#chapter six

[redux-iterum]

Red Sun Rising: Chapter Six

(AO3 counterpart here.)

Firestar and Ravenwing were quick to cross the road and cantered home, both silent and their heads heavy with thoughts. Firestar kept going between figuring out how best to talk to Leopardstar and whether they could prevent this war outright. The more cats expressed their doubts to him, the less confident his ideas of negotiations and resolutions sounded, as they insisted they could be fulfilled.

“We’ll have to speak with Leopardstar tomorrow,” Dustpelt said when Firestar reported to him and the elders. “This needs to be acted upon as soon as possible.”

Halftail nodded with a grunt.

One-eye added, “If it were up to me, I would simply deliver the message by the border. The Clans need to be extra diplomatic with each other now, and stomping around on our rival’s territory will upset at least the leader.”

“And probably only the leader,” Dustpelt said, giving Firestar an amused look. “He makes friends with everyone he’s ever spoken to, except her.”

Firestar curled his tail. “You watch. I’ll befriend her in time.”

But, as it happened, he didn’t need to worry. The morning passed, and in evening passing to night, just as Firestar finished his breakfast and was about to head to the border, Teaselfoot trotted into camp, looking baffled.

“Where’s the rest of your patrol?” Dustpelt asked immediately, hurrying up with alarm.

“They’re still hunting.” Teaselfoot looked behind him. “We, uh, got interrupted.”

The buzz in camp immediately hushed as another cat came in after him—a familiar-looking light blue-grey tom with sleek fur and a serene face. Classic to RiverClan, his broad and soft appearance was a stark contrast to the hard faces and massive heights of the suspicious warriors around him. He didn’t look remotely bothered by the folded ears or twitching tails; he simply looked around with mild interest until his eyes landed on Firestar.

“There you are!” the tom said brightly. “Old Kittypetstar, good to see you.”

“Oh, good evening.” Firestar got to his feet and trotted over, tail deliberately high to soothe his Clanmates. “I think we’ve met, but I don’t remember your name. How can I help you?”

“It’s been a bit.” The tom’s tired eyes were crinkled merrily, but his voice was respectful. “I’m Stonefur—RiverClan’s deputy. I asked if I could drop by and bring you with me to a meeting.”

“And you couldn’t have waited by the border for that?” Willowpelt asked testily.

Firestar swept his tail in a gesture for her to stay calm and said to Stonefur, “It’s nice to meet you- well, meet you again. We were actually supposed to visit you tonight.”

“You’ll be visiting with more than us,” Stonefur said. “We’ve got quite a party going on. I hope you aren’t too busy to come? You’re invited as a special guest.”

Firestar let his confusion show on his face, but he simply said, “I’m available. Lead the way.”

“Firestar, are you sure?” Dustpelt came to stand by him, ears back. “Something could happen…”

“It was a pretty pleasant walk through your bush-crowded territory,” Stonefur said—not quite teasingly as much as reassuringly, like he understood Dustpelt’s anxiety. “I smelled not a single thing. Not through the stink of long fur and clawed trees, of course.”

“I’ll be alright,” Firestar said, tapping Dustpelt with his tail. “Stay here and keep an eye on everything. I’ll get home as soon as possible.”

Dustpelt had the sense not to protest in front of a guest, but his expression very clearly tattled on him. He straightened up and dipped his head obediently.

Firestar blinked at him and turned to Stonefur. “Let’s go.”

“You sure you want to leave your deputy here?” Stonefur tilted his head.

“It’s a precaution,” Firestar explained. “One of us should be around if we can help it.”

Stonefur didn’t argue this. He simply turned, beckoned with his half-tail, and trotted out of camp, Firestar following. The buzz in camp returned, though more hushed and uneasy than before.

“Your Clan sure is nervous about you,” Stonefur remarked once they were a good distance away. “And, if I may say, you seem nervous about them. Not even letting them be unsupervised, really?”

Firestar sighed. “We lost so many cats to the dogs: all of our senior warriors and deputies, and some younger cats besides. There’s a reason a kittypet is the leader now.” His heart sagged as the many, many bodies he’d borne witness to forced themselves into his vision. “The terror that brought didn’t go away once the last dog died.”

“Ah.” Stonefur’s voice became subdued. “Sorry. Didn’t think about that.”

Firestar offered him a blink too. “It’s fine. I’m sure that the end of this year will have us calmed down again. I hope so, at least.”

Stonefur nodded, unusually seriously for a RiverClan cat. “Stars know ThunderClan bore the brunt of those beasts’ reign, from what we heard. I noticed your camp was a little empty, but I just assumed there were multiple patrols out.”

“No, just one. The one that found you.”

“Stars above and spirits below,” Stonefur said softly, seemingly to himself.

Firestar weakly twitched his whiskers. “At least spring was kind to us. With so few cats to feed, we overloaded the prey-pile once or twice. We don’t even have to change out where we hunt very regularly—it’s all enough to take care of us.”

“We can be grateful for that, at least,” Stonefur agreed, but he didn’t resume his swimmer’s merriment. “Well, whatever Leopardstar thinks, RiverClan’s grateful the rest of you survived, Firestar.”

Firestar tilted his head, jokingly shocked. “RiverClan being glad for ThunderClan’s survival, huh? I’ve never heard that from your side or ours.”

“There are four Clans for a reason,” Stonefur replied. “We wouldn’t let even our worst rivalries get in the way of preserving our cultures and communities.”

Firestar’s tail curled over his back. “That’s wonderful. Thank you.”

Stonefur’s expression turned cheery again, but whatever he was about to say was interrupted by a yawn, and he instead went with, “Now, hopefully I can catch a nap when we get to where we’re going. Leopardstar heard from a hunting ShadowClanner that you and Blackstar had wanted to get ahold of everyone and she sent out a few cats to the different Clans for a meeting immediately.” He winked at Firestar. “We’ve all been awake since late afternoon.”

She must be testing her Clan’s patience to the extreme, Firestar thought. Is she trying to run RiverClan like ThunderClan or something?

Conversation continued, light and friendly, until they reached the edge of the forest. Stonefur guided Firestar up the border until the bridge was in view. Firestar flinched, imagining hot breath and teeth around his neck, but shook it off as hard as he could and followed Stonefur without a word.

He quickly saw why Stonefur had questioned him leaving Dustpelt behind; the other leaders were seated on the bridge, with WindClan and ShadowClan’s deputies sitting with them. He winced, self-conscious, and raised his voice to call out, “Sorry if we’re late!”

The three leaders looked up as Firestar’s paws landed on the bridge’s stiff wooden planks. Leopardstar, as usual, didn’t look happy, but Rookstar tilted his head in greeting and Blackstar lowered his chin. Deadfoot, somehow pretty stout for a WindClan cat, narrowed his eyes in study of the youngest leader, while a dark ginger molly that Firestar remembered meeting with the name Russetfur replied, “Greetings. Where is your deputy?”

“I didn’t know I should have brought him.” Firestar lowered his ears apologetically. “He’s watching over things while I’m gone.”

“My fault,” Stonefur said. “I should’ve told you. Ah, well. He can hear from you, too.” To Leopardstar, he said, “We’re all here now. Shall we begin?”

“We shall.” Leopardstar looked up at Rookstar. “You wanted to speak first.”

Rookstar slanted his head at her before speaking. “Blackstar mentioned talking to you, Firestar. Something about your Clan’s border being attacked.”

“It is.” Firestar sighed, coming to sit down across from Rookstar. “It’s bizarre. They wait until a border patrol comes by, attack us and then run away without finishing the fight. It’s always a new group of cats, too. I tried to talk to one of them, and all they said was that they ‘fight for their place in heaven’. They didn’t elaborate.”

Rookstar grunted. “Then we all have the same story.”

Firestar blinked, head rearing back a bit in surprise. “Really?”

“Save us, who have been driven away entirely…” Blackstar jerked his head to Leopardstar. “RiverClan’s border has had rogues patrolling it, and WindClan deals with trouble on the road-side.”

“Same as you,” Leopardstar said, straightening up even further and speaking with an almost admirable businesslike sincerity, her irritation forgotten. “We see them a lot easier, because our border is so open and there’s nothing but grassland and barely any trees. They watch us from a distance almost every night.”

“Barley said they’ve been prowling around his Barn, too,” Rookstar added to Firestar. “They’re certainly keen to attack if we come near the road.”

“The trouble is that they know how to navigate places with cars, so chasing them away would result in more potential losses for WindClan,” Russetfur said, to which Rookstar concurred with a hum.

“Do they all abruptly run from you, too?” Firestar asked.

“They do,” Leopardstar said. “I don’t know what they want or why they keep doing it.”

Deadfoot spoke up now. “Figure they’re testing our strength. And our willingness to fight.”

Leopardstar’s claws glinted in the moonlight. “We have plenty of both.”

“Well, hold on—” Firestar lifted a paw like he was going to take a step forward. “I know we usually just fight strangers off, but… I think it would be prudent to at least try to negotiate. If for nothing else, to make some sense of what they want.”

Leopardstar glared at him. “You really think we should talk to rogues?”

“I do, too,” Deadfoot said flatly.

“We don’t have to roll over and let them slice our bellies,” Stonefur agreed, looking amused at Leopardstar’s glare turning on him. “But the more we know about them, the better. Who knows? We could get lucky and scare them into backing off as soon as they get a sight of our teamwork.”

Rookstar looked over at Blackstar. “You got any information about them?”

“I fear not.” Blackstar’s thin tail tapped the ground. It was hard to say whether it was in irritation or nervousness. “They were swift to force us out before we could get a good idea of who they are and what they want.”

“Then what hope do we have of negotiating with them?” Leopardstar wasn’t looking at Firestar, but she was definitely directing the question to him.

“It’s at least worth a try,” Firestar said simply. “Wouldn’t you rather avoid any injuries or death if you could help it?”

There was a slight pause as all the leaders looked at each other. Even the deputies had faces like they didn’t want to concede, but knew he was right.

Rookstar was the one to break the silence. “I agree with Firestar. We’ll attempt to talk with their leader. Or leaders.”

Leopardstar harrumphed, but she didn’t argue.

“Take your entire Clans to the borders where they’ve been attacked the most,” Rookstar went on. “Inform them when they arrive to meet us two days after you talk to them at the neutral grounds, in Fourtrees. Run to tell the rest of us when you do.”

“Fourtrees is a sacred place,” Blackstar warned. “If we are forced to fight, our ancestors and the Three will surely take issue with that.”

Rookstar gave him a flat look. “Ideally, it’ll be on a regular sleeping night. But if you want to frighten them into peace, bring your deputies and four warriors with you. Your biggest and strongest. Make sure they know to come alone and with no intention to fight.”

“We can do that.” Firestar fought the urge to sag a little with relief. “Thank you, sir. I just want this to end without a fight. I know the Clans don’t like talking to outsiders, but…”

“This is a special situation,” Rookstar finished. “We should be willing to act in our best interests.”

Firestar nodded. “And in theirs.”

“I know you’re a kittypet,” Leopardstar said sharply, “but you shouldn’t be concerned about how outsiders are faring, much less rogues.”

A flash of anger in Firestar’s chest caught him by surprise. He controlled it and gave her a pointed blink, speaking calmly. “If they’re a cat and they’re breathing, I will be concerned about them.”

The calico didn’t know what to do with that, clearly. Her mouth was pressed into a thin line as she tried to meet Firestar’s soft gaze and was forced to look away, muzzle fighting to not be wrinkled. Stonefur’s eyes were nearly gone from the crinkling beam of delight on his face.

Deadfoot’s whiskers twitched, but his voice was as deadpan as ever. “We’ll see what happens. Good luck to you all.”

Firestar bowed his head respectfully. “It was nice to see everyone. I hope we’ll meet again before the next Gathering, and sort this all out.”

“May the Three watch us all,” Blackstar said. “And may our wishes of peace be granted.” He stood up. “Have you more to say, Rookstar?”

“Only that you all walk in groups and watch carefully.” Rookstar slowly and stiffly got to his feet too. With a single nod to everyone, and a swish of his overly-long tail, he started walking off the bridge and in the direction of his territory, Deadfoot limping after him.

Blackstar and Russetfur were next to leave, silent and thoughtful. The only ones left were Leopardstar, Stonefur, and Firestar.

Firestar was quickly aware that Leopardstar was not going to leave until he was gone, too, so he got up and dipped his head to them both, saying, “It was very nice to see you again, Stonefur. I hope RiverClan won’t be bothered by the rogues after this.”

Leopardstar grunted, ears back and eyes narrowed doubtfully.

Does she not believe I mean that? Firestar thought. He held in a sigh and turned, trotting off the bridge and heading back into the woods.

It was a funny thing—as soon as his feet were off the planks, his chest settled and a sense of safety rushed through his body, both things he hadn’t realized in his tension until now. He hadn’t been in any danger, though, and he’d known that the whole time. Was he really that shaken by his nightmares?

Oh, well. The important thing was that his idea had gone over well.

He padded into the woods, his mind wandering over potential outcomes of the meeting with the rogues. Best-case scenario, maybe they’d have allies in the future, if he could keep things friendly! Sure, that was far-fetched—even he knew that—but he could dream. Worst-case scenario…

…He didn’t want to think about the worst-case scenario.

[park-jimin-isnt-real]

"war of the gods" chapter six

pairing: taehyung x reader rating: PG-16 genre: fantasy, angst this part: the start of a long journey. tw: after-battle destruction, big emotions (anger, fear, betrayal) word count: ~4.1k posted: april 12th 2026; unedited war of the gods masterlist

The walk from the palace to the lower city was a sensory blur of gray ash and copper-tasting blood. Y/N moved through the wreckage like a phantom haunting its own grave, her shadow stretching long and jagged over the broken cobblestones. The smoke clung to her skin like a second, filthier soul. Her boots moved with a mechanical precision, sidestepping the shimmering puddles from burst water mains and the discarded, notched weapons of men who would never pick them up again.

She passed a fallen banner of Katayn, the silver lion half-submerged in a gutter of black sludge. It looked pathetic—a strip of silk that had promised protection and delivered only a shroud.

The citizens she had once shared bread with—the ones who had laughed at her stories and sold her ribbons—now recoiled as she passed. The air around them curdled with the scent of unwashed fear. Mothers yanked their children into the shadows of blackened doorways, their eyes wide with a primal terror that made the hollow void in her chest expand until it threatened to swallow her whole. They didn't see the girl who had catalogued tax records anymore. They saw the girl who had made the earth scream. They saw the catalyst for their ruins.

She didn't go to the church. She couldn't face the crushing weight of Jin’s disappointed kindness or the suffocating, sterile smell of medicinal herbs. Instead, her feet led her to the only place that didn't demand she be a hero or a healer: the heavy, scarred timber doors of The Cat’s Nap.

Inside, the pub was a tomb. A single shutter hung at a broken angle, allowing a solitary sliver of dusty sunlight to spear through the gloom, illuminating the motes of ash dancing in the air. The familiar scent of stale ale and old, spilled tobacco was the only thing that felt real—a tether to the girl she had pretended to be. She sank into her usual stool, her hands resting flat on the cold, gouged wood of the bar. She waited for the world to stop spinning, but the silence only made the ringing in her ears louder.

The door creaked open shortly after, the uneven, heavy thud of boots announcing a visitor. Yoongi didn't say a word. He didn't offer a platitude or ask for a tab. He hobbled toward the bar, his tunic shredded at the shoulder and a dark, plum-colored bruise blooming across his cheekbone like a storm cloud. He reached behind the counter, his fingers steady despite the grime, and snagged a bottle of the strong stuff. He took his usual corner seat right next to her, the smell of blood and cheap gin radiating off him.

The silence between them was a physical weight—a bridge that had been washed away by a flood, leaving them on opposite banks. She didn't move for hours. Her mind was a kaleidoscope of a brotherly smile and the skeletal, spiked armor of a warlord. She kept seeing Jungkook’s eyes—the way they hadn't changed even while he stood amidst the dead. Jungkook was alive, but he was a monster. He had destroyed her peace while wearing the face of her greatest friend.

The silence detonated.

The doors burst open, the metallic clash of greaves against stone echoing like a cannon through the empty room. Taehyung stormed in, his silver armor caked in soot and dried ichor. His eyes—usually so bright, so full of the mischief that had kept her grounded—were now shards of ice, sharp with a pain that made her flinch. She was almost surprised it had taken him this long to find her.

He stopped a foot away from her, the heat of his anger radiating off his plate mail in waves. "Who are you?" he demanded. His voice was a quiet, vibrating firmament that demanded an answer or a blood-sacrifice.

She blinked, but she couldn't bring herself to look up. She traced a knot in the wood of the bar, imagining it was a tiny, solitary island in a vast, dark sea.

"Y/N!" He slammed his gauntleted fist onto the counter. The sound was a hammer meeting an anvil, a violent crack that made the glassware rattle on the shelves. Yoongi’s hand twitched instinctively toward a hidden knife beneath the bar, his eyes narrowing, but Y/N remained as still as a statue. "Who. Are you."

She took a slow, rough breath. The air tasted of smoke and old lies. Finally, she lifted her head and met his gaze. The flood of emotions in his eyes was staggering—anger, agony, and a betrayal so deep it felt like a physical wound. It was the kind of look that fueled the very wrath she was trying to keep from drowning them both.

"I am a twelve-hundred-year-old demigod with the power to level this city," she said, her voice unnervingly steady, devoid of the warmth he knew. "I was sent here from a world that died before your ancestors learned to build with stone, tasked by the Ancient Gods to stop a Darkness from escaping the dimension they bled to trap him in. Does that answer enough of your questions, Tae? Or do you want the names of the stars that burned out while I waited to wake up?"

She watched his reality buckle. His mouth opened and closed, his mind trying to reconcile the girl who liked salt air with the creature of myth standing before him.

It was Yoongi who broke the tension, the sound of a bottle cap unscrewing clicking in the quiet. "Answers all of mine," he muttered, tilting the bottle back and taking a pull that would have leveled a lesser man. "You want different drink, or are we staying with the hard stuff?"

"How long have you known General Kathan?" Taehyung demanded, ignoring the older man entirely. He leaned into her space, his voice trembling with accusation. "Did you know about the attack? Is that why you took me to the beach? To pull one of the best blades in the guard away from the palace gates while he slaughtered the King?"

The accusation stung worse than the rubble that had bruised her ribs. Y/N looked away, her jaw tightening until it ached. "Jungkook is my brother. I spent a year mourning him, thinking him dead. I didn't know he had traded his soul to Ravanis, and I certainly didn't know he was coming for this city." She glanced at the knight from the corner of her eye, a spark of her old fire returning. "And you came to me at the beach, Tae. I didn't ask for your company. I went there to find a peace you people don't know how to give me." The words were harsh and untrue; this past year had been the most peaceful one she’d ever had.

"The King is dead!" Taehyung’s voice finally broke, rising to a ragged shout that bounced off the rafters. "The city is a ruin! The army is—"

"Give her a break, Taehyung," Yoongi interrupted, his voice raspier than usual, carrying the authority of a man who had seen too many wars and buried too many friends. He didn't look up from his drink. "She's trying to process the fact that her dead brother just burnt her house down. Let her grieve. The dead aren't going anywhere, they’ll still be dead tomorrow."

Taehyung glared at them both, his chest heaving under his cuirass. He looked like he wanted to scream, to arrest her, or to collapse into the dust—perhaps all three at once. Unable to find words that wouldn't shatter him, he turned on his heel and stormed out, the heavy oak doors swinging violently in his wake.

The silence returned, thinner and colder than before. She felt the weight of the millennium pressing down on her shoulders, making her feel every one of those twelve hundred years. She looked at her hands—the same hands that had cracked the palace floor—and wondered if they would ever feel clean again.

"So, uh," Yoongi said after a long minute, his voice losing its bite. "You really twelve hundred years old?"

Y/N glanced at him briefly, a shadow of a smile ghosting her lips. "Twelve hundred twenty-six, if you want to be specific."

Yoongi nodded slowly, taking a long pull from the bottle. He studied the dim, cobwebbed rafters of the pub, then looked back at her. "You look good for your age. Must be the salt air. Or the lack of taxes."

A small, involuntary laugh escaped her—the first human sound she’d made since the world ended all over again. How many times could one person’s world get destroyed before there was nothing left to break?

"The stories," Yoongi said, his tone turning serious as he leaned back. "The city above the clouds. The blue dragon in the well. All of it? You weren't just spinning yarns for the locals to get free drinks?"

"All of it," she whispered. "Every word I told you was true, Yoongi. I just... I wanted to be the person everyone thought I was. Just a girl with a big imagination and nowhere to go."

Yoongi grunted, his eyes softening. "I figured the dragon was real the second I felt the cobblestones turn into a wave under my feet. No normal girl does that, not even the ones from spirited families." He looked at her sideways, his expression turning grim. "What are you going to do? He’s your blood. But he’s the one who put our leaders in the dirt."

Her small smile vanished. She thought of Jungkook’s joyful, terrifying face and the way he held Inara—her own soul—like a trophy won in a raid.

"He’s not the brother I knew," she said, her voice hardening into steel. "He said he had to take me to him. He’s serving someone, Yoongi. Someone who wants the world to look like Katayn does right now. I have to get my sword back. I have to find out what they did to him—and then I have to stop it."

"Well," Yoongi sighed, sliding the bottle toward her. "Better finish that drink first. I have a feeling terra-whales and blue dragons aren't the biggest things you’re going to run into out there."

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The church felt like a hollowed-out ribcage in the dark. Usually, the air here was a thick, comforting soup of beeswax, sun-warmed incense, and the dusty vanilla scent of old parchment. Tonight, that sanctity had been violated. The atmosphere was sharp with the remains of Jungkook’s forced entry and the metallic, cloying stench of blood that drifted in from the makeshift infirmary in the nave, the need for more room for the injured increasing each hour. It was the lingering ghost of Ravanis—a cold, artificial static that made the hair on Y/N’s neck stand up.

She moved through the stone-walled pantry with the practiced, predatory silence of a girl who had once hunted in celestial forests. She took only the essentials, her movements jerky and utilitarian: a small linen sack of dried grain, two leathery strips of salted beef, and a sturdy, brass-capped waterskin.

Every item felt like lead in her hands. These were the winter stores of a kingdom that was currently bleeding out, and the weight of the theft burned. She felt like a scavenger picking over a fresh carcass.

"The sourdough on the middle shelf is fresher," a calm, weary voice drifted from the shadows. "The rye will be moldy by the time you reach the foothills."

Y/N spun around, her body coiling instinctively. Her hand flashed to her hip, searching for a blade that wasn't there—a reflex that made her fingers twitch against empty air.

Father Orin stood in the arched doorway, a dim, stuttering lantern clutched in a hand that shook with palsy. He looked impossibly small beneath the soaring Gothic vaults. His white robes were no longer pristine; they were smeared with soot and the dark, brownish stains of dried blood. His eyes were rimmed with a raw, red exhaustion—the look of a man who had spent the last six hours absorbing the final breaths of the dying.

"I... I was only taking what I needed to survive the night," Y/N whispered, her voice cracking like dry glass.

"Take more," Orin insisted, stepping into the pool of amber light. There was no judgment in his tone, only a profound, quiet pity that cut deeper than Jimin’s sharpest accusations. "The road ahead is a hungry one, and the winters in the high passes have no mercy for your pride. Take the heavy wool cloak from the infirmary hook. Jin won't miss it. He is currently neck-deep in the screams of the living. He has forgotten the meaning of the cold."

Her heart stung at the mention of Jin. She hadn’t seen him since he warned her away from the city, hoping that her absence would be enough to save everyone. It was a bitter irony that whether she was present in Katayn or not, the damage would have been the same. The target had been on her back since she washed ashore.

Orin sank onto a small wooden bench with a groan of stiff joints, setting the lantern on the floor. It cast long, flickering shadows that danced like giants against the stone walls. "I owe you an apology, child. And I suspect King Haedrich would have offered one as well, had he a throat left to speak with."

Y/N froze, her hand hovering inches above a jar of preserved honey. "For what? You gave me a home when I was nothing but sea-salt and silence."

"We gave you a home built on a foundation of secrets," Orin sighed, rubbing his face with a trembling hand. "The artifact—the silver sword the General reclaimed today. It washed up on the shingle the very same morning the scouts found you unconscious in the surf. Haedrich was a man of logic, but even logic fails when confronted with an omen. He believed the blade and the girl were two halves of a single catastrophe. He thought he could protect Katayn by keeping the weapon in the dark and the girl in the light."

A cold, crystalline surge of realization flooded Y/N’s chest, making her breath hitch. "It was here? I spent a year staring at the horizon, mourning a piece of my soul that was sitting in the king’s basement?"

"It never truly went dark," Orin murmured, his eyes unfocused as if seeing the blade's glow through the floorboards. "Since the hour you crossed the threshold, it pulsed. We thought we were guarding a holy relic. We didn't realize we were holding a heart captive."

"It belonged to me," Y/N said, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "It was a gift from the Nine. A blessing to ensure I could execute their will. I thought the sea had swallowed it. I thought I was alone."

Orin looked at her then—truly looked at her—not as a demigod or a threat to his city, but as a girl who had been forged into a weapon before she was even a woman. "You speak of the Nine with a great deal of salt in your voice, child. Do you still walk in the warmth of their light?"

"I hate them," Y/N spat, the raw honesty of the words vibrating through the small room like a strike on a tuning fork. "I hate what they’ve done to my family. I hate that they left Jungkook and I in that stinking vault for a thousand years while the world moved on and forgot our names. I hate that they made me a relic in a world I don't recognize."

She braced herself for him to recoil, to scream heresy and call for the guard. Instead, Orin simply nodded—a slow, sorrowful movement.

"The gods deal in empires and eras," he said softly, his voice echoing in the pantry. "They move the mountains but often forget the cost of the flowers growing on the slopes. If you hate them for the silence they gave you, I cannot find it in my heart to tell you that you are wrong."

Y/N finished packing in silence, the sack now heavy with the salted meats and grain Orin had pushed toward her. She stood by the side door that led to the graveyard path, her silhouette sharp against the moonlight.

"I won't wish a blessing from the Nine upon you," Orin said, standing up with a wince. "I don't think you’d thank an old man for the insult. But... I will give you a traveler’s blessing. May your feet find the solid ground when the world turns to water, and may your heart find the rest the heavens were too busy to give you."

Y/N looked at him for a long moment. The bitterness in her chest, the volcanic wrath she’d been nursing, softened just enough to let her bow her head in a silent, genuine salute. "Thank you, Father. For the bread. And for the truth."

"You should sleep before you go," he suggested, though his eyes told her he knew she wouldn't. "And Y/N? Don't let the shadow of that general's armor hide the boy you remember. He is lost in a very deep woods, but the world is wider than Ravanis’ reach. Perhaps he can still be found."

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The predawn air was a razor, slicing through the thin linen of Y/N’s tunic as she slipped through the church’s side gate. She had managed perhaps two hours of fitful sleep, her mind a fever dream of crumbling stone, the smell of blood, and the terrifying radiance of Jungkook’s smile.

She reached the main gate of Katayn, where the towering oak doors—once symbols of safety—were now broken, charred skeletons. The city behind her was unnervingly quiet. The only sound was the distant, rhythmic clink-clink-clink of a blacksmith’s hammer, already at work mending the armor of the men who had survived. It was a lonely, industrial heartbeat for a dying city.

She adjusted the weight of her pack, bracing herself for the long silence of the road. But the road wasn't empty.

Sitting on a mounting block by the stables, tossing a small pebble into the air and catching it with bored, calloused precision, was Yoongi. He didn't look like a barfly anymore. He looked like the shadow he had always hinted at being—sharp, weathered, and ready.

"You're late," he said, his voice a low rasp. He didn't look up. "I figured a demigod would be more of a morning person. Or maybe you just like the dramatic entrance?"

"Yoongi, go back to the pub," Y/N said, her voice heavy with weariness. "I’m not going for a hike. I’m chasing a Ravanis general. It’s dangerous, it’s thousands of miles, and I don’t need a guide."

"You don't need a guide?" Yoongi repeated almost mockingly, finally meeting her gaze. His face was a map of bruises, but his eyes were sharp as flints. "Kid, you've been here a year and you still get lost looking for the damn bakery. If you want to go east to Ravanis, you have to go through the Northern Pass. Between here and the first port, there are three marshes, two dead-zones, and enough goblins to make you wish for a terra-whale to swallow you whole. You aren’t doing this alone."

Y/N opened her mouth to argue, but the sound of frantic, uneven shuffling interrupted her.

"Wait! Wait for me!" Jin stumbled around the corner, his pack lopsided and a heavy leather medical satchel bouncing violently against his hip. He was breathless, his face flushed scarlet in the biting morning air, looking entirely like a man who had never spent a night outside a city walls.

"Jin? What on earth are you doing?" Y/N asked, her brow furrowing in genuine concern.

"Father Orin," Jin gasped, doubled over and clutching the gatepost for support. "He said... he said you’d need a healer. And someone to make sure you actually eat something other than salted leather for the next six months. He sent me. And I’m not—huff—I’m not staying behind to watch the infirmary turn into a morgue."

"I am not leading a rescue expedition!" Y/N snapped, her patience finally fraying. "This isn't a church outing, Jin—"

"We know exactly what it is."

The voice was like a whip-crack. Jimin stepped into the first pale light of the rising sun, followed closely by Hoseok and a silent, brooding Taehyung, each carrying their own packs of supplies in addition to the weapons on their hips and backs.

Jimin looked livid. His silver armor had been scrubbed clean of blood, but his expression was still stained with the betrayal of the courtyard. He looked at her not with friendship, but with the cold calculation of a jailer. "You think you can just crack the earth, kill our King, and then walk away on some private revenge plot while we’re left to bury the dead? No. You brought this to our door. You’re our responsibility now."

"We’re coming to make sure you actually finish the job," Hoseok added. His tone was lighter, but the usual sunshine in his eyes was replaced by a grim, forced optimism. He gave her a small, hopeful wave that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Plus, Katayn is a bit... gloomy right now. A road trip sounds better than sitting in the rain, doesn't it?"

"Even I know that's bullshit, Captain," Jin muttered, and Y/N felt a jolt of shock to hear the word fall so naturally from the healer's mouth. "What are you actually doing here?"

Jimin’s rage simmered down into a profound, hollow sadness. "Someone needs to alert Princess Soyeon of her father's passing and escort her back from Aethelis. The crown belongs to her now."

Y/N closed her eyes. She had heard the stories of the King's daughter, studying magic in the desert city. Her heart ached for the girl; she knew the exact weight of the crown being thrust upon a fatherless child.

"Father Orin mentioned a small group would be traveling north this morning," Hoseok finished, his voice steadying. "Traveling in numbers is safer. For everyone."

Y/N looked at Taehyung. He didn't say a word. He wouldn't even meet her eyes. He just stood there, his hand white-knuckled on the strap of his shield, his gaze fixed on the dirt. He was a shadow of the boy who had sat with her on the beach less than twenty-four hours ago. The power in her blood felt like lead, heavy and hot.

"Listen to me," Y/N sighed, her voice dropping into that low, ancient resonance that made the very air hum with power. "I am going to find my brother. I am going to beat the soul back into him, and I am going to take back the sword he stole. It is a family matter. It is an Ancient matter. You will only get hurt. Or worse."

"We're already hurt," Jimin countered, stepping directly into her space, his eyes flashing with a mix of defiance and grief. "Varian is dead. The King is dead. If you want to fix this, you do it with the people you broke."

Yoongi adjusted the strap of his pack and started walking toward the north road without waiting for her permission. "Ravanis is on the southern tip of the Eastern Continent, Y/N. We're on the southern tip of the Western. That's a lot of ocean between here and your brother."

"You’ll get a boat at Port Maris," Hoseok said helpfully, falling into step behind Yoongi. "It's only a few weeks' walk north. Plenty of time to get used to the blisters and the bad jokes."

Y/N looked at the five of them—the healer, the guide, the soldier, the scout, and the boy whose heart she had shattered. She was a demigod of the Second Age, a relic of a world that had mastered the stars, yet she felt completely outmatched by five mortals with a sense of duty.

"Fine," she whispered, turning her face toward the cold northern horizon where the clouds were gathered like an army. "But don't say I didn't warn you.”

As they took their first steps away from the ruins of Katayn, the sun finally crested the horizon, painting the road in a bloody, brilliant gold.

[theoneweoughtaspare]

༺𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐱,༻  

Please read 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑭𝒊𝒗𝒆 ~ Ronnie’s POV and 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑭𝒊𝒗𝒆 ~ J.D.’s POV before reading this!

Ronnie’s POV:

September 30th 2025

Dear Diary,

ℋℯ𝓇ℯ’𝓈 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓎 𝒹ℴ𝓃’𝓉 𝓉ℯ𝓁𝓁 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝒶𝒷ℴ𝓊𝓉 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝓁ℯ 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓎𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝒽ℴ𝓈𝓅𝒾𝓉𝒶𝓁 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶 𝒸ℴ𝓃𝒸𝓊𝓈𝓈𝒾ℴ𝓃 𝒶𝒻𝓉ℯ𝓇 𝒻𝒶𝓁𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔 ℴ𝓃 𝓎ℴ𝓊𝓇 𝒶𝓈𝓈 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓈𝒸𝒽ℴℴ𝓁 𝑔𝓎𝓂 𝒶𝒻𝓉ℯ𝓇 𝒽ℴ𝓊𝓇𝓈: 𝓲𝓽 𝓰𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓼 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓪 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓹𝓵𝓮 𝓭𝓪𝔂𝓼 𝓸𝓯𝓯 𝓯𝓻𝓸𝓶 𝓼𝓬𝓱𝓸𝓸𝓵 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓰𝓸𝓭 𝓭𝓲𝓭 𝓘 𝓷𝓮𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓼𝓮 𝓭𝓪𝔂𝓼 𝓸𝓯𝓯. ℳ𝓎 30 𝒽ℴ𝓊𝓇𝓈 𝓉ℴ 𝓁𝒾𝓋ℯ, 𝒶𝓁𝓉𝒽ℴ𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝓈𝒽ℴ𝓇𝓉ℯ𝓃ℯ𝒹 𝒶 𝒷𝒾𝓉 𝒻𝓇ℴ𝓂 𝓌𝒽ℯ𝓃 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒸ℴ𝓃𝓀ℯ𝒹 ℴ𝓊𝓉 ℴ𝓃 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝑔𝓇ℴ𝓊𝓃𝒹 𝒷𝓁ℯℯ𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒻𝓇ℴ𝓂 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝓀𝓊𝓁𝓁-𝒽𝒶𝒹 𝒷ℯℯ𝓃 𝓂𝒾𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓊𝓁ℴ𝓊𝓈𝓁𝓎 ℯ𝓍𝓉ℯ𝓃𝒹ℯ𝒹 𝒾𝓃𝓉ℴ 54. 𝒴ℯ𝓉 ℯ𝓋ℯ𝓇𝓎 𝒹𝒶𝓎 𝐼 𝓈𝒶𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝒽ℴ𝓈𝓅𝒾𝓉𝒶𝓁 ℯ𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓅𝓅𝓁ℯ 𝓈𝒶𝓊𝒸ℯ 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓌𝒶𝓉𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝓋 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓂𝓎 𝓅𝒶𝓇ℯ𝓃𝓉𝓈 𝐼 𝒸ℴ𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒻ℯℯ𝓁 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝒸𝓁ℴ𝒸𝓀 𝒸ℴ𝓊𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒹ℴ𝓌𝓃 𝓉ℴ 𝒯𝓊ℯ𝓈𝒹𝒶𝓎 𝓂ℴ𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓌𝒽ℯ𝓃 𝐼’𝒹 𝒽𝒶𝓋ℯ 𝓉ℴ 𝑔ℴ 𝒷𝒶𝒸𝓀 𝓉ℴ 𝓈𝒸𝒽ℴℴ𝓁. 𝐼 𝓉𝒽ℴ𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝓂𝒶𝓎𝒷ℯ 𝒾𝒻 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓁𝓊𝒸𝓀𝓎 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓈𝓊𝓃 𝓌ℴ𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒷ℯ𝑔𝒾𝓃 𝓉ℴ 𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓃ℯ 𝓂𝓎 𝓌𝒶𝓎 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑔ℴ𝒹 𝒽𝒶𝒹 𝓂ℯ𝓇𝒸𝓎 ℴ𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝓈ℴ𝓊𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 ℋℯ𝒶𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓇 𝓌ℴ𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝑔ℴ ℯ𝒶𝓈𝓎 ℴ𝓃 𝓂ℯ 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓇ℯ𝒶𝓁𝒾𝓏ℯ 𝓌ℯ 𝒷ℴ𝓉𝒽 𝓈𝒶𝒾𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 𝓌ℯ 𝒹𝒾𝒹𝓃’𝓉 𝓂ℯ𝒶𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉…

𝓡𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽, 𝔀𝓱𝓸 𝓪𝓶 𝓘 𝓴𝓲𝓭𝓭𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓲𝓼 𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓵𝓮𝓻 𝔀𝓮’𝓻𝓮 𝓭𝓮𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱. 𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮’𝓼 𝓷𝓸 𝓶𝓮𝓻𝓬𝔂 𝔀𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝓼𝓸𝓶𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓼𝓪𝓴𝓮𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓵𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓮𝓼𝓼.

𝒲ℯ𝓁𝓁, 𝓈ℴ𝓂ℯ 𝒶𝓈𝓈𝒽ℴ𝓁ℯ 𝒽𝒶𝒹 𝒷ℯℯ𝓃 𝒻𝒾𝓁𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓌𝒽ℴ𝓁ℯ 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓉 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝒽ℴ𝓂ℯ𝒸ℴ𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉𝓎 𝒮𝒶𝓉𝓊𝓇𝒹𝒶𝓎 𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑔ℴ𝓉 𝒾𝓉 𝓊𝓅 ℴ𝓃 𝒯𝒾𝓀𝒯ℴ𝓀 𝒷ℯ𝒻ℴ𝓇ℯ 𝐼 𝒽𝒶𝒹 ℯ𝓋ℯ𝓃 𝓌ℴ𝓀ℯ𝓃 𝒻𝓇ℴ𝓂 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒸ℴ𝓂𝒶. 𝓘’𝓿𝓮 𝓰𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓿𝓲𝓻𝓪𝓵 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓰𝓸𝓸𝓭 𝔀𝓪𝔂. 𝒢𝓇ℯ𝒶𝓉, 𝐼’𝓂 𝒶𝓁𝓇ℯ𝒶𝒹𝓎 𝑔𝓇ℴ𝓊𝓃𝒹ℯ𝒹 𝒻ℴ𝓇 𝓉𝓌ℴ 𝓌ℯℯ𝓀𝓈 𝒻ℴ𝓇 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓌𝒽ℴ𝓁ℯ 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓃ℴ𝓌 𝐼’𝓂 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓃ℯ𝓌 𝒻𝒶𝒸ℯ ℴ𝒻 𝓅ℯℴ𝓅𝓁ℯ 𝓌𝒽ℴ 𝒹𝒶𝓇ℯ 𝓉ℴ 𝒹ℯ𝒻𝓎 ℋℯ𝒶𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓇 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓁ℯ𝓇 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒹𝓇𝓊𝓃𝓀 𝒹𝒾𝓈𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇! 𝒲ℯ 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓉ℴ 𝑔ℴ 𝓋𝒾𝓇𝒶𝓁. ℬ𝓊𝓉, 𝓌𝒽ℯ𝓃 𝐼 𝓈𝒶𝒾𝒹 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉ℯ𝒹 𝓉ℴ 𝑔ℴ 𝓋𝒾𝓇𝒶𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓝𝓞𝓣 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝓂ℯ𝒶𝓃𝓉! 𝒢ℴ𝒹 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓉𝒽ℴ𝓈ℯ 𝒷𝓊𝓁𝓁𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓉 𝓋𝒾𝒹ℯℴ𝓈 ℴ𝒻 𝒹𝓇𝓊𝓃𝓀 𝓅ℯℴ𝓅𝓁ℯ 𝒷ℯ𝒾𝓃𝑔 “𝓈𝓉𝓊𝓅𝒾𝒹” ℴ𝓃 𝓎ℴ𝓊𝓇 𝒻ℴ𝓇 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝓅𝒶𝑔ℯ𝓈 𝒶𝓇ℯ 𝒻𝓊𝓃𝓃𝓎 𝓊𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓁 𝒾𝓉’𝓈 𝓎ℴ𝓊. 𝓦𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓪 𝔀𝓪𝔂 𝓽𝓸 𝓰𝓸 𝓿𝓲𝓻𝓪𝓵.

ℋℯ𝒶𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓇 𝒽ℯ𝓁𝒹 𝓉𝓇𝓊ℯ 𝓉ℴ 𝒽ℯ𝓇 𝓌ℴ𝓇𝒹, 𝐼’𝓂 𝒶𝓃 “ℯ𝓍-𝓈ℴ𝓂ℯ𝒷ℴ𝒹𝓎” 𝓃ℴ𝓌. 𝒩ℴ𝒷ℴ𝒹𝓎 𝒹𝒶𝓇ℯ𝓈 𝓉ℴ 𝓁ℴℴ𝓀 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 ℯ𝓎ℯ, 𝓁𝒾𝓀ℯ 𝐼’𝓂 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝒸𝓇ℯ𝒶𝓉𝓊𝓇ℯ 𝒻𝓇ℴ𝓂 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝒷𝓁𝒶𝒸𝓀 𝓁𝒶𝑔ℴℴ𝓃 ℴ𝓃 𝒶 𝓇𝒶𝓂𝓅𝒶𝑔ℯ! 𝐼𝒻 ℋℯ𝒶𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓇 𝒹ℯ𝒸𝒾𝒹ℯ𝓈 𝓎ℴ𝓊’𝓇ℯ 𝒹ℯ𝒶𝒹 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝓂𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒶𝓈 𝓌ℯ𝓁𝓁 𝒷ℯ 𝒶𝓇ℴ𝓊𝓃𝒹 𝒽ℯ𝓇ℯ. ℰ𝓋ℯ𝓇𝓎ℴ𝓃ℯ 𝓉𝓇ℯ𝒶𝓉𝓈 𝓂ℯ 𝓁𝒾𝓀ℯ 𝐼’𝓂 𝓃ℴ𝓉 ℯ𝓋ℯ𝓃 𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓇ℯ, 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓎 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝓈ℯℯ 𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝓇ℴ𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝓂ℯ. 𝓢𝓸𝓶𝓮𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓮𝓼 𝓘 𝔀𝓸𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻 𝓲𝓯 𝓪𝓷𝔂𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓬𝓪𝓷 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝓶𝓮…𝓗𝓔𝓛𝓛𝓞! 𝓘𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝔂𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮? ℳ𝒶𝓇𝓉𝒽𝒶’𝓈 𝒷ℯ𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒷𝓊𝓁𝓁𝒾ℯ𝒹 𝓌ℴ𝓇𝓈ℯ 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝓊𝓈𝓊𝒶𝓁. 𝒪𝒻 𝒸ℴ𝓊𝓇𝓈ℯ 𝓈𝒽ℯ 𝒻ℴ𝓊𝓃𝒹 ℴ𝓊𝓉 𝒶𝒷ℴ𝓊𝓉 ℋℯ𝒶𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓇’𝓈 “𝓅𝒾ñ𝒶𝓉𝒶” 𝓈𝓉𝓊𝓃𝓉 𝐼 𝓂ℯ𝒶𝓃, 𝒾𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒶𝓁𝓁 ℴ𝓋ℯ𝓇 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝒾𝓃𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓃ℯ𝓉 𝓉ℴℴ 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃 𝒽ℴ𝓊𝓇𝓈. 𝐼 𝓈ℯℯ 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓌𝒶𝓎 𝓈𝒽ℯ 𝓇ℯ𝒸ℴ𝒾𝓁𝓈 𝒾𝓃𝓉ℴ 𝒽ℯ𝓇𝓈ℯ𝓁𝒻 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽ℴ𝓊𝓉 𝒶 𝓉𝓇𝒶𝒸ℯ ℴ𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒸ℴ𝓃𝒻𝒾𝒹ℯ𝓃𝒸ℯ 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒽ℯ𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝓈𝒽ℯ 𝒽𝒶𝒹 𝓌𝒽ℯ𝓃 𝓂𝒶𝓇𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓊𝓅 𝓉ℴ ℛ𝒶𝓂 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓂𝓎 𝒽ℯ𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝒷𝓇ℯ𝒶𝓀𝓈 𝒻ℴ𝓇 𝒽ℯ𝓇. 𝓢𝓱𝓮 𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓴𝓼 𝓼𝓸 𝓵𝓸𝓼𝓽…𝒮𝒽ℯ 𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒹ℴℯ𝓈𝓃’𝓉 𝓀𝓃ℴ𝓌 𝓌𝒽ℴ 𝓌𝓇ℴ𝓉ℯ 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓉ℯ𝓍𝓉. 𝓑𝓾𝓽, 𝓘 𝓭𝓸. 𝐼 𝑔𝓊ℯ𝓈𝓈 𝐼 𝒸ℴ𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒶𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝓉ℯ𝓁𝓁 𝒽ℯ𝓇 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓉𝓇𝓊𝓉𝒽 𝓃ℴ𝓌. 𝒯𝒽ℯ𝓇ℯ’𝓈 𝓇ℯ𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝓃ℴ 𝒷ℯ𝓃ℯ𝒻𝒾𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝓀ℯℯ𝓅𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓊𝓅 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓁𝒾ℯ 𝒶𝓃𝓎𝓂ℴ𝓇ℯ, 𝓻𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽? ℬ𝓊𝓉, 𝐼 𝒹ℴ𝓃’𝓉 𝓀𝓃ℴ𝓌 𝒾𝒻 ℳ𝒶𝓇𝓉𝒽𝒶 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝓉𝒶𝓀ℯ 𝒶𝓃𝓎𝓂ℴ𝓇ℯ 𝒽ℯ𝒶𝓇𝓉𝒷𝓇ℯ𝒶𝓀 𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝓃ℴ𝓌. 𝐼𝒻 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓉𝓇𝓊𝓉𝒽 𝓌ℴ𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝓀𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒽ℯ𝓇 𝒷ℯ𝒻ℴ𝓇ℯ 𝐼 𝓂𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒶𝓈 𝓌ℯ𝓁𝓁 𝒷ℯ 𝒹𝒾𝑔𝑔𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒽ℯ𝓇 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓋ℯ 𝒷𝓎 𝓈𝒶𝓎𝒾𝓃𝑔 ℛ𝒶𝓂 𝒹ℴℯ𝓈𝓃’𝓉 𝓁ℴ𝓋ℯ 𝒽ℯ𝓇. 𝒴ℴ𝓊 𝓈ℯℯ 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉? 𝐼 𝒽𝒶𝓋ℯ 𝓉ℴ 𝓀ℯℯ𝓅 𝓁𝓎𝒾𝓃𝑔. 𝓘 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓽𝓸.

𝒜𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓃 𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓇ℯ’𝓈 𝓉𝒽ℯ ℯ𝓁ℯ𝓅𝒽𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓇ℴℴ𝓂: 𝓙.𝓓. 𝓱𝓪𝓼𝓷’𝓽 𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓻𝔂𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓪𝓵𝓴 𝓽𝓸 𝓶𝓮 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓱𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓼𝓲𝓷𝓬𝓮 𝓘 𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓼𝓽 𝔀𝓪𝓵𝓴𝓮𝓭 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰. 𝐼 𝓈𝓌ℯ𝒶𝓇 𝐼 𝒻ℯℯ𝓁 𝒽𝒾𝓂 𝓌𝒶𝓉𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓂ℯ 𝒹𝓊𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒸𝓁𝒶𝓈𝓈…𝓟𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓽𝔂 𝓬𝓻𝓮𝓮𝓹𝔂, 𝓻𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽? 𝒞𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝒾𝓉 𝒹ℯ𝓈𝓅ℯ𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾ℴ𝓃 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝐼 𝓈ℯℯ 𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝓇ℴ𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝒾𝓉. ℋℯ 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉𝓈 𝓉ℴ 𝒶𝒸𝓉 𝓁𝒾𝓀ℯ 𝓃ℴ𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓅ℯ𝓃ℯ𝒹, 𝓁𝒾𝓀ℯ 𝐼 𝒹𝒾𝒹𝓃’𝓉 𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉…𝑔ℴ 𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝓇ℴ𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝒽𝒾𝓂 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉. 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝔀𝓱𝓸𝓵𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰’𝓼 𝓰𝓸𝓽 𝓶𝓮 𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓽𝔂 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝓮𝓭. 𝐼 𝒽𝒶𝓋ℯ 𝓈ℴ 𝓂𝒶𝓃𝓎 𝓆𝓊ℯ𝓈𝓉𝒾ℴ𝓃𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝒹ℴ𝓃’𝓉 𝓀𝓃ℴ𝓌 𝒾𝒻 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝓈𝓌ℯ𝓇𝓈 𝓉ℴ 𝓎ℯ𝓉. 𝓐𝓷𝓭 𝔂𝓮𝓽 𝓘 𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝔀𝓸𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻 𝓲𝓯 𝓘 𝓭𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝔀𝓱𝓸𝓵𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓫𝓾𝓽 𝓘 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓼𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓭𝓼 𝓬𝓻𝓪𝔃𝔂…

𝓑𝓮𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓪 𝓭𝓮𝓪𝓭 𝓰𝓲𝓻𝓵 𝔀𝓪𝓵𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓲𝓷 𝓪 𝓼𝓬𝓱𝓸𝓸𝓵 𝓯𝓾𝓵𝓵 𝓸𝓯 𝓰𝓱𝓸𝓼𝓽𝓼 𝓲𝓼𝓷’𝓽 𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓲𝓽’𝓼 𝓬𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓴𝓮𝓭 𝓾𝓹 𝓽𝓸 𝓫𝓮 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓼𝓮 𝓽𝓻𝔂𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓮𝓼. 𝓑𝓾𝓽, 𝔀𝓱𝓪𝓽’𝓼 𝓪 𝓰𝓲𝓻𝓵 𝓽𝓸 𝓭𝓸?

✎𓂃Ronnie☆

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As I walk through the cafeteria I scout my options on where to sit. Lunch food is crap as always, the lunch tray is in my hand but the too familiar hectic sounds of a high school caf sound more distant than they’ve ever been. Kurt and Ram don’t even smack my lunch tray or say I’m “looking good today”. No, they just ignore me. Wow, even the sluggers are giving me the silent treatment now too. Gotta give it to Heather-only a teen of her stature could keep Ram and Kurt on a tight enough leash they don’t chase a bone or bark and gnaw on a “treat”. Normally I’d sit with the Heathers on a day like this, but that was before I royally messed up.

I don’t have to approach their table, I could sit with Martha…I look over at Martha’s table, the table I used to sit at too before the glitz and glamor of being popular. My best friend sits alone, her head down as the people at the nearby tables gossip about the piñata, replaying the video over and over again. Ugh, I want to pry those phones out of their hands and yell “Hey! Stop watching that!” But, I don’t. Instead I stand there frozen and helpless when I should’ve been anything but. God, why won’t my mouth open. Don’t just stand there! DO SOMETHING?!

With one more attempt at self preservation, I hold my breath and walk over to the Heathers’ table. Freedom in the hospital was nice while it lasted but now that it’s Tuesday it’s time to kiss Heather’s ass for forgiveness.

The table looks to be in order. Heather Mac sitting in what looks like perfect and poised posture telling some story about her squad (cheer captain always has the hot gos) while flailing her arms around in a way that was less poised. Heather Duke was binging again with the intention of vomiting after lunch to “maintain her weight and not gain any more pounds” she looked like she was going to need another forged note to get herself out of this one. And Heather Chandler sat at the end of the table like a queen observing my last supper. Within a few steps of the table all three stopped what they were doing to look me dead in the eye.

“Hey…”

I tried to sit down on the end closest to me but Heather scooted over into my seat before I could, her eyebrows were furrowed in annoyance and she had almost a look of confusion that I had the balls to come over here after everything before looking back down at her tray. Right. Of course. Too scared to say anything to my face yet her actions speak volumes.

“Ronnie, who said you could sit with us?” Heather looked at her nails instead of me, like my speaking was already an inconvenience for her.

“I’m sorry, what? You did. Remember?” I shrug, looking away. Great, I’m already embarrassed I even tried.

“I actually said your invitation to the lunch table would be revoked starting on Monday, remember?”

“Come on, Heather don’t be ridiculous. We both said things that night we didn’t mean.”

“Did we?” She tilts her head, eyes narrowed.

“Uh, huh. I came here to apologize.” I nod with my shoulders tense. “And I bring lunch as a peace offering.” I bow towards her, holding my tray out in front of me. I can feel all the eyes watching but right now all that matters is Heather accepting my proposal.

“I’d prefer if you did this on your knees, in front of the whole school.” She smirked.

I force a smile, trying to ignore her humiliating “joke”. You know Heather-she loves to make jokes like that…“Anyhow, I’m really sorry.” I say quietly with my head down.

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” She leaned closer, her voice growing serious. “Down.” She growled at me as she pointed downward.

I look around at all these kids watching me with bated breath, nobody helping me, but everyone watching. HELLO?! Is anyone here?! Please!

It was then I realized it was stupid of me to ever think I’d belong with them, that I could survive being with them. No, I’m a dog they’re yanking on the chain of.

I got down on my knees slowly, looking up at Heather from the table, Heather was staring me down with smug amusement and Heather watched with guilt written across her face in bright yellow ink. Heather smiled at me as she stood up and walked over, observing me from above.

“Nice.” She leaned closer to whisper to me: “But, you’re still dead to me.” Her smile grew wider in girlish and cruel mockery.

I shouldn’t have come here. They were never going to let me back in. I’m not welcome anymore.

“I’m sure the loser nerd table is looking for more people, Ronnie. Don’t fall and hit your head again, sweetie.” She perked up with a wave.

I stood up and left the cafeteria with my head down, but this time? Heather Mac didn’t follow me out…

Well, here we are. Back in the bathroom stall again. Alone. Outside the totally gross cleanliness of eating in a bathroom I guess it’s not so bad in here…

Fuck, what am I saying this is really bad.

At least when I was a nobody I could actually eat in the cafeteria. Sure they’d bully me and smack my lunch trays but, I wasn’t alone. You heard her I’ll be lucky if they ever let me back into the cafeteria again! Instead I’ll be sitting on this real *classy* toilet to eat my lunch, knowing nobody’s going to come looking for me. Not that I want to be found anyway. Now that I’m an ex-somebody I might as well not even exist anymore! Can you imagine? Not even being seen or heard by anyone around you, let me tell you it’s NOT fun. Be careful what you wish for, folks! If you want people to leave you alone they will…But at what cost to your dignity? God, J.D. was right, I should’ve never bowed to them. I should’ve sat with Martha but I didn’t. Why didn’t I just sit with Martha? She would’ve welcomed me back with open arms if I just asked if she was free for movie night tonight! If I even deserve to be welcomed back after being such an awful friend to her about Ram…

September 30th 2025

Dear Diary,

“𝐼 𝒷ℯ𝓁𝒾ℯ𝓋ℯ 𝐼’𝓂 𝒶 𝑔ℴℴ𝒹 𝓅ℯ𝓇𝓈ℴ𝓃” 𝓡𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽, 𝔀𝓮𝓵𝓵 𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓴 𝓱𝓸𝔀 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓷𝓮𝓭 𝓸𝓾𝓽.

𝓐𝓶 𝓘 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓵𝓵𝔂 𝓪𝓷𝔂 𝓫𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓼 𝓸𝓻 𝓭𝓸 𝓘 𝓳𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓫𝓮?

𝒩ℴ𝓌 𝓌ℯ’𝓁𝓁 𝓃ℯ𝓋ℯ𝓇 𝓀𝓃ℴ𝓌…

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

My head already hurts I don’t need the waterworks.

Maybe I don’t have to leave this stall, right? I can just stay here for the rest of senior year like a demented bathroom ghost and nobody will ever make fun of me or laugh at me again…The only freedom I can taste is a life behind this stall door, free and safe and sound-

“You know, bowing to the enemy only proves your own submission to her rule.”

Woah! I almost jumped out of my skin as I realized I wasn’t alone in the bathroom anymore and that a familiar pair of boots were standing in front of the stall door.

“I thought you were done with Heather.”

“And I thought I knew you, guess we both thought wrong…” I sniffle with annoyance.

There’s a long pause before I hear a small click of his tongue. “Ok,” His typical nasally cadence grew higher. “You’re mad I didn’t tell you about my affliction. I get it.”

I roll my eyes. Yeah, well the fact he came in here even after my constant avoidance proves otherwise so…

“I don’t think you do. Just leave me alone, J.D. Besides, you’ll get caught standing in the girls bathroom like this.” I rub my nose, trying to hide I’ve been crying as much as possible behind a stern voice.

“And leave you alone here crying?” He sat down on the ground in front of my stall. “Guess you really don’t know me at all then. Oh, and believe me getting caught won’t be a problem for me.”

“Right how can I forget you’re…whatever you are…”

“I’m dead, Sawyer. Does that give you the satisfaction you want to hear aloud?”

This can’t be happening. This can’t be real, I’ve got to be going crazy and seeing things! There’s no other explanation. He can’t be real. I don’t believe in ghosts…

Then why does he feel so real when he talks to me?

“Why didn’t you tell me?” My voice suddenly grows softer and more fragile as I begin to feel the tears pouring again.

“Cause I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”

I put the tray on the ground and cross my arms, “Who says I believe you now?”

“I can’t say for sure but, you are still talking to me and I’ll take what I can get.”

“For how long?” I look down at the sliver of his back I can see under the stall door, facing opposite me.

“36 years give or take, it starts to get blurry.”

“Jesus, and I thought high school was bad for us.” I blurt out without thinking before cursing at myself and putting my hands over my mouth with wide eyes. “Can our other classmates-”

“To my knowledge it’s just you.”

Great, lucky me. I’m the only one in this school that sees the dead kid. “I see dead people” is going to look great on my resume after college! No wonder he took up with me, I mean god knows when he’s spoken to anyone else! I hate that I’m starting to feel bad for him…

“Do you have any family left here?”

“I don’t know. My dad owned a deconstruction company in the 80s. Seems the old man liked tearing things down. You seen the commercial?” His voice suddenly shifted into like a higher pitched Texan accent: “‘I’m Big Bud Dean if it’s in the way I’ll make your day!’”

My face lights up instantly. “RIGHT! And then he pushes down on the plunger and the screen blows up!” I push down on the air before gesturing a big explosion with my arms and laugh. “That’s your dad? God, I saw that commercial all the time on my parents’ old VHS tapes! I didn’t know Big Bud had another son!”

“Another?”

“Well, yeah.” I shrug. “He left the business in the family gave it to his first son. Didn’t know he had a brother is all.”

“So, I see…Nice to know my old man held true to his word. He always could make another son anytime he wants…”

My face drops and eyes widen as I process what he just said. God, it feels like my heart’s about to beat out of my chest. Shit.

“He replaced me.”

“J.D. I’m so-”

“It’s ok.” He answered too quickly, cutting me off. “The pain gives me clarity.”

How can pain possibly give anyone clarity? Come on, pain is pain…

“If this place sucks so much why don’t you leave like the rest of us? Travel the world? Nothing’s keeping you here.”

“Believe me when I say I’ve tried. It was the winter of 89, I had just woken up from my eternal slumber and already wanted to leave. No point in staying, you know-so I walked within a couple steps of the exit before being brought back down to where I died. I tried again to no avail too. Every exit, even going out through the windows. I can’t leave. Nobody can see me. I’m alone.”

“Well…I guess that makes two of us.” I try to cross my arms and sound strong as I look up at the ceiling so I don’t see him still sitting there all sad like that.

“I don’t want to fight anymore.”

“Don’t give me that.” I sigh. “Can we just-sit here in silence for a bit please before I regret accepting your apology?”

“Fine by me.”

And so we sat there in silence for the rest of my lunch period, both sad in different ways but that feeling of connection, in knowing we weren’t going it alone and that we heard each other even if we didn’t say a word charged the air with something that, well I don’t know how to describe…

Later in the day after class J.D. and I hung out in the stairwell next to the gym. Believe me, I was still mad at him for keeping all this stuff a secret but right now? It was the best company I could get. It was while we were sitting together Heather McNamara and a group of her fellow cheerleaders ran into the gym with their pom poms in hand. J.D.’s eyebrows shot up as he pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek-he always does that when he’s thinking about something…

“What’s with all the pom poms?”

“Cheer practice,” I roll my eyes before resting my hands on my knees. “Big pep rally Friday night.” My eyes widen in fake innocence as I pitch my voice up and shrink into myself sweetly. “GO ROTTWEILERS! GO TO HELL GO TO HELL NOW!” I smile teasingly.

J.D. looks amused, tilting his head down before turning his head to me. “Not a bad impression.”

“Oh, not a big pep rally person, huh?” I gently punch where his arm would be, leaving just enough room to not freak out his body again.

“I’m more of a sit in solitude in the library man myself.” He smirks back before leaning closer. “Believe me, there’s nothing to be cheerful about here at Westerberg.”

“Heather’s doing a speech for it. Heather’s been telling her she should ‘rehearse more,’” I put my hands up in quotation marks. “But, you know Heather. God, she thinks she’s invincible. What I wouldn’t give to wipe that smug look off her face. Would be a shame if something went wrong at the pep rally.”

He narrowed his eyes and looked back at the gym door. “Yeah, real shame indeed…”

“Maybe if we’re lucky she’ll fall in her heels or as my revenge I can replace her queue cards with something out of Cards Against Humanity. Now that’ll embarrass her in front of the whole school!” I tilt my head to face him. “People pull out their phones and bam!” I gesture with my hands. “All over the internet by Saturday! Or better yet she just drops dead!” I laugh before my face falls into exhaustion and frustration as I lay my head down on the stairs.

J.D. follows my lead and does the same. “Heather Chandler…now that’s one person at this school who really deserves to die.”

“Right like anyone could actually do anything to Heather. You’re a ghost, J.D. You aren’t human anymore you can’t interfere with us living guys.” I bite back with a smile and snarky hand wave away.

J.D. doesn’t say anything for a long time, staring up at the ceiling again like he’s thinking about something I couldn’t possibly imagine. Great he’s doing that “zoning out in his own dark world” thing again...

“Hey, earth to J.D.” I wave my hand in front of his face. This seems to work as he blinks and looks back over at me. “Forget it.” I respond sternly. “You can’t be serious, nobody deserves to die, you know that…” I try to laugh it off before my face turns to serious again. “Right?”

“They don’t?” He tilted his head, eyes baring into my soul like he’s searching for an honest answer.

I don’t know what to say to him, I know the answer is obviously no. No. Nobody deserves to die, no. But, it would be a lie to say I’ve never thought about it. We all have. That doesn’t mean we’re actually going to do anything about it. Hurting people isn’t something I’d do. Besides J.D. is probably just kidding around…That’s not something he’d do either. Forget it, I shouldn’t have said anything. Why did I say that? It was just a lapse in my thought process. Some things probably shouldn’t be said out loud where the whole school can hear you…

“You’re not funny.” I smile before crossing my arms and pouting overdramatically, so “offended” by his joke before looking up at the ceiling too.

“Alright,” He puts his hands up defensively before turning back over and grinning at me. “I’m sorry.”

He leans over like he wants to kiss me, even though we both know we can’t. In that moment the space between us has never felt wider and yet so small.

“Do you think it’ll be ok?” I ask abruptly before nodding, my eyes looking away from him. “Like in the end by graduation and shit…” I say it like another joke but my eyes are serious and vulnerable.

The look in his eyes soften as he looks back down while moving his jaw:

“I hope so.”

READ 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑺𝒊𝒙 ~ J.D.’s POV HERE!

[astrangecaseaday]

chapter 6 paragraph 2

incident of dr. lanyon

On the 8th of January Utterson had dined at the doctor’s with a small party; Lanyon had been there; and the face of the host had looked from one to the other as in the old days when the trio were inseparable friends. On the 12th, and again on the 14th, the door was shut against the lawyer. “The doctor was confined to the house,” Poole said, “and saw no one.” On the 15th, he tried again, and was again refused; and having now been used for the last two months to see his friend almost daily, he found this return of solitude to weigh upon his spirits. The fifth night he had in Guest to dine with him; and the sixth he betook himself to Dr. Lanyon’s.

[megwoodhp]

🔥Star Crossed🧚‍♀️

Johnny Storm x Megan Gwynn (Pixie)

Fantastic Four/X-Men

Chapter 6 Babysitting Blunders

"Exactly how many times do you babysit on a monthly basis?" Megan asked, looking down at little Franklin, who was on the living room rug, surrounded by books ranging from pictures only to textbooks on quantum physics.

"This month is an anomaly," Johnny told her. He sat on the couch next to Franklin and picked up a book off the floor.

A few days had past since the incident with Mad Thinker, but that wasn't the part that Megan remembered the most from that night. It was the way Johnny looked at her amongst the clouds and stars. The divide between them, but also the undeniable attraction that made her heart beat faster when she was around him. He also irritated her in a way no other man had.

"I thought Reed said H.E.R.B.I.E. was capable of babysitting Franklin?"

"When he was a baby, sure," Johnny said, and opened the book on his lap. "But he turns two in a couple of weeks. Herbert needs the extra help."

The little Robot rolled its way into the living room and Johnny scratched his head. He beeped and booped, before heading to Franklin and stacking the books into a pile. Franklin's brows furrowed as he took the books out of the pile and scattered them over the floor again.

"He's very particular, isn't he?" Megan smirked.

"About a lot of things, yes," Johnny replied, chuckling.

"So, where is Ben tonight?" She asked and sat down beside him on the couch.

Johnny rested his hands behind his head and fell back against the couch cushions. A faint smile curled at the corner of lips. "A date."

Her head whipped over, eyes wide. "Ben has a girlfriend?"

The smile only grew wider on Johnny's face as he turned his head to face Megan. "Yup. They've been together for about six months now, I think."

"And she didn't come to family dinner?"

Johnny shook his head and got up from the couch. Franklin's attention briefly went to Johnny before returning to organizing his books. Johnny headed over to the kitchen and opened the fridge, pulling out a glass container with a light blue rubber lid on it.

Content that Franklin was busy with his literature, Megan got up from the couch and made her way to the kitchen. She sat on the stool across from Johnny while he pulled open the container and lifted it to smell.

"Why doesn't she come to family dinner?" Megan asked.

He grabbed a paper towel and laid it over the glass dish. "Ben said, she's afraid we won't like her."

"Wait. What?" Megan's eyes widened like saucers.

"I guess we're intimidating," he grinned while placing the dish into the microwave.

"That doesn't look like enough dinner for all of us?" Megan inquired, nodding her head at the microwave.

"Because it's not for all of us. That's Franklin's dinner."

Then what are we having for dinner?"

His grin grew just as the microwave beeped. "It's a surprise."

The savory scent of tomato sauce wafted out of the microwave when Johnny opened it. He pulled open a drawer beside the sink and pulled out a fork, using it to stir the noodles and sauce. Megan breathed in deep and her stomach responded with a loud grumble.

"I hope we aren't waiting too long to eat," She said, adjusting herself on the stool.

"Not at all. Franklin usually goes to bed not long after he eats, and right after I'll get ours started."

"You're going to cook?" She laughed. "Isn't that H.E.R.B.I.E.'s job?"

"Not all the time," He replied. "Wanna grab Franklin for me?"

With a quick nod, Megan swiveled on the stool and jumped up. H.E.R.B.I.E. was no where in sight when she reached the living room. But he wasn't the only one missing. The circle of books was still there, but Franklin was not. She peaked under the couch and end tables, lifting up the throw blankets as well, just in case.

"Franklin," She said softly, "Are you hiding?"

No response. Not even a babble.

"Johnny," She said louder and turned her head back to the kitchen.

"What's up?" He hollered back.

"Franklin isn't here."

The sound of silverware on glass stopped. Within two seconds, Johnny was at her side. His arms crossed over his chest and his brows furrowed. Megan couldn't help but take notice of his biceps straining against the maroon fabric of his t-shirt. She shook her head, trying to get the thought to go away. There were more pressing things. Like where Franklin was.

"Does he usually do this?"' She asked.

"What? Hide? Not usually."

"I checked under everything," she told him, lifting one of the throw pillows as if Franklin would be under it. "Where could he be?"

"Let's divide and conquer," He said, "There are only so many places here a two year old could go."

"Right."

He raised his hand for a high five. She smacked her hand hard against his and went racing off to another side of the house.

Johnny pushed open the door of the nursery. The lights were off. The room was faintly illuminated my the city lights peaking through the curtains. He checked under the crib and inside the closet, before moving to the dresser and checking each drawer. But, no luck. He wasn't in the nursery.

He moved from room to room, each one a bust. Where was his nephew? At the start of the search he wasn't panicked, but with each room being cleared the worry was bubbling up. He hadn't heard the elevator at all, so Franklin had to be on either the first or second floor of the house, and that's if Franklin took the stairs. He knew how to use them. Johnny remembered Sue working with Franklin on that. But every room on the second floor was empty.

"Megan," He shouted from the top of the stairs.

She ran out of the laundry room and stopped at the bottom of the stairs. "Any luck?"

He shook his head. "You?"

"No," She said, her voice shaky.

He noticed the concern in her eyes.

"We'll find him," he said, trying to reassure himself as well as her.

"Where did H.E.R.B.I.E go? Maybe he's with him. He knows how to use to elevator right?"

"Yeah, but I never heard it open or close," Johnny replied.

"We were pretty busy talking in the kitchen Johnny, we could have missed it."

Both of them turned to the elevator. "Reed's Lab." Johnny said softly and rushed to the elevator with Megan in tow. He pressed the down button and waiting impatiently, tapping his foot. His lips pursed as the doors opened with a ding. They rushed inside and he pushed the button for the lab. Only a few moments passed and the doors opened.

The lab was quiet save for the small beeps coming from H.E.R.B.I.E, who was in front of Reed's large curved chalkboard. Franklin was beside him, a piece of chalk in hand. Johnny let out a sigh of relief as they made their way over to the pair.

"Whatcha doing buddy?" Johnny asked Franklin, kneeling beside him.

At Franklin's level on the chalkboard were equations. Johnny knew the boy was intelligent beyond his years, but what was written before him blew his mind. Franklin was trying to work out the wormhole equations his dad still had scribbled higher up on the board.

"Is that what I think that is?" Megan asked, kneeling on the other side of Franklin.

"Yeah, and it looks like he's closer to a solution then Reed is."

Franklin brought the chalk back to the board and wrote a few more lines. Johnny couldn't pull his eyes away as the toddler wrote out more of the theoretical formula.

"Should we let him continue?" Megan whispered.

As much as he wanted to let Franklin keep going, he knew he had to get his nephew fed and to bed or else Sue would give him an earful about the strict schedule she'd set for him.

He shook his head. "Come on little man. Let's get you some dinner."

Johnny grabbed the chalk from the boy's hand and set it on the ledge of the chalkboard, then lifted him up into his arms. Megan and H.E.R.B.I.E. follow behind as they all filed into the elevator, taking it back to the main floor of the house.

The rest of the night with Franklin went off without a hitch, but Johnny couldn't get the equations out of his head as he opened the box of spaghetti pasta and dumped it into the boiling pot of water. How could he know more about how to get Megan home than Reed did?

"I love spaghetti," Megan beamed, pulling Johnny from his thoughts.

He let a smile grow on his face. "Well, good, because you're about to taste Johnny's special spaghetti."

"What's so special about it?" She asked, resting her chin in her hands.

"Can't tell you."

"That's not fair," she grumbled, but the curl of a grin on her lips gave away that she wasn't really upset about it.

He grabbed a spoon from the spinning container that held all the large utensils. Lifting the lid off the top of the saucepan, he stirred the contents and pulled the spoon out. He leaned over the island and held the spoon out to Megan.

"Taste."

She lifted her head from her hands and wrapped her lips around the tip of the spoon. She let out a moan, and her eyes closed. A flicker of heat shot from Johnny's heart down to his groin at the sound of Megan's enjoyment. His heart rate quickened the moment Megan's lips left the spoon and her tongue ran over her upper lip.

"That's delicious," she said as her eyes fluttered open.

His cheeks heated, and he set the spoon down on the towel beside the pan.

"I'm glad you like it," he choked out.

"You gonna tell me what's in it now?" She giggled.

"Nope."

His gaze remained on her, so lost in her black and white eyes, that when she jumped up from the stool, it startled him.

"Johnny! The noodles are boiling over!"

He blinked rapidly. Megan turned the knob of the burner, lowering the heat. Her wings fluttered as she turned her attention away from the water.

"Sorry, I was uh, distracted."

"Oh, yeah?" She asked.

His breathing was shallow, watching her turn away from the pasta to face him directly. She took a few steps towards him, but he took a few back. He wanted her, but the time between them was finite. He had to be logical about her. About them. With Franklin's help, Reed would figure out how to get Megan home sooner than he thought, and that meant he shouldn't get attached. More than he already had.

"Everything okay?" She asked, her eyes hooded as she took another step towards him.

"Megan," he said in a low voice.

"Johnny."

Her pink hair fell over her shoulders, and he wanted to reach out and touch it, but he stopped himself. He took another step back, slamming into the fridge.

Her sultry eyes changed in an instant to frustration. "Why do you keep doing that?"

"What?" He asked, playing dumb.

"Backing away from me Johnny," She said through pursed lips.

"I don't know," He lied.

"Johnny." She whined loudly.

His chest rose and fell slowly as she closed the distance between them. "You're going to leave at some point," He replied softly.

She stopped in her tracks. "Yeah, but I'm here right now. Doesn't that count for something?"

"It does, but—"

"You can't tell me in this moment, you don't want to kiss me," She grinned, resting a hand on his chest.

He brought his hand up to rest gently on her wrist. "Megan, this is going to end. We both know it. Doesn't that concern you?"

"Johnny, shut up." She scolded. "Do you want to kiss me or not?"

He was taken aback. "Do you want me to kiss you?"

"There is no way you are actually asking me that right now." She replied in disbelief.

"It's a simple question."

"Dammit Johnny, kiss me!"

His lips crashed into hers before he gave his brain a moment to think. Her hair was soft in his fingers as he reached up to pull her deeper into the kiss. Sparks of fire raced through his body from her moans. Her hands moved up to his neck, and she kissed him back frantically.

He heard her gasp when he wrapped his free arm around her waist and lifted her onto the island beside the stovetop. His body rested perfectly between her open legs, that proceeded to wrap around his waist, pulling him closer to her.

Her whimpers of pleasure only spurred him on, letting his lips part. She followed suit, as her lips opened and his tongue intertwined with hers. A low groan escaped his lips, and he couldn't stop himself, letting his primal urges take over. He scotched her farther on the island, and she laid back; her legs still clamped tightly around his waist. A loud crash of metal and plastic told him the utensils were now on the floor.

Her taste was intoxicating to him. He couldn't get enough, until he felt her body wince under him.

He broke the kiss as his attention turned to her wings.

"Are you okay?"

Her breathing was rapid. "I'm fine," She said, gasping for breath. Her hand wrapped around his neck and she pulled his lips back down to hers.

One of his hands roamed her side, memorizing every curve of her body. She was gorgeous. Every inch of her was perfection. Her free hand, that wasn't holding his head down to hers, moved to the hem of his shirt. Her fingertips moved under the fabric and over his abdomen. He let out a gasp of his own from the crass of her soft skin on his.

He let his own free hand move over her breasts and up to her wings, where he let the tip of his finger trace along the delicate iridescence. Her response was instant. Her back arched, and her hips moved against him. His cock hardened, and he was sure she felt it because the grip she had on his waist tightened with every rock of her hips.

Her lips broke from his and her head threw back while his fingers moved gingerly along every line of her wings.

"Johnny," she whimpered. "Oh God."

"I want you Megan," He groaned. "Dammit, I want you."

She increased her movement against him and his head dipped down to place heated kissed on her neck.

"Johnny," she moaned as her hand moved further under his shirt until it reached his chest.

Ding

The sound of the elevator reaching the first floor of the house carried into the kitchen. Johnny's lips left Megan's neck, and he jumped off of her quickly. When his foot hit the tile floor, he felt himself slipping on a puddle of water before he could stop himself. One of Megan's legs was still hooked around him, and she came toppling down to the floor with him. His head hit the cabinet with a thud, and Megan fell into his arms.

"Ouch," He groaned, reaching his hand up to his head.

Megan laughed and brought her own hand up to his head. "You okay?"

"What happened here?" Reed asked, coming around the corner.

Sue peaked around him, a smirk forming on her lips.

"We just slipped," Megan giggled.

"Yeah," Johnny agreed with her with his own giggling. "We slipped."

"Why didn't you have H.E.R.B.I.E. cook dinner?" Reed asked.

Megan turned her attention back to Johnny and their eyes met. A knowingness passed between them as they continued to laugh.

[mediumtires]

Through Me (The Flood) - Six

“Hey.” Christian doesn’t nudge him, doesn’t press the tip of his foot to Toto’s, but he wants to. “You alright?”

Toto is too quiet. Hasn’t said a word since they boarded, was quiet all through dinner, and now he’s sitting with his head turned to the window, one arm across his chest, one hand on his chin, too serious to just be watching the sun slowly set on the horizon. Christian can’t quite place his mood, but it looks like something along the lines of regret, maybe.

[illtrademylifeforyours]

𖤐𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚂𝚒𝚡𖤐

PLEASE READ 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑭𝒊𝒗𝒆 ~ Ronnie’s POV and 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑭𝒊𝒗𝒆 ~ J.D.’s POV BEFORE READING THIS!

All I ever seem to do is wait. When I was alive I waited for many things. For my dad’s work we moved around a lot, every six weeks really, and in that time I learned being proactive in life was nothing more than a waste that would lead to perpetual disappointment and heart ache. Nobody with a functioning head could choose that fate for themselves. So instead I always waited for it all to be over so I could move onto the next thing. There was always a next thing. A next place, no constant and no escape from the inevitable friction. Every day I waited on my dad at Sears to get what he needed for a day of work, with questionable IDs to boot…My dad was far from a moral man, especially when it came between him, a 80 pound bag of fertilizer, diesel fuel, and his work. Not that I grew to mind in the end. You get used to everything that used to weight you down until the weight begins to feel weightless.

I waited on my mom to come back to me. Last time I saw her she was waving out a window of a library in Texas. I waited until I could’ve joined her in the beyond, though now I can’t help but wonder where she is now…Heaven, Hell, somewhere in the between. I hope it was worth the permanent leave of absence in my life in the end, wherever she is now. That’s the thing when your life is nothing more than static, you’re always waiting for it to begin.

I died knowing I wasn’t ever truly alive, until the end of it.

I thought death would finally be my beginning, the beginning of the end. But, there is no ending and there’s no beginning. There’s just waiting. I waited for change in life, I wait for change in death. Existence is a waiting room where they never call your name. I had the power to change things in life and I squandered it for nothing. For waiting when the world and society at large would decide it was time for me to be proactive. I never accomplished anything, never left a mark, never made a sound. I’m forlorn, I’m melancholic, I’m the whisper everyone thinks they hear but promptly ignore as merely just hearing things. I feel the dulling of my bones, the glaze of boredom over my eyes, a face even more lacking in life than before.

And yet I keep waiting for what else is there to do with infinite time?

At least now I’m waiting for something I can believe in. As long as her injuries don’t serve too bad Ronnie should be back at school on Monday and I’ve been waiting rather patiently for her return seeing as I can’t visit her in the hospital now can I? The mere thought of her sitting alone in a hospital bed saddens me. I imagine she could use the company. Even if I may be partially responsible for her head injury I doubt she’s particularly mad about it. It’s been a day or so now which should be plenty of time to let off steam after our failed night or passion. I’m sure she’s as ready as I am to see her again…

Now that Monday has come and gone I presume the injury in question was in fact worse than I suspected since she hasn’t come in for school today which doesn’t appear to be like her. I don’t see any other reason why she would be cutting today unless it was necessary for her health. If so, I don’t mind waiting another day as she has to wait for me. Though it’s certainly not impossible she may be trying to avoid Heather’s wrath after their party confrontation in which I don’t know the details of besides that it left Ronnie wasted and in need of comfort. All the concern over something as frivolous as popularity capital is so usual of teens. High school feels like forever until you remember how temporary it all is in the end. Whatever Ronnie did Heather likely deserved given what I’ve observed of her attitude thus far anyway. Some people need to be knocked down a peg before they make life even worse for the average person…

So, I see now that it’s Tuesday that Ronnie may be avoiding me on purpose. When she walked in through the front door this morning I was waiting for her there and I could’ve sworn she made eye contact with me and immediately bolted away. Similarly before class today when I waved at her she didn’t wave back at me, instead opting to act like I wasn’t even there. I watched her for the rest of our class, what else would I even do? There’s no point in going to class if I’m not watching or talking with her. She continued to act like she didn’t see me. Unless that head injury turned her brilliant mind to head juice and robbed her of whatever paranormal prowess she possesses then it seems rather intentional to me.

Ok, point taken. You’re mad at me. I get it. Was the childish temper tantrum really necessary? Is it good for you to give a ghost the silent treatment knowing he has nobody else to talk to? Well, I can say for certain it sucks for me. I don’t know what your problem is with me right now. Look, it was an accident. What? You know I didn’t tell you about my…condition because I knew you wouldn’t believe me. That you’d run away screaming and crying “ghost!” and you have more potential than that. Petulance isn’t a good look on you.

Just say something. Anything at all that proves I’m still here to you…

In spite of my better judgment and knowing it seems she likely wants nothing to do with me I decided to remain a fly on the wall in the cafeteria, standing on one of the back walls with my hands clasped in front of me as I watched the typical mundane cafeteria carnage. Ronnie was standing in the center of the cafeteria looking conflicted and out of place, like she didn’t know where to sit or where she belonged among the cliques of people who’ve defined themselves by a singular label she’s so clearly above. She looks over at Martha Dunnstock’s table, empty without her keeping the friend she abandoned for bigger opportunity company. Around said table were a bunch of students watching a video on their phone. What video, who’s to say I couldn’t quite see…But it didn’t take much assumption to guess it had to do with Dunnstock since both looked so sad over all the laughter.

Ronnie just stands there, doesn’t say anything in her pacifism before taking a deep breath and approaching the Heathers’ table. Now, anyone with a sense of self-preservation would know better than to grovel for their attention. She just freed herself from the charade, called for freedom in the dictatorship itself and now what? Wants to go back on her word? Why? For security? Comfort? Privilege? Nobody who remains comfortable ever contributes anything to the world. Nobody who waits for someone to start ever gets started. Bowing and begging doesn’t stop her, it just guarantees a ticket to humiliation and a seat in the fall. Surely, she’s better than that like I think she obviously is…

“Hey…”

Evidently not it seems then…

Ronnie tried to sit on the end of the table closest to her but Heather Duke scooted over into the seat instead, her eyebrows were furrowed and it was rather evident she didn’t want Ronnie to sit down with them. Oh well, it isn’t too late to turn back now…

“Ronnie, who said you could sit with us?” Heather wasn’t even looking at her. No, she was looking at her nails like they were more important to her than the person speaking in front of her was, which they likely were to her.

“I’m sorry, what? You did. Remember?” She shrugged, looking away from Heather and towards another side of the cafeteria.

“I actually said your invitation to the lunch table would be revoked starting on Monday, remember?”

“Come on, Heather don’t be ridiculous. We both said things that night we didn’t mean.”

“Did we?” She tilted her head slowly, as if to worsen the load and narrowed her eyes.

“Uh, huh. I came here to apologize.” Ronnie nodded with her shoulders tense, her lack of comfort clear as day for everyone to see. “And I bring lunch as a peace offering.” She bowed, holding her tray out in front of her.

Now why would you do that? Bowing gives Heather all the power in this situation. You’re clearly playing into the enemy’s hand, making it easier to strike. If someone so obviously sets up a bear trap you don’t walk right into it! If you want to sell your dignity for power, fine! But, don’t be surprised when the apex predator bears her claws and strikes you next. People like Heather are snakes in the grass. They can’t be trusted to have your best interests at heart…

“I’d prefer if you did this on your knees, in front of the whole school.” I turn my head and let my arms dangle loosely to the side as Heather smirked a nasty and cruel expression at the girl I knew far too well by now. She already knew she won.

Ronnie forces a smile, trying to play the whole thing off even if Heather was certainly serious about this attempt to degrade her in front of her classmates. “Anyhow, I’m really sorry.” She says quietly with her head down. She looked so docile, so easy to persuade. It was sickening to me to witness Heather abuse her power like this and get away with it…Which I know with no doubt she will.

One last chance, what’s it gonna be?

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” She leaned closer, all the humor draining from her voice as it takes a turn toward the serious. “Down.” She growled and pointed downward on the floor, there was no missing the instructions.

I turn away from the scene to face the wall, not wanting to witness the humiliation at hand. I oughta spare her what little dignity I can in these circumstances, though it’s not very much in the slightest. While I don’t know for sure if Ronnie bowed to Heather, hearing what she said next said enough for me:

“Nice. But, you’re still dead to me.”

My hand clenches into a fist, unseen by everyone in sight.

“I’m sure the loser nerd table is looking for more people, Ronnie. Don’t fall and hit your head again, sweetie.”

I hear Ronnie run out of the cafeteria sniffling, still frozen in place before turning around and watching how everyone moves on in a flash, back to eating and talking amongst themselves like the pigs they all really are under the facade of flesh. She doesn’t matter to them, she never did. Her pain is a spectacle, rotten entertainment to fill the emptiness in their soul while she cries away her life in solitude. Well, I sure do hope the laugh was worth it.

I should know better than to follow her right now, but if I don’t then nobody else will. Not even Heather McNamara would run into the line of fire at risk of being burned. She needs someone to wipe away her tears, someone to listen, someone to wait for her.

If I wait for her to be ready for me then I’ll have to wait the entire semester and frankly, I don’t want to have to wait for her any longer.

I follow her into the girl’s bathroom once again, dreadful etiquette, I know. At least the bathroom appears to be empty. God knows why she keeps retreating from all the noise in the outside world into this dirty space. Though I can’t say I blame her for wanting the privacy. Even if it often puts me in the weirdest circumstances to want to follow her to make sure she’s ok. Some days I find myself wondering how I don’t do the same thing more than I already do. I suppose the fact that nobody sees me is a factor. It’s not like anyone would care enough to want to bother me on purpose anymore. I walk among the stalls for any sign of life before I hear sniffling and see an all too familiar pair of loafers under the stall door farthest from the exit. I smile fondly to myself.

“You know, bowing to the enemy only proves your own submission to her rule.” I say dryly before turning my head with furrowed brows. “I thought you were done with Heather.”

“And I thought I knew you, guess we both thought wrong…” She responds between tears, the venom no less evident in her voice however.

I look back and forth between the stall and the front door, already regretting my life decision to intrude. There really was no reason for her to continue to be difficult in this state. I click my tongue in thought before continuing on as before:

“Ok. You’re mad I didn’t tell you about my affliction.” I put my hands out in front of me in quotation marks teasingly. “I get it.”

“I don’t think you do. Just leave me alone, J.D. Besides, you’ll get caught standing in the girls bathroom like this.”

I freeze in place and my face drops. Still not buying my attempt to put this little thing behind us, I see. I roll my eyes and look up at the sky before my eyes make their way back down to where she’s sitting just behind the stall door.

“And leave you alone here crying?” I lean closer, hands behind my back with a confused expression before I sit down on the ground in front of the stall, back pressed against the door. “Guess you really don’t know me at all then. Oh, and believe me getting caught won’t be a problem for me.” I tilt and shake my head with a smile.

“Right how can I forget you’re…whatever you are…”

“I’m dead, Sawyer. Does that give you the satisfaction you want to hear aloud?” I said dryly as I prop my hand up on my knee lazily.

It’s just two little words and yet they’ve held so much power over me all these years. I said it to her like I’ve said them a million times when in truth I’ve never had to say it aloud before. Even in 30 years in this place it never feels truly real, more so like a nightmare I’ve yet to wake up from. But, I’m far from oblivious of the reality of my situation and how hopeless it all actually is.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She sounded so fragile, so sad, I wanted to wipe away whatever tears were likely falling from her face as we spoke. It carved open my empty heart to hear that sound from her.

“I can’t say for sure but, you are still talking to me and I’ll take what I can get.”

“For how long?”

“36 years give or take,” I cringed as I tilted my head and gestured with my hand out in front of me. “It starts to get blurry.”

“Jesus, and I thought high school was bad for us.” My face is non flinching, instead staring at the sinks in front of me apathetically to not sink myself. “Can our other classmates-”

“To my knowledge it’s just you.” I interrupted her, I didn’t need to hear the rest for I already knew what she was about to say.

I’ve yet to meet another peer who can see me, they all seem to walk past me or in some particularly nasty incidents walk through me…

“Do you have any family left here?”

“I don’t know. My dad owned a deconstruction company in the 80s. Seems the old man liked tearing things down.” I look down at my fidgeting hands. “You seen the commercial?” I suddenly burst out into my best impression of my dad, in all his toxic, Texan, glory: “‘I’m Big Bud Dean if it’s in the way I’ll make your day!’” My hand curls up into a fist as I take a swing and punch the air with much enthusiasm for the semi-psychotic’s shit.

“RIGHT! And then he pushes down on the plunger and the screen blows up!” She laughs. “That’s your dad? God, I saw that commercial all the time on my parents’ old VHS tapes! I didn’t know Big Bud had another son!”

While she recites my dad’s commercial from memory I stare off into space as I often do when considering the topic of the bastard, my tongue doing a swipe from one cheek to the other before I blink and readjust, something about that last part finally registering in my brain.

“Another?”

“Well, yeah. He left the business in the family, gave it to his first son. Didn’t know he had a brother is all.”

I don’t move for a long time, feeling frozen and small.

Huh, you know I really don’t know what I would’ve expected. He used to tell me all the time how he could replace me if he wanted to, guess I never thought the old man actually would. Maybe I had hoped that out there somewhere he was actually grieving me when I always knew he probably didn’t. He never grieved Mom either, instead moving on to the next place and the next place. I don’t know why I ever wanted to believe otherwise. That for once in his fucking life he stopped moving and maybe regretted everything, regretted that he never looked me in the eye with love, only with hate for the nuisance I always was. That in his work, even on those Sears runs we could’ve bonded. That he could’ve been a dad instead of an employer. That he gave up and turned his back on the person who needed him most and raised him to be self-sufficient above all else. That if maybe he did even one thing differently things didn’t have to be like this…

Instead he found a new shiny wife and a new shiny son and kept doing the same thing as he always did, left us all behind in the past for dead. A memory to be forgotten.

I hope his perfect son I could never be is happier than I will ever be. And I hope he rots in hell with the father that never cared for continuing the cycle that only slides our world into worse ruin day by day.

“So, I see…Nice to know my old man held true to his word. He always could make another son anytime he wants…He replaced me.”

“J.D. I’m so…”

“It’s ok.” I respond flatly before she can get another word in. I don’t need her pity, it only makes me feel more vile than I already do as it is. “The pain gives me clarity.”

If adversity builds character I must have quite the character. Nothing makes you see the world for what it is, warts and grime and all more than pain. Pain is what brings the world back into focus with a sharp dose of reality to the gut.

“If this place sucks so much why don’t you leave like the rest of us? Travel the world? Nothing’s keeping you here.”

“Believe me when I say I’ve tried.” I rolled my eyes. “It was the winter of 89, I had just woken up from my eternal slumber and already wanted to leave. No point in staying, you know.” I shrugged. “So, I walked within a couple steps of the exit before being brought back down to where I died.” I moved my fingers up and down in a walking motion. “I tried again to no avail too. Every exit, even going out through the windows. I can’t leave. Nobody can see me. I’m alone.”

“Well…I guess that makes two of us.”

“I don’t want to fight anymore.” I look down, resting my head on my knees. I never even wanted to fight in the first place as it was.

“Don’t give me that.” She sighs. “Can we just-sit here in silence for a bit please before I regret accepting your apology?”

“Fine by me.”

And there we sat, in the silence of our own making. Alone but not really for we did have each other for company in that quiet. Sure, we were feeling different things at the end of the day. But, there certainly is something about that feeling in the air. Knowing it’s something far beyond description, outside that it was the two of us and that’s all that it needed to be. All that I’ll ever need.

Eventually all good things must come to a temporary halt and Ronnie had to go back to class. By the afternoon things seemed to be a bit better between us than before as we were sitting in one of my favorite stairwells together and talking amongst ourselves like nothing happened. It was a relief to find this really was all just a minor inconvenience to be overcome so things could go back to normal as they should be. As we were sitting there Heather Mac and her squad of overly bubbly and enthusiastic cheerleaders passed us by to go into the gym.

My eyebrows quirked up and I pressed my tongue to the inside of my cheek in surprise. “What’s with all the pom poms?”

“Cheer practice,” Ronnie rolls her eyes before resting her hands on her knees. “Big pep rally Friday night.” Her eyes widen in an attempt at faux innocence as she pitches her voice up and shrinks into herself sweetly. “GO ROTTWEILERS! GO TO HELL GO TO HELL NOW!” She smiles at me teasingly.

I smirk at her charade and tilt my head down before turning back to face her. “Not a bad impression.”

“Oh, not a big pep rally person, huh?” She gently tries to punch where my arm should be, leaving just barely enough room to not disrupt my form again. A much appreciated gesture.

“I’m more of a sit in solitude in the library man myself.” I lean closer to her fondly. “Believe me, there’s nothing to be cheerful about here at Westerberg.”

“Heather’s doing a speech for it. Heather’s been telling her she should ‘rehearse more,’” She puts her hands up in quotation marks. “But, you know Heather. God, she thinks she’s invincible. What I wouldn’t give to wipe that smug look off her face. Would be a shame if something went wrong at the pep rally.”

I narrow my eyes and find myself looking back at the gym door, thinking about what she said intently. How much of a shame would it really be for Heather to get her just desert after all she’s done to terrorize Ronnie and the school at large? There’s been a distinct lack of justice being served at Westerberg, sometimes comeuppance is necessary to truly change things for the better. Heather only stays in power through fear, in knowing nobody will challenge her authority. Throw a little chaos into order and the order falls apart at the seams, torn by the people who sewed it. People always do reap what they sow…

“Yeah, real shame indeed…”

“Maybe if we’re lucky she’ll fall in her heels or as my revenge I can replace her queue cards with something out of Cards Against Humanity. Now that’ll embarrass her in front of the whole school!” She tilts her head to face me more clearly. “People pull out their phones and bam!” She gestures an explosion with her hands. “All over the internet by Saturday! Or better yet she just drops dead!” She laughs awkwardly before her face falls from exhaustion and frustration as she lays her head down on the stairs carefully not to furtherly exacerbate her injuries.

I lay down beside her, thinking aloud knowing it’ll be heard without judgment. “Heather Chandler…now that’s one person at this school who really deserves to die.”

“Right like anyone could actually do anything to Heather. You’re a ghost, J.D. You aren’t human anymore you can’t interfere with us living guys.” She snarks back with a smile and a flippant hand wave away.

I stare at the ceiling again, thinking about what she said. I suppose there is merit to it. Ghosts don’t affect things the way living people do, in that regard there’s really not much I can do in all this. But, everytime I think about doing nothing I see Ronnie’s crying face in my mind and realize that I can’t just wait for things to blow over like she might expect me to.

“Hey, Earth to J.D.” Ronnie suddenly waves her hand in front of my face so I would regain my focus on her. I blink to readjust and ground myself in the moment before looking back over at her. “Forget it. You can’t be serious, nobody deserves to die, you know that…” She laughs half-heartedly before growing serious again. “Right?”

“They don’t?” I tilt my head, looking for an honest answer from her, not an answer society expects her to say. The true answer in her soul.

So many people say things they don’t really mean because it’s easier than telling the truth. It upholds the balance, keeps the world moving smoothly. If you say anything that upsets that balance it’s assumed it should be disregarded. They program the thought into your head of how things should be, what’s moral and just. Morality is relative, a scale people have decided on by what makes them feel bad inside. Comfort over true morality first and foremost. Murder is wrong because they say it is, when sometimes it’s the only thing that sets our broken world back into place. If anyone is capable of seeing past the pretty facade of peace at the cost of thinly veiled rot, it’s her.

“You’re not funny.” She smiles before crossing her arms and pouting overdramatically. Seemingly so “offended” by my statement without outright rejecting it all together. It’s ok, she’s lying to herself and not ready to admit yet. I see how it is and I can wait til she sees things more clearly.

“Alright,” I put my hands up defensively before turning back over and grinning at her. “I’m sorry.”

I leans closer to kiss her, if only I actually could. In that fraction of a second the space between our experiences and what we are has never felt wider and yet so small to me.

“Do you think it’ll be ok?” Ronnie asks me before nodding, her eyes looking away from me as if the question alone is too much for her to handle the answer to. “Like in the end by graduation and shit…” She tries to hide it behind another attempt at humor but, I can see the fear in her eyes.

She’s scared, I’ve been there. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t scared right now laying beside her. It was as if I was sitting next to an angel in Hell and yet nothing has ever felt more beautiful.

“I hope so.”

READ 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑺𝒊𝒙 ~ Ronnie’s POV HERE!

[the-case-book-of-fanfiction]

Love Bites

Love Bites, Chapter 6 // Love Bites {Masterlist}

Ship: Astarion Ancunin x fem!vampire spawn!elf!Tav/reader

Summary: Astarion remembers you, but it's already too late. He's bedded you and remembered the love and life you had together, two hundred years ago, and now he has to make a choice. Does he sacrifice himself, or does he sacrifice you?

Word Count: 9,455

Warnings: 18+, last night alive vibes, Astarion's memory gaps, being gentle with each other, Astarion anticipates being used but is not, vampire bite, mentions of Astarion's sexual abuse (non-con oral), therapeutic talking, reader is protective of Astarion, Astarion's bad at vocalizing his emotions, love confessions, anxiety, putting each other in danger

18+ Warnings: consensual sex, explicit smut, touching, easing into intimacy, oral (m & f receiving), masturbation (m), vaginal sex, consent & check-ins, loving sex, clit stimulation, multiple orgasms, creampie, cum eating, aftercare

Note: Astarion does talk at length about the sexual abuse he's been through (not a lot of it is detailed), so please take care of yourselves as usual and don't read if you're not comfortable!

☟ Continue below the fold ☟

Astarion clung to your arm the entire walk back to your house. You leaned into him, at first surprised by the lack of body heat but seeming to enjoy his grip on you nonetheless. Instinctively, you put your arm through his and rested your head against his shoulder. He hesitantly placed a soft kiss on the top of your head and you hummed happily. 

“I’ve missed you,” you whispered to him. 

Astarion hesitated, wanting to return the sentiment but unsure if he should; he had spent the past two hundred years—or most of them, at least—not remembering you. But when you looked up at him with a soft smile, the words tumbled out, an absolute necessity to say, “I missed you, too. Even if I didn’t know it, I…I did.”

You smiled at him, soft and gentle, like you knew exactly what he was referring to, like you knew he had felt a hollow absence for all these years he hadn’t realized was there until you filled it again. 

There was a glint in your eye that Astarion was pleased to recognize. He bent just enough to let you kiss his cheek. The two of you both smiled the minute your lips touched his skin. 

You gave directions as the two of you walked, telling him when to turn and which way, until you came to a stop at a door. It was illuminated by a golden lamp, spilling over its lovely emerald green paint. The color was like a burst of life against Astarion’s eyes, vibrant against the blacks and greys of his Darkvision. 

The door did not hold the same familiarity as you did. He glanced at you as you unlooped your arms and slid a key into the lock. “Is this…where we lived?”

“No,” you said, glancing back at him. “Your parents still live in that house. Our bedroom’s untouched, though. The bed still unmade, curtains still closed… It’s as it was when you left for work that morning.”

Pain split through his heart. “My parents are still alive?” You stopped, almost shocked, and turned to him with your mouth slightly open. Before you could speak, he barreled on, “They still live in the same house?”

You glanced up at the sky, likely trying to gauge how much time you had left. You pushed the door open and gently guided him inside as you answered, “Yes. They found it too painful to leave. Your… Your mother said leaving it would feel like selling all that was left of you to a stranger.” You were quiet for a moment. You began lighting the wicks of candles, revealing a kitchen. “I still go back sometimes. To sit in our room. Every so often I sit on the roof like we used to. And, uh…your parents don’t know this, but I’ve been slowly sneaking away pieces of your clothes. It’s…comforting to have them near me, even if I’m terrified that by wearing them too long I’ll lose your scent.”

Astarion felt like he’d been struck by lightning. His family was alive. His family was alive, had been these past two hundred years, and they still loved him. “My mother…” he whispered, tears gathering in his eyes.

You paused in your lighting. “Asty? Are you alright?”

His lower lip trembled. “I… I don’t know. I didn’t know they were still… Do they miss me?”

You came over to him and wrapped your arms around him. “They miss you very much, darling. There hasn’t been a day when your mother has not spoken of you, or a day that your father has not stared at your painting.” You looked up at him. “There has not been a day where any of us do not wish to change what happened that day. To prevent you from going to work. To get you home faster. To convince you to take a different route home. Anything to keep you alive and with us.”

I’m still loved. They love me.

He bit his lower lip. “I wish I could see them again.”

“Perhaps one day you will,” you said. “Perhaps we’ll find a way out.”

Astarion smiled bitterly. “Cazador will take that optimism from you.”

You studied him for a moment, clearly wanting to argue. But instead you just gave him your hand and whispered to him, “Come with me, love.”

A nervousness filled his chest. “I don’t want to do this to you… I don’t want to lose you.”

You cupped his cheeks and pressed your forehead together. Your thumbs smoothing over his cheeks comforted him in a way he never remembered feeling before—but surely you must have done this a thousand times, with the practiced way you touched him. “You aren’t losing me. And you aren’t the one hurting me, darling. It’s your master who has done this to us both.”

Astarion shuddered. “Don’t speak of him. Not here. Not when we’re about to…” He bit his lip. “Not when I can have you again.”

You nodded and kissed his forehead. He leaned into it, some of the tension in his shoulders draining away. “I won’t.” You began walking him out of the kitchen, leading him up a set of stairs. “This way, love.”

Nervous in a way he didn’t ever remember being, Astarion followed you up the stairs. He glanced around the humble dwelling you had made your home—covered in paintings and tapestries and knickknacks that made it homey and welcoming—safe. It felt lived in, contrary to many of the homes of nobility he had found himself in time and time again. It wasn’t something he would have ever designed himself, at least not as he was now, but he liked it anyway. 

The door to your bedroom was open. It was a cozy, open room that felt familiar enough for him to pause at the threshold.

You noticed. “I may have designed it to be similar to our old bedroom. It was comforting.”

Astarion’s eyes scanned the room: a large bed in the middle, covered in soft blankets and piled with pillows, a circular rug underneath it, a mirror on the wall next to your wardrobe. Your desk was covered with paints and powders and pieces of jewelry similar to what you wore now. 

“I like it,” he said quietly. “I… We lived in a place like this?”

You nodded, sitting in the chair at your desk. He watched you take off your jewelry and take your hair down. “Our bedroom had a different color scheme and it was a little bit bigger. We had a washroom connected to it and two wardrobes—yours was bigger than mine. And we had a balcony we used to sit on late at night. But we shared a desk and I wore your clothes more often than I wore mine.” You smiled at him. “You used to tease me that if you couldn’t find one of your shirts, it was either in my wardrobe or on my body.”

You stood and closed the curtains of the two windows that let moonlight stream into the room. Darkness fell for a moment and Astarion watched your dim figure move to one side of the bed. You struck a match and an oil lamp flared to life. 

“Simpler than magic,” you explained. Then the two of you stared at each other. 

Astarion didn’t know where to start. He knew how to manipulate his victims into bed with him nearly every night. He knew what to say, how to move, when to smile, when to make the approach. But with you in front of him, suddenly all his best tricks seemed useless. 

You cocked your head to the side, noticing his hesitation. “Astarion?”

“I don’t know where to start,” he whispered. 

“Then let me?” you suggested. He nodded. 

You removed your apron and draped it over the back of the chair. You reached around behind you and loosened the strings of your corset, slipping it off after a moment. It wasn’t exactly graceful, but the movement still made Astarion’s throat tighten. Somehow, your movements—unpracticed for two hundred years—were more alluring than the nobles Cazador made him bed or the unfortunate virgins tripping over themselves to have him. 

It’s because it’s you, he knew. You weren’t just alluring—you were comforting. His body was strangely present, strangely here, as you undressed for him. 

You pulled off your skirt and left yourself in a poet shirt similar to the one Astarion himself had worn until it fell apart and then sewn back together time and time again. You glanced up at him for a moment, your breath catching in your throat. Astarion nodded eagerly, taking a step closer to you. So you pulled the shirt up over your head and stood before him.

Your undergarments were made of delicate lace. Automatically, Astarion reached out to touch them—touch you—then hesitated, looking into your eyes, suddenly afraid his instinct had been wrong.

But you only stepped forward and guided his hand to the fabric covering your chest. His touch seemed to arrest you for a moment before you stuttered out, “You gave them to me. The set was an anniversary gift. Somehow I knew when I dressed this morning I wanted this piece of you close to me.”

Warmth bloomed in the pit of his stomach—arousal, actual arousal, not the response he had forced himself to have when his victims got naked. He felt himself stir in his leathers.

Astarion let his fingers trail over the edge of the lace. Your eyes fluttered closed, your breaths coming in heaves. “Well, I…had good taste.”

You touched his chest, fingers trailing over the gold embroidery of his doublet. “You still do, darling.” You let out a heavy, pleased sigh. “Oh, gods, Astarion, please. Can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” he breathed desperately, leaning into you. “Yes.”

You stood on your tiptoes; he bent down. As your lips touched, his arms looped around your waist and settled there, holding you against him. Your lips were soft, gentle, welcoming. You let him take the next step instead of forcing it. It was a kindness he wasn’t sure you knew was a kindness. 

He sucked your lower lip between his. You whined softly and then tried to pull away, clearly embarrassed by your need for him, but it brought a smile to his face. He chased your lips and brought one hand to rest between your shoulder blades, guiding you back to him. He kissed you again, softly at first, then licked your lip, asking for more. You obliged him with a slight smile of your own. 

Your tongues slid together, both of you careful of his fangs. After all these years, Astarion had gotten good at hiding them, even during a kiss—but he didn’t feel the need to hide them from you, only keep your tongue away from them.

One of your hands slid into his hair. He tensed momentarily, bracing for an unrelenting tug, but you only scratched his scalp with your nails. He relaxed against you, falling deeper into the kiss. 

When you parted, it was slow, both of you reluctant to part from each other. Your chest was heaving, your breasts straining pleasantly against the delicate lace. Astarion’s eyes dropped to the sight, mesmerized for several moments. Then he looked back up at you with a smile on your face. 

“I missed you,” you breathed. “I’ve missed that.” You toyed with his collar absentmindedly. But your eyes were fixed on his, clear and resolute, some concern clouding your blown pupils. “Are you alright?”

He nodded. “More than alright. You… You’re so gentle with me.”

“Is that what you want?” 

Quickly, he nodded again, almost desperate this time. He didn’t really want to explain the sudden tears that rushed to his eyes, but judging from the heartbreak he saw in yours, you had guessed his reasoning. 

“Then gentle we will be,” you promised. “Soft. Sweet. Slow. Like our old mornings.” Your fingers found the clasps of his doublet. “May I…?”

“You may,” he said, unbearably happy that you had asked. The feeling grew stronger as you carefully undid each clasp, rather than ripping them apart so fast and so hard that he had to fix them when the night was over. He reached up to help you undress him. 

You took the time to ask him before you removed any clothes. You took the time to admire him as skin was revealed. You took the time to kiss him when he hesitantly asked for it. You took the time to wait when you saw his uncertainty, holding him and stroking his hair. 

Is this what it feels like to be loved? 

When Astarion was left standing in only his boxers, you gently led him to the bed. You hooked your fingers into his waistband and met his eyes. Before you could even ask, he whispered, “Pull them off.”

You smiled at him and did so, your touch still light. You spared his half-hard cock only a glance as you stood back up and met his gaze. Astarion could still see the want in your eyes. But instead of doing what you wanted with him, you turned and said over your shoulder, “Would you like to take mine off?”

“Yes,” he whispered, lifting his hands to undo the clasps of your bra. He slipped the straps off your shoulders after you turned back around to him. He let himself admire your breasts as they were exposed before he dropped his hands to your hips and removed your panties in one graceful move that seemed to surprise you. 

“You were always good, but you’re better at this than I remembered,” you said by way of explanation, your cheeks turning pink. “You were always so shy when you undressed me, no matter how many times you had been inside me.”

For some reason, he felt guilty. “I’m sorry I changed.”

You shook your head, cupping his cheek. “Don’t apologize. Not for that. We’ve all changed. We would have changed whether you had died or not.” Your gaze drifted back down his body appreciatively, then to his cock. 

Skin crawling with self-consciousness, familiar from times having to improvise to explain away the struggle to get hard (especially without being able to explain how little blood he actually had in his body), but stronger now that it was you looking at the weakness that took away from the one thing he was good for, Astarion explained, truthfully for the first time, “I can’t get hard right away, not without blood and…and he starves us. Once we actually start, I can do more, but—”

You put your finger to his lips and lay on the bed. “Will it hurt?”

Astarion blinked at you. “What?”

“Your bite. Will it hurt?”

For a moment, it didn’t process what you meant. Then— “You want me to feed from you?”

You nodded. “I’m more than willing to work you up myself if you’d prefer, but…I’ll admit I’m curious. Besides…you finally have someone who knows what you are and loves you anyway. Bite me. Feed the only time you can.”

Astarion stepped closer to the bed, his hunger rearing its head. “Are you sure you want me to?”

You nodded and gestured him closer to you and, after a single moment’s deliberation that ended with the sole thought of, Fuck it!, Astarion crawled over you. You smiled up at him with a fond amazement. He grinned. “You’ve seen this view before, haven’t you?”

“Often,” you said. “I dreamt of this nearly every night. It’s almost hard to believe you’re right here… I half-suspect I’ll wake up in the morning and none of this will have happened.”

Astarion bent and began peppering your neck with soft kisses. Your blood smelled sweet, pumping through your veins with strength. “Believe me, darling, this is very, very real…”

You craned your neck, exposing the column of your throat to him. Astarion pressed his nose to your pulse point and breathed in deeply. He moaned, his whole body shuddering. You put your hand back in his hair, scratching softly. “Please…” you whispered, and all of Astarion’s restraint snapped.

He drew back enough to bare his fangs and sink them into your throat. You gasped sharply. He would have asked if you were alright if your blood did not suddenly fill his mouth, sweet and tangy and heavy all at once. He swallowed and instantly felt the difference. Bugs and rats were enough to keep him functional, surviving—this was enough to let him live. 

The next few pulls of blood had you whimpering pleasantly and warmth filling his body. Strength returned to his muscles with every mouthful and his chest began to move with the illusion of breathing. He became aware of the throbbing need in his cock and began grinding on your thigh. Your responding gasp quickly became a moan and your arms tightened around him.

Somehow, Astarion knew the exact moment that you had become equals again; he had taken half your blood and any more would kill you. In fact, any more and he would be too drunk on it to stop himself from killing you. 

Drain her. Drink her dry and go back to Cazador with enough strength to escape him.

The thought terrified him. He pulled away from you quickly, your blood dripping down his chin and onto your chest. He licked the open wounds of your neck clean of blood before he sat back and stared down at you.

You were paler than you had been when he started, but your eyes fluttered open and you reached up weakly to wipe the thin trail of blood away from the corner of his mouth. You offered him your thumb and he sucked it into his mouth without thinking, licking the blood from your skin. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, brushing a hand through your hair.

You nodded. “A little woozy, but I’ll live.”

Astarion decided not to tell you how close you had come to not living. “What did it feel like?”

You paused, thinking. Eventually, you said, “Like nothing I’ve ever felt before. It was…intimate. Magical. It was ecstasy in a form I’ve never felt before. Pain that turned into pleasure. I felt…connected with you more wholly than ever before. We always said we were one when we had sex, but that…that was being one.” You met his gaze again and breathed out one word: “Wonderful.”

Astarion couldn’t help it; he kissed you needily, pressing his entire body to yours. You responded willingly, even when the kiss turned into a tight hug that allowed him to hide his face in your shoulder so you wouldn’t see his tears. 

Eventually, you tapped his shoulder. “Sit on the edge of the bed, darling.”

A tingle of anticipation raced up Astarion’s spine—clearly his body remembered what you were going to do, even if he did not. You slid to your knees and spread his legs apart far enough to get between them. He tried to hide his shock; you wanted to pleasure him? Time and time he had been forced onto his knees and made to take a cock in his mouth, but he couldn’t remember the last time someone had done it for him… In fact, you were probably the last person to have done it, years and years ago.

“Darling, you don’t have to—”

You looked up at him. “Do you want me to?”

His chest tightened. “Yes,” he whispered.

You smiled slightly. “Then let me pleasure you, Asty.”

“Okay,” he breathed, his chest heaving with phantom breaths as he watched you lean in. You kissed the base of his cock and a quiet whine escaped him. You dragged your tongue up his length and kissed his tip before you took him into your mouth. He threw his head back, groaning. His eyes fluttered as you sucked gently, licking the underside of his cock every so often. Occasionally you popped off of him to kiss up and down his length and the sensitive area around it.

“Look at me,” you breathed. He did as you asked and you went back down on him, holding eye contact with him. He whimpered and bit his lower lip, muffling the sound. You made a face. “Let me hear you, Astarion.”

His answer was a whine as you licked a stripe along the underside of him. He brought his hand to your head and held you as you licked and kissed him. It didn’t take long for him to give into the pleasure; he began to mumble in Elvish to you until the words couldn’t roll off his tongue anymore and began coming out as moans, both low- and high-pitched. Some part of Astarion was deeply embarrassed by his sounds—but he knew now if he tried to hide them, you’d stop, and, gods above, that was the last thing he wanted. But you didn’t let up again and before he could stop himself or even warn you, he was cumming down your throat. 

And you let him. You pulled off of him only when you were sure he was spent. He flopped onto his back, panting heavily. A thrill went up his spine as he watched you swallow his spend, crawling up on his body to join him on the bed.

“That was… Hells, that was good,” he groaned as you laid next to him, getting perfectly cozy against his blood-warmed body. “How did you…?”

“You taught me,” you reminded him with a laugh. “How else did you think I knew exactly what you liked?”

“You could just have really good instincts,” he said, rolling onto his side to kiss you. He cradled you in his arms, holding you as tightly against his body as he could. You melted into his hug readily.

You pulled away for a moment and just stared at him, your eyes peering into his like you could see his soul. A little nervous, Astarion just watched you, taking in the way your eyes roamed over his face and how your lips easily came up into a happy, satisfied smile.

“What?” he whispered when the love on your face was almost too much to bear.

“Nothing,” you said. Then you shook your head. “Well, it’s not nothing. I…never thought I’d see your face again. Not really, not outside of my dreams. So I’m just… I’m glad to have you back.” You reached up and trailed your fingers across his cheekbone. He leaned into your touch. 

Slowly, Astarion began to return the favor, running his fingers across your body. He watched the way you shuddered beneath his touch, paid attention to when you giggled, noticed when your eyes fluttered shut and your body relaxed. He felt like he was learning how you ticked, but there was something about every movement you made that was almost painfully familiar. He had done this to you before, likely thousands of times, and had enjoyed squeezing your hips in his hands and groping your breasts and kissing every available inch of your skin.

“How many times?” he breathed against your sternum, pausing as he kissed down your body. You hummed and he clarified: “How many times did we do this?”

Your eyes were closed, your face the picture of contentment. “You mean the sex or the touching?”

“Touching.”

“Every night,” you answered. “Every night before we went to bed, whether we were naked or not, whether we had sex or not, we would do this. We’d cuddle and kiss and caress each other until one of us fell into trance or sleep, whatever we decided to do that night.”

“Gods,” he whispered. “I… I didn’t realize it, but I missed it. I think.”

You hesitated for a moment. Then you whispered, “I thought you did this every night.”

“Almost every night,” he corrected. “And…never like this. Never soft. Never gentle. Never…loving. It’s always rough and demanding, brutal.” He glanced at you, expecting criticism, but your face was open. There wasn’t a hint of jealousy that he slept with other people, nor anger that he was complaining about getting laid nightly when you had spent the years alone. So he continued. “I wake up sore and sometimes bleeding in places I didn’t know I could bleed from.”

You curled your arms around him protectively. “Oh, Asty… Love, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” he said quickly.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t feel bad for you,” you insisted. 

Disagreement coiled in Astarion’s belly, but he didn’t voice it, instead laying his head against your chest. He sighed happily when you began to scratch your fingers through his scalp. He remained like that for a few minutes before the words began to tumble out of him, slowly at first, then gaining momentum and—to his surprise—anger.

“It’s not always…random people from taverns. Sometimes he’ll…assign me victims. I’ll be sent to them. Nobles, mostly, who he wants for his thralls. Sometimes he sends them back out into the world to do his bidding, not keeping them the way he keeps me or my siblings, or draining them into dry, mummified corpses like most of the people I bring back for him. But if I don’t bring them back in the single night he gives me— Well. I’d be scarred horribly if vampires didn’t heal quickly, and even then, I don’t heal as quickly as I should so sometimes I go out the next night still wrapped in dirty cloth for bandages, bleeding through them, expected to bring home yet another meal.” 

Astarion paused long enough for you to have a quick interjection. “You have siblings?” 

“Of a sort. There are six others. Six spawn he made to do his bidding.”

“And are you all expected to…fetch your victims the same way?”

Astarion shook his head. “No. Yousen’s a gnome, for gods’ sake, who’s going to sleep with a gnome and not a handsome creature such as myself?”

You rolled your eyes. “There are plenty of people who find gnomes attractive, even if you don’t,” you chastised. 

He sighed. “But you get my point. He made his spawn from people with…different talents, so to speak, to bring in his meals. But if we fail, we all get treated the same way. Beaten. Bitten. Used. He…he does it to me more than the others. I’m his favorite to torture.”

“You mentioned that,” you murmured, touching his ear gently. His cock twitched with pleasure and he gasped. You froze. “Do you want me to stop?”

Hesitantly, he nodded. “Just— Just for a moment…please.”

Immediately, before he had even finished speaking, you removed your hand from his ear. “Alright.”

Surprise flooded his body. No one had ever listened to him before. No one had ever taken his ‘no’ to be a no. They always kept doing what hurt him, what he hated, what made his skin crawl with disgust and hate and fear. 

But you…listened. You more than listened, you stopped.

“Thank you,” he breathed. “It’s just— I…I’m not quite ready to do anything else yet. There’s so much I want to say because I’ve never been able to before and I don’t… I don’t want to ruin the moment, but…”

“But trying to push through will ruin it anyway for you,” you said, understanding him immediately. “That’s alright. Just keep talking, my love, and I will listen to everything.”

Oh, gods above, you understood him. Astarion felt the strong urge to cry until he had no tears left, all out of relief. Instead, he kept talking.

“He hosts grand, lavish parties from time to time. On those nights, we spawn are forced to pose as his…servants. It’s almost a relief to have a break, but then…then there’s the afterparties. And I’m his entertainment at the afterparties. They’re more…orgies than parties by then and I’m at the center of it all, dressed however he wants me for the night, which is sometimes nothing. He lets the partygoers use me however they wish. He orders them to, in fact. It hurts and hurts and hurts until it suddenly doesn’t because I can’t feel anything anymore.” His tears dripped onto your skin. You cooed softly, trying to comfort him, but you said nothing to stop him, so he kept going. “It’s not just the parties, either. It’s… Well, it’s like this. I’m his favorite to torture, and I’m his favorite to…to use.” 

You made a sound of both sympathy and rage. “Asty…”

Your whisper was lost in his continued tirade. “Whenever he wants, I’m there and I’m meant to do whatever he wants me to do and let him do everything he can to me. The others all know. They know I’m Cazador’s plaything and they think I get…special treatment for it. They don’t see how much it hurts, they don’t see that I suffer every night, because I don’t suffer like they do. No, no, I get to have sex! I get one of life’s simple pleasures while he beats them! So how is it fair that I complain?” Astarion looked up at you, his eyes shining with tears. “How is it fair that I complain?”

“It’s not your fault,” you said firmly. “It’s not. Darling, none of this is on you. Your master is…a leech. Yes, he’s a leech, taking what does not belong to him, forcing misery upon you. Astarion, please listen to me, honey. I mean it. This is not your fault. He is sowing dissent amongst all of you on purpose because it is the only way he can control you. If you all were to band together—”

“We’re his thralls, he can control us anyway,” Astarion snapped. “Anything he wants us to do, we do. It’s why I haven’t been able to stop him from—” He fell silent and buried his face in your chest, an unreasonable shame burrowing in his chest. He knew it was unreasonable; he knew you were at least somewhat right. He had no control over his life, and yet… The shame was there anyway. “Poetry. That’s what he said he carved into me. That’s the scar on my back.”

Automatically, your hand drifted from his hair to his shoulder. Before touching the scar you asked, “Does it hurt?”

“Sometimes. It hurt then, when he had to correct his mistakes because I couldn’t keep still enough.”

“Can I touch it?”

He nodded slowly and braced himself. But your touch was gentle and soothing. Your fingers ghosted across the raised marks and you peeked over his shoulder at it.

“It’s written in Infernal,” you murmured. “Last I checked, that’s not exactly the language of poets.”

Astarion raised his head. “Really? I…I didn’t know. What does it say?”

You shrugged. “I can recognize it, but I can’t read it.”

Astarion sighed and fell back against your chest. 

“What do you want to do?” you whispered to him.

“Hold me,” he breathed.

So you wrapped your arms around him and held him tightly to your body, his head against your chest, his own arms coming around your waist. You held each other in silence for quite a while. Your hand began to scratch his scalp and a gentle sound that was close to a purr escaped him. After a few moments, your hand went back to his ear. When he didn’t protest, you began rubbing his ear lightly.

A soft moan escaped Astarion’s lips. He looked up at you, his hips already beginning to grind into the mattress. 

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” you reminded him. “You are more than just sex.”

“I want to,” he whispered, the statement true for the first time in nearly two centuries. “It’s… It’s you, of course I want to.”

You whimpered quietly at the words and pressed a tiny kiss to his forehead. “Only if you’re sure, honey.”

“I’m sure,” he promised. 

It didn’t take long for the heat in his body to rebuild. You caressed every sensitive spot on his body with care and intimate knowledge of who he was: his ears, the nape of his neck, his Adonis belt, his nipples. You touched him with a reverence that felt almost like worship and made his entire body tremble with need. You suckled on his nipples until he moaned loudly and ripped himself away from you to do the same to you. 

Very quickly you learned to give him control. He hovered above you, sucking hickies into your neck and chest, happily leaving little bites on your tits as he went.

“You can draw blood,” you whispered to him in the middle of a bite and he moaned delightedly, letting his fangs scratch your skin until you bled and licking up the crimson droplets. He met your gaze as he let his tongue linger on a deeper cut and found you looking down at him fondly, toying with one of his curls between your fingers. 

Astarion adjusted to slip a hand between your bodies. He cupped your exposed cunt and grinned at the sight of your head going back, exposing the column of your throat to him.

“I’ve barely touched you, darling,” he teased. 

“And I’ve waited two hundred years for this,” you reminded him. “Any touch is enough, but, hells, please put your fingers inside of me.”

“Needy,” he joked, but did as you asked, spreading your pussy to drag his fingers up your slit. He placed his slick fingers on your clit and began to rub gentle circles. You gasped, your body arching up into his. He chuckled and moved up to kiss you sweetly. His tongue against yours was a balm to the both of you; you calmed down enough to wrap your arms around his shoulders and he felt any lingering doubts slip away. 

You were his. You had always been his. You were not just another victim, you were the woman he loved, the woman he had been so devoted to that he was going to marry you. You were not using him like the others.

You seemed to read his thoughts and filled in the last possibility, murmuring against his soft lips, “I love you, Astarion.”

He moaned into your mouth. A single tear slipped past his closed eyelid and fell on your cheek. 

“I love you,” you whispered again. “You don’t have to say it back. I just want you to know.”

Astarion slipped two fingers into you, curling them deep inside you. You arched into him again, moaning obscenely. He giggled again; if just two fingers could make you this happy, what would you do when you felt his cock inside you again?

He pumped his fingers slowly until your hips bucked into his hand, wordlessly asking for more. He picked up the pace until you began panting. He watched you grow closer and closer to the edge, your body writhing, your eyebrows pinching together, your mouth falling open to let out delicious moans. He was almost tempted to just let you finish on his fingers, but… 

Gods, he wanted to taste you.

He pulled his fingers out of you. You whined his name, pitifully, already begging, already asking, “Why did you stop?”

Astarion’s answer was not verbal. Grinning, he dropped to his knees quickly and shuffled closer to the edge of the bed. He yanked you to the edge, letting your legs dangle over his shoulders, and leaned in. You held eye contact as he pressed a kiss to your clit. Then a second. Then a third. By the time he got to the fourth kiss and latched his lips around your sensitive nub, your eyes were rolling into the back of your head.

“Astarion,” you moaned, your hand twisting into his hair but not pulling.

He began to suck gently, letting the pressure drive you wild. He licked your clit slowly, lavishing attention on it with his tongue, feeling you grow very, very wet against his chin. He dropped a little lower to tongue at your entrance, the taste of your arousal pulling a moan from deep in his chest. You gasped at the vibration, your hips rutting against his face. He chuckled into you and slid his tongue inside you, lapping at your cunt. You were delicious in ways he hadn’t thought possible. He knew that his heightened senses meant that he could smell every bit of your arousal, every emotion inside of you, every liquid in your body—but he had not expected your lust to be infused with your love for him. 

It was a new feeling, a new taste. He liked it. 

Astarion reached up and coated his hand in your dripping arousal. Then he wrapped his hand around his cock and began stroking slowly, allowing himself to enjoy it, feeling the heady rush of blood to completely harden his cock. His hips rocked gently, the pace increasing when he glanced up at you and found you smiling as you panted, your breasts heaving. 

He released himself to bring his hand back up to your cunt. He sunk his fingers into your wet entrance and returned to sucking on your clit. You cried out, your hips bucking, and he grinned against your slick skin. 

“Cum for me,” he whispered against you, loud enough for you to hear his command. “Let me taste you. Cum on my face, darling.”

You clenched around his fingers, moaning the loudest you had all night. There was a fresh rush of wetness and the lewd sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of you grew louder. Astarion slipped his fingers out of you and his tongue back into your cunt to taste you as your orgasm ripped through you. He put his thumb on your clit and started rubbing.

Astarion’s eyes fluttered shut as he tasted your cum. You were sweet, absolutely divine, your ecstasy meant entirely for him. He groaned into your pussy and your legs wrapped around his head, helping to bury him in your slick entrance. He giggled, more than happy to stay there longer and keep licking your cum out of you.

He tapped your thigh when he was done and you put your shaking legs back to the floor. He got to his feet and crawled over you, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss. You moaned into his mouth, then made a sound of surprise.

“Do you taste yourself on my tongue?” he whispered, looking at you with hooded eyes.

“Yes,” you breathed.

“Good.” He kissed you again, grinding on your thigh to ease the throbbing in his cock. You groaned at the feeling, your arms tightening around his neck. You broke away from his mouth to pepper his face in tiny, loving kisses.

An overwhelming fondness filled him and he pulled away from you enough to meet your gaze. You trailed your fingertips over his cheekbone and then to his ear, rubbing gently again. He hummed happily and opened his eyes to see your face as he whispered, “I love you, too.”

You stopped, your eyes widening, your lips parting. Gods, you were beautiful. “Do you really mean—?”

“Yes,” he breathed quickly and bent down to kiss you again. You hummed into his mouth, pulling his body down onto yours. He paused in his grinding, wanting to be against you more than he wanted the friction.

“I love you,” both of you said at the same time, then burst into little giggles. You nuzzled into each other, Astarion’s cheeks hurting from the smile he couldn’t seem to drop. Then you kissed him and pulled his lower lip between your teeth. You tugged slightly.

Astarion pulled back and then glanced down your body to where his cock rested on your stomach. “Are you ready for me, darling?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

He grinned. “Spread your legs a little wider for me, sweet girl.”

You did as he asked without a second thought and he settled between your legs. He guided himself against your entrance, notching the head of his cock there. He looked up at you again and you nodded. He smiled softly, kissed you once, and then looked back down to watch himself sink into you.

Astarion moved slowly, careful not to hurt you, well aware that you hadn’t been fucked in two hundred years. You sucked in a deep breath, keeping your eyes on him as he pushed into you. Astarion let out a low groan as you squeezed around him, already a tight fit, your warmth and wetness enveloping him. When he bottomed out, you released your breath, your head falling back against the pillows. 

“Are you alright?” he whispered. 

“Yes,” you breathed. “Yes, I’m alright. Gods… You feel…right. It’s…it’s almost as if it were yesterday you made love to me for the last time.”

He bent down enough to kiss your forehead. “Is that what you want? Do you want me to make love to you?”

“Please,” you whispered. 

Astarion began to move. He started with shallow thrusts, trying to allow you time to adjust and get used to the feeling, watching the pleasure on your face as he did. He held himself up with one hand and let the other slide up and down your side comfortingly.

Eventually, you turned your head to kiss his wrist. “More,” you said quietly. When he raised his eyebrow, prompting you, your already flushed cheeks turned scarlet and you amended, “Deeper.”

“Good girl,” he said and let his next thrust bring his pelvis to yours. Both of you moaned into each other. Your breaths came faster as he began to hit that spot deep inside of you over and over again, sure to never go too hard. Then you whispered, “Harder, Asty,” and all restraint left his limbs. 

Astarion lifted your leg to get a better angle and began pounding into you relentlessly, grunting with every thrust. Your moans became punctuated and he slowed down briefly to let you get some air.

Your response was to throw both legs around his hips, tug him down to you, and breathe into his ear, “Don’t stop. Don’t stop doing what you’re doing, darling.”

Astarion moaned happily and hurried back into his fast pace. You pulled him into a bruising kiss and wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

“Can I touch your back?” you whispered and he nodded quickly. 

“Scratch at me all you want, sweetness,” he replied and your blush darkened.

You settled your hands on his upper back, your nails digging in just slightly as you held onto him. You crossed your ankles at the small of his back and let him drill into you.

Lips, teeth, and tongues clashed into each other as you made out messily, the sound of your spit-slicked kisses drowned out by the rhythmic smacking of your hips into each other. You felt a soreness begin to build, pleasant and familiar and distinctly Astarion.

For his part, Astarion was pleasantly surprised at how present he was. He found himself electing to keep his eyes open to see the ecstasy wash over your face when he wasn’t kissing you and he smiled at every moan, every “Oh gods” you let out, every cry of his name that left your lips. His whole body buzzed with pleasure and his cock throbbed inside of you. He nuzzled into your neck, kissing softly and nipping gently, not taking blood from you this time. He tongued over the bite he left earlier, licking the dried residue of your blood, but the wound had since closed. 

“I love you,” he murmured against your skin. “And I am so sorry that I have been gone.”

You kissed his cheek briefly. “I love you, too.”

Astarion groaned into your neck, then pushed himself back up, fucking into your pussy wildly. “You feel so godsdamn good,” he panted, grinning down at you. “I haven’t felt this way in…a very long time.”

You gently squeezed his hips with your legs and reached up to cup his face. “I’ve missed how perfect you feel,” you said. “How you always hit the right spots.” You moaned as he did exactly that, your entire body tensing, preparing for your orgasm.

“Are you close?” he asked.

“Very,” you breathed. 

He brushed your hair from your face. “Cum whenever you’re ready, darling. I want to feel you spasm around me.”

You whimpered. “Oh, Asty,” you moaned. You relaxed into the mattress. “Go a little harder and I’ll be there.”

He did as you asked, pounding into you fast and hard and just a little bit rough. He reached down to put his fingers on your clit and you let out a shriek, clenching tightly around him. He gasped, his cock twitching at the stimulation. You threw your head back, nearly screaming as you came around him, his name lost somewhere in your shrieks of pleasure. The fresh slickness of your cum surrounded him and he glanced down to find a ring of white on his cock, getting thicker and brighter by the second.

The grunts that fell from Astarion’s mouth were rougher, louder. He squeezed his eyes shut and then forced them open again.

“Darling—” he gasped, his entire body trembling with exertion as he tried to stave off his impending orgasm. “I’m— I’m gonna cum, oh gods, where do you— Where do you want it?”

There was a soft look on your face as you whispered, “Inside. Inside like the last time you ever fucked me.”

Astarion groaned, the reveal bringing tears to his eyes. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the tear drop from his lashes. Your thumb came up to his face and wiped gently at his eye. He whimpered, leaning into your touch.

“Cum for me, honey,” you whispered, softly cupping his cheek.

Astarion whined and kissed your palm, burying himself to the hilt. He moaned loudly, tilting his head back, and it quickly became a series of high-pitched whimpers as ecstasy washed through his body. He trembled, holding himself up until he was spent. Then he collapsed on top of you, panting harshly.

You held him close, soothing him with quiet hushes and soft whispers of how wonderful he had done for you. You kissed the top of his head, running your hand through his curls, murmuring your love to him with a smile on your face. 

Eventually, Astarion pulled out of you. You whimpered and he whispered a soft apology. He sat back to watch his seed drip out of you. Fascinated, he gently swiped his fingers through your mixed releases. You shuddered. He held his fingers up to your mouth. You quirked an eyebrow at him at first, then opened your mouth and let him slide his fingers between your lips. Dutifully, you licked them clean.

“I guess we’ve never done that before, huh?” he joked, laying back down on you. He kissed you sweetly, enjoying the taste of you and him together on his tongue. 

You shook your head. “Nope. You only came inside me for one night.” He raised an eyebrow and you explained carefully, “I’d been tracking my cycle so I knew you could cum inside me without us getting pregnant too early. We wanted to wait until after our wedding to start trying for a baby.”

Astarion’s heart nearly broke. “We…we wanted a family.”

You nodded, smiling in a way that made Astarion feel like you knew the pain twisting in his chest at the moment. “We’d told your parents we wanted one the night before you died. They were…ecstatic. You know, I’m almost surprised they didn’t push us to move the wedding up so we could start faster.”

He laughed, more a huff than anything with how exhausted he was. “I take it they didn’t know about us taking the risk of finishing inside you?”

You grinned. “Well… We didn’t tell them, exactly, but I’m guessing they figured it out with how loud you made me scream that night.”

Astarion smirked. “Was it louder than you just were?”

“Oh, much louder,” you said, somehow teasing and serious at the same time. “I thought the entire neighborhood could hear you making me scream.”

“So I’ve always been good at sex, then?”

You shrugged. “Not…exactly. The first few times were a little…subpar in comparison to what our sex life became, the sex we just had. But because it was you, because it was so new…we still enjoyed it.”

The two of you shuffled to lay on your sides, facing each other. You snuggled against his chest and Astarion held you tightly, pressing soft, lingering kisses to every inch of your face. 

“I love you,” he murmured. “And I see why I loved you then. You are…perfect. Considerate. Gentle. You don’t…push for things I don’t want to do. You just know what I like, even after all this time… I had thought I had changed, but…”

“You did change,” you said. “But not so much that I don’t recognize the man underneath all your disguises, all your layers. You are, deep down, still my Astarion.”

He curled more tightly around you. “I like being yours.”

You kissed his nose. “I like it, too.”

The pair of you lapsed into comfortable silence. Astarion listened to your breathing and your steady heartbeat, watching your chest rise and fall against his, moving as if he was also breathing. 

You were so comfortable with him… So vulnerable. You trusted him with your exposed neck, with your bare body, with your love. Hells, how he wished he could remember what he had done to earn that trust. How he wished he could keep your trust.

Some time later, you mumbled into his skin, “It’s two hours until dawn, my love.”

Fear crept back into Astarion’s mind. “I know.”

“We should get going soon.”

He held you just a little tighter. “Not— Not quite yet, darling. Let me hold you for a few minutes more.”

You smiled knowingly against his chest and Astarion wondered how many mornings he had refused to get up, electing instead for a few more minutes in bed with you, your limbs tangled and the sheets just barely covering your lower halves. “Alright.”

Astarion pressed a grateful kiss to the top of your head. His mind began to spin with the beginnings of half-baked plans. The two of you could run, leave now and get as far away as possible. He could simply not go back, he could hide here with you until night fell again and then the two of you could leave. He could bring you back to Cazador with a plan, with a way to kill him or escape him or both in mind.

Every plan fell short. Nothing would work. Cazador had too many eyes in the city to disappear this quickly. 

We’d never escape alive. And while Astarion was certain that death—true death—would be a relief in comparison to the past two hundred years, he wasn’t willing to force that on you.

He glanced at you, still tucked into his arm, a peaceful look on your face. He tried to capture the image in his mind for a few moments, then stirred and gently slipped out from underneath you. He stood and slowly put his clothes back on.

You watched him do so, sitting up on your arms to grin at him. “Now that’s a sight that never gets old.”

Astarion frowned. “Me putting clothes back on?”

You nodded, reaching for your dress. Astarion helped you get it over your head. “It reminds me of our early mornings when you’d get ready for work and I’d watch you primp and preen until you were perfect.” You adjusted your dress, then looked up at him. “Here—let me fix your hair, I messed it up when I put my hands in it.”

Astarion watched your face, your expression twisted into concentration, your tongue poking out just slightly, as you carded your fingers through his curls and arranged them. When you were satisfied, you stepped back.

“There, good as new,” you said and he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

You wrapped your arms around him and gave him a reassuring squeeze. “Are you ready?”

Astarion clenched his jaw. “Are you? Are you sure you want to do this? I…I really shouldn’t do this, darling, I should just take the punishment—”

“No,” you said firmly. “I will never forgive myself if I know you’re out there, getting hurt, because I wouldn’t go with you.”

“Darling—”

“Take me to him,” you insisted. “Don’t get yourself hurt for me.”

Still, Astarion bit his lip so hard he tasted his blood. “But isn’t that what we should do? I’d be protecting you—”

“I would be putting you in danger, Asty,” you insisted, cupping his cheek. “Please. Please do this and we will find a way out of this, alright? Even if it’s a last-ditch, desperate attempt to run—we’ll do something. I promise you, love.”

It won’t be enough. It will never be enough. But Astarion didn’t want to dash your hopes; naive as it was, it was relieving to see hope after two hundred years without it. It almost convinced him that you would be the lucky soul to escape Cazador’s bite, his eternal punishment. 

Astarion offered you his hand. “Are you ready, darling?”

You nodded, slipping your hand into his. “Ready.”

Before you left, you extinguished the lamps like normal and locked your door behind you like it was any other outing. You slipped the key into a hidden pocket in your dress Astarion hadn’t realized was even there. He admired the stitchwork as you walked hand-in-hand down the street. Despite the anxiety wriggling away in his stomach, Astarion let himself enjoy the feeling of walking with you, touching you, enjoying the last few moments of the night air with you. 

The Szarr residence loomed ahead far too quickly, the palace towers casting a horrible shadow across the road leading up to it. Astarion glanced at you as the pair of you passed into the shadows.

“Last chance to back out, darling,” he said quietly. “I can always circle back to an alleyway and drag some poor soul out—”

“No, Asty,” you said gently. “If that was a real option, you would have already done it.”

He sighed and nodded. “Alright. But—darling?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry for what might happen in there, what he’ll do to you.”

You smiled at him. “You don’t have to be sorry, honey, it’s not your fault. Nothing he does to me is your fault.”

“I brought you here,” he insisted. “I brought you here knowing what you’ll have to go through. I could just take the beating, but… I don’t want to, so I’m letting you suffer like I should.”

For the first time, Astarion saw a glimmer of doubt in your eyes. Your steps faltered and he felt the shudder that passed through your body. You licked your dry lips.

“What’s he going to do?”

A painful first bite. Drink you dry. Bury you. Make you dig your way out of your coffin. Trap you in chains the minute you’re free of the dirt. Whip you until you bleed and then lick your wounds. Astarion’s experience flashed through his head. But the fear on your face… He couldn’t tell you any of that, could he?

“Terrible things,” Astarion said gravely. It came out far darker than he intended and he knew what a terrifying sight he was: weak light in his hair, his red eyes glowing in the shadows, his fangs flashing in the dark with every word. You shrank away from him, stopping in your tracks, and inched out of the shadows. 

“Astarion, I—”

Fear gripped his undead heart, tainted his vision, thrummed in his veins. Astarion hissed and lunged, grabbing your arm with a vice-like grip. “Come on,” he insisted, just slightly aware of the growl in his voice. You resisted for just a moment, but Astarion was stronger than you were; it only took a tug to pull you back into the shadow of the tower. 

Servants of Cazador’s opened the doors for Astarion when they recognized him. They couldn’t hide their shock that he was dragging a victim in, his facade of the perfect lover dropped, and something clicked inside him.

It’s not Cazador who scares her; it’s me.

Astarion nearly let go of you. Then he felt the eyes of his siblings boring into him, all six waiting in a clustered group, and he knew Cazador was near. There was no escape for you now.

Astarion tightened his grip on you and dragged you into the palace’s shadows. He watched your feet cross the threshold, damning you eternally. The door slammed shut.

☞ ❊ ☜

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Baldur's Gate 3 // Astarion Ancunin

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