#Lord Snooty

[philjoeo]

Based Beano

[a-bucket-in-the-void]

i need to start saying oh my stars instead of oh my god

think of the panache, the flair

[hugoweavingbaskets]

Why do some people not share recipes? Like personal recipes? Family recipes? My family never did anything like that so I don’t get that attitude.

It feels like if you are gatekeeping (gatekeeping is the wrong word here but I can’t think of a better word) a recipe because you want to have the BEST VERSION of something and someone wants the recipe then your best version gets shared with more people than your circle. You still get to be the “best”? Just to MORE people? Idk haha this feels like you would WANT to share?

(But I love sharing recipes because I like it when people think of me when they make something! It’s the same thing! I also like being the best!)

Is there something I’m missing here that I’m going to be embarrassed about later because of how insensitive I’m being here? 😂

[pavlovianfuckery]

taking a break from crocheting cus my hands hurt >:( also i slipped

[silverwingxox]

I Am Yours - Harwin Strong

Paring : Harwin Strong x Targaryen!Reader

Summary : After the wedding of your sister Rhaenyra to Leanor Velaryon, your father has been breathing down your neck about you finding a suitable husband. You turn to seek comfort in your sworn sword.

Warnings : 18+, MDNI, SMUT, P in V, Oral (Fem R), throat grabbing, talks of arranged marriage.

“I swear, if I have to look upon one more fat lord old enough to be our father then I'll feed him to Vermithor.” You mumbled to your elder sister as she came and stood by your side, linking her arm with yours. Rhaenyra chuckled as she looked over the poor gathering of men who had come to seek your hand in marriage. “I will admit these aren’t the most handsome bunch.” You sighed as your (e/c) eyes looked around the room, trying to see if any of the wanting lords had potential. “I never got to thank you by the way..” You grumbled to Rhaenyra. Since her wedding to Laenor Velaryon, your father, The King has been breathing down your neck about finding a suitable suitor. 

You and Rhaenyra had always been close, there being only a two year age gap between yourselves, you were practically best friends, always sneaking into each other's chamber’s at night to gossip about the handsome lords at court or to gossip about the snooty ladies trying to woo said lords. People called your sister ‘The Realm’s Delight.’ and due to your beautiful appearance, you had earned the nickname ‘Queen of Beauty.’ It had been said you rivaled your great aunt Viserra when it came to looks.

Your silver hair cascaded in lovely curls, whereas Rhaynera’s hair fell straight. Your eyes wide and sparkling, as though they reflected the night’s moon, a small button nose and lovely plump lips. You were simply beautiful. You had heard stories created by the common folk, claiming you to be a goddess, the maiden herself. Stories you laughed at, as ironically, you had lost your maiden head a good while ago. 

“Sister, I apologize profoundly.” Rhaenyra apologized with a grin, rolling your eyes at your sister playfully. “As I love you dearly, I will let you off.” You turned to your sworn sword, Ser Harwin Strong, finding his blue eyes already on you. “I am done for the day. Please escort me to my chambers.” The tall, strong knight bowed his head to you. “Yes Princess.” As you turned on your heel and headed towards the exit of the throne room you heard your sister tell the lords to return tomorrow as you had tired yourself, causing you to snicker.

You walked to your chambers, Harwin merely two steps behind you, nodding your head politely at the lords and ladies who would greet you and step aside with a bow of their heads. “Did any of the lords strike you as husband material?” You asked your close companion, turning to head to look at the Strong man. Harwin scoffed, his brown curls bouncing with each step he took. “None of them, I would deem worthy to wed to Realm’s Beauty, Princess.” He spoke teasingly, a smile on his handsome face. Your eyes met his, a beautiful smile graced your face. “With words like that I will have to release you from your duties and take you as my lord husband.” you teased your sworn sword. 

Harwin had been your personal guard for almost a year, you could admit he had taken your fancy when you first met him, he was like no other lord at court. He was tall, kind, handsome, strong, deserving of his surname. Although he was kind, he could be cruel to anyone who had crossed you, he was a fearsome fighter, earning himself the nickname ‘Harwin Breakbones.’ It was only shortly after he became your sworn sword when the stolen glances, lingering touches and the flirting began, you knew you wanted him and you knew he wanted you. However, it was forbidden, Harwin had sworn an oath. 

“It would be a great honor, Princess.” Harwin replied as you walked the hall towards the large oak doors leading into your personal chambers. “Did you know my father is going to wed me to one of the Lannister twins? If I don't pick myself that is.” You told Harwin as he opened the door to your bed chamber, you walked inside towards the floor length mirror. You began to take out the gold hair pins, your curly silver hair falling down your back, just above the curve of your bum, you left your door open, inviting Harwin inside.

The knight closed the door behind him softly, before he turned to face you, standing guard in front of the wooden oak door. “The Lannister twins? That is unfortunate, both are obnoxious fuckers.” Harwin stated with distaste, he couldn’t stand the thought of you marrying anybody, not that he’d say it aloud, but the thought of you marrying Tyland or Jason Lannister brought a sick sensation in the pit of his stomach. 

You laughed at Harwin’s words, he wasn’t wrong. Both brother’s were known for being obnoxious and in love with themselves. “They’d be in love with themselves more than they would me.” You replied with a grin as you ran your fingers through your hair, massaging your scalp. Harwin watched you intensely and found himself wishing it was his fingers running through your long curly hair instead of your own. “Any man would be a fool not to love you Princess.” Harwin stated, his words lingered in the air as you turned to look at the man, a warm sensation had taken over your stomach as you played over his words. Upon hearing no reply, Harwin stood tall. “Forgive me, Princess. That was inappropriate.” You ran your tongue over your bottom lip softly, before you walked over to your knight. 

“Do you mean it?” You asked quietly, Harwin had remained rooted in his spot, having no desire to move. “I do.” You were now standing directly in front of him, you noticed his eyes looking your body up and down, before his gaze fell to your plump lips, after a few seconds, Harwin brought his gaze up to meet your sparkling eyes. “Would you love me? If you were my husband.” You asked. 

“I would worship you.” You saw Harwin’s eyes darkened with lust as he thought of having you as his lady wife, your stomach round with his child, your breasts full. The sweet moans which would come from your mouth, the same noises he had heard come from behind your door when he’d stand guard on the night time, as you pleasured yourself whilst thinking of him. You brought Harwin back to the present, as you stood on your tiptoes, your hands resting on the cold armor, Harwin brought his head down, his lips meeting your soft plump lips in a forbidden gentle kiss, one of his hands held your waist gently and the other held your neck. Harwin pulled away slowly, the two of you locked eyes, both wanting this. Before you knew it, Harwin had brought his lips back to yours, the kiss rough and wanting, His hands gripped tightly at your waist, you were sure you would have his fingerprints imprinted into your soft pale skin on the morrow. 

Your hands reached up and tangled themselves in Harwin’s curly locks, his lips made their way to your neck, kissing and sucking the skin. A moan escaped your lips at the sensation, you had often wondered what this moment would be like, feeling Harwin’s hands all over his body, how his lips would feel against your own. Harwin’s lips once again found yours as his hands grabbed your arse, before they slid down the back of your legs, pulling you up, your legs wrapped around Harwin’s waist as he walked towards your awaiting bed, your lips battling for dominance.

Without any effort, Harwin pulled at the lace on the back of your dress, the fabric falling loose, your breasts falling loose. You moved your hands from Harwin’s hair to the back of him, unhooking the white cape that was attached to the back of his armor. Harwin placed you down gently, kissing your neck as he did so, before standing tall and ridding himself of his armor. You lifted your arse from the bed and pulled the red soft fabric down, once the dress was off you threw it on the floor somewhere, Harwin’s eyes trailed over your body as he removed his trousers. “You really are a Goddess.” He said in disbelief, he couldn't believe his luck and would be pinching himself to wake up for years to come.

Looking at Harwin, you took in every inch of his body, looking at his hard member, you were sure there were two reasons he was nicknamed ‘Breakbones.’ You licked your lips nervously, you had lost your maidenhead a while ago, it was a feast in honor of your sister’s name day, you and Gwayne Hightower had stolen a barrel of Dornish Wine from the kitchen, you had taken him to the Dragon pit to meet Vermithor, Afterwards, the two of you hid in an empty room, drinking and laughing and before you both knew it, you were fucking on the cold hard stone.  

Harwin placed a hand on each one of your knees and opened your legs wide, making room for him to crawl between, his lips pressed against your forehead before lovingly pressing a kiss on each cheek, then the tip of your nose, then your lips, then he brought his lips to your neck, before playfully biting at the soft flesh. Gasping at the sensation, your hands pulled at the hair at the top of his neck, causing the knight to release a deep groan.

The noise sent wetness straight to your clit. Harwin pressed kisses between the valley of your breasts and continued his trail, moving down the bed, he wrapped his arms under your thighs, putting them over his shoulders, he pressed two wet kisses to each of your thighs before he looked up at you, it was a sight to behold, his dark curls messy, his eyes dark. 

The sight of Ser Harwin Strong between your thighs would forever be etched into your mind. “I need your words Princess.” Harwin said, the warmth of his breath hit your heat, causing you to shiver. “Please Harwin, please.” You practically whined, Harwin let out a breathy laugh as you begged. Without warning, He licks against your cunt hungrily, noisy slurps as he lapped you up, squeezing less than gentle at the inside of your thighs as they shook, his tongue swiping over your clit, a broken moan slipping past your lips, “let me hear you princess.”

Harwin’s fingers joined his tongue as they entered and pressed against the soft but sensitive spot inside you, your hands tugging at Harwin’s hair once more. “Harwin..” you whined, the knight not slowing his pace as he thoroughly wanted to remember this moment forever. Your hand wrapped round Harwin’s wrist between your legs as you felt your end come close. You could feel his broad shoulders flexing as he used his strength to keep you in place. Licking up all the fluids that leak out of you. Harwin rose with haste and wraps a gentle hand around the back of your neck before pulling you upright quickly.

Harwin slips inside you and moves his hand so that he is gripping your throat as he snaps his hips into you firmly, groaning sinfully into the side of your neck, squeezing your neck a little tighter with each delightful noise you made. You loved it, this was nothing like how it had been with Gwayne, this was hot, passionate, rough. You forced your hips to meet Harwin’s thrusts. His groans got louder, more animalistic. Both of you meet the thrust of each other, causing utter bliss, You both make a steady rhythm, Harwin’s thrusts hitting a spot deep inside you, your (e/c) eyes roll to the back of your head, it’s pure pleasure, you moan loudly, Harwin’s trying to holdback, restraining himself, savoring every moment as he doesn’t know if this will be his only chance to see you come undone. 

“Harder Harwin, please. I can take it.” You beg him, your nails scratching their way down his back, your legs wrapped around his hips. “I want it.” Harwin lets out a large groan at your words, picking up the speed of his thrusts, the headboard of the bed banging loudly against the stone wall. You moaned as you felt the knot in your stomach release at the new speed and deep thrusts, your walls clenched around Harwin’s cock, causing the man to shut his eyes tight. “Fuck.” Harwin growled, his forehead rests on yours, his curls wet from the sweat. 

“You take my cock so good, Princess.” He groans as you move your hand down rubbing your clit, adding extra friction. Harwin comes undone, his thrusts getting sloppy, before he can think about pulling out, he is already coming deep inside you with a shaky groan, His seed buried deep within you. Your hands move to cup each side of Harwin’s handsome face, the two of you lock eyes before you share a passionate kiss, Harwin slowly pulls out of your warmth and falls next to you on the bed, his chest lifting up and down and you both try to regain your breath.

Harwin turns to look at you, your protector drags his thumb along your jawline, admiring your beauty and how you look so much like a goddess in your current state. “I love you, I think I’ve loved you since the day I met you.” Harwin admitted, your heart swelled, you looked at him as though he had given you the world. “I know we’re forbidden, I know we cannot be. But, I am yours. Truly.” Harwin promised as he brought you close to his chest, your face nestled into his neck, peppering light kisses. “I am yours.” You agreed, coming to the realization that you were comparing every possible suitor to your sworn sword.  “I will always be yours.” and with that, began your love affair, one which would make the history books.

[oneforthemunny]

light my morning sky |rockstar!eddie munson x nepo baby!reader|

prompt: three wedding ceremonies, and it's stop number two in vegas. a night with your friends, celebrating you the way both of you love, and it leads to a rather intense wedding night for the two of you in sin city.

contains: minors dni. smut. fluff but mainly smut. drugs and alcohol, overall just partying in vegas. getting married in vegas. dom!eddie x sub!reader. bratty overtones to sub!reader. more of a soft!dom with rockstar!eddie bc he's in loooveeeee. spanking with implement (paddle/crop). thigh riding kinda. crawling. pinvsex. language. nothing too harsh or mean bc it's their (second) wedding night lol.

"I now pronounce you married." Elvis, or one of his many replicas on the strip, rasped in his low, exaggerated drawl mimicking the beloved singer. His hair perfectly coiffed, sideburns trimmed, and dressed in a black jumpsuit with wings, red and gold sequins trim.

Flamboyant, over the top- it was Eddie's dream.

Eddie grinned at you, his hands in yours, thumb brushing over the large stone on your left hand. He looked like The King himself in his white tasseled suit, pointed collar, and blue beading down the deep V of his shirt- an identical suit made to look exactly like Elvis' infamous jumpsuit from his time in Las Vegas in the 70's. It had been a prop in some show your father was producing, one that you and Eddie borrowed after the wedding.

"Eddie, you may now kiss your little darlin' here." The officiant grinned, stepping back towards the faux-rose garland, strung with bright lights.

Your heart swelled in your chest, just as light and giddy as the first ceremony, letting Eddie cup your face, pulling you in to seal with a kiss, far more passionate and needy than the ceremony in California.

Cheers erupted from the small crowd of friends you'd rallied for the big day- well, the second big day. Their booze soaked giggles and screeches mashed to the tune of Can't Help Falling In Love pouring out of the static filled old speakers. Flashes blinded your vision, even behind your closed eyes, camera clicks and bright snaps of camera light capturing every moment.

For a moment, you tensed, aware of your rounded shoulders, of Eddie's hand grabbing at your ass, eyes opening and cutting towards the aisle. Jonathan stood there, face hidden by the camera. Eddie had insisted his friend from Hawkins come instead, replace the snooty photographer that had done the ceremony before. Your parents had raved about him, but Eddie didn't see what the big deal was with him. He just made you both look so stiff, so unnatural in your portraits.

Eddie's hand slid up the silk material of your tiny dress, gripped onto your hip, bunching the material. You could feel his wedding band in the small of your back when he pressed his hand there, steadying you before he tipped you back. A deep dip of a kiss, your thigh hiked around his hip.

The small bouquet of white roses you'd bought at the front of the chapel fell onto the patterned carpet, your friends' screeching and whooping laughs ignited by the dramatics. They expected nothing less from Eddie- from both of you.

"Lord have mercy," The officiant laughed, fanning himself dramatically, long metallic sleeves rippling. "These two have lots of hunk-a, hunk-a burnin' love, don't they folks?"

Eddie could feel your lips twitch against his, a snort of a giggle, hot air blowing against his lip. His dopey and dimpled grin met you when you finally pulled apart. It left you weak, blistering in his intense, love filled gaze.

A pop of Perignon filled the room, Gareth and Farrah bumbling closer with two glasses, trying to stop the excess spilling over. A celebratory toast to the two of you, to keep your buzz going after the break in the bender you took for the ceremony.

Since you'd landed on Thursday night, the party hadn't stopped. Liquor flowing, loud music, sloppily piling into a stall with your own friends, taking bumps off your room keys before stumbling back to the club in your designer shoes, ready to keep the party going.

The afterparty was no different. Tucked away in a private villa at Ceasar's, you didn't make it to the club. Eddie had insisted he had to go first, nearly pushing Jeff over to get to the door, scooping you up in his arms and walking you through the door.

"Watch your fuckin' head, baby- don't lean back." You could smell the alcohol on his breath, a pungent mixture of too many to name, mixed with the faintest whiff of smoke from his cigarettes.

It didn't take long for Nick to find the boom box, blaring his party mixtape at a wall shaking volume, everyone scattering. Some to the kitchen to scour through the piles of empty bottles for a full one, others to collapse into the couch and let someone line up a pick me up before plunging in the hot tub outside.

"You," Eddie slurred, his head dipping down to press against your forehead. "Look so fuckin' beautiful." Nose brushing against yours, red from his own party favors.

You giggled nasally, blinking blearily eyed to focus on him to close to you. The effects of the tequila and champagne and hodge podge of liquor you'd mixed and consumed catching up with you.

"You know what, baby? You look really good, Mr. Munson." You whispered, hand cupping his jaw. "Like- hic!- too good to be fucking true."

"You're sweet talkin' me? Huh? Bein' s'nice to me?" Eddie grinned, fingers sinking into your hips.

"Yeah." You hummed.

"Tryna get my pants off or somethin', huh, baby? G-Get in my pants by bein' so sweet? You think that's gonna work?" Eddie teased, tilting his head to the side.

"Yeahhh..." You nodded, staggering against him, manicured nails raking down his bare chest. "We have to- to consummate the marriage, Ed."

"What?" Eddie furrowed his brows. "We gotta do what? Wait- I thought you wanted to fuck."

You laughed, head tilting back letting out that mean little cackle that always got Eddie worked up- a little mocking, mostly genuine. It left him flushed in heat, crawling up his chest and splattering over his cheeks.

"You dumbass, that is what that means." You rolled your eyes at him.

Eddie's eyes narrowed with you, catching your chin easily. "Oh? That's how you wanna play tonight, hm?" He shook his head, your body erupting in a fiery heat. "You're not gonna be nice to me?"

"I'm always nice to you." You countered, hand closing around his wrist gently, steadying yourself. "You're the one who's mean."

"Yeah?" Eddie grinned, eyes shining, glimmering in the low light of the room, the music from the other side thudding in a low roar, still shaking the walls. "You want me to be mean to you tonight? That's how you wanna do this?"

"Yeah." You sighed, a devious little grin that had Eddie's heart swelling, body buzzing with bouts of electricity. A shock to his system that brought him into something animalistic and primal and thrilling. Something new he only felt with you.

"I was hopin' you'd want to. Figured you would. Went ahead and got you a little somethin'." Eddie hummed, pulling you close into him. His breath hot on your cheek, booze soaked and warm on your skin.

"A gift?" Your eyes lit up, bright and devious all at once. Positively troublesome.

"Yeah. A gift. Just for you, baby." Eddie's lip dragged over your cheek, nose, hands sliding up your neck into your hair. "A wedding gift, but-but not for the wedding. For the after."

"Mm," You moaned lightly, his lips brushing with yours, teasing. Just enough to make you want to kiss him fully, leave you waiting and wanting more. "It's after now, Ed." You batted your lashes up at him.

"Is it?" Eddie muttered, fingers curling around your hair the back of your head.

"Yeah." You whispered, voice raspy from the liquor. "Time to give me my gift."

"Ooh, you're gonna be demanding?" Eddie pulled back from you, holding you at arms length so he could see you. Your pout, glassy eyes rounding instinctively- a classic look, teetering on demanding and begging, a signature look for you.

"'M not being demanding." You huffed, hands sliding over his arms. He could feel the diamonds of your wedding band scratch lightly over his skin. "You said you had a gift for me."

Eddie bit back a smirk, squeezing your shoulders with firm, gentle affection. You grinned triumphantly when he stumbled to his closet, puling a red gift bag tied together with a gold bow.

He smirked at your squeal of delight, hands clapping together excitedly when he gave you the bag. "What is it?" You beamed, a peal of excited, drunken giggles spilling from your chest.

"Open it." Eddie clicked, shaking his head at you. "What's in it- open the damn thing, baby. It's a present. 'M not tellin' you w-what I got you." His words slurred, still silly and playful.

You laughed, head spinning and intoxicatingly airy with glee, unraveling the gold spun ribbon with a dramatic tug of your hand. Underneath the piles of tissue paper, a long box lied at the bottom.

There, inside the felt lined box, a small heart shaped paddled. Black and leather, with a black, metal handle. It was small, smaller than most of Eddie's chosen paddles. The heart shape at the end firmer than the crop, not as flimsy as you expected.

"Look," Eddie pointed, swaying gently in front of you. He turned the handle clumsily around his hands before he turned it to you. There in etched gold, your names and the date carved into the metal handle.

"Ed." You cooed, head tilting back to meet his gaze. "You got this f'me?"

"Well, kinda." Eddie nodded. "I mean, for me to use on you, but yeah. Wanted something to-to remember this by."

Lips pulling in a smile, you stood, arms wrapping around his waist, pulling him flush to your own chest. "You're so sweet." You hum, swaying with him softly. "So sweet to me."

Eddie's cheeks flushed, matching the drunken red heat painted on his neck. "Yeah." He hummed, hands sliding over your cheeks, smearing your already rubbed off foundation, tilting your head back towards him.

"'M not gonna be sweet to you f'long." He muttered, lip twitching in a curling grin. Staticky prickles of excitement licked at your neck, shimmering all the way down to your core. Eddie's tongue ran over his teeth, brow raising. "That alright with you, baby?"

"Yes." You whispered, nails digging into his hands lightly, steadying yourself.

Eddie caught your chin, pulling your gaze towards him. "Who?" His tone dropped, low and raspy but punctuated.

The nervous, maybe excited, giggle spilled out of your lips before you could stop it. Eyes shining, swaying with excitement, you batted your lashes towards him. "Yes, Sir." You purred, hands sliding, nails raking down his forearms.

Eddie grinned, ducking down to catch your lips in a hungry kiss. Hand pressed to the small of your spine, you could taste the liquor on his tongue as it slid past your teeth. A sloppy, needy, alcohol fueled make out. Hands grabbing, pulling at the other, pushing your bodies closer and closer together until it felt like they might fuse together, mold into one. Hands sliding, bunching the material of your dress up your hips.

"Wait!" Your eyes flew open, pulling apart with an urgency that had Eddie jumping.

"What? What's wrong?" Eddie's brows furrowed, vision fading blearily in and out of focus.

"I forgot," You turned towards your suitcase. "I bought something special for tonight. S-Somethin' to put on." You muttered, swaying drunkenly, hands on his waist to steady yourself.

"Baby, it's alright. Just save it for tomorrow-"

"-No." Your tone was cutting, huffy with a hint of demanding- bratty. You did it best, Eddie supposed, his cock twitching at the sound.

He wanted to grab the paddle, haul you over his knee right then, feel you scratch and scream at him like old times. Instead, he let you stomp off, bunching a flash of white material to your chest, stumbling towards the bathroom.

It was worth it, Eddie decided. Legs spread on the edge of the bed, knee bouncing with anticipation until the doors opened.

"Are you ready?" He could hear your grin, hidden by the door.

"Yeah. Show me, baby. Come on out." Eddie's lips tugged in a half grin.

The door opened painfully slow, your own teasing reveal, until you stood before him in a tiny, white, see through lacy lingerie set. A classic, more scandalous and revealing than before. Bra and panties so revealing it left little to the imagination, hip hugging garter that connected to two leg holders, both with their own loops. Eddie pictured for a moment tying you up by them, stringing the rope through them, tying your legs wide open and spending the rest of the night- hell, the whole week in between them.

Maybe tomorrow night. Tonight, he had other plans.

Eddie's loud wolf whistle mixed with your bubbling giggles. "Holy shit, baby, look at you. No, look at me, but I wanna look at you." Eddie rasped, hands sliding over your exposed skin, rubbing the lace of your garter, pulling the tiny strap of your panties so it snapped to your skin.

"You like it?" You whispered, watching his eyes carefully. You knew he did. He always did.

"You kidding? Love it." Eddie grinned. "Worth the wait, beautiful."

Your cheeks burned with a rush of euphoric excitement, hands sliding up his shoulder, your ring sparkling even under the dim lights of the room.

"Ok, I'm ready now." You said boldly, lashes batting up to Eddie sweetly. "I just wanted to put this on for you."

"Oh? You're ready?" Eddie snorted lightly, lips curling in a smirk. "You callin' the shots?"

You huffed, an eye roll that had Eddie swallowing hard, trying to ignore the throbbing of his cock. "No," Your tongue clicked sarcastically. "Obviously you're in charge for right now."

"Oh, it's like that?" Eddie scoffed. "You're gonna act like that?"

"I'm not acting like anything, Ed." You bit your lip playfully. "I don't know what you're talking about." Oh, you were playful tonight. Eddie's heart swelled, palms twitching with excitement.

"Hm," Eddie hummed, tongue running down the inside of his cheek.

"Why don't you go get your gift." Eddie nodded towards the discarded paddle at the other end of the bed. You stepped towards it. "Nuh-uh-uh." Eddie clicked, head shaking.

"You know how you're supposed to get things for me." His eyes darkened, narrowing towards you.

Your thighs twitched, aching between them with a familiar heat. "Ed," Whiny and nasally, shoulders slumping for effect.

"You're gonna whine? C'mon, I know you know better." Eddie shook his head. "I don't wanna be mean to you tonight. Not too mean, anyways. Don't make me be mean. Go get your gift and bring it here, you know what to do. You be good for me, and I'll be good to you."

It didn't take much convincing, not when your head was spinning the way it was, desperate to please him. You knew he was true to his word, that he'd make you feel so good, which was exactly why you sunk to your knees. Crawling across the carpeted floors, you crept slowly towards the paddle.

Eddie watched through heavy lids, the sway of your hips, tiny panties riding up into your ass with every crawl. Your eyes met his when you raised up, gently grabbing the paddle off the bed. Eddie's heart lurched with excitement when you slipped it between your teeth, sinking back to your knees.

"Holy shit... Baby," Eddie groaned, leg shaking furiously when you rounded the corner of the bed, crawling straight for him. "Look at you. Jesus Christ, you know what you're doin'?"

You sunk back on your knees, settling between Eddie's open legs, eyes rounded so sweetly up at him it answered his question- you knew exactly what you were doing to him.

"'M just trying to be good." You whispered sweetly, head tilting to the side when he took to the paddle from you. "I just want to be so good for you always and forever, Mr. Munson."

Eddie thought he might snap the paddle in half, grip strangling in a tight hold around the pole. For a second, he contemplated again diving right between your legs, kinky foreplay be damned. Instead, he pulled you over his knee, let you straddle his thigh, covered cunt hot on his knee.

"Look at me." Eddie rasped, pulling your chin up, letting it rest on his chest, your body folded over his. "I wanna look at you. Wanna see you the whole time."

You pressed your lips together, swallowing back a pathetic whine. One hand cradling the back of your head, the other dragging the paddle along your exposed cheeks.

"You wanna be good for me?" Eddie whispered. You didn't reply, didn't get the chance to before the paddle snapped onto your ass. A jump, a whine, followed by Eddie's coaxing whisper back onto his knee.

"I asked you somethin', sweetheart." Eddie muttered, the crop tapping your other cheek. "You wanna be good for me?" Two sharp hits one to each cheek had you hissing.

"Yes." You hissed through gritted teeth, stilling your hips not to grind on him, hump his leg mercilessly. You knew that'd just fuel his cruel teasing even more.

"Yeah?" You yelped at the sharp sting.

"Yes, I wanna be good for you." Your spine ached at the uncomfortable bend in position, still you didn't dare move. It was true, you did want to be good for him.

"Are you going to be good for me?" Eddie whispered, nose nearly touching yours.

You bit back a giggle, stopped by three more sharp spanks of the crop to your ass, already itchy with growing agitation. "Yeah." Your eyes shone up at Eddie's, a silly, love sick grin that had him swooning.

"Yeah?" Eddie mocked back with a light snort. It was growing harder to keep the mean, domineering persona he tried to. When you were being this sweet, when you were being so good for him.

The crop fell again, this time your hips did roll. Just enough to dull the ache between your legs, a momentary release that had you melting further into his chest.

Eddie didn't miss it, pulling you closer to him, readjusting you on his thigh. "I don't know if I believe you." Eddie hummed, cracking the crop down again in short, sharp successions. "Are you really gonna be good to me? For the rest of time?"

You whimpered, hips rocking slowly, a steady rhythm that nearly had your eyes rolling back. The burning stretch of your ass mixed with the slow, pleasure-filled rolls of your hips.

"I will, I promise." You hummed in a high, breathy tone. "I swear I will be. I'll be a good wife for you. Forever and ever and ever."

Eddie's heart nearly burst at the words. How sweet they still sounded, even if you had technically been his wife for a few weeks now.

He let the paddle fall, his hands grabbing at your waist, pulling you into his lap. Lips on yours, your legs wrapping around his hips before he rolled the two of you, body slotting over yours, drunken giggles filling the air.

Hand intertwining with the other, Eddie's eyes rolled back at the feeling of your ring scraping over his when he finally slid into you. Mrs. Munson, forever. Forever his, just as he was forever yours.

Eddie had you pressed against the window of the suite, hips rutting into the fat of your ass, marked with the etching heart shape of the paddle. Overlooking the city's skyline, the sun was just beginning to peak over the horizon. Your cheek pressed to the window, Eddie's pressed to yours, skin smushed to skin, the two of you weren't close to being done. Just getting started, started on forever, started on a life together.

For now, in a hotel room in Vegas, insatiably happy and in love with one another. Mr. and Mrs. Munson, for the second time.

[star-sim]

shhh! ☆ jayhoon

☆ non-idol! jay x fem! reader, non-idol sunghoon x fem! reader ☆ summary: your secret relationship with him (& how you get caught!) ☆ genre: fluff, bullet points ☆ warning(s)? noooo

jay ☆

okay... hear me out

school au, where you and jay are the class co-presidents

and i'm not talkin goody two shoes dutiful co-presidents

IM SAYING TYRANNICAL CO-PRESIDENTS

you and jay were the class co-presidents, but you two were also the biggest most arrogant ASSHOLES

like somehow you guys have been put into office 3 years in a row

and even though people lowk hate you both, theyre more scared of ygs than anything

yk how in some animanga there's that corrupt student council trope... thats you and jay

threatening people, bribery, blackmailing, using lackeys....... nothing crazy but yall are NOT clean goody two shoes

im just saying... yall have SO MUCH power and influence

everyone is like legitimately afraid of ygs

on the outside you and jay seem to have an exclusively business relationship

to everyone, you're two power-hungry assholes who use each other to achieve their goals

at council meetings you and jay talk very cordially and formally, everytime you're seen together, you guys always whisper to each other briefly, before putting on your painfully fake smiles again and barely ever speaking to each other again

but behind closed doors....

yall are DATING dating

who knew that you, the condescending bitchy co-president, and jay, the most arrogant bastard of a co-president, were ALL FLUFF FOR EACH OTHER???

you and jay do such a good job of concealing your relationship that there's rumors that you and him actually secretly hate each other

heck, there's even a rumor that you'll stab him in the back later this term

after council meetings, you and jay stay back to "discuss private matters"

yall know damn well that's not what's happening

the moment that your snooty class treasurer shuts the door and leaves the two of you alone, jay's already pushing you against the wall

imagine.... makeout sessions in empty classrooms, and coming out with messed up uniform, swollen lips, and suspiciously timed breathlessness

jay would LOVE it if you grabbed onto his uniform tie and yanked him toward you, he gets the butterflies big time

whenever you pull jay aside to whisper something into his ear, everyone assumes that you're telling him about some confidential or urgent student council matter

nope!! 90% of the time it's you whispering "you look so handsome" "i love you" "let's go on a date later" "i want to kiss you so bad" good lord

and the best part??? whenever you do this, both you and jay keep the straightest, most solemn faces, even though jay is 100% screaming and giggling and kicking his feet inside

and let's be fr right now.... you guys DEFINITELY hold hands under the table

like there will be a meeting about whatever and you and jay are just playing with each other's hands under the table

i think you've almost been caught multiple times but no one necessarily suspects that there's something between you two

everyone genuinely thinks that yall are just some cold-hearted power freaks, too cold to love anyone LOL

the amount of times that you guys accidentally left the door unlocked and someone barged in....

to be clear just bc you and jay are head over heels in love with each other does NOT mean that you guys still aren't crazy assholes

sometimes you guys purposefully don't lock the door and play something that jay likes to call "kissing roulette"

basically, you and jay leave the door unlocked and make out on a busy day when there's a lot of people still roaming the halls, whoever pulls away first out of fear of being caught loses!

you always end up winning lol

i also think that some people are just stupid because there are actually SO many signs of you and him having something

like tell me why jay is out here pulling you close up against him, hands around your waist and all, to whisper something in your ear and the first thing that people think is "oh i think they hate each other"

now..... how ygs get caught: i think you and jay decided to keep your relationship private for the sake of preserving it, like ppl talk too much and they wanna get in the way or wtv

like business must go forward even if you and jay were on top of each other mere seconds ago

like i have emphasized earlier, you and jay were lowk tyrannical

you don't know how it happened but someone in the council leaked one of the being discussed

you and jay didn't really think it was that serious but apparently everyone else was

like.... some of your classmates got HEATED LMAOAO

anyways so you and jay are just having another one of your... ahem... after school sessions

and lets just say that this particular session was errr very passionate... you missed your boyfriend okay?

it was hard to act like jay pracitcally didn't exist when all you wanted to do was kiss him every second of the day

so here you were, between jay's legs with him pressed up against some bookshelf of an empty classroom

his shirt's collar is messed up, probably with lipstick stains all over it

you have his tie scrunched up in your fist, while his hands find the hem of your uniform skirt (😋)

completely unbeknownst to you there's a whole group of students in your year marching around school lookign for you two

apparently to "give the presidents a piece of their mind"

you and jay are LITERALLY about to go a step further (🤭) when the door FLIES OPEN

AND OH MY GOD

THERE'S JUST SO MANY OF THEM

like particular session you SWORE YOU LOCKED THE DOOR

like that little group of kids were about to start yelling at you to "reconsider your decisions" but they were rendered SPEECHLESS

GAGGED EVEN

because like..... THE TWO CO-PRESIDENTS WHO SUPPOSEDLY SEE EACH OTHER AS MERE TOOLS WERE........ MAKING OUT IN AN EMPTY CLASSROOM??????

you and jay are just standing there, still against each other against the bookshelf dissheveled and all, like 😧😧

"s-sorry!" it seems like the sight of you two getting all intimate scared the shit out of those little protestors BECAUSE THEY JUST RAN AWAY AFTER THAT

the next day you and jay are the talk of the school

jay is getting pats on his back from dudes who he literally does not know

"AYYYY YOU BAGGED THE HOT PRESIDENT!!!"

and hes like "? do i know you"

and suddenly all the girls are sitting you down with cups of tea to ask you about the story of you and jay

"please girl we want to know all the tea"

???? weren't they just gossiping about you yesterday

it seemed like everyone was weirdly supportive??

like over night everyone seemed to like you guys a little bit more??

somehow yall become the it couple

i dont think jay and you immediately get more affectionate

but jay definitely takes advantage of this

and randomly kisses you throughout the day

sunghoon ☆

you and sunghoon work in the same department, under the same supervisor, in the same office, at the same table, with the same tasks, with the same pay and same skills

yet only one of you is deemed the company's #1 loser and the other the company's sweetheart

guess who ☠️

well sunghoon is definitely NOT the company sweetheart

ding ding ding! if you guessed that he's the loser you are correct

sunghoon's quiet, and gets his job done efficiently with little trouble

he doesn't mean to make people uneasy with how quiet he is

but sunghoon genuinely does not like anyone enough to be talkative, nor does he want to try to make any friends

emo ass

on the other hand you're the company's joy

everyone wants to hang out with you after work

you're the first person invited to work parties, even when it's from different departments, every guy in that office has had a crush on you at some point

you know damn well the interns are obsessed with you

absolutely NO ONE would expect the residential hot girl to be going home with THE biggest loser every night

but alas look where we are

you and sunghoon were dating waaay before either of you got a job here

you guys decided to keep your relationship secret to avoid any HR complaints or snoopy people

and it was a bit of a struggle

do you have any idea how hard it was for sunghoon to watch every man try to shoot his shot with you and NOT start screaming?

sunghoon really tried to not let his personal life interfere with his professional life

but JINWOO FROM THE SALES DEPARTMENT WAS LITERALLY ASKING YOU OUT RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIM

and it was hard for you, too

having people swarm you for after-work plans was a mess

each time, you said that you were going to stay late to finish some extra work, and if you had time you'd join them

you never did

all of your work friends tried to set you up on dates with their own friends

"cmon it will be fun! get out a little!"

and every time you had to politely tell them that you were not looking for a relationship for the time being (only for you and sunghoon to pass silly love notes at the water cooler)

oh sorry did you not hear that?

YOU AND SUNGHOON PASS SILLY LOVE NOTES AT THE WATER COOLER!!!!!

it’s always the most random ripped pieces of paper with the silliest love notes

like you will rip up a spare legal document nd write “if u were a fruit you’d be a fineapple”

sunghoon tho is the type up a whole document and print it out, it’s filled top to bottom in silliness and he hands it to you like it’s an official important document 😭

every morning he makes you coffee and brings it to your desk

lers be real ppl suspect things

NOT ON YOUR PART BUT ON YOUR BEHALF

like everyone thinks that sunghoon is this loser that’s in love with you ☠️

i mean cmon… weird quiet guy that talks to no one but makes coffee every morning for that One Hot Girl???

the workplace gossips have a field day w it

in their eyes, it’s really pathetic because sunghoon is this weirdo and ur this hot woman and he’s in love with you oh my gosh this is so embarrassing for him 😭🙏🙏

they keep telling you stuff too

“omg did you see the way sunghoon looked at you?”

“he’s so weird, it’s so obvious that he liked you”

"this is so embarrassing [name] you need to reject him before he gets too eager" FREE HIM

little do they know that when you and sunghoon stay a little bit later than everyone else sometimes, the office becomes really empty

kissing in empty offices… thats it, that’s the tweet

otherwise there's a lot of other small things that you do with/for each other 

when no one's around in the break room, you love to creep up on him and give him a back hug

it scares the shit out of him but the moment that he realizes that it's you he melts right away

idk how ppl didn't notice yet

one time your washing machine malfunctioned so both you and sunghoon's white dress shirts were dyed a subtle pink color

you came into work both wearing your dyed shirts and no one stopped to think "hm why do these people both have washing machine malfunctions that malfunctioned in the exact same way?"

tbh you and sunghoon are just vibing

other than sunghoon needing to conceal his wrath every time someone flirted with you and you having to hide your increasing irritation with the amount of party invitations you got

can i just say tho

being coworkers w sunghoon is a dream

imagine what happens when yall get home tho

i know the gossip goes CRAZY… you both hate your boss so every conversation you have about him rips him a new one

now... how you guys get caught

two words: work dinners

you and sunghoon never go to them

because like... why would you want to hang out with your coworkers when you have each other?

and when you do go to them, you never really have fun

other than eating and chatting a bit you never drink or really open up…. again, because you have sunghoon... why do u need anyone else

same for sunghoon, except he literally never looks like he wants to be there so people are already reluctant to invite him

but there's this one particular work dinner that you and sunghoon are both unable to get out of

it's been a long and tiring week, both of you want to go home and take a nap together but your team had other plans

sunghoon is annoyed, yes, but hes like whatever at least there's you with him

you? youre LIVID

youre barging into that work dinner with a storm cloud around you

you have to deal with coworkers who lack boundaries every day of the week and the one time you can escape them they march back in

youre not having it 😭

you ordered like 3 beers because you were so annoyed

and also bc sunghoon was there... if anything happened you knew that he would protect you

so here you were 3 beers down…. a liiiiittle bit tipsy

okay maybe a little bit MORE than tipsy… como se dice... drunk?

when jinwoo from the sales department comes up to you

sunghoon is sitting RIGHT next to you but jinwoo ignores him

"hi [name]"

you stare at him... thousand yard stare ahhh because your drunk ass does not have it in you to endure him ☠️

"what."

jinwoo DOES NOT TAKE THE HINT

"after this, i was thinking about going for karaoke. do you want to go with me?"

normally you'd be polite and decline

even if you were a little bit tipsy you'd normally just laugh and say no

but this time

with you boyfriend right next to you, with all your tiredness, with all your anger...

"fuck no," you say plainly

the way everyone gets quiet ☠️ ppl don't hear you swear that much

but the real thing that surprises them is when you pull sunghoon towards you, hugging his head to your chest

“i have a boyfriend and you’re shamelessly flirting with me”

while sunghoon is like “!!!!!”

everyone is staring liek WHAT???????

jinwoo from sales department is GAGGED BRUH

sunghoon immediately pulls away, all red in the faced

he grabs your hand and begins dragging you out the door

"sorry everyone she's drunk right now we'll be on our way!!" and yall leave

you don't remember anything so when sunghoon explains it to you, looking like a kicked dog, youre just like "okay and? whats the problem i put jinwoo in his place" #girlboss

you're the talk of the office

this still doesn't scare off your multiple suitors

but it does allow sunghoon is be a #hater fr

he's smug

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

The Doctors and their Pokémon

Fugitive Doctor

Zorua

Stoutland

She got the Zorua first; standard issue from Division, carefully trained and maintained like the gun they also gave her, except she named it and talked to it and by the end of the first mission she refused to give it back, and it refused to leave.

Not that she remembered, of course. Not once she had to hide. Its power is partly what made that happen, what let her hide so long; a Zorua and a fobwatch, and a new mundane life of taxes and takeaways and time passing in order. It couldn't stay with her. Once she was squirrelled safely away, the Zorua changed form to an Ampharos, living alone on the coast, faithfully guarding her TARDIS.

She thinks about that sometimes, about the incredible loyalty and love that must have taken; hiding itself for her, yet staying far away, hoping and trusting it could protect and keep safe a trainer that it would never see again. She can't think about it for too long. It overwhelms her.

She loves the Stoutland, but she can't remember why.

First Doctor

Persian

Polteageist

He's trying to be all old and important, like you do when you're young, and so he's drawn to the Pokémon with gravitas; the ones that suggest wealth and sophistication. Susan wants to stay on Earth in the UK in the 60s (something about the music, apparently), and it seems as safe a place as any; and if many of the men in this period conduct themselves in an eerily similar way to the Time Lords, well. It's nothing to do with homesickness. Absolute nonsense. It'll just help him blend in, that's all.

The Persian is elegant and dignified, snooty and superior in a way he likes. It's disdainful of the roster of new companions that Susan somehow brings home, and continue to arrive even after she leaves, and he likes that too (although it does like Barbara, the three of them often sunbathing while Susan and Chesterton go off exploring on new planets, and he likes that best of all.)

The Polteageist has the aura of old and classy, and yet also has an impish, mischievous streak, sometimes trying to trick Chesterfield into drinking from it. The Doctor approves of this jape. Although he really can't be having with any of them, of course, Pokémon OR companions. Things were much simpler when it was just him and Susan.

(He secretly lets the Persian on his bed at night. Barbara pretends she doesn't know, and discreetly brushes the fur off his coat.)

Second Doctor

Chatot

Neither of them will shut the fuck up. This includes when the recorder comes out, and the Chatot tries to harmonise. Zoe finds it charming, and often talks to it, but Jamie finds it noisy and obnoxious. He swore at it in Scots once, but it repeated it to the Doctor, and so Jamie got a row.

It almost gets eaten by a Cyber-mat on Telos, though, and Jamie beats the offending Cyber-mat to death with a brick with surprising verve and venom. After that, he and the Chatot take great delight in lovingly insulting each other.

After the War Games, and the arrival of the Time Lords, the Doctor is forced to part with it. It goes with Jamie, and lives out its days screaming Scots insults at English soldiers in the Highlands, and sometimes singing strange, whistling tunes that Jamie feels he heard somewhere before.

Third Doctor

Aegislash

Porygon Z

The Doctor trained up the Aegislash with the express aim of being able to fence the Master if needed, because he thought it would be more stylish. He's right, too, but Liz swore to herself that she'd rather die than admit that out loud. Of course, the Master then did exactly the same thing, but with a shiny Aegislash. The Doctor sulked for days.

She loved creating the Porygon with him, though (a synthetic Pokémon! What an incredible scientific creation), and she was the one to train it up to a Porygon Z. When Jo comes along, she loves the Porygon Z with her whole heart and soul, but it's always skittish around her clumsy ways. Eventually, they go back to UNIT for a visit, and it leaves to be with Liz. Probably best for everyone.

It makes Jo sad, though. It feels like maybe it was her fault - if she could have befriended it properly, could have been less ditzy, less her, then maybe it would have been happy. The Doctor tells her it was simply better off with its first trainer, that she shouldn't blame herself, but she can't help it. It eats at her, until one evening she's sitting in her room moping and feels a nudge, and when she looks down the Aegislash is gazing up at her, its clumsy sword body incapable of offering proper comfort yet trying anyway. It makes her laugh, touched beyond measure, and it locks eyes with her, spins its back to her, and morphs into defence form, a shield against the world all for her.

After that, she is best friends with it. It spends most of its time on their adventures leaping defensively between Jo and certain doom; the Doctor is only half joking when he tells her it's probably why she survives.

When she meets Cliff and falls in love, leaving the perils of space for the perils of social justice, it goes with her.

The next time the Doctor meets the Master, he uses Venusian aikido. It's more stylish than sword fighting, anyway.

Fourth Doctor

Psyduck

Beeheeyem

Alcremie

It's actually Sarah Jane who brings the Beeheeyem aboard, and Harry who brings the Psyduck; both are accidental acquisitions, with the former being responsible for a mystery that Sarah Jane was investigating and the latter being treated by Harry for a headache, and both just... follow these humans when they try to leave, and refuse to stop doing so even when they enter the TARDIS.

But you wouldn't know it. Beeheeyem and Psyduck both prove to be off-putting weirdos, and keep staring at people unsettlingly; Sarah has to keep her bedroom door locked shut to stop either from getting in after she woke up one morning to find both next to her bed, staring at her while she slept. She'd screamed so loud that Harry had come stumbling in still in his night shirt, blearily looking for an invading alien or something. He'd laughed when he realised, and shooed them out, and helped her install a lock.

And yet... the Doctor apparently enjoys staring unsettlingly back.

Sarah and Harry start keeping a secret spreadsheet; which Pokémon, for how long, who seems to win the staring contest. Sometimes they last for hours. It seems almost meditative. It causes deep bonds to form; fascinatingly, he even seems to understand Beeheeyem's weird finger flashing, which Sarah is fairly certain is unheard of.

The Alcremie was a deliberate acquisition, though. He does have a sweet tooth.

Fifth Doctor

Farfetchd

Hirsuian Voltorb

Tegan mocks him viciously for it, but he's a vain creature with eccentric and rigid aesthetic choices, and the Pokémon help with it. Farfetch'd is very good at accessorising with his celery. And Voltorb is the only thing that ever lets him relax - it is so much easier to play cricket with a ball that bowls itself at you! Nyssa and Tegan approve at first; the Doctor can be abrasive, and neither of them has any interest in cricket.

It also lets him play alone. After Adric, he locks himself into the TARDIS sports hall, and plays and plays and plays.

Sixth Doctor

Bruxish

Galarian Linoone

Eiscue

He bonds with the Bruxish instantly, love at first sight; they share the flashy coat, warning stripes to the world, and the smirking, vicious temperament. It takes Peri weeks to warm to it, and it snaps and strikes every time she gets near; until one day she doesn't move fast enough, and she discovers that the teeth that fully closed about the meat of her upper arm barely grazed across her skin, leaving no mark. It acts positively affronted when she announces it's not so bad after all; but she's no longer fooled.

The Linoone is, not to put too fine a point on it, a little shit. The Doctor spends half his time loudly decrying it as conniving and ungrateful; it waggles its tongue back, making an odd sniggering sound before stealing his socks and other items. But Peri sees him slipping it treats sometimes, sees the little ear scratches, sees the answering hand licks. Like Barbara before her, she pretends not to see.

The Eiscue is called Frobisher. The Doctor names it a companion.

Seventh Doctor

Mimikyu

Mr Rime

Liepard

Ace wonders afterwards, in the years to come, how she didn't see the lies, the manipulation, the depths of his scheming sooner; it was right there in the Doctor's Pokémon, if she'd cared to look. Except she did, actually - that's the worst part, in a way. She did know.

But she never thought it would apply to her. Not... like that. Not that personally.

And that's also down to the Pokémon, probably. The Mr Rime is too knowing in its gaze, a Psychic type that sees right through her; but whenever it sees her unhappy it twirls its cane and hat in an impression of the Doctor to make her laugh. The Liepard is vicious and deceptive, sneaky and shrewd, and yet it curls around her whenever she sits in the chair in her room, purring and rubbing against her. The Mimikyu is more obvious, admittedly - a little nightmare beast in a Pikachu costume, hiding its true nature under an unassuming mask - but, is that more the Doctor, or her?

Perhaps it's both.

Perhaps it's all true. He went too far, with Fenric. Even he knows he did. But like the Pokémon, he still loves her. She's both pawn and daughter to him; a playing piece to use, but also a companion to love. And he does use her, yes.

But he does love her, too.

(It takes too long to realise it. When she leaves, the Mimikyu and the Liepard come with her. The Mr Rime does not, the resemblance too much; and the Doctor understands.)

Eighth Doctor

Slowpoke

Cherrim

It's probably the difficult regeneration; he gets amnesia like humans get colds, the memories slipping away like sand through a fist and leaving him hollow, without an identity to fill the void. It's a lonely thing, amnesia. Oddly, though, it's the times that he does remember that feel the loneliest.

Odder still, it always feels so familiar.

But the Pokémon keep him sane. The Slowpoke is his constant friend, as forgetful as him, its vacant, constant state of mild confusion nonetheless living proof that even without the memories, he can still be him, whoever that may be. Amnesia is lonely, yes; but here is a creature going through the same thing, and ultimately, they are in it together at least.

The Cherrim is different. It cloaks itself often, hunkering down against the darkness of a non-existent storm, and he knows that sensation. But then the sun shines, and the Cherrim opens up into its delighted cheerful dance, and the Doctor thinks, yes. This too shall pass. And there is joy when it does.

War Doctor

Yveltal

It's wrong. He knows it's wrong.

He doesn't have any others. No family, no companions, no Pokémon. None left now; and if there were, he's about to sacrifice them anyway. Best to keep it simple.

He thinks of Ace. He thinks of Susan. He thinks of keeping it simple and of I went too far and of a thousand other things; Sarah Jane, and Barbara brushing his coat, and playing cricket endlessly with a Voltorb in lieu of thinking of anything at all, and if he doesn't do this wrong thing, this awful thing now, none of them will have ever lived.

On a broken planet at the end of existence, there are Dalek ships in the sky.

They are hidden by the unfurling wings of Yveltal.

Ninth Doctor

Trubbish

Cubone

He's a nine hundred year old alien and Rose is aware that she herself is a teenager who still can't quite get her brain to accept 'woman' instead of 'girl'; and yet, within minutes of meeting the Doctor, all she can see is a broken child.

He hides it, almost. The face he shows the world is definitely stern and moral and hardened. He's sharp tongued even while actually sympathising with abused and downtrodden aliens and young Welsh psychics. But his trauma responses are totally off, he's far too quick to risk his life, and the day he has her at gun point, telling her to move so he can murder a Dalek and she says no, he shatters at her feet like glass.

But it's in his Pokémon too. The Trubbish is a surprise, until she thinks about it - you don't need to know him for more than... oh, five minutes tops before you realise that he will see the value and worth of every lifeform to exist, even - especially - ones that others don't. It's the Trubbish, it's the Gelth, it's a lonely Slitheen fugitive, a bio-engineered woman in a machine; for lack of a better word, the Doctor sees humanity even where you couldn't imagine it.

The Cubone weeps, mourning a loss it simply cannot heal alone. Rose catches them sometimes, sitting in the console room at 'night', the Cubone on the Doctor's lap and both crying silently as they stare at things she cannot see.

The day it evolves is a turning point. She sees the cracks begin to seal.

Tenth Doctor

Luvdisc

Goodra

Wobbuffet

Oricorio (pom pom)

He gets the Luvdisc for Rose, of course.

It's a silly thing, caught from the beach on Woman Wept; it was there, and the locals told them it was good luck, and it had made her eyes light up and he'd thought in that moment that he'd do anything to see that look in her eyes.

And then he loses Rose, and the grief leaves him breathless. There are days he cannot get his lungs to move quite right, and he lies in bed with his hands on his hearts, trying to find a stable pace to breathe. He knows he has to move on. Rose showed him that.

(He cannot even look at the Luvdisc now.)

So he's back to work, and then there's Martha; clever, wonderful Martha, quick witted and whip-smart and resourceful. She's the one who brings the Goodra aboard, actually. It was being neglected by its trainer, fed and trained and put to battle but never given the affection the species needs, and he'd beamed and said it was a good job it had her, then.

Fuck, he was so stupid with Martha. So blinded by his own grief, so trapped in his own head, so stupid. It was all right in front of him. But he'd been so alone for so long, had believed himself so unworthy, and then Rose came along and he'd dared to believe he could be loved, could be happy, could be so unfathomably lucky, and then suddenly it was gone, and he simply couldn't conceive of anyone else seeing what Rose saw.

The guilt had struck right in the solar plexus as Martha spelled out her departure. But his admiration for her, for her strength of character, could not possibly have been higher. She took the Goodra; he expected that.

But she also took the Luvdisc. "It deserves better, too," she told him, with a gentleness he didn't deserve.

The Wobbuffet came the day he re-met Donna. It was unclear why Kovarian had it, but as soon as they reunited, miming a conversation through two windows on opposite sides of a room, the Wobbuffet had slowly rotated to stare at each of them, transfixed. By the time the Doctor and Donna had made it into the same window basket, the Wobbuffet was somehow also there. After that, it came with them.

Between the three of them, they have a single braincell. On some days, it appears none of them are using it. But the Wobbuffet proves extremely useful, especially when protecting Donna from giant Beedrills.

They get the Oricorio as a giveaway from Ood Operations at the corporate open day; it keeps dancing to the Ood Song. It also hype dances every time Donna goes shopping, so she falls in love.

He leaves her with both in the end. If he can't be with her, at least they can.

Eleventh Doctor

Rowlet

Smoochum

Drifloon

Amy gets him the Rowlet. She says they have the same stupid dress sense, so maybe they can cry for help together. The Doctor is delighted, and takes great care of Rowlet's little bow tie.

The Drifloon, though, he tries not to think about. He's aware that he's seeing a lot of his companions and his wife as children. He's aware that it's weird, okay? He knows. He's also heard the old wives tale of Drifloons wanting to steal children, and how they Just Know who to follow sometimes to make that happen. But that way madness lies, so... don't think about it? Don't even think about it. Old wives tale. Anyway, it's too light to actually carry off a child, it's fine.

The Smoochum is on the nose, though. Of course it's River who gets it for him. "I thought a baby Pokémon would suit you," she coos. "See you next time, sweetie! Smooches!"

He wants to kill her.

Twelfth Doctor

Noctowl

Metagross

As ever, the Noctowl is Clara's idea. She tells him it looks like him. He hisses back that she's trying to look like a Gardevoir, but it's ineffective and stupidly mean and then the Noctowl follows him anyway. He catches sight of them in a mirror, and is even more annoyed when he realises she's right - the damn thing is even mirroring his expressions.

But the Metagross is his. It's clever, is the thing - four brains mean it's practically a super computer, and it's vicious in a way he relates to, and also, it has a St Andrews Cross over its face that makes him think of the accent that came with this face.

Bill asks him about that once.

"Lots of planets have a Scotland," he says.

Thirteenth Doctor

Stufful

Altaria

Maushold

She was too closed off last time, she thinks. She can tell; she hasn't been this clingy, this desperate for companionship, in a long time. And it's not a conscious choice, of course, that was more Romana's thing, but... Sometimes, the regenerations give you what you need.

That's how she gets the Stufful, a cuddly creature that just wants love. It's also how the Maushold evolves, she's pretty sure - it happens not long after Ryan calls Graham his Granddad, and the Doctor feels like her hearts could burst, she's so happy for them, and then when she goes to feed the Pokémon there are too many mice gazing up at her.

But the Altaria evolves not long after she and Yaz... realise.

She's not surprised. Attachment terrifies her now. She can't even think about Rose, about the Luvdisc, about Donna, about River. She's terrified of losing Yaz like that.

The Altaria sails serenely up in the sky, high and carefree, and the Doctor dreams of flying.

Fourteenth Doctor

Wishiwashi

Oricorio (sensu)

Klefi

The Wishiwashi happens immediately. He has rarely identified with something more; it battles with its armour, all the bodies and souls of its companions, and it uses them up until they're all gone and what's left is weak and useless and weeping at the horror of the world -

And then Donna's back, and she remembers. Fuck, she remembers. He's dreamed and dreamed and here it is.

The Oricorio is different now. It once flapped yellow wings like pom poms, joy and delight. Now lilac feathers like fans dance a mournful dance, a reminder of all that's lost. And yet...

Donna remembers.

"You're staggering, Doctor," she whispers. "Come home."

And finally... he does.

It can't be forever. He'll outlive them all, eventually. He knows this. But for now, this is what he needs.

A home with a family. His best friend, platonic soulmate, safe and sound; Wilf and the moles out the back; Mel at his side, finding their feet together; his vibrant and beautiful niece, the new and perfect owner of the old Wobbuffet.

The night he moves into the house that is now his, he takes out the keys to his new home, and discovers they are harbouring a tiny Klefki.

Fifteenth Doctor

Gardevoir (male)

Oricorio (baile)

It's a brand new life, a brand new universe, full of possibilities and wonder and so much to explore, and the Doctor does not know where to begin.

He brought one thing from his bi-generated self. The Oricorio is much happier now, its feathers a fabulous red and ready to party. The night he meets Ruby in the club it's him and the Oricorio in the press of bodies, somehow making space as they twirl round and round on the dark dancefloor, feathers and kilt flaring around them both in the heat and euphoria of the moment.

The Gardevoir was Rogue's. He'd been on Rogue's spaceship, and had immediately started dancing to Kylie, much to the Doctor's amusement and Rogue's irritation. Afterwards, the Doctor hadn't been able to leave him. Hadn't wanted to - the Gardevoir is gloriously stylish, with a sort of gender-bending aesthetic that the Doctor adores these days.

And he remembers. "It deserves better too," Martha had told him once, several lifetimes ago. He does not want to repeat those mistakes.

He keeps the Gardevoir, and the Oricorio too; and he chooses to remember what he once tried to forget.

[thebluester2020]

Based on this artwork

Hear me out— Spirit Hunter! Reader x Fox Yokai! Elliot

Check this out, imagine if Pelican Town was well known as a place that houses spirits and yokai. Sure the human residents of the town are friendly but interacting with spirits as if they are something to befriend? It’s completely against the laws of the Ferngill Republic!

So, on behalf of your late grandfather who left you a little farm as well as told you that Pelican Town is a great way to improve the way people see spirits, you eventually wind up in Pelican Town!

And it’s infested with the Yokai-kind. And when you find out that there’s a Fox spirit that lives near the coastline of the town, you quickly target him as the most dangerous. The residents called him “Elliot” but you’ve seen glimpses of him! Little green fox fires float by his sides like king’s attendants and his eyes are sharp! You could never sneak up on him for the kill, he’s either dodge your attacks or disappear and reappear somewhere else before you could even blink.

Yet…he was friendly all the same, unusual for Fox spirits. They were sly and cunning, seeking only to trick people.

But not him, it seemed.

And when you entertained the idea of visiting his cabin on the beach. You were shocked that he was...far more humble and hospitable than you originally thought. "Tea?" The spirit spoke after closing the door behind him, walking off to his kitchen area. And the cabin was...small, and not very well decorated, in your career as a hunter, you've seen plenty of instances where fox spirits have had lavish mansions with servants attending them at every turn! And they had the attitude to reflect their living style as well, snooty with their nose high up in the air and eager to kill a spirit hunter that was intent on ending their fun early.

But as you sat down on a chair next to a small table, the surface covered with crumpled-up papers, books, and written-on notes. The spirit you were talking to...he was...nice.

"What do you want fox? It's not smart to invite your hunter into your home y'know."

Elliot chuckled as he set down a small tea cup in front of you before he took a seat with a sigh. "Perhaps not, but I simply wish to get to know you. To squash any animosities between us."

You scoffed, you already saw through the mask he was attempting to put on in front of you! "You're a fox spirit, I'm a spirit hunter. I kill spirits like you, if you want to squash anything between us, let me kill you, and then tell me who else is a spirit in this valley." The ears on Elliot's head twitched at your determination, when he had first encountered you, he felt as if he were the one that was bewitched. Your fearsomeness in combination with your beauty and determination was a sight to behold, even if it was directed towards him and the other spirits that resided in this valley! Perhaps he was the fool for trying to befriend you rather than kill you as you were trying to do to him but...it was the reason he left his family to begin with.

He was different compared to other fox yokai.

Instead of lording over large grandiose estates, he preferred a simple life of writing with only the occasional crab that managed to wander into his cabin to keep him company, rather than being a wild fox on the hunt, slaughtering villages and towns en masse. He wished to be a part of the humble populace and remain a homebody with the occasional walks along the beachfront!

And instead of taking multiple women and men for concubines...he preferred his attention to remain on a single person.

Namely, you.

Even though you, not so subtly, carried a dagger on your person with the intent to harm him, trying to adorably cover it with your shirt as if his ears couldn't pick up the squeak of a mouse within' a crowd of people. Elliot found you to be the most interesting person in this entire valley, and he would gladly play the game of you trying to hunt him if it meant he'd get to spend more time with you.

"If you really wish to kill me, you'll have to try harder hunter." Elliot finally responded with a playful sigh as he sipped his tea. "Though I encourage you to try your absolute hardest. I like spending time with you, it'd be boring if the game ended so quickly, hm?" Your eyes narrowed at the wicked look he gave you as if he had already declared himself the winner despite this "game" not even starting yet! You refused yourself to be some poor rabbit for a fox to play with, this game would be finished before long.

You gritted your teeth together as you stood from your seat. "You're not getting a game from me fox." Elliot raised his brow at your confidence before he smirked.

"I suppose we'll both see if your words will be true, hm?"

. . .

Since your visit to Elliot's cabin and the beginning of the little "game" he declared, in the process of trying to clean up your grandfather's farm as well as getting more information from the villagers here and there about the local fox spirit. You grew more and more frustrated as the townspeople could only say good things about Elliot! "Polite", "Kind", all of it made you nearly cringe into yourself as you made a mental note to report the townspeople to the Ferngill Republic for breaking the laws of being so friendly with yokai spirits.

But no matter, today? After learning Elliot's schedule and following him for weeks, you've finally been afforded the break you needed to catch the fox off-guard. You had learned that Elliot wasn't a complete homebody and liked to venture off to the lake near Marnie's ranch occasionally and stare out into the lake. Today, he had brought a chair with him along with a notepad for his writing, and when he had set things up and sat down.

A part of you almost felt bad.

No fancy clothes nor lavish mansion, or servants or a multitude of concubines. And yet he was still as regal as any fox spirit could be.

"Focus," You whispered scoldingly to yourself before you propped an arrow onto your bow. You steadied your breathing and aimed for the spirit's head, waiting for any slight indication that he was onto you but...as his head lowered to begin writing into his notepad, his ears neither twitching nor moving to the sounds around him.

You were confident that your arrow would pierce his skull! Thus, you released your arrow from the string, and like a hawk diving for its unsuspecting prey, it quickly seemed like your arrow was going to hit its mark! Until— "The hell?!" You shouted as you quickly rose from your crouching position when the arrow suddenly burst into flames the second it was but a hair's length from the fox's head. And Elliot...he laughed. An arrogant and mocking sound that matched the reflection of confidence in his green orbs as he stood to look at you. "I thought I requested you to try harder?" He pouted teasingly.

"I-I did!" You shouted. "And that arrow cost me a lot damn it! That was an arrow tipped with magic!"

His head tilted. "I'll give you coin to cover it if that's what you want?" Then a smirk followed suit. "Not that I'm suggesting you try the same method again, that arrow wouldn't have pierced me even if it made it to me." You crossed your arms over your chest, your eyes narrowing as you looked up at the yokai whose tail wagged excitedly behind him as if he were having the time of his life. Unconsciously though, your hand flew to your dagger when the yokai made a single step toward you before he quickly stopped once he saw where your hand was going.

Then he cleared his throat. "You've been at this game of killing me for weeks, how about a different game?"

"This isn't a game." You reminded him with a groan. "I'm actually trying to kill you!"

He smirked. "Well then, what about a different method of killing me? It'll be far easier than attempting to stab me or shooting me with an arrow." This was a trick, you just knew it but...seeing as you were turning up empty-handed in other areas. You'd indulge the fox, all you had to do was remain on your toes.

'Don't allow him to trick you,' You thought to yourself over and over and over again as Elliot searched for his next words.

"Allow me to court you."

What?

"I like you," He smiled all too easily. "Allow me to court you and if you don't fall for me by the beginning of fall...then you may kill me. I won't put up a single fight." You scoffed, on one hand, you'd be breaking the laws that you were supposed to abide by if you were to allow yourself to be courted by a fox yokai! A spirit infamous for their trickery but on the other hand? It would be a cold day in Hell before you fell for such a spirit to begin with. And this town...they had already proven to be under the influence of not just Elliot but multiple other Yokai spirits as well. Farm aside, you believed that your grandfather had sent you here for a more important reason rather than simply wanting to give you his farm. And you thought that reason started with, firstly, eradicating all the yokai from this valley.

It's what he would've wanted.

And...his wants, in order to appease his spirit, were more important to you than the laws of the Ferngill Republic for the moment.

"...Fine," You finally nodded your head. "It's spring, you have two months." You hated how you could feel your cheeks begin to warm up when Elliot's smirk grew even more prominent, all before he conjured a rose out of thin air and offered it to you. You then turned your head to the side. "I don't like flowers."

He chuckled. "Noted," He said before he gently took your hand into his own and placed the rose into your open palm. "It's simply a symbol of our agreement. I'm glad you've allowed me the chance to court you, it'll be quite an enjoyable experience for us both."

"I doubt that."

"Hm, then I look forward to how your answer will shift toward the end of our game~"

[just-aake]

Boundless Devotion - Part XIV

Pairing: princess!Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: MedievalAU. Natasha is the eldest princess of the Romanov Kingdom. As the time of her coronation approaches, she is suddenly forced to make a decision – either find herself a partner or her parents will choose one for her.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

Warnings: angst, violence, blood, hurt/comfort, major injury

Words: 6283

In the courtyard of the Bishop manor, an arrow flies through the damp air, its trajectory slightly skewed as it lands off-center from the desired bullseye. 

“You’re not accounting for the rain, Kate Bishop,” a voice remarks from nearby, the tone carrying a hint of amusement.

Drenched and disheartened, Kate hangs her head with a groan of frustration before trudging back towards the shelter of the small pavilion at the edge of the courtyard.

“I’m trying,” she mutters with a small pout. “It’s so much simpler without the weather working against me.”

Yelena, who was observing from under the shelter, pushes the plate of assorted pastries towards Kate.

“It takes practice. Now sit. Have a snack. It will make you feel better,” she suggests in her usual matter-of-fact tone.

Setting down her equipment nearby, Kate dries her hair with a previously prepared towel before joining Yelena at the table. She bites her lips lightly in contemplation, and then, leaning in with a conspiratorial tone, she begins to speak.

“You know, it’s been a while already. Maybe we should go over there and check on them.”

Yelena waves her hand in disagreement.

“I’m sure they’re fine,” she comments while reaching for a pastry. “If anything, they’re probably together right now, being all affectionate and in love with each other.”

She takes a bite and gestures pointedly, continuing.

“I mean, all that pent up tension between them has to spill over eventually.”

As she finishes off the treat, an upset expression crosses her face when she recalls the earlier encounter at Y/n's manor, and she slumps her cheek on her hand with a sigh.

"Plus, I don't think that snooty lord would let us in anyway,” she mutters dejectedly.

Hearing this, Kate frowns, crossing her arms and leaning back in her seat in thought.

“It’s so strange that you were turned away. I didn’t think he was so strict with Y/n,” she remarks before shrugging. “Then again, maybe that's why she always cancels our plans whenever he's around.”

"It’s weird, right?” Yelena exclaims in question at the situation.

She waves another pastry towards Kate pointedly, continuing.

“I say the sooner Natasha marries Y/n and gets her away from that man, the better. He gives me a bad feeling," she finishes, shuddering.

Kate nods in agreement before plucking the pastry from the younger princess’ outstretched hand, a playful glint in her eye as she enjoys her stolen treat.

Meanwhile, Yelena gasps dramatically, placing a hand on her chest and feigning shock at her action. 

Rolling her eyes, Kate tosses another pastry at Yelena, who catches it easily, before moving her attention to the courtyard. 

Her canine runs excitedly through the rain, but just as he starts to jump in the muddy puddles, Kate decides to call out to him, trying to limit the mess he’ll eventually bring into the manor.

“Lucky, come here!”

Responding to his name, Lucky bounds towards her, his tail wagging eagerly, but at the last second, he veers toward Yelena who waves a treat in his direction.

Giving him the treat, Yelena affectionately pets him and playfully squishes his face, while speaking to him with mock seriousness.

"Isn’t that right, Lucky? Lord Dreykov is a big jerk, isn't he?"

Lucky barks happily, as if agreeing, but then, with a sudden shift of focus, his head turns away from her, and he dashes off towards Kate's manor.

Yelena’s eyes follow him in confusion before noticing Natasha striding purposefully in their direction, her expression a blend of determination and barely concealed frustration.

“Oh, she does not look happy,” Kate observes.

“Nope, definitely not,” Yelena agrees, adding. “Looks more murderous than in love.”

As she draws near, undeterred by Lucky's playful antics of circling her, Kate greets her cautiously.

“Hey, Natasha, how did it go?” 

“We have a problem,” Natasha answers urgently, her hand pulling Yelena up from her seat as she speaks.

“Wha—hey!” Yelena protests in surprise, taken aback by the sudden movement.

Sensing the seriousness of the situation, Kate quickly rises to her feet, concern etched on her face as she reaches for her bow.

“Did something happen with Y/n?” she asks.

Before Natasha can respond, one of the Bishop’s house guards approaches the pavilion, interrupting their conversation.

“Shall I arrange for more pastries for the princesses?” the guard asks, prompting a confused look from Kate.

“What? No,” she replies. “We’re actually about to leave soon. Have someone prepare our horses for us at the front gates.”

Beside Natasha, Lucky's playful demeanor disappears, replaced by a low growl as he fixes an intense gaze and threatening stance at the guard.

Suspicion creeps into Natasha's expression as she eyes the guard warily before moving towards the pavilion's exit with Yelena in tow.

The guard matches her step, blocking their path with a slight bow of his head, though his expression remains emotionless. 

“I'm afraid the weather is still unfavorable for any travels, Your Highnesses.”

At his declaration, Yelena lets out an amused chuckle, pulling herself from Natasha’s grip and crossing her arms.

“It’s just rain. We’ll be fine—!”

Her reassurance is cut short in surprise as Natasha swiftly knocks out the guard.

“What was that for?” Yelena asks in astonishment, bending down curiously to inspect the unconscious guard.

“I’ll explain on the way,” Natasha says, pulling her sister back to her feet. “Right now, we need to move before they find us.”

“Um…did you mean them?” Kate asks, pointing in the distance.

Across the courtyard, Lord Rumlow leads a band of armed men towards them, a self-assured smirk on his face.

Among the group are mercenaries bearing the symbol of the Hydra Den, along with the escaped prisoners and several prison guards who wear the same emotionless expression as the unconscious one on the ground.

Yelena hums in realization, studying the scene with narrowed eyes before leaning in closer to her sister to ask with a sigh, “I’m guessing this is part of the problem?”

“Yep,” Natasha replies bluntly, her jaws tightening as she assesses the situation. 

Rumlow and his men swiftly surround them, effectively blocking any potential escape routes.

Even with the three of them, a full-on assault would be a challenging battle, not to mention it would consume a lot of time. Time that would be better spent on going to help you than dealing with this traitorous lord.

As if sensing their predicament, Rumlow raises his head arrogantly, and his smirk widens.

“You’re outnumbered, Romanov,” he taunts. “Surrender to me now, and I’ll consider killing you all swiftly.”

Kate scoffs in disbelief at his audacity and steps forward, hands on her hips.

“You’re the one who’s trespassing, Rumlow. If anything, you and your little friends here will be apprehended by my guards soon enough.”

“That won’t be happening,” a voice cuts in from the manor’s door.

Lady Eleanor Bishop, accompanied by more guards from her household also wearing emotionless expressions, carefully observes the scene before walking to Rumlow's side with a grave look.

Kate's eyes flit confusedly between her mother and Rumlow, a nervous chuckle escaping her lips.

“Mom, what...what are you doing?” she questions, her voice tinged with apprehension. 

Above them, thunder rumbles ominously, echoing the emotional turmoil forming in the tense atmosphere.

Stepping cautiously, Yelena joins Kate’s side, her hand hesitantly landing on her shoulder in comfort.

“I don’t think she’s here to help, Kate.”

Kate shrugs off Yelena's touch, her gaze fixed on her mom in disbelief. 

"No, that’s ridiculous. You’re not…we’re not traitors," she insists, her eyes pleading. "Right, mom?"

“Kate,” her mother begins with a heavy sigh, “You need to come with me. It’s too dangerous to be involved with those two anymore.”

Unable to believe what she’s hearing, Kate furrows her brows in anger and confusion. 

“How can you say that?” she exclaims in outrage. “Our family has been loyal to the Romanovs for generations, and now you want to betray them…for this guy.” 

Her voice lowers into a small whisper as she looks at her mom with a betrayed expression. 

“How could you?”

Rather than shame, a look of anger and anguish forms on her mother’s face.

“Because Kate…despite all we’ve done, in the end, we are the ones who lose more. Your father died protecting the royal family,” she reminds her, her voice laced with pain. “And now you want to become a knight too.”

Her gaze then hardens with a glare as she turns to look at Yelena and Natasha.

“I had hoped you would’ve given up by now, but the princesses keep encouraging you,” she accuses, resentment flashing in her eyes.

“They didn’t force me to become a knight,” Kate defends, clenching a hand to her chest. “That was my choice!”

With a firm shake of her head, her mother’s expression becomes serious and resolute as she makes her decision clear.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” she states firmly, leaving no room for argument in her tone. “You'll realize eventually that this is for your own good. I won't allow my family to risk their lives any longer. Especially not for those two.”

Kate recoils at her mother’s words, her eyes widening in disbelief and hurt. 

Unsure of what to do next, she instinctively turns to the other person in her life whom she trusts. 

Yelena meets her gaze with a small, pained smile, then rubs her neck nervously — a familiar gesture that Kate recognizes as a sign of her discomfort.

“I told you she never liked me,” Yelena says lightly in a half-joking manner before adopting a more serious tone and giving her a reassuring nod, “It's alright, Kate. Whatever decision you make, I'll support you. This doesn’t have to be your fight.”

Kate’s frown deepens at Yelena’s last words, and her hand instinctively reaches out towards the younger princess.

“Enough!” Eleanor declares, commanding, “Come here, Kate.”

Ignoring her mother's demand, Kate fixes her gaze on Yelena for a moment longer before turning back to look at her mother. 

With a deep breath, she takes a defiant step closer to Yelena, shaking her head.

“No,” Kate asserts firmly. “These are my friends.”

Determined and resolute in her decision, she tightens her grip on her bow, staring unwaveringly at her mother.

“I chose to become a knight to protect them. And that's what I’m going to do.”

Her mother stands frozen, stunned at her declaration, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly in a mixture of anger and concern.

The tense silence is suddenly broken by a slow mocking clap as Rumlow steps forward.

“Well, it sounds like she’s made her choice,” he declares, pushing Lady Eleanor back and gesturing to the Bishop guards to restrain her. They follow his silent command mindlessly, taking her arms.

“What are you doing? This is not part of our deal!” Eleanor exclaims in alarm as she struggles in the grips of her own guards.

Rumlow raises a brow at her before declaring, “You gave me your guards to be tested and controlled for my bidding, and I agreed that I would spare you and your daughter.”

Gesturing back to the three of them, he continues, “Now, if she wants to die with them, then let her. It’s not like anyone ever expected her to amount to anyth—!” 

Rumlow abruptly stops and ducks, dodging an incoming plate thrown at him.

It shatters on the ground behind him, and he quickly straightens from his cowering position, pointing in outrage at the culprit. 

“You insolent little…!”

Yelena steps forward with another plate in her hand, a subtle calm anger in her expression as she confronts him. 

“What? You didn’t learn your lesson when I beat you during the tournament,” she taunts. “Finish that sentence, and I’ll remind you how hard I can hit,” she threatens, her hand preparing to throw the other plate.

Rumlow reacts swiftly, pulling one of his men in front of him, using their body like a shield.

Before Yelena can throw the plate, Natasha’s arm appears in front of her in a stopping gesture. 

With a determined step forward, Natasha addresses him, intending to finish this as quickly as possible. 

“You want the throne, Rumlow?” she challenges, her voice steady and commanding. “Then let’s settle this once and for all, just you and me.”

As expected, at her direct challenge to him, Rumlow’s eyes subtly dart around to look at his men, sensing the pressure of their expectant expressions. 

With a forced clearing of his throat and an arrogant smirk, he pushes aside his human shield, standing tall before drawing his sword with an exaggerated flourish.

“Very well, Your Highness,” he answers, punctuating his words with a mocking bow before pointing his sword at her. 

The steady patter of the rain on the ground echoes in the silence of the tense atmosphere filled with anticipation as an open space is created for the duel, and everyone around the two waits with bated breath for the fight to begin.

With a loud growl, Rumlow charges first, lunging with an onslaught of violent swings at Natasha.

The clash of steel fills the air as Natasha gracefully blocks and dodges every one of his attacks while studying his movements for weaknesses.

Soon, frustration and anger begin to appear on Rumlow’s face when none of his strikes land as intended. 

On one particularly powerful swing, Natasha blocks it, but instead of recoiling, Rumlow keeps the pressure, pushing forward against her blade. 

“You’re so weak!” he spits out with contempt. “What does Y/n even see in you?!”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed at his words, already knowing that he was just trying to provoke her, but still, her teeth clenched with silent fury at the audacity of him to even speak your name. 

He intensifies the pressure, pushing her sword closer to her chest with each angry word. 

“It’s all your fault! Always in the way, keeping her from me!” he sneers. “If it weren’t for you, she would’ve already belonged to me!”

Suddenly withdrawing his pressure, Rumlow pulls out a hidden dagger and swipes at Natasha from close range. Reacting swiftly, she twists out of the way to a safer distance, regaining her balance.

Despite her quick reaction, Natasha still feels a slight sting on her arm, and glancing down, she sees the small cut where his blade grazed her.

“You never were an honorable fighter, Rumlow,” she remarks pointedly before giving him a determined glare. “And you’re definitely no leader.” 

Taking the initiative, Natasha lunges forward with calculated and precise attacks, forcing Rumlow to take a defensive position.

Frustration grows in his expression as he struggles to fend off her advance.

Seeing his wavering confidence and panic, Natasha continues her relentless attacks and raises her voice louder for the others to hear, intending to put some doubts in their minds about following someone like him.

“You never care about anyone but yourself. Do they know that you’ll just dispose of them once you’re finished using them, just like how you did with Lady Eleanor?”

“Shut up!” Rumlow grits out angrily, countering with a wide arching swing that Natasha easily ducks under, side-stepping behind him to deliver a hard kick to his side.

He stumbles a couple of steps from the impact but quickly recovers, regaining his balance.

In the corner of her eyes, Natasha can see the hesitation in some of his men’s expressions as they begin to whisper among themselves.

She returns her focus to the fight, determined to finish this quickly so that she can get to you. 

Natasha smoothly parries the next strike that Rumlow swings her way, her grip tightening as she remembers what he said earlier about you.

“And Y/n,” her voice softens at your name, before giving him a harsh glare and punctuating each of her next words with increasingly powerful swings.

“She’s many things—amazing, wonderful things—but she does not belong to you!

With a final, thunderous blow, Natasha sends Rumlow crashing to the ground, his sword clattering from his grasp as he falls to his knees before her. 

“And she is worth more than anything you ever deserve,” she declares, her voice ringing out with unwavering conviction as she stands over him. 

With a burning glare, Rumlow sneers at her angrily, his hands clenching the wet ground at his clear loss.

“Give up and yield, Rumlow. You’re not going to win this,” Natasha says, offering him one last chance to surrender.

“Go to hell, Romanov,” he spits venomously at her in refusal.

Recognizing that he won’t accept her offer, Natasha prepares to deliver the finishing blow when a sudden movement catches her attention, prompting her to pivot and block the incoming attack from one of the controlled prison guards who had come to Rumlow's aid.

She deflects their swing and pushes them away before backing to a safe distance.

An arrow streaks past her, piercing another guard who attempts to pursue her, knocking them to the ground. 

“Of course, he would cheat,” Yelena remarks as she and Kate join Natasha’s side, weapons drawn and ready to keep the others at bay.

Some of Rumlow’s men move to help him up from the ground, but he angrily shakes them off, waving his hands wildly in frustration.

“Get off of me!” he barks, his face flushed with rage as he grabs someone nearby by their collar, shaking them violently. “Well?! What are you all staring at?”

He shoves them forward, shouting, “Kill them!”

Several of the men exchange hesitant glances before slowly advancing toward the three of them, weapons raised for battle.

“So, what’s the plan now?” Kate asks, moving closer to stand back to back with the two princesses.

“We fight,” Natasha responds, tightening her grip on her sword.

“That’s a terrible plan,” Yelena says with a sigh.

“Do you have a better one?” Natasha counters.

Before Yelena can respond with a sarcastic comment, a strong wave of energy, tinged with red, pushes the incoming assailants back, knocking most of them off balance and causing them to topple against each other. 

Though the unknown force wasn’t directed at them, its widespread effect was still powerful enough to make Natasha’s feet slide against the ground, pushing them all back slightly.

Regaining her footing, Natasha looks towards the source, and to her surprise, she sees Wanda standing at the manor’s door, breathing heavily as she leans against the frame for support. 

Her hand is still outstretched towards Rumlow’s men, the tips of her fingers swirling with remnants of the red energy, matching the glow in her eyes.

“You!” Rumlow exclaims, stumbling upright, his eyes crazed with vengeance as he points in realization at Wanda. “You’re that disrespectful little servant!”

A sinister grin forms on his face as he points his sword at her. 

“You’re going to pay for how you treated me, and this time, Y/n is not here to protect you now.”

At his words, Wanda rolls her eyes and scoffs in disbelief, her expression shifting into concentrated fury and annoyance as she straightens.

She directs her hands at him, and Rumlow’s advance towards her freezes in place as red energy surrounds him. 

“You insufferable idiot,” Wanda says with an angry glare before raising her hands. Rumlow’s body follows her movement, rising from the ground.

A panicked and struggling expression appears on his face as he stares at her in shock.  

Wanda gives him a pointed look, ensuring that he understands her next words, “She’s the only reason why I didn’t do this to you before.” 

With a flick of her wrist, she sends him flying across the courtyard, smashing into the wooden targets. The frames collapse around him as he remains unconscious and unmoving under the pile of debris. 

A tense silence envelops the courtyard before slowly, fearful murmurs begin to rise from some of the recovering men at what they had just witnessed.

“W-witch! She’s a witch!” one of them cries out, his voice trembling with fear.

Those who were not knocked unconscious from the initial blast join in, their fearful shouts filling the air as they scramble and push at each other to run away.

Only when the remaining enemies have retreated does Wanda finally collapse to her knees, her breath coming out tiredly as the red glow in her eyes fades and the red mist around her hands disappears.

Footsteps rush to her side, and she feels a hand on her shoulder.

“That was amazing!” Kate’s awed voice praises before noticing Wanda's exhausted expression. Her voice lowers with concern as she bends down closer and asks, “Wait, are you okay?”

Wanda raises her hand in reassurance, though her breathing is still tired and unsteady.

“I’m fine, just…not used to doing so much in such a short time…I just need a minute, and I’ll be okay.”

“Hey, take your time. Breathe,” Natasha directs, kneeling beside her and patting her back gently in comfort.

Wanda shakes her head quickly in refusal.

“No, I can’t. Pietro’s hurt…he needs help.”

“I’ll go get someone,” Kate says, standing up urgently to go retrieve the physician in the manor.

“Take Lucky with you, and don’t trust anyone that he doesn’t,” Natasha instructs her. “We don’t know who else could be under Rumlow's control.”

Kate nods grimly in understanding, whistling to call Lucky to follow her as she rushes into the manor.

Yelena steps up closer to them, her brows furrowing as she comes to a realization.

“Wait, if you’re here, and Pietro’s hurt. Then where’s Y/n?” she asks, knowing how much you care for the twins. 

Wanda looks down, hanging her head before replying, her voice filled with regret.

“Dreykov has her.”

Natasha’s eyes widen, feeling her blood run cold at the information. She stands quickly in alarm.

“We need to go,” she says urgently.

Wanda nods in agreement and attempts to stand too, but she stumbles on her feet. 

Yelena catches her, providing support to keep her upright, but it’s obvious that Wanda’s energy still has not returned, unfit for further travel at the moment. 

Yelena meets Natasha’s conflicted eyes and gives her a reassuring nod.

“Go,” she tells her, “We’ll follow as soon as we can.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Riding through the pouring rain, Natasha’s mind fills with worry for you. The unnerving silence and emptiness of your manor’s grounds do nothing to soothe her racing thoughts. 

If Dreykov had hurt you again, she was determined to make him pay, regardless of the consequences.

Rushing through your manor’s entrance, Natasha heads straight towards your wing. However, just as she’s about to run up the stairs to your room, your voice calls out from behind.

“Natasha!”

She stops and turns around, seeing you step out from the shadows toward her. 

Without hesitation, Natasha moves quickly in front of you, her hand cradling your face as she examines you. 

Your expression appears normal and calm, showing no signs of pain or panic, and it doesn't look like you are injured.

Still, Natasha asks worriedly, “Are you okay?”

“Of course. Everything’s fine,” you reassure her, taking her hands in yours and holding them between your bodies.

Something was wrong, Natasha realizes. 

Despite your reassurance, an uneasy feeling washed over her the moment you touched her.

She stares down intently at your clasped hands, trying to figure out this unsettling feeling within her heart. 

You tighten your grasp on her hands to get her attention, prompting her to return her gaze to yours.

Concern appears on your face as you observe her, while your thumb moves in a soothing caress along the back of her hand.

“You’re freezing, Natasha. Let’s go warm you up.”

You attempt to pull her in the direction of the stairs, but Natasha stands firm and unmoving, causing you to turn back around and tilt your head at her in question.

Natasha’s eyes observe your face carefully before glancing down again at your hand in hers.

Realizing that she is not going to follow, you move back to her.

“Come on, Natasha," you call, your voice lowering as you step even closer, almost pressing against her.

Natasha's eyes follow your actions suspiciously as your hands slide up her front to rest on her shoulders.

"We need to get you out of these wet clothes soon, or else you'll catch a cold. I can draw you a nice warm bath, and then maybe after…,” you continue, leaning in to whisper next to her ear, “…we can spend the remainder of the night together.”

Your suggestion hangs heavy in the air between the two of you for a moment before Natasha lets out a shaky breath.

Shaking her head, she pushes you away gently, holding your shoulders at arm's length as she meets your eyes with a sad expression.

“Wanda said that Pietro was hurt,” she reminds you.

“Don’t worry about him,” you reply, your tone filled with indifference.

The smile that remains on your face and your words confirm what she now realizes is wrong. 

Natasha shuts her eyes briefly, her heart heavy at the painful realization. Hanging her head, she takes a deep breath to gather her resolve to confront you.

Your hands gently cradle her cheeks, coaxing her eyes back to meet your gaze, and you give her your usual soft smile.

“Hey,” you whisper. “Just be here with me.”

Your touch is delicate as you brush back strands of her wet hair from her face, a familiar gesture that she is used to from you.  

Truthfully, Natasha wants nothing more than to fulfill that request of yours, but when she looks into your eyes, she can’t seem to find any of your warmth in them.

Taking a steady breath, Natasha grabs the back of your hand, halting its movement. She then presses a soft kiss to your palm before giving you a sad look.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

You chuckle, giving her a curious look.

“What are you apologizing for?”

“That you have to go through this pain again,” Natasha replies with regret.

Your expression remains unchanged, a reassuring yet impassive smile gracing your lips.

Natasha sighs sadly, releasing your hand and letting it fall to your side. 

“I know this isn’t you, Y/n,” she reveals.

Your smile falters at her words, and your eyes search her face, seeking something before coming to a realization. 

Twisting your lips into a disappointed pout, your fingers raise to toy with her collar.

“You could’ve just played along and had a good time with me, Natasha,” you say teasingly before resting your hand above her heart with a raised brow. “You know, before you have to die.”

Natasha presses her lips into a thin line, deepening her frown at your words. 

“Is that what he told you to do?” she asks, anger rising at Dreykov. “Seduce me and then kill me after?”

You shrug indifferently, as if unconcerned about the implications of what you were about to be forced to do against your will.

“Well, it was either you or Rumlow, without the killing for him, of course,” you explain casually.

Natasha clenches her fist, seething at the thought of what would’ve happened had she not been the one to come for you first. She’s going to make Dreykov pay for controlling you like this.

“Is that all?” she asks calmly, swallowing her anger so it’s not directed at you.

“No,” you shake your head, giving her a pitying smile.

The cold, uncaring expression looks foreign on your face as you stare at her.

“You see, before I kill you, I was going to tell you the truth.”

You wrap your arms around the back of her neck and pull her closer. Instinctively, Natasha’s hand falls on your waist at the action.

However, the tender embrace brings no warmth or comfort to soothe your cutting words that follow.

“I never believed in you, Natasha,” you begin, your tone icy and ruthless. “You were never going to be a good queen, and it was delusional of you to ever think you could erase all the pain that your family caused.”

Natasha stays silent, letting you speak, as she keeps your gaze with a sad, understanding expression.

Your eyes narrow slightly at not getting the reaction that you expected. With a determined and cold look, you continue, “The truth is…”

You bring your lips closer to whisper the next part in her ear.

“…I've always hated you, Natasha.”

“No, you don’t.”

Your head snaps back in surprise at her immediate response, looking at her face in confusion before a huff of disbelief escapes you.

“There you go again," you say, rolling your eyes. "Thinking you know everything about me.”

Natasha can’t help but chuckle at the statement. She’s been wanting to know everything about you from the moment she met you. 

Meeting your eyes with unwavering trust and certainty, Natasha responds confidently.

“You don't want to hurt me.”

There’s an unamused expression on your face now as you glare at her. 

“And what makes you so sure?” you ask her.

“Because…” Natasha begins, reaching up to hold your face delicately in her hand. Her thumb moves gently across your cheek to brush away the stray tear that falls from your eye.

“…that's what you told me,” she finishes with a soft smile.

Your expression shifts abruptly, a whirlwind of emotions crossing your face in a split second. First shock, then a brief conflict, then a hard glare.

With a forceful shove, you push Natasha away, catching her off guard. She stumbles backward at your action, landing against the stairs.

Before she can recover, you move swiftly, straddling her and pinning her down as your hand descends towards her, a glint of steel catching the light as you swing the dagger.

Reacting with instinctive speed, Natasha catches your hand, halting its descent, just as the tip of the blade presses lightly at the space above her heart.

Under different circumstances, she would have complimented your skill in knocking her off guard to deliver a finishing blow.

However, from this position, the moonlight of the now clear night sky shines through the large glass windows, casting a soft glow over your features, and Natasha can't help but be captivated by the sight instead, momentarily forgetting her perilous situation.

She knows she should flip your positions and disarm you at some point, but she finds herself unable to break your gaze.

That's when she catches a glimpse of your usual warmth flashing in your eyes, where unshed tears threaten to fall.

Natasha always believed that you are the strongest person she knows, and this time is no different.

Slowly, her grip on your hands loosens, and as she expected, the blade remains in place, suspended just above her heart.

Instead of escaping, Natasha's hand moves to cup your cheek, her touch gentle and reverent.

At that moment, only one thought fills her mind as she gazes up at you, and with a soft exhale, Natasha finally says the words that she's been wanting to tell you.

“I love you, Y/n.”

At her breathless confession, your brows knit together in confusion as a series of conflicting emotions cross your face.

For a moment, there's only silence, broken only by the faint trembling of the dagger in your hand.

Then, with a final, decisive gesture, it slips from your grasp, clattering to the ground.

Immediately, you collapse against Natasha, wrapping your arms around her in a tight hug. A mixture of relief and disbelief fills your voice as your hand lightly hits her shoulder in reprimand.

“You’re unbelievable,” you murmur exasperatedly into the curve of her neck. “That’s what you say when I hold a knife to you?”

Her response is a soft chuckle, tinged with relief and amusement. She returns your embrace, holding you tightly, her next words muffled against your shoulder. 

"It's the only thing that came to mind."

You huff at her reply, choosing to not comment further as your arms instinctively pull her closer.

In the safety of her embrace, you try to shake off the lingering sensation of feeling trapped within your mind, recalling the hurtful words you uttered to her.

Before you can gather your thoughts to apologize, a disdainful groan interrupts the fragile peace, drawing both of your attention upwards.

At the top of the staircase, Dreykov sneers down at the two of you. 

"Pathetic," he spits out, shaking his head in disgust.

With a motion of his hand, he signals his guards, who materialize from the shadows and advance towards you both.

Reacting swiftly, Natasha pulls herself upright, positioning herself protectively in front of you.

As his guards launch coordinated attacks, Natasha moves with graceful precision, evading their strikes effortlessly.

With a powerful kick, she dispatches one assailant before engaging the other in a one-on-one confrontation.

Confident in her ability to handle them, you turn your attention back to Dreykov, only to see him attempting to flee.

However, he suddenly stops in his tracks, his path blocked by the unexpected appearance of Bucky.

Realizing it was just the old captain standing in his way, Dreykov sneers as he tries to push past him dismissively.

“Don’t just stand there. Go kill her—!” 

His command is cut off abruptly as Bucky's hand closes around his throat before forcing him to the edge of the staircase.

Dreykov gasps for breath, a look of surprise crossing his face as he struggles against Bucky's tightening grip.

With one hand clawing at Bucky's hold, his other reaches into his pocket, pulling out an intricate container.

Black powder falls from one of the ends, creating a pile on the floor, as Dreykov’s finger fumbles for the latch at the top.

Spotting the danger and recognizing the substance, you call out a warning to Bucky.

"Watch out!"

Just as your words echo through the tense air, Dreykov flicks open the latch on the container, igniting a spark. With a swift motion, he hurls it to the ground, triggering an explosion of blinding light and billowing smoke.

Amidst the chaos, the clamor of bodies tumbling down the stairs reverberates through the haze, but the thick smoke obscures your vision, disorienting you as you struggle to make sense of the situation.

Coughing and gasping for air amidst the choking fumes, you stagger blindly in search of Natasha.

Your foot collides with something solid, and upon closer inspection, you realize it's the unconscious body of one of the guards, with another lying nearby.

A wave of relief washes over you at the realization that Natasha had won.

However, your relief is short-lived as the sound of steel scraping against the ground sends a shiver down your spine.

"Useless failures," Dreykov's voice echoes through the smoke, his position hidden in the swirling haze.

Frantically searching your surroundings, you strain to pinpoint his location, but the dense smoke obscures your senses.

"Y/n!" Natasha's urgent voice breaks through, sounding closer, and you immediately move towards her voice before finally spotting her silhouette in the distance.

As you go to approach her, another figure emerges swiftly from the shadows behind her, the glint of steel flashing through the smoke.

Without hesitation, you rush forward, pushing Natasha out of the way.

In the next instant, searing pain flares in your abdomen as the dagger plunges into you instead.

Dreykov's eyes widen in surprise at your unexpected presence before twisting in anger.

Ignoring the agony coursing through your body, you meet his gaze with a steely glare of defiance. 

"I told you,” you utter through gritted teeth. “I'll never let you hurt her."

Summoning all your remaining strength, you deliver a powerful punch to Dreykov’s face, sending him crashing to the ground with a satisfying thud.

Gradually, the smoke begins to disperse, revealing Natasha on the ground nearby, her wide-eyed gaze locks onto you before drifting down to the blade still embedded in you, comprehension dawning on her features of what you had just done.

With each labored breath, you feel your strength waning from the injury.

Natasha's panicked voice pierces through the ringing in your ear, calling out your name in desperation.

Her hands catch you as your legs finally give way, her warmth enveloping you even as a coldness creeps into your bones.

Struggling to stay conscious, you gaze up at her, your vision blurring at the edges. Her lips move, but the words are now lost to you in the haze of pain.

Thankfully, however, you can still feel Natasha's gentle touch cradling your cheek, mirroring the tender gesture from earlier.

You regain a little energy as you remember that moment of her confession.

That’s right, you realize. Natasha has fulfilled her part of the promise to discuss your feelings, and now, here you are, leaving her without a response. 

Determined to convey your feelings, you muster every ounce of willpower to utter her name, but a metallic taste floods your mouth, and you realize with grim understanding that you may not have much time left.

You must have succeeded in calling her though since her eyes immediately move from your wound to lock onto yours with fear.

Unfortunately, that's when black spots start to cloud your vision of her, and you find yourself losing the strength to speak any further. Despite your efforts, you feel yourself slipping away, the edges of consciousness fading. 

As you slowly drift into darkness, the rapid rhythm of Natasha's heartbeat echoes against you, a comforting reminder that she's still alive and safe.

However, there is a pang of regret lingering in your heart that you weren’t able to speak the remainder of your words to her. You really wished you had a chance to express your feelings before you go.

To let her know how much you loved her.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

a/n: Thank you for reading and for staying so long with this story! There is one more part left and that will be the final one for this series.

Series Masterlist : Boundless Devotion

Taglist: @lightwhoranoutoflight, @taliiiaasteria, @romanoffprentiss, @canvascoloredin,  @silentwolfsstuff, @blacklightsposts, @arcturusseer, @presser24, @dvrkhcld, @jujuu23, @screechcat, @vivs46, @cd-4848, @youneversawmehereooooooo, @pancakefan7529, @confusedspaceotter, @natbelovasblog, @izzy-b09, @iamheartless, @mrsrushman, @fxckmiup, @natty-taffy, @2silverchain, @traveler-at-heart, @autorasexy, @natsxwife, @mviswidow, @slut4johansson, @automaticdinosaurtaco, @jono723, @mousetheorist, @tofu9162, @natsbiggestfan1, @iheartjohansson, @nothanksbye07, @midastouch013

[viceconnor21]

Joel in my Minecraft x pony au… the name was obvious.

Small Beans 

“Lord” Small Beans

Breezie

Royal lord

Dry sense of humor 

Resting angry face 

Smaller than the average breezie

Short person syndrome

Will fight anyone no matter their size

Madly in love with his wife 

Married to Queen Penumbra Bloom, AKA Lady Umbra, queen of the neighboring kingdom 

Became a lord after dating and marrying the princess

He impressed her with his skills and grace

They met when she was still a princess

He was a middle class farm boy

Outwitted one of her snooty “high class” suitors when that suitor tried to impress her by picking on the “lower” class.

Small Beans challenged the high class jerk to a sword fight.

Believing it was an easy win and an easy way to show off his elite skills to the princess, he accepted.

Small Beans disarmed him quickly

Small impressed her not just due to his fight skills, but his willingness to stand up for himself and others, even in the face of someone society consister more important or of greater power.

Cutie mark - Sword within a comet

- Represents his grace, elegances, and talent in fighting

However, the comet shows that while he is extremely powerful, he can become reckless and destroy himself and everything around him in the process.

Was picked on a lot as a colt 

Learned to sword fighting to protect himself and creatures weaker than himself

Visited Hermit Valley as a visiting dignitary

Decided to stay for an extended period of time with the encouragement of his wife 

wants to study other forms of architecture from the different residents of the valley 

Doesn’t like Moss and flirts with Maple shade just to irritate him

- you can find his mini story on my Ao3

[c-u-c-koo-4-40k]

Not story more ramble but I will still tag.

@egrets-not-regrets @bleedingichorhearts @kit-williams @sleepyfan-blog @barn-anon

Spoilers for Warhammer Fulgrim Lore.

I think the husbandry fandom has missed a profound opportunity for some juicy conflict!

So we have some general agreed upon notions for how certain legions react to Husbandry Terra. Now obviously not all of a single space marine type behave the same way but there be trends.

Salamanders, Ultramarines, Blood Angels, Thousand Sons, Space Wolves, Imperial Fists: these groups generally accept bonds and human companionship as they had decent human contact in their original timeline.

Then you've got the grumps who love the attention but getting them to admit it is like Pulling Teeth: Night Lords, Iron Hands and Iron Warriors.

But we have been missing out! On a delightfully painful side of our favorite premadonnas. The Emperor's Children.

Now they and their sire Fulgrim are often stereotyped as such. Elegant, pompous, snooty and post heresy they go completely mask off a drive full into unbound freak territory.

But their story is much more tragic than a spoiled brat leading other spoiled brats into serving the God of overdoing things.

Fulgrim isn't spoken of as much in terms of being screwed over, but looking closer he really was.

Shot to an awful industrial planet where he watched his adopted family struggle to feed him let alone themselves. It would give anybody a complex.

Needing to be useful, needing to contribute, needing to not be a burden.

And once the The Big E showed up it didn't get much better.

His sons? Suffer a geneflaw that gives them astarte cancer. He not only loses many of them, but has to make due with what he has left. Meaning no matter how well trained, he just can't conquer planets at the rate dear old dad wants him to.

His brothers? Got there own issues and probably don't take Fulgrim's struggles seriously. He's just at that spot of "Wow that sucks," and "But the others have it worse.' He probably doesn't feel like he can talk deeply to anyone.

So Fulgrim does what many unloved children do, in fact he does the same thing as Perturabo, Pushes Himself to The Breaking Point.

In Fulgrim's case, any failures he blames completely on himself. Where Perty lashes out, Fulgrim turns inward.

Until he just can't take it anymore. He decides he's going to finally be selfish. Commit fully to the pleasures and pain so he never has to remember the agony he feels, that he will Never, be good enough

Heck killing Ferrus probably cemented that feeling in him. I'm not worth anything, so why bother trying to be good. Why not just be the absolute Worst.

Heavy stuff. But this leads me to my main musing.

In 40k the sins of the father very much affect the sons.

So my proposition is...you think other space marines are clingy? They hold not a Candle to an Emperor's Child. Especially one post heresy.

If you show an EC that they can be open, vulnerable, Imperfect, around you, and you don't immediately turn tail and run from the baggage, You Will Never Escape.

They don't just crave intimacy, they crave stability, affection, LOVE.

And if you give them any indication you'll supply it, they will Never let themselves be cut off.

[bruciemilf]

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE MORE REGENCY AU

I feel like Bruce would, once he fell for Clark, constantly blink his pretty eyes at him and look like this:

Or this would just be How He Looks and from the moment Clark laid his eyes on Bruce he was smitten. Well, until Bruce opened his mouth.

Clark would absolutely be able to handle Bruce's attitude, cuz as you said, he's patient. He would look at Bruce like this whenever he got to snooty:

And Bruce would immediately shut up or conclude his rant, crossing his arms and pouting.

Also because I wanted to imagine them more clearly, my pinterest girlie came out and I found THESE:

Clark:

Bruce:

Bruce would be SOO showy as Brucie and probably actually enjoy the slightly feminine look, while Clark is more into earthy/academic tones. Clark would prefer professional outfits, only going all out for particularly important events (like a wedding👀) and Bruce would actively schedule events where he could show off a new outfit.

I assume while this is a regency it's still Gotham, and there are still worldly evils like poverty and people seeking to do harm, so I was wondering your take how Bruce would combat this. And would Clark support and secretly send letters to printing presses to boost morale or spy on the waynes?

(also I am working on your hockey player au ask I did not abandon it)

BESTIE YOU'RE SPOILING ME.

God I love Bruce flashing his fawn eyes and expecting everything to fall into his lap. Picture this, if you will:

Bruce draped over Clark's lap, disarming smile on pretty pink lips, glistening with a touch of rogue, fluttering sharp eyelashes. " we don't need to be married to do what we want, my lord"

While Clark is amused, even a little endeared, he pushes Bruce off, watching the little lord fall with a squeak, " You're trying to get me to annule the marriage, and unfortunately, I have no interest in indulging you."

Bruce hissing, a cat-like sound, full of scorn, saying Clark wouldn't like him when he's NOT indulged.

From then on, Bruce's second plan sets in motion. Pranks. Mischief. Antics Clark chooses not to reprimand (because truly, he just doesn't care that much) because they're more playfully mean than harmful.

Bruce offering to help in the kitchen only to pour extra salt on Clark's favorite dessert--- which Clark eats with a blank face to Bruce's fury.

Bruce smiling so sweetly at Clark and saying he gave the kitchen staff a vacation. So he'll make meals from now on.

"Great."

" splendid."

"Wonderful."

"Fantastic."

Clark, chewing slowly, " Maybe more salt next time."

Your honor, they're both messes, they're both completely enamoured. Clark loves his sassy little husband, and Bruce throws a tantrum if Clark is gone for more than a few days due to military briefs.

And ooo I think it'd be cool if Bruce truly didn't care about class and just spent time with whoever while trying to repair the peasant's lifestyle. Clark fell for him when he cuddled a sickly kitten on his satin sheets bc he promised the cooks daughter he would

[a-court-of-fics-and-errors]

Keep Moving Forwards, Part 49 - Fin

Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow tag "Keep Moving Forwards Fic" or comment to be tagged in future parts.

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, detailed descriptions of direct physical abuse, and scenes of men hunting women with implied sexual assault. Please read at your own risk.

Word Count: 1.2K

Author's Note: This is a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading, being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

Once the decision had been made, everything seemed to speed up at a frantic pace. Rhysand sent word swiftly, his efficient fae couriers relaying your decision to return to the Autumn Court and making arrangements for your move. Packing was simple, as you didn't have much to bring with you - just a few belongings that held sentimental value and reminded you of your past life in Velaris. Instead of focusing on the logistics of moving, you spent the next two days soaking in every moment with Azriel and Nesta, cherishing the time you had left with your loved ones.

Nesta promised to write to you frequently, though she acknowledged that her letters may be screened by the Autumn Court couriers, who were most likely under orders from their High Lord to monitor any correspondence coming in or out. In defiance, Nesta declared her intention to include scandalous descriptions of taboo encounters from her books, relishing the thought of making the snooty old males reading her letters blush. You and Nesta also avoided discussing the fact that you would not be present for the birth of her child, a painful reality that lingered in the back of both your minds. Instead, you reminisced about old memories, now tinged with a bittersweet awareness of an uncertain future.

Azriel spent most of his time by your side, his arms wrapped tightly around you as if he could keep you from being taken away. In whispered promises and hopeful declarations, he spoke of a future where he would come storming into the Autumn Court Manor, fighting through armies to rescue you and bring you back home to Velaris. But there were moments when these dreams felt like nothing more than childish fantasies, and deep down, you knew better than to blindly hope for such a fate.

The morning of your departure arrived all too quickly. Neither you nor Azriel had slept much the night before, choosing instead to spend every precious second in each other's arms. As the sun rose over the mountains, Azriel pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, and you tried to imprint every sensation onto your memory - the softness of his lips, the warmth of his love, the weight of his body against yours. But as soon as he pulled away, a hollow emptiness settled in the pit of your stomach, a physical reminder of the distance that would soon separate you both.

As you met with Nesta, Cassian, Rhysand, Feyre, Nyx, Elain, and Lucien at the gates of the grand city, your family surrounded by gifts and love. Elain had lovingly hand-embroidered the night sky cast high over Velaris on a royal blue scarf for you to keep with you, a reminder that no matter where you traveled, the stars would remain constant above. The fabric was soft like a cloud and glimmered in the light as if touched by magic. She also slipped a few of her famous treats she had baked into a basket for your trip, smacking away Lucien’s hand as he attempted to steal one of the scones. Nesta arrived with a trunk of clothes, declaring that the House had plopped it at her feet right before she left. Inside were lavish dresses and gowns fit for a High Lady with accented notes of the Night Court mixed in with autumnal tones, a perfect fusion of your heritage and new home. Feyre presented you with a small painting, no larger than the size of your palm. It depicted your family at the dinner table, all smiling faces and happiness captured on canvas. Each brushstroke reflected the love and bonds between all of you. As you looked at the faces of these females who had taken you in as though you were their own sister, you saw the resilient spirits that would not allow you to be forgotten easily. Each one was a force to be reckoned with, holding within them a power deeper than anyone could imagine. Cassian enveloped you in a bear hug so tight you worried it might crush your ribs, his strength and warmth engulfing you. Rhysand's embrace was gentler but just as meaningful. He held you there for a few moments, whispering words only meant for your ears. An apology and a promise to work towards returning you to your home.

The last two days had been a blur of bittersweet goodbyes between you and Azriel. Each moment was filled with kisses, tears, and time spent wrapped in each other's arms, trying to hold on to every precious second together. As he held you close, his only words were whispered promises that echoed in your heart, "I will endure each day without you until I can suffer again by your side." His hazel eyes gazed into yours with a fierce determination, promising that this separation would not be the end. And as you reluctantly pulled away, you chose to believe in the unwavering love and hope shining in those eyes.

Lucien had promised to take you to the Autumn Court, acting almost as a guide and diplomat to the odd customs of his home court. As he pressed a kiss into Elain's rosy cheek, she gave him a look that seemed to threaten him: if you weren't taken care of, he shouldn't bother coming home. As you mounted the brown mare, its coat warm and soft beneath your hands, it chortled happily under your weight. With each step outside the city walls, the air grew colder and crisper. You turned your head to see the faces of your family, tears staining their cheeks as they waved goodbye. But Azriel, glorious Azriel, did not wave. He merely smiled, his piercing eyes betraying a burning rage within. A rage that told you he would burn heaven and earth to bring you home. And you believed him. Despite the fear knotting in your stomach and the uncertainty ahead, you refused to let this be your defeat. This journey was your choice, and with a plan that would take months to take place, you were determined to come out victorious. The Autumn Court may be a place of strange customs and danger, but it would not be where your soul would be crushed. You were prepared for whatever lay ahead on this path you had chosen.

As the hour passed and you began your ascent up the steep mountain, you couldn't help but steal glances down at your beloved city below. The familiar buildings and streets that had once been your home now appeared small and distant, causing a deep ache to stir in your heart. But this would not be the last time you laid eyes on your home. The Autumn Court was unleashing a tempestuous storm upon themselves, a storm cloaked in delicate lace and ferocious power. You were determined to show them that even as they might try to break you, you were not the same female that left that cabin so many months ago. You were stronger, more sure of yourself, and you would not let this break you. As you climbed higher, the air grew thinner and colder, but your determination burned brighter. You would keep moving forwards, continue your climb until you saw the other side of the mountain, until you saw home. The glorious shining city of Velaris and the one you could call your own. Your destination lay beyond the Autumn Court, and you would not stop until you reached it.

To my beloved readers who have been with me every step of the way. Your unwavering support and encouragement has given me the courage to push through self-doubt and write about topics that are difficult and challenging. You have left me heartfelt notes that fuel my passion for writing, inspiring me to keep creating and sharing my work with the world. I've dreamed of being a writer since childhood, crafting stories on the family computer and declaring that one day I would share them with others. And now, thanks to your love and support, I have over 600 pages of this fic that I poured my heart into for over a month, honing my skills and finding my voice. I plan to have it printed and bound as a reminder that I can do this, that people enjoy my writing, they want to read it, they want to hear what I have to say. From the depths of my soul, thank you for being there, thank you for reading, thank you for helping me make this dream a reality. This is not the end of our journey together, but for now, it's all I have within me to tell. My beloved character needs time to live her life while I live mine, but we will meet again in the future and she will shine brighter than ever before.

With infinite love,

A Court of Fics and Errors

P.S. This isn't the end of my random little fics, just a break from the long form for a while :)

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[monstersandmaw]

Snowfall - a polyamorous m/m/m fantasy story ft. an elf, a vampire, and a draugr/lich (sfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me. 

I had a random and vivid dream about a draugr/lich with a secret, living in an old tomb in Skyrim and meeting a twinky, kinda foul-mouthed elven adventurer and his snooty, grumpy, (not-so-)secretly adoring vampire boyfriend. This was the result.

Daethir is pronounced 'day-theer', Nyr 'Neer', and Karsi 'car-si' (with a short 'i' like 'hit').

If you’ve not played Skyrim, none of the lore is needed to enjoy this story. It’s just someone else’s sandbox I’m playing in for some handy, pre-existing lore.

Content: Brief/passing mention of enslavement and mass sacrifice, genocide of an entire species, a tiny bit of blood and threat to life, and Daethir’s inner (and outer) monologue which includes a fair few uses of the word ‘fuck’.

Wordcount: 7589

Despite what the tattered remnants of his pride were trying to tell him, Daethir was most definitely, one hundred percent lost.

He was completely fucking disorientated in this dilapidated shithole of an ancient Nord tomb. He was also incandescently furious about that fact. 

His sense of direction was fucking legendary. He must have explored a hundred underground tombs and dwarven cities, sunk deep into the earth as well as forgotten places consumed by rambling forests, and never once had he got lost before. He’d even been to bloody Labyrinthian! But no. He’d taken a wrong turn somewhere maybe three or four hours back, and now he was balls deep in skeever shit and cobwebs, and couldn’t find the way out. 

“Oh man, Karsi must be going berserk out there,” he muttered through clenched teeth, breath billowing in the dark, cold tunnel. 

The draugrs’ strange compulsion to keep the tombs somewhat maintained for their slumbering master meant that there was nearly always light flickering in the sconces on the walls, and braziers were often found burning at the intersections of the tomb’s warren of passageways, and he found himself pathetically grateful that he wasn’t lost in the pitch black at least.

“Hold on, love,” he added as he set his jaw and tried to strain his senses for the faintest lift of a breeze in the stagnant air of the tomb. “I’m coming.” 

He hoped the vampire didn’t hurt himself trying to break through the unique enchantment that seemed to stop the undead from passing through it. Gods, Karsi had practically been spitting venom when he’d discovered he couldn’t enter the tomb with Daethir, no matter what spells he hurled at the doorway. Daethir, as usual, had slipped gleefully through in the blink of an eye and without a backward glance. 

“I didn’t even say goodbye,” he thought bitterly, and the pervasive fear of dying alone in the dark crystallised into something sharper and edged with guilt when he realised that Karsi would never know exactly how he died, and would never be able to recover his lover’s body. “Shit.”

Something moved up ahead and he froze. 

Blue eyes in the dark.

Shit.

A draugr Death Lord from the size of it, and from that ugly horned helmet.

Before he could formulate any sort of plan, hands reached out from the darkness behind him. 

One clasped right over his mouth to form a perfect seal against the scream that rose unbidden from the pit of his stomach, and the other wrapped around his waist, and he found himself lifted bodily off the floor and into an alcove.

Naturally, like the well-trained, level-headed, and seasoned rogue he was, Daethir thrashed in blind and abject panic, lashing out with his heels until a hoarse, scraping voice rasped in his ear, “Auri-el have mercy, stop! I’m trying to save your life!”

Deciding that his luck might have been on the cusp of changing, or that he was about to become easy prey for some maniac who apparently lived down there in the dark tunnels of an ancient Nord tomb, Daethir went limp. He was not put down.

For a long few minutes, neither of them dared move in case the slightest sound attracted the Death Lord who was patrolling the corridor up ahead. Like an extremely loyal but not terribly bright guard dog, it swung its head back and forth, growling and snarling to itself and adjusting its grip on the enormous ebony war axe in its right hand. At the way the light played along the black blade of that axe like firelight on oil, Daethir shuddered involuntarily into the grasp of his mysterious rescuer. 

“Easy,” the voice breathed, right in his ear. His tapering, sensitive, elven ear. 

He shuddered again and tried not to gasp for an entirely different reason this time. Funny how terror and pleasure seemed to go hand in hand for him. After all, he was dating a vampire, and the two of them frequently mixed feeding and fucking, so he was no stranger to a healthy dose of of fear lacing his pleasure. But now was absolutely, categorically not the time to start getting turned on by a strong stranger manhandling him in a dark tomb. Gross, Dae, get it together. 

The hand across his mouth was warm and leathery and strong, and by the faint glimmer of torchlight from beyond their shadowed alcove, he could see the faintest flash of bone-white flesh. Strange, but not totally unusual. People were born without pigment in their skin, after all. Heck, he’d spent an entire summer with an orc carpenter who had the most beautiful red eyes and skin so pale he couldn’t go out in the sun for long without burning. Caedrak hadn’t been able to see more than a foot in front of him, but he’d made the most beautiful things with his big, sensitive hands… 

Dammit, Daethir, pull yourself the fuck together. 

In the distance, the Draugr Death Lord huffed in irritation, then shuffled away in the opposite direction, and the figure behind him relaxed. 

“Before I let go of you, I need you to swear something,” the voice said.

It was a strange voice. Although it was as dry as the coarsest sands from Elsweyr, the consonants were crisply articulated, and it had a strange lilt to it, as though the speaker was used to the music of another language from another age. Karsi spoke a bit like that too, though nowhere near as much as this. Daethir, raised in the Ratway of Riften, spoke like a gutter-skeever with the brash accent to match. 

Still with the person’s hand clamped across his mouth, he couldn't do much to respond beyond a little noncommittal shrug, and received a dry chuckle in response. 

“Fine,” his saviour said with an evident smile, “When I release you, walk forward and do not look back.”

That… That was not what he’d been expecting. And the way the person spoke seemed so heartbreakingly sad that he felt his own chest constrict for a moment. He floundered a little, and, perhaps mistaking the movement for panic, his saviour set his feet back down on the ground. 

Slowly, hesitantly, those spider-pale hands drew back, and of course, Daethir immediately turned around. 

And screamed. 

Flailing, he staggered back into the corridor that had so recently been vacated by the Death Lord, and fell hard onto his backside, sprawled on the damp ground and staring up at the emaciated corpse of another draugr. 

Searing, sapphire blue eyes blazed out of a face devoid of all colour, so much so that for a heartbeat, Daethir thought he was looking at a skeleton, except this person still had flesh and muscle on their frame, even if it had all been withered away over time to white leather stretched over bone. 

Pale lips pulled back off perfect teeth in a grimace, and white, barely-there eyebrows tugged into a hurt expression so profound that Daethir found himself suddenly silenced by it. 

Then, because he was apparently pathologically incapable of keeping his mouth shut, he blurted, “Shit, I’m sorry, I just –”

At a croaking shout of triumph from the connecting tunnel, the pale draugr’s head twitched around and it let out a snarl of its own. “No time. Come on,” and with that, it surged forwards, grabbed Daethir by the wrist and hauled him to his feet with a strength that he would never have expected from a creature so thin. 

Unlike the other draugr he’d encountered on his way down into the depths of the tomb – the ones who’d stumbled around and dragged their bare feet along like stiff, empty Dwarven automata – this one was nimble and lithe, and it wore a loose, undyed linen shift that was belted at the waist and fell halfway down its emaciated thighs. Its feet were bare though, and as it turned and yanked him down a corridor, Daethir had to duck beneath a long, white plait that swung behind it like a flailing ship’s rope in a high wind. 

“Alright, I’m coming, I’m coming, ow!” he yelped, trying to keep his feet in the same frantic rhythm while also attempting to twist free of the vice-strong grip of the creature’s fingers. 

“Do not fall behind,” the draugr rasped, and then let go. 

“You’ll show me the way out?” he chirped hopefully, and the draugr glanced back over its shoulder. 

“I’ll take you to –” its eyes went wide and for a moment, Daethir thought the creature had tripped because it turned back abruptly and shoved him hard in the chest, sending him reeling. Daethir’s shoulder struck the tunnel wall and he let out an ‘oof’ of surprise on impact, but a second later, an ebony war axe embedded itself in the damp, softly crumbling stone of a mortuary shelf. 

“Holy shit,” he breathed, staring at the weapon. 

“Run! This way,” the strange, pale draugr gasped, and Daethir followed blindly. 

Something seemed to ripple and shimmer in the wall up ahead, and a blue light pulsed in the draugr’s hand as they charged towards the rockface. The creature seemed to be running straight at the section of wall that was warping disturbingly and Daethir’s feet slowed. 

“Don’t stop! Through the doorway, quick!” the draugr barked. 

“What doorway?!” he yelped, skidding to a stop a few paces behind the apparently mad draugr. “You’re nuts. This place has sent you round the bed. That’s a solid fucking wall right there, I’m not –”

“Come on!” the creature hissed in obvious frustration. It was unnervingly similar to the tone of voice Karsi took with him when he was exasperated, and Daethir was being stupid or stubborn (or both) about something. 

When Daethir didn’t move, and the footsteps and continuous cursing in a language he couldn't understand drifted round the corner from the fast-approaching Death Lord, the odd, silver-haired draugr rolled its eerie, blue eyes and snatched his hand again. 

With a yell of horror and surprise, Daethir was tugged forwards into the wall. He closed his eyes, expecting to be slammed into solid stonework, and was amazed when he found himself staggering right into the chest of the draugr, who nudged him to stand behind its back while it worked some kind of magic on the wall or portal. 

“The fuck…?” he breathed, chest heaving. 

The draugr, still holding his right hand, worked a spell with its left, and the doorway in the wall vanished and returned to looking like uninterrupted rock. 

“That’s never going to fool a draugr,” Daethir said, eyeing the spot sceptically. 

“Fooled you,” the creature quipped and turned to face him, releasing its hold on his hand. 

Daethir opened and closed his mouth like a landed carp for a good three seconds before heat flooded his tanned face and he looked away. “So, what, we’re safe now? And what the fuck are you?”

“Direct, aren’t you?” the creature said archly, and hell, if it didn’t remind Daethir of Karsi’s dry sarcasm.

At that thought, another bolt of guilt lanced through his chest and he looked up at the draugr. It wasn’t surprising that the draugr was taller than he was – it was hard not to be taller than Daethir, provided that one was over the age of about fifteen. He tried out his best smile and hoped it stuck. “It’s one of my many charms. Please, don’t let it stop you from showing me how to get out of this charming tomb you call home.”

The draugr’s soft laugh was like a handful of dry, autumn leaves, rattling around the narrow space that surrounded the two of them. It soon died though, and he let out a long, heavy sigh. 

“Oh no,” Daethir said, backing up a pace. “I don’t like the sound of that. You are going to show me the way out now, right?”

Slowly, the creature nodded. “Yes.”

“Good. Great. Let’s move the fuck along, shall we? I’ve got a vampire waiting for me outside who will probably thrall me into complete obedience for a week for disappearing and scaring him witless, and I’d rather not make it two if I can help it. Not that I mind him thralling me, quite the contrary actually, but two weeks is a long time to spend as a puppet, even if I do get the most toe-curling orgasms out of it. Fuck, I’m running my mouth. I do that when I’m nervous, and the way you’re just staring at me like I’m some kind of hitherto-unknown species of cave mushroom that’s suddenly gained sentience is unnerving. Also you never answered my question: what the fuck are you? And are we safe now?”

The draugr blinked. “Did you hit your head?”

“Beg pardon?” he asked, and reflexively brought his hand to the back of his head to search for blood or injury in his light brown hair. When he found none, it dawned on him that the question might have been rhetorical, and he pouted. “Oh, it’s funny too. Great. I found the only draugr in all of Tamriel with a sense of humour. You are a draugr, right? Because the whole ‘mummified and still walking around’ thing is usually a dead giveaway. If you’ll pardon the pun. Man, I’m doing it again, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” the draugr said. “And yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, you are, and yes, I am.”

“I am what?”

“Running your mouth again, as you put it. And I am a draugr.”

“Oh. Fuck. Well, let’s crack on then, eh?” he chirped with a nervous little laugh, gesturing behind him up what appeared to be a narrow, upward-sloping tunnel. “Lead on to freedom, and all that. You can fill me in on the way.”

The creature gave a little snort of laughter and shook its head. Sections of white hair had come loose from its braid and dangled down into its glowing, blue eyes which gave it an altogether softer, dishevelled look. It cast a couple of glowing balls of light, with which Daethir was familiar from Karsi’s magic, and they floated away up the tunnel like dandelion puffs on the wind. 

Following the magelights, the draugr stepped around Daethir in the narrow tunnel, and as it passed, Daethir caught the soft scents of leather and parchment and incense, and the faint crackle of ozone that hovered around Karsi too. 

“You’re a mage?” he asked to break the thick silence that had flooded into the tunnel when the draugr had fallen quiet again. 

“Mm.”

“And you are definitely a draugr?”

“Mn.”

“You’re… different… from the others…” he said, inviting the draugr to expand on the statement. 

“Mmm.”

“You suddenly run out of words? What happened to Mr. Funny Undead from a minute ago? Wait, that was rude. I have no idea whether you’re a ‘mister’ or something else entirely. I’m sorry.”

At that, the creature gave another grinding chuckle and halted to look back at Daethir. “I am male, if that’s your question. My name is Nýráðr.”

The way his tongue trilled over the ‘r’ and ‘th’ sounds sent a thrill through Daethir’s whole body. “Neer-ath-ur,” he repeated, frowning. “That’s… It sounds elven, but… I’ve never heard it before.”

“It’s old,” he replied, and Daethir got the impression that there was some dark humour in his tone that was lost on the relatively young Bosmer. “If it’s too much of a mouthful for you, you can just call me Nyr.”

“Right. I’m Daethir.”

“You are a Wood Elf, are you not?”

“Yup, though I’m not the ‘live in the woods in my underwear and commune with squirrels’ kind of Wood Elf, so don’t go making assumptions.”

The laugh that fluttered out of Nyr was like ripping parchment, but it sounded full of unexpected delight all the same. Centuries, even millennia, as a slowly-desiccating draugr had wrought a heck of a lot of damage on the creature’s whole body by the look of it, and from the sound of things, his vocal cords hadn’t escaped unscathed either. Daethir mused that perhaps he would have had a voice as smooth and haunting as Karsi did when he had been fully alive, and something twinged in his chest at the creature’s loss. 

“Well,” the draugr said, “Since we’re not making assumptions about each other, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t assume I was a mindless drone like all my fellow animated corpses down here.”

“I thought I’d already made it abundantly clear that I don’t think that,” Daethir scowled. “And you were the one who implied I had no more brains than a Death Lord…”

“You were the one who thought I was going to ram you into a wall,” Nyr countered, glancing back over his shoulder. This time, as he moved, Daethir caught sight of his pale, very tapered ear and his footsteps halted abruptly. 

With his eyes wide, he stared at the elven shape of the draugr’s ear and his jaw dropped. 

“What?” Nyr asked, stopping too and turning properly to face him. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re… an elf,” he blurted stupidly, and then went on in a slightly hysterical ramble. “I mean, the name should have given it away, but… holy shit, you’re an elf! I thought draugr were all human. I mean, the Nordic kings who built these tombs were… you know, humans, and they were famous for killing everything that didn’t have a perfectly rounded ear, and they had human courts and human servants and subjects, and what the fuck?” His voice ended in a little squeak as he ran out of breath.

A slow, sad smile crept onto Nyr’s sunken features, and he sighed. “I am an elf, you’re right. Are you so far removed from my time that our story has been forgotten? Did not the Atmorans start out as our friends and allies only to betray us and subjugate us instead?”

“The Night of Tears,” Daethir exhaled, reeling. 

In the cold blue glow of Nyr’s magelight, the draugr’s face settled into a frown. “I… I don’t know what that is.”

“You must have died before that all went down then,” he said, trying to scrape together what he remembered of it from Karsi’s impromptu fireside history lessons. “Shit. It was a massacre. Snow Elves descended on the human city of Saarthal in the north one night. After years of uneasy peace, they slaughtered everyone and, rumour has it, took or locked away something of great power beneath the city. After that, the humans retaliated and began the systematic genocide of all the Snow Elves in Tamriel.”

The draugr swayed and staggered, catching himself with a hand on the wall before he could collapse completely, and he stared wild-eyed at him. “They’re… They’re all gone?” he hissed, his bony chest rising and falling in fast, shallow gasps. “There are no more of us?”

“Us?” he asked, and then he really saw the white hair and colourless skin, and he understood at last. “Holy shit, you’re a Snow Elf?”

Mute, he just barely managed a nod. 

“Shit, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I should have realised and told you more gently. Karsi would have realised what you are immediately. I’m sorry,” he said, and stepped closer, closing his hand around the bare, bony forearm of the elven draugr.

“None of us…?” he asked, unable to finish the question. 

“Not as far as I know,” Daethir said, much more gently this time. 

He squeezed Nyr’s forearm and felt the bones shift beneath, and barely resisted the urge to jerk away in surprise. Even with his small hands, he could close his thumb and fingers around Nyr’s emaciated forearm. This close up, he could also see the way his collarbones stuck out beneath the open ‘v’ of his linen tunic’s neck, and his hollow cheeks looked all the more gaunt in the blue light that cast harsh shadows down over them. Even so, there was a cut-glass beauty to the creature with his high cheekbones and elegant jawline. 

“I’m sorry, Nyr.”

The Snow Elf swallowed, blinked glassy eyes, and looked down at the point where Daethir was touching him. For a long moment, he stared, and Daethir wondered if he shouldn’t have been so forward, but the draugr gave another wheezing sigh and placed his left hand over Daethir’s and squeezed gently. 

“Nothing lasts forever,” he whispered. The sound of it was like a winter wind in bare branches, and Daethir shivered. He felt like cold hands were scraping down his spine.

“What will happen to you now?” Daethir asked, still holding onto the draugr. Nyr’s body was warm – far warmer than Karsi’s undead vampire body – and his skin was supple and unbelievably soft. He’d always expected draugr to be fragile and papery, like mildewed parchment, or slimy and rotten, but Nyr was neither. He had just wasted away over time. Daethir wondered exactly how much time he’d spent alone in the dark down here, with nothing but shuffling, insentient corpses for company, and his heart went out to him. The last of his species, and confined in the tomb of his oppressors for generations while the world went on without him. “Nýráðr?” 

At the sound of his full name on Daethir’s tongue, the draugr startled softly and offered him a smile that went all the way up to the corners of his kindly eyes. “If I am not caught in the next few days, the Death Lord will forget about all of this. They’re not terribly bright, after all.”

Daethir narrowed his eyes. “That means you think I’m not terribly bright, if I was as easily fooled as a fucking draugr. No offence, you know,” he added with a pointed look up and down at the draugr in front of him. 

Nyr’s grip on his hand tightened for a fraction before he let go and dropped his arm, laughing quietly, that autumn rattle back in his voice. “None taken,” he said, turning to continue leading Daethir up the passage. “And in my defence, you should have been able to see through that enchantment. It really wasn’t very strong. It doesn’t have to be to keep the majority of my fellow tomb-dwellers out.”

“I’m not exactly proficient at seeing magic,” Daethir mumbled. “Can’t cast a spark myself, and scrolls are… unpredictable. Even the ones idiot Nords with no magic are supposed to be able to use,” he added morosely. 

“Elves with no magic whatsoever were not common in my time, but not unheard of. I apologise. I shouldn’t have made fun of you for it.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” he huffed. “Karsi is always taking the piss out of me for it. He’s pretty adept at magic – could run rings around most of the stuffy old mages at the College of Winterhold. Even the Archmage, if you believe him. He does think quite highly of himself though, so it’s hard to tell.”

After a lilting pause in which only the sound of their soft footfalls could be heard, Nyr said, “You’re fond of this ‘Karsi’.”

“Fond? Fond doesn’t even begin to cover it. I’m besotted. Head over heels. Enraptured by. Enamoured of. Utterly fucking smitten.” He did his best to emulate, and perhaps exaggerate, Karsi’s refined, educated way of speaking while he rattled off a list of synonyms for ‘completely fucking whipped’. 

Again, Nyr gave a rasping chuckle. “You don’t sound terribly thrilled about that.”

“Of course I’m ‘not terribly thrilled’ about that!” he exclaimed, gesturing up in the air with his hands. “The bloke’s a century-old vampire whose more educated than most princes, he’s elegant as fuck, can talk me into a stupor in a single sentence, and is more beautiful than all the Divines.”

“How is any of that a bad thing?” Nyr asked, still sounding amused by Daethir’s petulance over the matter. 

“Well, you might have been starved for beauty down here in the dark for a billion years, so I can see why my face might look like it was carved by a devotee of Dibella, Goddess of Love and Sex and Beauty,” he said with deep sarcasm, “But if you’d seen a single other living soul that didn’t resemble the back end of a raisin, you’d realise that next to literally anyone else, I’m about as ordinary as it gets. I’m ignorant as fuck about lots of things. I can’t do magic. All I’m good for is sneaking about, cutting purses, breaking into places I shouldn’t be, and hitting a target dead-centre at a hundred paces with a tiny piece of steel.”

It was only when he’d finished insulting the draugr that lived down here that he remembered who and what his companion was, and he fell into an awkward silence. Then, because he couldn’t bear it a second longer, he tacked on an apology that was way too late. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to imply you’re like them. You’re not.”

“It’s alright,” he said softly. The sound was like a stone dragging across the tunnel floor. “I know what I am and what I look like by now.”

“Yeah, but you’re not like the other draugr I’ve seen.”

“Oh, goody. What a comfort it is to know that I’ll win the Annual Draugr Beauty Contest for another year in a row,” he said with caustic sarcasm. 

Before Daethir could recover from the unexpected and well-deserved reprimand, the draugr rounded the corner in the steadily-rising tunnel and they came to an elaborate, carved stone door that abruptly halted their journey. 

Pressing his emaciated palm against a point at the centre of the labyrinthine tangle of patterns, the draugr let his icy blue magic pour out of him and it ran through the channels of the maze like water, flowing all the way across to form a tapestry of blue and grey until, with a dull, grinding noise, the door opened slowly outwards, and a blast of freezing, snow-filled air rushed in. 

The wind lifted Nyr’s white hair off his face and Daethir stared as moonlight inked silver brushstrokes across his high cheekbones and down his straight nose and delicate jawline. 

For a moment, neither of them moved as the night opened up around them, but Daethir knew he had to make up for his inadvertently cruel comments, so he stepped close to the draugr and reached his hand out to cup his colourless cheek. 

Nyr’s searing blue eyes fluttered closed and he sucked in a sharp breath, going rigid beneath Daethir’s touch. He traced his thumb across the Snow Elf’s high, arching cheekbone and murmured, “You really are exquisite.” He meant it too. “Thank you for saving my life, Nýráðr. I will never forget you, nor your kindness to me.”

Like a cat long-starved of affection, Nyr tipped his head into Daethir’s palm and nuzzled him once. The longing in his gaunt face cut Daethir to the quick, but he stepped back and opened his eyes. “Nor I you, Daethir,” he said in a scraping rasp. 

Then his blue gaze sailed over Daethir’s head – not exactly a difficult task, given how much taller the Snow Elf was than the diminutive Bosmer – and he smiled. “Karsi, I take it?” he said dryly. 

Daethir turned and had the fleeting impression of a figure standing beside a small, smouldering campfire outside the main entrance of the tomb, eyes blazing red, before the image disintegrated into a twisting swarm of black bats and Karsi reappeared right in front of Daethir, his face burning like a vengeful spirit. 

“By Molag Bal’s unholy blood,” he cursed, gripping Daethir by the shoulders and lifting him away from Nyr as though he were a child that had strayed too close to a firepit. “Do you have any idea how long you’ve been gone?!” His tone was frantic and his eyes blazed red as he unleashed all his pent-up rage and fear. Then he turned with a snarl on Nyr and bared his fangs at him, putting himself between the two of them.

Magicka boiled to life in his hands, scarlet as blood and shifting eerily in the icy moonlight, and Daethir thrashed in his grip. “No! No! Karsi, no, don’t! Don’t! He saved my life, Karsi, don’t hurt him! Shit, Karsi! Fucking listen to me you overgrown, underfed leech!” 

Karsi’s head snapped back to Daethir and he froze, then loosened his grip on Daethir’s leather jerkin. “That’s a draugr,” he said flatly, as if Daethir had lost his wits down in the tomb. 

“Ten out of ten for observation,” Daethir sneered, looking around Karsi’s figure to meet Nyr’s gaze. “I told you he was the smart one.”

“So you did,” Nyr said dryly. He swallowed and stepped back into the shadows of the doorway, and Karsi flew at him. 

The moment he hit the threshold, Karsi collided with a magical barrier and rebounded as if he’d hit a solid wall. He grunted and hissed like a wet cat, shaking himself out and rounding on Nyr again. “Why would a draugr help an intruder instead of attacking?”

Daethir blinked. It had never occurred to him to ask that question. He really was fucking simple. 

Nyr’s lips twitched into his sad smile. “I couldn’t bear to see a fellow elf spend his eternity in the tomb of a human king who had been so cruel to our kind. Take care of him, Karsi,” he said, and turned away. 

The door didn’t immediately close, so Daethir did something that was so perfectly in-keeping with his track record of uninhibited stupidity, and darted after him before Karsi had realised what he was doing. 

The vampire snatched for him and roared in wordless fury when Daethir’s jerkin slipped through his fingers behind the impenetrable barrier and he heard the weight of compulsion in Karsi’s words as he added, “Daethir, come back here right now!”

“Doesn’t work if I'm not looking at you!” Daethir shot back merrily over his shoulder and was answered with another impotent yowl of fury from his lover. 

Nyr had stopped and was frowning in confusion at him. “What are you doing?” he asked. His voice was even softer now, as though talking so much had strained his fragile vocal cords to their limit and even Daethir’s sharp ears nearly missed the question. 

“I… I’m not sure,” he said honestly. 

“Go, Daethir,” Nyr said gently. “Go with Karsi and put this place out of your mind.”

“I’m not sure I can,” he breathed. “I… Do you have to stay here? Are you trapped by the barrier that’s keeping Karsi out? Wait, no, you just passed through it. Fuck, I’m so stupid sometimes,” he said, smacking his forehead with his palm. 

Nyr stepped closer and drew Daethir’s hand away from his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but Karsi roared at him from the mouth of the tunnel. “Get your filthy corpse hands off him! I swear by all the blood in my body and all the blood I’ve ever taken in the unholy sacrament of feeding that I will rip you apart and scatter your remains to the wolves if you don’t unhand him!”

“Ignore him,” Daethir snorted at Nyr without looking around. “He’s always had a terrible flare for the dramatic, and it only gets worse when he’s like that.”

“He’s worried for you,” Nyr smiled, and he let go. “Cherish it.”

“Tolerate it, more like,” Daethir said with a sigh. “But yeah. Do you have to stay here?”

“Look at me, Daethir. Where else could I go? I’m the last of my race, if what you say is true, and you will probably be the first and only person not to take one look at me and decide I must be destroyed on the spot.” He jutted his delicate chin towards the tunnel mouth where Karsi was pacing and snarling with bared fangs, his eyes locked on the pair of them. “He’s already proven my point.”

“Pfft, you’re not that special. He’s like that with anyone he thinks is a threat to me, and with how often I get myself in a pickle, trust me, that’s quite a lot of people. It’s nothing personal.”

“It very much is personal, you dim-witted Wood Elf!” Karsi spat, though it came out as affectionately petulant now, rather than truly fearful. “Would you please, darling, love and light of my life, back away from that thing and come back out here to join me?” Sarcasm dripped so tangibly off his tone that Daethir could practically taste it. 

He sighed and continued to ignore the vampire. 

“Come with us. If you’re not bound to this place, come with us.”

“Why?”

“See the world? See what’s changed since you went in there,” he said, jerking his thumb down the passageway. “Get away from the shitty Nords who imprisoned you in there for all eternity –”

“-- Nords aren’t shitty anymore?” Nyr asked, surprised. 

“Oh, no, they’re shittier than ever, especially to us elves, but –”

From behind him, Karsi sputtered. “‘Us’ elves?” 

“Shut up. You’re a Nord, Karsi, so you don’t get a say in this,” Daethir barked without bite. 

They heard Karsi’s inhalation of surprise, even above the wind that whistled around the mountaintop tomb. “He’s an elf? Daethir, the Nords who made the draugr would never have used elves for draugr servants. They thought they were animals!”

“Worse than animals, actually,” Nyr said with a sharp smile. “They enslaved us. We weren’t even afforded the same dignity you’d give a dog.”

Karsi fell still and silent at that and stood staring for a long time. Finally, he breathed, “That hair…” He let his red gaze slide up and down Nyr’s skeletally thin body and then added, “You’re a Snow Elf.”

With a quiet dignity, Nýráðr bowed his head with closed eyes. 

Daethir watched his lover for a long time, sensing the kind of thoughts that would be racing through that scholar’s head of his. Making a silent ‘wait there’ gesture to Nyr, he turned and went back to Karsi. 

The vampire’s eyes were unfocused, now staring unseeing at the floor near the doorway to the tomb. 

“Karse…?” Karsi truly hated that nickname because it was the word for a small, edible plant that went well with egg sandwiches in some highborn circles, and sure enough, it snapped him immediately out of his reverie. 

His upper lip twitched but his eyes faded from red to gold. That he wasn’t bothering with the glamour which he usually wore around himself like an old cloak was testament to how rattled he was. He sighed and lifted his eyes from Daethir to Nyr, who was still standing, much to Daethir’s relief, in the tunnel, watching them and silent as a silver spectre. 

“Think of all the questions you could ask him, Karsi,” Daethir insisted quietly. “You could annoy him into a second undeath with them all.”

Karsi’s mouth lifted at one corner into an amused smile despite himself. Then he looked down at Daethir and his eyes filled with tears. He brought both hands to Daethir’s jaw and choked, “You scared the shit out of me, love.”

“I know,” Daethir replied, placing his hands on Karsi’s waist. His heavy, wine-red robes were lashed around his slim middle with a thick band of black silk, into which was tucked a ruby-hilted dagger, and Daethir felt its cold bite against the bare inside of his wrist. “I’m sorry. I’m here though, and it’s entirely because of Nyr. He saved me from a Death Lord, and then when I freaked out over him being a draugr too, he saved me all over again and led me through a wall and then up here. To you. I’m alive because of him.” 

He paused and tilted his head sideways in a way that he saved for special occasions just like that one: unfortunate situations (usually of his own making) when he needed Karsi to be thoroughly wrapped around his little finger and eating out of his hand and helplessly unable to say no. 

Karsi swallowed. 

“I owe him my life, Karsi. You owe him my life. Shouldn’t we give him another chance at living too? Let him come with us…”

Karsi’s right eyelid twitched, and although he hadn’t uttered a word, Daethir knew he had him. 

He popped up onto his tiptoes, pecked the vampire on the cheek, and scuttled back to Nyr in the dark tunnel. 

He took the draugr by both hands and backed up towards the doorway, and to his surprise, Nyr followed. His movements were soft, graceful and fluid as a dancer, and Daethir thought again how strangely beautiful this creature was. 

Nyr stopped just shy of the threshold though, and met Karsi’s eye. He let go of Daethir’s hands and lowered his arms to his sides. Something wordless seemed to pass between the two that Daethir couldn’t unpick, and he looked from one to the other in helpless confusion. 

“Kay?” he chirped after a moment. “Nyr?”

Finally, Karsi drew in a long breath, held it, and then let it go in a rush. “Do you have anything you wish to bring with you?” he asked and Daethir almost yipped with the sudden rush of joy that bubbled up inside him. He hadn’t quite dared believe it until then. 

It was the same kind of excitement and trepidation he felt at the start of a new journey. No matter how many times he and Karsi had set off to find some new book or scroll or sacred offering pot, he felt the exact same flare of unbridled, effervescent joy, and now as he looked between the two undead creatures before him, he felt it again. 

“If I go back down there now, I will not come out again,” Nyr said in a barely there rasp. “The Death Lords will all know by now what I did, and how I betrayed them to get Daethir out. They will forget in a week perhaps, but I would have to conceal myself, and Daethir would freeze to death up here waiting, even with a fire.”

Daethir paused and watched Karsi’s expression as the realisation dawned on the vampire of the risk Nyr had taken to get his lover out alive. Then, he surprised Daethir by raising the inside of his left wrist – the side closest to his now-silent heart – to his canines and biting his own vein, sending droplets of his precious blood spattering onto the snow rimed stone at his feet. With ritualistic intonation, he said, “You’re right. I owe you the life of my beloved. By my blood I swear to do you no harm, and to protect you to the best of my abilities until my death or such time as you release me from my oath.”

Daethir’s eyebrows shot up. He’d never heard Karsi speak like that, and he’d certainly never given a blood oath to anyone, not that Daethir knew of anyway. Astonished, he looked at Nyr. 

The draugr stepped out of the doorway and around the small pool of blood that sparkled like a handful of rubies cushioned on the snow. He tilted his head slightly to one side, and smiled. “I shall do my utmost to be worthy of such an oath, vampire.” The word came out like an honorific, not an insult. 

For the space of ten heartbeats – twenty, if Daethir’s pounding pulse was the cadence by which such measurements were to be judged – no one moved or spoke. Finally, Karsi turned away and walked towards the fire, his long black hair blowing loose in the wind. He looked softer now, the tension melting from his shoulders, but Daethir knew his lover to the core, and he still bore some internal struggle. 

Daethir made a mental note to question him about it later, and then turned to Nyr. “Where to now?” he asked. 

“I will follow where you lead, Daethir.”

At that, Daethir sucked air in through his teeth in a comical grimace. “Terrible choice,” he grinned. “Luckily for you, I follow where Karsi leads, and Karsi is full of excellent ideas and great judgement.”

“I’m not so sure of that,” Karsi said over his shoulder as he stalked six paces ahead of them. “I just gave a blood oath to a draugr. You’ve rotted my brain with your company, Dae.”

Daethir grinned again and elbowed Nyr in his ribs. “You’re gonna fit right in, I just know it.”

Nyr smiled faintly and it was only then that Daethir realised that the draugr was still wearing just a linen shift and no boots. 

“Shit, Nyr, you must be freezing!”

“I’m not going to die of exposure, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Karsi snorted faintly, looking surprisingly amused until Daethir told him to take his own coat off and give it to Nyr, which he flat-out refused to do. 

“You can’t expect him to walk around barefoot, Karse!”

“He can strip one of the bandits in the entrance for armour,” Karsi shot back, gesturing at the main door to the tomb. “It’s not like they need it. I swore to protect him, not divest myself for his comfort.”

Without a word, Nyr left in the direction Karsi had pointed, and a few minutes later, he returned wearing the black mage robes of one of the frozen corpses just inside the door, with a long fur-trimmed cloak that caught the wind and flapped like bat’s wings, and tall, black leather boots cuffed with soft fur. The cloak had a hood, which he pulled up over his head, and with the shadows it cast, he almost looked unremarkable save for that long, silver braid that hung elegantly down over one shoulder. With those new clothes on, he looked thin, yes, but not undead. Until Daethir met his blue eyes. 

“Karsi, can you cast a glamour on him or something? Like the one you use? He shouldn’t have to worry about every last person we meet trying to hack his head off.”

The vampire nodded, and crossed their frozen campsite to meet him halfway. “If I may?” he asked, raising his right hand. Black and red magicka bubbled into his palm and Nyr eyed it warily, but nodded once. 

“I can do it myself,” he added, “But I think you’re a stronger mage than I, and you have more experience with alteration magic, I’m sure.”

Karsi just grunted something and circled his fingertips over Nyr’s face. In place of the haunted, sunken eyes and gaunt, hollow cheeks of a corpse, a beautiful, porcelain face stared out from under the hood, and the undead, blue glow of his eyes faded to the forget-me-not blue of a wild meadow in summer. 

“Holy shit, Karsi,” Daethir exhaled. “You don’t do anything by halves, do you?”

The vampire rolled his eyes and cast the same spell on his own face, and the black sclera faded to white, and the gold deepened to a warm brown, and Daethir tried not to mourn the loss of the ‘otherness’ in his two companions. 

“Karsi?” 

“Mn?”

“Can you… Can you make it so that I can see you both?”

“Without affecting the way others view us?” he clarified, and Daethir nodded. He looked to Nyr for his opinion, and when the draugr just shrugged, seeming almost curious about whether such a clause could be written into a spell like that, especially after it had already been woven, Karsi took it for the challenge it undoubtedly was, and made another gesture at the side of Nyr’s face. 

The face of a draugr stared back at him once again, and Daethir beamed. “I fucking love magic,” he laughed, and to his surprise, Nyr laughed too, shaking his head. “Do you mind? I mean, I was pretty rude about draugr a while ago, but I really didn’t mean to include you in it.”

“What, when you called my kind ‘the wrong end of a raisin’ or thereabouts?” he said, arching an eyebrow. 

Karsi burst out laughing, and the sound was so loud and honest and off-guard that all three of them began to laugh. It took a lot to make Karsi laugh like that, and the sound of it filled Daethir’s heart to bursting. 

He looped his arm through Nyr’s elbow and then dragged him round so he could stick his other arm under Karsi’s, and he dragged the two of them towards the fire and their discarded travel packs. 

“Come on,” he said, glancing up at the two of them. They were almost a match in heights, he noted from about a foot below them. “Let’s put this place behind us. Karsi, what was the next item on our list?”

“The Lunarstone Chalice,” he said dryly. “Last rumoured to be in a ruined temple in the mountains north of Markarth.”

“Ooh, Markarth. My favourite place in all the world,” Daethir chimed sarcastically, unlinking both arms so he could gesture grandly while walking backwards. “Second only to Windhelm in its snobbery towards elven kind, and the whole area is bristling with rabid, frothing lunatics called the ‘Forsworn’. Can’t think of a place I’d like to start Nyr’s tour of Tamriel more than bloody fucking Markarth.”

And then he caught his heel on a flagstone and pitched backwards with a sharp cry of surprise, only to find hands shooting out to catch him on either side. 

Nyr and Karsi hauled him upright before he landed ass-first on the icy stone, and Daethir grinned up at both of them.

“Alright,” Nyr said in his hoarse croak. “Let’s begin.”

__

If there's interest in these three, I'll happily add it to my 'to work on' list. Consider letting me know you enjoyed it by reblogging it or leaving a comment/ask.

Take care of yourselves, and I hope you have a lovely day/night wherever you are, and whenever you read this.

| Masterlist | Ko-fi (tip jar)

(if you enjoyed this draugr/lich boy, you might also like this story, featuring an altogether more shy and retiring draugr named Kalle, and the adventurer who falls in love with him over several visits to his tomb - m/f pairing).

[datvtranscripts]

The Enemy of My Enemy Pt. 5

Taking Point

Signs and Portents Masterpost Previous: The Gods’ Plans

Rook goes to talk to Varric in the infirmary.

Varric: So Solas told the truth about the gods.

Rook: You heard? It's bad, Varric. If you'd seen D'Meta's Crossing…

Varric: The team needs to act fast… and it can't do that with me leading from a bed. You've gotta take point on this.

Dialogue options:

Affable: I don’t want your job. [1]

Sarcastic: I can’t replace you. [2]

Stoic: If that’s what you want. [3]

1 - Affable: I don’t want your job. Rook: I didn't come in here trying to take your job, Varric. Varric: I know you didn't. But it's what the team needs right now. Rook: You sure? Harding/Neve got hurt because she listened to me.[4]

2 - Sarcastic: I can’t replace you. Rook: I can't do what you do. I've barely been holding it together in the short time you've been out. Varric: You don't need to do what I do. You just need to get it done. [4]

3 - Stoic: If that’s what you want. Rook: I'll get it done. Varric: I never doubted it. [4]

4 - Scene continues.

Varric: Rook, when I put this team together, what did I look for? A detective to find the Dread Wolf and a scout to get us the lay of the land. Exactly the people he'd expect me to recruit. Disciplined. Predictable. And then there's you. Remember when we first met kid?

Origin dependent dialogue:

Crow [5]

Grey Warden [6]

Lord of Fortune [7]

Mourn Watch [8]

Shadow Dragon [9]

Veil Jumper [10]

5 - Crow Varric: I watched you pick apart an entire Antaam patrol in Treviso. They outnumbered you twenty-to-one. Rook: They were overconfident. I took advantage. Varric: Which no one else did. Crows didn't appreciate the heat it brought down, but…

6 - Grey Warden Varric: I watched you lead a few misfit recruits and push back one of the biggest darkspawn hordes I've ever seen. Rook: Just needed to find the right strategy. Varric: And no other Warden found it. You stopped that horde. Had to drop a town hall on it, but…

7 - Lord of Fortune Varric: That scheming noble locked us up inside that tomb. Tightest corner I've ever been in. But you kept your cool. Fought off the guardians. Discovered an escape route… Rook: And triggered a cave-in. Varric: A big one. Rivaini leaders lined up to yell at you for that, but…

8 - Mourn Watch Varric: You stopped an entire undead rebellion with less than a dozen Mourn Watchers. Rook: Just needed a bolder approach than Watchers usually take. Varric: And no one else knew it. Only you figured it out. Ticked off a bunch of snooty Nevarrans, but…

9 - Shadow Dragon Varric: You risked your neck to bring down an entire slavery ring. Pretty much by yourself. Rook: I had help. Varric: Sure. I got winded about five minutes in. You did most of the work. Ticked off a bunch of Minrathous big shots, but…

10 - Veil Jumper Varric: That first ill-fated Arlathan expedition. Not the recent one. Demons just kept coming for us. Dozens. Hundreds. But you didn't give up. You found a path out of that forest. Led us from the darkest depths back to safety. Lost that magic map. Pissed off some historians, but..

11 - Scene continues.

Varric: You've got a knack, kid.

Rook: For what?

Varric: Finding a way through the wildest shit I've ever seen. With a plan that no one expects. On the best day of his life, Solas wouldn't see you coming, Rook. And don't worry. I'll still be here to talk if you need me.

12 - Dialogue options:

Investigate: About Harding/Neve being hurt… [13]

Investigate: About Solas and the ritual… [14]

Investigate: About D’Meta’s Crossing… [15]

Talk to you later. [16]

13 - Investigate: About Harding/Neve being hurt… Rook: When I took over at the ritual site, I had to make a call on who came with me to knock over that statue. It was the first decision I made leading this team, and Harding/Neve got hurt because of it. Varric: You made a decision with the best information you had. Sometimes you do that, and people end up hurt. Or worse. Rook: What would you have done? Varric: What would I have done? Probably gotten myself killed and failed to stop the ritual if you hadn't stepped in. A good leader isn't someone who never makes mistakes: It's someone who admits when they make one. That's how you earn their trust. [Back to 12]

14 - Investigate: About Solas and the ritual… Rook: Did Neve tell you about me talking to Solas in the Fade? Varric: I had some good arguments with Chuckles back in the day. I can't imagine being stuck with him in my head. But how are you feeling about it?

Dialogue options:

We need his help. [17]

He’s an asshole. [18]

I’m worried. [19]

17 - We need his help. Rook: It doesn't matter how I feel about it. We can't stop the gods without what he knows. Varric: And there you go. You don't have to love him to deal with him. 18 - He’s an asshole. Rook: Your old friend is kind of an asshole, Varric. Varric: (Laughs) I'd love to be a fly on the wall while the two of you get into it. Solas fought a rebellion against Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain. He didn't want to be a god. But he's also a lot older and more powerful than any of us. He looks at us like we're toddlers. Rook: So how do I deal with him? Varric: Act like you're as smart as he is, and he'll be insufferable. Show him you respect his age and experience, and he'll remind you he's just a man. Honestly, pick whichever of those pisses you off less. 19 - I’m worried. Rook: He's the god of lies, and he's inside my head, Varric. How do you think I feel about that? Varric: Fair enough. But Neve's a great mage. If you need her to whip up a ward to keep him out of your mind, she can. But you haven't asked her to. Why not? Rook: But you haven't asked her to. Why not? Varric: Solas is our best source of information about these elven gods. We can't stop them without what he knows. So you're making the decision to keep talking with him. Rook: I… yeah. Varric: You're making a choice. Stay careful, stay worried, but don't beat yourself up about doing what you have to do. 20 - Scene continues. Rook: He also asked me to tell you that he regrets what happened. Hurting you, I mean. Varric: Chuckles is sentimental. He could burn the world down, and the thing that would make him cry is a single flower with blackened petals. [Back to 12]

15 - Investigate: About D’Meta’s Crossing… Rook: There is something… D'Meta's Crossing was awful. While we were there, we found one survivor—the mayor.

Freed the mayor Varric: You took him back to the Veil Jumpers.

Left the mayor Varric: You left him to fend for himself.

Sent the mayor to the Wardens Varric: You sent him to the Wardens, right?

Rook: Not everyone was happy about my decision… We're just starting out and I'm already losing their trust. Varric: The key to earning the team's trust isn't to only make decisions everyone agrees with. It's showing the team that they can tell you whatever's on their mind, even if they think you're full of crap, and know you'll listen.

16 - Talk to you later. Scene continues.

Rook: I'll let you get some rest.

Varric: You're gonna be fine, Rook. Hey, one last thing before you go. I've been racking my brain thinking of contacts who might help us with these gods.

Rook: You got any ideas?

Varric: Nothing. But being a leader isn't about having all the answers yourself: It's about knowing who does. Neve has connections to a whole world that Harding and I barely know. Might be worth talking to her.

Rook: Will do. Thanks, Varric.

Varric: Any time.

Next: Here for Leads