#Shadow Weaving; Volume I

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

Red tipped gloves || Young President!Coriolanus Snow x reader

Summary: The thought of motherhood at such a young age was absolutely terrifying. Though Coriolanus doesn’t seem to understand why.!

Warnings: mention of blood, self harm in the form of picking at nails, toxic Coryo, reader is implied to be young, manipulation, if there's anything else pls lmk

Wc: 811

A/n: I'm so bad with these summaries I can't even.

Divider by @firefly-graphics

A child expecting a child. How messed up was that? You rub the swell of your stomach as you stare at yourself. Youth evident in your still-round cheeks, yet the impending responsibilities cast shadows on the innocence of your features.

Gnawing at your law rips, you smooth down the dress that Coriolanus picked out for you. Dainty, innocent, just like how he liked to dress you up for social events.

Your hands subconsciously move together as you pick at your already picked-at nails. The horrible habit you picked up ever since you got married to Coryo.

Hearing the door suddenly open, you quickly pause your actions, moving your hands behind your back as you turn around to face Coryo.

Noticing your strange behaviour, he pauses to look at you before his eyes move behind you to the reflection of the mirror where you fingers were fidgeting.

Swiftly closing the door, Coriolanus strides purposefully toward you, casting a tall shadow as he towers over. Even in high heels, you find him looming above. “Show me your hands,” he commands, his tone firm and unyielding.

A subtle blend of defiance and confusion colors your expression, causing a faint twitch in your lips. “What?” your voice was too quiet, your tone feigning nervousness. A light gulp accompanies the gentle quiver of your lips.

“I said, show me your hands,” Coriolanus repeats himself, his tone escalating in volume. You release a slow exhale through your nose, carefully extending your hands in front of you. Your eyes, hesitant and uneasy, divert off to the side, catching the subtle nuances of your husband’s frustration as he lets out a sigh.

“I thought you stopped that horrible habit of yours,” he retorted sharply, firmly grabbing your hands as you flinched. A displeased expression crosses his face as he looks down at your fingers—raw and drawing blood—before his gaze shifts to your face, your bottom lip nervously tucked beneath your front teeth.

“I couldn’t help it,” you whisper softly, a hint of shame and embarrassment weaving through your tone, while he exhales deeply through his nose. “I’ll arrange for more gloves to be sent to you before tonight,” he says wearily, gently resting his hands on the curve of your stomach before quietly leaving.

~

Beside Coriolanus, engaged with his fair-weathered friends, you find yourself zoning out, your gaze fixed on the glass of water cradled in your gloved hands. The murmur of conversation fades into the background; you’re simply bored and disinterested in the overly serious discussion.

“Darling,” Coriolanus’ voice, firm yet gentle, pulls your attention as you lift your eyes to find everyone in the group focused on you. “I’m sorry, what was it?” you meekly ask, eliciting light chuckles from the women and amused glances from the men.

Coriolanus holds himself back from rolling his eyes, instead, he takes a large gulp of his posca. “Mrs. Cardew asked you how far along you are,” He smiles down at you, the kind of smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Oh,” you say softly, meeting Mrs. Cardew’s gaze, “28 weeks.” You smile at the older woman, and a few people in the group react with appreciative sounds. Coriolanus pulls you closer to his side, a possessive grasp signaling to those with wandering eyes who you belong to.

As the night wore on, a queasiness settled in your stomach. Socializing with Coriolanus’ friends became exhausting—forcing smiles, feigning excitement for the baby was draining. Leaning in, you whisper in Coriolanus’ ear, “Can I retire to our room? I don’t feel well.”

“Do you really need to? Right now?” he harshly whispers, and you gulp, hesitantly nodding. He sighs, rolls his eyes, and gets up. “Excuse me, my wife needs to rest,” he says to those around you with a fake smile as you quietly apologised.

Hand in hand, Coriolanus leads you to your shared bedroom, forcefully closing the door behind you. It was abundantly clear that he's upset about your early departure from the party.

“Did you just make up an excuse so you could leave the party? Is that it?” Coryo bitterly accuses you as you take a seat on one of the couches. “What? I didn’t make up an excuse. I’m pregnant for heavens sake, Coryo,” You frown, deeply offended by his accusation.

“Yeah, sure,” He chuckles, crossing his arms. “Why is that so hard to believe,” you scoff, mirroring his crossed arms. "Eleanor is in the exact same state as you, and she seemed perfectly fine," he shrugs, his tone nonchalant, causing your lips to part in disbelief.

“Are you seriously comparing me to Eleanor?” You furrow your eyebrows, a touch of frustration in your voice. Ready to counter his unfair comparison, you point out the facts, “She's considerably older than me, has experienced childbirth before. Naturally, she'd feel fine, Coryo."

Coriolanus mumbles something incoherent under his breath, his attitude towards you causing tears to well up in your eyes. His choice of comparison feels like a pointed jab in the most sensitive spot. When you sniffle, your husband's attention is caught. "Are you crying?" he swiftly retorts, his gaze probing, while you avert your eyes, concealing the probable redness.

A soft laugh escapes him, "Honestly, you can be so childish sometimes. Getting upset over that?" He raises an eyebrow at you—ironically so. His comment serves as a spark igniting a blaze within you. How dare he call you childish when you’ve done nothing but act older than you were.

“I just can’t believe you’re comparing me to Eleanor who’s had children before, unlike me who’s fucking terrified at the thought of being a mother,” you spat, the intensity of your emotions evident in your words. Even from a distance, you notice the shift in Coriolanus' eyes, the once-blue depths now darkening with an unspoken tension.

“As the First Lady you’re expected to give me heirs. Now I need a woman who’s ready to give me children, are you going to be her or not?” His words strike a nerve, and you feel your eyes twitch as a headache begins to form.

"Did you even think about that before marrying me, Coryo?" you challenge, your words causing him to furrow his eyebrows. "Because you damn well know I'm not prepared to be a mother. So, why choose me? You could have selected someone else—someone older, someone genuinely willing to birth your children." The air hangs heavy with the weight of your words, leaving a palpable tension between you and Coriolanus.

Your fingers unconsciously pick at your nails, the once-immaculate white gloves now bear crimson stains at the fingertips. Coriolanus' gaze fixates on your hands, and he snaps, swiftly moving towards you to pry your fingers apart. "Stop doing that!" he commands, his tone sharp.

As he moves in, his face is so close that you can feel his breath gently fanning your features. Undeterred, he continues with a venom-laced voice, "You should be thanking me for choosing you, for pulling your family from debt." His eyes, intense and unyielding, bore into yours.

“I could have married someone else. I had a list I could have chosen from who could’ve helped but no, you had to marry me.” you assert, the weight of your words causing a brief shock to cross Coriolanus' face. It's a rare moment where you've left him momentarily speechless.

Breaking the silence, he mutters, "I'll have the servants bring you some medicine." With one final glance, he withdraws, leaving the room. The atmosphere hangs thick with unspoken tensions, the stained gloves and the lingering words serving as tangible reminders of the strain in your relationship.

[aixeko]

──────<3 MINDFUCK ༺��༻

WEEK 4 | SINNERS SAVAGERY + APART OF @edgeray EVENT

| Synopsis | Demons linger where shadows play; in silence, hearts betray, whispers echo, and desires catch fire in the haunting depths of the night.

With every kiss, a scythe may cut, in which terror envelops one's gut; together they dance on the edge of fate, finding beauty in a love that is too late.

So let the night weave its spell, for in the dark they know so well, and though demons are whispering fright, in their twilight, the lights are ignited.

| Starring | Slasher!Arlecchino x Investigative-Psychologist!Reader

| Setting | SLASHER/SERIAL KILLER AU

| Scenario | [ ONESHOT ] SMUT Porn with plot. Long Introduction. Dark romance. Intersex Arlecchino. Manipulation. Body worship. Dacryphilia. Obsessive & sadistic Arle. Cunnilingus. Fingerfucking. Degrading & Praise Kink. Implied cannibalism. Mastrubation. Unreliable character. Female anatomy for reader, pronouns are not mentioned. 

► RADIO CHANNEL [ Author note ]

⚝ TAKE OFF MY CLOTHES, OH, BLESS ME, FATHER.  ⚝ Ended on a cliff hanger lmfao, I will probably expand on it since this is only ⅓ of the ideas I have for Slasher Arle. ⚝ Anyway, thank you so much to Ray for letting me participate in this event <3 Even though it’s quite late but nonetheless thank you for accepting my work as a part of your event…! ⚝ This is how I imagine Slasher Arlecchino to look like or basically arlecchino from commedia dell'arte

[ Word count: 5147 ] | Art credit: Nut_nog on Twitter | Heart divider gif

"In and every heart that is meticulously dissected by my hand has its part in orchestrating the string of fates to bring you closer to me... and further away from life, my greatest tragedy."

Those were the exact words spoken to you during a mysterious call on the very first Halloween Eve when the infamous Mirthless Harlequin made her debut as a renowned and feared killer.

Frightened citizens have declared many titles for the Mirthless Harlequin, such as The Jester who doesn't laugh, The Living Embodiment of Demons, The Surgeon, and The Heart Collector.

Yet all these titles are of little to no comparison to the true identity of the beast that lies dormant behind that twisted, sinister mask.

The muted saturation of the walls is splotched in what is most likely the victim's blood; written on it is the detail of what had transpired before the crime scene occurred, and the freshest blood drips down the wall, spelling the name of the person responsible for the attack as if in pride or apathy toward the fallen soul.

At the centre lies a chair and a small table draped in a deep velvet cloth; an organ rests atop it, the very one that would become a trademark for the killer's distorted way of leaving a mark behind. A heart, perfectly preserved with it carefully wrapped in crimson ribbons, each twist and turn creating intricate patterns that speak volumes about the attempt at humanising the organ.

Around the table, papers of various poems and photographs of the victim's missing parts were scattered across, but even with those morbid aspects, one letter in particular has caught the eyes of the world. A letter in which a cryptic note rests inside, hinting at an obsession, not towards the killing but towards the person who will, no, whom she wants to investigate and find the truth behind the "Mirthless Harlequin."

The second paragraph was quite strange, switching from the gruesome details of the first to quoting a poet and novelist for children and young adults as follows:

Walls have ears. Doors have eyes. Trees have voices. Beasts tell lies. Beware the rain. Beware the snow. Beware the man. You think you may know.

But it wasn't until the very last paragraph that you would finally choose to be the one in charge of leading the case; there your name is written repeatedly, blood surrounds it like the base of a cake, and an unknown white substance decorates it like frosting, a substance you come to identify and regret upon investigation.

A mask which you dreaded oh so much, a mask which you wanted to rip apart, and yet when that day arrived, you prayed to the Lord above to take away the sight of what lies hidden by the mask, a sight of the unmistakable face your body and soul have fallen into the grasp of. 

The aroma of caffeine envelops your senses, overshadowing the aching desire to rest. Although it keeps your consciousness awake, you cannot replicate the same for your body.

Your blinks began to weigh your eyelids heavily with their slow momentum, and at any second now, you feared your body could give out on you and you would fall face-first onto the office coffee machine.

Much anticipated, your body did give out, but the harsh feeling of the appliance never came into contact with your skin; rather, a calloused yet careful hand pressed against your forehead, strong enough to prevent you from falling over.

"It's no wonder you haven't answered my messages or calls," an inviting yet foreboding voice sounds beside you. "Working overtime isn't going to earn you an easy ticket to an ongoing decade-long murder case—"

"I know, I know, you don't have to lecture me like everyone else; I have heard it about a thousand times already," you grumbled, grabbing her wrist and using it to straighten yourself before your eyes made contact with her crimson-crossed ones.

Arlecchino's eyebrows are furrowed, darkening her expression further; her eyes, which are often alluring and enigmatic due to her ability to hide the complexity of human emotions, seem to take on a more dangerous underlining.

Whatever tiredness had anchored you suddenly disappeared as she pulled your hand off hers, switching it so that she would be the one gripping your wrist. The clock on the wall ticked loudly, each second tightening the tension in the air and reflecting her thinning patience. She leaned down, her head turned to the side to whisper into your ear, but when she parted her lips, no words sounded out—a rare occasion showing the intensity of her frustration.

Her jaw clenches. "But you still refuse to listen; how can they depend on their best investigative psychologist when the one in question has not a single sane cell left to think with?" she asks, a rhetorical question you noted, but her words come out more like a growl demanding an answer.

"I am sane enough to work, and excuse me...! I didn't study my fucking ass off for nothing; I will have you know that just because I let you have your way with me so often doesn't mean I am not independent; for fuck's sake, I graduated with high honors!"

You expected her to fire back a remark rebutting your claims, seeing the twitch of her mouth, but she quickly caught you off guard when she placed her hand on your knee and held you over her shoulder.

You let out a surprised sound, instantly yelling with fisted hands coming into contact with her back in a furious retort, "ARLE! LET ME DOWN."

"Stop acting like a child; this is for your own health."

"I AM PERFECTLY HEALTHY-" Arlecchino interrupted you, her voice booming throughout the entire police department. "Healthy is a word that perfectly describes the OPPOSITE of what you are; you have been skipping your meals and overworking yourself to the point of passing out."

You tried giving your two cents, but sensing your next moves, her voice increased in volume. "I WILL be taking you back home, and you WILL have a warm bath, eat a proper meal, and go to sleep; end of statement."

Like a cowardly dog, when its owner is disappointed in it, you can only soak in annoyed silence and mumble incoherent, derogatory language that Arlecchino chooses to ignore.

Arriving at your car, Arlecchino put you down in the passenger seat, buckling your belt and closing the door for you before going to the driver's seat herself.

You turn to look at her the moment she has settled down, leaning as close to her as possible with the seat belt wrapped around you.

"Peruere-! You don't get it, Halloween Eve is coming up in a few days, which means she will be committing her 13th crime this year! Thirteen victims-!"

Arlecchino slowly turns her head to you, her facial features clearly expressionless to the naked eye, but to you, this is the most enraged you have ever seen her.

"Do you hear how insane you sound right now? You're obsessed. To think a criminal has you acting this way; I would even dare say you sound downright in love with this murderer." Arlecchino leaned in closer, and instinctively you flinched away slightly. "Don't tell me that you would prioritise your parasocial relationship with a killer over the person whom you married." Although it doesn't sound like a question, it was phrased like one by her tone.

You bite your bottom lip and slump back into your seat with an audible groan; it wasn't because you couldn't answer the question, no, far from it. If it were any normal argument between you two, then you would've easily answered no; you wouldn't choose a killer over her, your lover, but the fact that she would assume such things from you has hit a spot you never knew she could. How can she think so lowly of me to presume the worst betrayal of all, obsessive towards THAT forsaken woman? Can someone not do their job without any intent of malice anymore?! The absurdity of the situation has your head aching, to believe that it all started because you wanted to make sure no one else would die from the 'Mirthless Harlequin' anymore, all because you chose selflessness over selfishness.

The ride back home would be in complete silence as you stubbornly refuse to apologise for your actions, nor would Arlecchino stoop so low as to abandon the facts and satisfy a brat.

"I'm going to prepare your bath; don't do anything unnecessary while I'm gone."

Arlecchino has calmed down from the argument during the quiet ride back home and is rather friendly now; monetarily, she places her hand on top of your head and ruffles it as she makes her way past you.

"I'm not your kid," you groan, running your hands through your hair to fix the mess that she made.

Your lover only glanced over her shoulder with a glare, a silent threat to your words, but nothing you couldn't handle, and thus she left for your shared bedroom to prepare a bath.

You stand in the hallway, confused about what to do next as you're not usually this free; it's not that you overwork often; it's that you're often way too engaged in what you are doing. Admittedly, you couldn't really say that 1 a.m. is early, especially for most people, as they are asleep by and/or before this time. You turn around for a split moment to make sure the door is locked before you take off your shoes and place them in the wooden shoe rack.

"Might as well analyse that data report Navia gave to me earlier."

You stifle a yawn as you walk up the stairs, turning the corner into the hallway that leads to your office and shared bedroom. The quiet of the night surrounds the house with the exception of the light sound of water coming from the bedroom, a perfect blend with the soft creak of the floorboards beneath your feet.

You perk up and see the many portraits displayed across the hallway of you and Arlecchino, some of them including your friends and coworkers. For what seems like the first time in a long time, a curve is formed in the corner of your mouth.

You stand in front of your office door, eyes gazing at the portraits beside it featuring Arlecchino and you back when you first started dating one another; you still remember that day vividly. It was 12 years ago, a week before the infamous killer first appeared. Your eyes narrow slightly; what a coincidence, you think; life works in such mysterious ways, but it's still often shocking how different destinies are all tied together in the pathway of fate.

Shrugging it off, you grasp the wooden handle of the dark oak door leading to your workspace, twisting it before cracking it open slightly. Just then, a memory of the earlier argument between Arlecchino surfaces, piercing your thoughts.

"Don't tell me that you would prioritise your parasocial relationship with a killer over the person whom you married."

Now that you think about it, Arlecchino has been acting quite out of character today; when you usually have over time, she isn't as mad as she was today, but then again, you did ignore her messages and calls for almost 24 hours. However, in your utmost defence, you need to have your phone on silent mode so you won't be distracted and procrastinate. Coupled with the recent data, you and the rest of the Harlequin investigation team have been hard at work accumulating it over the last few months.

In one of the meetings discussing the various sources gathered for the infamous killer case, a single piece of evidence caught your attention: "A single white hair strand," you mumbled.

"What are you muttering about?"

A shiver runs down your spine, a moment of fear clouding your mind at the sudden sound of another voice, but you're quick to calm down once you recognize the voice belongs to none other than Arlecchino.

"Peruere..." You turn around and say, "Don't creep up on me like that again; it's scary."

Arlecchino raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms and shaking her head in disapproval. "You are standing in front of the door, mumbling incoherent words to yourself in the dark; if it were any other person, wouldn't you be considered the unsettling one?"

Blink, blink, blink. You couldn't even deny it because she's right, and the truth hangs in the air like a balloon waiting to pop.

"Arg... Whatever, forget what you heard and saw; I was thinking about work. By the way, you're done with setting up the bath, right?" You grab her hand, not waiting for a reply to lead her inside and into the bathroom.

"You wanted to bathe together?" Her voice softens, tinged with an unexpected apologetic tone for not considering this turn of events. "I'm afraid I can't; I need to prepare dinner for you since you have been eating only processed food lately, and it's detrimental to your heart."

"Ah..." A wave of embarrassment crashes over you as you realise how swiftly you had dragged her inside and assumed the fact that you would bathe together before even asking for her permission or if she was in the mood to do so in the first place. "I see... It's okay."

Seeing the flustered and disappointed undertone of your words and expression, Arlecchino devises a solution to improve your mood.

"If I am fast enough, I can join you later; is that alright with you?"

Much to your shame, you nodded way too fast for your liking, which in turn resulted in a light smirk from Arlecchino sent your way for the sudden clinginess. Her dark, tattooed hand rises and descends gently, resting on your head as she pats it lightly. The gesture is both comforting and oddly intimate, a soft reminder that you are her lover and the only one capable of seeing this side of her, seeing Peruere.

"Call me if you need anything."

"Mkay, I love you," you whisper, getting closer to the bath as you begin to take off your clothes.

"... Yes, I... love you too."

You didn't question the odd pacing of her words, assuming that she's still not used to saying those words back even after a decade of being together. The door closes with a soft click, and you're fully undressed, a sigh leaving your lips as you step foot inside the hot bath.

You allow your body to relax in the tranquil warmth of the softly cascading water, sinking deeper until only the features above your nose remain above the surface. The gentle flow conceals you whole, creating a cocoon of serenity, an occurrence that is rare for the likes of you. As you close your eyes, the world outside seems to fade away, leaving only the soothing sounds of the water and the faint echoes of your thoughts. In this moment of peacefulness, you allow yourself to let go of all the things that have weighed you down, allowing comfort to wash them away and ground you in a sense of much-needed peace.

Your thoughts linger on what food Arlecchino will be making for you, how pleasant her skin would feel against yours right now, and the upcoming Halloween Eve.

"A single white hair strand? How do I know this isn’t some sort of ploy she set up?” You question Navia, arms crossed in a vice-like grip, as you analyse the hair under the microscope. “Is it fake hair or from a doll?”

"Haha, it's simple, Dr. Snezhevna, because she herself stated in this letter that the hair strand belongs to her,” Navia replies, her tone steady and amused as she watches your demeanour shift dramatically upon seeing the familiar letter in her hand.

An audible groan escapes your lips as you snatch the letter and another from the pile of letters dedicated to the killer to compare the heart stamp and writing styles. As you read, the distinct vocabulary matches flawlessly, with not a single difference between her signature stamp and her writing style, confirming she deliberately left her own DNA behind.

“This woman genuinely pisses me off... Does she think I’m a fool? Or is she that cocky to be under the impression we aren't capable of matching her information with our extensive network database?”

Navia lets out a light chuckle, leaning back in her chair and looking drastically more relaxed than you do.

“I’ve heard Commander Wriothesley uncovered that the fresh blood she uses to spell out her name contains a secret, obscure code imprinted onto it and that it doesn't belong to the victims, though we don't know exactly who it belongs to as of now.”

“Seriously?! God forbid this damn criminal gives me a break!” you exclaim, frustration bubbling over. “The day I finally catch her, I’m going to give her a piece of my damn mind, alright.”

You open your eyes and rise from the water, leaning back against the bath as you take a deep exhale.

"Who are you, and why am I the one you desire so much...?" You said aloud to yourself, your mind foggy with the jester again, easily shattering the peaceful atmosphere that had settled around you.

"Who am I?" Arlecchino's voice echoes throughout the bathroom, causing you to yelp at the unexpected sound.

"Peruere...! Do you seriously have to always randomly creep up on me?!" You turn to face her, your heart racing as you look up at her with displeasure.

"It is not I who am the problem, but it is you who lack awareness, darling; I called your name countless times, and you keep muttering to yourself as always."

Oh.

"Ah, oh, my apologies... hm, wait, are you already finished with cooking? How long have I been here...?" you ask, looking down at your reflection in the water with much shame before raising your hands from under to see the pruney fingers caused by your prolonged exposure to aqua.

"Less than half an hour, the food has already been brought up; you can go and eat right now if you want."

"But—" you tried protesting since you still wanted to bathe with her, but, as always, she read you so easily and responded before you could even get a sentence out.

"We have an eternity before us; you should eat first lest you want an upset stomach, and you should also begin getting ready for bed."

"Sigh, if you say so," you stand up from the bathtub, the warm water dripping from your skin as you reach for the towel hanging beside the tub, wrapping it around yourself snugly. You glance at Arlecchino with a small smile that then turns into a smirk. "You should keep the door open while you're washing up."

As expected, the teasing remark made little to no effect on her, and you're left with her staring at you, unamused.

"So bland, my love, you could have faked your expression or agreed for my sake."

You leave the room with a laugh, and as you take in the sight before you, you can't help the soft smile that replaces the smug smirk that had once dominated your features moments ago. Clothes carefully selected for your comfort and a perfect amount of portion for you to relish are laid out before you on your shared bed; what a thoughtful soulmate you have, you mentally acknowledge.

You lie contentedly inside the soft blankets, the light of the waning moon illuminating your features through the window, painting your face in its most desired parts. You sink further inside, your body never wanting to leave this paradisiacal space; yet likewise, life often works against you, and a notification causes you to straighten yourself grudgingly.

Who would be texting you this late is your initial thought, but the moment your eyes land on the unknown caller who has sent you a voicemail, you nearly drop your phone. Rapidly, you scan the room for the calendar, completely forgetting the phone in your hand has a built-in one, and your heart nearly drops as you realise it's the 29th. Two days before Halloween Eve and two days before the woman strikes again. Another unfortunate soul is soon to fall victim to a killer whose identity is yet to be known aside from her details as a woman with a jester-like appearance.

Shakily, you search for your earbuds and pair them to your phone upon retrieval before you open voicemail and press on the recently sent one. A chill runs down your spine at the sound of the familiar voice beginning to talk to you.

"In the ticking shadows where time slips away, a hero stands tall yet fears the fray.

With every heartbeat, the clock's cruel hand counts down the moments that they both understand.

Time is a thief, relentless and cold.

As you chase the thrill, the stories unfold.

Yet in this chaos, a bond begins to bloom.

Two souls entwined in the depths of doom.

A hero and a villain, bound by a thread.

In the twilight of choices, where both may tread.

The dawn of your death is arriving, my dearest angel. I await the day we shall personally introduce one another, which happens to be only two days from now."

Tsk. You clutch the phone in your hand, slumping back onto the mattress with a hand over your eyes. How frustrating it is to be haunted by someone who is seemingly untraceable, and now you have suddenly received confirmation on who the next victim will be, which conveniently enough happens to be you. You feel calm; you look relaxed, yet internally, you would be lying to yourself if you said you weren't terrified of what would happen to you on that fateful day.

You didn't realise you had been crying until Arlecchino's gentle hands brushed away the tears that streamed down your cheeks in quietude.

"Peruere..." You murmured, the sudden feeling of everything around you crashing down.

You removed your hands from your vision and wrapped them around her waist, pulling her close as you began to sob uncontrollably; the warmth of her body brought comfort to what was left of you. Your lover didn't say anything, opting to keep silent until moments later when the clock struck two.

"She's going to kill you on Halloween Eve," Arlecchino said eerily and softly.

You froze in place, the tears continuing to fall unchecked, but the moment she uttered those words, something sounded incredibly hard to swallow; you had worn earbuds the entire time to prevent her from hearing the voicemail, and there was not a soul who could have heard the message aside from you and the sender, the killer herself.

"But how did you know...?"

Arlecchino looked at you like you were a lost dog, and without many words, she shook her head in yet more disappointment. "Why else would you be crying? It's an obvious assumption based on how you have been acting as of late, the sudden unease, overworking for the past month, and your muttering about some sort of finding." 

Right, right, of course, that's correct; how foolish and frightful of you to think beyond the possibilities.

"Ahaha... Of course, I'm sorry, Peruere... I just need to relax; I am just... so scared. I have never felt such fear before, you know."

Arlecchino stared down into your glistening eyes in wordless moments, a long and slow pause of lifelong connection and understanding passing within those time frames. Slowly, she leaned down, her movements calculated and gentle, as if afraid to break your already fragile body.

Like second nature, your hands subconsciously trail her barely dry body to the nape of her neck, enveloping it and pulling her cooler frame to your warmer one.

Her gaze remained locked on yours, searching for the discomfort and fear lingering in your soul and how she, as your lover, could dissolve those worries into mindless tranquillity.

"Whatever happens," she whispered, her voice a sultry murmur in your ears, "you're not alone."

Multiple kisses follow those words, a few on the right side of your jawline to the left side, one here and there on your neck, and lastly on your collarbone, where she's blocked by the fabric of your shirt.

Simultaneously, Arlecchino pulls the cover off you and runs a hand through your hair, pushing back the strands that have obscured your beautiful features for her hungry eyes to feast on.

"Let me take care of you, little dove."

At the sound of the slight neediness in her raspy tone and that insatiable stare, you could feel a knot forming in your stomach and an aching feeling below it. You couldn't bring yourself to trust your own words, so, choosing the best possible option, you consented to her request with a nod.

Usually, the woman would say something about the lack of vocalisation, but today the air was of a different flavour because she took no time lifting your shirt just above your breasts.

She peppered kisses on every inch of your perfect imperfection, savouring the delicious taste of your body in her mouth; oh, how she wished she could devour it all.

"Peruere... please," you plead, desperate to cloud your mind with her rather than your impending doom.

"Patience," Arlecchino enunciated, her salivating tongue trailing your body but avoiding the part where you desire her the most.

Your impatience overwhelms you, and your hand goes to grip her wet hair, pulling her upward to your hardened nipples. In a weak attempt for her to fasten her pace, you let out a pathetic, whiny plea.

Through lidded eyes, her pupils direct to your face a prideful, almost invisible smirk that flashes on her lips at the sight of you breaking apart under her feathery touch.

"I have barely touched you, sweetheart, and here you are," Arlecchino pressed her knee directly on your clothed vagina, causing you to shamefully moan, "so eager for me."

Her hot mouth latches onto the right side of your perky nipple, making sure to give the left one the same attention by pinching it with her thumb and forefinger. A gasp is involuntarily ushered out of your lips, followed by more pleas for her to continue her relentless assault.

Pitying you this time, Arlecchino's pull at the hem of your pants causing a short cry of pain to be released from you and an unexpected whimper at the feel of the icy air against your womanhood.

"Naughty girl, such innocent looks but such perverted thoughts; you're already this wet," the tip of Arlecchino's finger touches your clitoral area. "And I haven't even started."

The slow progress of her foreplay obliterated to nothingness as she forcefully thrust two colossal fingers inside your aching cunt. A high-pitched scream pierced the room, but it would not be long until you were silenced by her mouth.

"How... adorable," Arlecchino groaned in between kisses, her eyes wide open to observe every twitch and change in your lascivious expression.

Like a starving animal, Arlecchino wanted more; she needed more, she craved more, and in a split moment of lost control, she decided to satiate her desire for your addictive melodies. Thus, she pulled away from your lips, increasing her speed and slipping in a third finger as your pussy morphed and fit her fingers like a puzzle piece.

You bite your lips, trying to muffle your sound as she plunges faster and deeper into you, and of course, this doesn't go unnoticed by her because how dare you try to get rid of the sound she's craving so much?

She manoeuvred you into a more advantageous position, pulling your legs over her shoulders, thrusting into the deepest part of your cunt, and rubbing your clitoris furiously with her thumb all the while she got to enjoy your pleasurable sounds up close.

"Good girl, fuck... just like that, sounds so good for me; you're so close, aren't you, doll?"

Arlecchino's hand comes to latch itself onto your hair, pulling it with satisfaction as an ominous grin creeps its way onto her once monotonic features. Her eyes seemingly take on a deeper vermilion hue at your face, filled pathetically with pleasure and fat with tears in those precious, mindless gazes.

"MMPH-AH," pant, pant, pant. "Don't stop! Fuck, fuck, fuck! I'm so close...! AH! PERUERE—"

Your back arches off the bed, eyes rolling back as you see a distorted reality comparable to that of heaven; so much pleasure and so much energy are used that the next thing you know, you are passed out on the bed while Arlecchino licks your cunt clean.

Arlecchino's thumb swipes over your lip in a tender touch, eyes scanning your serene sleeping form, and contrasting with the loving touch is a sinister grin spread across her features, a mix of admiration for her work of art and something darker that dances in her eyes during the dead of the night.

Her hand trails down to the aching bulge that's imprisoned in her pants as she studies the rise and fall of your chest. She pulls her hardened cock out, rubbing the leaking precum all over the base of her length like it is lubrication.

For a moment, she allows herself to bask in the sight of you all peaceful and unaware, completely vulnerable in your deep slumber. A mix of a moan and a groan sounds from her lips as she moves up and down her enraged member, the corners of her mouth curling higher as she considers the delicate line between protector and predator, each heartbeat echoing the thrill of the beautifully unknown night.

"Sweet dreams," she whispered, her words laced with a playful edge that held secrets only the abyssal night could understand. She masturbated faster, her climax coming quicker than she expected, but not one that was unappreciated. She pulled back slightly, that sinister grin never leaving her swollen lips, an unsettling mixture of warmth and foreboding in the stillness of the atmosphere.

She switched the same hand that was used to fuck you senseless to her mouth, and effectively, she came as she tasted your arousing scent and ejaculated all over you soon after.

A satisfied enough sigh emanates from her, opting to settle down on top of your chest after calming down from her high to feel the sound of your heartbeat against her ear. The smile that seemed to stretch endlessly expanded at the thought of your heart in her hand, devouring her mind. Soon enough, the beating of your heart shall be in her hands for her to safeguard until it can no longer pulsate without its host.

"My greatest tragedy."

[thewulf]

The Quiet Between || Azriel

Summary: Request -Hiyaaa loved your Az story. So freaking good. I had one in mind and wonder if you could write it? Maybe some deep Azriel and reader angst? I'm picturing a scene where Azriel, drowning under his duties and secrets snaps harshly at the reader, our newest healer at the Night Court when she gently suggests he talks about what’s weighing on him. His words sting, making her doubt her role at the court... Read Rest Here

A/N: Whew this was challenging to write but I really love how it turned out! Please let me know how you like it below. And as always, keep sending in your requests!

Pairing: Azriel x Female Reader (Dawn Court Reader)

Word Count: 6.2k +

TW: Mean Az, Harsh Words (soft ending!)

When Madja, the esteemed healer of the Night Court, realized the growing demands of her duties required an apprentice she petitioned the High Lord for permission to seek out a promising candidate. Her search led her to Dawn Court where your skills and unique approach to healing caught her attention. Impressed, as she often wasn’t, she offered you the chance to study under her. A chance to take over for her in a few hundred years. It was a proposition that both excited and terrified you. Normally you were more risk-averse but something within urged you not to let this opportunity slip by. Accepting the offer might be a decision you'd regret forever if declined.

Your arrival at the Night Court was a mix of awe and overwhelming pressure. You were acutely aware of the Court’s reputation with its warriors and schemers, and its dances of politics and power. Yet, as the years unfolded you found more than just acceptance. You found a place where you felt like you just might belong. Madja was an exacting teacher and under her guidance you thrived. Your skills became indispensable to the Night Court.

Mor, your favorite social butterfly, took it upon herself to integrate you into the Court's vibrant life. She invited you out with the girls to Rita's where the music and laughter helped weave you deeper into the fabric of Night Court society. Cassian with his easy grin and boundless energy offered to train you in physical defense. He said it was essential for everyone at the Court to know how to protect themselves. And even Rhysand himself showed you how to fortify your mental shields as a necessary skill amidst the intrigues that often played out around them.

Yet despite these warm inclusions, Azriel was the only one who kept a cautious distance. The shadowy spymaster was polite but reserved. He often watched you with a contemplative gaze that suggested he was trying to figure you out from a safe distance. His reluctance to engage was not overtly hostile but it was clear he held reservations. His own shadows clinging too tightly, perhaps, to allow another close. This delicate balance of respect and curiosity marked your interactions, or lack thereof, with the spymaster. You often caught glimpses of Azriel as his presence like a whisper in the vast halls of the Court. He was always just out of reach, both physically and emotionally. His aloofness didn't hinder your duties. But it did create a space of unanswered questions in your mind.

One cool evening in the Night Court the opportunity to bridge that distance between him presented itself unexpectedly. Azriel returned from a particularly grueling mission. His arrival unannounced except for the quiet clatter of his boots in the hallway of the healer's quarters. As he pushed open the door, the grimace etched across his face spoke volumes of the pain he was enduring, both visible and hidden beneath the surface.

You ushered him in, your professional demeanor in place yet your heart beating a tad faster with the realization that this was the closest you had ever been to him. His usually guarded expression was replaced with a rare, unguarded grimace of pain. It revealed a vulnerability he typically masked beneath layers of shadows and silence making you feel a touch uneasy.

"Let me help," you offered softly while guiding him to a seat where you could better assess his injuries. The proximity to him in this moment tending to his wound felt like an unspoken permission to finally address the silent questions that had lingered between you. It was an opening to understand the man who had so thoroughly perfected the art of being untouchable.

"Let's take a look at that," you murmur while taking his hand in yours. Your hands are steady and careful as you gently peel away the fabric near his wound. The cut isn't deep, but it's laced with poison, enough to have caused significant discomfort. “I’m sorry. This is going to sting.” You whispered as you rushed off to grab the needed supplies.

As you apply a soothing salve you notice Azriel's clenched jaw and the way his muscles tighten under your touch—not just from the sting of the wound. You've seen warriors in all states, and you recognize the signs of inner turmoil as clearly as physical injuries.

"Azriel," you start, your voice soft but firm, "even the strongest warriors can benefit from sharing their burdens. It doesn't make you weak to speak about what's weighing on your heart." You try and sound confident in your words, but it comes out as meek.

His reaction is immediate and sharp. It cut through the air like a freshly sharpened knife. Azriel's eyes snap up to meet your with a coldness in them that freezes you in place. "You think you have the right to offer me counsel?" he says with his voice low and biting. "You, who have barely seen a fraction of the darkness I have faced. Yet you presume to understand my duties, my sacrifices?"

You open your mouth to apologize. To clarify your intentions but he doesn't give you the chance. "No, don’t," he snaps. Cutting you off as your heart begins to sink. "Don’t patronize me with platitudes and naive compassion. You know nothing of the burdens I carry. Of the secrets that consume me. You see surface wounds and think to heal a soul scarred by centuries?" It was the most you had heard him speak and unfortunately for you those words made your heart nearly twist in two. Surely that wasn’t what you were trying to do.

Your eyes begin to burn. His words slicing through any defense you might have had. You look down instead focusing on the bandage. To hide the hurt that’s welling up, threatening to spill over. "I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—"

"Save your apologies," Azriel interrupts with a tone as harsh as a winter storm. "They mean nothing in the face of what I endure daily. You wish to help? Do so by not overstepping your bounds again." You drop his arm after finishing up removing the poison and sealing the cut. But he wasn’t done, no. You just wished he’d fly away instead of cutting you even deeper. You had no intention of offending him yet here he was, hurt by your very own words. You’d never truly felt like a helpless child in all your centuries until this very moment.

As he continues his words grow even colder, each one a deliberate stake right into your very own heart. "Understand this, healer. My life, my pains are not fodder for idle chatter or curious minds seeking to 'fix' what they perceive as broken. You cannot begin to comprehend the wars I fight within the shadows. Wars meant to protect you and everyone else here from horrors you should hope never to encounter." His words were final, offering you no chance at rebuttal. Not that you would have been able to find the words. Your mind was racing in horror about what had just transpired in your very own healing hall. You, the one who was meant to mend broken souls might’ve just torn his right back open.

He stands abruptly with his wound tended but the air around him colder than the stone walls of the court. His departure is swift, leaving a wake of silence so deep it echoes through the chamber. You're left alone with the sting of his rebuke more painful than any physical wound you've treated. His words replay in your mind as a harsh reminder of the chasm between his world of shadows and your desire to heal. Guilt begins to consume you as you replay the words that struck you so hardly in your mind.

The room feels overwhelmingly empty as you struggle to compose yourself. The impact of his dismissal weighing heavily on your heart. You realize that healing Azriel might be beyond your reach. Not for lack of skill, but because the wounds he carries are far deeper and more complex than you ever imagined. Perplexed and deeply hurt you find yourself grappling with a tumult of emotions. Confusion is the first to surface. You had approached the situation with genuine concern. Your offer to listen driven by the empathy that defines your role as a healer. His aggressive response, then, feels like an undeserved refusal. A dismissal not just of your words but of your very intent.

You replay the conversation in your mind, dissecting each exchange, each barbed word. His accusation that you, nestled in your world of herbs and healing, could never understand the scope of his darkness stings sharply. It's true though you realize. That the depths of his secrets are beyond your grasp. This acknowledgment doesn't ease the sting of rejection. If anything, it deepens the wound. You had not claimed to understand. You only wanted to listen. And yet, he had cut you off, leaving no room for reconciliation.

As the initial shock fades, a deeper, more persistent ache settles in. You're hurt. Undeniably so. Hurt by his insinuation that your attempts at comfort were trivial, naive even. Does he truly see you as just another court member? As just a healer? Naive to the true workings of his world? The thought is disheartening, and you feel a profound sense of isolation creeping in. A sense that perhaps you are out of your depth in this court of shadows and secrets. Perhaps your mother was right. You weren’t built for the Night Court. You had a wonderful, easy life in Dawn. She had even picked out a high-ranking husband for you that would’ve provided and kept you safe. Her nagging words pricked at the back of your mind as the last five years here almost fell all for nothing. Five years was no time in the world of fae, you knew this. You were still the new healer, but you had thought that maybe you were finally finding your footing here. But then again maybe you were wrong.

Yet, beyond the hurt and confusion there's also a glimmer of resolve. You're a healer, trained not only to mend wounds but to understand the people you treat. Azriel's outburst, though harsh, reveals more than his disdain. It highlights his immense burden. His profound isolation. Perhaps your approach was too direct. Too unguarded for someone so accustomed to concealing his emotions.

As you clean up the space a quiet resolution forms in your mind. You won't push him again, no, not without invitation. The sting of his words lingers, and you decide that perhaps the best way to handle this is to give him the space he seems to fiercely guard. He may have dismissed your concern today but it's clear that what he desires most is distance. Not the compassion you offered. In this moment of reflection, you recognize the complexity of healing. It’s not just about tending to visible wounds. It’s also about understanding when to step back. Recognizing that some scars are too deeply etched to be approached without consent. Azriel has his walls, high and fortified. And you, you decide, will no longer attempt to scale them. Instead, you resolve to avoid him, believing that distancing yourself is the kindest thing you can do for him right now.

This decision doesn't come easy. You're a healer, trained to offer solace and aid to those in pain. Yet, in this case, the healing you want to provide is not welcomed or perhaps even needed in the way you thought. You accept that sometimes healing means stepping back. It means allowing wounds to close in the solitude they were opened in. Maybe with time he will seek you out if ever he feels ready to lower his guard. Until then you'll focus on those who welcome your help carrying with you the lesson that sometimes the best way to care for someone is simply to let them be.

After the confrontation in the healing room the atmosphere at the Night Court seemed to shift becoming dense with an unspoken tension that hung heavily in the air. Azriel quickly became burdened by the discomfort of his own harshness. It wasn’t often but he felt an acute sting of regret. His words, sharper and colder than he had intended, replayed relentlessly in his mind. Each sentence an echo of a reminder of the pain he had inflicted on somebody so kind.

Late into the night he found himself wandering the quieter corridors of the court trying to clear his mind.. The stone beneath his feet was cold and unyielding much like the mask he wore so well. With each step he attempted to outpace his regret, but solitude brought no relief. The memory of the genuine shock and sadness in your eyes haunted him. A vivid image that refused to fade into the shadows where he so often retreated.

Why had he lashed out? Azriel questioned himself. His normally composed thoughts unraveling with unusual disorder. He knew the stress of his duties as the spymaster often left him on edge, a blade perpetually sharpened and ready. Yet, it was more than just the strain of his role. It was the fear of vulnerability. Of opening those darker parts of himself he fought so hard to control. Seeing your concern, so innocent and genuine, had somehow threatened the walls he had meticulously built around his emotions for centuries. He couldn’t become undone by your one simple question.

He hated himself for how he had responded to you. How his instinct to protect his inner turmoil had manifested as cruelty towards you. The more he thought about it the more he despised the part of himself that had become so adept at pushing others away, especially those who dared to care.

As Azriel continued his nocturnal wanderings the shadows around him seemed to whisper of solitude and sorrow. Yet, it was the sorrow in your eyes that lingered most prominently in his mind. He realized then that his actions might not only have hurt you but could also have damaged whatever budding respect or friendship could have grown between you. This thought tightened the already constricting band around his chest. He had messed up badly and he knew it. His shadows knew it.

Resolving to seek redemption, not just for his peace but to mend the fracture he had caused, Azriel decided he would apologize to you. He needed to explain to you. To make you understand that his outburst wasn’t a reflection of his feelings towards you but a misguided defense against his own insecurities.

His journey through the night didn’t erase his regrets, but it solidified his resolve. He would try to bridge the gap his words had created hoping that you would understand and perhaps forgive. In the quiet before dawn Azriel finally stopped walking, the decision firm in his mind. Tomorrow, he would face you again, not as the Night Court's daunting spymaster, but simply as Azriel… imperfect and remorseful.

As he moved silently past the gardens the moonlight cast a serene glow over the night-blooming flowers illuminating the path with a ghostly light. Drawn by the soft, muffled sounds of distress his shadows unconsciously steered him towards a secluded alcove hidden by tendrils of ivy and the long shadows of the towering trees. It was unmistakably you. His heart tightened as he approached. Driven by a mix of concern and a need to understand the impact of his earlier harshness.

There in the dim light, he found you seated on a small bench. You were not alone, but with one of the younger assistants from the healer's quarters he had recognized. The assistant, whom you often mentored, sat beside you with a hand on your shoulder. Her presence meant to support you as you struggled with a flood of emotions.

"I don’t know any more Helena. Maybe I just don't belong here," you whispered between sobs. Your voice shaky with uncertainty. Tears streamed down your cheeks unrestrained after holding them back for so long. Azriel's words had not just stung. They had acted as a dam break, releasing all the pent-up doubts and fears you had about your place in this illustrious court. "I keep thinking maybe I should just go back to Dawn. My very own mother always said I was chasing a fantasy coming here. Maybe she's right. Maybe a quieter life away from all this would be better for me. Maybe I’m not cut out for the Night Court."

The young assistant, Helena, looked up to you not only for your healing skills but also for your kindness and leadership. She listened intently. Her expression one of deep empathy and concern. "You can't think that way," she responded softly. Her voice earnest. "Everyone here, especially Madja, respects you so much. Cassian, Mor, even Rhysand—they all see how much you bring to our home. It's not just you’re healing. It's your spirit. You're meant to be here with us. Please don’t think like that. I’ve learned more than I ever thought possible from you. We need you here."

Her comforting words were meant to bolster your spirits, but the reassurance felt hollow against the backdrop of your raw emotions. Despite her encouraging tone, the doubts seeded by Azriel's harsh outburst lingered. They tainted your thoughts with shadows of uncertainty about your place in this world you had grown to love yet still sometimes felt alien in.

Azriel was hidden just out of sight. He felt a deep pang of regret as he listened. The raw pain in your voice and the sight of your tears struck him more profoundly than he had ever expected. He realized then that his careless words had cut far deeper than he had intended, not just challenging your confidence but piercing the very core of your sense of belonging. Knowing that an apology would be necessary but not sufficient, Azriel resolved to actively show that you were valued and essential. Not just as a healer but as a vital member of their community. His thoughts solidified in the quiet of the night. He would make amends, starting with a heartfelt apology and followed by actions that would hopefully restore your faith in your place at the Night Court.

It was an ordinary yet busy day in the healer's quarters of the Night Court. You were deeply focused on tending to a young fae warrior who had sustained a minor but painful injury during training. As you carefully applied a healing salve the sound of urgent voices and heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway.

"He needs help now!" Azriel's voice carried a tone of dire urgency as he burst into the room. He was supporting a limping Cassian whose leg was bleeding profusely from a deep gash surely laced with poison. These damn Illyrians always coming back with some form of poisoned injury. The sight of such an injury would normally have you on your feet and rushing over. But the presence of Azriel, the harbinger of your recent heartache, gave you pause.

For a split second your gaze met Azriel's and the memory of his harsh words and cold dismissal surged through your mind. You looked away as quickly as you could. Your chest immediately tightened with anxiety at the thought of what to do. It wasn’t fair to Cassian to ignore him, but you didn’t think you could face Azriel right now. Terrified of another confrontation and still raw from the last you quickly turned your attention back to the young fae before you.

"This one's in a critical state, I need to focus here. Helena, please attend to the General." you called out your voice slightly louder than necessary. The lie laid bitter on your tongue. It wasn't entirely untrue. His injury did need attention, but it certainly wasn't as dire as Cassian's condition.

Helena, who had followed in behind Azriel and Cassian, quickly stepped forward to assist, sensing the tension. "I've got him, don't worry," she spoke as she moved to tend to Cassian with a swift efficiency that you were grateful for.

As you focused intently on the young fae's injury with your back turned to the drama unfolding behind you, you heard every strained whisper and shuffling footstep echoed ominously. Despite your efforts to concentrate your mind spun with anxiety and dread. You knew your actions were a protective shield guarding you from a confrontation you felt unprepared to handle.

Behind you, Azriel's concern for Cassian was palpable. His usual stoic demeanor was pierced by urgency. His voice a low, constant murmur as he assisted your assistant. Yet, his mind was partly on you. He was troubled by the palpable tension and the rigid set of your shoulders. The memory of his previous harshness towards you weighed heavily on him, mixing regret with a newfound caution. He wondered if his actions had broken something essential. Perhaps fearing that your trust in him might be irreparably damaged.

Cassian, despite his pain noticed the strained dynamics as well. As your assistant worked on his wound his eyes flicked towards you, then back to Azriel. "What happened between you two?" he hissed under his breath not missing the unusual distance you kept. Azriel's silence was an answer in itself. It was filled with remorse and resignation. Cassian's frown deepened. Concern for his friends overshadowing his physical discomfort. "You need to fix this, Az," he muttered, firm yet worried. "She’s not just any healer. She’s part of this family now. She’s going to replace Madja someday."

Once the immediate crisis was handled and Cassian was stable Azriel made his way towards you. His steps were hesitant, each one heavy with regret. When he paused by your side his presence felt like a cold shadow. His usual warmth for his family became obscured by the barrier that had formed between you.

"Thank you," he said softly. His voice low and perhaps understanding more than you wanted him to. "For all that you do here." You sucked in a breath at his words. Was he apologizing? Was he sorry? Were you completely misreading the situation yet again?

You didn't turn to face him. Fear of what you might see in his eyes—anger, disappointment, or worse, indifference—kept you fixed in place. "Of course," you managed to whisper. The words barely escaping your lips. He sensed that this wasn’t the time nor place to dig deeper so he resolved to keep his words simple. He would find you later when you weren’t busy working. He truly needed to apologize to you.

After he left the weight of the encounter settled heavily upon you. You felt a mix of relief at having avoided direct confrontation and a deep-seated guilt for your evasion. You knew this wasn't just about professional duties. It was about the fractures within a team, a family you had grown to cherish.

Later, as the healer’s quarters quieted and the evening settled in, Cassian found you in the gardens, where the night’s cool air seemed to echo the chill in your own thoughts. It was your favorite place to relax and unwind. Your sanctuary in the chaos that was the Night Court. He approached with a confident stride despite his recent injury and his expression was serious.

"Hey," he started. His voice carrying a hint of his usual directness mixed with concern. "Things were off between you and Az today. He’s worried, and frankly, so am I. We’ve all had our rough patches, but we don’t let that drive a wedge between us. Yeah?"

You paused, looking down at your growing herbs rather than meeting his gaze. You let out a soft sigh before answering him. "I’m just scared, Cass. I’m worried I’ll say the wrong thing again. It’s like... I’m tiptoeing around landmines with him. How do I even start to fix that?"

Cassian nodded. His features softening slightly. "Az can be intense. I won’t argue with that. But he’s also one of the most upright guys I know. Just be honest with him. Tell him you’re trying to avoid making things worse. He respects straightforwardness. Always has." He took a step closer, lowering his voice. "And remember, it’s not just about avoiding the landmines. It’s about clearing the field. Start with the truth. It’s always been the best foundation for us here, no matter how hard it might be."

You nodded appreciating his words. He was right. The truth got you so much further. "Thanks, Cass," you replied feeling a resolve begin to form. "I think I’ll talk to him. Just lay everything out."

"That’s the way," Cassian said with a brief nod. "We’re all here together, and we keep no secrets... save Azriel,” He smirked knowing that’s likely what got the two of you in the situation in the first place. “At least not the kind that hurt. If you're honest, he’ll listen. And if there’s anyone who can understand the value of facing hard truths, it’s Azriel."

As Cassian left you to your thoughts the weight on your shoulders didn't lift entirely but you felt more prepared to face the challenge ahead. Honesty would be your approach; you would share your fears with Azriel, hoping that it would bridge the gap between you. After all, in the Night Court, even the darkest shadows were faced together, not alone.

The next night you found yourself back in the serene confines of your herb garden where the evening light softened the edges of each leaf and petal. You were deeply absorbed in tending to a cluster of chamomile. The quiet focus on your plants provided a necessary reprieve from the swirling anxieties that had occupied your thoughts lately. However, your calm shattered when a shadow loomed unexpectedly over you. Azriel.

Startled, you looked up, only to find him standing there watching you with a curiosity you’d never seen from him before. His sudden presence was imposing and unexpectedly close and sent a rush of panic through you. His height and the intensity in his eyes seemed to fill the space making the air around you feel thinner.

"Oh! Azriel, you surprised me! I didn’t hear you walk over," you blurted out. A nervous chuckle escaping you as you hastily tried to gather your scattered wits. "I was just, um, focusing here, and—you know, plants don’t really talk back, so I guess I wasn't expecting any company."

He paused after noting your discomfort. "I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you," he said gently. His voice a soothing rumble. "I came to apologize. For the last time we spoke. I was too harsh. It was unfair to you."

Your response tumbled out in a rush. Your words tripping over each other. "No, no, it’s fine, really. I mean, not fine fine, but you know… I should’ve been more aware or something. I’m usually not this jumpy, I swear. Maybe a little—actually, maybe a lot right now because, well, you're kind of, um, imposing? And this wasn’t how I imagined our next conversation going..."

Azriel’s slight smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it did appear to carry a hint of amusement at your rambling. "I appreciate you saying that, but truly, I am the one who should be apologizing. I’ve thought a lot about what I said... and I regret it deeply. You didn’t deserve that." He took another step toward you as you stood.

You swallowed hard trying to steady your racing heart. "Why are you apologizing now?" you managed to ask feeling suddenly very aware of how close he was standing. The question felt bold, but your voice was anything but confident.

He took a slight step back giving you a bit more space. "Because I realized I might have made you feel unwelcome or undervalued here and that’s… that’s the last thing I want. We all need to support each other, and I failed in that moment. I want to make it right if you’ll let me."

Your mind raced with every thought, but you nodded feeling a mix of apprehension and relief. "I... yeah, I’d like that. I’ve been feeling a bit lost here. Like maybe I don’t belong. It’s been tough, and, well, your words stung. But maybe, I don’t know, maybe we can start over? Try to understand each other a bit more?" As you offered him a tentative smile the garden seemed to return to its peaceful state. The earlier tension dissipating slightly.

Azriel’s gaze softened with a rare flicker of amusement lighting his eyes as he noticed your unease. "You handle the complexities of healing with such ease," he commented with a slight tease in his voice, "yet you seem quite disarmed by a rather simple conversation."

You gave a small self-conscious laugh appreciating his attempt to lighten the mood. "Well, it's one thing to deal with herbs and potions. They tend not to talk back. It's another to navigate apologies and emotions. Especially with someone who usually keeps his cards so close to his chest."

He smiled and it transformed his face, softening the usual stern lines. "Fair enough," he conceded. Then, his expression turned more serious. The playful glint replaced by a depth of sincerity. "I really am sorry, though. For everything. I know I keep saying it, but it’s because I mean it. I’ve been... difficult towards you these last few years. And I don’t want to burden you with the things I’ve carried. Of the decisions I've had to make. It’s not your weight to bear."

You listened, understanding dawning as you saw the heavy cloak of responsibility he wore. Something that was so integral to his identity yet so isolating. "Maybe not," you replied softly, "but sharing those burdens doesn’t mean you're passing them on. It just means you’re not alone with them anymore. We can share without it being a burden. Sometimes, sharing is how we heal."

Azriel looked at you with something like wonder flickering in his gaze. "I suppose you’re right," he admitted. "It’s just not easy for me. I’ve always thought keeping my troubles to myself was a way to protect others. But maybe... maybe I’ve been wrong about that." The conversation deepened as each of you explored the nuances of forgiveness and the strength found in mutual understanding and empathy. Azriel learned about the power of vulnerability. Not as a spymaster but as a man. And he saw how your empathy and gentle nature enriched the court in ways that strategy and strength could not.

"I've kept many secrets," Azriel confessed. His voice a soft murmur against the backdrop of rustling leaves. "Not because I enjoy the solitude but because I fear the consequences of those secrets unraveling."

"You don’t have to tell me everything," you assured him. "Just knowing that you trust me enough to admit you have these secrets is a step. We all have secrets Azriel. What matters is how we face them and who stands with us when we do."

Azriel nodded. The corners of his eyes crinkling slightly as he smiled. A real smile that reached his eyes. "Thank you for understanding."

You nodded but still felt a nagging question at the bottom of your heart. The gardens around you seemed to hold their breath as you voiced a concern that had been shadowing your thoughts. "Azriel, back when you... when you were upset. You called me 'healer.' Is that… is that all you see me as?" Your insecurity got the better of you. The question sounded so much more childish as you asked it aloud, but you needed to know the answer.

Azriel’s expression changed instantly. The regret in his eyes unmistakable. "Gods, I am so sorry, Y/N. I was angry and overwhelmed and I unfairly took it out on you." His voice was thick with remorse. His usual stoicism giving way to a rare openness. "You are so much more than just a healer to us, to me. I should never have made you feel otherwise." Seeing the sincerity in his gaze you felt a complex knot of emotions begin to untangle. Yet, there was still a shadow of sadness in your eyes. A remnant of the hurt his words had caused.

Noticing this, Azriel did something completely unexpected. He stepped closer. His presence enveloping you whole, and hesitantly, almost awkwardly he opened his arms. "May I?" he asked softly giving you the choice.

With a small nod you stepped into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. It was a rare gesture from him as he was known for his guarded nature. It spoke volumes of his regret and his desire to make amends. His shadows ever a part of him, seemed to curl around the both of you gently. A comforting whisper against your skin.

As you stood there held in his careful embrace Azriel spoke again, his voice gentler than you had ever heard. "I’m truly sorry, Y/N. For everything. I let my anger and frustrations dictate my actions and you bore the brunt of that. I promise you this, I will do better. You deserve better."

Pulling back slightly he looked down into your eyes, ensuring you could see the truth in his. "Thank you for giving me the chance to apologize, to make things right. I don’t take your forgiveness lightly."

Your heart that was once heavy with doubt and hurt now fluttered with a burgeoning sense of renewed connection. "Thank you, Azriel, for understanding, for this," you said, your voice steady despite the emotions brimming within.

This conversation that was once a tentative path to reconciliation had blossomed into something deeper. A genuine connection fostered by understanding and shared vulnerabilities. Azriel's willingness to show his softer side, to bridge the gap with both an apology and a hug, marked a new chapter in your relationship. One filled with potential for even greater understanding and closeness. Together in the quiet of the herb garden you both began to navigate a path toward healing. Your relationship strengthened by the honesty and empathy of your exchange. It was a tentative step forward. One filled with potential for deeper understanding and a strengthened connection.

As the weeks turned into months, the atmosphere between you and Azriel visibly shifted. You both continued with your roles at the Night Court—Azriel, cloaked in shadows as the spymaster, and you, weaving magic and medicine as a healer. The sharp edges of earlier interactions softened replaced by a mutual respect and an unspoken understanding that grew with each passing day.

One evening during a relaxed gathering at the Night Court, the air was filled with the soft murmur of conversations and the warm laughter of friends and allies. Under the gentle glow of twilight you found yourself beside Azriel discussing something that excited you greatly—a plan for a new herb garden specifically designed for healing and restorative properties.

As you outlined your ideas your enthusiasm was palpable. "I’ve been researching some rare herbs that could thrive here under the Night’s eternal stars," you explained with your hands gesturing animatedly. "There’s this one flower, Lumina Blossom, known for its potent healing capabilities with poison but incredibly rare. I think with the right care, we could cultivate it here."

Azriel watched you with a soft smile playing on his lips as he listened intently. The usual shadows that clung to him seemed to lift slightly instead replaced by a light of curiosity sparked by your passion. It was a stark contrast to the brooding intensity he was known for. His gaze was fixed on you, clearly fascinated by your knowledge and the excitement that lit up your features.

"Have you considered adding Dawnlight Belle to your garden?" he suggested. His tone encouraging but slightly hesitant, as if he were treading on unfamiliar ground. "I've heard it's a good one. Especially for salves used in treating deep wounds, which unfortunately, we encounter often here."

You paused, your expression a mix of surprise and delight. "Azriel, I'm impressed you’ve heard of Dawnlight Belle," you said while nodding enthusiastically. "Yes, it's remarkably effective for healing deep wounds and incorporating it here would indeed be incredibly beneficial. It's also a bit of home but with a practical use for the Night Court."

Azriel’s smile widened slightly. His usual reserve melting away in the warmth of the conversation. "I thought it might be useful," he said softly. "It’s important to have pieces of home with us. And you’ve done so much to find your place here. It’s only fitting your garden does the same."

The conversation flowed easily between you as it slowly had come to. And as you spoke more about your plans Azriel's responses were thoughtful, showing his deep respect for your work. It was clear that he was not only listening but also truly engaged in what you were sharing.

As the evening wore on you found yourself more relaxed and open to discussing your hopes and dreams for the garden. Azriel's attentiveness and the sincere interest he showed in your passions brought a new depth to your interaction. A sense that something meaningful was blossoming between you, rooted in mutual respect and a shared sense of purpose.

Together you sketched out potential layouts for the garden. His strategic mind complementing your creative vision. The project that was born from a casual conversation was shaping up to be a beautiful symbol of regeneration and unity. It was a confirmation to the growing relationship forming between you as you both discovered the joy of collaboration and mutual understanding.

From across the way Cassian caught Rhysand and Feyre’s attention, nodding subtly towards you and Azriel with a wide grin. "Look at that," he chuckled. "Seems our resident shadowsinger has found a bit of light. Never thought I’d see the day."

Rhys, with a sly grin and a sparkle in his eye that matched the mischief in his voice, glanced over at you two. "Oh, I’d say there’s a bit more than just gardening going on there," he quipped as he leaned back with an air of casual intrigue. "Wouldn’t you agree, Cass? Feyre? It seems our spymaster might just be more enchanted with our lovely healer than he lets on."

Cassian laughed. His loud voice booming across the room. "You're one to talk, Rhys. Just don’t start planning their mating ceremony yet. Let them at least decide if they like each other first."

Feyre, who had been quietly observing the exchange from her place next to Rhysand, chuckled and shook her head. "She seems so good for him I must admit. But don't you dare meddle, Rhysand. We know how that turns out," she teased. Her eyes gleaming with humor. "Remember the Great Cake Incident of '49?"

The group erupted into laughter, including Rhys, who rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress a grin. "Alright, alright, no meddling," he conceded. His voice still laced with laughter. "But for the record, that cake deserved better and meddling here would only help them."

The evening continued with the stars twinkling above as conversations flowed around the room. Your interaction with Azriel, now less guarded and more genuine, did not go unnoticed by those who knew him best. As the night deepened, the easy banter and shared smiles between you and Azriel spoke of something that was quietly strengthening. It was clear to everyone, even without Rhysand’s playful meddling, that something significant was blossoming. Something that went beyond the professional respect of two court members.

Together, you and Azriel discovered that even in a place as mystical and imposing as the Night Court, the true magic lay not just in ancient spells or hidden power but in the connections forged through vulnerability, trust, and perhaps, the beginnings of something deeper.

Permanent Taglist (Message me or comment below if you want to be added!) : @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @kenn-spencerswifey @guacam011y @illisea @il0vebeingdelulu @hiireadstuff @avada-kedavra-bitch-187

[n1ght0f-nyx]

WOVEN BONDS IS AMAZING!!!!! Pls make part 2,3,4,5,6 😭🫡💖

woven bonds pt 2

this was very requested so here we are!!

You've been sold to an orc by your father, and after shutting yourself in for a few weeks, youve finally started to come to enjoy your new husbands company

warnings/tags- bedrotting, arranged marrige but pertah loves you so thats nice, pert'ah speaks with semi-broken english

word count- 1167

The days that followed were filled with silence, but it was a different kind of silence. No longer filled with the heavy weight of anger or hopelessness, it was instead filled with uncertainty. Pert'ah continued his routine—bringing you food, speaking to you in soft tones, always giving you space while he worked outside or wove intricate tapestries by the hearth. He never pushed, never demanded anything from you.

Yet, you felt a change inside yourself.

It was small at first. One morning, after he had left a bowl of fruit by your bedside, you reached out and took a piece, biting into it with a sense of resignation. It was sweeter than you had expected, and you found yourself eating more. That night, you ate a bit of the stew he left. It wasn’t the same as the dishes from your old home, but it was warm, hearty, and made with care.

Pert'ah noticed. You could see the relief in his eyes when he glanced at the empty bowl later that day. He didn’t say anything, but the gentle way his lips turned upward spoke volumes. 

As days passed, you started to leave the bed for longer periods. You’d sit by the window and watch him work outside. Pert'ah would spend hours weaving, his large hands surprisingly nimble as they guided the threads into beautiful patterns. Sometimes, he would carve small figures out of wood or clay, his concentration deep as he brought the raw materials to life. The more you watched him, the more you saw the softness behind his hardened exterior. There was an artistry to everything he did, a careful thoughtfulness.

Slowly, you began to speak to him.

It wasn’t much at first—a word here, a question there—but Pert'ah’s eyes lit up each time you addressed him. His responses were always careful, his voice soft and unsure as if he feared saying the wrong thing and scaring you away.

One evening, you found yourself standing outside the hut, watching him work on a large tapestry. The orange light from the setting sun filtered through the trees, casting warm shadows over his figure. He glanced up when he noticed you, his brow furrowing slightly as if he couldn’t believe you were there.

"I… I work on this for winter," he said, standing up slowly, dusting off his hands. "Keep us warm."

You nodded, stepping closer. The tapestry was beautiful, its rich colors weaving together in patterns of leaves and flowers. It was unlike anything you had ever seen, a testament to his skill.

"It’s… it’s beautiful," you said softly, your voice quiet but sincere.

Pert'ah’s eyes widened slightly. He looked at you as though you had given him the greatest compliment in the world. His lips parted, but he didn’t speak right away. Instead, he took a step toward you, his large hand tentatively reaching out as though he wanted to touch your arm, but he hesitated.

"You think so?" he asked, his voice low, almost shy. "I… I make it for you. For us."

You felt something in your chest stir at his words, a warmth that was unfamiliar but not unpleasant. Pert'ah had been nothing but kind to you, patient in a way you had never expected from an orc. And now, as you stood in the golden light of dusk, watching him look at you with such raw vulnerability, you realized you were no longer as angry as you once were.

In the days that followed, you found yourself drawn to him more and more. Pert'ah would tell you stories of his clan, how he had been raised as a weaver and how orc culture was not as warlike as humans believed. He would sit by the fire in the evenings, his deep voice filling the room as he spoke of the orcs’ long history of craftsmanship, of art, and of building rather than destroying.

And slowly, your barriers began to crumble.

One night, after dinner, you sat together in the hut, the fire crackling softly as you both shared a quiet moment. Pert'ah was working on another carving, his large fingers skillfully shaping the wood into something delicate. You watched him for a while, fascinated by the contrast between his size and the gentleness of his craft.

"Why… why do you make so many things?" you asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

Pert'ah paused, looking up at you with a small smile. "I make because I love it. It make world… more beautiful." His eyes softened as they met yours. "And now… I make for you."

The way he said it, so simple and yet so full of meaning, made your heart skip a beat. Pert'ah wasn’t just making things to fill the space. He was making them for you, offering pieces of himself in every woven thread and carved figure. 

Over time, Pert'ah became more than just the orc you had been forced to marry. He became the person you looked forward to seeing each day, the one who spoke to you with care and treated you with a tenderness that slowly melted away your fears.

Pert'ah, for his part, was falling deeper in love with you with each passing day. He adored every small smile you gave him, every word you spoke. It was as though you were the center of his world now, and he wanted nothing more than to make you happy. He would wake up early to prepare your meals, always trying new dishes to see which ones you liked. He would carve small figures for you, weaving your favorite flowers into tapestries.

His love grew more intense, almost obsessive, but never in a way that felt suffocating. He watched you with reverence, always making sure to give you the space you needed, but it was clear in his eyes—Pert'ah was head over heels in love. You had become his muse, his heart, and every moment with you only deepened his feelings.

One night, as you sat together by the fire, Pert'ah spoke softly, his voice filled with emotion.

"[Name]… I never think I can feel like this. You make my heart… full." He hesitated, as if searching for the right words. "I love you. I love you more than anything. I do anything for you. Alway.."

Your breath caught in your throat at his confession. You could feel the depth of his feelings, the way his eyes searched yours for any sign of rejection or acceptance.For the first time, you didn’t shy away. Instead, you reached out, placing your hand gently on his. His skin was warm, rough but comforting beneath your touch.

"I don’t know if I’m ready to say that yet," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "But… I do care about you, Pert'ah."

His face lit up with a smile so wide it made your heart flutter. "That enough for me. I wait for you..alway.."

And for the first time since your marriage, you smiled back.

[anakinstwinklebunny]

if you’re not taking requests totally ignore this. but i was hoping if u could write a short drabble or whatever about the reader being like a bio/chem major and anakin being like a literature major (kinda get those vibes from his role in shattered glass as stephen glass) and their cute differences :D. i lowkey need it as motivation for the ap’s im taking 😔. if thats out of your comfort zone or if you don’t want to write that i understand!! i love your work 💗

Author's note: I do take requests!!! It's my first drabble EVER..and I hope it's good.. really 😭 YOU GO LOVE, YOU CAN DO IT, I BELIEVE IN YOU <3

pairing: literature major!anakin x biochem major!reader

The library was a sanctuary of silence, but the hushed murmur of pages turning and the occasional tapping of keyboards seemed to fade whenever Anakin and you shared a glance. You were huddled over your chemistry notes - the structure of complex molecules sprawling across your laptop screen, while Anakin lounged across from you, lost in the pages of a leather-bound volume of classic literature, just as he loved.

His long fingers traced the spine of his book as if it were a cherished secret. The dim light cast shadows across his chiseled features, highlighting the intense focus in his eyes. You couldn’t help but let your gaze linger on him, captivated by the contrast between his world of words and your realm of scientific formulas.

“Need any help with those compounds?” he asked, finally, as if knowing how many times your gaze fell on his face. His voice was low and smooth, carrying the hint of a smile you knew well. His eyes flickered up from the book, catching yours with a mischievous glint.

You rolled your eyes playfully, though you couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at your lips. “I doubt your poetic musings will be much help with my chemical bonds,” you replied, though the teasing tone in your voice was softened by the affection you felt towards the young man

He leaned in closer, his voice a seductive murmur. “Ah, but you’d be surprised. The beauty of language can often explain the complexities of science.. Imagine, if you will, a molecule as a character in a novel, its bonds and interactions like a plotline that weaves through the narrative.”

You laughed, a soft, melodic sound that made Anakin’s heart race. His gaze dropped to your soft-looking lips for a moment before returning to your eyes, the heat between you palpable. Humanists, who would have known they can be so romantic in their speech? “You and your metaphors,” you teased, your fingers brushing against his hand as you reached for a textbook. "But you know what intrigues me" you made a small pause "how does a literature major end up as my personal distraction?” you teased, lightly flirting with your own boyfriend

Anakin’s fingers traced lightly over the edge of your open notebook, a barely perceptible touch that sent a shiver up your spine when his ocean blue eyes tried to read your writing “I guess I’m just trying to add a little poetry to your periodic table.”

You tilted your head, pretending to think it over. “Poetry and science? That’s like mixing oil and water.”

“Ah,” he grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief, “but even oil and water have chemistry. You just need the right catalyst.”

You laughed softly, unable to resist the magnetic pull of his charm. The truth was, you never really could “You think you’re the catalyst?”

He leaned in closer, his lips inches from your own, voice a low murmur. “I think I could make you react.”

You felt the blush bloom on your cheeks, your heart skipping a beat at his words. "Careful, you might just cause an exothermic reaction."

Anakin's smile widened, his thumb grazing your jaw as he whispered, “Then let's see how much heat we can handle."

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @erosmutt @haydensprettyprincess @mistress-amidala @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet

(if you want to be removed or added then don't be shy and let me know 💋)

[alyrasturnz]

hiiii! sorry if i’m burdening but is it possible if you could write a pure fluffy fic abt matt where he sees the readers sh scars and he comforts her? sorry if it’s not descriptive enough, i hope i’m not burdening! i never see any fics like this and i really like your work x

 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎CARDIGAN

❐ summary » matt revealed to you that your scars were not mere blemishes but the testament of a lifelong battle, each one a chapter in your story of resilience. he helped you see that these marks were not symbols of shame but emblems of your enduring strength and unyielding spirit.

❐ pairings » bf!matt x fem!reader

❐ warnings » ⚠️ this is not meant for everyone ⚠️ , mentions of self harm , scars

❐ a/n && w/c » oh this one hit home a lil 😬 • 2.50k

in the dimly lit room, you and matt were nestled together on the couch, the soft luminescence of the television casting an almost otherworldly glow upon your faces. your head found solace against his chest, the rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing providing a soothing cadence that matched the tranquil atmosphere.

your knees gently rested upon his thighs, creating an intimate entanglement that spoke volumes of your closeness. both of you were cocooned beneath a shared blanket, its warmth enveloping you like a protective embrace.

the quiet hum of the tv and the occasional flicker of light painted shadows on the walls, adding to the serene and almost magical ambiance.

in that moment, time seemed to stand still, the world outside fading into insignificance as you both reveled in the sanctuary of each other's presence.

his arm was intricately entwined around your waist, drawing you ever closer with a gentle yet possessive pull, as though weaving an invisible bond that tethered your souls together in an embrace that defied the ordinary.

you and matt have been together for two months now, and each fleeting moment has been a tapestry of joy and connection, weaving together a narrative of shared laughter, deep conversations, and the blossoming of a profound bond that seems to grow stronger with each passing day.

he embodied everything you desired and beyond in a man. his humor was like a balm to your soul, his gentleness a soothing presence, and his way with words an art form, crafting sentences that lingered in your mind long after they were spoken.

you felt a solitary bead of sweat meander down your torso, tracing a path of warmth as you shifted slightly, the motion culminating in the slow, deliberate removal of your hoodie, which you pulled over your head with a languid grace.

you then reclined against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath you, as he drew you nearer, his fingers idly toying with the hem of your shirt, each touch a tender whisper of affection.

he gazed down at you, bestowing a gentle kiss upon your head, his lips a fleeting caress. yet, as his eyes traveled, they came to rest upon your arms, lingering with a silent, unspoken contemplation.

his expression undergoes a profound transformation, shifting from a state of serene relaxation to one of acute concern. the once smooth and tranquil lines of his face become furrowed and tense, as if the weight of his thoughts has cast a shadow over his features, revealing the depth of his inner turmoil.

it was a subtle revelation, one that could have easily eluded his notice. yet, there they were, the straight and uniform whine streaks adorning your arms, silent witnesses to a deeper story.

he observed how some of the streaks overlapped, their intersections telling tales of repeated sorrow. his heart clenched at the sight, a visceral reaction that sent a tightening sensation through his lungs, as if the very air around him had grown heavy with unspoken anguish.

he bit down on his lip, the pressure a silent testament to the storm of emotions raging within him, each second of contact a desperate attempt to anchor himself amidst the chaos.

"hey," he murmured, his voice a gentle whisper as he slowly extended his hand toward your wrist. his movements were deliberate, almost reverent, as though he feared that a sudden motion might shatter the fragile moment.

"when did this happen?" he inquired softly, his fingers beginning their delicate journey along the lines of your scars. his touch was feather-light, tracing the marks with a tenderness that spoke volumes, each caress a silent promise of understanding and care.

you can see the worry etched in the depths of his eyes, yet there is no trace of judgment, only a profound yearning to comprehend and be present for you. his gaze, laden with concern, speaks of an earnest desire to bridge the chasm of your pain, offering solace through silent understanding.

you take a deep breath, feeling a tumultuous blend of vulnerability and relief wash over you. "it was a while ago," you begin, your voice a fragile whisper that barely stirs the air. "i went through some really tough times, and this was... how i coped." the words hang in the air, each one a fragment of the pain you endured, now gently released into the open.

matt's eyes remain steadfastly locked onto yours, his hand still resting gently on your arm as if anchoring you in the present. "i'm so sorry you had to go through that," he says, his voice imbued with a deep and genuine compassion. "i wish i had known. i wish i could have been there for you." his words carry the weight of unspoken regrets and a heartfelt desire to have offered you solace during your darkest moments.

you nod, a small, melancholic smile forming on your lips. "it's okay. it's in the past now. but... thank you for understanding." your words, though simple, carry the heavy burden of past sorrows now acknowledged and gently laid to rest.

"hey, it's okay," he said, his voice suffused with understanding and warmth. "you don't have to hide anything from me." his words, tender and unwavering, create a sanctuary where your truths can be unveiled without fear or reservation.

you hesitated, feeling a torrent of emotions surge within you. "i just... i don't want you to see them." your voice trembles, each word a delicate thread woven from the raw fabric of your vulnerability.

matt's eyes softened, and he took your hand in his, his thumb gently tracing the scars as if seeking to understand the silent stories they held. "these don't change how i feel about you. they don't change who you are." his words, tender and resolute, offered a sanctuary where your past pains could be acknowledged without altering the essence of your being.

his touch sent a shiver down your spine. to think that a touch as gentle as his was caressing the very spot where you had once traced the path of your cold, sharp blade was almost inconceivable.

the juxtaposition of his tender caress against the harsh, unforgiving memories of your past felt like a surreal dream, blurring the boundaries between pain and solace, reality and reverie.

it was as if his fingers were weaving a delicate tapestry of healing over the scars that once bore witness to your deepest anguish, each stroke a silent promise of understanding and acceptance.

the very notion that such tenderness could exist in the same space where darkness once reigned was both bewildering and profoundly moving, leaving you suspended in a moment where the past and present intertwined in an intricate dance of emotion.

tears welled up in your eyes, and you looked away, feeling the raw vulnerability seep into your very core. "it's just... sometimes it's hard to believe that." the words trembled on your lips, each syllable a fragile echo of the internal struggle that raged within you. the weight of disbelief and the yearning for acceptance clashed in a tumultuous storm, leaving you adrift in a sea of emotions where certainty seemed but a distant shore.

he cupped your face with his other hand, his fingertips tracing the contours of your jawline with a delicate precision, turning you to meet his unwavering gaze. his thumb gently brushed against your cheek, wiping away a stray tear that had escaped.

he leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your skin, as he spoke with a quiet intensity. "you are strong, and brave, and beautiful. these scars are a part of your journey, but they don't define you. you do." his eyes searched yours, seeking to convey the depth of his sincerity, while his other hand softly rested on your shoulder, grounding you in the moment.

the tenderness in his touch and the profound depth of his affirmation wove together a tapestry of reassurance, urging you to perceive the strength and beauty that lay within, far beyond the visible marks of your past.

his presence, a steadfast anchor amidst the storm of emotions, offered a sanctuary where you could begin to see yourself through his eyes, resilient and whole.

he pulls you into a gentle hug, his arms encircling you with a protective warmth that feels like a shield against the world. "you don't have to go through anything alone anymore," he whispers into your ear, his breath a soft caress against your skin. "i'm here for you, always." his voice carries a promise, a vow etched in the quiet strength of his embrace, assuring you that you are no longer solitary in your struggles.

you feel a weight lift off your shoulders, a profound sense of relief washing over you as you realize you have someone who truly cares. "thank you, matt," you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper as you hold him close. "that means more to me than you know." your words carry the depth of your gratitude, each syllable imbued with the unspoken emotions that surge within you, acknowledging the immense significance of his unwavering support.

matt pulls back slightly, his gaze locking onto yours with a sincerity so profound it makes your heart ache. "i mean it," he says, his voice steady and earnest. "whenever you feel like talking, or even if you just need someone to sit with you in silence, i'm here. you don't have to hide anything from me." his words weave a tapestry of reassurance, each one a thread that binds you closer, offering a sanctuary where your vulnerabilities can rest without fear.

you take a deep breath, feeling a sense of relief wash over you, like a gentle tide receding from the shore. "it's just... sometimes it feels like too much, you know? like i'm drowning and i can't find a way out." your words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of unspoken struggles and the suffocating sensation of being overwhelmed, as if the very essence of your being is submerged beneath an unyielding current.

he nods, his eyes reflecting a deep understanding. "i can't pretend to know exactly what you're going through, but i want to help in any way i can. even if it's just being here with you, letting you know you're not alone." his words are a balm, soothing the raw edges of your turmoil, offering a presence that promises unwavering support and a silent companionship in your darkest hours.

you feel tears welling up in your eyes, but they're not tears of sadness this time. they're tears of gratitude and hope. "you've already helped so much just by being here," you say, your voice trembling. "i don't know what i would do without you." your words quiver with the raw emotion of the moment, each tear a testament to the profound impact of his presence, a lifeline in the stormy sea of your struggles.

matt smiles softly, brushing a tear away from your cheek. "you don't have to worry about that," he says. "i'm not going anywhere. we're in this together." his words, tender and resolute, weave a promise of unwavering support, a beacon of steadfast companionship amidst the turbulent waves of uncertainty.

the two of you sit there for a while longer, wrapped in each other's presence. the tv continues to play in the background, but neither of you pays it any mind.

the world outside your shared bubble fades into insignificance, as the silent communication of your hearts speaks volumes, creating a sanctuary of mutual understanding and unspoken solace.

in this moment, the world feels a little less daunting, and the future a little brighter, knowing that you have someone who truly cares by your side.

the shadows of uncertainty recede, replaced by the warm glow of companionship, illuminating a path forward where hope and support intertwine, making each step a little lighter and each breath a little easier.

as the night grows darker, you both eventually drift into a comfortable silence, the kind that only comes when two hearts understand each other without the need for words.

the quietude envelops you like a soft blanket, a testament to the profound connection that transcends spoken language, where every breath and shared glance speaks volumes of unspoken understanding and mutual solace.

tags — @imwetforyourmom @meatballzerz69 @bandanamatt @pinkishpearls @thedangerousalleyway @sturniolo0bsessed @muchloveforhacker @stinkytinkywinky @jetameivous @everleiqh @conspiracy-ash @ifwdominicfike

[galedekarios]

gale & curing the orb - early access

writing my current series of cut content from early access made me think a lot, especially about how curing gale of the orb might have originally worked out if larian had kept to what had been set up in early access. it's no secret that a lot of things were changed or cut entirely, big and small, like for instance halsin's involvement with ketheric's fall, isobel and the shadow curse.

gale's condition, too, seemed different then.

what exactly was different in early access?

while only a few body models were unique in early access, gale's key art showed his left arm in bandages.

in early access, auntie ethel had vicious mockery lines, which hinted what might be beneath those bandages:

Auntie Ethel: I can smell what's under those bandages, wizard. You're all rot and ruin. Come to greet death early? You'll be a lovely spectacle.

we also had information from gale directly as to what happened to karsus in the aftermath of casting his spell:

Player: I was wondering about that “mighty lord” you told me about in your story. Gale: Ah, yes. Karsus Karsus was perhaps the most powerful wizard that ever lived. The child-who-would-be-a-god, the elves called him. And he tried. With a spell of his own devising he endeavoured to usurp in one fell swoop the power of the goddess of magic.  Mystryl, she was called then. Imagine what it must have felt like. To be a god. To know yourself to be untouchable. To be mistaken. As Karsus aimed his spell at her she began to unravel, and with her, the entire Weave. Too late did he realize what he had unleashed. It would have been the end of everything had not Mystryl sacrificed herself.  Gale: The goddess of magic is all magic. By dying, the entire weave was lost, and the spell that challenged a god failed. It was the end of Mystryl, the end of Karsus, and the end of an entire civilization. As the child-who-would-be-a-god was turned to stone, his empire came crashing down around him. The floating cities of Netheril were no more. An event that came to be known as Karsus’ folly.

which is in accordance with the lore:

Unfortunately, his choice was a terrible mistake, for one of the responsibilities of the deity of magic was to regulate the flow of magic to and from all beings, spells, and magic items in the world. Lacking the ability to do so properly, magic surged and fluctuated. With her last remaining bit of power, Mystryl sacrificed herself to block Karsus's access to the Weave, causing all magic to fail. The flying cities of Netheril plummeted to the earth. The severing of the link also killed Karsus and transformed him into stone, and the last thing he saw was his entire civilization being destroyed because of his actions. This was to be known as Karsus's Folly. The stone form of Karsus eventually landed in a part of the High Forest, now called the Dire Wood. The city of Karse was built around its base. Karsus was never accepted as a petitioner by any god, nor did he go to the Fugue Plane when he died. Instead, his soul was bound to the Material Plane. Those with experience in pact magic could call up his vestige, where he appeared as a giant blood-red boulder, like the one found in the High Forest where his petrified form landed. Blood burbles up from the top of the stone, trickling down the side facing the summoner, pooling at the base. When he spoke, the pool fountained upwards, its height varying on the volume of his voice.

the netherese orb then seemed to have a immediate visible physical effect on gale, in addition to the ones that carried to the full release version of the game.

so putting these clues together, i think it's safe to say that the orb caused gale in early access to be afflicted with some form of corrupted petrification, which makes sense given that it's a piece of magic unleashed during karsus's folly.

at that point, this corruption seemed to be affecting his left arm the most, perhaps either from opening the book containing the netherese magic with it, or trying to shield himself with it - but that's just speculation on my part.

so what did the early access set up in terms of curing gale from his affliction?

gale in early access showed a great interest in the astral plane, especially in the absence of time there. he has several banters with lae'zel, which are still in the game now and showing his vested interest in the astral plane as well as any knowledge or insight lae'zel might offer on it:

Gale asks Lae'zel about the Astral Plane. Has she been there? Gale: Tell me, Lae'zel, what is it like on the Astral Plane? Your home realm intrigues me. Lae'zel: Githyanki lay their eggs on other planes. They cannot mature in the Astral. Lae'zel: I will only be welcomed once I obtain a mind flayer's head.

lae'zel notices gale's interest and initiates a banter of her own:

Lae'zel asks Gale what his interest is in the Astral plane, and he equivocates Lae'zel: Tell me, Gale: what is your interest in the Astral Plane? Gale: Time. Or rather: the absence of it. In the Astral Plane, everything is eternal. Lae'zel: It will be my home soon enough, should Vlaakith will it.

in addition to these banters, which clearly show gale's interest in the astral plane - which now in the full release seems merely academic - hinted at another solution to ridding himself of the orb.

what points to that quite conclusively is gale's dialogue when he reveals the truth about the orb to the protagonist.

this reveal differs quite significantly from the full release version. most notably, the protagonist was able to ask him about his own ideas for a what might be able to cure him from the orb.

gale had something very interesting to say to that question:

Player: What would permanently rid you of the orb? Gale: The orb was kept safe and inert in a pocket of Astral Plane, suspended in time. If I can somehow manage to expel it from my body while in the Astral Plane, it will be rendered inert again. Alternatively, I could learn to control it’s chaotic magic, that is; to succeed where I failed before. But without Mystra’s favour, I don’t see how that may come to pass. Of course there could be different answers as well. Faerun brims with more magic than any one wizard could fathom, let alone comprehend. Who knows what outlandish solutions may yet present themselves?

so what does this all mean?

in conclusion, i believe originally there were either more ways to cure gale from the orb - or maybe even in a different manner entirely - than there are in the full release version of the game (begging mystra to remove it, ascension, or accepting/keeping the orb).

perhaps even one that would circumvent having to beg mystra for forgiveness entirely, without gale having to sacrifice his mortality to do so.

i think these banters and lines of dialogue show that the astral plane, which would have rendered the orb inert and stopped the corrupted petrification of his body, would have played a bigger role in gale's quest.

[minhosbitterriver]

🍿 𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐒 ( stray kids )

❛ In the hushed shadows of an empty cinema, you and Hyunjin find yourselves doing anything except watch the film.

𝐡𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐧 + male reader ೯ ( 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 )

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.2k 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞: 12 mins

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ミ This piece was requested by a lovely Anon! It was especially fun to explore the agoraphilia kink and it might or might not have awakened something in me, sorry not sorry. Requests are currently open! I hope you guys enjoy, reblogs and feedback are much appreciated! ── ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 )

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: MDNI, FWB trope, agoraphilia (the kink related to having sex in a public space), handjob, blowjob, let me know if I missed anything!

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 )

꒰ 🫙 ꒱ ミ Tip Jar!

The large screen cast a solitary glow in the otherwise dark and empty cinema room, its flickering light the only beacon amidst the shadows. The film, having premiered only a week ago, played out its animated scenes, but your attention was never captured by the vibrant characters or the lively plot. It was the heart of the week, the sun hanging high in the sky outside, and the cinema was hushed in a midday silence. The movie, a colorful tapestry of whimsy designed for children's delight, had been carefully selected by Hyunjin as part of a deliberate plan.

He knew that a matinee showing of a children's film would ensure privacy, a quiet refuge from the bustling world outside. The choice spoke volumes of his thoughtfulness, a gesture meant to cocoon you both in a rare moment of undisturbed togetherness. The dim ambiance and the occasional laughter from the screen seemed distant, like echoes in a cavern, as the true magic unfolded in the space between your entwined fingers and shared, whispered words.

His hand rested with a gentle weight on your upper thigh, a touch that felt both grounding and electric. Though his gaze appeared firmly fixed on the screen ahead, you could sense the unspoken intentions behind his seemingly casual posture. His fingers, warm and slightly calloused, felt like they were weaving a spell of anticipation and desire.

Your breath caught in your throat as you felt him inch just a fraction closer to your already eager core, a subtle yet powerful movement that sent ripples of longing through your body. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him, the flickering light from the screen casting playful shadows across his face. His smirk, a tantalizing curve at the corners of his lips, told you he was fully aware of the effect he had on you. It was a dance of silent communication, a game of tension and teasing that left you breathless and wanting more.

The room seemed to shrink, the outside world fading into oblivion as every fiber of your being focused on the closeness of his touch and the promise of what it held. The distant sounds of the film became a mere backdrop to the intimate symphony of your shared moment, each second stretched out, dripping with delicious anticipation. His smirk deepened as he felt your reaction, a silent victory that only fueled the fire between you both.

It wasn’t long before Hyunjin’s hand found its way to the apex of your thighs, pressing firmly against your clothed core. The sensation was immediate and overwhelming, and suddenly breathing felt like a conscious effort rather than a natural reflex. Each inhalation was shallow, your chest rising and falling in a rhythm dictated by his tantalizing touch.

Your hands clung to the armrests of your seat, knuckles white with the force of your grip, as your body involuntarily arched and buckled against his hand. The need for more, for deeper contact, pulsed through you, a throbbing ache that begged for release. Hyunjin, sensing your desperation, was unreserved in his approach, his fingers moving with practiced skill as they massaged your length through the fabric of your jeans.

The roughness of the denim contrasted deliciously with the tenderness of his caress, each movement sending waves of pleasure coursing through your veins. You could feel the heat pooling low in your belly, a fire stoked by his every motion. From the corner of your eye, you glimpsed the outline of his own arousal, straining against the confines of his pants. The sight sent a jolt of satisfaction through you, feeding your ego and heightening the intensity of the moment.

In the dim, secluded theater, with only the flickering light of the screen to witness your secret encounter, the world outside ceased to exist. Each touch, each whisper of movement, was magnified in the hushed silence. Hyunjin’s breath, warm and shallow, mingled with yours, creating a private symphony of shared desire. His eyes, dark and intense, flickered with a mix of mischief and ardor, reflecting the storm of emotions that raged within you both.

There was never any kissing between the two of you, no trace of affection mingled with the deeply intimate actions that had become your shared ritual. Lips never met in tender embrace, and there were no soft whispers of endearment. Instead, the connection you forged was raw and elemental, stripped of the frills of romance. Behind closed doors and within the shadows of dimly lit rooms, you found a thrilling liberation in the mutual use of each other’s bodies. Each encounter was a secret symphony of touch and sensation, free from the constraints of emotional entanglement.

The exhilaration of this clandestine arrangement was a heady intoxication, a rush of adrenaline that coursed through your veins each and every time. The absence of romantic gestures and the lack of emotional responsibility created a unique and intoxicating blend of freedom and anticipation. You both existed in a world where the only currency was the explicit pleasure you pursued together, a hedonistic exchange that left no room for the complexities of caring beyond the immediate moment.

This arrangement, devoid of conventional intimacy, was pure bliss—a potent addiction that occupied your thoughts through every waking moment. The craving for these encounters became an ever-present undercurrent in your daily life, a hunger that only grew stronger with each rendezvous. The physical connection, unburdened by the expectations of love or the weight of emotional commitment, was a sanctuary of sorts, a place where you could lose yourselves in the primal joy of unrestrained passion.

Each touch, each breathless moment, was a testament to the unique bond you shared—one that thrived in the dark, away from the scrutinizing eyes of the world. The thrill of secrecy, the raw, unfiltered pleasure, was an addiction that neither of you could resist. It was a dance of shadows and light, a tantalizing game that blurred the lines between reality and desire, leaving you both perpetually yearning for the next encounter.

Growing weary of the languid touches that teased more than satisfied, you decided to seize control from Hyunjin. Your fingers, light and teasing, trailed a deliberate path up to his painfully hard arousal. The unexpected contact elicited a raw, unguarded moan from his plump lips, his eyes flashing with a mixture of surprise and irritation. Yet, his glare only made you chuckle softly, a sound that vibrated with quiet confidence and amusement.

Determined to unravel him with your touch, you felt a rising tide of desperation to see him surrender. Your movements became more purposeful, almost urgent, as you deftly tugged his pants and underwear down just enough to liberate his beautiful, aching member. The sight of him laid bare before you sent a thrill through your veins, your own need intensifying at the vision of his vulnerability.

Hyunjin sighed in relief, the tension momentarily ebbing away, only to be replaced by a darker, more intense gaze. His eyes, heavy with desire, watched as you surveyed the dimly lit cinema room, ensuring your clandestine encounter remained undisturbed. Satisfied that you were alone, you slowly sank to your knees between his legs, the anticipation of what was to come heightening the electricity in the air.

The dim glow of the screen cast ethereal shadows over your form, accentuating the intimate tableau you created together. Hyunjin’s breath hitched, his eyes never leaving yours, a silent acknowledgment of your shared hunger and the shifting power dynamic. As you positioned yourself, the world outside the darkened room ceased to exist, leaving only the palpable tension and the promise of exquisite release.

His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, each exhalation a testament to his struggle to maintain composure. Your hands, now steady and confident, moved with a precision born of intimate knowledge, eager to draw out every shiver and gasp. The intimacy of the moment, the raw, unfiltered need, created a cocoon around you both, a sanctuary of desire where every touch, every glance, spoke volumes.

Hyunjin’s quiet moans filled the space, mingling with the distant sounds of the film, creating a symphony of pleasure that echoed in the secluded darkness. Your control, your neediness, intertwined seamlessly, crafting a moment of pure, unadulterated passion that left both of you breathless and yearning for more.

Hyunjin was already leaking, a tantalizing sight that made your mouth water with anticipation. The glistening evidence of his arousal only spurred you on, your desire mounting with every passing second. You wrapped your fingers around his throbbing length, feeling the heat and the pulse beneath your touch. Slowly, deliberately, you began to stroke him, each movement measured to draw out his pleasure.

As your hand moved, Hyunjin’s reaction was immediate and intense. He threw his head back, his face a portrait of pure ecstasy. His mouth fell open, a silent cry of pleasure escaping his parted lips, and his eyes squeezed shut as waves of sensation washed over him. The sight of him, so undone by your touch, bolstered your confidence, fueling the fire of your own arousal.

With a surge of boldness, you finally took him into your mouth, the familiar taste and texture igniting a spark within you. You fought to suppress a moan, the urge to vocalize your pleasure nearly overwhelming. The sensation of him filling your mouth, the weight and warmth of him, was intoxicating. You reveled in the control, in the power you wielded over his pleasure.

Hyunjin’s response was visceral. He hissed through clenched teeth, his head snapping forward to watch you. His eyes, dark and intense, were filled with a mix of surprise and unrestrained desire. His brows furrowed, the tension etched across his features, but his jaw remained slack, a testament to his struggle to contain his sounds. The effort to maintain some semblance of control was evident, yet you could see him teetering on the edge, each moment threatening to push him over.

Your movements were slow, deliberate, savoring the taste of him and the way his body responded to your ministrations. The flickering light from the screen played across his face, highlighting the sheen of sweat on his brow, the way his lips trembled with every suppressed sound. The intimacy of the moment, the raw, unfiltered connection, created a heady atmosphere that wrapped around you both.

Every subtle shift of his hips, every strangled breath, fed your own desire. The rhythm you established, the ebb and flow of pleasure, was a dance you both knew well. The darkened cinema room, the backdrop of the distant film, became a world unto itself, where the only reality was the shared ecstasy and the bond forged in the heat of passion.

With each stroke, each gentle suction, you brought him closer to the edge, the anticipation building between you. Hyunjin’s gaze never wavered, locked onto you with a mixture of awe and desperation. The connection, so deeply physical, was underscored by the unspoken understanding that this moment, this exchange of pleasure, was something sacred and profoundly intimate.

It was almost uncanny to experience Hyunjin’s unusual silence. You had grown so accustomed to the symphony of his voice, the way he filled intimate moments with his melodic praises and unrestrained moans. His words, often slurred by the intoxicating waves of pleasure, were a chorus of erotic melodies that resonated deep within you, igniting your own desires. The quiet now was both a stark contrast and a thrilling challenge, a testament to his struggle to maintain control.

Yet, even in his silence, the intensity of his need was unmistakable. His normally expressive self found new ways to convey his desperation, his fingers tangling in your hair with a grip that spoke volumes. The usually tender touch now firm and commanding, guiding your head in a rhythm that matched his urgent desires. The sensation of his fingers fisting your hair, each tug a silent plea for more, sent shivers down your spine.

Hyunjin’s hips began to move with a mind of their own, thrusting to meet the rhythm you established. Each upward motion synchronized with the downward movement of your mouth, creating a perfect harmony of motion and sensation. His normally vocal nature was replaced by a more physical expression of his need, every thrust a wordless cry of pleasure. The quiet, punctuated only by the sound of your movements and his ragged breaths, created an atmosphere thick with unspoken longing.

The flickering light from the screen danced across his face, highlighting the tautness of his jaw and the fire in his eyes. The restraint he showed, the effort to maintain some semblance of composure, made the moment even more electrifying. His usual clinginess, now intensified, was a physical manifestation of his pleasure, his body seeking yours with an almost desperate fervor.

As you moved together, the dance of your intimacy became a testament to your deep connection. Each motion, each shared breath, wove a tapestry of desire that wrapped around you both. The darkened cinema room, once a simple backdrop, now felt like a secret world where only the two of you existed, bound by the intensity of your shared experience.

Hyunjin’s control wavered with each passing second, the struggle evident in the way his body tensed and relaxed in quick succession. The quiet was a fragile thing, threatened by the rising tide of his pleasure. His eyes, dark and intense, locked onto yours, communicating volumes without a single word. The normally eloquent Hyunjin was now a creature of pure sensation, his need for you transcending language.

Every movement, every touch, was a symphony of silent communication, an intricate dance of desire and control. As you continued, the thrill of his intensified clinginess and the unusual quiet created a heady mix, a potent blend of intimacy that left you both breathless and yearning for more.

Your free hand moved to caress his balls, the delicate yet firm touch sending jolts of intensified pleasure through Hyunjin’s already electrified body. The effect was immediate and profound; his actions became increasingly erratic, a beautiful chaos of movement that reflected the storm of sensations you were conjuring within him. His face, a canvas of raw emotion, scrunched up gorgeously in response, each twitch and contortion a testament to the bliss you were eliciting.

As the tension mounted, he leaned forward, his need to be closer to you overwhelming his senses. His movements pushed your nose against his pelvis, the intimacy of the action driving both of you to new heights of arousal. You could feel his release building, a palpable tension that seemed to vibrate through his entire body.

When he finally reached the peak of his pleasure, you felt the hot, thick rush of his release spill down your throat. The sensation was overwhelming, filling your mouth to the point of gagging. The fullness was both a challenge and a thrill, a testament to the depth of your connection and the intensity of the moment. You struggled to breathe, the sheer volume of him making it difficult, but you relished every second of it.

Eventually, Hyunjin’s iron grip on you relaxed, his fingers loosening their hold on your hair. You pulled back, gasping for air, the sudden rush of oxygen a stark contrast to the suffocating fullness you’d just experienced. The cool air on your face and the lingering taste of him in your mouth created a heady mix of sensations that left you reeling.

Hyunjin’s gaze softened, the fierce intensity giving way to a tender vulnerability. His breaths came in ragged gasps, each one a testament to the overwhelming pleasure he’d just experienced. You could see the gratitude and the residual pleasure in his eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the profound connection you shared.

The dim light of the cinema cast gentle shadows across his face, highlighting the lingering flush of arousal on his cheeks. The room, once a simple setting, now felt like a sacred space where the boundaries between you had dissolved. Every detail, from the softness of his touch to the taste of his release, was etched into your memory, creating a moment that was both ephemeral and eternal.

As you both recovered, the world outside seemed distant and unimportant. The intimacy of the moment, the raw, unfiltered connection, had created a bubble of reality where only the two of you existed. The echoes of pleasure and the warmth of your shared experience lingered in the air, a promise of more moments like this to come.

Just like that, you returned to your seat, slipping back into the plush cushion as if nothing extraordinary had transpired. With a composed air, you swallowed the lingering evidence of your intimate adventure, the remnants of Hyunjin’s release settling deep within you. The calm facade you wore was a stark contrast to the storm of emotions that had just raged between you.

Beside you, Hyunjin was utterly spent, his chest rising and falling in an effort to catch his breath. His skin glistened faintly under the dim cinema lights, a sheen of sweat marking the intensity of your shared moment. His eyes, still glazed with the remnants of pleasure, never left your figure. The way you appeared so nonchalant, so composed, despite the passionate exchange that had just unfolded, captivated him.

Your core throbbed with a dull, insistent ache, a testament to the desire that still simmered within you. The anticipation of what was to come made it difficult to focus on anything else. You shifted slightly in your seat, the ache intensifying with every subtle movement, a constant reminder of the unfinished business between you.

Hyunjin’s gaze lingered on you, a silent promise of continued pleasure hanging in the air. The unspoken understanding that the fun was far from over added an electric tension to the room. The film continued to play, its plot a distant murmur, overshadowed by the anticipation of what awaited you both once the credits rolled.

As you both sat in the dim light, the world outside the cinema seemed to fade away. The mundane reality of your surroundings contrasted sharply with the charged intimacy you shared. The darkened room, filled with the flickering glow of the screen, became a private haven where your desires could roam free, undisturbed by the outside world.

Hyunjin’s fingers twitched slightly, a subtle indication of his renewed interest. The thought of continuing your escapade in the confines of the car sent a thrill through you, your body responding eagerly to the prospect. The anticipation built steadily, each passing moment bringing you closer to the next chapter of your passionate adventure.

The film’s soundtrack provided a background score to your thoughts, each swell of music mirroring the rising tension between you. Your composure remained intact, but beneath the surface, a tempest of desire brewed, ready to be unleashed once more. Hyunjin’s presence, his proximity, only added fuel to the fire, making the wait both torturous and deliciously exciting.

In that shared silence, the air thick with unsaid words and unmet needs, you both found solace. The bond forged in those stolen moments of pleasure was a testament to the depth of your connection. The promise of what was to come loomed large, a tantalizing prospect that kept you both on the edge, eagerly awaiting the privacy of the car where your desires could be fully realized.

꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ ミ Permanent taglist: @agi-ppangx @sunnyrisee @jisunglyricist (Click on the link to join! All you have to do is answer a few questions to help me stay organized!)

🍉 FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA, PALESTINE WILL BE FREE! DAILY CLICKS! STAYBLR FUNDRAISER!

[urdreamydoodles]

Remy LeBeau "Gambit" x Fem!Reader

Laughing at every jokes he make

You find yourself on a romantic stroll with Remy LeBeau, where his playful jokes and charming demeanor lead to a deeper connection. As your laughter draws you closer, you both realize there's more than just flirtation between you, culminating in a tender and passionate moment.

The warm glow of the late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the streets of New Orleans, the air thick with the scent of jasmine and the lively hum of jazz music in the distance. You found yourself walking alongside Remy LeBeau, your hand barely brushing against his as the two of you meandered through the quiet backstreets. The gentle breeze carried with it the rich smells of the city and a sense of anticipation you could feel in your bones, a feeling heightened whenever you were in his presence.

Remy had insisted on taking you out for a stroll, away from the chaos of your usual lives as X-Men, and you didn’t hesitate to agree. It was impossible to say no to that roguish smile of his, the one that made you feel like you were the only person in the world who could see through his devil-may-care attitude to the heart beneath. Today, though, Remy was especially playful, cracking jokes at every turn.

“Y’know,” he began, his deep Cajun accent weaving through his words like music, “if de X-Men ever decide t’fire me, I got a back-up career as a stand-up comedian.”

You chuckled softly, the sound light and airy, though the joke itself was far from laugh-out-loud funny. “You sure about that? You might want to keep practicing.”

His grin widened, eyes flashing with a spark of mischief. “Practice? Chère, I’m already a master. Ain’t nobody got charm like Remy LeBeau.”

You couldn’t help but laugh again, a little louder this time. There was something about the way he said things, like he didn’t care whether they were funny or not—he was confident you’d laugh anyway. And, of course, you did. It wasn’t just the jokes themselves, though. It was the way he carried himself, with a swagger that spoke volumes, and the way he’d glance at you, his red-and-black eyes lingering just a little too long, sending a shiver down your spine.

Remy raised an eyebrow as he leaned in closer. “Now you laughin’, but I know y’thinkin’ I got potential.”

“Potential to get booed off the stage, maybe,” you teased, nudging his arm with your shoulder, your eyes crinkling at the corners from how hard you were smiling.

“Ah, chère, you wound me!” Remy dramatically placed a hand over his heart, feigning hurt, though his smirk gave him away. “Lucky for me, I got a beautiful girl like you t’keep me company. Long as you laughin’, dat’s all dat matters.”

You felt your cheeks heat up at the casual compliment, even though you were used to his flirtations by now. Being called “beautiful” by Remy was like being told the sky was blue—he said it so often, you’d think it would lose its effect. But it never did. It always felt like a small flame igniting inside you every time the word passed his lips.

Your laughter faded into a quiet smile as you glanced up at him, watching the way the evening light softened his sharp features. Remy had a way of making everything feel light, like the weight of the world could fall away when you were with him. He was always making jokes, always teasing, and you always laughed, even when they weren’t all that funny. It wasn’t that his jokes were bad—they just didn’t always hit the mark. But the way he looked at you when he delivered them, with that lazy, confident grin, you couldn’t help but laugh. Because he was trying, and because, for reasons you couldn’t quite explain, his laughter became contagious, drawing your own out of you like a melody that was meant to be sung.

As the two of you continued walking, you noticed Remy glance at you out of the corner of his eye, the smile on his lips softening. There was something different in his expression now, something quieter and more thoughtful. He stopped suddenly, taking your hand in his without a word, guiding you toward a small, secluded park nestled between two rows of charming old houses.

“C’mere,” he said softly, pulling you toward a bench shaded by a large oak tree. The branches above rustled gently in the breeze, casting dappled shadows on the ground beneath your feet. Remy sat down, his hand still holding yours, and patted the spot next to him.

You sat, feeling the warmth of his body close to yours, your hand still tingling from his touch. The playful banter had died down now, replaced by a silence that felt… deeper, more intimate.

“Y’know,” Remy began after a moment, his voice quieter than before, “I been thinkin’ ‘bout somethin’.”

Your heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t often that Remy got serious, and when he did, you knew it was important. “What’s on your mind?”

He looked at you, his red-on-black eyes meeting yours in a way that made your breath catch. “I been thinkin’ ‘bout you. ‘Bout us.”

There was a pause, the words hanging in the air between you like the last note of a song waiting to fade. You weren’t sure what to say, so you waited, letting him find the words.

“You always laugh at my jokes,” he said, a small, almost shy smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Even when they ain’t so funny. Why’s dat, chère?”

You blinked, surprised by the question. It seemed so simple, but the way he asked it—like it meant more than just the surface—made your heart stutter in your chest. You glanced away for a moment, trying to gather your thoughts, before looking back at him with a smile of your own.

“I guess… I just like hearing you talk,” you said, feeling the truth of it even as you spoke the words. “Doesn’t matter if the joke is funny or not. I like being around you, Remy. You make me feel… lighter. Happier.”

His expression softened at that, his smile turning more genuine, more tender. “Dat so?” he murmured, leaning just a little closer, his voice low and smooth, like the soft rumble of thunder in the distance.

You nodded, your heart thudding in your chest. “Yeah, it is. I don’t think I could stop laughing around you even if I tried.”

For a moment, Remy said nothing, just watched you with an intensity that made your skin tingle. Then, without warning, he reached out and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your skin longer than necessary. His touch sent a thrill down your spine, and you felt your breath hitch in your throat.

“Y’know,” he said softly, his voice barely more than a whisper, “I been doin’ a lot of thinkin’ ‘bout how lucky I am.”

“Lucky?” you echoed, your voice quieter now, the world around you seeming to fade as the space between you and Remy grew smaller.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his hand still resting lightly against your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Lucky dat someone like you’d wanna spend time wit’ someone like me. Wit’ all my bad jokes an’ all.”

You laughed, the sound soft and breathless, and Remy’s smile widened at the sound. “I think I’m the lucky one,” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Remy’s eyes darkened slightly at that, and you could feel the air between you shift, becoming charged with something unspoken. For a long moment, neither of you moved, the world narrowing to just the two of you, your breaths mingling in the small space between you. Then, slowly, ever so slowly, Remy leaned in closer, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Can I kiss you, chère?” he asked softly, his breath warm against your skin.

Your heart raced, your pulse pounding in your ears as you nodded, unable to form words. The moment you did, Remy’s lips met yours, soft and warm, sending a surge of electricity through your entire body. The kiss was gentle at first, tentative, but it quickly deepened as Remy wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer.

You melted into him, your hands tangling in his hair as you kissed him back, every thought in your mind dissolving into the sensation of being this close to him. His lips were firm yet soft, his touch tender but possessive, as though he’d been waiting for this moment as long as you had.

When you finally pulled back, breathless and flushed, Remy rested his forehead against yours, his breath coming in soft, shallow pants. He smiled, a real smile, the kind that reached his eyes, and your heart swelled in your chest.

“Now dat’s a punchline I can get behind,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

And just like that, you laughed again, not because the joke was funny, but because you were happy—truly, completely happy.

[deafeningladyruins]

Carnival of Shadows

1.The Encounter

It was a cold, moonless night when she stumbled upon the forgotten carnival. The once lively place now lay in ruins, overtaken by nature and haunted by echoes of laughter long gone. The air was thick with the scent of decay and the distant, eerie melodies of a broken carousel. She was drawn to this place, searching for an escape from her mundane existence, hoping to find solace in the desolation.

Her life had always been a battle against the shadows of her mind. Diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder, she struggled daily with hallucinations and delusions that blurred the lines between reality and the sinister fantasies her mind conjured. Tonight was no different; the whispers in her head were relentless, urging her to find peace in the chaos of the abandoned carnival.

As she wandered through the dilapidated attractions, she felt an unshakable sense of being watched. Her heart raced with a mix of fear and curiosity, each step further into the darkness amplifying the tension. Unbeknownst to her, Art the Clown lurked in the shadows, his eyes never leaving her. He had been watching her for days, fascinated by the aura of sadness and longing that seemed to envelop her.

Her footsteps echoed in the empty hall of mirrors, the glass reflecting distorted images of herself that seemed to mock her every move. She paused, captivated by her reflection and the strangeness of her surroundings. It was then that Art the Clown made his presence known. A subtle rustling sound, a fleeting shadow across the mirrors, and she spun around, her breath hitching in her throat.

There he stood, at the edge of her vision, a ghastly figure clad in a tattered clown costume, his face painted in a grotesque smile. She should have been terrified, but instead, she felt an inexplicable pull towards him. There was something mesmerizing about his silent, enigmatic presence. Her eyes met his, and in that moment, she felt a strange connection, as if they were kindred spirits in a world that had forgotten them.

Art the Clown moved closer, his footsteps eerily silent. He extended a gloved hand towards her, and after a moment’s hesitation, she took it. His touch was cold, sending shivers down her spine, but she felt an odd sense of security in his grip.

“Who... who are you?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Art the Clown remained silent, his eyes twinkling with a mix of mischief and something darker. He gestured for her to follow, and she found herself compelled to obey, as if she was under a spell. Her hallucinations usually filled her with dread, but this felt different. It was as if she was being guided by a dark protector. Without a word, he led her deeper into the heart of the carnival, weaving through the rusted rides and decaying tents. The silence between them was deafening, yet it spoke volumes. She couldn't help but feel that this was the beginning of something twisted and inexplicable.

They reached the old Ferris wheel, its skeletal structure looming ominously against the night sky. Art the Clown gestured for her to sit in one of the dilapidated carriages. She obliged, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Why are you helping me?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Art the Clown tilted his head, his smile widening. He said nothing, but his eyes conveyed a message she couldn't quite decipher. As the wheel began to turn, creaking with age and disuse, she realized that this was the beginning of something she couldn’t quite comprehend. A dark journey that would intertwine their fates in ways she never imagined. As the Ferris wheel ascended, she gazed out at the twisted remains of the carnival. The world below looked surreal, almost like a painting from her darkest dreams. She turned to Art the Clown, her voice breaking the silence once more.

“I... I see things. Hear things that aren’t real. But you... you feel real. Are you real?”

For a moment, Art's expression softened, a glimmer of understanding passing through his eyes. Then, with a swift movement, he pointed towards the starry sky, urging her to look beyond the confines of her mind and into the vast unknown. The night was filled with unspoken words and shared silences, and as they ascended into the starlit sky, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was exactly where she was meant to be. This was the moment that marked the start of their strange and twisted love story, a tale of darkness, obsession, and unexpected connection.

---

Chapter 2

Hope you guys like it, this is my first writing of Art the clown, this is just the beginning.

[criticallyinneedofadar]

Alliance of Shadows (5)

A/N: I'm thinking this will end up being between 10-12 parts so we are only halfway through!!

Pairing: Adar x Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: slight violence, no spice yet but I SWEAR it's coming- patience is a virtue lovelies.

Taglist: @zoya-olenko, @annatartastic

Previous- Next

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The path to Eregion stretches out before you, winding through dense forests and craggy hills. The air is crisp, the scent of damp earth and pine heavy in the air. Your horse's hooves clatter against the uneven stones as the path narrows, forcing the party closer together. Two of your apprentices, Revan and Ysha, ride slightly behind you, ever-watchful, their dark blue robes marking them as members of your inner circle.

Adar rides beside you in silence, his eyes sharp, scanning the wild landscape with a practiced gaze. His Uruks—silent, powerful figures draped in shadow—move with an eerie coordination around your group. Though they had been bred for war, there is an undeniable discipline to them, a loyalty you hadn't expected.

The tension between you and Adar had only grown since your duel, the memory of his hand around your throat, the burning fire in his eyes, lingering like smoke in the back of your mind. While you might have claimed victory then, it had opened something—a crack in the walls between you. That spark flared with every passing glance, every moment of silence.

Still, you focus on the task ahead. Eregion lay far to the west, and there are many dangers between you and your destination. The farther you travel from your hidden domain in the mountains, the more exposed you become. Wildmen, beasts, and worse roam these untamed lands.

Adar’s voice cuts through the stillness. “We are not alone.”

He didn’t need to say more. You feel the ripple of foreign minds brushing against the edges of your awareness—wild and unfocused, but dangerous. The apprentices sense it too, their postures stiffening, hands inching toward their staffs.

Then, from the shadows of the trees, they appear.

Wildmen, scraggly and desperate, with crude weapons raised high. They surge from the underbrush with guttural cries, their faces twisting with greed and hunger. Their disorganized charge is met with the thunderous roar of Adar’s Uruks, who spring into action with frightening precision. The clash of steel on steel fills the air as the two forces collide.

The first attacker comes at you, swinging a rusted axe in a wild arc. You extend your hand, drawing on the magic that hums just beneath your skin. His eyes widen in surprise as reality itself shifts around him—the air rippling, bending—and then his body stiffens. You’ve reached into his mind, twisting his will with the ease of a puppet master. The axe falls from his hand as he turns and, without hesitation, buries a dagger into his comrade’s side.

Beside you, Ysha’s magic flares in bursts of violet light, weaving illusions that send the wildmen stumbling, attacking phantoms that aren’t there. Revan, more brutal in his methods, unleashes waves of force that send enemies flying through the air, crashing into trees with bone-shattering impacts.

But the wildmen are relentless, their numbers greater than you had anticipated. More spill from the forest, overwhelming the Uruks with sheer volume. You feel the strain as you pull harder on your magic, manipulating the minds of those around you, sending them into confusion or turning them against one another.

Next to you, Adar fights like a storm incarnate, his blade slicing through flesh with deadly precision. He moves like a shadow, slipping through the chaos with terrifying grace. His Uruks follow his lead, cutting down the attackers with practiced efficiency. One of his lieutenants, Sherak, shouts orders in their guttural tongue, and they respond as one—unstoppable, ruthless.

Had you a moment to spare, you would be more than a little impressed. Still, the battle presses on. You feel the sharp sting of fatigue creeping into your limbs, the constant strain of bending reality and controlling minds weighing on you. From your peripheral you notice a rogue figure moving toward you—a wildman, silent and quick, slipping past the Uruks’ defensive line, eyes locked on you.

You turn too late.

The wildman lunges, a wickedly curved blade aimed directly for your heart. In a heartbeat, you raise your hand, ready to summon a defense, but exhaustion makes your magic falter. The world seems to slow as the blade comes closer—too close.

Then, a shadow slips between you and death.

Adar.

With a roar of fury, he slams into the wildman, knocking him aside with brutal force. His sword flashes, and the wildman crumples to the ground, lifeless. The space between you and Adar shrinks to nothing as he turns, his face inches from yours, his chest heaving from exertion. His hand lingers on the hilt of his sword, the other hand brushing against your arm as if to steady you.

For a heartbeat, the world falls away—the battle, the danger, all of it fading into the background as your eyes lock with his. His breath is warm against your skin, his gaze intense, burning. You can feel the weight of the moment—the pull between you, raw and undeniable. There is something primal in his gaze, something that mirrors your own desires.

His hand moves from your arm, up to your neck, his thumb brushing the line of your jaw. Your heart pounds, the air between you thick with the possibility of what could happen if you just leaned in, closing the distance. His lips hovered so close, the taste of the moment electric.

“My Lord!” Sherak’s voice slices through the tension, shattering the fragile spell. “We need to move. Now.”

Adar’s expression shifts, frustration flashing briefly in his eyes before he steps back, the connection between you severed. You swallow the rush of disappointment, steadying yourself as you turn to face Sherak. The Uruk is covered in blood, his eyes sharp with urgency.

“There are more coming,” he growls. “We must move quickly.”

Adar’s jaw tightens, but he nods. “Fall back,” he commands, his voice steady once more.

You are regrouped quickly, with Revan and Ysha taking up the rear as you press on. The battle has slowed your progress, and now the urgency to reach Eregion weighs heavier on your shoulders.

______________________

You ride hard for the next several days, the adrenaline of the battle slowly ebbing away, replaced by exhaustion. You glance at Adar, who has resumed his silent vigil at the front of the party. His presence is steady, his leadership undeniable, but there is something else—a tenderness beneath the stoic exterior that you hadn’t noticed before.

One of the Uruks, a scarred creature with a sharp intelligence in his eyes, rides beside you. His name is Ghor. He speaks in a low voice, careful not to draw too much attention.

"You fight well," Ghor grunts, his voice respectful. "But our Lord Father... he saved you."

You raise an eyebrow. “And?”

“He does not save lightly,” Ghor continues, his gaze flicking to Adar. “He calls us his children, and he means it. He fights for us, protects us. But I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He would fight for you too- if you asked it of him.”

The words send a ripple of realization through you. You glance at Adar again, seeing him in a new light. He is not just a leader of his people, but something far more complex. His devotion to his Uruks is fierce, paternal, and their loyalty in return seems unshakeable.

As the final stretch of your journey comes to an end, the dense forest gives way to an open plain where Adar’s legion of Uruks have made camp. The setting sun bathes the rugged terrain in a deep crimson glow, though you notice most of the Uruk stick to the shadows where they can, pulling up hoods when they must step into the fading sunlight. It is a stark, harsh place—little more than a collection of crude tents and hastily dug fire pits scattered across the rocky ground.

The air is thick with the smell of sweat, blood, and earth. It is a people that have known no peace, no luxury—only survival.

Your horse slows as you approach the camp, and your eyes sweep across the scene before you. Uruks move about in near silence, a few sharpening weapons, others tending to their injuries. Their faces are hard, lined with the scars of countless battles. Their armor is mismatched and battered, but there is a determined resilience in their movements, a kind of discipline borne from years of hardship.

You catch sight of the tattered furs they wear to protect themselves from the sun, the meager rations they share—little more than scraps of dried meat and stale bread. Even the water they drink is drawn from muddy streams, unfit for any other race to consume. Yet they endured.

Your gaze lingers on the ragged tents they sleep in, barely enough to keep out the cold of the night. And though their eyes are sharp and their bodies strong, you can see the toll their endless war has taken. The Uruks have known no home, no place of peace. Only this. Only the battlefield.

"They’ve lived like this for years?" you ask, the question slipping from your lips before you can stop yourself.

Adar, riding beside you, gives a small nod. His expression is unreadable, but you sense a deep, quiet sorrow beneath the surface.

“They have had no home," he replies, his voice low, steady. "The one they gained they may lose just as quickly."

You pause as you take in the weight of his words. These Uruks—his children—had been cast out, much like you and your people. They have lived in the shadows, in exile, scraping by with nothing but each other and their will to survive.

Your heart aches as you watch a young Uruk, barely old enough to fight, crouch by a fire, his eyes hollow and tired. The living conditions are brutal, a testament to their resilience, but it is clear they can not continue like this forever.

"They deserve more than this," you say softly, almost to yourself.

Adar’s gaze flicks to you, his eyes dark and intense in the fading light. “That is why I fight,” he says, his voice carrying a deep, unspoken promise. “To give them the home they deserve.”

There is something in his tone—something raw and true—that stirs something deep within you. You have always believed in protecting your own people, and have kept them safe in the hidden sanctuary of your mountain. But now, as you look out over the Uruks, you see a reflection of your own past, your own people’s struggle.

They have been denied safety, denied peace. And in Adar’s eyes, you see a fierce determination to change that.

"I will ride with you," you say, your voice firm with newfound conviction. "Not just for my people’s sake, and our allegiance, but for your children as well."

Adar’s gaze holds yours for a long moment, something unspoken passing between you. Respect. Understanding. And something more. He gives a slight nod, the corner of his mouth lifting in the faintest hint of a smile.

“Good,” he murmurs. “For they will need someone as powerful as you by their side.”

As the moment lingers, a slow awareness of your shared purpose settles between you. You had both fought your own wars, built your own defenses, and now—perhaps for the first time—you were aligning your strength with another.

The night was creeping closer, and the urgency of your mission pressed in. In a few days time, you would leave this camp behind, and the true battle would begin. But tonight, as you stand at the edge of the Uruks’ camp, you make a silent vow to fight for more than just power. You would fight for something far greater.

And you know Adar will be at your side.

[maple-the-awesome]

When Another Finds Out About His Crush Part 1/3

Part 2 || Part 3

Pairings: Four, Hyrule, Legend x GN Reader

Overview: What happens when someone else in the Chain finds out about his feelings towards you?

 Zelda Masterlist 💙 Fandom Masterlist

How is it that today has been so peaceful? Seriously, when was the last time the group got a chance to breathe for a second, let alone actually take a moment to enjoy themselves like normal Hylians who don't have to constantly deal with the weight of the world upon their shoulders?

Maybe it's because of the last battle which left most of them pretty battered - too battered to dive head first back into another hoard of monsters right away. Perhaps the Old Man finally got tired of their constant whining and bickering which had grown in volume over the course of the last few days, leading him to pacify them with a quick break. It's probably a combination of those two things, but whatever the true reasoning for this blessing, Four plans to enjoy it - at least he's trying his best to.

He won't complain. It's nice getting to sit here in the sun, enjoying its warm beams that pair sweetly with the cool breeze that carries itself up from the spring where the majority of his traveling partners currently splash around, their joyful cheers making all sound right with the world. Of course, this scene of an early summer would be so much better if not broken every few seconds by Four's sneezing.

His nose is probably red and eyes possibly a bit puffy, but he tries not to care. He's too focused - too distracted with the many thoughts running through his head to begin fussing over some mild allergies.

'Loop over that...Now tie here...' 

'Maybe we should've chosen different flowers -'

'- No. We can't admit defeat to a stupid flower. We're seeing this through, damn it!'

'I wasn't suggesting that we give up. Only that we reevaluate our clearly flawed plan. This field is filled with flowers. We can take our pick.'

'Ooo, I like the poppies over there! Let's use those!'

'No! Poppies aren't good enough. Must I remind you why we're using daisies in the first place?!'

Four sighs heavily, his hands collapsing to his lap. The tangled flowers resting in his touch are a pathetic excuse for a 'craft'. If anything, they look no different from flowers that have been tugged from the ground then tossed around in a bag for a few shakes. It's rather shameful considering how long the minish took to teach him the careful art of weaving flower stems together. Are some watching him now, shaking their heads in confusion as to how someone can be struggling to this extent? Of course, it would be easier if he switched to practically any flower other than daisies, but he's committed to seeing this through as is, no changes. 

Four's harsh thoughts only break away temporarily when noticing the wolf that saunters through the meadow towards him, likely chased away from the cold shadows that have begun casting over his former resting place closer to the spring. Over here in the sun it’s much warmer, so there’s no surprise when the wolf invites himself to sit next to Four, giving a curious look to the flowers on his lap that asks the question without words being needed.

"I'm trying to make a crown," Four answers, lifting the string of stems up with one finger to let the wolf get a closer look which he does by leaning forward and taking a sniff. To him, the craft is impressive, looking far more detailed and put together compared to the flower crowns he's personally made with the children of his village, although it's clear that the Smith is having trouble accepting his own talent by the way he leans his cheek against the palm of his hand with a huff.

"Normally I can make them pretty quickly with fewer mistakes or tears in the stems and petals, but today I just can't get it right. No matter how many times I attempt one, it never looks good enough," Four explains further, his words drawing Wolfie's eyes to the several drafted flower crowns abandoned off to the hero's side. Then suddenly, the wolf's attention is drawn back to Four with a start when he sneezes loudly. 

Sniffing, he gives the slightly startled animal a pitiful look, "...Oh, and it doesn't help that I'm allergic to daisies..."

Wolfie tilts his head to the patch of poppies growing no more than two feet away from them.

"No, I can't...Daisies are easiest to make flower crowns with. They, um, have longer stems."

Woflie tilts his head further, showing doubt over Four's claim, yet in this form, it's not like he can truly call him out. All he can do is make himself comfortable, lying down among the tall grass where he can bare witness to the poor smith's torture as he goes back to weaving flowers into a circle, the only interruption to the silence between them being his repetitive sneezes and eventually a pair of footsteps approaching from the spring.

"Hey, we're missing you down at the water! Whatcha doing all the way up here by your lonesome?" It's no surprise that you're wearing a smile - Alright, it might've been a surprise a few hours ago when all you did was scowl or pout about your aching feet, but ever since Time allowed the group a break, you've been nothing but smiles and rainbows, a look Four prefers on you due to how contagious your enjoy never fails to be.

Immediately upon looking up, a smile pulls at his own lips and all of his muddled thoughts wash away into one. Even his voice is light as a feather without giving you any hint to his prior irritation; a complete contrast to how he had been seconds ago when Wolfie first joined him, "I'm not the biggest swimmer and even if I were, that scream Sky gave when jumping in was enough to convince me of my decision to stay up here."

"Yeah, it's ice water, but hey, anything beats sore feet at this point," You place your hands on your hips with a chuckle, sparing a quick glance back at the rest of the boys before your attention returns to Four, "Making flower crowns, I see?"

He nods, fiddling with the one in his hand which he seems to stare at for some time (truly it was only a few seconds for anyone except himself) before he holds the craft up towards you, "...I thought you'd like one."

"Really? For me?" The bashful smile he wears is easily missed as you awe over the flowers, delicately running your fingers over each petal. Like Wolfie, you see none of the flaws Four concerns himself with. Instead, you see a beautiful collection of near perfect daisies (only a few petals missing here and there) all weaved together in a strong pattern that keeps them from falling apart, "Oh, this is incredible…Wow, you truly are a talent to behold, aren’t you Smithy?"

He officially blushes, rubbing the back of his head with a wide smile he tries to maintain, "I can't take all the credit. I learned from the minish."

"You're too modest," You shake your head in mock annoyance, although the delight in your eyes never fades as you look over the flowers some more, "You know, daisies are actually my favorite, too."

"You don't say," Four picks at the petals on his lap, trying to act as casual as possible, "What a coincidence..."

You open your mouth to say something else, however you don't get the chance when a shout is suddenly heard from the spring followed by a loud splash. Four would've been curious to see what the commotion was, but he's currently in too much of a daze to follow where Wolfie and you look. Surely it's not that important judging on your calm sigh anyways. 

"Aaand I'm pretty sure that's the sound of Vet drowning the Captain. Seeing as I would like Time to keep giving us breaks in the future, I should probably go handle everything before he comes back," As disappointed as Four is to hear you’ll be leaving him so soon, he forgets all about that feeling when you place your flower crown on top of his head, your hands hovering there as you give him a gentle smile. He could’ve sworn he even felt your breath blow against his face given your close proximity, but maybe that was just the optimistic side of him, "Keep this safe for me, please? I’d hate for your hard work to get ruined."

"Uhhh...Y-Yeah. Yeah, I'll protect it with my life."

"Thanks. Now if you two will excuse me…" After patting Wolfie’s head goodbye and winking to them both, you race back down to the spring, shouting something to the other boys with a fierce tone that is the exact opposite to how sweetly you always speak to Four. He might've had a little nerve to either fear you or admire your anger (which can be kinda hot), although he merely sighs lovingly in distracted thought he only leaves when happening to catch that knowing stare Wolfie is giving him in the corner of his eyes. Now, wolf or not, Four can once again understand exactly what that type of smug look means without words.

Pushing Wolfie away halfheartedly, he huffs, "Don't say anything and we'll be even."

"Do you think you could teach me how to cook this dish?"

Pour Four nearly chokes on his own spit when the question meets his ears. Teach Hyrule to cook? Now he knows all of his fellow heroes come equipped with many talents, but surely there's a line to be drawn! 

Of course, Wild has a much milder reaction to this 'challenge', in fact, he's actually happy to be granted something to do seeing as he's been grounded to camp after his latest 'stunt', as Twilight referred to it. So, raising his attention up from the supplies he’s been taking inventory of, he glances over the wobbly handwriting on the paper that Hyrule holds out towards him, the Traveler trying not to look either too hopeful or too nervous.

"...I mean, I'm willing to teach you to cook, but are you sure you want this recipe? It’s not intended for beginners...Not to mention we might not have all the ingredients..." Taking the paper into his own hands and whispering to himself in thought distracts him from Hyrule's gulp, "We might be better off trying something else -"

"- No!" Hyrule bites his lip when Four and Wild's gazes jump to him, clearly surprised by his tone. Shifting on his feet, Hyrule tries to clear his throat as a poor attempt at acting 'natural', "I, uh, would really like to try this recipe. It sounded pretty good when the baker explained it, plus we've been traveling for so long and it's not everyday that we get to try something like it - Oh! And I already have all the ingredients. 'bought them in the last town we went to."

Hyrule hopes he isn’t coming off as too pushy or, in the worst case scenario, desperate. This plan is nerve wracking as it is, thus the last thing he needs is anyone asking questions, after all, he already had a close call when you caught him leaving that bakery during your stay in town.

When you saw him leave without buying anything, you assumed he was being rupee-cautious and offered to buy him something sweet if that was what his heart desired. You’re kind like that, always keeping an eye on him and doing your best to hype him up as being just as worthy of the hero’s title as everyone else. That’s why he couldn’t possibly have told you then that you’re what his heart desires most. No, that would’ve been too weird and cliche, even he knows that. You deserve a better confession (whenever he finds the courage for that), but in the meantime, he can at least show you his gratitude through gifts which is why he currently stands here mentally praying for Wild’s help; he’s his only hope at this point!

The Champion looks inside the pouch Hyrule had quite literally tossed at him, the Smith also sneaking a peek from over his shoulder. Comparing the written ingredients to those in the pouch, they confirm that everything is there (surprisingly no weird foods that Hyrule somehow manages to find).

"...Well, the Traveler's right about one thing: we don't usually get a chance to eat sweets on the road, not to mention everyone's been a bit stressed since our last battle. Maybe a treat would be a good way to lift spirits," Four suggests, although the words feel as if they must be pushed through his teeth. Already, his stomach tosses and turns in memory of the last 'dish' Hyrule made which resulted in seven of the ten heroes getting food poisoning and Hyrule receiving a permanent ban from the kitchen ever since.

Wild hums in thought then, to Hyrule's joy, nods and hands him back the recipe, "Alright. Let's get started."

Thinking back to it now, the request seemed so easy to him. Unlike the others who usually see their lives flash before their eyes at the thought of Hyrule's cooking, Wild has actually enjoyed most of his meals including the one that made nearly everyone sick, his only complaint being the need for less salt (a critique that was drowned by out Wind's over the top gagging). With that said, he saw no issue with helping the Traveler complete the desired recipe, however it's always possible for someone to come around to reason, it just took a lot of smoke and heaving, but come around nevertheless.

One minute everything was cooking as it should with a wonderful aroma filling the camp. All Wild did was turn his back. It was only seconds - that's it, seconds - before the cooking pot exploded into a puff of smoke and sparks. Since then, it's been utter havoc which is normally the word everyone else uses whenever Wild and Hyrule get paired, but today, Wild's admitting it himself. Is this usually how stressed Twilight feels?! If so, then he's sorry! He doesn't have time to actually apologize and will most likely forget by the time he sees his mentor again, but dear Hylia, he's sorry!

It's by the grace of the goddesses that no one comes running back to camp to find the scene that would await them if they did: Wild and Hyrule working together to frantically stomp out the flames before they reach any supplies or burn down the entire forest. Even then, evidence of their crimes remains in the form of charred grass and the coat of soot that covers Hyrule's face, stretching his bangs to the sky as his eyes carry a certain daze to them. Maybe now that he's literally had his work blow in his face, he can finally admit that his cooking might not be the best in the group's.

"What did you do?!" 

"I didn't do anything!" Hyrule meets Wild's shout, however he soon falters and pokes his fingers together innocently with a mumble, "...I thought you said that monster parts can give dishes effects..."

“Yeah, some…” Wild's face drops, his eyes wide with realization yet he still finds himself asking with a hint of fear to his voice, "What did you add?"

"..."

"Please don't tell me..."

"...Red chuchu jelly..."

"Dear Hylia!"

"I was curious to see what effect it would have!"

“It blows up! That’s the effect it has!”

"Do I even want to know what's going on here?"

Oh Goddesses, please kill him now...Hyrule had hoped if anyone, it would be the Old Man or maybe even the Captain who came running back to scold them, but you? Oh, you’re the last person he wanted to see this!

To be fair, you still aren't as bad as one of the stricter adults who would’ve immediately accessed the situation and started handing out punishments.  Instead, you plan to let them plead their case. Actually, you don't even look that angry, mainly confused and tired as you stand at the edge of camp, arms crossed with an expression that's anything except amused (probably because you had the unfortunate fate of being one of the seven who got food poisoning from Hyrule's last ‘cooking’ attempt).

Before either boy can begin explaining themselves, you sniff the air and immediately scrunch your nose as a reaction to the awful smell that burns it. Hyrule swears you even gag, although it's hard to tell because of how fast you shoot a hand up to cover the whole lower part of your face.

"What in Hylia's name were you trying to make? It smells like bokoblin guts!"

Hyrule shrinks even further into his embarrassment, "...It was supposed to be a fruit cake..."

"A fruit cake?"

"Hyrule wanted to learn how to cook and had the recipe for one. It just...didn't go as planned," Wild rubs the back of his neck, sparing a pitiful glance at the smoldering gunk that sticks to the cooking pot. It'll be a pain to clean later, that's for sure.

"Obviously,” You roll your eyes followed by a frown as you look to the cooking pot yourself with more sympathy than pity, "...But it’s a shame. I love fruit cake."

Wild blinks, his eyes shifting from you to Hyrule as the gears inside his head begin to turn. Meanwhile Hyrule tries to clear away the soot from his face with a quick drag of his sleeve, however he only makes matters worse by smearing it, "I'm sorry. I really wanted it to turn out right for you, but…I guess I should’ve just bought a cake at that bakery, huh? …I’m not cut out for cooking myself…”

Your frown remains as does that look of sympathy. Stepping forward, you take your canteen from your hip and dump a little water over the very edge of your cloak. By the time it's properly soaked, you're standing in front of Hyrule and using the cloth to wipe away the scoot from his face. Your attempts are far more successful than his, getting most of the gray off at the cost of your clock taking on the shade itself, not that you show any care.

"I'm sure you'll get the hang of it some day, 'rule. It's something that requires practice and patience. After all, I'm sure Wild wasn't as good of a cook from the start as he is now.”

"Umm -"

"- Shush." 

And with that, Wild immediately puts his hand down with a pout.

"Start out with some simple dishes first, then whenever you get the basic skills of cooking down, I'll teach you how to properly make fruit cake. How about that?" 

Hyrule's eyes nearly sparkle at the offer. Sure, Wild is his partner in crime when it comes to getting into unnecessary trouble, however he'd much rather have you as his cooking partner (and maybe his partner in everything else, too, if he can one day get that far). That's likely why he nods too quickly, his bangs still being stuck upright which prevents them from bobbing with the movement for once. 

You chuckle at his excitement and go to leave camp to return to whatever you had been doing before, although you do stop to ruffle his hair, reminding him to wash it when he gets a chance (words he doesn't hear because he’s too busy obsessing over the feeling of your hand running through his hair).

"You know -" Hyrule jolts out of his trance, cheeks red at the realization that he had forgotten all about Wild who stands with most his wait shifted to the side, arms crossed and a smirk pulling at his lips, "- Usually when you like someone, the best thing to do is to try not poisoning them."

"I-I wasn't - That's not what I -"

"- We still have some ingredients left over. Let's start from the top," Wild merely shakes off Hyrule’s rambling, something the Traveler is thankful for as he begins to trail after his friend back to the cooking pot, however he stops dead in his tracks when Wild suddenly spins around to point a wooden spoon at him, "BUT, no more adding anything that isn't in the recipe when I turn my back or else I'm warning (Y/n) that they'll have to be doing all the cooking in your relationship…Hylia knows I can’t afford getting in trouble again with Twilight...”

Hyrule gulps and nods more timidly than he had with you, "W-Will do."

This was a mistake and the worst part is that Legend knew it before he even committed to the decision. He knew it would be a bad idea to 'invite' nine others into his home, even if it was to be a temporary trip, yet he opened the doors to mayhem anyway. 

He blames his own tiredness, if anything. He didn't really feel like presenting a good argument as to why everyone should remain outside, which would've been especially difficult to pull off given the blazing sun above. No one wanted to just ‘wait outside’, not when their curiosity was overflowing at the thought of all the cool things the Vet must be hiding inside his home. So ever so foolishly, he let them in, underestimating the exact extent of annoyance he'd be instantly cursing himself with.

"Don't touch that!"

"Get away from there!"

"Hey, those are delicate! Put them down!"

"No, I am not playing any music! I'm just here to switch out my weapons. Just - STOP SHIFTING THROUGH MY STUFF! HAVEN’T YOU EVER HEARD OF SOMETHING CALLED ‘PRIVACY’?!"

"...You can borrow that if you want."

Surely some of the heroes snapped their necks by how quickly they turned towards Legend, surprised to hear him speak in a tone not laced with vexation nor raised in a shout. Actually, his words are rather soft - soft for him, at least. 

Even you're surprised, although it's not for the same reason as the others. Hearing the Vet's voice behind you, you practically leaped out of your skin and prepared yourself for the same harsh scolding as everyone else has received, so it takes you a second to process what he had really said instead. 

You blink once then twice (the rest of the group does, too) before glancing down at the ring you have pinched between your fingers. There's a small chest filled with them in front of you, each somehow different from the other whether that's because of the color of the band or the types of gems decorating them. Of course, you only planned on looking over them with your eyes, not wanting to disrespect Legend's privacy (and not wanting to be shouted at either), but that was before one ring in particular caught your eye. Your interest couldn't be tamed at that point, leading you to pick up the piece of jewelry for closer inspection which lands you in your current situation.

Turning to face Legend, who only boredly glances at the ring in your hand before going back to his own business, you open your mouth to say something - perhaps ask if he's serious because you most definitely misheard, right? He's going to let you borrow something of his? After getting so peeved about everyone else simply touching his stuff? You aim to be safe and confirm permission, yet the question doesn't have a chance to leave your lips before someone else beats you to it:

"What?! How come they get to take something? I wanna ring!" It's Wind and his objection makes sense seeing as he had just been looking over the same jewelry box moments ago only for Legend to swat his hands away. He isn't the only one to see the hypocrisy either.

"Can I borrow this?" Wild asks, holding up a boomerang with a hopeful smile that nearly distracts from the glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

"No, you can't!" Legend hisses, quick to rip his tornado rod out of Warrior's hands while he's at it much to the Captain's offense.

"Oh come on! What makes (Y/n) so special, eh?!"

"They're responsible," Legend dismisses stubbornly with a wave of his hand as he turns his back to them again. The others merely roll their eyes in annoyance, Warrior mumbling something under his breath that sounded a lot like 'simp' much to Legend's frustration, but before he can bite back, he mostly forgets all about them when you finally get a chance to speak up for yourself.

"You're sure it's no trouble?"

Legends fears he might have stared at you a bit too long - not that you would've noticed seeing as you keep your eyes focused on the ring you fiddle with. Despite how much you try to act neutral as to not get your hopes up, there's a giddy joy to your eyes at the thought of getting to keep this ring even if just for a little while, after all, it's so beautifully crafted and the red rubies attached to the golden band remind you of Legend in a way you'd prefer not to explain in front of everyone else, let alone with him present.

"...Yeah, it's no problem," He looks away quickly, blowing some air which fixes his bangs out of his view. If anyone were to spend more time studying his behavior (Hylia forbid it), they might notice how awfully red his face has suddenly gotten, "...Just don't lose it."

Truthfully, he doesn't care. If it were just the two of you, he'd actually tell you to keep it since he has plenty of rings anyways, not to mention it would give him some peace of mind for you to always have a protection ring handy, but he can't risk saying that here. The others are already questioning him too much and the last thing he needs is either Wild or Warrior picking up on the hint. Maybe he’ll just wait for when you try to return the ring so that he can play it off better by simply pushing it back towards you and giving some excuse like ‘I didn’t even miss it’ or ‘I actually don’t need any more junk now that I think about it’. You wouldn’t suspect a thing then nor would anyone who overhears. 

"Thank you! I promise to take really good care of it!" At last, you take no shame in letting your delight show and waste no more time sliding the ring over your finger. 

Legend just nods, burning through all of his willpower to not keep stealing glances your way. Fortunately, it doesn't take him much longer to locate the weapons of his desire, allowing him to finally herd everyone out of his house while continuing to deny their requests to borrow some items for themselves. Hyrule is the last straggler, something Legend originally wouldn't have thought much of since the Traveler isn't one to usually cause him trouble, although there's a first time for everything as it would seem.

"Congrats on the engagement," It's such a smug comment to come from someone who looks nothing but innocent as he saunters by, in fact it takes Legend's brain several seconds of spinning before he understands the implication and with it, his confusion instantly melts into a mix of fury and embarrassment (which one is at the head could be anyone's guess).

"T-They asked and I have plenty of rings, so there was no point in me turning them down! It's not an 'engagement'!"

Hyrule merely chuckles in the face of Legend's anger, "Don't worry. I won't say anything."

Legend huffs, taking it upon himself to push Hyrule towards the exit so that he can sooner leave this mess behind, however before he can begin to feel too comfortable, the Traveler speaks up again while casually picking up a gauntlet off the nearby table Legend leads them by, "This is cool.”

Legend glares; a deadly look Hyrule once again meets with too much innocence - mocked innocence, the Vet is now convinced - nothing but an act!

"You know, it would be a shame if someone like Warrior or Wild realized why you only do nice things for (Y/n). If they connect the dots for themselves -"

"- You can borrow it," Legend cuts Hyrule off in a hurry, pushing the gauntlet into his hands while shoving him out the door, "But I want it back in one week, you hear? That's all the time you've bought yourself with, you rat!"

[underdark-dreams]

I got too excited and finished the second chapter 👀 [ch1]

A Strand to Climb - Ch.2

Tav finally catches up with her wizard at Sorcerous Sundries; Rolan has some complicated feelings about seeing her again.

Tags: Reunions, Mutual Pining | Word Count: 3,042 [Read on AO3]

The next day dawned just as gloomy and gray as Rolan’s mood. 

He hadn't slept well in his chilly room at the Tower; the flesh beside his brow was bruised deeper than he’d realized. His fretful dreams of shadow curses and illithid monstrosities had been laced through with the dull ache in his skull.

As a result he’d been short with the customers this morning. It didn’t really matter—no one cared about the boy behind the counter. People tended to look through him, if they looked at him at all. 

No doubt his bruised and beaten appearance made people uncomfortable. Rolan knew Lorroakan didn’t care a jot for his wellbeing, but he did wonder why the man wouldn’t avoid damaging the first face people saw when they walked in. It couldn’t be good for business. 

These days Rolan found himself more of a shopkeeper than a student, after all. 

With that thought in mind, he pulled the large book of figures up onto the counter. At least there was plenty of work there to occupy him—Lorroakan had been an atrocious bookkeeper.

By the time midday dragged along, Sorcerous Sundries had cleared out almost completely. The sky outside the wide front entry had darkened further from the approaching storm. Periodically a humid breeze would gust through the doorway. Each time, Rolan had to grab hold of the pages of his ledger before he lost his place.

Eventually he shoved the thing aside in impatience, thunking a heavy potion bottle down on top to weigh down the page. 

From its hiding place among the scroll shelves, Rolan instead pulled out a stained and dogeared volume: Suspended Ceremorphosis. He'd swiped it from the tower while Lorroakan was engaged with yet another so-called Nightsong hunter. 

Lorroakan certainly wouldn’t miss the text. He hadn't maintained the protective spells on the reference section of his library the way he had the sections on spellcraft and the Weave. Evidently he thought everyone must have the single-minded and incurious lust for power that he did himself.

Rolan had never thought of himself as having a weak stomach, yet he found he had to take the text in small doses. The only thing that kept him reading it was a promise he’d made to Tav many moons ago, on a night when hope was easier to come by.

Whoever had authored it must have been a surgeon—more likely a necromancer. Each gruesome detail was described thoroughly, almost lovingly in some passages. 

Rolan forced his way through as many pages as he could manage. Combined with the painstaking diagrams of each stage of the infection and transformation, he found it painful reading. Especially when it directly concerned one of the people he cared about most in all the Realms. 

Who knew if Tav still even needed his help after all this time? She’d proven herself far more resourceful than him on many occasions. Maybe she was already on the trail for a proper cure by now. Maybe he was just wasting his time.

Rolan abruptly pushed this book aside too, turning back to his ledger again for the reprieve of sordid coin. 

All things considered, Sorcerous Sundries was thriving. The citizens of Baldur’s Gate were shaken, borderline terrified by the recent march of the Absolute's forces…and frightened people spent gold on anything they thought might keep their families safe. Rolan summed last week's numbers a second and a third time, convinced he must have added a figure somewhere.

A brash voice outside pierced his concentration. Rolan glanced up sharply to the open doors, quill poised on the page. 

Suffering hells. Aradin again? Whether or not he’d actually been involved in this week’s clumsy burglary attempt, he should have the common sense not to show his face.

The mercenary had been no rosy presence back at the Grove, and he was a constant bane at the magic shop ever since Rolan had been placed on front desk duties. He was always appearing to insist on a private audience with Lorroakan, or some great sum owed to him, or some other equally improbable outcome depending on the day. 

Just as Lorroakan had accused him of last night—ungratefully—Rolan had finally taken it upon himself to charm the metal construct at the door to turn him away on sight.

As he watched, Aradin jabbed a threatening finger into the construct's face, as if it might be intimidated into compliance. 

Thick fucking idiot, Rolan thought viciously. He had no patience for this today. Right as he set down his pen, someone else caught Aradin's attention from behind.

If not for her change in attire, he would have recognized Tav’s figure at first glance. But then Aradin shifted slightly as he spoke, and Rolan caught sight of her face.

The city seemed to be treating her well; he was relieved to see it. Her features were bright and well-rested for once, despite the scowling line of her brows as she squared her shoulders toward Aradin. 

For the first time in days, Rolan managed a faint smile. She never did like bullies. 

She'd commissioned fine new armor—perhaps from Dammon's forge up the street. Tav shone like an aasimar despite the overcast day behind her. The thought occurred with not near enough force to distract him from gaping at her lovely face.

His face. Zurgan—

Rolan’s spine straightened with a jerk. Why hadn’t he prepared for how she might react? How he might explain his pathetic appearance? He’d forgotten to anticipate any of it properly, and found himself blinded by panic.

There was no time to unfreeze his boots from the floor—Tav and her companions were already sweeping past Aradin and into the shop. 

Her gaze landed on Rolan before any of the rest even noticed him. His heart hammered in his chest as he watched her expressions play out in quick succession: dismay, then concern, then indignation. 

The way her eyes traveled over his face made Rolan wish he could melt into an invisible puddle. But such powers were beyond him—all he could do was stand mute as Tav drew up to the counter in front of him.

“Welcome to Sorcerous Sundries.” Rolan spoke the usual lines, and hated the falseness of his voice as he did so.

Tav only blinked at him for a moment. “Hi,” she replied softly. 

The two of them looked at each other for what felt like an age. It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, in truth. Her eyes were wide and wholly inescapable. Rolan found his mind full of many words, all of which refused to exit his mouth.

“Oh shit, Rolan? What happened to your face, mate?” 

The towering Tiefling hellfighter spoke up before either of them could. She was peering at him from behind Tav’s shoulder with an expression of guileless concern.

“Karlach—” Tav wheeled on her with a soft admonition. 

She was trying to spare his pride. For some reason, that made Rolan feel lower than ever. As Tav turned back to him with a tight smile, he hoped the patchwork of bruises on his face hid its flush of abject humiliation.

Tav opened her mouth, but Rolan rushed to speak first. “I expect you’re here to see Master Lorroakan.”

Something flickered behind her eyes. “We are,” was all she answered.

“Then you’ll find the portals to the Tower upstairs. Do be careful to choose correctly the first time, it’s a great deal of trouble getting back in here if you don’t—Lorroakan has little patience for anyone who might waste his time—” 

Rolan was fussing with his ledger and rifling through the pages as if it contained much important work he had to get back to. Anything to avoid looking at her anymore.

“Right…thanks, Rolan.” Tav’s voice was uncertain. He clenched his jaw against a sudden pang of remorse. “See you later, then?” 

Rolan nodded tersely down at his work. He made no other answer.

She lingered for just a moment as the rest of her friends departed for the staircase. Then Rolan heard the metallic clinking of her plate armor as she too moved away. 

He kept his head bent doggedly over his book as she did. Rolan’s eyes pretended to move over the page, seeing none of it. His ears were trained behind him to track Tav’s footfalls on the stairs. 

When he heard the rushing whirl of a portal activating above, he stayed frozen for a few seconds to be sure. Then he shut the ledger with a snap.

And like a shameful coward, he ran to hide.

At least Rolan had enough sense to summon his master’s projection before he turned on his heel. Not a familiar incantation, but he glimpsed the Weave successfully materializing from over his shoulder as he swept toward the concealed door under the great staircase. 

His fingers fumbled for a key at his belt—the one Tolna had lent him his first day. Once the door latched behind him, he stumbled down the dark stairs into the ancillary storeroom.

The place was full of more dust than anything else. Rolan coughed and sneezed several times before he managed a simple cantrip to light one of the torches along the wall. 

Then he sank down onto an empty crate, slumped against the bookshelf behind him, and leaned the tips of his horns back against its dusty volumes.

What in the hells was he doing?

Living the life he’d chosen, Rolan answered himself. Tend the shop, ascend for lessons—sleep and repeat. 

For how many years? One, two? Five? 

Five years as a wizard’s apprentice was rare, but not unheard of. And Lorroakan didn't strike him as a man who readily dismissed his apprentices from service. 

What exactly did he expect Tav to do for the next five years? Surely not wait around for a pathetic wizard-in-training who didn't have the strength to fight back against his own worthless master.

Sitting in this damp basement, surrounded by cobwebs, Rolan couldn't think of a single good reason why someone like her might still want someone like him. 

An old, familiar feeling slithered through his gut. Unwanted.

It was true that Lorroakan had proved more of a disappointment than he could possibly have imagined. But the man had one advantage over every other archwizard Rolan had written to over the years, pleading for a chance to prove himself. 

Lorroakan was the only one who had accepted him in.

Whatever the archwizard’s many deficiencies, they did nothing to change the other advantages this apprenticeship could grant him. Notoriety, privilege, access. The wizarding circles of Faerûn didn’t open for just anyone, especially not a bastard Tiefling. Not unless you had connections.

So what if he had feelings for Tav. Strong ones. Ones he sometimes wished he could make disappear…despite the way she continually visited his dreams. This apprenticeship was something Rolan had dreamed of for far longer.

And what about her feelings?  

She'd told him she loved him many times during their last brief nights together at Last Light Inn. On one particularly memorable occasion, she'd been naked on top of him. 

Rolan had replayed the moment in his head too many times to count, yet it never failed to set his heart racing.

But those were moments when blood ran hot from freshly escaped peril—moments suspended in forgiving shadow. Under the harsh light of day, perhaps Tav could finally see him clearly.

Rolan’s hands rose to his face. He prodded and felt along its planes with his fingers, gritting his teeth as he rediscovered each fleshy bruise and scrape on its surface. He was a mess of a man.

Abruptly, Rolan shook his head to clear away all this self-pitying nonsense. His thoughts turned back to Tav’s current audience with Lorroakan. 

He wondered what they spoke of. Perhaps the Nightsong; perhaps her parasite. 

If Lorroakan knew anything about Illithids or ceremorphosis—an idea that seemed more laughable by the day—Rolan prayed to all the gods that he’d have the decency to share his knowledge with her. 

Whatever the subject, their conversation was brief. 

Rolan’s ear caught the muffled hum of the portal once again and knew Tav and her companions had descended from the Tower. He waited a few more minutes to be sure, then rose to trudge back up to the main floor. When stepped back into the light, she and her companions were gone. 

Rolan had no right to feel as disappointed as he did. He was the one who’d hidden from her like a child, after all.

As his feet dragged him back behind the counter, Rolan realized that in his haste he’d left out the stolen book on ceremorphosis—turned open to a particularly gruesome illustration. 

He thanked his stars that it had been Tav and her friends paying a visit. Another customer might have been put off by the sight, enough so that a complaint made its way back to Lorroakan. The archwizard was jealous as a dragon when it came to guarding his hoard, however little personal interest he took in its riches.

As he picked up the tome to hide it away again, a small slip of parchment fluttered from between its pages to land on the counter in front of him. Rolan turned it over, then felt his heart repeat the motion.

Had he truly never seen her handwriting before? The letters were small and even, yet clearly written in haste:

Let’s talk alone. I love you

ps  thank you for the research

Whatever information Lorroakan had provided her, if she was thanking him for reading a dusty book, it must not have been worth much. 

Despite every weight pulling on his heart, Rolan reread each word several more times. Then he slipped the note gently into the pocket of his robes. 

—

“Hey! You coming?”

“One second,” Tav called over her shoulder. 

She hastily fit a postscript onto the small scrap of parchment. Then she slipped it like a page marker into Rolan’s book and laid his quill back on the counter.

It was obvious that Rolan wanted to avoid running into her a second time. A sad pang ran through her at the thought, but she couldn’t really blame him. She’d never seen him looking so miserable—not even that night after his siblings had been taken to Moonrise. 

Lia’s words from yesterday rang in her ears. I don’t think he’s treating Rolan well. Whatever dark things Tav had imagined, they hadn’t prepared her for the sight of Rolan’s face—plainly dappled with weeks of brutal mistreatment.

Her fingers clenched hard at her sides. Tav glanced up at the shimmering projection of Lorroakan behind the counter and quelled the furious urge to put a fist right through its vapid smile.

As she jogged back out through the atrium of Sorcerous Sundries, Karlach turned to fall into stride beside her. The other two had walked ahead, clearly unaware that they’d left anyone behind. Gale was gesticulating animatedly about something; Wyll listened politely at his shoulder.

“So that Lorroakan’s a real prick,” Karlach remarked with characteristic bluntness as they walked. 

Tav gave a harsh laugh. “Read my mind.”

“How d’you think he knows about the Nightsong?”

She had been asking herself the same question. Her mind’s eye conjured up the circle of runes in his study, the one he’d indiscreetly shown off to them on this very first meeting. 

It had Balthazar’s fingerprints all over it.

“Probably has a background in necromancy,” Tav guessed aloud. “No way to know for sure.”

Karlach’s palm rang against plate metal as she clapped it between Tav’s shoulder blades. “Until we kick his arse and charm it out of him, you mean.”

Tav only smiled weakly in response. Inside, she could scarcely wait for the day when Lorroakan would get what was coming to him.

Beside her, a mischievous chuckle was rising from Karlach’s chest. “Hells, imagine when we tell Aylin. She’s going to tear that man apart.”

“Let’s not tell her just yet,” Tav said in a rush.

She felt Karlach’s eyes search her face. “Why not?”

Tav looked down at the cobblestones as they continued. “Rolan and I need to talk, Karlach. Whether or not he wants to, I owe it to him. He should know everything before all the Nightsong’s righteous vengeance comes down on his archwizard’s head.”

There was a pause. “You don’t think he knows?” 

“No way.” She looked up at Karlach then, her face steely-certain. “Rolan would never do something like that.”

“Yeah…you’re right. Forget I said anything,” Karlach added, her tone apologetic. Before she knew it, Tav felt a warm arm jostle around the pauldrons on her shoulders. 

“Listen, Tav, it’s gonna be okay. You and Rolan will talk it through, or maybe you’ll just fuck his stubborn wizard brains out again—”

“Karlach!”

“Oh come on, like everyone doesn’t already know?” Karlach was cracking up loud enough that Wyll glanced back from in front to see the commotion. Tav couldn’t help an embarrassed laugh, but she hid half her face behind a hand.

Before long, the dark stormclouds gathering above put a pause on the rest of their errands in the Lower City. It seemed wise to just wait out the weather at their rented room in the Elfsong.

Karlach did make some excuse or other to swing by Dammon’s forge instead—despite the fact that they’d been just yesterday.

Tav said nothing, but she wasn’t fooled. To borrow Karlach’s words, if anyone needed to fuck anyone else’s brains out, those two were obvious candidates.

With thunder rumbling on the horizon, everyone else settled into their private corners of their quarters for the rest of the afternoon. Shadowheart and Lae’zel turned to meditation; Gale to the large stack of books that he always mysteriously managed to fit in his pack. Astarion was curled in front of the fire, his lips moving silently as he pored over a book on Infernal.

For a few hours, Tav found herself with no plans and no responsibilities.

Though her new armor from Dammon was exquisite, she exchanged it for some more inconspicuous clothes, then pinned her heavy hooded cloak around her shoulders for the inevitable rain. 

And with everyone else occupied, she slipped unnoticed out of their rooms and back down to the streets.

[gojonegs]

Eternal Promise: A Tale of Love and Loss.

synopsis: In the enchanting world of 'Eternal Promise: A Tale of Love and Loss,' Y/N, a spirited sorcerer, shares a deep and joyful bond with Satoru, her beloved partner. Together, they navigate life's ups and downs with laughter and love, their shared dreams weaving a tapestry of hope for the future. But it all changes quickly when tragedy strikes, shattering their idyllic existence and plunging them into a world of grief and despair. Through the lens of their once vibrant relationship, 'Eternal Promise explores the transformative power of love in the face of life's most devastating challenges.

wc: 4.8k

warning: fluff to angst to fluff! Happy ending anyway enjoy.

————————————————————————

In the bustling halls of Jujutsu High School, amidst the chaos of students and teachers bustling about, Satoru Gojo and I shared a quiet moment together, our fingers intertwined as we sat on a bench in the courtyard.

The warm afternoon sun cast dappled shadows through the trees, creating a serene atmosphere that enveloped us in a cocoon of tranquility. It was a rare moment of peace amidst our hectic lives as Jujutsu sorcerers, and we savored every precious second of it.

Satoru's eyes gleamed mischievously as he glanced at me, a playful grin spreading across his face. "You know, Y/N, they say love is like jujutsu: unpredictable, powerful, and sometimes it makes you want to scream into the void."

I chuckled softly, leaning my head against his shoulder. "You've definitely mastered the art of charming metaphors, Satoru," I replied, my voice tinged with amusement.

Satoru's grin widened, his gaze softening as he looked at me. "Only because I have the most inspiring muse," he said, his tone sincere.

I felt my cheeks flush at his words, a warm fluttering sensation spreading through my chest. "You always know just what to say, don't you?" I said, unable to hide the affection in my voice.

Satoru shrugged casually, but I could see the hint of pride in his eyes. "What can I say? It's a gift," he quipped, earning a playful shove from me.

As we sat together, lost in the comfort of each other's presence, the rest of the world seemed to fade away. In that moment, it was just Satoru and me, two souls intertwined in a bond that defied all logic and reason.

And as we sat there, basking in the warmth of the afternoon sun, I knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, as long as I had Satoru by my side, I could face anything with courage and grace.

We remained there for what felt like an eternity, content to simply be in each other's company, our fingers laced together as if nothing else in the world mattered. The sounds of the bustling school faded into the background, replaced by the gentle rustling of leaves and the soft whispers of the breeze.

With each passing moment, I found myself falling deeper and deeper into the warmth of Satoru's presence, his easy laughter and infectious charm wrapping around me like a comforting blanket. Despite the blindfold covering his eyes, he exuded an aura of confidence and assurance, as if he could see right through to the depths of my soul.

And as I gazed into the darkness behind his blindfold, I knew that he felt the same way, his unwavering gaze filled with an unspoken affection that spoke volumes more than words ever could. In that shared moment of understanding, we were no longer just two sorcerers bound by duty and destiny; we were partners, confidants, and soulmates.

But even as the outside world continued to spin around us, threatening to intrude upon our sanctuary of peace, we held onto that moment with all our might, unwilling to let it slip away. In each other's arms, we found solace, strength, and a love that transcended time and space.

Eventually, the sounds of approaching footsteps shattered the stillness of our reverie, signaling the end of our moment of respite. With a shared sigh, we reluctantly pulled away from each other, knowing that duty called and we had to answer.

But as we rose to our feet, ready to face whatever challenges awaited us, I knew that no matter what trials lay ahead, as long as I had Satoru by my side, I could conquer them all with unwavering determination and unwavering love.

As we reluctantly rose to our feet, a familiar voice called out to us from across the courtyard. It was Principal Yaga, his imposing figure casting a shadow over the bustling students as he approached.

"Y/N, may I have a word with you?" he asked, his tone serious.

I exchanged a quick glance with Satoru before nodding and following Principal Yaga to a quieter corner of the courtyard.

"What's going on, Principal Yaga?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady despite the growing sense of unease in my stomach.

Principal Yaga sighed heavily, his expression grave. "I've just received word from headquarters. It seems there's been a sighting of a Special Grade curse in the area, and it's causing quite a bit of havoc," he explained.

My heart skipped a beat at the mention of a special grade curse. They were the most dangerous of adversaries, and facing one alone would be a daunting task.

"I'm afraid I have no choice but to assign you to this mission, Y/N," Principal Yaga continued, his voice tinged with regret. "I know it won't be easy, but I trust that you're more than capable of handling it."

I nodded, a sense of determination burning within me. "I won't let you down, Principal Yaga. I'll do whatever it takes to protect the people," I said, my voice echoing with resolve.

With a nod of acknowledgment, Principal Yaga stepped aside, allowing me to make my preparations for the mission ahead. As I walked away, the weight of my impending task hung heavy in the air, but with each step, I knew that I had to face this challenge head-on, for the sake of those who relied on me.

As I returned to where Satoru was waiting, his expression immediately shifted to one of concern. "What did Principal Yaga want?" he asked, his tone laced with worry.

Taking a deep breath, I met his gaze, trying to convey a sense of determination. "There's been a sighting of a Special Grade curse," I began, bracing myself for his reaction. "And Principal Yaga wants me to handle it alone."

Satoru's eyes widened in disbelief, and I could see the anger bubbling beneath the surface. "Alone? Why would he send you on such a dangerous mission by yourself?" He demanded, his voice rising with frustration.

I reached out to lay a hand on his arm, trying to calm his growing agitation. "I know it sounds risky, Satoru, but I believe I can handle it," I said, my voice steady despite the nerves churning in my stomach.

Satoru shook his head, his expression conflicted. "But what if something goes wrong? What if you need backup?" he argued, his concern for me shining through.

I squeezed his arm gently, meeting his gaze with unwavering resolve. "I've trained for this, Satoru. I know the risks, but I also know my abilities," I said, trying to reassure him. "And I promise, if I need help, I'll call for backup. But for now, I need to do this on my own."

Reluctantly, Satoru nodded, his grip tightening around my hand. "Just promise me you'll be careful, Y/N," he said, his voice soft with concern.

I smiled gratefully, grateful for his understanding. "I will, Satoru. I promise," I replied, before turning to make my preparations for the mission ahead.

As I walked away, I couldn't help but feel a surge of confidence, knowing that Satoru believed in me. And as I set off alone to confront the looming threat, I knew that, with his unwavering support, I could face whatever challenges awaited me with courage and determination.

As I ventured forth alone to confront the Special Grade curse, I couldn't shake the feeling of unease gnawing at the edges of my mind. Nevertheless, I pressed on, determined to prove to myself and to Satoru that I was capable of handling the mission.

Upon arriving at the location indicated by Principal Yaga, I found myself facing a seemingly straightforward encounter with a curse. It was a Grade 1 curse, far weaker than what I had anticipated, and I dispatched it with relative ease, my confidence growing with each passing moment.

However, as the dust settled and I prepared to return to the school, a sudden realization struck me like a bolt of lightning. The Grade 1 curse had been nothing more than a distraction—a decoy designed to lure me away while the true threat remained hidden.

My heart raced as I frantically scanned my surroundings, searching for any signs of the real Special Grade curse. And then I saw him, standing before me with a sinister grin, his presence radiating malevolence.

It was Mahito, the cursed spirit that Nanami and Yuji had warned us about. The realization hit me like a punch to the gut, my blood running cold as I faced one of the most dangerous adversaries imaginable.

As Mahito and I faced off, the tension in the air was palpable, each of us poised for battle. With a flick of my wrist, I summoned forth my blood technique, crimson tendrils snaking through the air like serpents, ready to strike.

Mahito's grin widened, a glint of anticipation in his eyes as he prepared to unleash his own curse technique. "Impressive, little sorcerer," he sneered, his voice dripping with malice. "But let's see if you can handle this."

With a wave of his hand, Mahito sent a wave of dark energy hurtling towards me, the sheer force of it threatening to knock me off balance. I gritted my teeth, channeling my energy into a protective barrier as I braced myself for the impact.

The clash of our techniques sent shockwaves rippling through the air, each one vying for dominance in the chaotic battleground. As the dust settled, I could feel the strain of the battle weighing heavily on me, but I refused to back down.

"Is that the best you've got, Mahito?" I taunted, my voice filled with determination. "I expected more from the likes of you."

Mahito's grin faltered, replaced by a scowl of annoyance. "You dare to mock me, human?" he growled, his voice low and menacing. "I'll make you regret those words."

With renewed determination, Mahito launched himself at me, his movements fluid and unpredictable. I met his attack head-on, countering with a flurry of strikes from my blood technique.

The clash of our powers echoed through the air, a symphony of chaos and destruction as we battled for supremacy. With each exchange, I could feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins, fueling my every move.

But even as the fight raged on, a sense of unease gnawed at the edges of my mind. Mahito was a formidable opponent, his powers twisting and distorting reality itself. I knew that defeating him would require every ounce of strength and cunning I possessed.

And as the battle reached its climax, with neither of us willing to give ground, I knew that victory was within reach. With one final surge of determination, I unleashed a devastating blow, channeling all of my energy into a single, decisive strike.

But as the dust settled and I prepared to claim my victory, I realized with a sinking feeling in my chest that Mahito was nowhere to be found. He had slipped away in the chaos of battle, leaving behind only a sense of frustration and the lingering echoes of our fierce confrontation.

With a heavy sigh, I knew that our battle was far from over. Mahito may have escaped this time, but I would not rest until I had defeated him once and for all, proving to myself and to Satoru that I was more than capable of facing even the most formidable of foes.

As the dust settled and I prepared to claim victory, a sense of relief washed over me. I had fought Mahito to a standstill, and it seemed that he had finally been defeated. Or so I thought.

With trembling hands, I wiped the sweat from my brow, my heart still pounding in my chest from the intensity of the battle. But as I scanned the area, searching for any sign of Mahito's presence, a sinking feeling settled in the pit of my stomach.

There was no sign of him. No lingering trace of his cursed energy. It was as if he had simply vanished into thin air.

A sense of unease crept over me as I realized the truth. Mahito had slipped away once again, leaving me battered and bruised, but no closer to victory than before.

Just as I turned to leave, a sudden surge of darkness enveloped me from behind, knocking me off balance and sending me sprawling to the ground.

With a gasp of surprise, I turned to face my attacker, only to find Mahito standing over me, a malicious grin on his face. "Did you really think it would be that easy, little sorcerer?" he taunted, his voice dripping with scorn.

My heart raced as I realized my mistake. Mahito had used my momentary distraction to launch a surprise attack from behind, catching me off guard.

But even as the realization sank in, a surge of adrenaline coursed through my veins, fueling my determination to fight on. With every ounce of strength I possessed, I launched myself at Mahito, unleashing a flurry of blows with all the skill and precision I could muster.

The battle that followed was fierce and unforgiving, the odds stacked against me as Mahito unleashed his full fury upon me with relentless ferocity. But I refused to give up, drawing strength from the memory of Satoru's unwavering belief in me.

As the battle reached its climax, I could feel my energy waning, my muscles burning with exhaustion. But still, I pressed on, refusing to back down in the face of adversity.

And then, in a moment of perfect clarity, I saw my opportunity. With a burst of speed and determination, I unleashed a devastating combination of spells, each one aimed with deadly accuracy. Mahito staggered under the onslaught, his defenses faltering for the briefest of moments.

With one final surge of strength, I launched myself at Mahito, delivering a decisive blow that sent him sprawling to the ground.

As I stood over him, panting heavily and covered in sweat, a sense of triumph washed over me. I had defeated Mahito, proving to myself and to Satoru that I was more than capable of facing even the most formidable of foes.

But as I prepared to claim victory, a sudden surge of darkness enveloped me once again, and before I could react, Mahito was standing over me, his grin wider than ever.

"Nice try, little sorcerer," he sneered, his voice filled with malice. "But this battle is far from over."

With a sinking feeling in my chest, I realized that I had been deceived. Mahito had lured me into a false sense of security, allowing me to believe that I had won when, in reality, he had been biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

As darkness closed in around me, I knew that the true battle was only just beginning. And with Mahito as my relentless adversary, the road ahead would be fraught with danger and uncertainty. But I refused to give up hope. With Satoru by my side, I knew that together, we could overcome even the most daunting of challenges.

As darkness closed in around me, memories of happier times flooded my mind, a bittersweet reminder of the moments I cherished most with Satoru.

I remembered the way his laughter echoed through the halls of the school, infectious and full of life. How his easy smile could chase away even the darkest of clouds, filling me with warmth and joy.

I recalled the countless hours we spent training together, his patient guidance and unwavering support pushing me to be the best sorcerer I could be. How his encouraging words never failed to lift my spirits, even in the face of adversity.

And then there were the quiet moments, just the two of us, lost in our own little world. The stolen glances and shy smiles, the whispered conversations that spoke volumes more than words ever could.

As I lay there, battered and broken, these memories became my lifeline, a source of strength and comfort in the darkness. They reminded me of the love and support I had received from Satoru, and the promise of a brighter tomorrow, even in the face of despair.

But just as quickly as they came, the memories faded, replaced once again by the harsh reality of the present. Mahito stood before me, his malicious grin a stark reminder of the danger that lurked just beyond reach.

With a heavy heart, I prepared to face my fate, knowing that I had fought with all the courage and determination I possessed. But even as darkness closed in around me, I held onto the hope that somewhere, somehow, Satoru was watching over me, ready to guide me home once more.

As darkness closed in around me, and Mahito's menacing presence loomed over me, a wave of despair washed over my soul. In that moment of uncertainty and fear, my thoughts turned to Satoru, the one person who had always been my guiding light in the darkest of times.

But as I struggled against the suffocating grip of darkness, a bitter realization swept over me like a cold, merciless wave. The memories of our time together—the laughter, the joy, the love—it all felt like a distant dream, slipping through my fingers like grains of sand.

And in that moment, I knew with a heavy heart that I would not be guided back home to Satoru. The future we had imagined together, filled with hope and promise, now seemed nothing more than a cruel fantasy.

Tears welled up in my eyes as I faced the harsh reality of my fate, alone and powerless against the darkness that threatened to consume me. The thought of never seeing Satoru again, never feeling his comforting presence by my side, filled me with a profound sense of loss and sorrow.

But even as despair threatened to overwhelm me, a small glimmer of hope flickered deep within my soul. For in the depths of darkness, there was still a spark of light, a reminder of the love and strength that had sustained me through the darkest of times.

With one final, trembling breath, I whispered a silent prayer to the heavens, a plea for salvation, for redemption, for a chance to be reunited with the one I loved more than life itself.

But as the darkness closed in around me, swallowing me whole, I couldn't help but wonder if my plea would ever be answered. And as I slipped into oblivion, I clung to the memory of Satoru, my beacon of light in the endless sea of darkness, hoping against hope that someday, somehow, we would be together again.

"You thought you could stand against me?" Mahito's voice dripped with disdain, his eyes gleaming with malevolence. "You're nothing but a weak, pathetic human. It's almost laughable how easily you've been defeated."

His words cut through me like a knife, each syllable laden with cruelty and malice. I gritted my teeth, refusing to let his taunts break my spirit, but deep down, I couldn't shake the feeling of hopelessness that threatened to overwhelm me.

As Mahito loomed over me, his grin widening with satisfaction, I knew that the battle was lost. In that moment of despair, I closed my eyes, bracing myself for the inevitable. But even as darkness closed in around me, I clung to the faint glimmer of hope that still burned within me, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there was still a chance for redemption.

As Mahito's cruel words pierced through me like daggers, a profound sense of doubt and self-doubt enveloped my thoughts, shrouding them in a suffocating darkness. Was he right? Was I truly nothing more than a weak, insignificant human, destined to be crushed beneath the heel of those more powerful than me?

Questions plagued my mind relentlessly, each one more unsettling than the last, echoing in the depths of my consciousness like a haunting melody. What was the purpose of my existence, if not to be a pawn in the cruel game of cursed spirits and sorcerers? Did I even have a place in this world, or was I merely a fleeting shadow, destined to fade into obscurity?

With every passing moment, the weight of my doubts grew heavier, threatening to crush me beneath their oppressive burden. Was there any meaning to my struggles, any purpose to my suffering? The thought of continuing to fight in a world that seemed determined to crush me at every turn felt like an insurmountable challenge.

I questioned my worth, my abilities, my very essence. Was there anything about me that was truly worthy of recognition, of respect, of love? Or was I destined to remain forever in the shadows, a forgotten soul lost amidst the chaos and turmoil of the world?

As Mahito's mocking laughter echoed in the darkness, I felt myself slipping further into the abyss of doubt and self-loathing. And in that moment of utter despair, I couldn't help but wonder if perhaps I would have been better off never existing at all.

The existential crisis that consumed me threatened to drown out any flicker of hope or resilience that remained within me. I felt adrift in a sea of uncertainty, unable to find solid ground upon which to anchor myself.

And as I grappled with these existential questions, I found no solace, no answers to ease the torment of my thoughts. Instead, I was left with only a profound sense of emptiness, a void that threatened to consume me from within, leaving nothing but darkness in its wake.

As I lay there, consumed by doubt and despair, Mahito's cruel laughter reverberated through the darkness, mocking my suffering. With a malicious gleam in his eyes, he raised his hand, preparing to deliver the final blow that would seal my fate.

I braced myself for the inevitable, resigned to my fate as his helpless victim. But even as fear gripped my heart, a small voice whispered within me, urging me to fight on, to cling to whatever shreds of hope remained.

With every fiber of my being, I summoned the strength to push back against the suffocating darkness, determined to defy Mahito until my last breath. But it was futile. I was no match for his overwhelming power and cruelty.

And then, with a flash of darkness, Mahito's hand descended, striking me with a force that sent shockwaves of pain coursing through my body. Agony engulfed me as I cried out in anguish, the world around me fading into oblivion.

In that moment of agony and despair, I knew that I had been defeated. Mahito had triumphed, his cruelty and malice snuffing out whatever flicker of hope remained within me.

As consciousness slipped away, I was left with only the haunting echoes of Mahito's laughter, a chilling reminder of the darkness that had consumed me. And in the end, as darkness closed in around me, I couldn't help but wonder if perhaps oblivion was the only escape from the torment of my existence.

As darkness enveloped me and Mahito's final blow struck, pain surged through every fiber of my being, threatening to consume me whole. In that moment of agony, memories of happier times flooded my mind, a fleeting reprieve from the darkness that surrounded me.

I thought of Satoru, his laughter and warmth wrapping around me like a comforting embrace. I remembered the promise he had made to me, whispered in moments of quiet intimacy when the world seemed to stand still. The promise to marry me, to spend eternity by my side, bound together by love and devotion.

In the depths of despair, I clung to that promise, holding onto it with all the strength I had left. And as consciousness slipped away, I found solace in the thought of Satoru waiting for me on the other side, his smile a beacon of light in the endless darkness.

In my final moments, as I took my last breath, I whispered his name, a prayer on my lips as I surrendered to the void. And in that moment, I felt a sense of peace wash over me—a fleeting glimpse of happiness amidst the pain and suffering.

Even in death, I knew that Satoru would be with me, his love guiding me through the darkness and into the light. And as I slipped away into the unknown, I held onto the hope that somewhere, somehow, we would be reunited once more, bound together for eternity by the promise of a love that transcended even death itself.

As Yaga delivered the devastating news of Y/N's demise, a wave of anguish washed over Satoru, threatening to engulf him in a tempest of grief and despair. The words hung heavy in the air, each syllable a dagger to his heart as he struggled to comprehend the magnitude of his loss.

"No, it can't be," Satoru whispered hoarsely, his voice barely above a whisper as he grappled with the reality of Y/N's death. His hands clenched into fists, trembling with suppressed emotion as he fought to hold back the flood of anguish threatening to consume him.

But as the truth of Y/N's fate sank in, Satoru's grief gave way to a burning rage unlike anything he had ever known. His eyes blazed with an intensity that seemed to pierce through the very fabric of reality, and his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

"How could this happen?" He roared, his voice raw with pain and fury. The sound echoed through the halls of the school, reverberating with a primal intensity that sent shivers down the spines of all who heard it. "She was supposed to be safe! I promised to protect her, and now she's gone!"

Every fiber of Satoru's being screamed out in anguish, the weight of his grief pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket. He felt as if he were drowning in a sea of despair, unable to find solid ground upon which to anchor himself.

In that moment of unbridled fury and anguish, Satoru's resolve hardened into steel. He would not rest until he had avenged Y/N's death, until he had hunted down every last cursed spirit responsible for her demise.

With a primal roar of anguish, Satoru unleashed his fury upon the world; his grief transformed into a tempest of righteous fury. His screams echoed through the night, a symphony of pain and rage that pierced the darkness with their intensity.

And as he set off into the night, his heart burning with a vengeful fire, he vowed to stop at nothing to bring justice to those who had dared to take Y/N from him. In that moment of unspeakable loss, Satoru swore an oath that would echo through the ages, a promise to avenge the one he loved with every fiber of his being.

As Satoru stood before Y/N's casket, his heart heavy with grief, a sense of numbness washed over him, dulling the pain of his loss to a dull ache. The funeral procession had been a blur of tears and mournful whispers, but now, as he faced the reality of Y/N's passing, the full weight of his sorrow crashed down upon him like a tidal wave.

With trembling hands, Satoru reached into his pocket, his fingers closing around the small velvet box that held the ring he had intended to propose to Y/N with. The ring, a symbol of their love and commitment to each other, felt heavy in his grasp, a reminder of the future they had planned together, now cruelly snatched away.

As he gazed down at Y/N's peaceful face, a sob caught in his throat, threatening to choke him with its intensity. He couldn't bear to say goodbye, couldn't bear to let go of the one person who had meant everything to him.

But as he looked into Y/N's serene expression, a sense of calm washed over him, a whispered reassurance that she was at peace. With tears streaming down his cheeks, Satoru opened the velvet box, revealing the gleaming ring nestled within.

With trembling hands, he carefully slipped the ring onto Y/N's finger, a silent promise of eternal love and devotion. It felt like a bittersweet farewell, a final gesture of affection to the one he had loved more than life itself.

As he stood there, lost in his grief, a sense of closure washed over him, a whisper of acceptance in the depths of his sorrow. Y/N may have been taken from him far too soon, but her memory would live on in his heart forever, a beacon of light in the darkness that surrounded him.

With one last lingering glance at Y/N's peaceful face, Satoru bowed his head in silent prayer, offering a final farewell to the love of his life. And as he turned to leave, a sense of peace settled over him, a whispered reassurance that even in death, their love would endure for all eternity.

————————————————————————

Upsi, I fooled you! Nah, to be honest, it also hurt me, but I had to get through it. 

Do not copy or translate; just don’t do anything with it. Reblogs are appreciated. hihi

[konigbabe]

Leon's hair looks so soft

i just wanna run my hands through it; to braid it (can we also talk about how he shakes his head to get rid of the water like a puppy)

Having Leon splayed on the couch, lying on his back; head on your stomach, both of you facing the television. It’s comforting–the quietness of the situation, just the TV playing, you and Leon silently watching. Like a moment frozen in time, the world outside the room ceases to exist, and all that matters is the warmth of his body against yours and the soothing sound of his breathing. 

The soft glow of the TV illuminates his features, casting shadows across his face and highlighting the curve of his lips as he smiles at something on the screen. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest with each breath, a reassuring rhythm that lulls you into a sense of peace. 

It's a moment of pure intimacy, where words are unnecessary, and the silence speaks volumes. Like two puzzle pieces fitting perfectly together, you and Leon are in perfect harmony, comfortable in each other's presence.

He hums occasionally as your fingernails scratch his scalp; the softness of his hair slipping between your fingers. You absent-mindedly start braiding his hair, your fingers weaving through the silky strands with practised ease. It's a small gesture of affection, one that Leon appreciates, and he lets out a contented sigh as you continue.

As you braid his hair, you feel Leon's hand reaching up to hold yours, intertwining his fingers with yours. 

"You know, I could get used to this," he says softly, his voice low and warm. 

You look down at him, a smile spreading across your face. 

"Used to what?"  

"This," he gestures towards the two of you, "just being here, like this. It's nice." 

You nod in agreement, feeling a sense of contentment wash over you. 

"Yeah, it is."

[vitanithepure]

Gale's romance

To absolutely nobody's surprise I am back with my thoughts about Gale and I am honestly surprised how many of you still follow me and interact with what I have to say, love you all so much 😭

Again, a freaking long one (over 1200 words, I wrote fanfics shorter than this...), but I need to get it all out of my system to properly function. Of course spoilers for Gale's story and a bit of the main storyline.

First of all - his introduction. Not less of a jump-scare, but somehow this one seemed to fit him better? He doesn't come out of the portal and begin judging our capabilities, instead we help him out, and if anything - I felt an instant level of sympathy for the wizard falling face first on the ground straight out of an unstable portal.

His bashful "I'm usually better at this."? It just served to even out the field and I love it. I was literally sitting there grinning at the screen and thinking "oh, how the mighty have fallen" :D

We still get all the talks known from EA (apart from the failed spell one? Did anyone manage to trigger it? Did they remove it?), so I won't be going over them again, because there is still a lot of new stuff to go through. Although they seem to fire up differently and it makes Gale seem a lot more considerate. Sure, at first he still hides the exact reasons and I still think it's understandable. In my playthrough he brought up his orb problem on the road, in front of the others with us claiming we need to know about it. 

He even leaves us the decision if we want him to stay or not, but we cherish this man in this house, so I have no idea what goes down if and how he leaves. Not really interested in learning that, too.

Him showing us the Weave was as wonderful as it used to, didn't notice any changes here, then again - why change something that just…works? And now, in hindsight, I cannot help but see how it sets the tone for the whole relationship with him, be it romantic or otherwise. He shows you this part of him he loves, tries to show because even he, with all his eloquence, cannot find the right words to express what magic means to him.

I feel as if he was not expecting much from it, judging by the mumbling, adorable mess we made of him just imagining a walk, hand in hand. As we learn later (much later, but I think it's important to mention it here) he never considered being this close to anyone after the orb fiasco. Not because he still loves Mystra but rather he realizes how much of a risk it brings. He himself calls himself a "menace" and that, for me, speaks volumes about his character. 

Ok, now onto the new parts, previously unavailable in the EA. 

I mentioned my reaction after the first talk with Elminster in another post, but I'll say it again: fuck Mystra. 

I was worried that there might not be a way to rid Gale of this cursed orb, I was bracing for the possibility that there might not be a happily-ever-after here. Because he seemed set on going along with Mystra's wishes, and I felt bad for standing between the man and his honest faith. Misguided, not fanatical, just honest faith.

I was thinking "yeah, this will probably happen at the end of the game, we'll cross that bridge when we get there". BUT… one moment we are fighting Kethric Thorm and the next Gale is ready to sacrifice himself. "Wait, it's too soon, it can't end like this, WHAT THE HELL is going on?" 

"Fun" fact? Gale can really do it from what I saw and it just… ends the game right there and then. I am not ever going to even consider that a viable option, for anyone. It just makes me sick thinking about it in hindsight.

So yeah, no, sorry Mystra, we are not going along with your stupid plan. It really feels like he went along with it in a shell shock state through the whole act II of the story and it made me feel so bad for him. Gale felt like a complete shadow of himself since his first talk with Elminster.

Can you look me in the eye and with a straight face tell me a man ready to die makes a whole fucking illusionary world for just the two of you, shows you his home, his safe place, tells you he loves you and gives you his all? Yeah, yeah, you can tell me "he doesn't want to regret anything", but that's the point! He already regrets so much, and that means he is not ready to become vapor!

So, in the style of Meredith Grey, we go all in with "choose me" and…wow, does he ever. It was like a switch went off, Gale instantly is back to his old self, already having a plan to make it all work. A terrible idea, worthy of the 10 wisdom stat, mind you, but an idea still.

Of course in the meantime we get another visit from Elminster, who drops a few - actually good! - words of wisdom Gale's way and says Mystra wants to talk. Of-fucking-course she wants to, her pet refused to die and she can't fathom why.

I know the talk can go differently depending on what you suggest him to say, I don't know if we can skip the talk altogether and what are the consequences of that, but on my first playthrough I actually encouraged him to seek forgiveness and the talk went… fucking awful if you ask me. Is there a honest to god good way to do this talk? 

Hated it when Mystra went all "oh yes, now that you are alive I'm not taking care of your orb until I send you on yet another suicide run, but don't worry - I believe in you, 'kay-thanks-bye!"

I guess this is faith for you - everything becomes a trial for it.

Moving on! The first big romance scene for act III of the story left me in emotional shambles.

In this moment Gale knows he wants to do *everything* and *anything* for us. He wants to gain power for us, to give us everything we deserve because if he gave Mystra his all he won't be holding back for us. And when we say we don't want it… you can see how absolutely devastated he is - up until he hears what we are really telling him.

"You are already everything I need you to be."

God, the animation here was so amazing, you can practically see the moment realization strikes him. He can live without Mystra, he can live without power, but he can't live without you. That he matters to someone, not for what he can do, but just… for him. And he was never loved that way, he himself says that, much to the dismay of my bleeding heart.

And that is that! Our story with Gale ends here, without a bang, but that is good. Gale is no longer the man he used to be, his ambitions now centered around a happy life with us. And I'm all giddy and teary-eyed for him. 

Mind you, the ending felt…rushed? But perhaps that's just me not ready to say goodbye after all this? The game ending is a dash of adrenaline and I felt like there was just not enough time to unwind after. Guess I need to headcanon the rest ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Either way, if you managed to stay to this point - a big thank you for reading!