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dearbraus · 6 months

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Covered in the Colour of You ࿐

— Armin Arlert

⊹ Details. 18+ minors dni, cisfem reader (use of girl as reference to the reader), reader's hair gets combed through, reader wears a nightgown, post-canon exploration of characters and setting, reader is mentally ill (so is Armin), hunger as a metaphor for desire, love as consumption, love confessions, first times (Armin is a virgin, Reader is not), first kisses, sex on a table, some foreplay, unprotected sex, creampies, ambiguous ending, angst, hurt/some comfort, childhood friends to lovers. ⊹ Run time. 10k ⊹ Note. I don't know how we got here but I'm glad we did. This was meant to be a cute comfort fic to deal with the ending of Attack on Titan but it became so much more, I hope you enjoy.

❝A surprise visit from your childhood friend, Armin Arlert forces you to confront the feelings you've been harbouring for over a decade..❞

The Jägerist’s cries are deafening, they bounce off the clay brick walls of the surrounding houses and slither through your shuttered window panes. Every Tuesday and Thursday, the newly minted Paradis military regiment convenes in the small town square within the rebuilt city of Shiganshina. It took them just under a month to replace the fallen with green boys and girls who were just buzzing at the idea of honouring Eren Jäger and avenging his death. Once Paradis managed to secure the resources– if there were any left– you were certain that the military would erect a bronze statue of Paradis’ “saviour”. For now, they’d bother napping babies and the elderly folk who milled about the area to soak in some of the sun’s sweet warmth.

Today they seemed to be reminding those who’d spare an ear to listen, that traitors would soon shore and with them came treasonous falsehoods. If not for Queen Historia who still harbours some morsel of affection for her old comrades, they’d be as good as dead the moment their ship docked. Word spread quickly, how you weren’t sure, but like wildfire the claim that Armin Arlert had been the one to kill Eren Jäger scorched the plains and further sowed the seeds of instability amongst the population.

The irony of such a ludicrous statement was not lost on you. Armin Arlert couldn’t kill Eren Jäger, they were best friends and all of Shiganshina knew there could not be one without the other. You had known the two almost as long as they had known each other. Shiganshina wasn’t so big in those days, Grisha Jäger was the only doctor and Armin’s father was something of a handyman. They were who you called upon when something was amiss and you’d thank them with a warm meal or something sweet. That was what you did in those days, you showed kindness wherever you could. They were so simple, those days when the walls kept secrets and our minds were shrouded with ignorant bliss. Some mornings when you woke before the sun had yet risen, you wished Paradis could have remained tucked safely beneath the blanket King Fritz had pulled over the island.

What little sense of communal affection remained dwindled with calls to action that erupted from the square.

This morning, the sense of longing that had settled between your lungs weighed heavily as you listened to the shouting. You wished the clock would turn back and the next time you woke, you’d be ten years old and the house you lived in would be your home. It was sort of a sick joke, to be given the keys to the house built upon the rubble of your family's home. Floch handed you the keys as if he had done you this great personal service when it had been Eren, Armin, Mikasa, and their friends who had dug through the wreckage to salvage the home they too had lost. Vagrancy was tiring and what little money you had to your name after years of working for meagre wages that just barely covered your expenses, maybe you should have been grateful to at least collect a few pieces of your life before even if they jagged and misshapen. Something was better than nothing, wasn’t it?

It had to be.

There needed to be some reason for you to keep going. Lately, there didn’t seem to be any. Everything felt wrong. The once-cobbled streets were made of smooth even stone that allowed you to bounce around the city with ease, it reminded you of the capital. As a child, you often felt jealous that Wall Sina was home to such niceties while you were made to trip over protruding stones and wade through mud puddles in the wet months. Now though, you’d give anything for a semblance of a distant past that would make Shiganshina home once more. But as you lingered around your old haunts, searching for familiar faces and memories that would ease the pain in your chest, all you’d find was something new and foreign that left you feeling disappointed.

Turning over onto your side you curled inwards, a soft sigh passing your lips as you willed your mind to banish the longing that gnawed at you. The cool breeze that glides through your window leaves goosebumps on the bits of flesh that aren’t being swaddled by your thin white blanket. All the battle cries seemed to have simmered down as the sun inched closer toward the middle of the sky. You might be able to catch the morning market before they pack up their wares for the day if you leave now. Your icebox was pathetically empty, with only a head of rapidly wilting lettuce and milk to occupy the space. Sitting upward with a yawn, you cast a glance toward your dresser. Your clothes hang sloppily over the side of the open drawers. You should probably tidy things up before the hour grows too late.

The sleek, mousy brown floorboards that make up the second story of your house do not creak as you pad across the room—your chest aches, though you’ve grown desensitised to the familiar feeling. Your house used to creak and groan when the wind blew too roughly, and the walls were thin enough that you’d wake to the sound of your mother humming as she prepared breakfast for your family. You tried not to dwell too hard, if anything you should have been relieved. An unexpected storm wouldn’t dare to blow the roof off your house now.

Plucking the soft, brown wool knit cardigan off the lip of your cracked door you slipped the fabric over your body. Your delicate muslin nightgown did little to keep the morning chill away. It did even less to preserve any ounce of modesty. Your bare feet slapped against the stairs as you headed downward, and a soft knock sounded at your door. Pulling your cardigan closer to your body you sighed. It must have been Mrs. Bergmann from next door coming to check on you, make sure you left your house this week, let in some fresh air– function as any other human would, that sort of stuff. She had been widowed long ago, her only son had been one of the many scouts to give his life for a free Paradis. There wasn’t much for her to do aside from checking in on her neighbours. She was a wife, a mother– it was in her nature to nurture all the little lost souls she came across.

“I’m coming Mrs. Bergmann,” You called, your voice echoing around the empty space that would have been your living room, “You don’t need to call in Werner to bust down the door just yet!”

Forcing a smile to your lips, you prepared yourself to open the door. Mrs. Bergmann was well-meaning on the best of days, if a little nosey on the worst. It was better to have someone than no one at all, you remind yourself, pushing back the urge to blanche and roll your eyes at the urgency of her knocking. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you hope your hair wasn’t too gnarly after all the tossing and turning you did last night. The door opens with a soft click as you twist the knob open.

Shock blows through you as you blink at the person on the other side. Your eyes frantically open and close, trying to make sense of who stood before you but as your synapses fired off round after round, searching for something, they found nothing.

“Armin?” You timidly ask, your throat twists up and grows dry.

The syllables on your tongue felt wrong. Maybe, the muscles had just forgotten how his name tasted. As a child, his name rolled off your tongue sweetly and constantly. Back then, there had been too many emotions packed inside your small body, you could never make sense of them, all you knew was that they all led back to the man in front of you. Your cheeks warmed at the reminder of the crush you used to harbour, of how you’d write your name and his, silently calling yourself Mrs. Arlert as if she hadn’t already existed in the form of his mother.

Armin’s cheeks grow round with the shy smile he wears, “Hi,” he says. The remnants of his boyhood live in the soft curve of his jaw and the cherub-like softness of his rosy complexion.

“Hi,” you breathlessly whispered as you searched for any other lingering signs of familiarity.

“May I come in?” he asks, his nervous hands smooth imaginary wrinkles in his sage green tie. The breath is selfishly stolen from your lungs by the greedy, monster who lived inside of you. They swallowed back the traces of your youth, you hoped it was enough to placate them because as long as your breath was hitched, no words could come forth.

Armin’s blue eyes curiously peered back at you from beneath his pale blonde lashes. He was still quite pretty, but the edge of maturity that marred his features made your heart flutter in a way it never had. The desperate longing that clawed at your rib cage slowed, pawing instead as its interests morphed into something more amorous. You would have beaten it down if you could, shame prickles your skin as you clear your throat.

“Of course,” you stutter, opening the door to make room for him to enter, “You’ll have to excuse my appearance, I wasn’t expecting any guests this morning.”

His smile is polite, “What about Mrs. Bergmann?” He inquires, his eyes darting around to drink in the interior of your house. It looked just like the one he was raised in but it had been twelve years since he stepped foot in one. The scouts lived in barracks that were carved out of long-since abandoned castles, “You seemed to be expecting her.”

“Ah, not exactly,” you muttered, offering him a seat at your dining table, “She’s just the only visitor I have as of late … So, what brings you by?”

Armin declines the seat, instead pulling out the chair opposite of him for you. You thank him with a small bow of your head. His knuckles brush against your shoulders as he slides his fingertips along the edge of your chair before swinging around to the other side. In a world of boys, Armin Arlert was a gentleman, as he always had been, even at the age of ten when boys took to tugging girls' pigtails for attention. His grandfather would be proud of the young man he’s become. You think Mr. Arlert would have been proud even if all Armin did was survive.

The warm yellow sunlight filters through the windows and turns Armin’s hair a shade of bleach blonde. His skin is tanned, his cheeks rosy. He looks healthy, he’s a bit taller too. His hair was different too now that you took a moment to look at it, only slightly so. The shaved undercut reminded you of the short, stoic captain whose charge Armin was in for years.

Insecurity stirred in your belly. You thought of what you might look like to him being so dishevelled in nothing but a nightgown and cardigan. Unkempt, that is how you must have appeared to him. The bike in your stomach burns at the back of your throat as you cross your legs and tuck as much of your body beneath the table as you can.

“I just wanted to see you,” he says, resting his linked hands on the table, “It’s been a while since we last spoke.”

It’s been over four years, the bitter overly insecure voice in your head hisses, “It has, but you’ve been busy, saving the world and all,” you say instead, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear, “Honestly I must confess, I'm a bit surprised, I thought you and the other ambassadors would be meeting with the Queen.”

What you truly mean to say dangles in the air. Armin can feel it, he shifts in his seat— why wasn’t he with someone more important? How did he manage to sneak past the Jägerists predatory gaze? He shouldn’t have been here. The anguish that wrought the shores of Paradis couldn’t be fixed with a measly conversation but surely, it was a start so, why was he here with you?

“She met our boat at the harbour to ensure our safe passage into the city,” he explains, picking at his fingers, “We’re still trying to coordinate with the army but they’ve agreed to allow free reign of Shiganshina so long as we remain unarmed.”

“It would be rather counterintuitive for peace ambassadors to bear arms.”

Armin lets out a small chuckle, smiling a bit to himself.

“But, they’ve already proved their incompetence in thinking trained soldiers need weapons to fight,” you muttered, casting your eyes away from him, “I … My apologies, I shouldn't speak ill of your comrades.”

“They’ve dissolved the Scout Regiment, I’m no longer a soldier and they are not my comrades,” Armin swiftly replies.

He fiddles with his tie again, flattening out the fabric with scar-riddled hands. The last time you saw him, his skin was surprisingly unmarred. Old scars you could have sworn imprinted his skin ceased to exist, something to do with his newfound titan ability, that’s what Eren said when he rolled up his sleeves to expose his own blemish-free body. It seemed unnatural then, for the pieces of personal history to be erased but Armin felt alien enough without you reminding him of how much he had changed.

“Yes, but-”

“How are you doing?” He interrupts, and an apologetic look swims within the depths of his baby blue eyes. His time in the military was a touchy subject, which was to be expected but it didn’t wash away the burn of curiosity that ribbed at your bones, “When I last wrote to Mikasa, she said she hadn’t seen you in some time in spite of being neighbours.”

Pursing your lips, you sigh, “I’m doing well Armin,” it’s a bald-faced lie but the two of you have become so estranged, Armin couldn’t know you the way he once did, not when so much time has washed the imprints you’ve pressed upon each other as it brought in the tide, “How are you?”

“That’s not an answer,” Armin frowns, the dip of his lips making his cheeks round in a way that reminds you that he is only twenty-two, “I haven’t seen you in four years, I … I want to know what your life is like.”

Reaching over the table, Armin takes your hand in his. If he notices the irritated and oozing flesh around your cuticles, he keeps it well hidden. Smoothing his thumb over your knuckles, Armin settles his eyes on yours, taking in the two little lines that have been carved into your skin from how often you furrow your brows. There was no “correct” way to tell someone that you spent most of your afternoons curled up in bed, lying listlessly as you listened to the sounds of the bustling street below. Armin had a penchant for worrying, he’d worry about your well-being when there were far more important issues for him to focus on.

“It’s not so different from before.”

Armin was unconvinced. Eight years ago, after the Scout Regiment took control of the central government, a bit of money was sent your way in addition to your rebuilt childhood home. Though they wouldn’t say it, you believed that Eren, Armin, and Mikasa felt guilty for abandoning you the moment they turned twelve thus becoming eligible to enrol in the Cadet Corps. You had no interest in joining the Scouts, Military Police, or the Garrison but Eren was determined and wherever Eren went so too did Mikasa and Armin. With no family and no friends, you had to fend for yourself. It wasn’t so bad. A woman, you could hardly remember her name now, paid you to care for her youngest child while she and her husband worked, and their older children attended school. She gave you room and board, fed you three square meals, and gave you “hand-me-downs” to wear.

In the chaos of Trost being breeched you became separated and weeks later learned that the family perished. You used what little money you managed to save to pay for board in an inn near Jinae where you worked as a stable hand until your childhood friends and their comrades came bearing gifts. You’d need to find work soon. Now that you were of age, you were sure to find a cushy job as a barmaid at the local tavern.

“You think it is?” You asked, biting on your bottom lip.

Armin nods. His grip tightens and he mutters a low, “Sorry” when you wince from how he accidentally squishes your fingers beneath his.

Shrugging your shoulders you think back to the before much like you did most days, “Paradis is being run by lunatics who worship a dead man,” you blanche, your chest preemptively tightening from your nerves, “That’s not so different to before when this shitty little island was run by lunatics who worshipped the walls.”

Except now, people actually paid mind to the chirping loons. They had access to weapons that could wipe out what was left of humanity and certainly were unafraid to use them. Crossing them would be a very stupid and very dangerous mistake. Bravery was what this island prided itself on, now the most one could muster was a contempt-filled glower that was sent in passing.

“That’s not …” Armin’s voice trailed off. There was that look of guilt again.

“I know.”

Lacing your fingers between his, you squeeze Armin’s hand.

“It’s not your fault, Armin,” you assure, your mouth twisting up into a strange smile. The muscles in your face seemed to ache as though you were contorting your expression, “You know that, right?”

He nods his head, and strands of his pale blonde hair fall against his forehead as he does, “I know,” he whispers with conviction though his hand trembles in yours. You remain unconvinced, guilt rolls off his shoulders in sickening waves.

“It’s not Eren’s fault either.”

You’re unsure why you say it. It was Eren’s fault. It was his name and his image that they fought for. Whatever politics happened behind closed doors did not matter, not when he died knowing that those men and women idolised him and would wage wars in his name. One spoiled fruit rotted away the entire crop and now Paradis was ready to cosign its doom, picking on the weakened and the damned as if this island had not once been just the same.

“Thank you,” Armin mouths, his voice barely audible as he clears his throat and replaces his expression with a friendly smile.

“I guess the trains are different,” you blurt, looking for a way to steer the sinking ship that was this conversation, “I’ll never get used to them, they’re so loud and dark inside.”

“Glad to know our hard work is being appreciated.”

You lift the corners of your lips to smile at him, “It is, the horses are very grateful to no longer be worked to the bone by merchants transporting goods from Maria to Sheena,” you say, nearly forgetting that there no longer was an interior or exterior to name, “Life here is still simple, Armin, there isn’t much to update you on.”

“Still-”

“We can’t all be heroes,” you jest, nudging his foot beneath the table, “So, tell me what is life like for you?”

Armin withdraws his hands from yours, “It’s all I talk about, I don’t want to talk about it with you,” he explains, swallowing thickly, “Is that okay?”

“Of course it is.”

Rising from your seat you round the corner of the small table to press the palm of your hand between his shoulder blades. The gesture is meant to be comforting but you feel awkward, like you shouldn’t be touching him like this though your body craved the knowledge of what his skin would like against yours. The tips of your fingers graze the edge of his crisp collar, you hastily jerk back, eyes narrowing to inspect the fabric for any unwanted crinkles you may have caused.

“I’ve been such a bad host,” you mutter, “My mother would be so disappointed that I haven’t asked you if you’d like anything to drink.”

“Tea if you have any, please.”

You nod again, you still have some dried chamomile that Mrs.Bergmann gave to you when you confessed to her that you struggled to sleep some days. The tea didn’t help but it was the thought that counted. Goosebumps trailed up the length of your bare legs and you cursed yourself for not excusing yourself to dress before you sat down with Armin. The early spring air wouldn’t warm until the late afternoon most days.

Armin’s gaze is heavy. He watches you flutter about your kitchen with keen intent. His eyes slither up your body in a methodical manner. You’re unsure if he’s leering the way men unabashedly do when they’re three pints in or if he’s searching for any indication that something might be amiss. You hope it’s the latter. It should be the latter, you didn’t feel uncomfortable and Armin wasn’t one to steal eyefuls of others.

“Do you still like it with milk and honey?” you ask, though you’ve already reached into the icebox in search of the milk you knew was in there. Hopefully, it hasn't yet spoiled.

You flinched when you rose to your full height. Armin had materialised behind you. The jug nearly drops from your hand but Armin is quick to wrap his fingers around the handle, overtop of your hand. He guides the jug to the counter and reaches an arm around you to take the teapot off the heat before it can release a shrill squeal.

Pressing your hand to your chest, you murmur a breathless, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Armin chirps.

His eyes bore into yours, he’s inspecting you once more. Whatever he’s in search of, you’re certain he isn’t going to find it. The girl that he once knew was not the same woman that stood before him, nor was he the same boy even if his eyes twinkled just the same. That was growing up. Your stomach grumbled, licking its chops as the wanting returned. Your eyes trickled down Armin’s face until they settled on his cupid's bow. His lips were full and a dusted pink colour. They were nice, you remember wondering what they’d feel like against yours if it’d hurt to kiss him after he’d bitten his lips raw with stress.

The sharp edge of the counter digs into the plush flesh of your hips as you press your body against it. Hunger is as frightening as it is all consuming. You are hungry. Are you hungry for him? You’ve craved and yearned for places and their people, but never their bodies. The one time you allowed a man in your bed it’d been out of curiosity and some twisted need to feel something, anything other than the dull twinge of melancholy that sprouted from the roots it planted in your heart.

Armin placed his hand on your chest where your heart was. The heat of his palm melted through the thin fabric of your nightgown, causing you to instinctively shiver, “Your heart is racing,” he comments, his tongue darting out to lick his lips, “I didn’t startle you, did I?”

“No.”

“How is Annie?” You nervously ask, searching for a way to stifle the deluded desire that coursed through your veins, “Last I heard from Hitch, she had been freed from her crystal and joined you. That must have been exciting, being able to speak to her after so many years.”

His face crinkles up into a confused expression, “Annie is fine, they’re all fine. Connie and Jean are excited to see their mothers,” he replies slightly, cocking his head to the side, “Why do you ask?”

You shrug your shoulders. Armin doesn’t remove his hand. Your heart skips a beat, you’re sure he feels it.

“Was just curious I guess, since I heard you had feelings for her.”

“Annie and I are friends, nothing more,” his nose crinkles, he seems to want to ask where you hear such a ludicrous rumour but doesn’t. When he wasn’t with the scouts, he was with her crystal, talking as if one day she might answer back.

“Oh.”

“Are you seeing anyone?” Armin counters, his long pale lashes fluttering against his cheek as he blinks, “You’ve always been … quite the catch.”

His voice trails off, he regrets his wording. He didn’t want to liken you to fish or cattle but of all the vast information stored in his brain, there seemed to be nothing on complimenting women. Not that he’s done much of that in his lifetime. There’s never been a need to. Armin wants to compliment you, to tell you how he really feels but it gets clogged in his throat as he struggles to get a read on you.

Shaking your head, you avert your gaze.

It’s not for a lack of trying or wanting. None of the relationships you pursued ever felt right. Their hands didn’t fit within yours the way they were supposed to. Your body was hallowed out in the middle but they couldn’t fill you up. It wasn’t their fault. You’d accept that you were broken, someone who simply wasn’t meant to be loved. It was easy. Until now, when the one person your heart still clung to stood here and dangled himself like a carrot.

“Good, you’re too good for anyone on this island,” his proclamation makes your skin itch. Even if what he said were true, you would have to settle for someone on this island eventually, lest you spend the rest of your life as alone as you are now, “You deserve someone who’s good enough for you.”

You nearly laugh, though he makes this statement with such earnestness that you’re almost inclined to believe him. Almost.

“Who then?”

Looking into his eyes made your lungs ache. There was nowhere to escape with how he pinned you in place with his gaze.

“Who’s good enough for me?” You ask, your nails digging into the wood counter as you curl your fists around the lip of it, “You?”

Armin rolls his eyes and the sight alone shocks you, “No, I could never be good enough for you,” a laugh springs forth, crackling past your lips before you’re able to stop it, “Is something funny?”

His cheeks turn red with embarrassment but there's nowhere for him to hide either.

“No … Yes, actually,” you sigh, expelling all the air from your lungs as you muster up the resolve to be truthful, “I have loved for as long as I can remember and I have wanted you even before I even knew what love truly was.”

Your fingers coil around his wrist, intent on wrenching his hand away from your chest but the look in his eyes stops you. Sadness and self-loathing meet in the bright blue pools of his irises. You were born six months before he was but he’s always seemed years ahead of you. There was a certain kind of wisdom that surrounded him, you weren’t sure why. Now though, whatever maturity that shrouded Armin vanished and all that lay beneath was a newborn fawn that teetered on legs far too long for him.

Your nails dig into the cuff of his jacket, crinkling the pristine fabric, “There is not a day that goes by where I haven’t thought of you.”

“I’m no good for you either,” he says with a wet laugh. His eyes shone with welled up tears that had no business blurring his gaze.

“Because you’ve killed people?” You ask, your brows furrowing as you frown, “There are many people who have done worse for less. At least you had a reason.”

“I could never be the man that you need me to be.”

“Not even for an afternoon?” You had always known his future held more than your own, even before he became humanity's saviour. He’d make his peace with Paradis and leave, maybe he’d come back years from now, or maybe he’d plant his roots elsewhere.

His hand trembles as he shakes his head, “No.”

Pressing his forehead against yours, he releases a shaky exhale. You bite back the urge to ask him once more why he was here. You were never that close as children, you were close in a way that all of Shiganshina was but never anything more than, at least nothing that would have meant this unannounced visit was appropriate.

“Why?”

“You should live a quiet life,” Armin whispers, his lips nearly grazing yours as they move to form each syllable, “A happy life, after all you’ve been through, you deserve it.”

Your eyes flutter shut, “And you don’t?” It’s a stupid question, really, if he believed he did this conversation wouldn’t be happening, “You’ve been through far more than I, you’ve lost so much more.”

“I have even more to atone for.”

His bottom lip quivers as he presses the weight of his body into you. He’s heavier than you could have imagined, and his body is harder too. Somewhere between now and then his lithe frame melded into lean muscle and it serves as another reminder of how much time has passed, how little you two knew of each other now. Trailing your fingertips over his shoulder, you slide your arm around him, pulling him into an embrace. Armin shudders in your hold, a meek whimper slipping past his lips as he crushes his body into yours. Your nails press into the sliver of skin that peeks over the lip of his collar.

It's the nape of his neck.

When titans were simply the monsters that hid beneath your bed and plagued your dreams, it was common knowledge that the way to snuff them out was through the nape. It felt oddly vulnerable for your hand to roam over the smooth expanse of skin, though even as a titan shifter it was no weak spot, it may well have been with the way his body shook in your arms.

“That doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to live or to love,” you whisper against the shell of his ear, “You get to love now, you get to be loved. Armin, you’re allowed to have things and to want things even after all that has happened.”

Armin sniffles, pressing his nose in your hair. The scent of the lavender soap you’ve used for as long as you could remember still clings to your hair. You wonder if he remembers if that is why he burrows his face deeper until the tip of his nose and his lips brush against the skin of your neck.

Wanting was hard.

So little felt tangible and on the off chance it was, it remained just out of reach. Like a tease, that brushed your fingertips as you outstretched your arm before pulling away or a glimpse of the sun before an array of clouds moved in from across the sky. You couldn’t remember the last time you wanted something. Whatever it was you felt for Armin simmered lowly on a back burner until now, longing did not serve survival. Still, you wanted him but not in the way magpies coveted shiny trinkets but in the way the stars longed for the moon. It was a constant, all consuming yearning that made your stomach twist inward at the strange sensation.

“I don’t even …” Armin trails off, his voice wet with emotion, “I can’t remember the last time I allowed myself to desire something.”

Leaning back, Armin allows enough space for him to look at your face. His cheeks are pink, blotchy, and shiny with half dried tears that pooled atop the apples of his cheeks. Cupping your face with the palm of your hand, he smiles sadly at you.

“But, all I have wanted for years was to know what it is like to kiss you.”

Your body burns, not with embarrassment but something else.

“Is that all?” You ask.

The corners of Armin’s mouth twitch upward, “Maybe not but I let go of those dreams long ago.”

“You kept this one, why?”

“Wishful thinking, maybe or … ?” Armin says, scrunching his brows together as he trails off, “You’ve always been here, you’ve been a constant in this ever changing world so I suppose I hoped there’d be a day where I could …”

“Kiss me?”

Armin bashfully nods, biting his lip a bit.

The shiny metal kettle of water grows cold in the length of time you and Armin spend silently staring at each other. He assesses you, slowly, looking for any signs that your affection for him remained buried in the past. You spoke in the past tense, and your words were too easily misconstrued. Your hands slip to cup the underside of his jaw. All this waiting, all this thinking was maddening when you knew exactly what you wanted. His face replaced those of all the men you kissed, his body manifested in the throngs of taverns like an apparition to taunt you. You wanted to kiss him more than you wanted anything else in this world.

His skin was warm to the touch, you’re sure yours is too. You feel warm like you’ve been dipped in melted candle wax. A bit of stubble tickles the palm of your hands and it makes you giggle. His hair is so fair, you didn’t even notice. Armin’s shoulders tense as you lean in, insecurity claws at your throat but you’ve already taken the leap. You were too far gone now to change your mind. Gently grazing your lips across his, you give Armin a chance to back away but he only leans in closer, his calloused thumbs bite into the soft edge of your jawline as he instinctively squeezes you.

Armin’s lips are slightly chapped and scabbed over in a way that tells you he still nervously chews them when he’s worried. He’s inexperienced, that you were expecting, not that you were particularly tactful with how you clumsily melded your mouth against his. Though, he didn’t seem to mind as he eagerly attempted to mimic each movement. The thread of want that coiled around your stomach roared, begging for your attention as pulled away.

The small noise of disappointment that gathers in the back of Armin’s throat does not fall deaf upon your ears. But, you feel ravenous. If you didn’t slither away now, you’d consume him, bones and all, before he’d even had the chance to register that you sunk your teeth into his sternum. You feel ravenous. It makes your skin itch. Your fingers twitched, they desperately wished to burrow themselves into his flesh to feel how his heart thrummed for you.

Through lidded eyes, Armin peers at you, “Just like I thought,” he says, his cheeks somehow deepening in colour.

“What do you mean?”

“One kiss and I’m gone,” he explains but that doesn’t smooth the confused furrow from between your brows, “I want more, I don’t know how I’m meant to live on knowing what it’s like to kiss and never being able to again.”

Your nose scrunches as you frown, “Say who?”

“Pardon?”

“Who said that I’d never kiss you again?” You ask, smoothing your thumb along the length of his stubbly jaw, “Because, I never said that.”

“I just thought-”

Looping your arms around his neck you sigh, “Stop thinking so much,” you whine, allowing yourself to relish in the knowledge that he too wanted more, “Sometimes things are far simpler than you make them out to be.”

Armin bashfully dips his chin for a moment, his heat filled gaze cast away which offers you some reprieve. Only for a short moment, though. He faces you once more in an instant. You can see it swimming in the pools of his irises, the want, the hunger. It’s something you never imagined to be reflected back to you, least of all from Armin. It thrills you all the same, your skin prickling with electricity that crackles to life when he reaches for your hips.

It’s gentlemanly, how he rests his hands respectively over your body with a feather light touch that may flee should you move too quickly. You want more though, you wish he’d take claim to you the way you the way your cunt ached for.

“Are they?”

You nod, fearing your voice would somehow betray you.

He too nods, far more thoughtful than you were, “You know, I loved you too, never had any doubts of what it was,” he muses, his adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he swallows, “It never faded either even when I lost and confused about what came next.”

His admission makes you bristle, your ears perking up in search of any misspoken syllables that may have deluded you. There were none. There was no mistaking what Armin had confessed. It doesn’t feel real. You’d pinch yourself if Armin’s watchful gaze was pointed anywhere but you. That alone was proof enough that this was very real, Armin just confessed his love for you.

“And you?” Armin asks.

“Huh?”

Your heart pounds, screaming over the sound of Armin’s voice. You suck in a shaky breath and will your heart to calm down. In all your years of wanting, of yearning, you never imagined what it would be like to have your feelings reciprocated. You assumed neither of you would live long enough for anything to come to fruition. But you could hope now, right?

“Did your feelings for me ever fade?”

“No … no, never,” admitting out loud that you pined after a boy for nearly two decades would have made you feel pathetic if it wasn’t Armin who pulled the truth from where it coiled around your ribs, “Even if I wanted them too, they never would. You’re it for me, you’re the only person I was made to love.”

You didn’t fancy yourself a dreamer. At least, not after everything was said and done. There wasn’t much to dream up, but if you were to dream or indulge you’d tell him that there could never be anyone else because your souls were tied together. It was a terribly selfish thought but it was true enough that you felt inexplicably tied to Armin. Even if this day passed and you never saw him again, your heart would remain his until you both returned to earth.

Armin kisses you before you’re able to backpedal on any of your words, almost shyly, but still eager enough that his need rolls off his body in waves and crashes into you. His nails press through the thin material of your nightgown to nip at your hips. You’re reminded of just how strong he has become in all your years apart when you feel his muscles ripple through his forearms.

“Armin,” you sharply whisper between the desperate press of his mouth to yours, “I want you.”

It’s an unfinished thought. There are too many words that could come next and not enough actions to convey what it is you want. Threading your fingers through carefully styled hair, you tug at the strands. Armin keens into your mouth, one of his hands shooting out to grasp the edge of the counter you were pressed against. Having braced himself, he’s careful not to put too much of his weight onto you as his body melts into yours.

“I’m right here,” he says, with a slight laugh.

Resting your forehead against his, you sigh, “I want you,” you repeat, untangling your fingers from his hair to fiddle with the top button of his shirt. You flick it open, slowly testing the waters. There’s a sparse patch of flaxen hair that leads your gaze past his collarbones, “I want to be close to you, close with you…”

Your whisper, wanton words did little to clarify what you meant, Armin’s confused stare was fixed on your swollen, kiss bitten lips. Popping open another button, you glare at his tie. It constricts the fabric of his shirt from spilling open any further. Pulling the tongue of the tie out from where it’s neatly tucked in his waistband, you tug on it until you’re nose to nose. You swallow thickly, your gaze trailing down the expanse of his neck. The muscles strained beneath the skin as he nervously clenched his jaw.

“Oh … Oh.”

The red in his cheeks deepened. He looked a bit like a tomato but it was rather endearing.

“...Yeah?”

He nods a bit too quickly, “Yeah,” he agrees, biting his bottom lip, “I want this, I want this with you.”

Tentatively, Armin rests his hands on your shoulder and thumbs at the worn wool of your well loved cardigan. The fabric is slowly peeling away from your body, slipping down your biceps to pool in the crook of your elbows. Your heart flutters, it’s a strange sensation and for a moment you wonder if it’s healthy. It can’t be, not with how your stomach lurches alongside your heart. Unfurling your fists from his tie, you straighten your arms and allow your cardigan to unceremoniously fall to the floor.

“Are you sure?” You ask, your fingers skimming the delicate neckline of your nightgown. You weren’t yet so overcome with lust that you forgot yourself or Armin’s apparent lack of experience.

His hands replace yours, “Yes,” his skin is clammy but so is yours, the sheen of nervous sweat that gathers along your jugular feels disgusting when laid overtop of goosebumps but you can’t will either away, “You’re special to me … there isn’t anyone else I would want to do this with.”

“You’re not just saying this because you want to die with no regrets?”

You cringe at the crippling edge of insecurity that creeps over you, mentally slapping your hand in shame. Bad! You silently scold. You wouldn’t blame him if he did. In spite of all that happened, the future was never promised, you both knew that much. There was no shame in wanting to taste all life had to offer just in case. It was human nature.

“I’m going to live a very long life,” Armin says with a confident smile. Such sureness would usually make you roll your eyes in annoyance but Armin doesn’t say it to be boastful– even if he had, he’d have earned it– he says it matter of fact, he will live a long life in spite of everything, “And so are you, there’s no need to think in half measures filled with worries because we’re going to live long beautiful lives filled with everything we could ever want.”

It’s a pretty picture he paints but you can’t help but whisper, “We are?”

Smoothing his calloused thumbs along the column of your throat, Armin exhales, “Yes, we are,” you almost believe him, his optimism was just that convincing, “I’ll make sure of it.”

Armin tugs on the loop that keeps your nightgown tied closed, not minding that the two of you still stand in your kitchenette and it’s his first time. He gently guides the thin cotton fabric open to expose your chest but doesn’t move to pull the cloth from your body. In turn, you push his jacket off his shoulders and toss it to the floor with your cardigan. He unbuttons his shirt, letting it fall open to reveal his lithe abdomen.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispers, walking backwards at your behest, “You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

His brows shoot into his hairline when he bumps into the edge of your table, “I never pegged you to be such a flatterer, Mister Arlert,” you tease, pushing his chest until he takes the hint to hop onto the tabletop, “You tell all the girls that?”

It’s easy to wear a smile and play the part of a bashful lovestruck young lady. It’s only half a performance. There were parts of you that have long since been buried amongst the past lives you lived. They seemed to come back to you with each puff of breath that passed your lips. You slip in and out of you were and you could become. It’s frightening and thrilling. You like the rush you get when he smiles back at you. It’s megawatt bright and wide enough to take up most of his face. You wonder if he feels it too, the pieces that come together like a puzzle. He must, that’s why he smiles and allows himself to indulge in the perilous depths of wanting that lap at your bellies.

“No,” he playfully rolls his eyes, his fingers splaying out as he presses his palms flat against the table, “Only you. It’s only ever been you.”

Your stomach somersaults, you could get used to the feeling, the flirting, being desired earnestly.

You’ve been desired before but those men didn’t desire you, but rather the idea of you, your house, even your cunt, but never really you. They never filled you with empty promises, their intentions quite clear from the first shared mug of ale. It never bothered you before but now it does. You wish you didn’t fall for their promise of something good when the real thing was so much better now that you had it in your grasp.

The tip of his shoe just barely grazes the floor as he swings his leg back and forth, stepping into the space between his spread legs, you graze your fingertip along the length of his thigh. The metal of his belt glints in the warm morning light. You should probably bring him upstairs, to your bedroom. You worry if you do, you’ll lose the nerves that have steeled over to service the aching monster in your belly. Tomorrow he might think you crass, perhaps he would even sooner when the haze of desire faded and he was left with the weight of his indulgence.

“May I?

“Yes, please,” Armin breathes, shuddering a bit when you place your hand on the buckle.

His hips twitch upward, seeking the warm touch of your hand. Daring to cast your gaze downward, you rake your eyes over his growing bulge. His belt clinks open and you suck in a nervous breath. You’re about to ask if you can unbutton his dress pants when he whispers another small plea, his breath heavy.

A few strands of hair slip over the edge of your shoulder, Armin tucks them behind your ear with a pleased smile. His cock springs forth when you pull the waistband of his underwear downward. The wispy trail of hair that disappears beneath his shirt is a shade darker, but just as fine as the hair on his head. Your mouth waters at the sight of his rosy tip, precum oozes when you gently squeeze the base of his cock. Slowly pumping your hand up and down his length, you glance at Armin.

His bottom lip is squished between his teeth, hiding the sweet little sounds that travel up his throat. You strain your ears to listen, your eyes boring into his. He blinks but holds your gaze. He frees his bottom lip and allows his jaw to hang open when he realises that you’re listening to his sounds. Armin doesn’t have to be quiet, he can loudly indulge in his pleasures so he does. Softly moaning your name with a goofy, lovestruck expression on his face even as he jerks his hips up to match your rhythm.

“Does that feel good?” you ask, internally cringing as you wrack your brain for something to say. You wonder if you should stay silent, but words may be more comforting.

Armin’s head bobs as he nods a bit too quickly, “Yes,” he moans as he digs his nails into the splintered wood of your table.

He uses his other hand to curl his fingers around your wrist, the one that wasn’t languidly working his cock. Armin squeezes your wrist too roughly like he forgets himself and his own strength, your brows crinkle in pain but it’s easily masked as a look of concentration. You don’t mind though, the pain reminds you that you’re alive, that this was real and not just the machinations of an overactive imagination. Armin shudders when you use your thumb to spread some of the precum gathered along the head of his cock down the shaft, allowing your hand to slide more smoothly.

Your name is sweet on his tongue, the syllables roll off it in a way that makes you think it belongs there. Like Armin was meant to say your name like this for the rest of eternity.

“I want to touch you too,” he pants, between wanton whimpers. The smooth silver of skin that he clings to isn’t enough, “I want you to feel good too.”

It’s difficult to say no to Armin when he asks so sweetly, “Okay,” you say, bringing your linked hands up to your mouth to press a kiss to the back of his hand, “Lay back for me, okay?”

Armin does as you ask without question like a dutiful dog obeys its owner. You hitch your legs over the edge of the table and settle atop of his thighs. Hiking the hem of your nightgown upward, you guide Armin’s hand between your legs to where your bare, wet pussy clenches in anticipation. Your cunt aches with need and your chest squeezes at the slight brush of his calloused fingers across your folds.

“Touch me here.”

“Like this?” he asks, curling his fingers to rub against your throbbing clit, a shiver rolls through your spine.

Cupping your hand over his, you encourage him to make a few small circles, “Mhm, just like that,” you shudder, your breath halting when the table creaks beneath your shared weight, “It feels good, Armin.”

Seeming satisfied with himself and the way his name melted past your lips, he replicates your movement. You feel feverish with need as the urge to burrow yourself within his sternum consumes you. It melds with the pinpricks of pleasure that dance inside your belly as your muscles tense. It’s a terrible fate– to be ensnared by Armin Arlert. You don’t believe his promises, no matter how saccharine. It’s devilish for him to touch you, you’ve decided. Like with your kisses, how were you meant to go on without Armin ever touching you like this again? But, you’ve learned to manage your expectations. Dreams were called dreams because they were never meant to be anything more than something to wish on as a child. Even if he did still love you, there was too much distance between what became of your life and what became of his.

Pleasure burns your belly. It singes your insecurities but doesn’t snuff them out in their entirety. It’s just enough to chase them away and leave nothing but bliss in their wake. Your head feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton. Your chest heaves with haggard breaths, and your nightgown slips open to reveal the supple skin of your chest and your breasts to Armin. His gaze is respectful as he drinks in the sight. He moans to himself and marvels, it’s quite endearing. You like it, you don’t feel dirty or ashamed for your wanton ways, how could you when Armin drinks you in like you’re a perfectly crafted mountainside that has been crafted just for his admiration?

“Armin,” you sigh, “I need you inside of me.”

Wrapping your fingers around his cock, you slide the head between your dripping folds. Armin’s body wracks and his shoulders shake as he quivers with need. He moans your name once more, and you commit the sound to memory, for those cold and lonely nights that never seem to end. Your shoulders tense when you press the tip to your hole. It’s been a while, the stretch burns a bit. But, it’s nice. Your eyes roll back into your head and you curse under your breath.

Armin slopes his hand around the nape of your neck, “Can I kiss you?” he all but moans, “I want to kiss you again.”

His rosy cheeks grow round when he offers you a bashful smile. You kiss him, your tongue and teeth clicking against one another as you sloppily move your mouth alongside his. You’ve never been much of a multitasker. It’s hard to focus on much else aside from the mind numbing pleasure that distracts you. He hasn’t stopped rolling your clit between his fingers and as he swallows up your moans with desperate, fevered kisses, you wonder if he’s enjoying how much of a mess he’s made of you.

Your heart throbs in a funny sort of manner when you sink all the way down the length of his cock. The feeling of fullness spreads to the tips of your fingers all the way down to your toes. You hate how complete you feel, the fact that a small part of you wishes you could bottle the utter feeling of contentedness that warms you. The hunger and longing that lives inside of you never felt satiated, not once in the decade since it burrowed behind your lungs. Now though, they purr happily like a fat cat who’s had its fair share of the cream.

The taste of salt dabbles on your tongue, “Why are you crying?” Armin asks, his voice laced with concern, “Is something wrong, does it hurt?”

Swiping your fingers across the top of your cheekbones you confirm that those are your tears and not his. They spill past your lash line and there is nothing you can do to stop them. You don’t feel sad, even with the mess in your head you know that much. You sputter for a moment, desperately searching his face for an answer but nothing comes.

“I’m just so happy,” you say though you’re unsure where those words come from but they flow freely before you can stop them just like your tears, “I like being this close to you, I want to stay this close to you.”

Forever.

That’s the word that should complete your sentence. You keep it clutched to your chest where it’ll remain safe so long as you’re vigilant.

You knock your hips forward to silence whatever endeared sentiment Armin is about to form. His brows press together in concentration. He’s nearing his end, you can feel it in the way he throbs inside of you. Your tears are gently wiped by rough hands, you hardly register them. It’s difficult to focus on much as he plays with your clit and dutifully matches each flick of your hips. He’s a quick learner, he always has been. You wonder if he’s storing your reactions and sounds for later so that if there was a next time, he’d do exactly what you’d like without instruction. The end nears for you too, it lingers amongst the obnoxious groans from your table as you rock your hips. The sounds of skin bare slapping marry your shared, debauched whines. They’ll haunt your walls tomorrow and the next.

They haunt you right now.

You didn’t think you were capable of feeling so serene, but you do. You’re untouchable as you chase your release. It lays in the palm of Armin’s hands. You’ll eat straight from them if you have to. The coil in your stomach tightens for a moment and your breathing becomes staggered. Armin is no better, he sputters small half breaths between needy whines of your name. His forehead rests on your shoulder, and his sweat dabbled hair sticks to you. Strands of your hair cling to the nape of your neck too. The cool breeze that slithers across your house makes your heated skin break out with goosebumps. It doesn’t bother you though, nothing could bother you now.

“I love you,” Armin whispers into your skin as he cums, holding your body close to his.

A few more tears well up as your orgasm washes through you. Your thighs shake and you struggle to bring your arms around his torso. His tight embrace makes up for it as they lay limply by your side. Your flush skin is peppered with affectionate kisses and his nose is nuzzled into the crook of your neck. You feel loved, you haven’t felt it in a while but it felt similar to this. The earnest way he embraces you without a second thought is imbued with love. Lifting your tired arms, you curl them around his body. Your nails dig into the hardened flesh of his back. They leave a few crescent moons to join the myriad of battle scars and freckles that have returned to him.

‘“I love you too.”

You wish you could say it was true for the moment but it’s not. It was true because you did love him, you loved him in a way you weren’t sure you were capable of loving anyone else. If Ymir the Founder had left her people with anyone before erasing herself and her titan kin from existence, you think it might have been eternal love. The kind that wasn’t possible of fading, even when you didn’t understand why.

Hours pass and you find yourself in your bed once more, on the edge of waking and sleep you register the lack of sunlight. You don’t remember exactly how you made your way upstairs but you do remember two strong arms holding you close as you allowed slumber to cradle your tired mind in its embrace. The other side of the bed is still warm, but your blanket is tucked snugly beneath your chin.

There’s a letter on your bedside table and a glass of water. You make out the letters of your name and the promise of return but you choose not to read any further. Laying in silence you wonder if she’s still out there, your creator, the founder. If she was, you hoped she would listen to your pleas. You were strong, but you weren’t strong enough to spend the rest of your life waiting on a lost life whose remains had long since returned to the dirt and earth.

You prayed that the Jägerist’s stupidity would fall deaf to Queen Historia’s ears and that when you awoke next, there’d still be a head of blond hair next to you with long pretty eyelashes and rosy cheeks that told all his secrets.

He was too far entangled in your rib cage. You were far too comfortably curled around his aorta. Armin may be able to withstand it but you weren’t. After all this time, you really hoped you could be happy. Even with all the strangeness that came from estrangement, you felt more alive with Armin than you had in all the years of living in Shiganshina. It was a shell of its former self, with the ghosts of yesterday's past filling all the nooks and crannies. You too easily allowed yourself to become one of them, the ghosts but you didn’t half to be a ghost, you could want things just the same as Armin could.

And you wanted him to come back to you so the two of you could experience that future he was talking about.

Mr. Arlert did not raise a liar or a man who’d break promises. Your chances were good. You could be happy. All the lost parts of you could return and maybe you’d feel whole again, and maybe you’d welcome the warmth of the sun on your skin the same way you welcomed Armin back into your life.

You deserved some ounce of happiness too.

#armin arlert x reader #armin arlert smut #attack on titan x reader #aot x reader #aot smut #armin x reader #armin smut #armin x you

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gingiesworld · 10 months

Text

Love is Fickle

Final Part

Wanda Maximoff x GN! Reader

Warnings: Angst. Fluff. Tears. Death.

Taglist: @username23345 @fxckmiup @marvelogic @dark-hunter16 @moistblobfish

18+ MINORS DNI

It had been a couple of months since Y/N had been declared MIA and Steve had went to lead a search team. Wanda kept reading over the letters they had sent as Peggy remained inside Y/N's room. Only eating when Mrs Maximoff made her meals.

"He will bring them home Peggy." She reassured her friend/neighbour. "The both of them will be home safe."

"I don't know." She whispered as she looked up at the woman beside her. "I have this horrible feeling. I can't quite explain it but I can feel something terrible has happened." Mrs Maximoff just wrapped her arm around her as she cried. "I don't know what I'll do if I lost either of them."

The weeks wore on and still no word of the whereabouts of Y/N, not even a peep from Steve either.

"This is the last place we have to search before they are declared dead." Captain Rogers stated as the troops nodded.

"But what about their families. We're practically giving up." One spoke out as Steve sighed.

"I am the family of one of the missing troops. My kid is out there getting tortured or god knows what." He boomed. "But we all fight under the same flag, so that makes you guys their family too, and we will fight to bring our family home."

"Yes sir." They all answered in unison.

"Let's move out!" He boomed before he headed to his quarters to check his rifle. Hoping that this is the place they find Y/N. Looking at the picture of the three of them together on a family vacation before they started their senior year.

The troops travelled towards the enemy base, well if that is what you can call it. It was only a few huts surrounding a cave. Shots being fired as they infiltrated the base. Steve had one goal in mind and that was find and rescue Y/N. Not caring if he made it out alive himself.

When they made their way towards the cells, Steve's heart broke at the sight. He saw Y/N strung up with their wrists tied together. The tips of their toes barely scraping the concrete below them. The blood both dry and fresh covered their face and ruined uniform. Steve was fast to get his knife from his belt to cut them down with the help of another.

"They're still alive but barely." They informed Steve as he sighed in relief. There was time to save their kid.

"Let's get them home." He said as the troops got the remaining survivors and led them outside. "We need emergency evac." He spoke through the radio.

"5 minutes out to the rendevouz point." They replied as the troops fired their way through the base. Killing enemies in their way.

"I'm going to get you home Y/N." Steve muttered as he continued to power through. The survivors were placed on the chopper as the extraction team provided cover fire. Steve groaned when he felt a bullet rip through his back. Not thinking much of it as he watched Y/N get treated.

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

Days had passed since the rescue, the survivors were being flown home as was the bodies of the fallen. Peggy stood with Mrs Maximoff as they watched everyone get off the flight. Hoping to see both Y/N and Steve walk off arm in arm. When the troops had walked off, her heart dropped at the sight of Y/N being wheeled off the plane. Tubes and wires were attached to help them heal as a coffin followed moments later.

"I'm so sorry for your loss Mrs Rogers." One of the Lieutenants spoke as they handed Steve's medal of honour to her. She sobbed as she realised that she had lost the love of her life. She almost lost her child too.

"Come on." Mrs Maximoff pulled her with her. Following as Y/N was taken to the hospital on the base. "Y/N needs you."

Mrs Maximoff informed Wanda of Y/N's return and Captain Rogers death. She visited them a few times, her heart breaking as she watched the machines do the work for them. Hating not seeing their eyes gazing into her own.

As the weeks wore on, Peggy was trying her hardest to be strong for Y/N but was slowly falling apart. Until the moment Y/N woke up, she smiled as the tears fell from her face.

"My baby." She whispered as Y/N gave her a small smile.

"Where's dad?" They asked as she sighed, giving them a sad smile.

"He uh he led the extraction team to save you and your unit." She started nervously. "They found you after months of searching and he uh." She wiped her eyes. "He died. GSW to the back."

"No." Y/N shook their head as she ran her fingers through their matted long hair. "He can't be."

"I'm so sorry baby." She whispered as she hugged them.

"I'm so sorry mama." They cried. "It's my fault. He should have just left me there."

"He wouldn't have done that and you know it." Peggy told them as she cupped their face. "He was so proud of you and he just wanted you home safe. That was all he ever wanted." The two cried together as Y/N held onto her for dear life. "I love you so much baby."

Once the two had calmed down, Peggy went to get coffee as Wanda stood in the doorway. A gentle smile on her face as she watched Y/N look out of the window.

"Are you going to step in or stand there." Y/N stated emotionlessly.

"I missed you." Wanda told them as she sat beside them.

"Did you mean it?" They asked her as they finally looked at her. "When you said you love me. Did you mean it? I need you to mean it, because I only thought of the possibility of having a life with you. Marriage. Kids. Just the thought of you kept me going and I need you to mean it because I don't think I will survive if you didn't."

"I meant it then and I mean it now." Wanda told them. "I love you. I am in love with you Y/N. I mean it with my last breath." She caressed their face. "It's you and I forever."

"I love you so much Wanda. I always have." They whispered before Wanda kissed them with so much emotion. Everything she had wanted to tell them over time was poured into this one kiss. She was letting them know she will be by their side for the rest of their lives.

5 years later

Y/N stood nervously at the alter as Peggy smiled at them from her seat. Carol, one of their colleagues straightened out their suit with a reassuring smile.

"You will be fine." She told them as she fixed their tie. Y/N knew the moment they saw Wanda walk down the aisle that they were set for life. The love they felt for each other grew with each passing moment. The future set before them in the green irises of their love.

"Wanda, I have always known that it was always you and I until the very end. It just took you a little longer but I would wait lifetimes to be with you." Y/N smiled at her as they spoke. "I promise to spend the rest of my life making you as happy as you can be. Give you the family you crave and the happy ending you have always wanted. I love you Wanda Maximoff."

"I'm sorry that I didn't realise sooner that you were always the one for me." She spoke softly. "Everyone else knew but myself. I ignored everyone thinking they were just teasing me because we're best friends, but they knew that we were always meant to be. They knew that sooner or later, our paths would intertwine and I couldn't be happier than I am right now. I love you so much Y/N and I promise to love you more with each passing moment." The two sealed the moment with a loving kiss. Feeling like the only two people in the world.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #marvel #wanda x you #wanda x y/n #elizabeth olsen #wanda x reader #elizabeth olsen x reader #wanda maximoff x you #natasha romanoff

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sotisha · 8 months

Text

Only one week until the Autumn Equinox, also known as Mabon, when night and day are at equal length. It is a time of great balance, a time to centre and ground ourselves to the earth.

Mabon is a Pagan festival called a Sabbat, it is the final harvest of the year, because after this day vegetation will begin to wither and die. Farmers will harvest their crops and fields will become dry and barren. The leaves on trees are starting to change colour ready to fall, while fruit and nuts start to drop from the branches. Even though it will begin to feel colder and get darker, all around us we are surrounded by the warm colours of fire such as reds, yellows, oranges and browns.

Mabon is also a time of making family feasts and stews and of sharing food with friends, family and neighbours, add lots of root vegetables with a choice of meat (leave out the meat if you're vegetarian) to a slow cooked stew and bread. Drink cider and apple juice, also apple, rhubarb, pumpkin, berry or meat pies are customary with a pentacle carved or added onto the pastry before cooking.

We celebrate Mabon by setting up an alter to honour the season. On the alter put anything you can find that will represent Autumn, such as fallen leaves or branches, acorns, pine cones and nuts. Add fruit and vegetables like pumpkins, squash, carrots, turnip, grapes, berries etc, Add apples by cutting them horizontally to reveal the Pentagram in their centre. You can also add corn bundles, wheat bundles or corn or wheat dollies. Light candles with Autumn colours of red, orange, white, purple and brown or gold. The alter will bring luck and protection, it will honour the season and the God and Goddess who bestow the gifts upon the earth. When lighting the candles ask the Goddess for her blessings and the God for protection for the colder, darker months to come.

This coming Mabon is a time to give thanks for the abundance of food and the harvest, to thank the God and Goddess for their gifts and their sacrifices. It is a time to appreciate what we have in life and give thanks for all our blessings no matter how small they may be.

#Mabon 2023 #mabon sabbat #mabon

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sometimesbrave · 5 months

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read chapter 1: here, chapter 2: here, chapter 3: here

warnings: dead bodies

June 1986

***

"The death of me was so quiet

No friends and family allowed

Only my murderer, you, and the priest

Who told you to go to Hell"

- doomsday by Lizzy McAlpine

***

Today was the one year anniversary of Raja Mannar's reign in Khansaar. As a gift to their king, a Mannar Dhora delivered the Khansaar court the good news: Dhaara Shouryanga Raisaar's wife and son are dead.

They were both found in Odisha. They were captured to bring back to Khansaar. But they both had tried to escape again, so, they were beaten so much their faces were brutally disfigured and eventually they died. Raja Mannar had planned to hang the bodies outside Khansaar court, but he was advised against it, as it may instigate a few rebels. After seeing the two bloody corpses, he was finally at peace. This chapter has finally come to an end. No rightful claims to the throne remained. The throne of Khansaar belonged to him and him alone.

When Varadha received this news, his soul left his body. He felt as though he was observing himself from the outside. Then he heard someone screaming very loudly. Then he realised it was him. He had actually fallen to the floor, screaming his guts out while Baba hugged him to try and calm him down. Baachi was peering at his brother through the door, not understanding what to do.

After a few hours, Varadha went to the hospital to see the bodies against Baba's wishes. The most important thing now was to make sure the death rites were done properly. It was the least Varadha could do. He can deal with his grief another day. Today he had to be responsible. When he was about to enter the mortuary, Baba took him aside.

"Varadha, whatever you see in there, must be between us. You cannot get shocked. You must accept the truth that Deva and his mother are gone, forever."

Varadha nodded his head. He entered the mortuary and saw two bodies covered in white sheets. He asked the helper to lift the sheets.

The helper looked at Baba concerned, "Sir, I don't think that's a good idea."

Varadha would not budge from his position.

"I am ordering you to lift the face covering. I will not ask again."

The helper relented and lifted the covers off both the bodies.

Varadha did not recognise the faces. There was nothing recognisable. They were so beaten. The eyes and lips were swollen while the scalp was ripped in a few places on both of them. Varadha's hands shook as he approached the bodies. He stood beside the boy's body and began to cry. He fell on his body and started weeping hysterically. Baba tried to pull him away from the body when Varadha noticed something. The bruise Deva got after his fight with Rudra's pahalwan….the electric wire shocked him. The bruise spanned from his arm to his neck and it was no longer there.

This was not Deva.

Varadha looked at Baba in disbelief.

Varadha was about to speak when Baba interrupted him, "Varadha, you are just in shock. We should get you home as soon as possible and plan for the death rites. We have to honour your friend and his mother. We must leave now."

As soon as Varadha and Baba reached home, Varadha hugged him.

"That is not Deva and Amma", he choked.

"No, they are not.", Baba admitted,

"They are just dead bodies of couple of poor strangers who will be buried in a strange land."

"But why?!", Varadha asked in disbelief.

"Because you are not the only person who cares about Deva and his mother. There are few powerful people in Khansaar who want them to be left alone"

"Who are they? Is it a Mannar Dhora?!"

"I also don't know alright. Just be grateful that this worked out in your favour. The most important thing for you to remember is that Deva and his mother are dead to Khansaar. So, your behaviour must not raise any suspicions.", Baba warned.

Though Varadha was overjoyed that Deva and Amma are not dead, he was sad that these strangers' bodies were mutilated and not given to their rightful family. The least he could do was provide them a proper funeral.

Thus, Raja Mannar believed that, on June 27th 1986, Deva Shouryaanga Raisaar and his mother's pyres were lit by his traitorous son, Varadharaja Mannar.

****

tags: @deadloverscity @ghostdriftexistence @sambaridli @rambheem-is-real @sinistergooseberries @vardhamannartitties, @moonnpaww @literariyumi @sana2410 @varadevaficrecs

#salaar #varadharaja mannar

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torillatavataan · 6 months

Video

youtube

Kuudes joulukuuta (The Sixth December)

The 6th December is Finnish Independence Day. It is a solem celebration. On this day we remember and honour those who fought for our country’s independence against the Soviet Union, an old enemy that planned to destroy us.

Teille käsky kuului rajoillamme seistä Oli tehtävänne silloin mahdoton Sinne jäivät ikuisesti monet teistä Teki valintojaan käsi kohtalon

You were ordered to stand at our borders Your task back then was impossible Many of you were left behind there forever The hand of fate dealt its choices

Ovat rajalliset elämämme päivät Emme koskaan tiedä kenen vuoro on Monet palas’, mutta liian monet jäivät Vuoksi kodin, isänmaan ja uskonnon

The days of our lives are limited We never know whose turn is next Many returned, but too many stayed For the sake of home, country, and religion

Ilman ontuvaa ystävääni Olisimme vain läntisin lääni Ilman miestä, jonka jalka on nyt puuta Olis' arkipäivä kuudes joulukuuta Ilman teitä, selvinneitä jostain sieltä Puhuisimme nyt vierasta kieltä Ilman heitä, joiden ristit ovat puuta Olis’ arkipäivä kuudes joulukuuta

Without my limping friend We would be just the westernmost province Without the man whose leg is now wood The sixth of December would be just like any other day Without you, the survivors from somewhere over there We would now speak a foreign language Without those whose crosses are wood * The sixth of December would be just like any other day

Eivät koskaan mene umpeen sielun haavat Emme niitä pysty teille korvaamaan Aivan liian harvat teistä nähdä saavat Kun me itsenäisyyttämme juhlitaan

The wounds of the soul will never heal We can never compensate those for you Far too few of you get to see As we celebrate our independence

Vielä vapaa on ja itsenäinen maamme Se on sitä vuoksi suuren urheuden Nöyrin mielin Suomen lippuun katsokaamme Kiitos teidän, se on sinivalkoinen

Our country is still free and independent That it is due to great bravery Let us humbly look upon the Finnish flag Thanks to you it is blue and white

Ilman ontuvaa ystävääni... ...Olis’ arkipäivä kuudes joulukuuta

Without my limping friend... ...The sixth of December would be just like any other day

* Typically the graves of fallen soldiers are grouped together and are marked by simple, white crosses.

#suomi #finland #finnish #suomeksi #itsenäisyyspäivä #video #*#käännös

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mommyofkittens · 3 months

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A Court of Fallen Heroes - Chapter 8: Jane Doe

𓆩✴𓆪

" So, do we have a deal? " Impatience. Impatience was written all over King Draegan's voice, like a child ready to receive his Christmas present. " As you can see, our lands are really going to waste. There's almost nothing left to save. Our fields are barren, our rivers are poisoned by irreparable amounts of waste, our birthrate has plummeted and our workforce has dwindled alarmingly. We're no longer a threat, if that's what's stopping you from making a decision. "

I look at the copper-coloured ornament that protects his toes and think of all the poverty he described. Those perfect boots, cleaned by the hands of a man whose salary wasn't even enough to feed himself and his children.

Sell all your gold to those who need it, save the nation from poverty, do something to prevent it, not increase it, you fools!

I was expecting Eris to say something similar to what I was thinking, I wanted him to be a good character in this situation, to finally fight for this cause, but I knew there was more to it than a simple gesture of kindness between continents.

" The best I can do for now is to send someone to help you with the water, it would be a first step towards restoring the wells and rivers. " The redhead steps sideways, blocking the bed with his tall body. " My father will be happy to help you. I believe there's still hope between us, the new generation of rulers. "

I press my face to the ground, trying to catch a glimpse of the man who made Aoife pregnant. The tassels caught by the guild hung low, blocking most of my view. I could barely see up to their knees.

" It would be an immeasurable honour to have High Lord Beron in the palace. He and I have shared some grand ideas for the future of our lands, for the best use of the consumable races that seem to multiply every day. " I grimace, feeling the dark, malicious smile spread across Draegan's pleasant features. " And with the scientist your father sent me, it would be much easier to test the limits of our horizons. Wouldn't it, Lord Vanserra? "

A ball of thorns blossoms in my stomach, accentuating the guilt, feeding my anger. I bite my inner cheek, tasting blood on my tongue. What did he mean by 'consumable races'? What's the horizon that both Draegan and Beron aspire to? I struggle under the bed, waiting impatiently for Eris's answer, hoping he wasn't involved in this plan, wishing he was faking it.

Eris's silence is loud. He was caught on the wrong foot. Is what I needed for him: let him be shocked by their own wickedness. He remains near the edge of the bed, forgetting that he had to follow Draegan inside the antechamber.

" Excuse me, yes, it would be. " Eris takes a deep breath, steadying himself. " I was just thinking about the stability of Prythian. Politics have gone mad lately, my father is buried under all the paperwork and I believe he will not be able to honour any of your invitations to dinner. "

Draegan's laughter chills my blood more than the icy black marble. " I've heard about it too. A friend of mine from Vallahan informed me about all the damage. We are all suffering, right? Why not suffer together, strengthen each other's weakness. "

" But curiosity gets the best of me: what do you mean by consumable races? "

" Ah... " The King's black boots, perfectly fitted to his muscular calves, turn towards Eris. " It's just something I mentioned to your father on his last visit. It's a delicate subject, I can't discuss it with you between so many hungry ears. I'll tell you when the time is right. And the soldiers of your court have done a wonderful job with the new recruits to our army. "

Eris takes a few cautious steps towards the small wooden table where I left the white linen sheets. He seemed to be looking out over the balcony at the vast gothic empire, as if realising the damage already done. " And the soldiers... Of course. "

His tone was even, cold, an unmistakable tension in his words, as if he had been slapped across the face several times in the space of ten minutes: his father, the cursed friendship between their kingdoms, all the help Beron was sending behind his back. These soldiers could be seen as a sign of betrayal to Prythian and their shared interest in these consumable races was a bad omen, too.

As far as I remember, the Autumn Court was to the east, on the outer side of the continent. It probably wouldn't be much of a blow to the continent, given its external position. The only problem is that, with the right help, they could easily split Prythian in two, all they needed to do was wipe out the weaker surrounding courts. At the moment, that weak link was the Spring Court, which, with few inhabitants and a seriously ill ruler, would be just the place. And most importantly, it was on the border with the people they wanted to enslave.

Something is boiling in my chest, sour and malicious, threatening to consume me completely: injustice and weakness. Two feelings I'd become familiar with, but still not used to. This wasn't about the unfairness of my university, about working my ass off just to get the same grades as another kid who didn't work half as hard as I did. No, this was worse, it was about people's lives, innocent people who didn't even seem to know what was about to happen to them.

I try to steady my breath as best I can, afraid that his sharp hearing might catch me sneaking inside his bedroom. It was difficult to breathe properly anyway, due to the fact that I was lying on my stomach with my weight crushing my lungs.

" You mentioned earlier that... we were expecting guests? " Eris asked carelessly, strolling noisily into the waves of grey light pouring over the open balcony. Waves of dust rose into the air, whirling seductively. I place my hand over my nose and mouth, hoping to prevent any of those particles to activate my allergies.

" Are you afraid of being seen here? " There was something strange in his tone, as if he expected Eris to betray him in any moment.

"Under no circumstances. My business is mine alone and no one has the right to accuse me of anything. I don't really give a flying fuck about other people's opinions, Draegan. I'm just curious who I'm going to meet tonight. An Illyrian, then? "

I don't dare move closer to the edge of the bed, to watch the exchange of glances that pierce the silence of the room. Clinging to the frozen floor with my entire body, I felt my heart beat wildly, accelerating at the mention of the winged man. If it was someone I knew, was there any chance of talking to him? Could I catch him alone?

Draegan chuckles slightly and I hear him bang his fist on the door the way I died earlier. The key doesn't fall as it should and I swallow dryly as he bangs another fist, waiting for the familiar clang of metal, "Very peculiar. "

His brief comment makes my mouth drool and the bile rises in my throat, bringing with it a bitter taste.

" Is something wrong? " Eris pauses with his heels turned towards me, summoning his nonchalant demeanour.

" You didn't happen to notice if anyone was here before us, did you? " His tone changes completely in the blink of an eye, his words flowing through his teeth, full of violence and tension.

" Perhaps one of your maids? She forgot these old sheets as well. " The redhead sugests warily, feeling the wave of negative energy coming from Draegan.

" Hmpf... As for you question... " He abruptly changes the subject, stopping on command his other personality from rising to the surface. " I have no clue, either. The letter I received doesn't mention a certain name. A precaution for highway robbers. I guess the both of us we'll be just as surprised. "

Draegan steps into the antechamber, then seems to signal Eris to follow him, because after a few seconds, the door closes behind them, leaving me alone under the bed.

This is the time to get out of here and run for my life. I follow the corridor back to the central room, where most of the servants leave their clothes and bags and take on their servant personas. Rivers of words flow through my mind, trying to make connections, to link what I learned to what I already knew from the books. One of my problems was that the next book in the series wasn't written yet, so I had not idea if the Autumn Court would really betray Prythian, and secondly, It didn't matter what the book said, I changed the course of events. From now on, it depended on the choices everyone was going to make, including me. Our fate was sealed.

I felt blood on the tip of my tongue. My old habit of bitting my lips came rushing back. I found the map and lost it in less than ten minutes. I had to get it back, and that meant following Eris closely, which also meant getting too close to Draegan.

It wasn't a secret that I was terrified of these people, of fae and their dumb ways. Draegan and his ill mind was one of my greatest fears, for now, and not just because of his slippery fingers and overly suggestive looks, but apparently he was smarter than he seemed. I'd rather be trapped undergroung and suffocate than feel this man close to me, touching me.

For this reason only, Aoife was a hero. She endured too much and only because she needed those money for her family. Could I ever reach this level of devotion?

My fears weren't even my main problem, Eris Vanserra was. I can't begin to comprehend what has gotten into him, what sort of devil possessed him to help me. I knew he wasn't totally evil, like some people around here liked to portray him, but he wasn't good either. He went to great lengths to hide me, to conceal the scent I left on the objects I touched. I knew faes where michievous, their help was never to be taken for granted. Was I prepared to offer him what he wanted?

Failure after failure, I couldn't even find out who the winged visitor was. There was a clear antipathy between the kingdoms, even before Prythian gutted the former king. This meeting would not end well.

I hide my hands between my skirt and make my way through the servants. Niven and I had certain hours when we could sneak in here, when most of the servants would go up and prepare the main room for the upcoming guests.

I do my best to arrange napkins and to clean their silverware, waiting for the clock tower to ring three times to announce lunchtime. A breeze of fresh grass and sunflowers makes me aware of the presence next to me.

" Have you found anything? " Niven's whisper is so low, that I can barely grasp the sentence through my stupid hat.

I nod, slowly raising my head to see if there are more people around. " There's a detailed map in Draegan's antechambers. " I point my finger at the brunette before she has a chance to scold me for going into the king's wing. " But there's another problem that has arisen. I'm trying to solve that as well. "

" Don't tell me you've been caught sneaking around his chambers! " Her doe eyes are wide open, black and dilated with shock. " Fuck... Did he?... "

" No! No... Don't worry, everything's under control. "My lie caused her eyebrows to touch slightly and if I didn't know her better, I would have known that she was scolding me with that look. " I have to meew with someone to get the map back, that's all. "

" Who caught you? "

I smack my lips together, tasting that bile from earlier still lingering between my teeth. " Eris Vanserra. "

A napkin flows to the stone floor, slipping from Niven's gloved hands. The tension in her body makes her tremble slightly and I see her swallow. " I'll go after the map. "

I can't hide the surprise written all over my forehead and eyebrows, the only visible parts of my face. " No. Never in a million years. Your familly has already done their part. I'll be the one to do the nasty things from now on. "

" You're not a spare part of this mission. " Niven bites back, glaring at me furiously. " You can't put yourself in any danger! "

" I beg your pardon? If anyone has to come out of this hurt or dead, it's me. You have to keep your family under their radar and safe. "

" Under their what? " Niven asks skeptically and for a moment i forget that we're not in my old world, where a ' radar ' was a common knowledge.

" Under their curious eyes. I lost the map, I'll get it back. " I declare, throwing the silverware back in their baskets.

Niven rolls her eyes and catches my shoulders between her rather strong palms. " If you die somewhere along the way, we're doomed. You need to get that through your head, Cyan. You die, we all die. Finished. You can't throw yourself around, hoping it'll work out in the end. You must stay alive untill the end. "

Good God. How do I talk her down of this bullshit?

" Look, Eris saw me in those rooms, he knows me, he will only give me the map. Not you, not anyone else. Let me fetch it and then you can do your part of the job. I won't interfere... "

I can see her thinking deeply, her eyes moving frantically around the stone chamber, focusing on every small detail of this cold room. Her dark lashes were so long that they were shielding almost completely her eyesight, resting beautifully on her cheeks.

" Very well. Do what you know you need to do, but it's the last time. "

I smile behind my mask and without thinking if anyone could see us, I throw my arms around her, embracing her warmth and the feeling of familiarity. She wanted to carry my burden, but she had her own and for that I could only love her more than I already did.

It hit me just then how deeply I was about to miss this woman, my sould sister.

𓆩✴𓆪

Author's PoV

' The Three Dead Kings are waiting for their Daughter. '

Somehow, Elain had managed to creep back into his mind, like a persistent trickle of water carving a path through a rock. She hadn't done it on purpose, the lone fae had been tending to her garden all morning: watering, digging holes, moving flowers from place to place. She hadn't sought the attention of anyone in particular, nor had she struck up a conversation with any of them, as if her noisy mind was enough to seek refuge in the peace of her safe space.

And the winged man, like any respectable spy around town, was content to watch over her from the window of his room, satisfying his need to have her from afar. Even if he was only making a fool of himself, putting salt on a wound he never knew he had.

In the light of recent events, Azriel understood why she was acting more strangely than before, and that left him with a bruised ego. In the small remnant of hope he had so carefully guarded, the Shadowsinger thought that perhaps, deep down, she was suffering from his dangerous journey, that perhaps she was plagued by worry and dark thoughts, for him, for his safety.

But he was a selfish prick, utterly blinded by the need to project his desire for belonging onto someone else.

Azriel huffed from under his black hood, disgusted with himself. If there was one thing he hated more than anything else in the world, it was begging someone for attention. After all, that's what he did for eleven years, trying in vain to win his father's affection and what did he received? A dark, cold cell, under a house full of happy laughs. He despised that with all of his wicked, hollow heart and funny enough, that's what he always found himself doing: begging to eat trash.

Elain's strange behaviour was later explained: her gifted power demanded to be let out. She kept it under control until she lost her ability to keep it in check. It seems that for both sisters the benefits of becoming Fae came at the cost of less desirable things.

The sun's head slowly peeked out from behind the Night Court's sacred mountain as he left his chambers. Azriel glanced back many times, his weary eyes resting on the sleeping city he used to call ' home '. Lately, he wasn't sure if ' home ' was Velaris anymore, ravished by the feeling of not belonging, of missing something he longed for for nearly three hundred years. He understood the message his body was sending: he would rather be away from the House of Wind than with his family.

He'd left before six in the morning, having been awake from his sinful thoughts since four. He had time to warm up his muscles in the ring for half an hour, then cleaned up and got something to eat. Azriel never said goodbye to anyone, he never did that before a mission. It was what motivated him to keep coming back.

Besides, there was no way he could: Cassian was fast asleep, tired of his futile attempts to get Nesta to train and their bickering. Rhys had given him the task of extracting information from Vassa, Jurian and Lucien, which somewhat compensated for the fact that Azriel was now busy with something else. Even Nesta wasn't awake at those hours, his hearing was far too fine and his brave shadow, who often chose to be his companion through sleepless nights, knew everything that went on in the corridors. So the reason the older sister slept late was the delicious wine she stole from Rhysand.

Two days had passed since he landed in the vast and desolate western continent, two days of hopeless searching, of questions with no answers. The nights weren't any better. He camped in the woods, with no fire to warm his flesh, only his shadows as friends to watch his back. It was good when he could steal thirty minutes of sleep. It was even better when he didn't have that tingling sensation that he was being watched when the night fell. He was thankful that the amber perfume vanished. Amren was right when she told him it will pass. But the one who followed him closely through both cities he visited was another presence, someone who smelled of berries.

Azriel ignored it. He wasn't the one to do that with his problems, but he already had too much on his plate. This seemingly deserted land, with all its goods left to rot, was already a threat to his life.

The words from Elain's vision were on a loop in his head, keeping him aware, trying to focus on solving that riddle. Amren was contacted in an instance, she was the only one with enough knowledge on this obscure spectrum. After all, she was the one who discovered the fallen woman.

Squeezing his wings tighter around him, Azriel slipped through the crowded markeplace of Nyzim, the second vilage on his list. He was disgusted every time his massive wing touched another civilian, feeling their filthy clothes brush against the thick membrane. The man tried to think of them as harmless people who hadn't had the good fortune to wash often, due to the lack of water in this place or the lack of hygiene that seemed to be a basic rule here. He tried his best to watch over them with patience and serenity, but it was almost impossible when all he got in return were frowns and dirty looks.

He'd grown accustomed to the more than shocked, even horrified, stares of the surrounding humans. Still, he thanked himself for the view, and enjoyed the fact that all the people ran away from him, making room for him between the shabby stalls. It was better for his wings.

With the hood of his cloak pulled low over his piercing eyes, he watched every movement without having the need to turn his head. His shadows waited meekly on his round shoulders, also hidden beneath the black cloak that covered his Illyrian costume and weapons.

There was no need to ask questions, not always. His loyal companions would bring him all the information he needed, both wanted and unwanted, without him making too many moves that would attract more attention. The squinting looks he received were not uncommon, nor were the mean whispers his braver shadow provided him, coiled in his ear like a domesticated snake.

Azriel was used to being insulted and treated inhumanely since childhood, so he knew how to fend off all these unspoken attacks, shutting himself behind an iron, impenetrable mask.

His far too long activity in the field had made him a calculated, well-behaved and, above all, rational man. So the fact that Azriel already passed through two villages without anyone noticing anything out of the ordinary was an expected and already digested knowledge. Nothing surprised him. Azriel also suspected that the palace was already announced by the winged silhouette that haunted the villages around the kingdom and that made him stand stiff as a bow, ready for any approach from the new rulers of the continent.

Azriel shifts his gaze to the village priest, silently directing his shadows at the old man's temples. The Shadowsinger could sense him from a few metres away, even without the aid of his dark tongues. He noticed his slippery hands, his red nose and the rhythmic ticking of his head: a chronic drinker who had suffered a heart attack. He also seemed to love the villagers' money more than his children, who lay barefoot and dirty around him.

The shadow came back unnoticed, rippling faintly in the damp atmosphere. Azriel closed his eyes for a moment, rubbing the base of his nose. No one sensed a change in time, no one noticed a woman who didn't belong, no one slept more than usual on any given night, and no one smelled the haunting scent of amber.

The other day, he sat for hours on several rooftops, enveloped in total darkness, listening, analysing, sending several shadows around the place, inside these people's houses, intruding their privacy, searching under every rock, only to find nothing. He realised soon after that this was not the place he was looking for.

All the women looked the same: pale, hungry and dirty. He even read statistics about the female population of Hybern, looking for a pattern to help him distinguish the one he was looking for from the rest. They all had brunette features: dark-haired, tall and well formed enough to carry the hard work of the field, brown or black eyes and their foreheads wrinkled with worry. Many couldn't read or speak, all had two or three children behind them, and when Azriel tried to read their minds, they seemed just as confused and burdened by their daily lives. His attention was heightened when he spotted a rare blonde, and watched her with interest, but soon realised that her energetic imprint was deeply rooted in this place.

It was harder than he expected.

Amren tried several solutions to the problem of finding the woman. She searched hard for spells and even insisted on bringing Nesta to help them, relying on her connection to the Cauldron. To no avail, for they had absolutely nothing that belonged to the stranger, and since she was apparently not yet 'formed', as Amren had put it, they could not track her at all. She could be in the depths of Hel itself, they wouldn't know, and they couldn't help her.

For once, luck had somehow smiled upon them. When Elain appeared the other day, at exactly seven in the morning, hands raised above her head as if waiting for a ray of sunshine to slip through her slender fingers, everyone seemed to be biting their tongues. Her eyes were filled with a bright white smoke and her face was set in a grimace of satisfaction. It was as much relieving as it was terrifying. Her voice had taken on that mystical hue as she pronounced the syllables, thickening a few octaves and capturing a shuddering effect on all who wittnesed the event. Even his shadows went mad, swirling around him like a dizzy vortex.

" When the remaining ruins bathe in her blood and the Onix Oasis cries out her name, the earth's womb will open and darkness will flow. She leaves with a promise, returning with a crown carved from the ancient bones of her fathers. There are three dead kings waiting for their daughter. "

Azriel was there to catch her when she collapsed, exhausted of her own strength, touching her almost tenderly on her cold, supine cheeks, silently encouraging her. Rhys was the first to prick his mind, waking him from his reverie. He felt as if someone had thrown cold water on him.

This prophecy was bigger than the ones she had uttered before, broader, more difficult. Everyone in the room knew what it was about, or rather who it was about: the Comet Woman. Amren almost danced with joy, glad to have something new to decipher, like a dog with a bone, running to find everything she could while the sentence was still fresh.

The dreary weather in Hybern did nothing to improve his low morale.He couldn't understand how people could live in such conditions, without natural sunlight, without colourful, ripened fruit. Azriel slipped nimbly through a group of men, tempted to grab an apple from a blind woman's stall. He reached for his silver coins and took three between his gloved fingers, more than necessary, and threw them on the woman's counter, so that she could hear the clink of each coin.

" It's too much. " She mutters hoarsely, seeming to watch him very closely with her strange, purple, parasitic pupils. " The guards will come and collect them if I make more than what my shop has to offer. "

Azriel considered the old woman for a while, his whiskey-like eyes boring into those of the fourth-aged lady. A strange smell rose to his nose, old and pungent, of medicine and strange potions. Berries, he sensed, but it seemed highly unlikely that a sixty something woman could follow him through the forest. Her wavy white hair was covered by a wool hat and she had several layers of blankets and petticoats folded on her back.

" If they come, tell them that I stole from you. They'll be too busy coming after a thief and you can take some of your food back home. "

" Then be a good boy and cover me. " The old woman gave him a wry smile and took the money from the counter, stuffing some of her vegetables back inside her rusty bag.

Azriel used his magic to darken their position, creating a nice glamour for those around. " Go now, and keep your pets close, there's something bad waiting at the end of your journey. "

The man didn't have time to process as some children's cries pierced his sensitive ears, causing him to nod in the direction of the sounds. He turned back to the mysterious woman, trying to get more information from her, but the place where she stood only moments ago, behind the stall, was now empty.

Azriel clenched his fists, calling upon every rational cell of his body. The shadows hidden beneath his travelling robes murmured, equally dazed, unable to sense the old woman's aura. The situation was uncomfortable for a spy, as if he were talking to a ghost. But it was impossible, the conversation had taken place, all her vegetables and fruit lay untouched in baskets, but the furs and money were gone, as was the smell of dead leaves and berries.

Maybe she was the one following him, after all.

The people around eyed him. Azriel felt like an animal in a cage. An imaginary circle formed around him, like a shield, which everyone tactically avoided, not wanting to challenge him.

" Have you seen the woman sitting here? " Azriel directed a question towards the peasant sitting right across him.

The man he was addressing quickly went from shock to horror and backed away a little. With outstretched hands he reached for a knife hidden under the counter and whispered, " No one was ever here, sir. "

Azriel looked shaken and took a few minutes to recalibrate. Since the comet had fallen, the universe seemed even more enraged against Azriel's being, as if what he had to endure was not enough. He nodded resignedly, trying to maintain an outward calm. How did she vanish into thin air? He couldn't ever trace her using her stench.

There were few things that stretched his patience to the limit, and being taken for a fool was one of them. He had no idea who the old woman was or what she was trying to tell him. Maybe she was a spy for the kingdom, maybe she was a witch, or maybe she was just a simple woman trying to play a trick on a man who had shown her a mediocre amount of kindness. That seemed to be the pattern in these places.

He hurried his pace, eager to escape this damned village as quickly as possible. This place was forgotten by the saints.

Next on his list was Thaibar, a few kilometres to the east, a distance he quickly decided to cover on foot, hoping that he might still find something interesting, something that would lead him to the woman.

Amren mentioned that the place where the comet struck should be turned into a monument of some kind, from which ancient magic would flow. It could be anything: a temple, an oasis, a hole, anything energetically charged to the brim. Azriel relied on his senses to locate the place, but nothing of this magnitude had appeared. Surely the one who had fallen was no longer there, if she was conscious and able to walk. Even though they had speculated that time had looped around her to help her survive, her unharmedness was not a certainty.

Azriel crossed the dense forest that separated Nizym from Thaibar without incident, allowing his shadows to spread freely between the slender trunks of the trees. He enjoyed the oppressive silence that hung over the thin branches, using this hour of travel as a kind of mini-vacation before facing the outside world. A few metres to the right lay a vast and barren plain, as if the earth had been cursed so that no fruit would live long in this area.

He came to a halt and frowned, feeling like there was something amiss with that meadow. There was something... peculiar in the air, as if the dust particles were full of their own life, floating into those little rays of sunshine, bathing in that small, warm glow. Azriel could hear it, buzzing like a million bees in the distance, like a song hummed by the birds. The Shadowsinger was suddenly overcome with serenity, his companions danced around him, thrilled by the same mute music. But there was nothing on that field, only a lonely dogwood tree marking the middle of the land.

Azriel knew in that second that this was the place he was looking for, Thaibar.

He became slightly optimistic, bewitched by that intense feeling.

The trees, no matter how many they were, were thin and dry inside, with few leaves hanging almost withered from the branches. He removed his hood for a few seconds, letting his brunette hair fall loosely on his forehead and bravely looked around. Listening carefully, he came to the interesting conclusion that this forest was home to an impressive number of animals: bears, wolves, foxes, squirrels, including snakes, as if they had all been attracted by something.

Azriel became interested in this place, sending a silent question to his shadows that now stretched across the forest, hidden in every dark corner. One thousand three hundred species of animals had left their hibernation and come here almost a month ago. A time that coincided perfectly with the Summer Solstice and the fall of the comet. Most of these wild animals were female.

However, they had not attacked, killed or caused any harm to each other, living in total harmony. Perhaps even the people of the village were unaware of the danger that lurked in the forest. Maybe they had just gathered here to watch, to... protect?

As he approached the edge of the forest, Azriel noticed the dense mixture of smells in this place. Nearly a hundred people had gathered here, repeatedly. The yellowed grass was stuck to the wet ground, trampled as if someone had been dancing here for hours. In the centre were the logs of a campfire, with many more improvised chairs and to the left was a thick tree trunk, cut in two and placed in the shape of a table.

He walked around a few times, looking at the area where the party had been held, noting in his mind that it had been held near the edge of the forest, avoiding the dense part of the woods as if they knew it was not a safe place at night. Azriel stopped, planting his heavy, muddy boots on the ground. The murmur of his shadows suddenly died in his ears, as if they felt the same thing as their master. He took a few steps back, careful not to tarnish what he felt.

Azriel felt the blow in his neck before it reached his lungs. He took a deep breath, sniffing again and again, trying to kick some ration into himself. He tried to convince his body that it was not true, that someone was still spying on him, tricking him, but there it was, that devilish, atrocious smell.

But instead, it was his brave shadow that admitted it: Green, green amber...

Those tongue made of darkness dissipated around him and took the form of a person, a woman, a few metres in front of him, small and faceless. He felt a pressure settle on his chest, heavy and poisonous, bringing Azriel's bad temper to the surface. He swallowed hard and spun around his shadows, as if to imprint on his retina the body of someone he had not yet met, of that someone who haunted him nights after nights. Only then, amidst the mixture of grass, flowers, jasmine and ashes, did he detect the distinct scent of amber. The perfume that held his nightmares on a leash, who ruled over his mind for far too long, this woman was the one who, for who knows what reason, had sneaked into his house and stolen from him: his knife and his sanity.

Azriel wanted them back.

The man could barely contain the hatred and contempt that was now rising in his chest, as if it would overtake any logical thoughts. This woman would be brought to justice, with the same cruelty with which she commanded over his restless nights.

As he left the place, he tried to unravel the traces of other people's scents one by one, to follow only the amber, like a mad dog on the hunt. The scent did not go very far, stopping at a more secluded farm on the crest of a hill. He glanced cautiously at the lone woman going about her work through the fence, quietly carrying several sacks of flour, unaware of Azriel's dangerous presence.

It's not her. One of the shadows spoke harshly, wrapping itself around his muscled forearm as if to stop him from slaughtering anyone on sight.

The truth was that the man's mind was drowning. Amber floated everywhere around the farm, like a shield, trying to protect the houses from any unknown, uninvited guest. He could see all the routes that woman had taken inside and outside the farm, which houses she entered and which stables she visited. Azriel watched the tall mare graze peacefully, black as night and shining like a lucky fish just caught from the river. His gaze was immediately drawn to her companion, a grey cat, thin and attentive to everything that moved around her, carefully watching everything that happened around the mare as if she were her protector.

A shiver ran down his spine as the small animal suddenly turned its questioning gaze on him, as if to ask him what he was doing in her territory.

What piqued his interest was the fact that both the mare and the cat were wrapped in the scent of amber and bergamot, as if they belonged to the one Azriel was looking for.

The Shadowsinger had too many thoughts in his head, he couldn't find any logic in any of them either, his mind too foggy and heavy. By the Mother, he was going to snap. This was where the woman in question lived, these people had brought her here and taken care of an unknown woman. But why? How much trust can you put in a stranger? It is not difficult to recognise a person who does not belong to the place, so how did this part of the story unfold? Azriel suspected it was much more than an act of kindness.

A muscle in his jaw twitched at the thought that maybe they weren't the only ones who knew about the woman's identity, what she was supposed to become and what powers she could gain. If that was the reason, it was clear who had already earned the individual's trust.

" Sir? " A soft voice addressed him, " Are you all right? What are you looking for? "

The woman who took care of the farm, who had been watching him from a few metres away, had noticed him sitting there, staring at her awkwardly. Her small face was elegant with determination written all over her delicate features, but she was too pale and rather ill-looking. The woman was about forty years old, she had a palpable tension in her forehead and her fingers were clenched, ready to strike if necessary. She was gifted with a subtle maternal air and a special gentleness, it felt like flowers could bloom only by her touch only. She didn't approve of his presence so close to her own home and was about to pull out her claws. Azriel appreciated her ferocity.

" I was wondering if you could show me where the palace is. " Azriel spoke in a steady tone, " I think I got a little lost on the way. "

The man knew he couldn't trick her, not when she was watching him like she was about to bit his head off if he made a wrong movement. Azriel bowed his head, trying to show her that he was no threat to her.

" I find it rather hard to miss it, with those... wings attached to your back you can spot it easily from a distance. " There was no fear in her tender eyes, only vigilance. Azriel looked at her for a long time, reading her from the inside to the outside, noticing the sorrow that had settled over her features, deepening the slight wrinkles, along with another feeling, helplesness. She looked him in the eyes and smiled with restraint as she pointed to the barren plains and some distant towers beyond. " But I'll endulge you, sir. You should also know that people around Thaibar are not fond of your kind, maybe you should watch your back. "

" It means you can understand why I can't use my wings to my liking. Arrows are hard to duck and even harder to get out. "

" My son is a good archer. "

" Do you have any other child good with bows and arrows? " Azriel dared to ask, sensing the warning in her tone.

" Three, actually, all very skilled in their own way. " The woman hapilly announced, ready to return in the safety of her garden.

" All yours, I supose... " The man made a simple guess, trying to find more about where the stranger could live.

" Born with blood and sweat. Mine. " She smiled, but that smile never touched her eyes completely. For Azriel was enough of a sign.

" Then I shouldn't keep you from your duties any longer, have a nice day, madam. "

The woman only bowed her head, then returned slowly inside her house. Azriel knew she was watching from her window.

Also, there was something else laced around her being, something he grew familiar sincer Elain became a fae. The same trace of magic linked them both, the same tormenting and sad air enveloped around them: a seer? Azriel raised his eyebrows in surprise, but it was the grey cat that surprised him most, scrutinising him with her yellow eyes. She stood inches away from his boots, sniffing him. Azriel could swear the animal was frowning as well.

The shadows deepend, trying to get closer to that strange cat that now started to circle him. Azriel ordered his companions to retreat, but that brave one came too close to the cat's round head and tugget at its sharp ear. The animal spat, surprised by the sudden attack and bared its claws.

Azriel chuckled, leaning down. " I'm so sorry for their behaviour, they're not used to meeting cats very often. " He tries to pet it, but to no avail, the cat was already running away, frightened by his shadows. " You should tell your master I'm coming for her. "

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androgynealienfemme · 11 months

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"I know what femme is, and it's about honour.

Femmes are my oxygen. My water. I have fallen for queer masculinity that still gets it up for femmes since I was sixteen, but you, you are my daily love letter. You are my Trader Joe's dried chili mango, $1.99 in my purse, every day. Something sweet and fiery and full of flavour; I can reach for it, and it will feed me, sustain me, keep me going. Every day, gorgeous, perfect, needed. I reach for you. Femmes are my wealth. If I shine, it's because of you.

When I met you, I fell in love with you utterly. Never wanted to fuck you, not once (didn't let myself), but I fell in fierce, femme, best-friend-forever love with you. Dizzy. Delish. Tasty. Luscious. All the words that are satisfying in your mouth.

I friend-dated you. Prepped my outfits careful because I knew you would notice every little thing about them, love them best. Got myself ready like I got myself ready for dates with lovers, ready to be on and perfect and attentive. The first time we hung out, your teal suede pointy flats matched my teal knotted peep-toe slight heels, and it felt like a sign. We lay giggling in your Craigslist four-poster iron bed heaped with pillows and scarves from the homelands. Took two hours to get our outfits together, three to put on five layers of eyeshadow, were five hours late to pick up the shark we were trying to bust out of her horrible relationship, who was pissed, tapping her foot waiting on the corner. Made it to the gay Arab club on Market and 6th, and dirty danced together like it wasn't a thing.

You disappeared, and I found you chain-smoking outside, flirting with the Tunisian butch union organizer. One of us got finger fucked through the crotch hole of her fishnets in the corner. But the best part of the night was the smooth ride home in your black Honda Accord that had nothing wrong with it. Together, dizzy and happy from the night out, safe and alive. Whichever one of us was less drunk would get us home over the bridge safe. I got it down, memorized how to drive home next to everyone else drunk-driving home to Oakland. The quiet-- us next to each other after a night of being drunk wild girls with some kind of uncertain wind between our thighs -- it's all I needed. That was what I loved about us: that we were drunk and insane and loving, screaming, laughing, half-naked brown girls. it's just like Lisa Jones said. Give me an army, a gang of girls. A million sistas ain't enough.

My pack, my prayer, my everyday, my everyday till it blows up and out. Sometimes I feel like I've been writing the same story since I started writing, about loves that stays and love that blows up no matter how careful you tend it.

...

When you left me for good, I mourned for you worse than I had for lost lovers. Because femmes are each other's wealth. Riches. Gold and fake gems that flint purple, amber. Food in the pantry. Massage on tired brown limbs. The effortless bliss of each other. My rock, my oxygen, my dearest and most passionate love.

You left, and I am hungry. And I will feed myself and feed others and be fed. But part of the hunger's consummation is this. Because femme is about honour. And I honour this love."

"Never Be Hungry Again" by Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha, On Butch and Femme: Compiled Readings, (edited by I.M. Epstein) (2017)

#on butch and femme #on butch and femme: compiled readings #lesbian #lesbianism #femme #femme lesbian #femme4femme #femme4butch #butch for femme #lgbt #lgbtq+#lesbian lit #gay lit #queer lit

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tieflingtareon · 7 months

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My love, are you the devil? (Oh, call me a devil)

Chapter 28 | Words: 8.4k

Summary: Astarion found himself often surprised by his heroic companion. He had one goal. To become the favoured companion of the group, to earn the Tieflings loyalty, to make Tar'eons strength his own. Yet Tar'eon isn't like the usual target of his manipulations. Despite his naivety, he does not seem gullible. There is something very wrong with their 'leader' to begin with. Astarion isn't sure if he wants to control it or eradicate the threat it posed. But can he really do either when Tar'eon himself seems so...unwaveringly kind?

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50668558/chapters/127995079

Tar'eon wasn't sure what to do with himself. He had two options. Tell everyone he was a Bhaalspawn and hope they'd look past it, or keep it a secret, and hope it wasn't found out in a particularly bad way. On one had, if he managed to keep it a secret, he wouldn't lose his friends and would hopefully find a way to cure his urges anyway. But, if he was found out, they'd draw their own conclusions to why he kept it a secret in the first place. If he told them, they'd either promise their support, or try to kill him, and worse, they'd be divided and he'd have to watch a bloodbath nobody wanted.

He sighed and hung his head. He was starting to get a headache now. He didn't have to tell them right now. He could...give it a day. Really think about whether it was important enough or not. There was so much at stake...

When they left, waving to the others, Tar'eon focused on exploring, getting to know the town. He found a Ilmater temple, and seeing as he had prayed to him before, he decided to check it out. Hearing the priest had been killed, and a tiefling assumed the problem, he decided he could look into it, if only to help the refugees. If he could prove that it wasn't their fault, they may still get refuge from the temple. Which led him down a rabbit hole, a wall, and to a bunch of shapeshifters. They were plaguing the place, but he couldn't find anymore evidence despite his searching. Not in the temple at least.

He appeared outside a cave mouth, and once he stocked up on fish for dinner, he made his way to explore the shores, which lead him to another fight. He hadn't meant to start this one, to be fair. It just...happened. Apparently he was rude, but Astarion had a good time stealing everything, including more tadpoles. He wasn't sure how many they had so far, but it was slightly concerning the amount they had back at camp. Better in their hands then others though.

He felt like he had made a breakthrough when he stumbled upon a Gur camp though. The shocking part was seeing the Gur again.

"We...we did kill him, didn't we?" Astarion asked him, looking a little horrified to see the man again.

"Apparently not."

"No, I definitely did."

"Maybe another Gur found him and revived him."

"I didn't smell any other Gur." Astarion bit out before the man gave a jovial greeting.

"My friend from the hag swamp? You join us as we honour our fallen dead - you are a bright light on a dark day. Even you, my erstwhile quarry."

"...Maybe you scrambled his brain when you gouged out his eye." Tar'eon whispered.

"Shut up. Act natural." Astarion gave a charming smile and a smile wave as he wavered himself through a greeting. "Oh, eh...Hello again?"

"Isn't this the guy-?"

"Shut up, Wyll." Astarion cleared his throat. "I feel we're intruding, we should leave. Quickly."

"Calm yourself - you will not be harmed." Astarion grimaced just as Gandrel did. "Our leader had called off the hunt. She wishes to speak to you." The elder woman finished her prayer - chant? - and approached as Gandrel stepped aside.

"So, the impossible spawn walks amongst us in the blazing sun. We have been looking for you."

"What do you want with Astarion?" Tar'eon stepped forward to put himself ever so slightly in front of the vampire on instinct, just as he had when Gandrel met them in the swamp.

"The last time your friend came to our camp, he stole our children. Our future." Tar'eon looked at Astarion in shock, wondering if it was true. The vampire wouldn't look at him, glare focused on the woman.

"When I was hunting you, I was to bring you back here. To interrogate you, discover how to save our children, and then destroy you." Gandrel said it like it was simply a matter of fact.

"But things have changed. You have changed." The woman tilted her head. "Is it true you left your master? That you broke the spell that binds you to him?"

"Well, I mean...kind of? It's a long story, honestly." Astarion looked nervous. He wasn't fond of Gur, and perhaps being surrounded by them was making his danger radar ping like crazy.

"Yes. Astarion is free now." Tar'eon answered for her.

"Free? Not while his master still lives. But he has, perhaps, earned a second chance." Astarion looked pleased to hear that, unfolding his arms. "We have tried to save our children already, attacking Cazador Szarr's palace at first light. Even then, it was too well defended." She admitted bitterly.

"But, if his own spawn approached? Someone he thought he could control? He would throw his doors open and welcome you in. And once inside, you could do what we could not. You could save the children you damned."

"You don't know Cazador like I do - he's merciless. You want me to march into the lion's den and save your children, but I promise you, they're already dead." Astarion didn't exactly sound proud of it either. He likely brought Gur children on Cazador's orders. Or perhaps children in general. It wouldn't surprise Tar'eon to know Astarion picked Gur children over regular children, given his hatred for them.

"How can you be sure?" Tar'eon asked, and Astarion gritted his teeth.

"I spent two hundred years bringing him victims!" Astarion snapped, like it wasn't obvious he would know Cazador's ways. "Each and every one was whisked away to be fed on that night."

"But you never saw him feed yourself? He could keep prisoners for days before killing them." Ulma pointed out.

"I know our plight is grim, but if there is even a chance to save them, we must take it." Gandrel near pleaded.

"If our children are truly gone, then we ask for blood. I know you can understand that, spawn." Tar'eon grimaced at her tone. If what she said was true though, then Astarion had to make this right. To damn child to Cazador...they couldn't let that be. If they were already dead? Then blood would spill as the Gurs asked.

"You owe them revenge, Astar. If nothing else, you owe them that."

"I suppose...Yes." He sounded a million miles away before he smirked at Ulma. "Yes, revenge I can do."

"Thank you, from me and all my people. If you can do this, we will be in your debt." She smiled at Tar'eon before turning her hardened gaze to Astarion. "You have lived a life of violence and sin. You have stolen lives, broken families, and caused immeasurable grief. Doing this will not right those wrongs."

Astarion gave a half-laugh, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"If you're trying to encourage me, you're failing abysmally."

"But it will be a start. You may still be redeemed." She smiled now, and Tar'eon found himself agreeing. He liked her outlook. Perhaps he could adopt that himself. He had done so much wrong in his past but...perhaps he could still be redeemed, if we killed the elder brain and made all of this right again. It wouldn't bring the dead back, but it would be start.

"Please, go. Time is short, but we will see you again when it is done." Tar'eon bowed his head to her and lead Astarion away. The vampire looked worlds away.

"Are you alright?"

"Hm? Yes, yes, I...Just lost in thought." Astarion cleared his throat. "I suppose we have even more reason to kill Cazador now."

"Did we need more reason?" Tar'eon mused and Astarion laughed.

"No. No, we truly didn't." He smiled and they made their way back into town, where Tar'eon found himself truly looking at the posters on the walls now. He frowned as he looked at Enver's face on the printed page.

"Lord Enver Gortash..." He mumbled to himself. Personally, he thought he looked better in person than on paper. Then again, he shouldn't have an opinion on such things to begin with. His stomach turned, churning with nerves. He knew he needed to kill Orin. He needed Enver's stone too. Gortash's stone. Fuck, what was wrong with his head? Referring to their enemies so casually in his mind?

He hadn't realised how long he'd been staring until Astarion stood beside him, tilting his head.

"Is there something...interesting about this or...?" He quirked a brow at his lover and Tar'eon sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face.

"I...You know when you know you know somebody, but you can't remember anything about them outside their face or name?"

"Are you telling me you know this...Lord Gortash?" Astarion wrinkled his nose at even referring to the man with such a title.

"Well, no, I don't know him but...I think I used to? Maybe. Everything's all...scrambled up in there."

"Well...If you knew Orin who works with Gortash, then perhaps that's all it was. He's an arms dealer right? Maybe you bought some stuff from him. Not everything had a deeper meaning, you know?" Astarion was attempting to reassure him, but Tar'eon shook his head.

"I don't think it was like that. I think it was..." He thought back to the memory of that dark office, of the hand around his throat, and he swallowed hard. "I think we were close. Friends even."

"Friends?" Astarion frowned, looking thoughtful. "I suppose. If he's working with Orin in this Absolute business, despite their current possible falling out, and Orin seems to have ties to you, it's possible you had ties with both prior to their plans of world domination."

"I just don't know what to do about it." Tar'eon admitted. "Karlach hates him, and she has every right to, but...Something is stopping me from wanting to kill him as much as I do Orin. If he knows about my past, I might be able to learn something from him. Something that isn't all just...blood and guts."

"Blood and guts is fun though." Astarion patted his shoulder. "Look, if you ask me very nicely, I could always see about kidnapping the man and forcing him to answer all your questions."

Tar'eon grinned. It was a touching sentiment from Astarion.

"Thank you. But it's alright. I'll figure out what to do when the time comes. For now, I just want to get rid of Orin. She's the most dangerous out of the two of them."

"In time, my love." Astarion assured. Tar'eon finally pulled himself away from the poster and made inside the building. It looked like a postal service. After a chat with the man behind the desk, he promised to check on the missing pigeons. It was a merger thing for him to do, so it didn't hurt to look around. If they found something, they found something. He glanced off to the side and his eyes widened at the poster on the desk.

A coronation? Gortash was becoming Archduke? He picked up the paper and slipped it into his pocket. It even told him where the coronation would be. If he wanted to talk to the man, that might be his chance...

He spoke to some pigeons, but that didn't help him much. He was surprised to find messenger dogs in the yard though, in their cages, but only one whimper from Scratch at the woman in charge made him want to slit her throat. Her insistence on taking Scratch back...He could see right through her.

"I'll break every bone in your body before I let you hurt my dog." His sudden threat made her stagger.

"You- you'll do no such thing."

"It's not just Scratch. She's always hurting the dogs." Dringo spoke up and Tar'eons hackles raised with a glower, crossing his arms.

"Shut your mouth, Dringo." She raised a fist as if to hit him, but hesitated before looking at Tar'eon. "Last warning."

He would cave her skull in before he let her hurt another animal.

"You know...Lord Gortash and I; we're quite close." He thumbed at the poster folded up in his pocket besides the prism. "I know for a fact that he abhors animal abuse. Perhaps I should report you to him?"

"Fine. You think you can do a better job without me? Be my guest. They're a useless bunch of mongrels. You're welcome to them!" She stalked off with that and Tar'eon glanced at Astarion. The vampire quirked a brow and Tar'eon nodded him off towards the woman. Astarion's eyes lit up and he winked before slinking away, no doubt using the shadows and the illusion of the eye to slit her throat around the corner, lest she be a repeat offender. Tar'eon could tolerate much - but animal abuse? Not ever.

"You- you got rid of her." Dringo sounded so shocked, like he hadn't realised it was possible. "I'll do a better job looking after these dogs than she ever did. I promise."

"I know you will." Tar'eon smiled. "Because if you don't, I'll break every bone in your body." Dringo laughed nervously, like he wasn't sure if Tar'eon was kidding. He wasn't.

"Okay...Bye." He went back his duties with that and Astarion came back, wiping his dagger on his pant leg.

"Did I miss anything?"

"Not at all."

"Did you just sick Astarion on that woman?" Gale asked in disbelief.

"Yes." Astarion smirked. "I took great delight in her little whimpers as she died."

"Gods...Well, I suppose she deserved it." Wyll shrugged.

"...I want to say she didn't, but she definitely did." Gale agreed.

"Good, we're in agreement. Let's go." Tar'eon beckoned them all to follow him out of the postal office, looking off towards the giant robot at the gate. He frowned.

"What on Toril is that?" Tar'eon asked. Wyll grimaced.

"The Steel Watch. I heard some citizens talking about them. Lord Gortash is the one who makes them and they follow his orders."

"I see..." Tar'eon frowned, looking around the gate. "I don't exactly want him to know we're here yet, or for his Steel Watch to kill us so...we'll find a way around."

"I think I see one. A few scoundrels are using it themselves." Astarion smirked as he pointed out a ledge and a ladder.

"Lead the way." It took some grunting and heaving, but they managed to find themselves on the other side, activating another portal so the others could follow. "Well...time to explore I suppose."

"Oh, you'll like this side of town." Astarion laughed.

Tar'eon didn't ask.

****

He should have asked. He was not expecting to be dragged into a brothel. The name should have given him a hint, he knew that, but on the plus side, he found out that their favourite - note the sarcasm - devil was present. The talk with him hadn't lasted long. Tar'eon was not offering that cambion any more power than he already had, even if it meant a way to free Orpheus and ease the guilt over leaving the man in his prison. Raphael assured him that he'd be back, but he didn't intend on it.

"Oh look, an entertainment area." Astarion sounded almost giddy as he guided them past some curtains in the lobby. Tar'eon felt his cheeks warm as he watched a woman dance on the stage, an upbeat tune playing around them. "A den of heathenism. I feel right at home." Astarion laughed, a haughty laugh that lacked any real truth to his statement.

"I...do not." Tar'eon cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Ah, yes, I- I agree with Tar'eon." Gale scratched the side of his neck, looking uncomfortable as his eyes roamed over the people in the room.

"I won't say I've never indulged in my youth, but...it's not my preference to pay for that kind of intimacy." Wyll pursed his lips. A woman brushed a hand over his shoulder and he jumped a little, giving a charming smile that didn't really reach his eyes, taking her hand off him and guided her away to the next, more willing patron. She managed to graze a hand along one horn though, admiring, and Wyll's brows pinched.

"I feel like they assume I'm staff rather than a patron." Wyll frowned.

"This place is all about the exotic from what I'm seeing. You look the part." Gale informed and Wyll gave him an unimpressed side eye. "Uh, in the most - in the nicest way possible. They even have drow!" He gestured to a pair of twins in the corner.

"How observant, Gale." Astarion drawled. As if they could tell they were the topic of discussion, the two drow siblings in question turned their way, the woman's eyes gazing over their party, but lingering on Tar'eon. It was hard not to focus on him, being the largest of the part.

"A new face! Looking for another chapter of dirty lore for your biography?" The male drow smiled at Tar'eon, seeming to appreciate the whole package before him. "Sorn." He introduced himself with a wink.

"I can tell you're a special one from a single glance." The female drow stepped closer and smiled, demure and sweet. "I am Nym. You have but to ask, and we can grant you a moment of pleasure. Don't be shy."

Tar'eon blinked slowly, taking a moment for the offer to sink in. His eyes widened.

"What...kind of service do you provide exactly?" There was no way he was being propositioned right now. Astarion? That would make sense, he's gorgeous, even Gale had an almost rugged charm to him, and Wyll? Well, Wyll had a body to die for with his strict routine to keep in shape. Tar'eon was...well, Tar'eon. He knew he had his appeals, he was in shape, and Astarion assured him he was attracted to him, but he was more...useful and mildly terrifying, than attractive in his opinion. What with his unsettling glowing eyes and looming figure, the scars across one side of his face not exactly pretty, and the patches of discoloration on his skin not leaving him with a smooth, even complexion.

He was more beast than lover in appearance, though maybe that was the bigotry getting to him about his tiefling heritage. Sorn chuckled at his naivety.

"What do you think, silly? Love, of course! Hot and vulgar with me, or sweet and sincere with my sister." He was selling himself a lot more than her by his tone, and Tar'eon wasn't sure if that was sweet or if he was just really horny. "Trust me, you don't want to miss my signature Menzoberranzan Love Trick."

"I see...and you enjoy this work?" He felt the need to ask. He was constantly coming across people who needed help. He'd gladly assist them if he could.

"There are so many that come to me speaking of a fixation that no one else has ever been able to share with them...and never will again. A once in a lifetime moment of passion. Everyday. What could be better?" He seemed to really believe it. "In this field I can be myself boundlessly. We could easily take up other work if we wished, but we're quite happy here."

"Well, I can't judge you if you're happy." Tar'eon smiled. Astarion tilted his head at the drows, stepping a touch close to Tar'eon who still looked a little uncomfortable.

"Is that your partner with you?" Nym asked. "What a gorgeous couple...perhaps we could come to an agreement?" Tar'eon frowned.

"What are you interested in my partner?" He could understand, he supposed. Astarion was beautiful, but she seemed to know he was taken and was still propositioning them both. Was that normal in brothels?

"Well, there are two of us, aren't there? Use your imagination."

"Oh." Tar'eon took a moment. "Oh."

"Yes, 'oh'." Nym chuckled, amused by the tieflings shyness. Astarion cleared his throat.

"I- Sorry, love, I'm not quite comfortable with doing this again just yet." Astarion admitted, looking a touch upset with himself, like he was depriving Tar'eon of something because of his lack of desire to entangle with another - or anyone for that matter.

"I wouldn't ask such a thing of you, Astar. Not ever." Tar'eon assured. Did he think him so callous? The vampire made a sound of disgust.

"Don't be so nice to me! It makes me want to be," He looked pained. "Nice back."

"Is that such a crime?" Tar'eon asked, amusement twinkling in his eyes as he turned back to the twins. "I apologise, but I'll have to decline."

"Well, we'll be here if you change your mind." Nym smiled, peaking behind Tar'eon to Gale and Wyll. "Perhaps your companions might be interested in my brother and I?"

"Oh, no, no thank you, that's- you're both gorgeous, there's no lie there. I'm just not comfortable with that sort of thing." Gale smiled tightly.

"I- I agree. I want romance, not - not debauchery." Wyll fiddled with his gloves. "I value affection over fun, a lasting memory over a passing fancy."

"We're in agreement there." Gale chuckled, glancing at Wyll for a moment before he bowed is head to Nym and Sorn. "It's all a bit much for me. Thank you for the offer, but we'll pass."

"A shame. It's rare we see a man more exotic than us." Sorn chuckled and Wyll gave a thin smile.

"Temporarily exotic, I- Can we go, please?" Wyll turned to Gale who nodded quickly.

"Yes, I think- we've overstayed our welcome, we have much to do, much to explore." Gale placed a hand on Wyll's shoulder and slipped away past the curtain. Tar'eon frowned. Wyll was obviously not taking kindly to the spotlight, and this place attracted all the wrong attention.

"I wish you both the best luck in your endeavours."

"Do consider coming back. I would not mind showing the wonders of a drow lover." Sorn winked, voice sultry.

"He needn't a more wondrous lover than I, thank you." Astarion smiled wide, showing off his fangs as he lead Tar'eon out of the lobby. Tar'eon felt like he could only breathe properly once he was outside. "This wouldn't happen if you weren't so gorgeous, you know?"

"I- I wouldn't call myself gorgeous." Tar'eon blushed. "I think you fit that title much better than I."

"Please, you're six and half feet worth of pure muscle, yet you're as cozy as a fur blanket. Who wouldn't want you?" Astarion smirked. "It's good thing I got in first. Would have been a pity to not have you wrapped around my finger."

"I am very much wrapped around your finger." Tar'eon chuckled, leaning down to press a sweet kiss to his lips. "And I don't mind it one bit." His tail gave a happy flick behind him. With Astarion, it was easy to forget everything that troubled him.

"Yes, yes, I'm magnificent - we should go check on prince charming and his wizard."

"Worried?"

"Not even I enjoyed being gawked at when I started luring prey to Cazador. It's something you become accustom to over time. Doesn't make you feel any less disgusting about it." Astarion made a face like he smelt something rancid, moving ahead to approach the pair who were talking outside another establishment.

Wyll had his arms crossed over his chest as Gale spoke in a low voice, a small smile on his face as he traced a scar that travelled along Wyll's cheekbone, the warlock's eyes downcast. Slowly, his arms unfolded, smiling at the wizard in return. Whatever he had said, it worked like magic. Gale grinned, obviously pleased to have reassured Wyll enough for him to relax. He pressed a short kiss to his lips, the swordsman's expression full of fondness.

"Well? Everything sorted then?" Astarion mused and Wyll looked bashful before he stood straighter. Gale gave a boastful grin.

"Dandy as a dandelion! Where to next? I've heard there's quite a few shops around - perhaps we'll stumble upon a bookshop? I'm starting to run out of good books."

"That doesn't sound so bad." Wyll agreed. "Perhaps...we part ways for a couple hours? We can meet back here. I think we could all do with a wander."

"Alright..." Tar'eon frowned slightly. "Just be careful. We don't know what's awaiting us at any corner of this place. If things get messy, portal back to camp and we'll meet you there if you're not here by sundown."

"A good plan." Wyll agreed. "Well...We will reunite at sundown." Wyll offered his arm to Gale. "Shall we?"

"Oh, uh...of course!" Gale hesitated before taking the arm, obviously not used to being the one who took up romance gestures rather than gave them.

"You've lived most of your life in Waterdeep, I'm to assume? Allow me to show you my home." Wyll smiled fondly as he led Gale down the street, lips moving in idle chatter that Tar'eon couldn't make out. He smiled at the pair.

"Those two just wanted to go on a date." Astarion shook his head. "Gods, it's almost too sweet."

"Didn't you also want to show me Baldur's Gate?" Tar'eon chuckled.

"Well...I'm more familiar with the Upper and Lower cities than Wyrm's Crossing, but they do have a few things I enjoy. Good tailors for one." Astarion's eyes drifted to the building in front of them. "Ah. I've been here before. I wonder..." He frowned thoughtfully and took Tar'eons bicep, pulling him along to follow him inside.

"What's this place?"

"Fraygo's Flophouse. I've been here a couple hundred times, but I preferred the Elfsong Tavern. Better booze, and a continuous rotation of fresh faces who hadn't been warned off not to stumble into my bed. After all, all my lovers were just so heartbroken after a night of passion with me they fled the city before dawn." He sighed dramatically before smirking. That had been a reoccurring rumour he thought quite funny. Much nicer than the reality of what he was doing with his victims.

"I see." Tar'eon looked around the lobby curiously, but Astarion beckoned him up the stairs. He wondered if it was still the same old place he remembered it being, even if it had only a couple months since he last saw it. Just as he predicted, his siblings were in their usual hunting ground. Seeing them still out past dawn was strange though. Considering they were staying in the shadows of the room, curtain drawn tight on their side, they were obviously still cautious of burning to a crisp.

"I want someone there, ready for me. And once the Mass is done and our lord grants us our freedom, I can celebrate by drinking them dry."

"Cazador promised you your freedom? And you believed him?" Astarion laughed in their faces as their stupidity. Two centuries of torture and they learned nothing. It was pathetic how gullible they were. "You were never burdened with intelligence, Petras, but your load seems especially light these days."

"Astar..." Tar'eon sighed. Must he rile up everyone they happened upon?

"Astarion? It- it cannot be..."

"That's no way to welcome back a brother, Dal. Didn't you miss me?" Astarion asked, feigning hurt before he smirked, gesturing to himself in all his new glory. Let them envy him. It would be a nice change from the pity they once bestowed upon him, being Cazador's favourite screamer.

"Why would you come back? You got out - you were free." Dalyria couldn't fathom it. If it had been her, she would have made herself disappear for good, never to be found again.

"We're here to kill Cazador. That's the only way you'll truly be free." Tar'eon explained. It would be better to have them on their side rather than against them.

"You- you can't mean that."

"He's playing mind games. He can't raise a hand to the master, let alone kill him." Petras barely restrained a scoff at the very notion. Astarion had always been the jester amongst them, making up for any lack of charisma with humour, which worked just the same.

"You have no idea what I can do." Astarion's eyes grew dark, much like that of a predator as he stepped forward and grabbed Petras by the throat, dragging him over to the sunlight coming through the opposite window.

"Astar-"

"No!" Dalyria didn't make a move to come any closer despite the anguish in her cry, terrified of burning away like Petras was beginning to, his skin becoming grey and cracked, ashen beneath the sunlight.

"Where is he hiding?" Astarion rasped, a scowl marring his features as his 'brother' struggled against his hold. "Tell me!"

Petras cried out in pain, unable to speak through the agony.

"Brother, please!" Dalyria's begged, and Tar'eon pursed his lips. He didn't like watching this either - he didn't like the way the Urge stirred in delight at the sight of Astarion's chilling cruelty.

"Astar, stop." He spoke firmly, and Astarion sneered, glaring down at Petras before he relented.

"Fine." He threw him aside, out of the light, and Petras stumbled back to his sisters side, his hand clamped around her wrist like she might be able to save him from the wrath of the eldest. "You owe your wretched life to my friend. Now tell me what I need to know."

"The master is preparing the Black Mass. Beneath his palace. There's a defiled chapel - it was hidden there the entire time. Hidden from us all." Dalyria broke, not wanting Astarion to take back his mercy. "Do you really think...you can stop him?" The wisp of hope in her voice broke Tar'eons heart.

"I'm the only one who can. The sun can't harm me, Cazador can't compel me. I don't need to fear him anymore." Astarion smirked. "Now go, before I change my mind about roasting you, brother."

"This isn't over, Astarion." Dalyria assured. Tar'eon reached into his pack and withdrew a healing potion, offering it to Petras who looked surprised.

"I'm not sure how much it'll help, but...it looks painful. Please - don't give up hope. You won't have to fear Cazador any longer once we're through with him." The vampire spawn took the potion, Dalyria's eyes widening ever so slightly at the compassion being shown to them by their brothers companion.

"I...thank you. Goodbye, brother." Dalyria whispered and the pair vanished.

"You're really too nice to them. They've killed just as many as I have." Astarion scoffed.

"I don't care for their misdeeds of the past. They didn't have control over themselves - and neither did you. Sometimes one act of kindness can change someone's life forever."

"They're fools. They actually think Cazador will save them..." Astarion frowned, hands on his hips.

"I'm glad you spared them." Tar'eon smiled. "You didn't have to. It probably would have done us more good to get rid of one of them, if only to ruin the ritual. But you didn't."

Astarion laughed.

"You sound surprised," Astarion's eyes were full of mirth. "I am capable of doing the right thing from time to time."

"I know you are. Still - I'm proud of you."

"They're no threat to us, and they have no choice but to do Cazador's bidding. I pity them. Worst of all, they don't know their fate is already set. They're doomed." He let out a small laugh. "The only question is whether their lives will be sacrificed to a monster like Cazador, or serve a...greater purpose."

Tar'eon scowled. He knew exactly where this was heading.

"You really can't let it go, can you?" He shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Those sacrifices are your brothers and sisters. Are you really ready to doom them for your own gain?"

"Trust me, I'd rather slaughter someone else's family but...if that's what it takes." His words left a bitter taste on Tar'eons tongue. "And it's not like they're sweet innocents; they brought Cazador just as many victims as I did."

"Exactly. And you got the chance to be free of him. Don't they deserve that much as well?" Tar'eon challenged, and Astarion gave a loud sigh. This wasn't getting anywhere. They were going in circles.

"Never mind that. Now that we know he's skulking beneath his palace, we can take the hunt to Cazador. Now let's go. This place stinks of rat blood and despair." Tar'eon frowned and sniffed.

"You're right...I do smell blood." He looked upwards. It wasn't below them, or around them though. It was above. With a bit of sneaking about, they managed to find another room with help from the flower key they found in the temple, and of course, Astarion saw the blood first. The keen senses of a vampire, always drawn to the red stain.

Tar'eon pulled the body out from under the bed and frowned.

"Well...I have a good feeling this is connected to the murders."

"Shall I speak with him?" Astarion offered.

"Do you even know that spell?"

"Well, no, but...I did steal that lovely little necklace a while back from your pack that gives me the ability."

"I- I should have known." Tar'eon sighed and stepped back as Astarion closed his eyes, allowing the power of the amulet to run through him, the body rising. After a few questions, it was obvious these murders weren't just coincidental. Tar'eon swallowed when he heard the man speak of Bhaal cultists. No doubt Orin was behind this. All the more reason to sweep her off the board.

"Well then...I suppose we better talk to that flying elephant detective." Astarion mused. "I should have expected that Orin was going around with her own little murder cult. The woman is unhinged."

"Agreed..." Tar'eon could tell him now. Could tell Astarion the truth. That he had once led the cult himself, that he was a Bhaalspawn, but his throat clamped up shut. He couldn't do it. He was scared to admit it out loud. It would make it so much more real, especially if Astarion knew.

"Let's go speak with them. Then after...maybe we could go for a wander ourselves?" He offered and Astarion's eyes lit up.

"Are you asking me on a date?"

"I'm offering to pay for a visit to the tailors." Tar'eon smiled as Astarion laughed, clapping his hands.

"Oh, I knew I kept you around for a reason, darling." He saddled up to his side and took his arm, smirking up at the tiefling. "A new outfit is long overdue, I think. I know just the place; not as good as the Upper City tailors, but close enough."

If he was honest, the nicest things he ever wore were stolen, off bodies or from stores, or hand-me-downs from the favoured spawn Leon. He always got the nicest things - he was pretty sure it was only because he let Cazador sleep with him. Astarion could never go through with it, and he was pretty sure Cazador wasn't interested in him screaming in that sense. Strangers, he could manage, but Cazador? He would have puked on the man before he even undressed.

Most tailors were shut by the time he could leave the palace, so he only ever really got to admire fine fabrics through windows or on others. He had taken up embroidery after ten years with Cazador, so he could finally feel less like a wretched slave and more like a...well-dressed servant. It didn't matter the quality of his clothing; Cazador and Godey would bloody it or tear it eventually anyway. So, fixing his outfits himself had become habit. Now though, he could walk right into any tailors shop and pick the finest fabrics he desired without concern of them getting ruined. Outside of battle at least.

Astarion wouldn't say he enjoyed being on anyone's arm, he was not some damsel or courtesan, but he'd admit, seeing others envy him on the street because Tar'eon had offered his arm to him...Well, it was stroking his ego. Perhaps he was a possessive bastard, but did he not deserve only the finest things after everything he'd been through?

Tar'eon was by far the finest thing around, from what all the staring was telling him. He supposed with how tall he was, it was hard to miss him. Broad shoulders, his horns making him appear even larger and more devilishly charming, the scars on his face telling tales of bravery and battle - he was a hunk. Even if he didn't realise it himself. The slimming magical armour didn't ruin the appeal either.

Astarion hadn't really ever had a type from memory. There had been a few souls he brought back to Cazador that swayed his heart just a bit, but most of the people he brought back had been criminals or wretches, people who wouldn't be missed. They were usually terrible in bed, generally rude, and arrogant beyond belief. He'd been fucked with a blade to his throat or a hand around it more times than he could count. Tar'eon was a delight in comparison.

And he didn't mind that Astarion didn't want to fuck him. Or, well, couldn't for the sake of his mental health. He wasn't in this for his body. For some unfathomable reason, he actually liked him for his personality. Astarion's standards were getting higher, sure, but Tar'eons? They had to be on the floor to entertain dating a vampire with two hundreds worth of trauma and complete disregard of others. Even with their current disagreement on the ascension, Tar'eon did not withhold any affections from him.

It only made sense that he didn't want others to look at his devil. He'd scored something that was rare to come by. Thankfully, Tar'eon didn't seem to be looking at anyone else either. Not even lustfully. He did wonder how long it would be until Tar'eon decided he wanted to participate again in carnal pleasures, but Astarion wasn't sure when he'd be ready for that. Sure, he could suck it up and lay with the man occasionally, if only to keep him by his side, and it wouldn't even be completely horrible. Hells, it would likely be enjoyable for them both, but...he knew he wasn't ready yet. That all the disgust and loathing would crawl up on him the moment they were finished.

He couldn't betray himself like that, and he knew Tar'eon would beat himself up if he knew he was only doing it for his sake. So...he supposed if the time came, and Tar'eon did need that sort of thing, he'd allow him to bed another. He only worried that Tar'eon would discard him if he couldn't give that to him himself. If someone else could give him love and lust, why would he hang on to him, the wreck he was?

"Do you like it?" Tar'eon asked, drawing him from his thoughts. He blinked a few times and turned to look in the mirror. He couldn't see himself, but the outfit he was wearing was...gorgeous. Hand picked by Tar'eon, and suited to a prince from a story book. The suit was white, with golden embroidery travelling down the jacket, the collar high on his throat with lace cradling it to avoid the itchiness of the stiff fabric. To piece the look together was a red cravat.

Tar'eon reached around from behind and adjusted the red fabric, his eyes following his own fingers as he loosened it and retied it so it was straight, fluffing it out. He rested his hand on his shoulders and smiled softly. He wasn't looking in the mirror, but instead at Astarion.

"It suits you."

"I feel very...Lordly." Astarion admitted. "I like it. I just wish I could see what I look like in it."

"Turn around." Astarion rolled his eyes and turned to look at Tar'eon. The tiefling stepped back, standing at the bottom of the two steps, his eyes travelling over his body before closed them. Moments later, Astarion saw himself through the others eyes. The cravat was the exact shade of his eyes, and the white of his suit only made his curls seem brighter. Sunlight from the window behind him shone off the golden embroidery, and he practically glowed.

"You look beautiful." Tar'eon smiled, the connection fading. The back of Astarion's neck burned as he tucked his hair behind his ears.

"Yes, well...When aren't I?"

"Well, I might be biased, but never."

"Good answer." Astarion's eyes twinkled with mirth as he slipped his arms around his lovers neck, pressing a kiss to his lips. It was one of the rare moments where they were of equal height, if only because he was two steps higher than usual. "I'm afraid I didn't bring any gold with me..."

He pretended to be apologetic about it, looking away like he was saddened he wouldn't get his lovely new suit because of his 'forgetfulness', and Tar'eon laughed, more of a rumble of amusement than an airy sound.

"My treat. It's a gift, ph myirz."

"I do quite like your gifts." Astarion smirked, tugging gently on the ruby dagger dangling from his earlobe. "Careful now. Spoil me too much and you'll be stuck with me."

"Sounds perfect to me." Tar'eon squeezed his waist and kissed him again, lingering for a few moments before he pulled away. "I'll go pay. Don't forget your armour in the dressing room."

"Are you getting anything for yourself?" Astarion queried.

"Not today. I prefer to always be prepared for the inevitable battle." Tar'eon shrugged.

"Oh, come on. We're on a date. You should dress nicely." Astarion chuckled, picking dirt from under his nails.

"You look nice enough for the both of us, ph myirz." Tar'eon assured, kissing his cheek before departing to pay the tailor. It was pricey, sure, but well worth the smile on Astarion's face. He had a lot more gold than he let on. When weapons and jewellery were constantly being dropped at his feet after killing enemies, and books continuing to pile at their camp from the shelves he raided, well...sellers always wanted weapons, jewels and knowledge. They were willing to pay well for those things.

Astarion didn't wait for Tar'eon to offer his arm before he was taking it, an impish smile on his lips as they left the tailors. He stood taller now, dressed regally like he was from the Upper City. If Astarion thought they were getting stares before, it was nothing compared to now. He fed off the envy of the citizens around them, smirking to himself.

"You know what I could go for right now?" Astarion mused. Tar'eon hummed, waiting for him to continue. "A full-bodied red." He purred and the tiefling quirked a brow.

"I have a feeling you're not talking about wine."

"Why would I want that when you're just as sweet, darling?" His eyes gleamed, predatory, and Tar'eons heart skipped a beat.

"Well..." He bit his lip, looking around. "If you can find somewhere a little less crowded-"

"Perfect." Astarion grinned, dragging Tar'eon out of the street and into the shadows, his vision warring between greying out and keeping the focus on the colour of Tar'eons cheeks. He could hear his heart pumping harder, his blood rushing faster in excitement. It made him salivate.

"Are you sure this is-?" Tar'eon began, but Astarion cut him off before he could get consumed by his anxiety.

"The worse we'll be accused of is public indecency." Astarion chuckled as he pressed Tar'eon against the wall of the alleyway, pressing his body to his with a low purr of satisfaction, enjoying the heat that pulsated off his skin. It felt like far too long since he got to tease his beloved.

"As long as you're certain you can talk your way out of it should a guard see us." Tar'eon warned and Astarion almost giggled.

"Might be the highlight of their day - it would certainly be the highlight of mine." Astarion slipped his hand into the strands at the base of his skull, brushing the white ends out of the way of his throat as he guided his head back with a single thumb against his jaw. Tar'eon followed his touch, leaning back into it and baring his throat to his lover with practised ease.

"Good boy," Astarion praised and pressed a kiss to his throat, nuzzling the length of his neck. "You're surprisingly submissive, you know? Considering you look so domineering." He grazed his fangs over his pulse and delighted in the way it jumped.

"I...I like making you happy." Tar'eon tail swayed, brushing Astarion's leg before it wrapped around it loosely. Keeping him close.

"Well, you're doing a very good job, darling." Astarion purred before sinking his fangs into his neck. Tar'eon sucked in a sharp breath at the initial pain, the icy prick mellowing out into a hot sting, Astarion's cool lips soothing the pain away. He groaned softly and closed his eyes, one hand against the wall to keep himself steady, and the other hand on his back as Astarion drank greedily.

The first few gulps were always taken with greed, with fervour, like he was a man who had been dying for a cup of water after a hot summers day. Then, it slowed, the vampire savouring the taste with a low moan, his sucklings feeling more like kisses, smearing blood over his collar and licking up the steady fall as it trailed down his neck. He was being messy with it today, and Tar'eon couldn't help the way his breath caught and his stomach pooled with heat the more Astarion lavished his neck with his tongue.

His hand slipped up his back, cradling the back of his head, and Astarion swore softly against his jaw, nipping at the faintest hint of stubble. Tar'eon tried to keep himself clean shaven, he preferred the look, but the way Astarion nuzzled against his jaw like an affectionate cat made it tempting to let it grow out a few more days. He hissed when Astarion bit down again, higher than before, lapping at the wound. Not even his hair would be able to hide that one.

He had a feeling that was Astarion's goal.

The vampire licked his lips and pulled back, blood smeared across his lips and chin. His eyes were almost black from how blown out they were, licking his bloodied teeth.

"I don't what it is today, but you taste divine, darling." Astarion leaned back in and licked the blood from his throat, a pink stain on his skin, but that wasn't exactly avoidable now.

"I can tell. You bit me twice."

"Oh, did I?" Astarion hummed, playing dumb. "Apologises, my love." He thumbed at the blood on the corner of his mouth and sucked it off. "I'm terribly dirty; do you have a cloth?"

"I do." Tar'eon chuckled and put his pack down, ignoring his less than holy reaction to Astarion's feeding. He was a little woozy, but it was something that could be fixed with a spell later, or a long nights rest. He took out a carter of water and a rag, wetting it and wiping his neck off before he took Astarion's jaw in hand and cleaned him up too. The vampire pulled a face at being manhandled, but allowed it seeing as he just drank half of the man down. He wasn't naive either - he knew he riled Tar'eon up with his frivolous feeding. He wasn't going to say anything though, not unless Tar'eon did.

"There. How you managed not to get it on your new outfit is a miracle." Tar'eon remarked as he chucked the rag aside and put the water back in his bag.

"Well, I can't go ruining my new gift so soon." Astarion chuckled, looking up at the sky. "Ah, it'll be sunset soon. Best not to make the Blade and his wizard worry."

"Well, we found out where Cazador is, what Orin's cultists are up to, got you a new outfit and you had your dinner so...I'd say it was an eventfully afternoon."

"It really was, wasn't it?" Astarion laughed as he led him out of the alleyway. Tar'eon was hoping nobody would remark on the twin pin pricks on his throat, but he knew immediately when he saw Gale, Wyll, and surprisingly Jaheria, that they all knew and were judging him. His cheeks flushed.

"Would you like me to restore your blood, solider?" Jaheria sounded amused.

"Oh yes, it'll serve me well when I go for dessert later tonight." Astarion grinned.

"Your outfit is quite lavish, Astarion." Gale noted. "Did you pay for that yourself?"

"Well, with how much I do for this party? Practically paid in labour." Astarion inspected his nails and smirked at the wizard.

"Our leader is quite generous." Wyll chuckled.

"How did you like the town, Gale?" Tar'eon asked, wanting to change the subject before he became as red as the devil.

"Well, the shops were nice, nothing grand - I think once we get into the city, I'll have much more to explore. I see you two enjoyed your time out, but I'm afraid we were dragged into another battle with shapeshifters, the shifty bastards."

"We met Jaheria while shopping; she was on her way to meet her fellow Harpers, but unfortunately, only one fellow was left after everything."

"I should have expected them to be infiltrated." Jaheria sounded bitter nonetheless. "The boy - I was ready to let him go, but Wyll made some good points. We need all the allies we can get with Red Orin getting her bloody hands in our business. I will tell you more back at camp."

"I leave you lot alone for a couple hours and you pick a fight." The tiefling mused.

"Trouble finds us even without you around, you know?" Gale chuckled.

"Come on. I'm starved - what're you making tonight?" Wyll asked and Gale laughed.

"What do you feel like?"

"Ah, a man after my own heart." Wyll shook his head with a wide smile. "I'll see you back at camp." In a flash of ancient magic, he disappeared, Gale chuckling as he vanished as well. Jaheria gave the couple a nod before following, leaving Tar'eon and Astarion alone.

"Let's hope for a restful night. Especially for you. I know you haven't been sleeping well."

"It's all the usual stuff. Don't worry about me." Tar'eon squeezed his shoulder.

"How can I not?" Astarion tutted and flashed away. Tar'eon huffed out a chuckle and looked over into the distance. He pulled out the poster from his pocket and read over the details. The coronation would be tomorrow, in the Fortress. There, Lord Enver Gortash would become Archduke.

Tomorrow, he would finally face the man who plagued his thoughts and dreams.

Tomorrow, he finally got the answers to his questions.

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