You won’t cry, you won’t, but you could if you wanted to - clutching the flowers to your chest like they might stop him from being able to hear the rattle of your heart against your ribs, from knowing the heat of your blood as it soaks through your skin.

“You couldn't make me do anything.”

He's quiet, bitter words flung at your back. You slow down, but don't stop.

“Yeah.” Oh, if only he knew how much you wished you could. “I know.”

Sunlight bears down on you, no relief from the fierceness of its glare. Perhaps that's what this has always been about. Selfish from the start, always looking out for yourself, and just too afraid to admit it. This whole fiction you’ve created, that you’ve allowed yourself to indulge in. A puppet strangled in its own strings, a control freak in love.

He doesn't love you, and it burns that you can't make him - so here you are, playing house like a spoilt child, forcing him into the charade. Sweet hells. You really are pathetic.

Cool fingers, warmed by the sun, lock around your wrist.

“I always said you were a fool, you know.”

It’s so kind of Astarion, to really twist the knife like this. “Thanks.”

“No - no, not-” He cuts himself off with a frustrated groan, tugging you towards him and sighing when you still won’t look at him. “I didn’t mean-”

“It doesn’t matter, alright?” you snap. “It’s fine.”

“But it’s not fine, is it?” he retorts, louder than you think he meant to be. “It’s not fine, and it does matter, because I - I’ve-”

Stone shifts beneath your feet, lightheaded, vertigo. The tadpole.

I’ve hurt you.

He’s in your head, flat pressure against the bubble of your mind. Not pushing, just waiting. A quiet street in the middle of town.

Please. Let me show you.

You want to. Dear gods, you want to, but even now you know that out here, this won’t be good for either of you.

“Not here,” you say out loud, shaking your head. “Not like this.”

He looks a little affronted that you don’t reply in his mind, but acquiesces all the same. “Where, then?”

“Just…” A woman and her son turn down the street behind him, walking hand in hand towards you. They look well-off, to say the least, and you quickly thread your arm through Astarion’s like the lover you’re supposed to be. You can never be too careful. “Inside, at least.”

Not refusing, just postponing. Ever the gentleman, he gestures forwards with a little bow, eyes closed in mock-deference. “Lead on, dearheart.”

After a little bit of walking, inside turns out to be one of the taverns you’d passed on the way here - not the one you’re staying at, but one that might be acceptable for a couple of your supposed stature. It’s only the early afternoon, so thankfully there’s not too many people inside. Astarion goes off to get something to drink while you settle yourself at one of the tables, slightly out of the way and hopefully where nobody else will be able to overhear you.

He’s gone for a little while, coming back with a pitcher of wine and two cups. One for you, one for him, and you watch as he pours them both with a generous hand.

“Any good?”

He takes a tentative sip, pretty lips twisting into a telltale grimace. “Same as ever, I’m afraid.”

“That’s my love,” you sigh, light and airy as you take the offered cup. Contrary to what he’d have you believe, it’s actually fairly nice, much sweeter than you were expecting. “Always such a picky eater.”

“Oh, darling, we’ve been over this,” he moans, betrayed, gently kicking your shin under the table. “Not picky, dear. Particular.”

“Particularly difficult to please, you mean.”

“Difficult? Hardly.” That predator’s grin, sharp fangs in the low light. “I can think of a few ways you could please me, if you’re so inclined.”

You shrug, swallowing another mouthful of wine. “No accounting for taste, it seems.”

“There’s something I’d like to taste, certainly.”

“Somehow, I don’t think we’re talking about the same thing any more.”

He laughs as you roll your eyes, knocking his cup against yours in a poor mockery of a toast. “The story of my life, my sweet. The story of my life.”

The air between you feels a little warmer than it had before, sitting across from him like this, like it’s just another ordinary day. He looks a lot more relaxed than he had outside, and you suppose you must be the same. Dancing in and out of each other’s words, the familiar rhythm of your back-and-forth.

A bunch of roses, lying next to you on the windowsill. This is… nice.

Is this better?

Astarion’s voice is an echo in your head, ripples on the surface of the sea. You look around, but it’s fine. Nobody’s watching.

He reaches across the table, palm face up. Your hand slides into his so easily, fingers brushing over his wrist, the imagined pulse of an undead heart.

Go on, then.

Your mouth tastes like oranges.

Show me.

The world shimmers and swims around you, iridescent like a soap bubble, melting into something new. The chill of the early morning, weak sunlight not yet enough to warm the street that you find yourself remembering.

“Good morrow, sir. Can I help you?”

A haughty mask, concealing the nerves beneath.There’s nobody else in the shop, early as it is, and it’s an enormous relief - you get the strange feeling that if this strange new heart could race, it would.

“I have a rather… urgent request, I suppose.”

“Urgent, sir?” The man behind the counter looks intrigued, smoothing down the front of his apron, and looking altogether far too cheery for such an early hour and his only customer. “How so?”

Unbidden, the scene twists before your eyes in a blur of sunlight, the cold feeling of impatient anticipation swirling through you like ink in water. Vague impressions of the town rush past you, smoke and sound and life as the sun rises in the sky, before you’re suddenly stepping through exactly the same door as you were a minute ago.

“Ah, sir.” The same man as before, a little less neat than he was several hours ago, the sound of hammering metal louder than you’d like. “You’ve been well since last I saw you, I hope?”

Restless, nervous, fighting the urge to fidget like a child. “Yes, yes, quite. Do you have them?”

“Aye, sir. Just a moment, if you please.” The blacksmith in front of him walks over to the side, rummaging through a drawer full of little leather bags. “Oh, it was good of you to write it down for us - we make a lot of posy rings here, sir, but not so many in Espruar, you see.”

He finds the one he’s looking for, soft brown leather with a drawstring, and carefully empties its contents to be inspected. A familiar ruby ring, scarlet fire in the blacksmith’s palm, and a lightly-patterned gold band that you now realise you’ve already seen before, as the hand it adorned paid an unknowing flower seller for a dozen roses.

Both rings are engraved inside, and your borrowed brain supplies the words with no small degree of pleased satisfaction. Amorie ent vivas est ma vie, proclaims the ring that now sits on your finger, ubi amor ibi fides the one that Astarion kept for himself.

“All to your satisfaction, I hope?”

“Hmm?” Astarion’s mouth replies but you can feel that his mind’s far away, curled up warm and content in some possessive, instinctive corner of your shared skull. “Oh, yes… lovely stuff, certainly.”

Seemingly satisfied, the blacksmith tips the rings back into the little leather pouch, exchanging it for no small sum of gold from your own pocket. The rings are hidden away, safe in the depths of Astarion’s bag, and he’s quick to turn on his heel to leave.

“A good day to you, sir.”

From what brief glimpse you catch, the man looks a little taken aback at your hasty exit, but this body doesn’t really care. The sun outside is high overhead as you pull the door open, and you feel yourself waving your hand vaguely over your shoulder. Whatever. There are far more important things to think about.

“Yes, yes. And to you.”

After all, you’ve got a date to keep.

“You see?”

As quickly as it came, the scene disappears around you - blinking, you’re once again sitting opposite Astarion, gentle pressure as his thumb rubs slowly back and forth across the backs of your fingers. “I wouldn’t just be late for no reason, dear.”

You can’t really tell how you feel, to be honest - strangely vulnerable, but pleasantly comforted all the same. Knowing he’d gone to all that trouble, for something that you’d thought was just a stolen trinket…

“Elvish?” you ask, eyebrows raised, relishing the way his head dips just slightly to the right like he wants to hide his face but knows he can’t. “You’re getting awfully sentimental in your old age, you know.”

“I - you!” If he could blush properly, would he? As it is, you can just about catch the faint flush of blood - your blood, taken last night up in his bed, while everyone else was still downstairs in the tavern proper - spreading high across his cheek. “Mouthy little thing, aren’t you?”

You shrug, hand slipping out of his to exaggeratedly inspect your nails, not even trying to hide your grin. He really does set you up perfectly sometimes. “Never had any complaints.”

He laughs, low and surprisingly sweet, and reaches absentmindedly for another mouthful of wine. “Don’t sound so sure, sweetheart. I’m sure I’ll get a noise complaint or two out of you yet.”

Bold words for a man who’s barely even seen your bed, let alone set foot in it. “Well, when you learn how, let me know.”

“Darling. Chance would be a fine thing.”

He takes a sip and apparently remembers how bad the wine was the first time - his expression sours, and you very kindly don’t point out that it looks a lot like the face Lae’zel gave him when she caught him absentmindedly licking blood off a dagger she’d grudgingly lent him after a particularly nasty fight a few weeks ago.

(Astarion assured you at length that it had been a very long day and he’d only been having a snack, and really wasn’t it an honour, a real compliment, that he thought her blade to be so immaculately kept that he’d even want to lick it?)

(Shadowheart had not been pleased. Astarion’s not allowed to borrow things from Lae’zel any more.)

While he’s busy making various disapproving - you won’t say endearing, you won’t - little noises about his curse of a drink, you slide the ring off your finger and hold it up in front of your face. It’s warm from the heat of your hand.

Turning it this way and that, idly admiring the way the light plays off the shiny metal, the flaming flicker of the ruby. Hells, it really is beautiful.

Gold band, red stone. Amorie ent vivas est ma vie.

“‘To live in love is my life.’”

He’s watching you, slowly swirling the wine in his cup with one elegant hand. The words are even prettier on his silver tongue, ringing metal like a bell.

“I thought…”

Distantly, a floorboard creaks. Dust, floating in the afternoon sunlight.

“I thought it made sense.”

Carefully, he twists the ring off his own finger, and presses it into your palm. A simple pattern of vines and leaves, curling around the band. Ubi amor ibi fides.

“You should’ve let me pay.”

He frowns. “What?”

“You paid,” you say. “For this. Those flowers. My clothes. You didn’t have to.”

“Really?” It’s almost shameful how your heart stutters when he meets your gaze, even if it’s only so he can roll his eyes at you with a dismissive smile. “Come now, dear. I have to spend my ill-gotten gains on something, don’t I?”

“There are far better things to sp-”

“No.”

His hand comes up to grasp your wrist, tugging it towards him until he can press your fingers to the side of his throat. His ring is heavy in your other hand, knocking against the one already on your finger, clicking against the inside of the band.

“No, there’s not. And if there were, you wouldn’t get to tell me what they are.”

If he’s going to be stubborn about it, so be it. “Clothes that you’re not going to wear are the best things you can think of to waste money on?”

“Do you think about me not wearing clothes that often, darling?” It’s your turn to roll your eyes this time, definitely ignoring the way you can feel the vibrations of his voice through the skin, the purr in his voice as it dips low and tempting. “Naughty.”

“I’m just saying that you don’t need to throw money away by - mmf!”

Astarion mutters something under his breath you don’t catch, before there’s the sudden rush of air past your face and a blunt strip of pressure against your stomach, pulled forwards until you’re half out of your chair. It takes your brain a second to figure out why your words aren’t coming out any more - there’s something in the way - he’s so close - oh, he’s kissing you-

Fingers going slack, a quiet thud as his ring hits the table. Neither of you hear it.

Without even thinking about it, you’re already melting against him, hand sliding up from his neck to tangle softly in his hair as the other braces your body against the table. Ah, that’s what that pressure is - the edge of the table is digging into your middle where you’re leaning forward over it, but you don’t really care. You’re far more focused on the sharpness of his fangs as they dig into your bottom lip, the insistent grasp of his hand as he cups your jaw, the faint sweetness of wine that still sits on his tongue.

“Shut up, shut up,” he mumbles into your mouth, “I don’t care about the damn money, you heinous little ingrate, I - mmm, I just want you to stop being so - so-”

The rest of his words are lost in a frustrated hiss that absolutely shouldn’t be as hot as it is, and you wince as the tadpole behind your eye squirms sickeningly when he breaks the kiss. His right hand is still holding your wrist, warm with your body heat, and he groans as he slumps back into his chair and bows his head, pressing the back of your hand to his face. Something reverent, something sacred, saint and devotee.

Just let me be good enough, he thinks, words floating in the dark water of your mind. Tell me I’m good enough for you.

Your jaw tightens. Why does he have to be so vicious with it? That’s not the problem.

Then what is?

He can’t see it, but even so, you’re not going to cry. How could this be what you want? I can’t - I’m - Astarion, you deserve m-

Gods, how stupid can you be? he spits, freezing venom splattering your skin. I know, alright? I know! I deserve more, I deserve better, all these fucking things you won’t stop telling me - has it ever crossed your empty little mind that I might want to actually have the things I apparently deserve?

If he was looking at you, you’re sure it would be with a scowl. I deserve love, or so I’m told. Yes?

Of course.

Then let me have it, dammit!

He takes a deep breath that you feel more than hear, a thin veneer of calm stretched over the words he wants to say. Darling. Dearest. Sweetness. I am in love with you.

Well, that’s… that’s, um…

Hm. You don’t really know what it is.

A strange shiver races through you, giddy with nerves and bitter excitement. He can’t mean it, can he? This can’t possibly end the way you want it to, he can’t possibly be saying - saying that, of all things.

…Right.

Try not to sound so pleased about it, dear, he mutters. I’m only pouring my heart out for you here.

Well - well, yes, but-

He finally looks up at that, interrupting the stammering jumble of words falling out of your sort-of-mouth, handsome features slightly soured with annoyance. But what, exactly?

You don’t…

Pinned in place by his stare, all you can do is faintly shake your head. You don’t have to lie because you think it’s going to make me feel better. It’s not your fault, alright? It’s not.

You’re desperately fighting the urge to flinch. He deserves to know, but it’s a painful admission all the same. I said before, you don’t have to pretend. You’re not a - a prop, or a toy, or anything like that - and I shouldn’t have made you do all of… All of this. I was just being selfish.

Thin, sharp words, papercuts all the way up the inside of your throat. It’s for the best.

Selfish? Astarion laughs harshly, somewhere between outraged and hysterical. Are you serious?

I mean, I - I just…

He’s gone mad. Absolutely mad. All you can do is watch in confusion as he smiles, sweet at first before it turns manic, dissolving into some sort of - well, the only words that come to mind are giggle fit, which sounds much cuter than he’d probably like, but it’s true. Even the damned tadpoles give up, connection splintering and falling away as he loses concentration and falls back into his chair - anyone looking would think you’d got him with Tasha’s Hideous Laughter or something, it’s that bad.

“I’m in love with an idiot,” he manages to choke out, “an actual, bona fide idiot!”

Such a charmer, your Astarion. “Wow. Thanks.”

“Any time, darling,” he laughs, one hand on his stomach and wincing slightly as he sits up - belatedly, you realise you should probably sit down again before people start to stare. “I’m here all week.”

His little fit of laughter seems to be a little more under control - you can’t help but melt at the pretty smile that still lights up his face, even though you’re still not quite sure what was so funny. “My love, my love - traveller of the realms, slayer of monsters, and proud owner of the thickest skull south of the Spine. Gods, it must be safe as houses in there - that tadpole of yours is really very lucky, dear.”

“A rogue and a comedian,” you reply dryly. “Don’t quit your day job, I’d say.”

“Hate to break it to you, but you are my day job, darling,” he says, nonchalantly picking up his cup again - he doesn’t drink anything, though, and you’re starting to think it’s just because he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.“In case you’ve forgotten, I do have a rather vested interest in keeping you alive long enough to get rid of our…”

Apparently, he’s decided now is the time for him to start being subtle about your collective situation. He waves his hand awkwardly towards his head with his cup, wine sloshing loudly but - thankfully for his doublet - not spilling. “Of certain mutual friends we seem to have acquired lately.”

Well, you’ll play along if it makes him happy. “See, it all comes out in the end,” you sigh, wiping away an imaginary tear. “Marrying me for my famed tadpole-killing expertise. What a fairy tale, hm?”

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he picks up his ring from where you’d accidentally dropped it on the table, and slips it back onto his finger where it was before.

“Yes. Yes, I…”

Astarion trails off, eyes slightly unfocused, and you get the feeling he’s trying to find the words for something.

“That’s what it was.”

The floor tilts beneath you, a wriggling pulse behind your eye.

“That’s why I did this.”

He meets your eyes. A silent question, or maybe an offering. No laughter - something small and vulnerable in its wake that you can’t quite name, raw and aching, hollow bones like a bird.

You nod. A whirling blur of colour, and all at once the world is a tailor’s shop a few streets away, awfully cramped and thoroughly too noisy.

“Let’s get you inside, darling. We can’t have you catching a cold out here.”

This whole your-mind-his-body thing really is incredible - you can feel the smile spreading across his face as he holds the door open for past-you, even though you obviously can’t see it from here. Unfamiliar muscles forming a familiar expression. It’s weird.

A flurry of questions that you’re not really paying attention to, your new eyes lingering on the shape of your real body as it disappears behind a drab-looking curtain on the other side of the room. Astarion’s hands, fishing a doublet out of his (your?) bag and handing it off to some wretched assistant or other, but not before making it very clear that it is to be embroidered in gold, not silver, to match with his betrothed.

The boy he’s given it to scurries off with a nod, and something flickers deep inside - instinctively, you try to look down, but the memory of Astarion’s body doesn’t let you. Oh, it felt good when he said that. Something lighting up in your chest, fluttering and fizzing, a still heart that dreams of beating.

“What can we help you with today, sir?”

You’re still not entirely au fait with this whole mixed-consciousness thing, but it’s gradually getting easier to let Astarion’s mind talk over yours, relaxing into the gaps to watch the memories like you would a play. Well, it’s sort of like a play. It’s more like an opera, really, or you might say a pantomime if you were feeling especially mean - he’s as theatrical in his head as he is out loud, and it’s absolutely fascinating to realise that this really is how he sees the world.

Some woman or other comes over and starts chatting away, steering him over to a chair on the other side of the room, a little closer to the riser. She offers him a drink, but you see him wave it away - it’ll hardly do to be distracted when there’s time to be spent with you. There’s so little time to be alone nowadays, what with everyone else always clamouring for your precious attention. He’s not about to spoil such a golden chance by filling his head with wool.

(The sentiment is unexpectedly sweet, and inside his head where nobody can see, you can't help but smile like a fool at the thought. He likes spending time with you, he wants to spend time with you. With you!)

He can still hear you changing, cloth rustling behind the curtain, so he gradually tunes back into - gods below, is this blasted woman ever going to stop for breath? She’s still twittering on about… well, he’s not been paying attention, so he doesn’t actually know, but it’s probably not that important.

“Just alterations, sir? Or embellishment as well?

Right, right she’s asking about what he wants them to do. Fine, fair enough. “Family legacies, sent by a rather poorly-informed relative, I’m told. See to it that it’s appropriate for evening, and that it matches mine.”

“Certainly, sir. We’ll do our best for you and your… friend - um, companion? Companion.”

Seriously? The nerve. Friend. Well, perhaps it’s a little rude for her to be presuming anything, but he can let it slide just this once.

“Betrothed, actually,” he says, casually running his left hand through his hair and enjoying the satisfied pride that fills him as her eyes focus on the ring on his finger. “Something of a recent development, but certainly not an unhappy one.”

“Ah, is that so?” she says with a smile, much more genuine than before. “I’m sure there’s quite the story there.”

He shrugs, and you can feel how much effort it takes to make it look like he doesn’t care. “Well, it’s not for a lack of trying, I assure you.”

“Oh, my brother was just the same,” the woman replies, like she’s known him for years. “I couldn’t tell you how many times he asked his wife to marry him before she said yes - you know, I told him she’s far too good for him, didn’t I?”

She shakes her head, sighing fondly, and your borrowed heart twinges at the thought of this woman, this glimpse of an ordinary family with ordinary troubles. “But he wouldn’t give up, oh no, I’ll marry that girl yet, Ros, just you wait and see, and now they’ve been married for - ooh, must be going on eight years? Nine? Happy as a clam, he keeps her, and there’s not a man this side of the Spine who loves his wife more.”

“I commend his fortitude.” Astarion tips his imaginary cap to the woman, and it’s so stupidly charming that you could just scream. Bless this ridiculous elf you’ve had the fortune to fall in love with. “I shall have to live up to his example, clearly.”

“Well, obviously your circumstances are a little different, sir, but I should very much hope so,” she says. Her mouth opens, like she’s just thought of something she wants to say, but-

“-haah!”

Astarion’s head snaps towards the curtain where your voice came from, room blurring with the speed, half-out of his chair in an instant. What’s wrong? Who’s hurt you?

“Darling, are you quite alright in there?”

The curtain that hides you swishes as a hitherto-unnoticed assistant pulls it aside, revealing you in all your stolen finery, and the woman - has he actually asked her name yet? Did she say it? - turns to usher you over. “My congratulations to the two of you. I’m sure you’ll be very happy together.”

“Yes, I…” Astarion trails off, and something in his voice feels like candle smoke, trailing up into the sky. Wistful. “Thank you. I rather think we will.”

(It’s incredibly sweet that he was so committed to the role, even when you weren’t there. Isn’t he a gem?)

She leads you across the floor, and… oh dear. It really doesn’t fit, does it? Well, that’s what you’ve come here to fix, after all.

It’s an eclectic mix, to be sure, but he supposes that’s what you get when you’re just stealing for fun, rather than to order. You’re all stiff and awkward when you walk like the underpieces are all slightly too small, and the rest of it is all oddly proportioned, sleeves heavy but cut too short, laces pulling tight in some places and hanging slack in others.

As dire a situation as it might seem, with a fair amount of elbow grease, he’s sure it’ll turn out wonderfully. The colour is lovely against your skin, and the embroidery is rich and detailed, gold thread twisting and curling around your body, over your shoulders, your chest, your waist…

Dear gods, he wants to know what it feels like. Raised stitches under his fingers, trailing across your body, pressing delicately until he can feel the soft give of your skin beneath the treacherous cloth that separates you. Would it be warm with the heat of you? Would you want him to know?

That’s my darling.

The sinful, stolen thought blossoms in his mind like sweet honeysuckle, out of control, filling his mind with that heady, giddy scent. Look at you, little love - aren’t you a picture, dearest? Mine, all mine.

His teeth ache, biting back the words as they threaten to tumble right out of his mouth. I want you, let me want you, I want to want you. Just right, just right. Pushing himself out of his chair for something to do, palms itching with the loss of you, restless energy thrumming in his bones. I want this to be real. So beautiful, let me hold you, soft and lovely. Spoil you, spoil you, sweets for my sweet. Honey, honey, honey…

(Sorry, wait - that’s what he was thinking?)

(You - you don’t…)

It’s a wonder he’s able to string words together as he watches you, admiring every angle as you turn, the bubbly taste of gleeful shame as he spots the places where everything’s just slightly too tight, revealing just a little bit more of you than it should. Is that wrong? Because if it is, he doesn’t care. He’s far too busy enjoying the way your eyes seem to glitter in the golden light from the window, the way he can see your chest rise and fall with every breath, slightly shallower than normal as you fight not to rip any of the ageing side seams.

The staff in here are mercifully receptive to his suggestions, clearly appreciative of his discerning eye and tasteful sensibilities. One of the stupider ones tries to say something about replacing the neckline with some hideous striped monstrosity, and he takes a grim sort of pleasure in thoroughly rejecting that particular brainwave - same with the one who seems to be advocating for a sort of avant-garde asymmetrical sleeve thing, that looks less like a fashion statement and more like it’s already been chewed by that little owlbear. Twice. Honestly, it looks ghastly.

He’s just about to say the thing about the owlbear out loud - the others won’t get it, but it’ll make you laugh, so it’s worth it, really - when there’s this… this voice.

“Oh, sir. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

No. No, no, no. He knows that tone.

The laughter falls from his lips as his gaze flicks to the left, to be met with some waifish elven girl standing altogether far too close for comfort. She smiles when his eyes meet hers, in a way that’s just slightly too pleased to look as demure as she thinks it does. “I don’t believe we’ve met…”

“Quite.”

He’s terse, tension locking him in place and filling his voice. The girl’s hand comes up to just barely brush against his elbow, so lightly that he doesn’t even really feel it - but even that is enough to make him jolt, instinctively jerking away and one hand drifting towards the comforting weight of the dagger at his hip.

“Would you come with me a moment, sir?” she asks, undeterred, delicate fingers twisting in her hair and swishing it back over her shoulder - obviously, almost embarrassingly coy. “My workbench is just over here, but there are more rooms this way if you’d rather talk in private.”

Ugh. She’s not even subtle about it - he doesn’t need any sort of elevated senses to be painfully aware of what she wants. Her heart’s fast, eyes bright, breathing a little too hard. It’s almost comical. He’s been faking the exact same thing for longer than she’s been alive.

“And what, exactly,” he spits, “could I possibly have to say to you?”

She laughs - laughs! Normally, the vitriol dripping from his voice can clear a room in seconds, especially combined with the crimson glare that he’s currently levelling at her. Apparently, though, this idiot girl is an exception to the rule.

“Your doublet, sir? I’m an embroiderer, sir, and…”

If she fiddles with that ridiculous hair any more, he’ll cut it clean off and take her fingers with it - does she not see the way he’s desperately trying to keep his hand away from his dagger? “Well, I’d hate to disappoint you, and you seem like the sort of gentleman who’s very knowledgeable about all sorts of things…”

So she’s stupid as well as vain. Dear gods, darling, pick a battle.

“Do I look like I want to talk about embroidery?” He resolutely turns his back and tries to focus back on you, still as lovely as ever up on your little perch. “Do excuse me. My betrothed requires my attention.

“Oh, no need to trouble anyone else, sir.”

Forget the hair. If she makes that infuriating giggling noise again, she’ll be lucky to leave this room with a head.

“I’m sure we can find something to talk about…”

Her hand comes to lay lightly at his elbow again, and that’s it. That’s it. You’re going to have to apologise to that woman from earlier for him, because he’s about to stab this pathetic little worm right in front of everyone, and he’s not even going to feel the tiniest bit bad about it.

She lights up as he turns to face her properly, beckoning her a little closer with a single finger. It soon turns to horror as she sees the predator’s grin that splits his face, the façade of politeness cracking like a duck egg, fangs unashamedly on display.

“Shall I tell you a secret, little elfling?”

(You’ve always known that Astarion’s attitude to murder is a little unconventional, but murdering someone for the crime of threatening a relationship that isn’t even real? His head spins with the euphoria of the kill-to-be, and you’re dizzy with how much he wants it. Is it bad, that he likes the taste of her fear? Is it worse, that you like it too?)

The girl freezes on the spot as he leans in, something sharp and brittle in the way she trembles but can’t force her feet to move. Shivering, shuddering, perfect glass splintering like ice. A prey animal. This is going to be fun.

“There’s a funny thing that always seems to happen, to people who try to get in between my darling and I.”

“It - sir, I - I didn't-”

He laughs over her, dark and wicked, already salivating at the thought of what’s to come. Ooh, you could just kiss him.

“Don’t worry, little madam, I’ll give you a clue. It starts with please, sir, I’m sorry, and it rhymes with I don’t want to d-”

“Darling!”

It’s you - sharply, he pivots on his heel to face you, hurriedly smoothing his expression back into a slightly more pleasant, we are in public, Astarion, stop looking so bloody murderous all the time smile. The swarm of people around you has dissipated some, and it’s nice to finally have an unobstructed view of you. “Won’t you come and help me choose?”

“Choose what, my love?” Bless you, bless you for the excuse to abandon this grasping little wretch. He fixes the terrified creature next to him with one last self-satisfied smirk for good measure, enjoying the way she gasps and trips over her own feet as she stumbles away, before letting the magnet in his chest pull itself gleefully back to you. “Are you finished already?”

Some hapless assistant comes drifting by, clearly not noticing him, and holds out a hand to help you down off the stand. Well, that certainly won’t do - does nobody in this accursed place know that he’s engaged to you? Because he’d thought he’d made it really rather obvious. The ruby on your finger glitters in the light, and he thinks about the words he knows are pressed against your skin, a secret promise.

Amorie ent vivas est ma vie. It’s only right, it’s only fair. How could anyone ever look at you and not know that you were made to be loved? You were made to be doted on, kissed and held and adored like the precious thing you are - spoilt absolutely rotten, thoroughly and entirely, toothache and cavities.

You deserve love, so much more than he could ever give you, but by all the hells, does he want to try. This stolen, golden day isn’t nearly enough.

Perhaps he’s tipped his hand a little too far this time, but it’s true, it’s true. Ubi amor ibi fides, where there is love there is faith. Two hundred years of blood, cracked open on the altar, a broken heart that can’t afford to cry. He’s been abandoned by gods before. A faithful sunflower, ever turning to face you, held blissfully captive in your gravity. All that love that lights your path, that fills your world - would you let it be his, poor and pitiful as it is? Divinity. The crackle of a campfire, truth is faith is you.

Why, then…?

Don’t you notice it when he reaches out to you, palm upturned to help you down beside him? Weren’t you expecting him? Surely, surely he’s not done such a poor job as your fiancé that you didn’t think he’d want to hold your hand, that you’d choose some random shop girl over him.

I thought - I just-

Silently, he watches on as you step down from the riser, the phantom warmth of your hand in his. Does it matter? Of course not, of course not - how could you know that it even matters to him at all? You probably just don’t want to trouble him, or maybe you really didn’t see. It’s his own fault, after all, for trying to find meaning in the very charade he’s brought upon himself.

But I’m here, his traitor’s heart whispers, confused. Won’t you let me help you? What did I do?

So caught up in his own puzzled musings, he barely even notices it when the assistant mumbles something and runs off. The too-loud beat of your heart, the too-quiet sound of your breath, echoing through his skull.

“The - um, the embroidery. You can pick.”

Shit, shit, what’s wrong? You won’t even look at him now, eyes fixed somewhere over his shoulder, and you sound all - all sad…

“Are you sure, dear?” He won’t push it, not out here in front of everyone - no matter how much his empty arms ache to hold you, press his mouth to your temple, smooth away the tiny, worried creases in your skin with his thumb. “Wouldn’t you rather decide for yourself?”

“It’s fine.”

It’s worse than he thought. Before he can even do anything, you’re already backing away from him - inch by inch, step by step, like he won’t notice if you move slowly enough. You’re scared. “I’m sure you’re better at this than I am.”

You’re afraid - no scent of your blood in the air, no lingering taste of magic, but he’d know your fear anywhere. Fingers trembling ever so slightly, eyes forgetting to blink, pulse beating against your skin like a drum. Did someone hurt you? Say something to you? Fuck, he must have missed something. Who was it? Who was it? Tell him, and he’ll have them turned inside out before you can s-

The thought hits him like an arrow, cold shock spreading through his chest before it turns to horrified pain. He dismisses you with a nod that surely must look as wooden as it feels, unable to take his eyes off you as you scuttle away behind that damned curtain - but in his head he’s still half a mile away, replaying the last ten minutes in his head over and over in search of the thing he must have done wrong. One hand unconsciously comes up to his chest, just to make sure that the crater in his ribs hasn’t bled all over his front.

Broken heart, punctured lung. Are you afraid of him?

A low, stifled curse from the other side of the room brings him back with a jolt, and without really realising it, he’s already ducking through the curtain. Fingernails catching on velvet, still air, floorboard that creak underfoot. Something about forgiveness or permission, or one of those other things he never remembers to ask for.

“Let me.”

Quick fingers skimming across your back, undoing buttons, untying laces. Flashes of a thousand others in your place, pushed haphazardly to the back of his mind, gritting his teeth to stay, stay, stay. Seams tearing, lace ripping, buttons scattering across the floor - but that’s not right, he’s here with you, and you - and you-

“Careful.”

A quiet sort of affection, creeping up on him, the gentle blade that slots between his ribs and begs to stay buried there. Greedy, guilty hands, craving to ruin you, only knowing how to destroy. Protective, possessive, cursed for sure. Dread. Satisfaction, thick, dark blood smeared across his face, the carnage of his feast painted down your neck. The softness of your body, curved against his chest - desire, rich and syrupy, honey-sweet and terrifying in its sincerity.

“You and I, all alone. People might talk.”

I wish they would, whispers something in his head. I wish they knew - and I wish you knew too.

You feel your shared mouth open, but he doesn’t let you stay any longer - before past-him can reply, the scene dissolves into mist and falls away, leaving only Astarion looking back at you across the table.

“Clear enough for you, darling?”

The words crackle against your senses slightly, electric. You nod, left in something of a daze.

“Quite.”

You don’t say anything else, for a little while.

(Absentmindedly, you take a sip of your wine. It’s still not great, but it’s better than nothing.)

He’s on edge, fidgeting slightly in his seat, but it barely registers - your head is swirling with everything you’ve seen, everything he’s shown you. So he - so he had wanted this? It hadn’t been… everything he’d said…

It doesn’t make sense. How could he be so stupid?

You’re not good to love - you’re not good at love. Someone so precious, something so treasured. What could you possibly give him that he couldn’t find elsewhere? What do you have that he hasn’t seen a thousand times over?

You don’t know how to help him, or even where you could start. He ought to have someone he can trust with all those deepest, darkest parts of him, who understands him the way he doesn’t even know he needs, who knows just what to say, just when to listen. Someone confident and funny and kind, someone with the sort of love that’s warm and all-encompassing - a sunny summer’s day, a lighthouse in the storm. Sturdy, dependable, honourable. Safe. He deserves safe.

Instead, all you’ve got is a silly, reckless crush, a clumsy, gangly, unpracticed thing that you barely even know what to do with. Can you even call it love? Would he recognise it, if he saw it? Some trembling, pathetic infatuation, the best your body can do, thin and liquid in the marrow of your bones. Not blood, just water, filling but not full. Nothing that would satisfy him.

It’s not fair, it’s not fair. He’s lovely and he’s wicked and he’s clever, he’s cruel and he’s sweet and he’s made for so much more than you.

“I, um…”

He’ll thank you later. Not out loud, obviously - this is Astarion you’re talking about, after all - but he’ll know this is all for the best.

“Well, I’m very flattered, but…” Carefully, you arrange your face into what hopefully looks like sympathy, rather than pity. He’s clearly not in his right mind - he needs to think this is you offering to fix this together, rather than you letting him down gently. “Maybe this isn’t th-”

“Oh, for the love of - for once in your life, will you take the fucking hint?”

Reeling, your jaw drops as he practically shouts the words at you, hands slamming down onto the table with a thud.

“I didn’t even-!”

“No! No, you didn’t!” The tadpole in your head writhes as his mind opens to you once again, white-hot and shaking with rage. Does he even know he’s doing it? “Because you gave me that big, sad, I’m-so-sorry-I’m-so-useless look as you opened your silly little mouth, and I knew exactly what you were going to say!”

Snarling, biting, this must be what it’s like to be hunted by him. “So here’s what’s going to happen, darling - I am going to tell you what’s going on here, and you are going to sit there and listen, yes?”

Snap, snap, snap - he clicks his fingers insistently in front of your face when you don’t reply. “Yes?”

“Yes, mother,” you grumble, thoroughly chastised. “Listening.”

He narrows his eyes at the name, but lets it slide. Apparently, he’s got bigger fish to fry here.

“I am not a child.”

A thousand sarcastic replies flit through your head, most of them involving some variant of you’re right, a child wouldn’t be such a messy eater, but the murderous look he gives you as you open your mouth tells you that now might not be the time.

“I don’t need you to choose things for me. I don’t need you to tell me what to do,” he spits, fingernails biting into the wooden surface of the table. “I have had enough, of other people giving me orders, deciding things for me - do you hear me?”

His voice, low and bitterly cold. “You don’t get to be my master.”

There’s nothing you can really say to that, so you just nod, feeling slightly sick. Where’s he going with this - gods, what have you done?

“Oh? So you do understand!” he cries, throwing his hands up in the air in apparent frustration. “So it’s finally dawned on you, has it? You’re finally going to let me do what I want, is that it?”

“Yes,” you choke out, voice thin and cracking. “I - yes.”

“So if I told you I wanted to - to write a book about the uselessness of lockpicking, or let Gale turn me into a frog, or dye my hair purple, or something, you’d believe me? No matter how out of character you thought it was? You’d let me do it, even if you thought I’d lost my mind?”

There’s not even space to get a word in edgeways - he’s really, properly ranting now. “Or if I said I wanted to, um - oh, I don’t know, rob a bank, or run for mayor, or go into business writing terrible Sylvan love poetry - you’d believe me, yes? You’d say to yourself, oh, that Astarion, he’s big enough and bad enough to know what he wants, wouldn’t you?”

Another nod, a little bit more confused this time. Faerie love poetry? “I would.”

“Oh? Is that so? My, you sound awfully confident.” He feigns shock, one hand splayed mockingly across his chest. Sarcastic, almost jeering, a theatrical gasp.

“I must be so lucky, hm? To have someone who knows me so well, who trusts me to do whatever I want? Respecting me, caring about me, telling me that what I think matters?”

Something moving very fast - wine spilled all over the table with a clatter, a curse, a crescendo. “Well, then, dearheart - why can’t you seem to keep it in your ridiculous little head that I am in love with you?”

A beat.

“And before you say it - no, it’s not a joke, or whatever fool excuse you’re busy coming up with,” he snaps, pointing an accusing finger at you like it’ll keep the words from forming in your head. “I’m cruel, dear, but not that cruel.”

Sighing, he flicks his hand and the dripping, crimson wine stain soaking his sleeve disappears.

“Do close your mouth, sweetling,” he murmurs, reaching slowly across the table, pausing just before he can touch your face. “What did I tell you, hmm?”

“About my open mouth?”

Your voice is weak and the joke’s not your best, but you lean forward, letting him graze his fingers lightly across your jaw. “Not to make promises I can’t keep.”

“Gods. I really have taught you well.”

Words spill unbidden into your mind like oil, writhing in what might be fury or terror. Crawling into the strange, empty space that lies between you, dark and filled with agony, out of your body and inside your head.

Know me, see me - what a joke, that I should want to be seen at last, and by you, of all people. Are you there? Are you listening?

A thousand tiny moments, rushing past you in the current of his madness. You couldn’t make me do it, can’t you see? You couldn’t force me to love you - I have no need of force, not for you! It’s no pretence, it’s no game.

You couldn’t make me, but I did it anyway because it’s real, it’s all been real - why can’t you believe me? Do you think me so spiteful, so cruel, that I would do that to you?

Walls collapsing, worlds colliding. Where you go, he follows - always a step too slow, reaching out a second too late to find your hand already gone.

The words you think I wish to say, the pity and the scorn and the endless mockery that you imagine fills my head when I look at you. Is that what you want? Am I to be nothing but a hapless instrument of your own self-hatred, your own monstrous thoughts spilling from my lips, poisoning you with every word, every kiss?

My love, he wails, my love, my love. You’re so cruel to me.

Is this still only in your mind? The air is thick and close, seeping heavy into your skin. You make me sound so hateful, full of spite and loathing, bent on your destruction. Do you think me incapable of love - of loving you?

Tell me, savage darling of mine - tell this vicious, twisted creature that you say you see before you. Why can’t you believe that I could ever be in love with you?

Ragged, fevered fingernails tearing at the brickwork, half-mad with wanting. Ageing silk, soft and fragile as it frays. A whimper that might be a screech that might be a howl.

Why did I have to be a monster? he sobs, voice splintering and cracking - a phantom hand, all claws, desperately searching for your ankle. Couldn’t I have just been a man? Couldn’t I have just been in love with you for my own sake, because I care for you more than anyone I’ve ever known?

Please, my darling, I beg. Don’t make me this way.

You…

You don’t know what to say. Formless, faceless in this imagined space between - how would you speak, even if you tried? What words could reach his heart, could soothe this pain?

Whatever you say next, it can’t be a lie. Not again. He’ll know.

Paralysed with fear, but why? You like him. You want him, want to love him - and here he is, telling you that he feels the same. What’s the problem, then?

I’m scared.

The edge of the cliff, crumbling away beneath your boots. You know how to want love, but you don’t know how to do it - what does that even mean, for people like you two? How does it even work?

You don’t know what you don’t know, and it’s terrifying. Foolish and inexperienced - won’t he be ashamed of your clumsiness? He always seems so… so capable, so much bolder than you are. Confident, if a little too arrogant, and a healthy dose of vanity on top of that - ever unshaken, ever above it all. And yet, even in the moments when the act stretches too thin, when you can see it for the charade it is, it doesn’t matter. Astarion’s still miles beyond you, braver than you could imagine being.

He always seems to have an answer, he always seems to know. You’re embarrassed that you can’t match him.

I won’t - I can’t-

But that’s not all, is it?

He’s so precious to you. He matters, more than he thinks and more than you’ll admit, and he’s in pain. You don’t want him to be in pain. But you’re afraid that your love, weak and unpracticed as it is, won’t be enough to stop it.

Is it because you don’t want to see him hurt, or because you don’t trust yourself not to hurt him? He should want more, he shouldn’t settle for you. Selfish, lazy you, wanting but never deserving, complaining but never really trying. All these ugly, shameful parts of you that he must not know, or else he never would have said any of this.

Surely, he can’t know. Nobody could know all these things about you, and still pretend to love you the way he does.

And yet…

He says he doesn’t suffer fools, and you’ve seen him threaten to stab enough of them that you know it’s true. He says he doesn’t waste his time on things he doesn’t care about, that he doesn’t bother with anything he doesn’t like, and yeah, those also seem to be threatened with stabbing on an alarmingly-regular basis. So maybe it’s more about the propensity for knives than any particular economy of affection, but even so - you still believe him, don’t you?

He’s a liar. It’s the one thing he’ll always tell the truth about. But now, knowing what you know, you’re starting to think that’s not quite right either.

It all comes back to fear. Scared that it’s not true, that he’ll change his mind, that he was lying the whole time. Scared that you’ll be hurt, that you’ll hurt him, that he really is as cruel as he thinks he is. Can you do it? Trust him when he says you’re enough for him, that you’re what he wants? Trust him, when he says he means it?

It’s too much.

Your messy, sticky heart. A breathless, fluttering creature, laden with roses and sick with love.

I don’t want to get it wrong.

A cool hand cups your cheek, and the world comes back to you.

Stinging, your eyes open - weren’t they already open? - to find Astarion close, much closer than he was before. While you weren’t looking, he must have moved, but how on earth did he…?

“Steady on, darling. My eyes are up here.”

However he did it, Astarion looks down at you from where he’s perched in your lap, sitting sideways across your legs with one arm around your shoulders to keep himself balanced. Slowly, he coaxes your face up from the floor to look at him, fingers pressing into the softness of your cheek.

“Ah, that’s better. There you are.”

He doesn’t look angry, as you’d feared. Maybe pleased is the right word? No, that sounds too much like self-satisfied - not reverent, that’s too grand, and not proud either. It’s something softer than just happy, something contented and uncharacteristically tender. Charmed, perhaps.

Slightly awkwardly, you quietly clear your throat. Your body hasn’t cried, but it feels like your mind has, and the gap between the two is kind of disconcerting.

“I’m sorry.”

Astarion tilts his head, pretty eyes faintly confused, but you carry on. “It’s just a bit… you know. There’s a lot.”

Your hand stutters as it waves stiffly through the air in front of you, like that’ll somehow help you say what you mean. Everything that’s happened today, everything you’ve done, all summed up in some inept little gesture in your lap.

Luckily, he seems to understand well enough. With a sigh, he leans forward until his head is resting on yours, pulling you gently towards him to settle your head against the curve of his throat, safe in his embrace. Without really realising it, your arms find his middle, settling loosely around his waist in return.

“You know, I think I’ve changed my mind,” he says slowly, fingers tapping idly against your skin. “I think we do have time, after all.”

Bemused, you frown against his shoulder. “Time for what?”

Another memory, teased out of your brain by the tadpole. A sun-filled street, and a plan that couldn’t possibly go wrong.

What say you, dearest? Fancy an evening as my beloved?

Even now, you find yourself smiling at his overblown antics, the cocky flick of his wrist as he took your hand and kissed it. You could at least ask me properly, you know.

We’ve no time for courtship, sweetheart… Did he sound quite so mournful the first time? Or do you just remember it that way? I simply must have you - and tonight, no less!

“Let me ask you again, darling,” the real Astarion asks you. Well, with his chin resting lightly on top of your head, he more so asks your hair, but the meaning is clear. “Properly, this time.”

“Mmm…”

Is it a tiny bit mean of you, to make him wait? Probably, but he likes it when you’re mean. “You’ll have to convince me…”

“Oh?” Of course, he plays along, with a smirk that you don’t have to see to recognise. “Then set the scene for me, dear. However shall I win your hand?”

It takes a few long seconds for you to settle on an idea, fingers absentmindedly tapping against his back. This is nice.

“Tell me how it’s supposed to be,” you say, warm words against cold skin. “Tell me how this should have gone.”

“Well, it wouldn’t start like this, certainly,” he declares, tracing tiny, maybe-unconscious circles on the floor with the toe of his boot. “I wonder how we would have met? Something grand, I’m sure…”

He makes some gesture you can’t see, painting the picture in the air. “Perhaps a ball, or a gala, the kind they have in the Upper City - ooh, maybe in the foyer of an opera house or a theatre or something.”

“How… refined.”

“Oh, it would be terribly dull, I assure you,” he replies. “You’d have been to a thousand of these things before, and you’d be bored out of your skull.”

You can’t help but laugh at the way the words fall out of his mouth, full of longing and yet totally blasé. “And you’d save me from it, I assume?”

“Naturally.” Astarion runs a practised hand through his hair, adjusting himself in your lap slightly so he doesn’t fall. “I’d catch sight of you across the room and be utterly captivated by your beauty, darling. Then, I’d bring you a glass of wine and make some excuse to get you talking, and we’d spend the rest of the evening being absolutely awful about everyone else there.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Oh, you can’t help yourself - you have to stretch up a bit awkwardly, but you lean up to kiss his cheek, just once. Maybe twice. “Then what?”

He hums, deep in careful consideration. “I suppose I’d have to - oh, we’d both be living in the Upper City, by the way - I suppose I’d have to find your family’s home the next morning.”

“Bold, don’t you think?” you ask with a grin. “It’s barely been half a day since we met.”

He scoffs. “Like that would matter to me. They might show me into the drawing room, but they wouldn’t let me see you - I fear I might make quite a scene, you know. I’d stay as long as I could, waiting for you to come downstairs, and I wouldn’t leave until I’d begged permission to court you properly.”

The image of Astarion in all his finery pops into your head, perched defiantly on the sofa in the lavish drawing room of some imagined townhouse in Baldur’s Gate, arguing with the maid as she tries to shoo him away - it’s so ridiculous, and yet so absolutely him. Who else would turn up on your doorstep and elbow his way into the parlour, setting himself in the middle of the furniture like he owns it, and refusing to leave without an offer of courtship from the family?

“And what’s so funny about that?” He pretends to be affronted as you muffle your laugh into his shoulder, but there’s no heat in it. “Don’t tell me you’d keep me waiting, now.”

“Never, my love,” you proclaim, thoroughly charmed. “Once I heard the racket from downstairs, you wouldn’t be able to keep me away.”

“Racket - you think I’d be making a racket, darling? In what world?” he gasps. “I’ll have you know I’m the very picture of politeness. Very subtle. You wouldn’t even know, unless I wanted you to.”

“Right, right, subtle…” You nod exaggeratedly, taking in his perfect look of offended outrage. “And I assume that’s why the picture of politeness is sitting on my lap and trying to get his hands up my shirt in the middle of a tavern?”

Cold hands freeze against your sides, skin against skin, and you grin. Got him. “Nice try, though. I was almost convinced.”

“Of my subtlety? I’m sure I could persuade you...” He raises an eyebrow down at you, gaze dark with half-hidden promise. “You don’t think I could be quiet?”

“I’d be disappointed if you were. You mean you wouldn’t let me hear you?” You’re deliberately disappointed, a little whiny in the way you know he understands - a familiar dance, made all the sweeter by the fresh excitement of this new air between you. If he wants to play the game, you’ll play too. “Besides, I thought you liked it loud.”

“Oh, I do,” he breathes, one hand sneaking out from under your shirt, index finger pressing softly against the underside of your chin to keep your eyes on him. “Especially when you’re the one offering, darling.”

See, now you're speaking his language. “Who said I’d offer you anything?”

“Please. You wouldn’t get the chance, dear,” he scoffs, unfairly handsome in his arrogance. “Offering it to me? No, no. You’ll be begging me, pretty thing, and you’ll like it.”

The way he shifts to resettle himself in your lap is certainly no accident, and you really have to fight to keep your gaze up - you can just about keep looking at his face, but you can’t quite stop yourself from staring at his lips as he continues. “So how about it, hm? Would you be loud for me, my sweet?”

“I - well, I…” Your thoughts melt into nothing as the hand under your shirt slips just barely higher, words stuttering and faltering on your tongue. Curse his stupid face, curse his awful voice, curse his ridiculous hair and his strong hands and his pretty smile and his sweet kisses…

“Mm, I think you could be,” he muses, smug like the cat that’s got the cream. “I’d ask you very nicely, you know. And you’d be good for me, wouldn’t you? If I asked you nicely?”

The tadpole twitches behind your eye, the heat of something liquid and indulgent, a tantalising taste. Half memories, half dreams. Clever hands keeping you close in the middle of a crowded market, pulling you into a side street, pressing you hungrily up against the brick. The swish of a soft curtain, voices just outside, quiet now, darling, or do you want them to hear? Soft and warm and sweating, a trail of fabric in your wake - closer and closer, snatched up in his arms and - and-

Words, you have to say words - dizzily, your hazy mind latches onto whatever it can find. “Nicely?”

“Yes, honey. Nicely,” he sings through a wicked smile, faintly condescending in a way that really shouldn’t be as attractive as it is. “That’s right, sweetheart. Very good.”

He knows he’s got the upper hand and he’s just trying to get a rise out of you, that’s all. You’re not going to fall for it, you’re not. Was it always this warm in here?

“Look at you, darling. Feeling a little hot, are we?”

The flash of fangs as he presses the back of his free hand to your cheek, blessed coolness, before sliding it down your neck to toy with the collar of your shirt.

“You should have said something, poor thing. I know a way we could cool you down.”

He looks thoughtful for a second, expression pensive before it melts back into a smirk. “Well. Maybe not straight away. But I’d get you out of all these layers, at least…”

Promises, promises. Your hummingbird heart, fluttering out of control. Graceful fingers picking at your collar, digging playfully into the softness of your waist, skimming across the skin. Don’t think about it, don’t think about it…

“You want to do this here?” If you sound a little more out of breath than normal, which you’re not saying you are, then that’s neither here nor there. “Whatever happened to biding your time?”

“It’s your many charms, my darling,” he replies, endearingly - um, infuriatingly ready with a comeback, leaning down to kiss just beside your eye. “A man can only resist so long.”

“Bastard.”

“Mm, I love you too.”

The self-satisfied look is quickly wiped off his face by the bitterness of his wine - he takes one last sip before disgustedly dumping the rest of his cup into yours. “Gods, this stuff is vile - let's be off, darling, before anyone tries to palm another bottle off on us.”

Pushing himself up off your lap, he turns back with a neat little bow, palm upturned to help you out of your chair. “Delightful as the company may be, life is far too short to spend it drinking such dreadful wine.”

“This from he, the undying.”

“And I wouldn't waste another second of my undeath on it,” he sniffs, pulling you gently to your feet and brushing imaginary dust from his shirt. “I’ll have you know, being dead is no excuse for subpar drinks.”

“Your idea of a nice drink is human blood, dear,” you reply dryly as you pick your roses up off the windowsill, paper crinkling in your hands. “I’m not sure you're exactly an authority on the matter.”

Astarion rolls his eyes as he picks up his bag, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “Touché, my love, touché.”

He leads you back through the tavern, stepping across to hold the door open for you. The barkeep lifts a hand in farewell, and as you go to do the same, something glitters in the sunlight coming in through the open doorway.

It’s true, it’s true. Sweet relief and incredible terror all at once, resolving into something bright and brave and fizzing. Where there is love, there is faith. Is this what stories feel like? Wanting and wanted, a kiss that’s a dance that’s a promise.

Thin gold, red light. Amorie ent vivas est ma vie.

“...Darling? Hello?”

Startled out of your reverie, you look up just as Astarion raises an eyebrow, amused, motioning towards the door. “Some time today, my sweet.”

“Right, right, yes…”

Hastily, you duck out of the doorway and step out onto the street, bathed in the warm light of the late afternoon. Astarion follows, offering you his arm with a flourish, and you take it gladly.

“Where to next, then?” you ask, falling easily into step.

He shrugs, gesturing in front of the pair of you with a wry smile. “Why, wherever the road may take us, of course! We’re free as birds, dear - the very world is our oyster.”

“Back to the others then.”

“Well, yes.”

“Thought so.” Wordlessly, you turn to head back through the market, a little less noisy than this morning but still busy enough. “Unless you were planning on throwing even more of your money at the flower boy, that is.”

He gives you a playful nudge, discreetly shifting you both to the right to dodge a man walking the other way with an enormous crate of apples. “Don’t tempt me, dear. Five minutes to acquire the necessary funds, and you’ll be walking home with more than an armful of roses.”

“Planting me a garden, are you?”

“You’ll have a veritable meadow, my sweet,” he replies like it’s nothing, grand as you like. “As many as there’s room for, and one more for good measure.”

His free hand reaches across to yours, lifting it to his lips and kissing it like a prince from a storybook - it’s almost embarrassing how much it gets to you, and you’re sure he can hear your heart speeding up at his touch. “You’d never buy perfumes or oils again, if I had my way - in fact, you’d be hard-pressed to wash the smell of roses off of you, my love.”

Oh, you can’t let him off that easily. “They’d be roses, would they?” you ask, thinly feigning disinterest, although the effect is somewhat lost when you have to speak up a bit to be heard over the woman hawking fish just behind you. “So cliché.”

He lets out a tortured sigh, pained expression on his pretty face. “It happens to the best of us, I’m afraid.”

“You’re right, it does,” you muse. “Can’t imagine why it’s happened to you, then.”

“Oh, you-!”

He makes a grab for you, but you’re already gone, slipping out of his grasp and away into the crowded market, ducking through the gaps between the stalls and laughing as he chases after you. “Get back here, you villain!”

It’s a doomed endeavour - you know he’ll catch you, but you run anyway. Weaving in and out of the crowd, he’s never far behind. Fingertips that just barely brush the back of your shirt, shouted threats that grow more and more ridiculous each time you twist away.

“When I catch you-!”

If he wanted to, he’d have you in an instant, but it’s not about that, is it? The chase, the catch, the game. It’s the one you love to play, and you love it even more when you lose.

“There you are, darling.”

Rose petals flutter in your wake, a ruby glitters on your finger. Cold hands pull you close, and the sky, the sky, the sky.

masterlist

this is an original work by @gingerbreadmonsters - please do not repost or misattribute

#baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #bg3 astarion #bg3 tav #ginger writes #gingerbreadmonsters

[gallusrostromegalus]

oh my god I am frothing at the mouth PLEASE tell us about how Unohana is SO WEIRD ACTUALLY

(her reveal is my favorite thing in the whole series and I was obsessed with Bleach for a good long time)

I love Unohana. She's magnificently insane and deliciously fun to write so far.

My take on AEIWAM Unohana is that fundamentally, she just wants to be happy.

Oh, that doesn't sound too nuts. I hear you say.

Yeah, but I also headcanon that she has ADHD. We joke a lot about it on this site, but if you have the good fortune to have functioning dopamine factories, allow me to explain the worst part of it, for me.

There's no passive happiness.

Most people, as I understand it, if left to their own devices without undue stressors like capitalism or any particular stimulation, tend to be able to feel pretty okay most of the time. Which fascinates me because if I am left alone without undue stressors but no stimulation, my malfunctioning dopamine factories will shut down and I will rapidly develop a terrible black depression and paranoia that life is cruel and I will never experience happiness again and also my appetite vanishes and sleep cycle collapses and I will end up mentally and physically distraught, sometimes in less than an hour.

So I've always got to be doing something, or The Horrors get me.

So imagine Unohana, and with a brain that wants to die if she gets bored... living in fantasy magical ancient japan. Not much to do, out in the early days of the soul society, besides being attatcked by monsters, or participating in warfare, or starving to death. the first two, at least, get the blood pumping, but the first is difficult to come by regularly, so as a young woman, the most interesting thing that happens to her on the regular is Mortal Combat.

And how exciting it is! Adrenaline! Dopamine! And on the rare occasions she meets a fellow combat enthusiast, she also gets one of the best things about ADHD- Recognition Responsive Euphoria. You know that great feeling you get at Con or meeting another person with your special interest and you guys just VIBE and it feels like you've been best friends for life in less than five minutes? Yeah, apparently Non-ADHD people don't get that.

So naturally, she develops her skill in combat, not in pursuit of Honor or The Art or something nebulous like, that, but in the simple Pursuit of Happiness. She gets very good at it, and a lot of people die.

But she starts getting... too good at it. The fights don't last, there's nobody willing- let alone able, to meet her on her level and the previous joy she felt fades and fades until she is once again left in the darkness.

Then, a Miracle happens! Some punk stabs her in the lung :)

Man, what an evening for her. Kills a hundred men with barely a stroke and there's no more joy in the world for her when suddenly some barely-legal scarecrow looking bastard with a raggedy sword he pulled out of someone else's corpse appears at the top of the pile of bodies and then goes Ape. Fucking. Shit. on her.

It's the most fun she's had in ages! He's strong and fast and his moves are inefficient but delightfully unpredictable and by the GODS the STAMINA! Alright, she might be 1,000 years his senior but in the soul society age really is just a number and she can't help but be charmed.

So she flirts back by nearly cutting his face off. This DELIGHTS him!

And there it is again, that sudden feeling of intimacy between like-minded individuals, only these two ships aren't passing in the night, there' here to make Titanic 2: Electric Boogaloo. They make eye contact, and know-they're just like me.

True Love is a wonderful thing.

It's also a great opportunity for a surprise thrust and she only sort of manages to block it, and despite the feeling of blood pooling in her lung, she returns the blow full across his chest.

She staggers back, coughing.

He, miraculously, sits up, coughing. He won't die if he can crawl off somewhere to lick his wounds, but he can't continue the fight either.

She stands up, teeth gritted through the pain, and sheathes Minazuki. "What's your name?" She asks. "So I may find you to fight again."

"Don't have one." he wheezes. "But I'll never forget yours."

She's had men spit that as a threat to her before. It sounds very different as a declaration of love.

"Yachiru." she says, trying to not cough up blood. "Unohana Yachiru."

*

A Year later, there's a problem.

Soul Society has a bit of a problem with lungs. They can make entire fake bodies for shinigami to travel the living world, but individual organs, especially lungs... never seem to transplant well. Perhaps it's the fact they're already dead.

Her left lung is "healed" in the sense that it no longer has extraneous holes in it, but... Godsdammit, she still has all the power but none of the stamina. Barely 10 minutes into a fight and she's wheezing worse than The Old Man. 20 minutes and her hands are starting to shake and she's seeing spots in her eyes because she can't breathe well enough to keep the oxygen in her veins. Her fights usually last seconds so functionally she's still one of the most powerful people in the afterlife but it's a far cry from where she was before.

She can no longer be the 11th division's Kenpachi. Hell, she can no longer be the woman she was before.

"Unless you figure out some new medical miracles, this is as healed as it's going to get." Explains the chief medical officer after yet another frustrating checkup.

"...If that's what it takes." She decides.

The next morning she re-enrolls in the Shinigami Academy, under the name Unohana Retsu. The sole change she makes to her appearence is to braid her hair down the front of her chest because people WILL ask about the scar, and she doesn't want to think about how badly she's letting down that warrior with no name.

Either she needs to learn how to get back to his level, or find a new rival and learn to heal them to actually last the 20 minutes she has, or she'll die.

She studies.

To her vast surprise, bodies are actually fascinating. She'd previously seen that there were lots of interesting organs inside people but now learning what they are and how they work and the fact that the human body is already astonishingly death-resistant compared to most animals AND a carefully balanced meat sculpture minutes away from catastrophic failure at all times delights. She learns about the extreme ways humans can survive and the bizarrely mundane ways they can die, and she starts to form an idea- not an image, not a philosophy per se- but a working theory of how to keep someone alive and moving for as long and far as they will go, and what they need to stay upright.

This idea shines so brightly that it can keep that terrible darkness away.

The century practically flies by, and one night she stays up manually pumping the mechanism on a device used to keep the also-failing lungs of a young boy going after the power goes out. He's been blessed by A God that he's lived as long as he has, but even Gods can fuck up sometimes and she effectively has to breathe for him for twelve hours until the God gets its shit back together and he can breathe under his own power again.

"Hell of a fight you put in, keeping him alive." says one of her colleagues, collapsing beside her out in the 4th division medical garden where all the doctors go to smoke.

Retsu slowly exhales the smoke, fatigued but still coming down from the high of success. She cocks her head. Her body aches and her mind races and her heart thrills, just like- "I guess it was. " she realizes. "Interesting fight, going 12 hours in the ring with a dying child and winning because he walked away at the end." She laughs, and hands him the cigarette to share.

"You weirdo." he colleague laughs. He's far too young to remember when she was Yachiru. Most of them are these days, and it's a weird sort of peaceful anonymity and personal joke. "You weren't fighting the kid. If we were actually allowed to fight patients, I'd've stabbed the Kuchki hypochondriac decades ago." he grumbles, taking his own drag.

She snorts. "Who was I fighting then?"

"Death?" smoke billows out as he laughs, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

She freezes. Oh. Oh. That's why she likes this so much. She's gone from fighting mere men to the one opponent she knows she can win battles with, but never the war, and who will defeat her personally someday.

"Are. Are you crying?" he asks, a little worried.

"I- yes." She laughs, tears streaming down her face. "I just fell in love all over again."

"Ouch." he nods sympathetically, offering her the cigarette back. "Who with?"

"Death's own Angel, apparently." She giggles, feeling positively prepubescent with this crush.

And thus she goes on, for centuries, learning everything there is to know about bodies and minds and how the two keep each other going and the ways she can help. She gets very good at it, and a many more people do not die.

But there is a special, secret place in her heart for that nameless warrior that defeated her in battle, and made her stronger than every before.

*

Nearly 1,000 years after she stopped being Kenpachi, she is supervising the annual "see if you can kill the captain" tournament. Her colleague Kaname is there, a walking anxiety disorder with undoubtedly real but strangely hard to diagnose phantom pains, but he's still easily in her top 10 coworkers of all time because he made her a new medical record filing system so functional they were actually able to recataloge three millennia of medical records into a usable format in under a decade. He can come twitching into her office any time he likes, especially if it gets her that mass vaccination process for the Rukongai he's been biting The Old Man's heels for.

Then

as suddenly as he had appeared the first time,

He's back.

He's older now and larger, having matured into a spectacular bastard, but there's no mistaking that cutting edge on his reiatsu (which, oh, that has gotten much, much stronger since last time) or that scar running down his face as he turns from where he had just cleft the previous Kenpachi in twain, and stares out into the crowd in the shower of blood, challenging anyone to do something about it. Hell, even when Yamamoto appears to congratulate him on his promotion, Death's own angel's first reaction is to turn to fight the old man without hesitation.

He then promptly picks three different fights with four captains in under five minutes, tells Yamamoto to shove the job up his ass, imply he's had a WILD collection of vocations in the last millennium and furthermore, he has to get home to his daughter.

...Named Yachiru.

Hilariously, Unohana is only having the second weirdest time about this here, because Kaname and Kenpachi are, somehow, even weirder than she is.

#AEIWAM #An Elephant Is Warm And Mushy #Everyone in this fic is a freak and I'm having a great time

[thesensteawitch]

Why Do You Keep Attracting Woundmates?

❤️‍🩹🗣️⚡

Pick A Pile Reading

(Left to Right-- Pile 1, Pile 2, Pile 3)

Hello, Senstea Souls!

I hope you are all doing well. Today I am here with a collective reading that will make you aware of your own wounds and subconscious beliefs that affects your every and any kind of relationship in life.

If you want to book a personal tarot reading with me then feel free to drop a message in Tumblr inbox.

Pile 1

Tarot Cards- The Lovers, The High Priestess, The Moon, Knight of Cups, Three of Wands, Two of Wands, Five of Wands, Nine of Swords

Bottom of the deck- The Magician

Hello, my beautiful pile 1. Take a deep breath and then start reading. Why I am saying this is because you are terribly afraid of messing things up. Some of you might have been afraid to choose the wrong pile too. But this is what you need to understand that you can always choose again in every aspect of life. You can make new decisions. There's a saying that goes like this, “sometimes the wrong train takes us to the right destination.” So who knows until you make a decision, right? You do see a choice to finally break this pattern of staying with a wound mate or keep attracting them but you can't act on it because you have caged yourself subconsciously. Your own thoughts pull you in two different directions. You can't let go of a particular idea of connection. You approach people from the place of lack and you only attract someone who lacks to water your soul the way it needs. For some of you, I also sense sleepless nights or insomnia. Look pile 1 life is about balance. If you think you'll lose a part of yourself in the process then that's absolutely not true. In fact, you will find your true personality. You are afraid of your own magic that it might cause havoc. You feel you are not ever going to do things right but that's so not true. We all make mistakes and that's how we learn. Mistakes are normal, perfectionism is not. I also see that this fear of doing everything wrong arises from a past hurt. I feel people blamed you when things went wrong when it wasn't your fault at all. So now you don't want to act or make a decision because you feel you are going to make everything worse eventually. And you know that letting go of a woundmate will also cause drama and you don't want that. You don't want to be blamed or listen to accusations. I hear, “You never treat yourself right darling but I want you to.” There are little things about you that are admiring. It doesn't matter if people from the past did not appreciate you for all the little things you did for them or how they just ignored how observant you are. That no detail can ever miss your sight. You have become perfectionist and this furthermore is a reason that you can't stand up and take a decision until you feel you're in control and everything around you is too. But pile 1 don't you see that you are creating misery for yourself? It's so heavy on your mind! I would say that make it messy because I know you'll clear the mess without a crumble left behind. That's your power! Don't try to keep the peace. Start wars if someone or something tries to overpower you. Life is a gift don't let others tell you how to handle it. It's yours for a reason. There's a reason why YOU AND ONLY YOU get to be born on a certain date and time. Honor the differences we have but do not let your shine die for others' sake. Some of you are strong manifestors but you are unknowingly using it the wrong way. Don't manifest the worst, manifest the best things possible. You do the right thing and know that the divine will take care of the rest. Don't give in to your desires but listen to your intuition. Looking at your intellect I can say that you deserve better pile 1.

To know how to love yourself and break this cycle book a self love reading with me only at $6.

Pile 2

Tarot Cards- 3 of Cups, Knight of Wands, Queen of Swords, The Hierophant, Strength, Judgement, The Hermit, Three of Wands

Bottom of the deck- 5 of Cups

Hello, my beautiful pile 2. Well in your reading I strongly sense a need to be socially accepted and this is the reason you try to bend yourself and dance to the rhythm that others love. You have this very strong desire to find your place in society. You think you are doing the right thing but you are not. You have such a distinct thought process and you have seen people abandoning you for the way you think and how you are, so now you're hiding your true self thinking it has some flaw. I hear, “This dancing was killing me softly I needed to lose you to love me.” This is the message from your guides. They are asking you to show who you are. I don't know but I see that some of you may be good singers or have attractive voices. You are not using it because you know your words can bruise others. Maybe try changing the way you speak. Assertiveness doesn't mean that you need to be harsh. You can say the right thing without being rude. I sense Leo, Libra, and Aquarius' energy. Maybe you have Leo placements in your chart. Life may ask you to stay alone and contemplate to finally step into your true shoes. Please do it. Don't be hesitant. The Hermit phase is needed to make the best use of your voice and finally break this cycle of attracting wound mates. In a happy moment, you may think that you're being yourself and everything is going well. Exactly amidst that moment look within and ask yourself if you are saying the truth or being your truest self and I am sure the answer will be no. You just leave your soul behind and wear this fake mask and laugh like nothing's wrong. This won't work pile 2. I must tell you that your circle is strongly impacting your career. I hear, “It's so sad to think about good times.” Once you see what you've done to yourself in the process of being accepted you're gonna have so many bad bloods. These kinds of wounds will catch up to you. You need a rebirth. When you see the truth, a new personality of yours will emerge. It will feel like the Universe gave you a new chance. Some of you may go through throat infections often or always feel like words never come out of your mouth. Start speaking your truth pile 2. Claim your space in this world. Do not adjust. Compromise isn't okay let me tell you that. When you work on yourself you'll come across so much grief that you haven't processed. It might feel difficult to overcome the grief but that is exactly when you'll find your strength. So if you are asking God to give you strength to break the wounded bonds then go through the pain. You will find your strength in the pain. Don't be a peacemaker because I don't see anybody keeping your peace! Your outer persona may seem so calm but I see there's rage inside. All that rage is because of the disappointments that you had to go through at the cost of showing who you are. For a very few of you, the transformation has already begun. May God give you the strength to overcome this challenge and find your truth.

To know how to love yourself and break this cycle book a self love reading with me only at $6.

Pile 3

Tarot Cards- The Lovers, The High Priestess, Two of Swords, Seven of Cups, Ace of Swords, The Star, Four of Pentacles, Five of Swords

Bottom of the deck- Knight of Pentacles

My beautiful pile 3 while shuffling your cards I heard, “I want change!” Change is coming for pile 3. You might be experiencing disconnection from wound mates in your life. You are finally seeing what has been hidden from you until now. You have always been shown the wrong picture. Maybe some of you were even manipulated in the past. Your soul desires stability from relationships but all you have been getting is this constant change of narratives. People change their words or deny the truth. This eclipse season has been very crucial for you guys. You are joining the dots and trying to understand intellectually what was going on in your relationships. I hear the song Night Changes. You are finally seeing or are about to see where things really went wrong. Answers are coming to you and will bring hope and clarity to your life. You will not be confused anymore. You will see things clearly, pile 3. These last few days of October are bringing you an answer. So pay attention if you want to stop attracting wound mates and change your subconscious beliefs. Remember to slow down and don't rush the answers. The rush to find a friend or a partner has kept you in the dark. I hear, “You could break my heart in two but when it heals it beats for you...I could fight but what's the use?” You need to follow a daily routine these days that can provide you with comfort and stability because currently or soon you will be going through unstable situations that will bring transformation. You are already coming out of the cycle. But you're still in your cocoon and to finally come out as a butterfly will take time. That's why I am saying don't rush or try to push things. Stay stable. If you have been wishing for something for a very long time then know it's coming true. A blessing is coming your way. You will soon be free from this cycle. That's amazing. Congratulations, pile 3! You're more powerful than you imagine. Don't think you're fragile. You're not in the dark you're being planted. The growth will happen, things will change. Give time. Have patience. Hold onto hope and people close to you. Spend some money on you, you deserve it. Rest as much as you can during this time. Don't hold back from nourishing your mind, body, and soul. Whatever answer comes to you handle it calmly. Don't act impulsively. I also sense that you were always an option in someone's life. This is why I am saying when you come out of this cycle and finally see your wound you will find someone stable and who would take the time to know you. But before that know yourself.

To know how to love yourself and break this cycle book a self love reading with me only at $6.

Links:

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#old wounds #tarot reading #tarot cards #pick a pile reading #pac reading #pick a card #pick one #free tarot reading #tarot readings #tarot reader #tarot #tarottribe #tarot community #pick a pile

[forgotten-realm5]

That's all I needed to hear

(image from sorryseraphim)

Gortash x Dark Urge/f!Reader

Warnings & summary: MDNI, 18+, pre-tadpole, After a successful crown heist you realise you have feelings for Gortash, but not wanting to be just like every other conquest you make him work for it. (i suck at summaries), dominant!durge, magical restraint, masturbation (f), sorcerer durge, unprotected sex, p in v, biting, blood, choking, name calling.

Words: around 2K

Notes: This is my first attempt at writing smut ahhhh! i just wanted to try and contribute to this amazing community of BG3 fans, your artwork and writings have given me life. Gortash has taken up residence in my mind and won't leave so enjoy my brainrot ! Even if just one person enjoys this I will die happy.

The crown heist was a success. A feeling of pride and power courses through your body as you consider your partnership with Lord Enver Gortash and the full extent of what can be achieved when you work together as equals. Equals… a term that has never been used to describe you. As a child of Bhaal, you were constantly reminded by your father of your mortality compared to his omnipotence. Your mind ponders at the Chosen of Bane’s use of the word to describe your newly affirmed partnership, as he sits across you with a triumphant smirk on his face. You realise that he may be the first person to actually see you and your true worth, not just a mere slave to your father’s wishes. Never in your life have you felt a connection like the one between Gortash and yourself, the way you seem to complement each other and how he does not shy away from the darkest parts of your soul but instead welcomes it. You realise you are falling for him and feel frightened for the first time in your life, unsure of what to do, unsure whether he feels it too.

You come back to reality and realise Gortash is watching you expectantly waiting for a response to his question. When you don’t answer his face morphs into one of concern. You push your internal thoughts of love and lust to the back of your mind and focus on the object of your desire.

“Are you feeling alright my dear?”

“Just tired, what were you saying? you answer as your cheeks start to flush at being caught out.

“I was just raising a glass to us and the fine job we did in acquiring the Crown of Karsus. We are now one step closer to seeing our plan complete” Gortash explains while pouring a glass of wine and sliding it towards your side of the table.

You take the goblet of wine and raise it “To us and the future of our partnership”.

Gortash chuckles his eyes darkening slightly as he responds “Yes the future of our partnership indeed”.

You noticed his eyes roam over your body and then settle of your lips. You were concerned with your own feelings tonight but didn’t stop to examine his. Now that you think about it he may be trying to seduce you, as it was his idea to have a private celebratory dinner in his room.

Gortash sets down his goblet and walks around the table to come to a stop in front of you. He reaches down and offers his hand to pull you to your feet. You let your eyes roam his body. He is wearing his usual dark attire, but without his formal jacket you can see the lines of his strong chest and muscular arms. Your eyes settle the longest on the front of his shirt where it is has been opened to reveal chest hair you always longed to brush your hands through. Your eyes then focus on his mouth and his full lips, and you imagine taking them between your teeth. You bite your own lips with longing and reach forward to take his offered hand while you stand from your chair. You finally raise your eyes to his, and notice him watching you intensely. You can read him well after all these years, but tonight you see a slight apprehension to him that is unusual.

“Come stand by the window with me” Gortash guides you to the main window in the room, overlooking all of Baldur’s Gate and the lands beyond. It was a clear night, the moon shining bright illuminating the streets and people below. Gortash takes your hand in his and gestures with his other to the city below.

“Very soon all of this will be ours to rule together” He pauses and locks eyes with you.

“You look very beautiful in the moonlight”.

Gortash waits for you to respond with lust filling his own eyes. You know he is used to getting what he wants, taking on a dominate persona in all things. You knew this encounter was a long time coming as he had been nothing but a flirt since the first time you met. Looking at him in the candlelight, you decide you don’t want to be just another easy conquest, you want to be the one to make him beg.

Stepping closer to him you soften your voice to a sultry tone. 

“And you’re looking just as delicious” while your hand reaches up to caress his exposed chest through his shirt. It’s just as you always imagined, soft and warm. Gortash chuckles and then smirks at you and slowly, seductively he grabs the hand on his chest and brings it up to his mouth to kiss at the pulse point on your wrist, all the while not taking his eyes off you.

Your eyes shine with approval and he takes that as encouragement to lean forward and capture your lips. The kiss is an explosion of past longing coming to a head. You feel his stubble against your skin as you grab his face to deepen the kiss, his hands move to grip your hips. His mouth tastes of red wine and you inhale his lingering scent of incense and soap. Just as you are both about to pull apart to breathe again, you grab his bottom lip between your teeth and bite hard enough it breaks the skin causing Gortash to moan with approval. You lick the blood off his lips and move away from his embrace.

Gortash looks at you, his face flush with arousal.

“Gods you’re perfect, I can’t wait to hear how you moan my name”.

“All in good time, but first I want to hear you beg for me ” you smirk at the surprise on Gortash’s face, he narrows his eyes but answers with a hint of amusement.

"I don’t beg."

“We’ll see about that”. You motion for him to follow you back to the dining room and forcefully push him into a chair. He is watching you with enjoyment, his eyes following your every move. You stand in front of him close enough that your knees are touching and look down at the noticeable bludge in his pants, you smirk to yourself thinking this will be easier than you thought.

“Looks like someone enjoys a bit of pain” you tease him.

“Only if you’re the one delivering it” Gortash counters.

“Is that so?” you draw out. “You don’t have to hide it, I know you’re a kinky fuck”.

Before he has time to respond you grab his throat and crash your mouth to his. He moans loudly and you can feel yourself becoming increasingly wet listening to his responses. Gortash tries to grab at you to pull you on to his lap but you pull away, and take a step backwards, enjoying teasing him. You quickly cast hold person so he can’t move his body. Gortash chuckles at your use of a restraint and has an amused and hungry look on his face while you start to take off your clothes in front of him. Now standing in front of him completely nude his eyes roam the curves of your body, his face in awe of your physique.

“Come here so I can touch you." You note a slight hint of neediness in his voice that only spurs you on.

“That doesn’t sound like begging to me."

You note his slight annoyed expression and laugh. You then start to move your hands slowly down your body taking time to cup your breasts and play with your pointed nipples. His eyes are glued on your hands.

“Let’s see how long the Chosen of Bane can hold out for” you tease.

His mouth drops open slightly as your hand travels to your pelvic region. You lock eyes with Gortash while you slip one finger into your folds and let out a small moan. You bring the finger back out, now glistening with your arousal which causes a small noise that sounds like a whimper to come out of Gortash's mouth. You smile at him, eyes challenging him to break. He tries to shift in his seat against the restrains of the spell, his arousal threatening to burst through his pants.

“You cruel torturous woman, when I get my hands on you” he mutters, with a violent look in his eye. There is however also a slight note of defeat in his voice which makes you realise he is almost at breaking point.

You continue and pump two fingers in and out of yourself, moaning louder than needed to further torture him. You then bring your fingers up to your mouth and lick them clean slowly, exaggerating your tongue movements to demonstrate what he is missing out on. Gortash is captivated by your show, pupils blown wide with hunger. You then walk up to him and a plop yourself on his lap straddling his waist with your nipples at his eye level. You continuing to touch yourself in his lap, every so often brushing up against his achingly hard, still clothed member. Gortash moans loudly at the display looking about ready to explode.

“Alright! alright! you win” you grin at the victory and at the bitter tone in his voice. You stop your show to listen to the rest of his sentence.

Gortash pauses looking away from you

“Well, I’m waiting” you respond sharply.

“Please” you hear in a quiet voice.

“What was that, couldn’t quite hear you” you reply in amusement.

“Please!” Gortash almost shouts with an irritated look in his eyes. His voice then returns to his usual level.

“Please just let me touch you, let me fuck you, you cruel wicked thing” you hear the arousal in his voice, breathy and needy.

“That’s all I needed to hear” you respond as you break your concentration on the spell.

In an instant his arms are around you, picking you up and almost running towards the bed. He throws you on the bed and gets on top of you.

“You little harlot” you hear his light-hearted tone.

“Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy my show, I know you did." You smirk and grab between his legs to emphasises his arousal still tightly pushing against his breaches.

He gives you a look of hunger and hurries to remove his shirt only just realising he is still fully clothed. His body is how you imagined it, muscular yet soft with dark hair coating his body in just the right places. You can feel your desire burning inside you as you eye the patch of hair that trails down his stomach. You reach forward to undo his pants and push his undergarments off eager to see all of him. His member bounces free of its confines already slick. Your eyes widen at the thickness of it, already anticipating the burn. Gortash notices your line of vision and chuckles with pride as he grabs your chin and pulls you in for another heated kiss. He hungrily kisses every part of your body that he was denied while kneading your breasts with his hands. He moves from your mouth to your neck where he bites and sucks at you, you let out a whimper knowing it will leave a bruise. He then grazes his teeth over your nipple, licking, sucking and then finally biting causing you to cry out at the feeling. You feel his self-satisfied smirk against your skin as he continues his path downwards. His tongue enters your folds without warning causing you to grab a hand full of his hair and cry out his name. You can feel yourself about to come undone quicker than you expected .

“Fuck Enver, I need you inside me now."

“That’s all I needed to hear”, his smartass response mocking your words from before.

You let it slide for now as your need is too great, but you make a mental note to make him pay for it next time.

He lines up with your entrance and buries himself inside you in one smooth motion. You both moan loudly at the feeling of connection. You feel a sharp tinge of pain mixed with intense pleasure as you get used to his width. He starts to pump in and out of you at a quickened pace knowing it won’t take long for either of you to cum. You grab on to his body and rake your nails down his back hard enough to draw blood. Gortash hisses in pain and pleasure and bites at your neck in response. Gortash comes first moaning your name loudly, causing you to follow closely, both your bodies withering in ecstasy as you ride out the climax. Breathing heavily Gortash rolls off you and you both lie together in silence for a few seconds recovering. You move to get up off the bed but he stops you with his arm.

“Just where do you think you’re going?”

“Back to my room?” as though it was obvious.

He pauses, looking unsure of himself.

“I want you to stay, tonight and every night after that. You’re mine now”, his serious expression softens slightly.

“If you want to be?”

As you look into his eyes you are surprised see a vulnerability that you have never seen before. You realised that this night means as much to him as it does to you, and with that thought you agree to stay, content to lie in his arms dreaming of your future together.

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #lord enver gortash #enver gortash #gortash #the dark urge #durge #durgetash #gortash smut #tav #bg3 gortash #dark urge #dark urge x gortash #gortash x durge #astarion #gale of waterdeep #shadowheart #bg3 fanfiction #my work

[numinously-yours]

Pick a Hippo: What do you need to hear?

I know I say it all the time, but I DO want to do more readings for you all. Today's is a simple "what do you need to hear"?

I know you may be finding it hard to define your life’s purpose, but don’t be hard on yourself because it’s taking longer than you thought it would/should. You are doing a lot of introspection and soul searching. Perhaps you are about to embark on a new adventure and having your sense of self makes you feel like you’ll do better. Having an open slate can be just as great a tool going into a new part of your life, though.  Keep holding on by Avril Lavigne came on at the end of the reading. Just keep believing in yourself and your journey. Trust that The Hermit’s lantern will light your path. You’re getting there!

You got all kinds of songs with your reading! Starting with Fireworks - this is from Harry Potter & The Order of the Phoenix. In the scene that this song is in, Fred and George Weasley are officially embarking on their own adventure. They are no longer tolerating Dolores Umbridge’s regime or abiding by anyone else’s standards. They are making fun, bright, beautiful magic with their fireworks. Human by Christina Perri started once I was about to interpret the cards; it made me think that right now you may be subscribing to other’s wants of you. Since this song started after I began my notes, I think this cycle is ending and your magical side is about to burst through. Then the Brave soundtrack started… You are meant to start this individual journey!!

The first thing I read that resonated with me for your cards and for this reading is “don’t keep pushing forward”. You may be finding it difficult to trust your own intuition or to do your own thing without the comforts of the people you are used to following. But The Hanged Man tells me that separating yourself from the wants and needs of others is going to do you SO well. Continuing to push through the discomfort, anxiety, and unsureness that comes along with this is only doing to delay your progress. Your inner strength is going to propel you to the life you deserve.   

My biggest piece of advice on this day is to be mindful about your intentions – especially concerning finances. You have a business opportunity or you’re planning a major event (trip, wedding, moving, something of the sort) and you need to be cognizant about how much money you’re putting into it. Be responsible with the spending habits. As I was reading keywords for the King of Wands, I read “you are inspired by long-term, sustainable success” and at the same time Eminem raps, “Success is your only mf-ing option.” There’s no better way to interpret this than Sustainable success is your only mf-ing option. You can absolutely invest in this venture, but do it smartly. Remember the long term affects and what will make the biggest (and most positive) impact.

If money is not on your mind, the cards can also be referring to relationships and the part you play within them. You are a strong leader and have a vision, but don’t make decisions which are paid for by the foundation of the relationship.

Lastly, music in general may be a good meditation tool for you. The main line of this song is "lose yourself in the music". Let yourself be lost <3

#tarot #pick a card #tarot reading #what you need to hear #ace of wands reversed #the hermit tarot #king of wands #ten of pentacles #the hanged man tarot #eight of cups #strength tarot reversed

[cupcakeslushie]

Time for some Leo centered asks!!!!! Everyone seems to have a lot of questions about our blue boy!

@livsinpjs Daily life for Leo was pretty much zero fun allowed. Wake up at the crack of dawn and train, then studies, then missions or more specialized training with Saki, then sleep. His schedule while in the foot clan was pretty repetitive and boring, with missions being the only time he ever got to have any excitement. Shredder didn’t try to be a father to Leo, but he did warp himself into being Leo’s whole world. This leads to Leo trusting Shredder’s orders near implicitly and pushing himself to his limits to show that Saki wasn’t wrong in making Leo his second. The only time in which canon, smart-ass Leo leaks through is when he has to work missions with (🤐), cause Leo loves the fact that despite his young age, he’s technically higher ranked than (🤐). Despite the older mutant’s years working with Saki—he was still just a part-time member of the Foot until only recently, which Leo throws in his face whenever he can. Regardless, the two mutants are the Shredder’s most trusted and strong Commanders, so they work together well when they need to. There’s even been one or two times (🤐) has shown a very microscopic, teeneey tiny soft spot for Leo, but they’d both rather lose an arm than admit to that 😜.

Kitsune is another constant presence in Leo’s life. One he’s always despised for a reason he’s foggy on. He doesn’t really remember her role in his kidnapping, he’s just always hated her, but he keeps his hatred of her a secret, solely because she’s Master Shredder’s strongest source of mystic power and Saki holds her skills in very high regard. He’s pretty sure she knows anyway, it’s like the witch can see right into his soul—it sets his teeth on edge.

It doesn’t help that a few times a week Leo is required to report to her for what Shredder calls “meditation” sessions, and though he does leave them feeling more calm and centered than before, he konks out as soon as he gets back to his room from how much energy they seem to drain from him. At the same time though, it’s almost as if he’s…dependent on these sessions—if he goes too long without sitting through all her waving hands and chanting, he starts to feel antsy, and irritated, and his thoughts begin to fall out of the neat order they’re usually kept in.

Leo is not great with new people. He’s used to viewing everyone as part of a hierarchy, and either ordering them around, or being ordered around, but when his older memories begin to come back to him, logically he knows that his family doesn’t work like that, it’s just so hard to not slot every person into the roles he’s familiar with.

Raph is the oldest, and the one who Splinter trusts to lead them, but Raph will sometimes request their input and clearly doesn’t take the same kind of pride in his own high rank that Leo used to. April is a total unknown to him, but Raph and Mikey treat her like she’s family (it’s like a knife in his back when he realizes that his brothers appear to trust her more than him but he ignoreignoreignores that feeling). He ignores her for the most part, but eventually sees her as a solid combatant in battle, then shockingly—an emotional confidant when he’s struggling, to eventually a friend, and finally a big sister who he can unwind with.

Splinter seems lost with the way Leo treats him. From the get go, Leo’s trying daily to shift through the lies that Shredder filled his head with, and works hard to treat Splinter with the respect that he’s owed as the head of the Hamato Clan. But Leo’s beyond confused that, this only seems to upset Splinter, which frustrates him to no end, because he’s trying to be as affable as possible, but he just can’t treat Splinter like Mikey, Raph, and April do. Leo can’t magically force those feelings to develop after spending so long hating him. Yes, there’s a part of his brain that knows Hamato Yoshi is his father, and had no say in Leo being taken, but there’s a bigger part that’s been conditioned for years by the Shredder—that’s screaming every time he sees the rat, that Splinter deserves a slow and painful death. But at least Leo’s self-aware enough that he won’t trust himself to be alone with Splinter until he can silence that voice for good. It might break his father’s heart to be kept at a distance and referred to as ‘Master Splinter’ in such a dead tone, but Leo knows it would hurt him worse to know what Leo’s struggling with.

Leo is softest with Mikey because he’s so protective of him, but Leo can be kinda low on everyone’s list, except for where Donnie is concerned, mostly because of his sharp temper. Which Donnie could care less about, because the boy has zero self-preservation.

While Donnie deals with his haywire emotions with a kind of anxiously sad/manically happy mixtured response, and Mikey always tries a positive approach—Leo’s trouble is he can’t really control himself when he gets frustrated. Not without some kind of hard and fast explosion eventually getting out. He’ll go from feeling no emotion and calm, to growling and spitting in an instant. It’s usually only over things like Splinter trying his best to reach out and help him in his own awkwardly painful way, or any time Raph ‘babies’ Leo on accident, or if Donnie’s just invading his space too much. His flare ups are pretty unpredictable for months until he gets a handle on them, and so the others often feel it’s best to leave him to work through his anger in his own various ways. Whether that be storming off for a few hours or destroying a dummy in the dojo.

I think Donnie would’ve been over the moon, but probably not really changed much in the way he approached Leo. He might not have gone so hard in getting Leo’s attention, but would’ve talked just as much and invaded his personal space the same amount!

@uniqueness351217 Hmmmmm interesting….also 2007 TMNT my love. Like, maybe after Leo finally connects with his ninpo, but in order to truly embrace the connection and make it stronger, Splinter suggests he goes on a vision quest for a few months! I think Raph would step up again as full time leader, or maybe April would act as temporary co-leader until Leo returned. Mikey would be sad to see him go, but if Leo was okay with leaving, and promised he’d be back, I think Mikey would put on a brave face and try to keep busy to make the time go by faster (lol I’m not evil enough to make him into a party clown. Shame on those writers—poor 2007 Mikey. Even if it was hilarious. He didn’t deserve those nightmares) Donnie would probably lock himself in his lab for a week and be super dramatic about missing his twin, but he’d work on his tech and maybe refurbish stuff from the scrap yard to sell, for lack of anything better to do.

I imagine if Leo was sent on a mission is take place in between them finally taking down Shredder, so they’ve all earned a well deserved break, but Leo would return quickly when a few months in, the Kraang attack and derail everyone’s vacation.

(I’m still working out the exact details of how the Kraang would fit into this AU, just in case we ever make it up to the point of the movie. I know a lot of y’all have been asking, and I’m hoping we make it that far ;D)

Draxum was furious, but also confused. From what he’d seen of Two, he’d been hoping that with a slow, delicate approach he could get him on his side, but then the child had just up and deserted the Shredder out of no-where? It made no sense from what he’d seen of the boy’s loyalties. Later when he sees him with his brothers though, he understands what’s happened. After all, he’d ordered Three to subtlety exploit their brotherly bond during his meetings with Shredder, but he’d put too much faith in that idea. It seems like Three wasn’t as good at convincing Two as Draxum had hoped. Just another failure on Three’s part to follow any one of his directions.

If Leo had tried the hug back when he was still getting a handle on his temper he very likely would have, but for the most part and especially later on, Leo can reign it in, especially when Mikey and Donnie are concerned. Although he did step on Donnie’s foot pretty hard, both out of shock, and to get him to let go. Also he complained for the entire time it healed.

Leo looking in a pocket mirror he got just to be dramatic: All these years and never once have I managed to marr this beautiful mug! You better hope this doesn’t scar, Don!!

Donnie embarrassed beyond belief but so over apologizing: YOU SURPRISED ME! You gotta warn someone before you just throw yourself at them—!

The entire family turns to give Donnie the most looking, look to ever look.

Donnie: (´∀｀;;;; ) Y-yeah. Point taken.

#separated au #rottmnt #ask slushie #rottmnt separated au #rise leo #leonardo hamato #sep!au infodump

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

How do boys react to when they get home they find their S/O attacked and presumably dead based on blood lose. Their child (S/O’s and Skeltons) cradled in their arms protectively? How do they react and what are red flags the see before they enters house [main 10]

TW: Blood & Dead bodies.

Undertale Sans - He hears his child cry like they never cried before and immediately knows something is off. He runs to the living room and just freezes, completely in shock. He barely remembers his kid running to him for comfort, after that he has no idea what the hell happened. When he returns to himself, he's in the hospital, his child cuddling against him and Papyrus big spooning the both of them. He just suddenly breaks down, realizing the situation. He's not going to be ok for a very long time.

Undertale Papyrus - He's horrified, but keeps his mind clear and immediately goes to check their vitals, noticing their child asleep after crying so much. S/O is still breathing, he immediately calls an ambulance and tries to keep them alive with his magic. The hardest part is when the rescuers ask him to stop, because they are gone for a few minutes, and he refuses. They were breathing! They were breathing, they couldn't be dead! But they are. Papyrus breaks down, devastated. At least, he still has his child, who is traumatized. He tries to stay strong from them, but that's hard. He calls Undyne and Sans to explain the situation. Undyne promises she will find out who did that to his S/O and her nephew/niece.

Underswap Sans - He knows something is wrong the second he notices the door is opened. He silently walks home, a hand on his gun, and comes just in time to see the assaulter about to stab his terrified child. No hesitation. He shoots twice through their head and runs to drag their child out of there. He then sees S/O and takes a deep breath. He saw enough corpses to know they're gone. He takes his child out of the house and calls his colleagues to take care of the scene crime. He tries not to think all of this happened because he works for the police, but he's hard. He refuses to cry before they find the murderer. He's angry.

Underswap Papyrus - He hyperventilates as he sees more and more blood. He felt the soul bond break, he already knew. But he needs to see. When his eyes land on S/O, he gags, horrified, then falls on his knees, screaming. He struggles to breathe and eventually passes out and falls down right under his child's eyes, who is now an orphan. Honey can't take it. He can't live without his S/O. He didn't notice the child was alive. Blue did, hours later, and he broke down. He won't stop chasing whoever did that and he will kill them.

Underfell Sans - He stares, not believing what he's seeing. Mechanically, he checks for vitals and jumps when he feels his child move under his hand. Shit. He quickly picks them up and lays them on the couch to examine them. They got stabbed, but they're alive, weakly calling him. He turns towards his S/O, realizing they just saved them from a horrible fate. He silently promises them that he won't let anything hurt their child again and that they can rest in peace now. He's going to find the murderer and make them pay.

Underfell Papyrus - He almost forgot he could cry. His hands are shaking as he tries to control himself, begging for everything to be a nightmare. But it's not. He stays silent long second, before noticing a movement. He takes a deep breath, and pushes S/O on his back, noticing their toddler, badly bruised, but alive. The child immediately crawls to him, crying. Edge holds them close and refuses to let go. He feels like a failure. It was his job to protect them. He fucked up everything! He's not sure the kid is safe with him anymore, not when he's about to go kill a ton of people to avenge his S/O. He lets them on Sans' door, with a note, asking him to take care of the child for a few months, or more, if he doesn't make it alive.

Horrortale Sans - He smells the blood way before coming home and almost runs. He regrets it. All the blood immediately triggers him and he cowers in a corner, horrified. It doesn't take long for him to lose all sense of reality and tell himself he killed his S/O. He refuses to get close, horrified he could have done something to them. He changed, he swears he changed, and he will keep repeating this until his child crawls to him and cuddles against him. He's shocked and devastated, and he breaks down, hugging his child. He manages to call Willow and explain what he found, hesitantly saying he thinks he did that. Willow doesn't believe that one second, despite the police saying that if Oak said he did it, then he did it. He won't stop searching for a way to innocent his brother.

Horrortale Papyrus - He can't even look. The blood is making him sick and he's just shaking uncontrollably. He thinks he has lost the both of them until a tiny hand grabs his pants. Willow bursts into tears, in shock, but relieved his child is alright. He won't stop hugging them telling them that will be ok, even though he is very far from ok right now. He takes a deep breath, then calls the police. He doesn't expect anything from them, but he just needs to understand what happened.

Swapfell Sans - He stays dead silent, refusing to get close. Of course that would happen eventually. He has no right to be happy after all he did. As he walks closer, he notices something moving in S/O's arms. He can't believe his eyes when he sees his baby is alright, crying after him. He hurries to pick them up and checks them everywhere for any injuries. He can't believe his S/O managed to save them. That gives him back some strength. He's going to find whoever did that and he will destroy them. He promises his S/O that he will take care of their baby well.

Swapfell Papyrus - He's in denial and keeps shaking his S/O, begging them to wake up, more and more distressed. He can't believe it's over. He refuses to believe it's over! As time passes, he is just screaming and throwing things around, until something gets too heavy in one of the cupboards. He opens it and finds their child, curled up and trembling in terror. The kid immediately cries in relief seeing him and throws themselves in his arms. Rus is too in shock to fully realize what's going on. He keeps the child against him, and he won't let go of them. Never. He will find who did this and will send Nox take care of them. It's hurting so bad he feels like he can't survive this. But he will. He doesn't have a choice. He can't give up on his child.

Fellswap Gold Sans - He doesn't say a word or cry. He's not even that surprised it happened either. That was always a possibility with how many enemies he had. It was a nice dream while it lasted. Then he notices the child. He stares in disbelief, not sure what to do. He can't... He can't raise them all alone. He's a terrible father, he just got their other parent killed. Maybe... Maybe it's best if he gives the child to his brother, or Undyne and Alphys. He doesn't want to get involved more in their life. He doesn't want his child's blood on his hands. He apologizes to his S/O silently. He can't do that.

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - He's hyperventilating in a corner, unable to look at the scene. There is blood everywhere, the nightmare is repeating once again. He can't do this. He can't do this. He can't do this. He calls Wine, but can't even speak. He just cries. Wine is here a few minutes later. He checks on his brother's S/O, confirming they're gone, then the child. He jumps when the baby grabs his hands. He's quick to bring them to Coffee who can't believe his eyes, hugging and crying in relief. Wine stays long hours to comfort him, and promises that the murderer won't see dawn. He's taking care of it personally.

#undertale #underswap #underfell #horrortale #swapfell #fellswap gold #sans #papyrus #undertale ask blog #undertale asks #undertale imagines #undertale headcanons #tw blood #tw death #tw dead body #tw dead mention

[stellocchia]

I can't stop thinking about my boys from The Light Side of the Moon so you guys get some headcanons for them.

Nightmare:

As an immortal, he doesn't need to eat but does so anyway to set an example for his idiots because half of them are terrible at taking care of themselves

Was born as a mortal in his original AU and ascended to godhood after eating all the black apples from the tree of feelings

Technically doesn't need to sleep, but he sucks at saying no to Killer when the guy tells him to do something. Besides, while he would be able to live and have access to his magic without sleep, it does give him more energy

Killer:

Technically not a Sans. Or, well, not only. He was born as Chara's and Sans' souls fully fused (after they'd already reset a few times themselves). He does have the memories from both of them but feels a sort of detachment from them since he didn't really exist at the time

Non-binary. Mostly uses he/him by habit, but is honestly fine with any pronouns. This is a result of Chara being agender and Sans not having the strongest gender identity. Killer is just a gender whatever

Better at taking care of others than himself. Between the henchmen, he's the most observant and, as a result of that, he tends to pick up easily on what people need. Due to his soul problems though, he's not in touch enough with his emotions to do that for himself

His soul has remained scarred from Nightmare's constant use of his aura on him toward the start. He no longer has a phase 1. He's usually always stuck in phase 2, though his emotions are there, though they are very muted compared to everyone else

Dust:

Technically the second Dusttale Sans to work for Nightmare. The first left to the Omega Timeline after the Big Incident. He's aware of this and can get insecure about it at times, but mostly he's over it

The Phantom Papyrus he sees is indeed actually his Papyrus, but he's kinda like Flowey was to Asriel. Because his dust was spread over his scarf and by wearing it all the time, Dust's determination infused it giving him a sort of second life. No one else can see him though

Dust does not have lv20 anymore, Nightmare had to absorb some from him to keep him from melting because, unlike with Killer, his soul is still a full monster soul. He cannot handle such high lv. Which is also why he doesn't kill anymore

Horror:

Technically immortal but purely because he's dead already. He can live without ever eating (and did so back in his AU) but he can feel hunger pains and they're agonizing

Also the second Horrortale Sans to be a part of Nightmare's gang, but he isn't really bothered by it. He has met Axe before (the previous Horrortale Sans) and they get along fine enough

Adores his baby brother Sugar. They see each other at least once a week, either because he visits his brother or because his brother stays over at the castle. He would do quite literally anything for his bro. Including providing food for all of Snowdin

He has quite a bit of chronic pain due to the hole in his skull and his one non-functioning eye light. He takes some seriously strong pain killers daily to deal with it (Killer also takes ADHD meds, and Dust takes some lv balancers to help with their own issues)

Rose:

Literally the only one in the gang who had a good relationship with his Father. His father used to call him Starlight and now he has a kitten by the same name in his dad's honor

The natural chill from Nightmare's presence makes it so he doesn't experience the effects of the constant heat those from Underlust have to deal with while he's near his Boss or at the castle

Also nonbinary in the sense that he's very comfortable with pretty much anything. Very into gender fuckery. Mostly a he/she person

Also adores his baby brother, but also his baby brother's husband. Papyrus and Metatton come by the castle to visit often enough (though less so than Sugar) and he visits them at least once every couple of weeks

Red:

Also struggles with chronic pain both due to the broken eye socket he has to deal with and because of the scars on his souls (he has no more cracks in it thanks to Rose's soul balm, but the scars remain, and he does have only 0.5hp because of it), though he mostly deals with it with copious amounts of marijuana

He used to have a phobia of cats, but he kinda got over it in time due to living with Rose and Killer, local crazy cat ladies. He still will not pet them or pick them up, but he can coexist in the same room as them

He surprisingly had the second best relationship with his dad in the group, though that just means that he and his father mostly just mutually ignored each other. They were on neutral terms before Gaster fell into the Core. He never mourned him. He does however have the worst relationship with his brother as his Papyrus wasn't good to him. He's the reason for the hole in his skull where his eye socket should be

He was found originally by Error, not Nightmare. And it was while Error was there to steal some chocolate. Error figured the little guy looked adoptable enough for Nightmare and called him over. He was right

Cross:

Autistic boyo. He looks serious all the time mostly because he's starting to figure out how his face should look at any moment and conversations tend to move too fast for him to adapt to it

Worked for Nightmare for a while while Nightmare was still an ass. That was during the X event. He then moved onto working for the Star Sanses for a long time, though eventually he got fed up with them. (Though he lasted the longest of any third member). He then wandered about a while aimlessly until he met with Killer again and Killer promised things had changed

He and Epic are the Autism and ADHD besties. Whenever they're together they have negative braincells. They are together often. The castle has suffered because of it, but Nightmare would never say anything about it because he can see how important the friendship is for Cross

XChara is very much still there and sharing soul space with him. Though most of the time he hangs back and lets Cross control the body. They get along... relatively well. Though XChara loves to annoy him

Blue:

He greatly overestimates how good he is at cooking. His tacos are good, but, aside from that, he can only do very basic things without burning them or making them otherwise inedible

He's more of a dog person than a cat person, but he still likes both. Doesn't mind that the castle is a cat heaven. The only animals he can't stand are rabbits though. Because in his universe, instead of the pesky dog stealing his attacks it was a small fluffy white rabbit

He's the third tallest Sans in the gang, with Horror being the tallest and Rose being the second tallest. This is a significant source of confidence for him. It's one of the few wins the poor guy gets

Despite his and Stretch's relationship being rocky at the moment, he does deeply adore his baby brother and would do anything for him. For one thing, despite having left the lab at the same time, he taught himself how to read first, entirely on his own, just so he could help Stretch with it

#undertale #utmv #utmv au #utmv headcanons #nightmare sans #killer sans #dust sans #horror sans #cross sans #underlust sans #underfell sans #underswap sans #the light side of the moon

[taki-yaki]

Is there a race for something like Frankenstein? Not exactly a ghoul, but not exactly human? If that doesn't work how about a cyborg made by an artificer? My prompt is a Tav that has to deal with a new body after being "put back together," and unaging so she can be with Astarion forever🥺

 I think the closest would be either a Warforged with a magic jar spell or a Reborn but I’ll do a bit of both since they both seem to fall into your prompt.

Astarion x Warforged!Tav + Astarion x Reborn!Tav

Minor Cw: Body horror warning for Reborn Section

**Warforged Tav**

During a fierce fight in the remains of a ruined town, severely weakened within the depths without a healer on hand left to die and rot, you hastily cast magic jar upon yourself, falling into a catatonic state as your soul leaves your body, entering the ornamental container.

As soon as your soul enters the container, the sound of falling sand rushes through your soul's senses. All you could do was watch on helplessly as your physical body was touched by a necrotic spell, turning it into dust.

Astarion carries the jar, cradling it within his arms, looking for anything that your flickering soul could possess. Searching through the nearby overgrowth foliage, he finds a worn-down body of a warforge, a small iron hinge door lays open, once where a mechanical heart would lay. Recalling from Gales's lectures of this place these iron constructs could once host a mortal's soul, but have all eroded due to lack of care over the decades.

Pushing his luck, he inserts the jar into the container,  hoping for a miracle as the gears of the automaton start to grind in motion

“Darling? Are you alright, are you still in there? Say something damn it”

Upon waking, your body feels nearly hollow and heavy, you feel a fluid flow through the circulatory system of your new form. As you attempt to open your mouth to speak, his name comes out with a metallic echo in your form. It takes you aback for a second, feeling that your voice isn’t your own.

All Astarion can do is watch in silence as he waits for your response, after a while, he whispers, “I’m sorry….I shouldn’t have acted so hasty and now you’re stuck like this” gesturing at the iron plates surrounding your form. 

You reassure him that it’s not his fault, explaining that you don’t mind having such a strong robotic body, joking about how you could carry him around with ease like this.

Despite your lack of human skin, he does try to care for you, even when your insides are just a set of interweaving wires and cogs, trying to clean any moss on your body and learning how to replace the worn rusted joints with new pieces. 

Regardless, he’s relieved that you still have your soul in this form, unlike mind flayers who only mimic the original host, slowly becoming void of emotion, seeing such emotions as nothing but a manipulation tactic.

**Reborn Tav**

Your body was stolen from its resting place by a mad cleric who wished to use the infamous hero of Baldur’s Gate as their little meat puppet.

Attempting to stitch any loose parts of your battle-worn body back together with other corpses he has stolen. Not perfect but some parts are slightly different from that of your original form.

Astarion discovered the gruesome cleric's hideout, in which he proceeded to slaughter the man mid-ritual, seething with rage, until the sound of heavy gasping pulled him out. Turning around to see you awake, alive, but looking pale, almost ghoul-like. He’s seen this before, when he turned into a spawn decades ago, the fear and confusion of it all. They’ve made you an undead like him.

A reborn, who dances on the line of life and death, not hindered by the curses that normal vampirism would offer.

He attempts to help you get used to your new life, attempting to relearn your usual breathing rhythm, to help you attempt to eat and drink again, to regain some sense of normalcy. Despite your need to not sleep anymore, Astarion insists on you getting some rest by always staying by your side, promising that he’ll be by your side when you wake up.

Although there are times when the stitches on your body come loose, due to the cleric’s shoddy rushed handiwork, in which Astarion attempts to piece these parts back together correctly all whilst comforting you, and complimenting your body.

Despite your unexpected return, you’re new life as a reborn, Astarion was glad to have you by his side once again.

#astarion x tav #astarion x reader #bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion headcanons #baldur's gate 3

[paragonrobits]

thinking about Dak'kon in Planescape Torment (initially because Lae'zel's popularity in Baldur's Gate 3 has me thinking about how the contrast between her and Dak'kon is a pretty good description of how thier respective peoples have diverged and also why they hate each other so much) and specifically his statline in how that nicely corrosponds to his own personal conflicts

Dak'kon is a zerth, a sort of warrior monk that practices martial skill and magical ability and serve as guardians of the githzerai cities, and due to a partially manufactured crisis of faith, he no longer truly has certainty in anything; not in the teachings of his faith, and not in himself. This is reflected in him being the only multi-class character in the game in a traditional sense; he is a fighter/mage, leveling up one after the other.

Dak'kon's stat layout is, after he is fully upgraded: Strength 18, Dexterity 18, Constituion 18, Intelligence 13, Wisdom 13, and Charisma 13. On the one hand he has high stats across the board; mechanically, he's both a capable spell-slinger that can act in support or as a combat caster, and he's a frontline tank. In what is most likely intended to be the canon-ish playthrough, he is the ONLY front-line damage dealer in a traditional sense. He can hit like a truck, once you add him to your party he is likely to be your main damage dealer, and he's just very strong across the board. This is an excellent stat line... for a fighter.

But he is also a mage, and for this, his intelligence isn't AWFUL (in fact, he's significantly more intelligent than an ordinary person would be, which is also reflected in interactions) but its not as high as would be ideal for a more specialized mage. His intelligence is significantly lower than it should be for anyone that is taking any kind of levels in wizard (and Torment's mage class is very much a wizard); his spell slots are notably less numerous, and he's most likely to be a fighter with some casting capability.

This reflects his in-game story. Dak'kon's crisis of faith was exacerbated by a holy writ of sorts that takes the form of a complex puzzle, and one of the accounts is of how Zerthimon, the prophet revered by Dak'kon's people, deceived his illithid masters by pretending to submit to them. Dak'kon has his doubts because another such teaching concerns a traitor, and then what he assumes to be the final teaching is of Zerthimon's conflict with Gith, founder-queen of the githyanki, when their peoples split. Dak'kon has come to fear that Zerthimon gave in and became a slave to their illithid captors, which was why he divided their people at the eve of victory, and if you ask him about this, he gives one of the VERY FEW impassioned and furious speeches he makes in the game, when normally he is very calm and detached.

If you have a high intelligence and wisdom scores (significantly higher than Dak'kon's, in fact) you can puzzle out more combinations to the teachings and unlock further ones Dak'kon had not found; these provide him an answer to his crisis of faith and ease his soul; Zerthimon did not give in to the illithids, but he recognized that should his people follow the path of war and conquer all that might threaten them, they would lose who they are. But the mechanical bit is that Dak'kons stats are too low to do so; he has no idea these teachings exist at all.

Furthermore, to recruit Dak'kon at all, you must speak to him on philosophy; its not difficult to have a fairly high Wisdom and Intelligent stat combination to pass this without much trouble, and this further indicates how his statline is a bit sub-par for someone in his line of work. He expresses some profound philosophical attitudes and says them well, but he's hard pressed to defend them when you poke holes in them, and he just gloomily concedes. Part of this is that, again, he IS having a crisis of faith and he has difficulty reconciling these problems to other people.

#planescape torment #planescape torment spoilers #dak'kon

[hopeyarts]

Wish AU (not a rewrite) is inspired by folklore dragons guarding treasures and basic medieval stuff, as well as a sprinkle of the Wish concepts. Most characters will be OUT OF CHARACTER from the movie, so just fyi. They’re all fictional and the story is fictional. This is all for fun! 🥰

Takes place in the kingdom of Rosas ruled over by two dragon-shapeshifters named Emperor Magnifico and Empress Amaya. The city of Rosas has wishless citizens while a village in the uncharted forests holds a small community of outsiders who escaped with most of them having their wishes. The once lively and beautiful kingdom used to be ruled by former King Tomás and former Queen Sakina, who are both alive. They believed in the stars to guide them and the philosophies of astronomy and such.

In this AU, wishes are more than someone’s dream and rather their literal heart and soul, also their own magic! I’m calling it a wish because wishes are formed from these, and I dunno what else to call them. So a wish isn’t what you desire like a new guitar or to fly, but it is the ‘spark in your heart’ and your motivation to pursue something more for yourself and everyone. Without your wish, you are practically empty inside and have a lingering sense of both weariness and sorrow, with a hint of trepidation. If your wish is crushed, you are held down by waves of severe depression and grief similar to losing someone close to you. You have a pain in your heart (so literally a broken heart) and can result in death after a short period of time. So you’ve lost a literal part of your being and it lasts forever, unless you reclaim that part of your soul back. Also the more selfless a wish is, the more powerful it is. A quote that inspired this is, “A life without passion is not living, it’s merely existing” - Leo Buscaglia. Just my interpretation on how ‘wishes’ should be! And it makes the stakes higher.

Emperor Magnifico and Empress Amaya keep these ‘orbs of souls’ (kind of like Ursula) aka wishes in exchange for people to continue to live on the island (because what’s a kingdom without its people?). They don’t grant wishes, but they do hoard them in a room and dote on their beauties like its treasure (just like how some dragons collect gold and such). Otherwise, they crush the most selfless wishes in order to absorb their magic and stay strong. They’re not exactly evil, but they’re cocky and greedy and love to uphold their own appearances (I mean, come on look at them they’re gorgeous). As dragon-shapeshifters, they see regular humans are inferior and don’t really understand that they’re hurting the people. Kind of like when a kid messes around with ants.

Princess Asha and her family managed to get some of their people out of the city and into a refugee village named Hamlet to avoid the royal dragons, but some of them still got their wishes stolen from them. Former King Tomás is one of them, whose ‘wish’ is very selfless according to the royal dragons. Princess Asha, who believes in the stars because of her father’s stories, makes a plea to the sky for an answer to their problem. Star comes down as its usual form from the movie and helps her. Star can shapeshift into different beings, but only mythical and normal animals and cannot talk. Asha also has a companion named Valentino, who is a grumpy, strong grown goat. He can talk when Star gives him a voice, but he isn’t annoying and doesn’t make jokes. Star and Valentino have a fun dynamic where they’re frenemies but it’s one-sided on Val’s part.

Princess Asha in this AU has the personalities of Mulan, Tiana, and Belle. Asha is witty, studious, and sarcastic but displays moments of sincerity. She is also very determined and head-strong to get her kingdom back and restore everyone’s hearts. She has proven to be a responsible and talented young woman, and is capable of hand-to-hand combat. She is NOT quirky, but she has some cute moments. She equips a sword with her at all times ever since the invasion and hunts for food for her people in Hamlet. She does a lot for her community and often tries to venture off to the city, but her parents tell her otherwise. When her father, King Tomás, is on his deathbed after his wish is crushed at the start, Asha dedicates herself to bring the kingdom back to its glory. Her mother tries to keep Asha safe with her in Hamlet, but Asha refuses to give up and travels to the city to save her people. Sabino does exist in this AU as the first king before his son, Tomás, but he is now retired and serves as a source of wisdom for Princess Asha. He dies at the start naturally from age.

I’ll try to include all seven of her friends but give them more personality. Her friends are with her in Hamlet and she brings them along at some point to help save the kingdom. I’m also including an additional character from one of the deleted scenes whose name is Flazino who was King Magnifico’s previous apprentice and wished to study magic. In this AU, Flazino will be a boy who learned some magic himself inspired by former King Tomás’ philosophies and studied to be the kingdom’s court mage and is Asha’s love interest (am I the first to ship Asha and Flazino? Lol). Flazino was also captured by Emperor Magnifico and Empress Amaya, mainly to tease Asha.

Again, the royal dragons are practically messing with the humans while not entirely realizing what they’re doing. Or maybe they do? Still figuring that part out. But the ending involves Asha being a knight-in-shining-armor for Flazino, and she also tries to compromise with the royal dragons.

I have some fun little comics and drawings in mind! And the designs 🤭 I’m gonna love making those. Still a WIP!

#wish #wish 2023 #disney wish #wish movie #disney asha #wish asha #princess asha #wish au #wish king magnifico #dragon king magnifico #king magnifico #wish queen amaya #queen amaya #flazino #dahlia wish #disney wish au #hopeyarts