#alli: please just make it quick whatever you do | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

swordgrace · 6 months ago

Text

𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ gwayne hightower x wife!reader.

SYNOPSIS: After your husband returns from Rook’s Rest, mostly unscathed, you are quick to indulge him to make up for lost time.

anonymous request.

{ FORMAT: one-shot — requested by anon.

{ WORD COUNT: 5.1K.

{ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), first time writing for gwayne, please be gentle, gwayne is very cunt-struck in this fic, sub-ish gwayne, armor removal descriptions, mild wound tending, making out, both of them are desperate, unprotected sex, p in v sex, bathtub sex, riding (fem on top), handjob, oral sex (fem!rec), hair pulling kink, choking, breast play, cockwarming at the end

{ AUTHOR’S NOTE: I absolutely adore Gwayne and I felt like this was a really good way to warm up and get used to writing for him! I’m really glad that I’m seeing more Gwayne requests, this was ridiculously fun to write! ❤️ Thank you all so much for your love & continued support, it means more to me than you realize!

At the precipice of the gates of the Red Keep, emerald banners flew, embellished with the golden sigil of a dragon — the King’s dragon, laying half-deceased in the Dragonpit and the King himself, ripped apart and scorched beyond recognition.

A horrible thing, to be sure — your sister-by-law had become miserable and despondent when the news of her son’s maiming reached her. Whatever comfort you attempted to offer had been dismissed, but it was commonplace, not that you minded. You understood her desire to be left alone.

It was a cloudy, dismal day, marked by the overcast of gray and gloom, a dour portrait that only seemed furthered by the King’s potential demise. Rook’s Rest was outwardly displayed as some great victory, a vanquishing of Queen Rhaenyra’s forces and her allies.

Yet, the countenance of your Knight Hightower told a different tale altogether.

Becoming betrothed and wed to Ser Gwayne Hightower had been the hallmark of your family’s importance, a union of prosperity to further your standing in the realm, but it meant more to you than that. Gwayne had grown on you with the passage of time, witty and sharp-tongued, a proficient fighter with a calm rationality.

As the gates swung open to welcome those survivors of Rook’s Rest home, you desperately searched for the velveteen tabard and copper mane, wringing your hands together beside the Queen Dowager.

His armor glistened beneath the sheen of clouds, dingy and speckled with cruor and mud, his visage stained in dried crimson and soot. He was so comely and debonair, yet he seemed rather sour when he dismounted from his gelding, swiftly tugging his helmet aside.

Your feet moved before you could summon any logical thought, rushing to him across the Keep’s courtyard and into his expectant embrace. Plate-clad arms held you close as he inhaled a gust of your scent, marigold and honey, just as saccharine as he remembered. “My love.” He sighed, loud enough for only you to hear.

Before you could cage him within your own embrace, he let out a strenuous grunt, attempting to be subtle with the painful noise. “Husband,” It delighted you to see his face again — it had been weeks. “Are you hurt?” You fussed, brows knitting together as you inspected him for any critical wounds.

Gwayne bore the scars of battle beneath, save for the cut upon his lip and bruising around his cheek. His body was undeniably sore, riddled in bruises from falling, muscles aching from wielding a blade and weeks on the road. “You needn’t worry yourself into a stupor, dearest. I will survive.” He sighed.

“You do understand that it will only prompt me to worry more, instead of less.” Begrudgingly, Gwayne decided to let you dote over him — he quite enjoyed the attention whenever you did. “Perhaps we shall draw you a bath, and a proper meal to accompany it.”

Relief settled within his features, knowing that he would be well cared-for. He counted on you to ensure that he was pampered after every conflict — it was a habit you had developed. Despite the dull throbbing that consumed his body, he offered his forearm to you, delighted to have you at his side again.

He was rather captivating in his armor, shimmering and broad, a true Knight of the realm. Despite the tarnish and wear of his plate, he still seemed flawless, as if he were incapable of possessing any imperfections.

The Red Keep loomed overhead as many soldiers fought to lick their wounds, much of it from the angry bite of dragonfire. Gwayne was fortunate to remain mostly unscathed, aside from his pride. He could not stomach another day with Criston Cole, whose overconfidence often felt like a burden.

The sight of men being obliterated into nothing more than ash and bone was a harrowing sight, one that he desperately attempted to purge from his memory. It was good to be here with you, holding you again, giving him a worthwhile distraction.

Gwayne sought the solace and sanctity of your shared chambers within the Keep, but he missed Oldtown above all. Your marital quarters there far outweighed those here in the capital in terms of lavishness and comfort, but whatever lodgings offered to him now, he wouldn’t refuse. A feathered bed and pillow seemed heavenly after weeks of sleeping on rock and coarse rags.

Pale cerulean hues appraised you with a subtle hunger, finding the supple curves of your physique through the sage silk of your gown. Once you were in private corridors, he made his desire known, manifesting it into reality. “I must say, you look rather fetching, my dear.” Gwayne hummed. “Did you know of my return?”

“Perhaps,” Countering his flirtation with a teasing smile of your own, you gently nudged past the set of heavy oaken doors, making your way into your chambers. The servants there acted at your beck and call as you had them prepare a bath. “Perhaps I simply prefer to wear lavish silks each day.”

With a bemused scoff, Gwayne ogled you through half-lidded eyes, and as soon as the doors slammed shut behind you, he coaxed you in for a kiss. His mouth tasted like the bitter sting of copper coupled with brimstone and woodland musk, but you didn’t care in the slightest.

He cared little for prying eyes, desiring to claim your mouth for himself — it had been far too long. Passion and want were interlaced into each stroke of his lips, and you matched his caliber of desire, palms seeking to perch themselves atop his chest.

Gwayne exhaled, savoring your saccharine taste, the insatiable warmth of your pliant mouth. “I missed your mouth, wife,” He groaned, pearlescent teeth greedily capturing your lower lip as he caged you in against him. His blood ran hot even still, the adrenaline of war still lingering, yet you spurred him on. “Perfect as ever.”

“Gwayne,” His eagerness surprised you, but it wasn’t unwelcome, not in the slightest. “What about the servants?” You mumbled, skin crawling with heat as he insistently tugged you closer, auburn brows furrowing together.

A twinge of desperation followed from your Knight-husband, watching as he palmed at the swell of your hips. “What of them?” He murmured, caring little for the wandering eyes of handmaidens. They were like a flock of hens, squabbling after any scrap of gossip. “Surely, you would not deny your husband a kiss.”

“I would, if my husband vexed me.” You were able to both get a rise out of Gwayne and charm him all in the same turn, turning your head at the last moment. His mouth fell against your cheek instead, much to his disgruntlement. You would make it up to him.

Once the servants finished pouring a bath for your husband and preparing a hearty meal that transcended field rations, Gwayne felt as if he could relax, the tension in his shoulders unfurling. He stepped toward the washroom, unceremoniously falling against one of the velvet-cushioned chairs.

The wooden frame groaned in protest, rickety and barely able to bear the weight of his armor. He tossed his head back, finally able to breathe and relax within the sanctuary of his own quarters. No muddied tent above his head or the swaying of trees, no rancorous men, and no Dornishmen to tell him what to do.

With a steady exhale, he began to unfasten the innumerable amount of buckles and straps upon his armor, beginning with his gauntlets and vambraces. His brow remained creased with concentration, strands of copper stresses glued to his temples, lip curled with inklings of mild irritation.

“Would you like help?” You inquired, knowing that Gwayne would be too stubborn to accept it, but you were pleasantly surprised when he became subservient. With an indignant huff, he sat back, sluggishly offering you his body with a low hum.

“If you feel that you must toil over my armor, I suppose you can lend your assistance,” Gwayne prattled on, though his breath hitched slightly when you neared him, standing in between his legs as you went about freeing him. Cerulean hues traced over your form, desperate to see your naked flesh. “Hm.”

His quick tongue and eloquent speech once irked you, but now, it was simply him. You rather enjoyed when he regaled you with his flowery words and streak of arrogance, a haughtiness that seemed to run predominantly within his family.

As you set yourself to the task of unburdening your husband from his armor, Gwayne busied himself with ogling your bosom, jaw tense and tight. A warm coil formed within his stomach, the onset of arousal as he carefully admired you, his enchanting paramour.

Unclasping his cloak, Gwayne shifted enough for you to remove it, neatly folding it into a rectangle as you draped it over the arm of the lounge. “I missed you,” You confessed, knowing that his ego would momentarily swell tenfold — it was simply in his nature. “These past few weeks were rather tense, wrought with strife.”

“Allow me to guess,” Gwayne guffawed, a smirk toying at either corner of his mouth. “Something to do with my nephews, or perhaps my sister.” Admittedly, you were lonely without him — the capital didn’t suit you, nor did any of its hostile inhabitants.

A soft huff of amusement escaped you, but you happened to shake your head, lifting a wet cloth to his lips as you dabbed at the dried blood. “One would think,” With an amiable smile, you rid your husband’s stunning visage of cruor. “I yearned to have my husband by my side, that is all.”

Gwayne’s gaze became soft in your presence, fluttering across your captivating features and gentle smile. Knowing that you missed him happened to evoke some semblance of delight, filling him with a familiar warmth that eased his aching bones.

“I am here now,” He assured, reaching for your hand as he cradled it within his own. Rough lips pressed themselves against your knuckles. “You shall have your husband for as long as you please.”

Stepping inward, your lips moved to bury themselves into his disheveled tresses, presenting him with a kiss. You always feared Gwayne riding off to fight in a war, coming to terms with the painful idea of never seeing him again. “As long as I please? That is forever, then. Cole cannot take you from me again.”

You were an excellent wife, perhaps the best — he had gotten incredibly lucky with you, a rare jewel, resplendent and glittering all for him, something to covet. He watched as you unfastened the leather straps with haste, placing each piece down atop the footlocker at your side.

Gwayne winced when you happened to tug just a touch too hard, body wracked with aches and pains, pale flesh flourishing with the wounds of war. “Gently, wife. I am still needed in one piece.” A low grunt tore past his lips, one that happened to come across as a suppression of mild agony.

Perplexed, you reached for the collar of his gorget, attempting to be as gentle as possible in its removal. It was difficult, given how much he wore — plate and chainmail weren’t exactly comfortable to wear. The relief he felt was visible, scrawled into his handsome features as he reclined into the cushions.

Broad-shouldered and corded with taut muscle, you often found Gwayne to be beautiful in some ways, painfully handsome to behold. When you’d gotten rid of his upper armor, you noticed the battlefield of flourishing bruises littered across his flesh.

The somber, softened stare you’d given him happened to temper his tongue, copper brows beginning to slack, visage contorting into more of a concerned expression. “They do not feel as horrid as they look,” He assured, smoothing his palm across the swell of your hip. “Such is the nature of battle.”

With a tender hand, you lightly traced your fingertips over each bruise, some angered and dark, others lighter in complexion. Gwayne shuddered at your delicate embrace, bluish hues glued to where your hand traveled — over his throat, toward his collarbone, and then cascading across his chest.

“Where does it hurt, my love?” The silky resonance of your voice stroked his mind in a perfect way, one that brought him to heel. Your doting attention happened to subdue him, cock stirring in the confines of his linen breeches.

He often pondered what went on in that beautiful head of yours, the way your mind operated. You were an intelligent woman, thoughtful and poised with a comely grace, becoming of a maiden. Gwayne swallowed the growing lump within his throat, feeling your palm smooth across the plate of his cuisse.

“Here,” He briefly motioned to the series of marks tangled along his collarbone — he was fortunate that it hadn’t been shattered. You stooped inward, mouth carefully hovering above the ugly bruises dotted along his collar, and kissed the injured flesh. “Hm — here.” Gwayne tapped his right pectoral.

You kissed where his hand gestured to, pliant lips akin to a gentle caress as you showered him in your sensual affections. Enraptured, Gwayne watched you, hunger swelling within him, a ravenous gnawing that he felt for you. It burned his loins, filling him with the ache of desire.

If it weren’t for his damned tasses and greaves, he would’ve had you slotted in his lap. Gwayne’s hands tightened around the back of the settee, digits curling into the wooden embellishments. “That’s all?” You murmured, gingerly caressing along his chest, watching as he immediately straightened.

Gwayne grit his teeth together, motioning toward his bruised bicep. “Here,” The soothing softness of your mouth soon followed, filling him with a warm rush of dull ecstasy. You kissed his bicep, peppering your lips upward until they landed atop his shoulder. “Here.” At last, he motioned to his mouth, marred by a cut.

“Here?” With a gentle hum, you smoothed the pad of your thumb against his lower lip, carefully avoiding the cut and any bruising. Gwayne kissed your fingertips, hand still poised against your hip, groping into your pliant curves and soft physique.

“Damnable vixen.” Gwayne muttered, though his cerulean hues oozed with warmth and ardor, a gallant love reserved only for you. It was a loving jab, and he immediately hauled you closer, bringing your mouth to his for a fiery kiss. The honey-sweet embrace of your lips were ambrosial, making his head spin around.

You reached for his auburn tresses, raking your fingers through his mane, kissing him hard and without an ounce of hesitation. His hands lowered themselves to your derrière, sinking into your supple flesh, treating you to the fervor of his hold. A low moan emerged from your throat when he nipped at your lower lip.

Gwayne relented, tongue seeking entrance into the warmth of your mouth, forcing you to part your lips. In a hurried clash, you kissed him again, open-mouthed and deliciously hot. Your stomach began to churn, arousal seeping from your core, slick between your thighs.

“Gwayne,” You whimpered, attempting to catch your breath as he parted from you, licking at his lower lip. “We needn’t carry on if you are hurt.” You insisted, but he scoffed at the notion, gazing at you with bewilderment and a clear dismissal of your concerns.

“Nonsense,” Gwayne countered, clearly feeling his blood sing with lust, bitten by desire. It was a fire that you had so diligently stoked, and now, it needed to be extinguished. “I would suffer through torture unimaginable if it meant I could have you properly.”

With a bemused huff, you pressed your lips against his bruised brow, watching as he stood up, chest bumping into you. The closeness only seemed to intensify, tension crackling between the both of you. “Are you still in-need of assistance?” You hummed, tone indicative of your lascivious wants.

Gwayne’s mouth twitched into the ghost of a smirk, catlike and salacious as he released an exaggerated sigh. “I suppose,” Truthfully, he basked in your affections, even if it was all playful, a steady buildup to more lewd proclivities. He allowed you to do it all as you unfastened his cuisses and tasses, placing them aside. “Perhaps I should take you along to the next conflict. I will have need of your skilled hands, sweet wife.”

Seeing your striking husband in nothing more than his linen smallclothes made you itch with ardor, desire beginning to fester within your heart. His necklace, adorned with his mother’s ring and yours, hung around his throat, relics resting against his sternum.

A battle was certainly no place for a lady, but you digressed, lowering one hand toward the slight bulge in the front of Gwayne’s trousers. “Is that so? I’ve become quite proficient, husband.” A silky purr escaped your lips as you kneaded one hand against his erection.

Seven Hells, you would be his undoing.

With a sharp exhale, Gwayne let out a husky groan near the shell of your ear, hands steadfast atop your hips as you caressed him over his clothes. “Quite proficient, indeed.” He uttered, teeth grazing along your neck as you let your hand slither beneath the coarse linen. The warmth of his cock met your palm, and he shivered.

A breathy sigh escaped you as you bared your neck to him, palm encircled around the base as you dragged your hand from bottom to tip. The pad of your thumb stroked along the head of his cock, causing him to jerk forward into your embrace.

He had sorely missed your touch, the smell of your skin, the plush feeling of your body beneath his capable hands. Gods, if you kept touching him like that, he felt as if he would explode — and so quickly, too. Gwayne refused to resign himself to such a thing.

“I would be delighted if you’d join me,” Gwayne murmured into your neck, lips suckling just beside your jugular. The mark he left flourished, soothed by the lap of his tongue. “Only after I’ve ravished your sweet cunt, of course.” Even crude words sounded so pretty upon his tongue, and you felt your skin crawl with warmth.

A sharp inhale escaped you, anticipation churning within the pit of your stomach as Gwayne found the laces of your gown. You nodded several times over, lips parted as you sought his mouth for a blazing kiss. With dextrous fingers, he tugged on the silken ties, loosening the garment with ease.

The fabric pooled around your feet in a heap, and you hastily kicked it aside, standing in nothing more than a sheer slip. It was nearly translucent, made of a shimmering gossamer that left little to the imagination. Transfixed, Gwayne allowed his hands to travel along your body, kneading and caressing wherever he pleased.

He coaxed you toward the settee he’d been situated in minutes prior, allowing you to sit as he stood above you, hand slipping against your thigh. “Gods, you are divine.” Gwayne sighed, roughened fingertips stroking at your silky skin, like warm velvet. “Lift your skirts for me, dearest.”

Kneeling as a sacrilegious individual would, as if begging for forgiveness within the boughs of a sept, Gwayne sought his peace between your thighs. He observed in quiet rapture as you brought your slip to your hips, revealing your body to him.

Broad shoulders bullied their way between your legs, hands more than happy to have their fill of your haunches. “Gwayne,” You whimpered, feeling him adjust your hips to a proper angle, cunny glistening with a thin sheen of your arousal. “Please, I need your mouth!” Hapless at the talons of your husband, you pleaded with him to taste you.

There was nothing he wanted more in this world than to oblige you, lips pressing all along your legs, mouth steadily finding the apex of your thighs. Gwayne took care in spreading you apart, tongue raking hot embers across your cunt, your taste ambrosial.

A stirring fire of lust roused him, cock twitching within his breeches as he delved deeper into your core. His mouth was a thing of beauty, tongue sluggishly tasting you from your clit to your entrance. Your chest heaved with wanton pants, hands gliding toward his tresses.

Tangled within his copper mane, you coaxed him closer, digits digging at the base of his skull. Gwayne released a groan into your core, hands clamping down on your thighs with an ironclad grasp. Your nectar fell heavy upon his tongue, the sweetest of honey.

Gwayne thoroughly reveled in the feeling of your hands within his hair, hips occasionally stuttering and bucking forward, desperately seeking his mouth. He was attentive, lapping at your cunt with a fervor, allowing his mouth to drift to your clit.

Silk bunched up around your belly, thighs quivering like leaves as you continued to move inward. Most of your writhing was done unconsciously, pleasure continuing to wrack your body whole. Arousal pooled between your legs, spilling onto your husband’s tongue — and he consumed every drop.

Gwayne found his place between your thighs, as any devoted husband would. Every sound that he evoked from you, every shudder of your body, the slick of your arousal, he knew that it all belonged to him. Your needy moans filled your chambers, reverberating off of the walls.

“Gods, Gwayne!” You huffed, countenance screwed into a look of complete and utter bliss, lips agape and eyes fluttered shut. Without shame, you rode your husband’s face as best as you could, wrestling with his auburn locks as your knees squeezed at his head.

Perfect — it couldn’t have gotten any better than this.

His calloused palms ran along your thighs before finding their purchase against the swell of your hips, drunk and delirious from your cunt alone. He was positively whipped, a notion that he rarely admitted aloud, let alone shared with himself. The way you took his mouth with glee filled him with pride.

Another deliberate barrage of licks assailed your clit, causing you to shiver and moan, the sounds tapering off into a series of breathy pants. “Sweetling,” Gwayne crooned, timbre shifting into a delicious husk as he called you by that affectionate nickname. “You are incomparable.” He mumbled, nose brushing along the hood of your clit.

A pang of delight rippled through you as you preened beneath his desire-ridden compliment. Gwayne had a way with words, especially if he found himself in the mood to regale you with lewd whispers. The moment wasn’t now, but you hoped that it would be, soon enough.

That familiar coil of tenuous heat festered within the pit of your stomach, signaling the encroachment of your release. Gwayne buried himself into your cunt, spreading you apart, tongue greedily lapping at your core. His cock was desperate to be inside of you, slick with precum, straining against his trousers.

You chased after your release with reckless abandon, a low wine tearing past your lips as you tugged on Gwayne’s tresses with a sense of urgency. His lips found themselves pursed around the pearl of your cunt, suckling on that sensitive bud until you cried out.

It was an undeniable surge of utter bliss, an amalgamation of pleasure that made your thighs twitch and tremble. You threw your head back against the velveteen lounge, moaning your husband’s name as if it were the only word you knew.

Between the deliberate, timed strokes of his tongue and the stimulation of your clit, you could hold out no longer, digits curling inward, stomach sloshing with a molten warmth. “I— Gwayne!” You mewled, the sound deliciously innocuous as you approached your release.

It slammed into you with the force of a tidal wave, sending spasmodic shivers all along your body, making your skin undeniably hot. Gwayne groaned into your cunt, finding great pleasure in cleaning you up, reveling at the taste of your nectar, like a fine stout.

His cock throbbed with a pleading ache, wanting nothing more than to be inside of you. He was patient, but he could wait no longer, face appearing from between your thighs as he huffed. “I cannot continue to wait,” Gwayne murmured, voice laced with desperation. “I must have you, sweet wife.”

Still trapped within the white-hot throes of your release, you nodded, wanting more from him just as he did you. “I am yours completely.” You breathed, watching as he made for the bathtub. The water inside had gone from steaming to warm, not that he cared.

It was like a race, an eager clamoring to see who could get themselves into the basin first. Gwayne hastily unlaced his breeches, leaving them behind along the stone floor before he sank into the water, muscles unfurling almost instantaneously.

You stood, legs quivering from the might of your peak as you attempted to rid yourself of the silken slip, but Gwayne didn’t have time to watch you fiddle with your gown. “In,” With a sharp timbre interwoven with lust, you seemed surprised, but obeyed his command. “Come here.” He hissed.

Without delay, you stepped into the bathtub, still clad in your silken slip, which Gwayne paid little mind to. Eager, strong hands gripped your hips, dragging you closer until you were in his lap. Auburn tresses were slick with water, visage upturned into a look of sheer delight.

The gossamer silk stuck to your body, hitched around your hips, the wet garment clinging to your flesh. Gwayne lowered you enough to let his cock nudge against your folds, burying his face into the hollow of your throat. He pressed strings of needy kisses there, feeling you grind yourself against him.

Tugging at the thin, lace-woven straps of your slip, you revealed your breasts to him, fabric sagging along your midsection. You listened to the audible hitch of Gwayne’s breath, continuing to slide his cock along the length of your slit. “Sit,” He commanded, hands firm atop the swell of your hips. As you lowered yourself onto his length, he shivered, jaw tensing. “That’s it.”

His cock filled you perfectly — nothing of indomitable size or girth, but it was pretty, just like the rest of him. You gasped, palms moving to perch themselves atop his freckled shoulders. Gwayne groaned, slumping back against the slick, metallic wall of the tub, keeping one hand steady against your hip.

What sweet torment, Gwayne thought, tantalized and entranced by the way you began to ride him, sluggishly through the constant sloshing of water. He assisted you somewhat, guiding you along, occasionally lifting his hips to buck into you, but the efforts primarily rested with you.

“Seven Hells,” Gwayne huffed, cerulean hues drinking in the sight of you, disheveled and damp, countenance contorted into a look of pure bliss. “I missed that cunt of yours, wife. There is nothing like it.” A low grunt tapered off into a breathy sigh as you came down harshly, nails digging into his pale flesh.

Instead of cajoling him with sultry praises of your own, you kept quiet, one hand slinking toward the base of his throat. The newfound sensation left Gwayne visibly perplexed, but he enjoyed your little domineering streak, mouth curling into the ghost of a smirk.

His palm moved to cup your breast, toying with your nipple, slick from water, beginning to pebble with the cooler air. “Gwayne,” You moaned, bouncing upon his cock with all of the eagerness of a brothel whore. Enraptured, he observed you through a greedy, half-lidded stare. “You feel incredible.”

Before his cockiness and ego could come swinging into the fray, you lightly squeezed at his throat, evoking a sonorous groan from him. It was effective at silencing him, but his gaze burned for you, burned with something incendiary as he gently tweaked your breast, kneading at the soft mound.

You were divine, a goddess incarnate, made for him to worship at your feet. He simply couldn’t get enough of you, savoring the way in which his cock continued to bury itself within your tight walls, over and over again. That tenuous coil of warmth tightened within his belly, a rush of heat soon to follow.

His hips jolted again, bucking up into you until he hit that perfect spot inside of you. You gasped, mouth agape as your nails dug angry-red crescents into his shoulder. Gwayne’s own sounds of pleasure caressed your ear, feeling him lean in enough to press a string of kisses all over your breasts.

The hold you had upon his throat began to slack, thighs burning with a dull ache as you rocked yourself upon his cock, continuing to ride him. His cock bottomed out before you lifted yourself up again, only to fall right back down, letting him bury himself until he could go no further.

He looked gorgeous, crown of copper tresses lolled back against the tub, visage one of pleasure, hands continuing to grope and caress along your body. It was only when his length began to pulse and throb within you that he grit his teeth, bracing himself for his release.

A low, subtle ‘fuck’ tore past his mouth, goosebumps coalescing along the length of your spine. You didn’t relent, continuing to rock yourself upon his cock until he was bursting at the seams. With a noisy groan, Gwayne’s hips stuttered, filling you with ropes of hot seed.

Even the ache of war and sex could not spend him entirely, and if it were up to him, he would’ve had you on your back the second you stepped out of the tub. With a sigh of relief, he stroked your hip, watching as you came down with him.

“I will never tire of that,” Gwayne confessed, hand repositioning to stroke at your brow, tucking your hair behind your ear. “Will you stay and help bathe your husband?” He inquired, tone jocular and somewhat playful, but he seemed serious.

“Perhaps,” You mused, reaching for a bar of herb-laden soap, attempting to move off of him. Gwayne tutted, clicking his tongue with mild disdain as he pulled you right back down onto his cock. “Gwayne.” Issuing a soft-spoken warning, you gasped, brows furrowing together.

With a debonair smirk, he pressed a kiss against the hollow of your throat, lounging back within the tub, either arm perched along the sides. “You can stay just like that, dearest. You are well within arm’s reach.” That lascivious purr of him stoked yet another fire, and you relented, staying slotted atop him.

“You’re insufferable.”

copyright @ swordgrace ; please do not translate my work onto other platforms, copy, or steal my work and claim it as your own.

#house of the dragon #hotd x reader #gwayne hightower x reader #gwayne hightower x you #gwayne hightower x y/n #gwayne hightower #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd smut #hotd fanfiction #house of the dragon smut

2K notes · View notes

yawujin · 3 months ago

Note

Do you think you can do the allies + axis (separate) x a bratty s/o that’s super needy but constantly try’s to demand stuff and boss them around and is just kinda a very run of the mill brat. Like how would they deal with them?..and can it be a bit nsfw….pretty please with a cherry on top..

hehe sure ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ here you go ! 🪄

{ request } allies & axis x a bratty! s/o 💭 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

type/content warnings • nsfw content , established relationship , they/them pronouns used , mentions of bondage , marking , rough sex , sub/dom dynamics

allies ♥︎

america/alfred f. jones

he finds their neediness kind of cute, writing it off as something that just comes with being in a relationship with them. soon, he comes to find out just how bossy they are. usually, he's a pushover and it's fairly easy to make him do the stuff they want, but every now and then he doesn't give in, puts his foot down and reminds them he too can be bossy, in charge and, that he knows how to put a brat in their place. they must be careful with whatever sexual favor they ask him to do, because he might just turn around and make them do it instead (i feel like he'd be petty in that way, and use them for his entertainment) 'can't tell me what to do now that your mouth is full, huh? '

england/arthur kirkland

whenever his partner is acting up─if he feels like it─he'll take the calm route and plead with them. 'please, love, behave...' however, if he's feels they are demanding too much from him, his attitude will switch up. he'll be very domineering, crass and rather rough with how he handles them from then on.

'say it... who do you belong to?'

france/francis bonnefoy

he gives them what they want, within reason. if they demand too much, don't worry, he puts up a good bargain. when they continue to act up, he'll turn serious─giving them one final ultimatum. "do as i say, or you will be shown who is truly the boss here." knowing them, and how they act...france gears up to give them something he's sure to make them behave... at least for a little while

canada/matthieu williams

seeing as he is already bossed around by his colleagues, they can bet he is not going to take the same treatment from his own partner. he's quick to make himself known as the one in charge, faster than they thought. he tells them to 'shut up and quit with the brattiness before i fuck it out of you' in such a sweet voice, it sounded more like a loving promise than a threat.

russia/ivan braginsky

don't. even. try. he shuts that bratty act of theirs down so quick, they barely have time to start. he can only take being bossed around for so long , until he finally has enough. he has his hands wrapped tightly around their waist as he rests his chin on their shoulder. "please behave, won't you? it will make me very happy. you want both of us to be happy, yes?" and in case they couldn't tell, that's russian for don't fuck around and find out.

china/yao wang

he's very secure in himself that─he doesn't feel the need to intimidate them into submission. he doesn't do everything they ask of him, only the things he wants to do or wants them to enjoy. he has his own special way of dealing with them and that's getting them hot and bothered enough to try and rile him up. do things for him. that's right, china finesses his way into making them do something for him instead of the other way around. it usually involves promising them some type of reward for good behavior. but first, they must please him and act accordingly. "...you're doing so good for me." he praises.

axis ♥︎

n. italy/feliciano vargas

has a method similar to china's. it's a give and take relationship. italy does a few things for them, and in return they behave.

usually turning out really wholesome, with italy cuddling with them since they're soooo needy─he admits that it kind of turns him on when they boss him around so much. "i wouldn't mind being there anytime you need me." he sighs happily, burying his face deeper into their arms.

germany/ludwig beilschmidt

he usually likes it when they tell him what to do. he's a very organized man who is very good at following orders. he doesn't like it so much when they act like a brat, so he makes sure to take care of that ASAP. he's lowkey begging them to behave, telling them that he'll do anything to make them act right...not knowing that he's kind of allowing them to act up even more. poor germany...he's a lil' confused but he's got the spirit. "if i fuck you like this, then will you behave?"

japan/kiku honda

he's literally like no then goes on to use shibari as a way to torture them into submission. "if you keep acting like that, i'll have you tied up everyday from now on." it's a tempting threat but they know that japan's willpower and discipline could really mean that he'd have them tied up without relief for a long, long time. it's their choice on whether or not they want to behave, but they will always know what will happen if they don't. this makes it especially exciting for japan, with him knowing that their behavior will be unpredictable each day.

s. italy/lovino vargas

he lets them carry on throughout the day, holding himself back and pretending that their brattiness does not have any effect on him. that is, until the end of the day, where he makes them beg before him. he would want to hear them plead for him to not be so rough, when that was all he could think about the entire day. he ends up leaving a few marks behind to remind them what will happen if they don't behave. "mmm." he hums lowly. "this is what you get for trying to tell me what to do..."

prussia/gilbert beilschmidt

okay so, it takes him a while to get bothered by it because their brattiness is all just kind of a game to him. sure, he gives them what they want but as he slowly sees that they won't be satisfied until they get a rise out of him, he begins to think of ways he can tease them back, make them beg him to stop. he laughs when he sees his brat whine. "is this not what you wanted?" he grins. "i know it's what i wanted." prussia revels in his ability to make them act like this. he hopes that they continue simply because he loves the feeling of dominating them.

185 notes · View notes

brokenpieces-72 · 4 months ago

Text

Platform

Choo Choo Charles cod crossover | Navigation

You had finished the repairs and started trekking up the hill to your cabin. Tired and trying to keep your emotions straight. It was hard to take it so straight and forward.

When you reached the top you found the captain on the front porch. He was posted up, keeping a look out. You straightened seeing him. Military, no slacking. Someone was taking you seriously for once in a long time. You went over to him, leaning your gun against the wall of the building.

“Thank you.” You said.

“Well haven’t done anything yet.” Price pointed out. His body seemed to relax at the sight of you.

“You have. You believed me.” You said. “That’s something.”

The rain continued to pour, making sleep even more tempting. There was a question that had been repeating in your mind since the middle of your repairs.

“Did he… um… how…” you started but then hesitated. You didn't want to cry in front of him. Price waited letting you get the question out. “Uh… did… the body, where…”

“We moved him off the tracks, and buried him in branches.” Price admitted. You nodded and took some deep breaths, shifting from foot to foot.

“How is your wound?” He asked. You shrugged, and let out a choked “I don’t know” trying to avoid tears. Price could tell she’d been tearing herself apart trying to get help and sort out everything so she could destroy the thing. Your one ally had been lost and replaced with four strangers. Price could understand your plight.

“Sit down,” he said. You looked at him confused. “Sit, that’s an order.”

You sat down, and rolled up your pant leg for him. You winced as he unwrapped it and saw the stitches. Not bad for someone who was doing it free handed. Price retrieved some first aid supplies, taking time to clean it a bit. You winced and groaned a bit.

“Fuck.” You muttered, gritting your teeth.

“It’s just alcohol.” Price said.

“Still fucking hurts.” You pouted.

“Eugene ever serve?” Price asked. You nodded.

“I think so. Back at his cabin he had a couple medals. A purple heart, I think.” You said, while Price started to wrap the wound back up. Didn’t need a splint thankfully. “I should tell you, you’ve allied yourself with a problem.”

Price finished wrapping the wound. “Aligned myself with enemies before.”

“No I mean… I called for help but I didn’t tell you I’m public enemy number three basically. The cult, Warren and Charles are-“ you stopped talking as soon as you heard a train whistle, head snapping immediately to where it came from. Price stood up, getting you to your feet, while you continued to scan the treeline, another one sounding. The two of you got inside quick, and the rest of the guys were woken up, reaching for weapons.

“Get away from the door.” You instructed. “Close it!”

Kyle shut the back one, while Price got you to lean against the wall, and shut the front. You noticed Simon posting up at the window. His aim was on the scuttling locomotive, as it came closer and closer. “Don’t bother.”

Simon side eyed you but kept his aim. You said more quietly, “Seriously please don’t bother.”

Price debated ordering the shot to be taken or not, until Simon made his own decision. The shot was fired and right between the horrific gore framed white eyes of the demonic creature. It missed by an inch, and hit the eye. The creature scuttled around the house, loud with teeth gnashing and a wet chittering. Simon pulled back and avoided the sightline of the window. You limped to the middle of the room, reaching whatever bed was closest before sitting down. The monster’s steps seemed to shake the building, the spider legs almost pounding the hard earth. The men were tense while you bounced your good leg, hands clasped and muttering something. Everyone was still, guns at the ready, while you looked almost unbothered by the horror outside. They could make out wood scratching as well but it was minor. Like a dog pawing at a door. Thankfully the blood curdling noises distanced from the cabin, as Charles finally left them all in peace. The men kept alert.

“Soap, Check the window.” Price ordered. Johnny almost wanted to tell the captain to check himself. He pressed into the wall, watching out the window. Charles disappeared back into the tall misty trees, to where, none of them knew. When to return? If only he wouldn’t.

“It’s gone… Charles doesn’t break into houses for some reason. Part of why I’m still here.” You said, staring at your newly bandaged leg.

“How long has that thing been around here?” Kyle asked.

“Uhh…pffftt… a few months.” You guessed. “Came around the beginning of summer, my dad was one of the miners who found it but when he went to destroy the egg those cultist assholes decided he’d make a good offering.”

The room went silent again, thinking back to Eugene. This kid had lost not only their friend, but your father too. Price wasn’t about to let you fight this alone. You needed help.

“Alright listen up.” Price announced. Each one of them turned to look at him. “If you’ve rested, good, keep watch. If you haven’t get some. Need food, we’ve brought rations. Once we’re ready, we start planning our next move. Let’s get to it.”

You woke up, and reached for your water bottle. Yep, it was morning, and it was chilly. Getting some pain killers in you, you sipped some more water and stretched as much as you could. Two of the men were still in the cabin, Price and Kyle. You slowly got up and put the kettle on, getting a pack of oatmeal. It was like any other morning of shuffling around, half awake. You went to another room, getting changed along with putting on a coat and beanie, shivering a little. The cold helped you wake up. The kettle whistled loudly, waking you the rest of the way. A bowl, and pouring oats and water, dunk in a spoon and she had her breakfast, sitting at the foot of the bed.

“Sleep okay?” Kyle asked, politely. You nodded, mouth full of oatmeal. The door to the cabin opened and Johnny walked in with a folded up map.

“Am I allowed to ask your names?” You asked aloud.

“Why wouldnya?” Soap asked.

“You guys are SAS, isn’t that like secret services or something? I mean I’m not gonna fish for government secrets or anything unless Area 51 gets involved, then again you guys are British, well mostly. Sorry I’m rambling.” You said, going back to focusing on the food. “I’m sober I swear.”

“Johnny MacTavish, just call me Soap.” Johnny said. Oh this kid was a mess.

“You’re both John?” You asked looking between him and Price.

“Kyle Garrick. Can call me Gaz.” Kyle piped up. “You know the captain.”

“What about the guy with the mask?” You asked. As if on cue the guy with the mask walked in.

“Ghost.” Soap answered. Ghost looked up hearing his callsign and then looked at you, who jumped hearing him speak. Certainly a fitting name. You swallowed your mouthful, a little forcefully.

Once you finished your breakfast and got changed into cleaner clothes. You returned to the main space, where Price stood next to your conspiracy wall. He went over the plan, giving a briefing for finding the eggs, with you explaining where they were located and how the mob worked. You unfortunately couldn't track exact shifts, nor where all of them went for sleeping and eating, but you assumed it was inside the mines.

"I'll need more scraps if the trains are to pull through a charles attack. I can increase the speed and armour. People around here need some help though, so it might mean getting some errands done in order to get enough. A few of them also have weapons which with enough time can do some extra damage." You explained.

"Four men in that engine will be tight." Ghost commented. You didn't like that number.

"It would be three and two. There are two engines." You corrected. The room was quiet for a moment, and before Price could open his mouth, you spoke up. "I'm going with you. That is not up for debate."

"It'll be dangerous." Kyle reminded you. Thank you sergeant obvious, you thought.

"Your leg is fucked up, Y/N." Price said. "That is a good way to get yourself killed."

"So is letting you all go without some level of a guide. I know this island, and I know the people. They want out of this place as much as I do, but Charles is still out there. Not about to sit back and watch as every fucking thing I've done leads to nothing." You said firmly. You weren't about to be sidelined. The silence was deafening as the four men seemed to think they would have any say in the matter. For good measure you added, "And I have the keys to my engine in the shed."

Price considered it for a moment before realizing you were not gonna let this go. Your stubbornness reminded him of Farah's determination. Right now you were running on fumes, grief and some oatmeal. The look you had in your eyes told him you could be running on good sleep and good food, and your drive would still hold strong.

"Stay off your leg as much as possible, and stay safe. If we lose you we lose our intel." Price said. You nodded. He looked among his men, seeing them determined and ready. "Out here."

Taglist: @yourlovely-moon @kaoyamamegami @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @sans-chara @1mommyrose4ever29 @smitten-haematite-quartz @talia-the-gemini @yuki2129 @whitetiger846 @graystorm444 @chibiduck @reaperxxxxzz @danielle143 @sobbingnshtting @cringeycookies @cryingpages @dcnocap207 @reaper-chan666 @bestbookfriends @thriving-n-jiving

#cod au #john soap mactavish #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #task force 141 x reader #choo choo charles #call of duty au #cod crossover #horror games #injuried reader #teenage reader

41 notes · View notes

casteliacityramen · 8 months ago

Note

Incredible! The Ramen stand has a Samurott employee now?? That's so cool! I always thought it was cool that it was pokemon serving- but now this is even cooler! Does that mean you do a Samurott special? Ingredients masterfully cut with the skilled Razor shell? By an authentic Samurott blade? I would kill to have a dish prepared like that. Please, I'd pay extra AND show it off to my social media if you do, please, please, please

"Alright!!" Ayumi jumps in excitement and flips a curtain out of the way.

"Hey, help me with this," she motions to you. As you flip the rest, you watch Rio grab a handful of ingredients and place them thoughtfully on a cutting board that hangs slightly off the edge.

Ayumi looks down and laughs, picking up on Rio's idea before taking a readied stance behind her.

"I'd take a couple steps back, if I were you," Rio says as she raises her eyebrows at your xtransceiver. Ayumi, getting into the spirit of her performance, plays it up for the camera. Excitedly, you press 'record.'

Rio takes a quick look behind her, back at the cutting board, and then back at you.

"It'll be fast and we're only doing this once. So whatever you do..."

You swear you feel the air get cut and dragged into her swings with how the oxygen escapes your lungs. The ingredients linger in the air, completely still for a moment, before they separate as they fall unceremoniously back onto the table (and Rio).

Ayumi gives a cheer and laughs, but off to the side, Rio's demeanor grows cold as she slinks away from view.

It makes sense Ayumi would be fast and precise. She cuts debris in a river for a living, after all. But swordsmanship underwater is an entirely different field of expertise than what she just saw.

No... everything from her stance to her grip to the quick 3 swipes at center-line showed that this wasn't the type of skill that's naturally gifted to samurott.

Ayumi's laughter muffles in Rio's ears, drowned out as she stares into the distance. She feels her heart harden as her theory becomes more and more plausible.

She thinks to a time long, long ago, one of the worst times of her life. Before her stands a descendant of someone she considered one of her greatest enemies, one of her strongest allies, and a friend she ultimately failed.

But that begs the question: why? Why now? Was this sheer coincidence? Was it fate that brought her there? Or... was it planned?

|| Previous Ask | Message from Overseer to Sentinels | Pinned Post | Plot in Chronological Order ||

#rio #ayumi #rockruff #samurott #pokemon fanart #pokemon ask blog #plot #pokemon b/w #ray #greninja #alt text to be added later #pokeask #pokemon oc

58 notes · View notes

yennefer-of-vengerbergs · 1 month ago

Text

Elven Storm - Chapter 4 - The Emerald Grove

First things first, I do apologize for how long it has taken to get this out, I'd been struggling with this chapter so much, it was ridiculous🥲Add life getting in the way and yeah, it was not fun at all. But it's here now, and it's an extra long chapter too😁

I hope you enjoy this, thank you for reading and of course, happy New Year!

Series masterlist and general fic information can be found here

Chapter summary: The group is involved on a goblin fight just outside of the Emerald Grove. Immediately after, they head inside and begin searching for the grove healer, Nettie, and Zorru. Naturally, they then find themselves involved in the issues the tieflings are dealing with. Meanwhile, Syanna still continues to struggle with whatever is inside her mind.

Divider from here

Tags: @iizven | @bg3-fanfic-reblogs

If you want to be added to my tag list, please let me know in a comment or message!

Read below or on AO3. Comments are appreciated so please feel free to leave them 💖

<- Chapter 3

What a mess it turned out to be.

The fight had been too sudden, too quick, and yet, it also felt too slow, as if time itself was stretching indefinitely, making it seem entirely too long.

Syanna had immediately flown up to higher ground, seeking an advantage she could use, her shortsword and dagger quickly disposing of the goblins who were already there. Then, she began making use of her magic, calling down lightning on those who were further away, and making use of thunderous spells on those who came near her.

Immediately after, there was Astarion, swiftly making use of both his daggers, and of the bow and arrows he had, skilled and graceful with both, clearly seeming to enjoy himself as he cut down the enemies in front of him.

Similarly to Syanna, Gale was also casting spells at their attackers, making sure to strike a balance between offence and defence, incapacitating enemies while also protecting allies and those under attack alike.

Shadowheart too was employing a similar tactic, using her weapons, alongside the protective and healing spells she knew, on those who needed them the most.

Following that was Lae’Zel, obviously at ease and in her element in the middle of battle, her skills and experience being most valuable against the larger enemies that she was fighting.

Finally, the group at the gate had been joined by another magic user - a warlock, judging by the type of spells he appeared to be using - all of whom were holding their own against the group of foes near them.

There was no doubt about it, all of their skills and abilities were something that the two groups needed against those who had launched the attack.

Battle cries and shouts could be heard from both sides as the fighting continued.

Blades clashed.

Arrows were fired and more spells were cast.

Worgs snarled and growled before attempting to bite and claw those fighting against them.

Then, there were the screams and groans of pain, from injuries and death alike, blood seeping through the ground from the bodies of felled goblins and bugbears.

And as sudden as the attack had been, it then finally ended.

Indeed, it had all been a mess.

A glorious, bloody mess.

“That was the last of them - inside, all of you! More may follow!” Zevlor had called out from above.

He then turned around, looking towards someone else.

“Open the gate!”

Once raised, not wasting another moment, everyone ran inside.

“Well, this seems like a lovely little spot. The sense of impending doom aside.” Astarion had been the first to comment on their new surroundings.

As it turned out, he was indeed right; it was a sprawling grove, abundant in nature, a settlement for druids, where tiefling travellers had also gathered, if the numerous carts, crates and chests the latter were busying themselves with were any indication. Still, despite the idyllic location, there was tension in the air, thick enough to cut through with a blade, something made even more obvious by the way Zevlor was shouting at one of the men from the group that had just been attacked - Aradin, if Syanna heard right.

“There are children here, you fool!” The other man was still panting.

“We was running for our lives!”

Zevlor leaned in closer to him, his look one of anger.

“You led them straight to us. And you let them take the druid too. Unbelievable!”

“This place seems remarkably tense.” Shadowheart commented as she noticed the scene in front of them, “Perhaps we shouldn’t linger. But let’s at least see if there’s a healer to be found, first of all.”

Syanna nodded.

“I think it’s safe to assume this is the camp the other tieflings mentioned earlier. Let’s see if we can find this Nettie here.”

They had barely taken another step to head deeper into the grove, and Lae’zel bristled.

“You seem to forget that it would be far more beneficial to find Zorru, and then my kin and the crèche.”

“And who exactly put you in charge? If there is a healer right here, all the better for it, and for us.” Shadowheart immediately replied, her irritation with Lae’zel even more obvious than before.

Syanna’s patience was beginning to wear thin, her tiredness and poor mood made all the more apparent because of it.

“Not this again…you two do realize we just got out of one fight, don’t you? Please, do tell me why you’re so eager to start another one already.”

That also seemed to catch the attention of the two men who were still arguing, making them stop, as if they too felt called out by her words. Both of them looked at her, which only added to her foul mood.

“Don’t think this doesn’t apply to the two of you, either!”

“What? I’d be lying dead, next to the goblins, if he stalled any longer!” Aradin protested.

“My duty is to this camp!”

“Gods forbid you risk your precious tail! But I shouldn’t be surprised. Foulbloods ain’t known for courage.”

Both men looked ready to fight each other, the anger and tension palpable.

Syanna had had enough.

“Children. All of you are acting like children. You two-” she gave both Lae’zel and Shadowheart a pointed look, “-chances are they are both supposed to be here, so we’ll look for them both. And you-” she turned her attention back to Zevlor and Aradin, “-whatever quarrel you have going on now won’t bring back anyone you’ve lost out there. So why don’t you stop and focus on what’s more important?”

Zevlor was the first to calm down.

“You’re right. There’s too much at stake.”

“Worried about your precious hides, the both of you.”

Gods, he was truly beginning to grate on her nerves. Then again, everything was.

She stared the other man down as Zevlor continued to speak.

“Enough. Squabbling is pointless - the goblins have found us.”

“At least we agree on that.”

They all watched as Aradin left, frustration still obvious in his demeanour. Finally, Zevlor’s attention returned to Syanna as he held a hand up, apologetically.

“Forgive that display. Aradin’s a blowhard, but that’s no cause for me to join him. Thank you for your help out there. I’m Zevlor.”

Syanna nodded as she introduced herself and the rest of the group.

“Well met. I should warn you - visitors are no longer welcome in this grove. Whatever your business, I’d see to it quickly - the druids are forcing everyone out. This attack will only strengthen their resolve.”

That certainly struck Syanna as odd, seeing as the two seemed to be unrelated, at least at first glance.

“Why would they force you out? It’s not as if doing that will stop the attacks.”

“That’s precisely it - there have been several attacks by different monsters and the druids blame us ‘outsiders’ for drawing them here.” Zevlor sighed, his eyes closed briefly, “Nobody’s welcome anymore - they’ll be starting a ritual to cut the grove off from the world outside. We can’t stay, but we’ll be slaughtered if we leave - we’re no fighters.” he concluded, seemingly defeated by the situation.

“Then I take it, you couldn’t convince the druids to not go through with it?” Syanna asked.

“I’ve tried. Kagha - their new First Druid - won’t even see me. You, though…”, he pondered for a moment, “I know it’s not your business, but she owes you for saving this place. Perhaps you could persuade her. For more time to prepare, if nothing else.”

Well, he certainly didn’t waste any time when it came to asking for favors.

What was he counting on? The goodness of her heart? Pathetic.

Although she did find their situation unfair, if she was being honest. What’s more, a small part of her wanted to help. And if she could barter that favor for information that would make their search shorter, well that, at least, would be a good thing.

“Perhaps, if you could help us find a few people we’re looking for - a healer, and someone called Zorru.”

“Goblin got you? The druid Halsin’s a renowned healer, but he didn’t make it back from Aradin’s expedition.” a brief flash of disgust made its way on his face before continuing, “If it’s not too serious, you could try his apprentice, Nettie. She’s with the other druids, in the inner grove. They’ve withdrawn there to begin preparing this damn ritual of theirs. Zorru should be further up ahead though.”

Syanna nodded.

“I’ll see what I can do about Kagha then.”

“Thank you. We’d owe you a great debt. I’ll see about getting a reward put together for you in the meantime. Please, make them see sense, before more lives are lost.”

Astarion was the first to say something once Zevlor left.

“So, more goblins could arrive at any moment? And now we’re messengers? Lovely.”

Syanna looked at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Put it this way, we could use whatever reward they’ll put together if we do it. And at least they’re all conveniently close by.”

Lae’zel seemed equally displeased, although it was more aimed at the tieflings themselves.

“Every githyanki has held a sword by age six, and claims their first kill by age ten. Yet these tieflings claim barely a single warrior among them. It’s a wonder they’ve survived even this long.”

“Warriors or not, at least it will be quick to deal with. Either the druids will agree to it or not. Whatever happens afterwards isn’t really our concern.” Syanna concluded.

The tension in the grove appeared to run much deeper than any of them could have imagined, if the argument the group had witnessed was anything to go by - something about someone’s daughter being a thief and awaiting judgement, if the snippets they had heard of it were accurate. Then there was the way the druids were more than ready to threaten them as well, if they tried to enter the inner grove.

Perhaps agreeing to split up to cover more ground in the grove was not the best idea. Then again, Lae’zel insisted on finding Zorru first, and to conclude everything in the grove as quickly as possible, so split up they did, she and Gale setting off to find the tiefling, while the rest of them went in search of Nettie and Kagha.

Interestingly though, and to their advantage, it appeared that Kagha wanted to speak to the group, a fact which, thankfully, did grant them access inside. Once there, they were face to face with the judgement they had overheard the druids and tieflings arguing about: a young girl apologizing repeatedly, while a woman argued with another druid.

“This is madness, Kagha! She’s just a-”

“A what, Rath? A thief? A poison? A threat?” Kagha had cut him off, “I will imprison the devil. And I will cast out every stranger.”

Syanna couldn’t help but sneer.

“Thief? Poison? What did this girl do, steal a sweetroll?”

Kagha looked at her with contempt.

“Girl? You mean parasite.” she turned her attention back to the girl before continuing to speak, “She eats our food, drinks our water, then steals our most holy idol in thanks!” she then faced the other druid, her attitude relentless, “Rath - lock her up. She remains here until the rite is complete. And keep still, devil.” she leaned closer to the child, an obvious attempt to intimidate, “Teela is restless.”

A snake had begun to make its way next to the girl, hissing. As it moved closer, Syanna recognized it as a death viper, a vague recollection of milking their poison before making its way in her mind. However, or whenever that had happened, she did know one thing - a single drop of it would have killed that child in a heartbeat.

The snake hissed, as if in approval, revealing its intentions - if the child were to struggle, it would strike, without hesitation.

The death of a child, such a timeless tragedy. It truly never grows old. And all it would take is to simply flick her eyes towards the exit so that the child would try to run…

No!

Focus, just focus!

She snapped out of it. Whatever dark and twisted thing her mind was, that it would want the viper to kill the child, she knew that, deep in her heart, she didn’t truly wish for it. The girl’s life mattered more than satiating the dark fantasies that had taken root in Syanna’s mind. Still, she continued to be in danger.

“I thought that druids were meant to value harmony and nature’s balance. How is this respecting that?” Syanna asked in an attempt to sway Kagha, “Surely this is actually disrupting it?” she then added.

The druid looked at Syanna curiously, considering her words for a few moments.

“I hear the Treefather’s spirit in your words. It is as you say.”

With a wave of her hand, she then called the snake to her.

“Out, thief. My grace has its limits.”

The girl immediately ran away and out of the sanctum. Kagha’s attention was then fully on Syanna.

“Go on. Say it. You think I’m a monster.”

Syanna wanted to roll her eyes. It was clear that there would be no reasoning with the druid.

“Why don’t we just skip this back and forth and you get to the part where you justify this as you only wanting to protect your own. Which I could understand, when it comes to actual danger. Though I fail to see how a child could be such a threat.”

“Yes, you would say so. I know your kind - you see only victims and villains.” Kagha replied, her temper flaring, “A viper bares her fangs defending her brood - I call her mother; you call her monster.”

Syanna raised an eyebrow at the druid’s reasoning.

“Baring fangs to simply intimidate is one thing. Threatening a child, and being ready to act on that threat, is another.”

Kagha chose to ignore her.

“No matter. I took back the idol of Silvanus and the rite will proceed as planned. We will seal the grove. Free from harm. Free of intruders.”

“Yes, I’m sure that becoming an isolated community that is completely cut off from the world will work out wonderfully.” Syanna countered. “I would have thought at least that would concern you, if Zevlor’s people perishing on the road doesn’t.”

“And mine perish if they stay!”

Kagha’s attitude then shifted, trying to appear more conciliatory, more persuasive than before.

“You showed great mettle at the gate - the mettle of a skilled sword for hire. I want you to provide your services to Zevlor. Offer to guide the outlanders out of the grove. I’m sure they’ll reward you well.” she said, before offering up an ultimatum, “They’re to be gone before final prayer. If they are not, the viper must strike.”

Entering the adjacent chamber, Syanna spotted a dwarven woman there, tending to a small bird that appeared to be injured.

Noticing the group, she acknowledged their presence by speaking, but her attention was still held by the small animal.

“I see you. Just give me a moment.”

There was a certain determination there, which only told Syanna that she would not be distracted or stop midway her task, no matter what.

She waited for a few moments more, long enough for the healer to recite the ‘Vis medicatrix’ incantation, healing the small bird as much as she could. Satisfied with the outcome, the woman finally turned towards the group in front of her.

“Now, what was it you needed?” she asked.

“We’re looking for Nettie.”

“You found her, but I still don’t know what she can do for you.”

“To make a long story, short, healing. As soon as possible, please.” Syanna replied.

Nettie nodded, immediately focusing on the newest task at hand.

“Come here. Let’s have a look at you.”

She began by examining Syanna, poking, prodding, asking questions about how she felt, if she had been injured, all standard questions that any healer would have asked. Once finished, she began to relay her conclusions.

“You seem healthy enough. A bit tired ‘round the eyes, maybe.”

Syanna couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. ‘A bit tired’ was an understatement, if she ever heard one.

“Honestly, I wish it would be that easy - there’s been memory loss, exhaustion, the…thing that crawled into my eye...” she trailed off.

Nettie looked at her, more concerned now, paying closer attention to Syanna’s eyes. Nothing stood out to her.

“What exactly was it that crawled into your eye?”

Syanna knew there was no easy way to say it, but still, she tried.

“A…worm?”

“A wor…wait. Did it look like a tadpole? A mind flayer tadpole?” she suddenly seemed startled.

Gods, how Syanna wanted to roll her eyes at the entire situation. If it weren’t happening to herself, and to the group she had found herself in, she would have even laughed in disbelief. Still, the cat…or rather, the tadpole, was out of the proverbial bag.

“No, a frog hopped into my eye.” she couldn’t help the sarcastic quip, “Yes, it was a mind flayer tadpole.”

“That’s…a serious condition.”

For the second time in just as many days, Syanna wondered whatever in the world could have possibly given someone that particular impression.

Nettie continued to speak as she gestured towards the group to follow her.

“Come, follow me. I might be able to help.”

Syanna couldn’t help but notice how the determination from before had been replaced by uncertainty, unease, and perhaps, even a certain degree of fear. That was enough to, in turn, put her on alert.

Even so, the group followed Nettie into a different room. However, the apparent library had obviously been repurposed as a sort of examination room, if the body of a dead drow that had been laid out on a stone table was any indication.

“This one had the same problem as you. Attacked us in the woods, together with some goblins. Tadpole crawled out of his head soon after.” Nettie explained.

Syanna raised an eyebrow at the display in front of her.

“So you killed him and laid him out on the table?” she gestured towards the drow, “I won’t lie, I’m hoping for a less grave cure.”

Nettie didn’t say anything as she seemed to be searching for something on a different table nearby.

Something felt off about her demeanour, even more so once the healer turned around, holding a small branch, coated in something.

“I’ll do the best I can.” Nettie finally spoke, a defeated expression on her face.

More and more, Syanna felt that something was definitely off.

“I’m no master Halsin, mind. He’d have your tadpole out-” she snapped her fingers for emphasis, ”-like that. Still, we have options.”

Despite the healer trying to put on an air of confidence, Syanna still could not shake the feeling that something was about to go wrong.

“And what options are those? Because it seems to me-” Syanna gestured towards the branch the healer held in one hand as she bristled, “-that you’ll just hack at my eye with a branch.”

Nettie shifted uneasily, clearly hesitant about something. It was all the confirmation that Syanna needed to know for certain that something was indeed suspicious about the entire conversation. She spared a glance towards the others, who had also caught on to what was happening, and were immediately on guard as well.

“No, not at all. But first things first - tell me about your symptoms. Have you noticed anything strange happening?”

As if Syanna would tell her anything, now that her suspicions had been confirmed.

“I have a better idea - why don’t you tell me what it is you’re so clearly hiding from us?” Syanna countered.

“I’m telling you everything you need to know. Believe me on that. I want to help you, but I can’t, unless you work with me. So: has anything unusual happened to you?”

How hard she tried to sound reasonable, nothing more than a healer who wants to help. Syanna didn’t believe a word of it.

“No, nothing strange.” Syanna lied.

“Nothing? You’re sure?”

It was Nettie’s turn to not believe her.

“Yes, I’m sure. Nothing.”

“All right. I suppose that makes things easier.” Nettie held out her free hand before continuing, “Give me your arm, please.”

Syanna held back, which only seemed to bother the druid.

Not to mention that it made no sense to ask for her arm when Syanna’s problem was in her skull.

“You came to me for help. Do you want it or not?”

“On second thought, no. Not anymore. We’re leaving.”

As they all went to leave, the door through which they had entered earlier was magically shut.

“No! I can’t let you leave - you could transform any second. This is the last time I’ll ask.” Nettie extended her hand again, anger briefly becoming apparent on her face as she gripped the branch tighter. “Please.”

“Oh spare me, you’re not asking. This is a threat.”

And such a pathetic one as well. Why not show her what an effective threat is like? It would be such a delicious irony, a healer - butchered by the one who sought healing in the first place.

Nettie lunged at her, intent on using whatever she had coated the branch with, no matter what. Syanna however was quicker, dodging out of the way. As both women regained their footing, Syanna noticed there was pain in the healer’s eyes.

Let her see actual pain. It’s only fair, seeing as she dared to even consider making such a threat in the first place.

Syanna tried to focus.

Although whatever urge possessed her mind wanted nothing more than to kill and maim the druid, the more logical part of her, the one that tried fiercely to remain in control, knew that attacking Nettie would not be beneficial in any way.

Instead, it would most likely only mean having to fight off an entire grove of already angry druids, who would have been even more angered by the loss of their only healer.

The tiefling refugees were also a complication - it quickly became obvious that there was no love lost between them and the druids, if the conversations that went on around them, and what had transpired earlier with Kagha were any indication.

In turn, however, it meant that they might have joined in to help the group, should a fight break out. Still, that did not mean the tieflings would have all been helpful, with many of them having never picked up a weapon in their life.

But, at the same time, they could have, just as easily, joined the druids instead, as an attempt to get into their good graces. An attempt which might have earned them the right to stay in the grove, instead of being forced to leave.

And ultimately, that would have meant being severely outnumbered, an event in which battle wits and knowledge would not have amounted to much in the face of sheer numbers. After all, even the fiercest of fighters could be taken down by a pitchfork, if the mob is determined enough.

So yes, she needed to focus, to try and talk her way out of the situation.

“I’m sorry, I truly am. But I can’t let you go. If you transform out there, you’ll kill everyone in the grove. Everyone for leagues around.” Nettie explained.

“The drow obviously didn’t transform, and I’m not showing symptoms. Surely you can see how that means there’s still time, that I won’t change either?”

Nettie looked at her, pondering what Syanna had just told her.

“Master Halsin did say the drow’s tadpole was dormant. Maybe yours is too.”

Syanna nodded, glad to use that new piece of information to her advantage.

“It most likely is. Like I said, there have been no symptoms. And I’m sure you already know that those grow worse with each passing day.” she looked towards the others, who confirmed her words as they nodded. “See? Everyone here who is also familiar with the subject knows this.” she continued to explain before playing her final card - sympathy, “In any case, I do just want a chance to find a cure.”

Nettie seemed deep in thought before eventually speaking again.

“All right. But on one condition.” she paused as she reached for appeared to be a vial. “This is a vial of wyvern poison. Swear to me you’ll swallow it if you feel any symptoms.”

Of course she would not be so easily convinced…

“Very well. Hand it over.” she agreed, with no intention whatsoever of using the poison.

“Swear it.”

Once again, Syanna wanted to roll her eyes at the druid.

But if one small lie is enough to get them all out of that situation, then so be it.

“If me, obviously agreeing to this isn’t enough, then fine. I swear.”

Nettie sighed, relieved.

“I hope it doesn’t come to that but…thank you. Here.” She handed over the vial of poison to Syanna before continuing, “You know, I’ve spent my life treating folk and never once saw a mind flayer infection. Then suddenly, there’s dozens of you - maybe more. Master Halsin and I were tracking them, studying them, trying to figure out what the hells was going on.”

“Seems risky.” Syanna noted.

“Yes, but we needed to know what was happening. Because you should all be changing - there should be a small army of mind flayers out there! But you’re not…you seem perfectly normal.”

“And did you? Learn something from studying them, I mean.”

Might as well learn what they could about their situation, now that spirits had been calmed, at least somewhat.

“Obviously you’re already familiar with this part, but mind flayers reproduce by infecting someone with their parasite. Seven gruesome days later, the victim transforms, and a new mind flayer is born. The thing in your skull, though? It’s different from anything in our records. It’s one of their worms, for sure. But this one seems to also give those infected with it powers - telepathic connections. And it doesn’t turn you into one of them. Not yet, anyhow.”

Well, hiding that information from her had certainly been pointless, seeing how she already knew what at least some of the tadpole’s effects were.

“All things considered, I suppose that’s good news.” Syanna mused.

“Could be, but there’s a lot we don’t know. Infected - folks like you - have been converging on an old temple of Selûne, and I’ve no idea why. When Master Halsin heard the adventurers were heading that way, he saw a chance to get answers. Joined them on the spot. Whatever he found there, he didn’t make it back.”

“Do you think he’s still alive?”

“I think so. I hope so. I’ve sent birds to find him, but they can’t get close without goblins trying to shoot them down.” Nettie looked at her, as if an idea struck her, “You, though? You’re one of them - technically speaking, I mean. They won’t kill someone carrying their parasite. If you can find Halsin and get him out of there, we can discover what he learned. And perhaps he can save your life. How’s that sound?”

“It sounds like you’re making a lot of assumptions that could kill me.” Syanna replied, her voice clipped.

“The way I see it, you have two options - Halsin, or that wyvern poison. I don’t envy your choice, truly. But this is the hand fate dealt you.”

Or the crèche, or a different healer, maybe even that woman, Ethel, that they had met on their way to the inner grove…Still, it would be better to play at this game for the time being. Or maybe they should look into that temple and what went on there as well. More information on their situation could have certainly been useful.

“Very well, I’ll see what I can do about finding Halsin.” she proposed, neither committing, nor outright declining.

“Thank you. It would mean everything to the grove. To me.”

Syanna couldn’t help but find it all ironic, hypocritical even as Nettie continued to speak.

“I wish I could tell you more, but only those adventurers know what happened out there. All I can say for sure is they all went to the old temple of Selûne and Master Halsin didn’t make it back. Good luck out there. And if things start to go bad - remember the vial. Remember your oath.”

“Pretty bottle, but I wouldn’t take wyvern poison, even if we do begin to turn.” Astarion commented, once they were out of hearing range, something which only amused Syanna.

“And what exactly makes you think I would?” she smirked.

Astarion looked at her, an air of mock indignation and shock already on his face. If he had any pearls, he probably would have been clutching them.

“You sly devil! Lying to save your own skin?” he then dropped the pretense, ”I think we’ll get along splendidly.”

“Won’t we just?” she replied, still amused by his reaction, “Although, let’s keep quiet about this while we’re still here. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather we didn’t provoke an entire grove of druids.”

He groaned at the sudden realization.

“You’re right, that would take hours to deal with.” Astarion said, making himself seem as exasperated and inconvenienced as possible by the idea, “ Let’s just go.” he then continued casually, “Although, that little incident did make me curious…what would you do if you did begin to change? Of course, first sign of it and I’ll have to stop that pretty little heart of yours.” he gestured towards her, as if to emphasize his point. “I am open to suggestions though - knives, strangulation, a different kind of poison - whatever you’d prefer.”

“Well, that’s just cruel, making me choose from so many good options.”

Astarion looked at her, his turn to be amused.

“That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think? Come on, humor me. If you had to choose…” he trailed off.

“If I had to, then I’d go with the knife. Make it quick and all that.”

“Ah, a classic! One good thrust to the heart and you’re gone! We need a good blade, of course. Don’t want to waste time hacking and prodding with a dinner knife…”

Syanna raised an eyebrow.

“You’re putting a surprising amount of thought into this.” she noted.

“I- well, I am getting ahead of myself. This is all a worst case scenario, obviously.”

She smiled, finding their entire exchange rather humorous.

“Obviously. In the spirit of preparedness then, what about you? How should I kill you in this little scenario?”

“Ha! Oh, my dear, I’d like to see you try.” he purred. “Now, shall we go? The sooner we find someone who can deal with our little…predicament, the better our chances of keeping this hypothetical, wouldn’t you say?”

“Actually, while we’re still here, I was thinking we could get more supplies and gear first, trade some of the goods we’ve found and don’t need, that sort of thing. So if there’s anything you want to get, now’s the time to do it.”

Astarion looked at her strangely for a moment, as if he wasn’t quite sure about something, before composing himself.

“Yes, of course. A spot of shopping sounds wonderful, actually.”

Once they had concluded their trading, and met back up with Lae’zel and Gale, the group went in search of Aradin and the others from his group. It seemed only natural, seeing as they had gone to the temple where others who had been infected were gathering. And where Halsin was last seen. And, especially advantageous for Zevlor and the other tieflings, where the leaders behind the attack on the grove were. It was also much closer than the mountain pass, so it seemed a worthwhile place to investigate, all things considered. But first things first, they would need as much information as possible on the place, before heading there.

Finally noticing Aradin, the group approached him.

“If it ain’t the fearless goblin slayers…You sure you want to be seen with me? I ain’t exactly popular with this lot.”

“I’m not too concerned about that.” was Syanna’s reply, “But I did want to ask you about what happened with the First Druid - I heard he left the grove with you?”

“Aye. His name’s Halsin, and if he’s still alive, he’ll be cursing the day he laid eyes on me. We’ve got a contract to track down some relic and he wanted in on the job. Eyes lit up when he heard about it. Didn’t work out, though. Goblins got him when we were turning tail. He’s either diggin’ latrines or boilin’ in a cookpot by now.”

“So you ran away from a few goblins, they followed and that’s how the attack happened?” she asked.

“Wasn’t no few goblins, mate. There’s an entire hive of ‘em. Contract failed to mention that part.”

“Well, getting rich isn’t the easiest thing to do, I suppose.”

“Hm, dunno what I expected. That much gold for some long-lost relic, and from a wizard too. I shoulda known.” he mused, “Gold probably turns to lead the moment you leave Baldur’s Gate. Stupid thing to die for.” he concluded.

“Seems that way.” Syanna nodded, “One more thing though - where is this temple?” she then asked.

“Itching to meet Kelemvor? I won’t stop you. I’d give you the map we had, and wish you a happy funeral, but my mate Brian kept hold of it like his own todger. Goblins made short of the fat old chunk.” he then stopped to grab something, “All I’ve got’s the contract. It’ll show you where we turned back, if you feel like dying.” he then handed her the contract itself.

Thanking him, the group then left.

The campsite had been a most welcome sight after the events of the day, with each one of them keeping themselves busy in one way or another.

Astarion had retreated to his tent, making himself comfortable on the stool he had found lying about at some point, book in hand, pretending to be absorbed by its contents, when in reality, he was watching the others.

Lae’zel had promptly claimed her own spot in camp and began to set up her own tent.

In the meantime, Gale had begun dinner preparations, eager to include the few ingredients they had been able to trade for while in the grove.

Syanna had improvised a desk out of a boulder that appeared flat enough to properly house maps of the area, papers and notebooks, as well as a few books and writing instruments. Sitting down on an old chair, she then began to look over the maps she had purchased from one of the grove’s merchants, most likely trying to come up with a route that made sense for the group to follow in the upcoming days.

Finally, Shadowheart had also gone back to her tent, which just happened to be out of sight from everyone else, affording her more privacy than the others.

Several hours passed in much the same manner, until Gale finally called the group to dinner, handing out bowls of stew to everyone. Once everyone was settled around the campfire, conversations naturally shifted towards what they would do next in the following days.

Lae’zel was the first to interject.

“It is as I said before - we must find the crèche where my people are. It is the only way to cure ourselves of the tadpole.”

Shadowheart clearly - and unsurprisingly - disagreed.

“Yes, because wandering the wilderness in search of this place is so much more preferable to the option that is much closer by, and just as promising.”

“By all means Shadowheart, do go after the empty promises of help that this druid can offer, if that is what you wish.”

Syanna interrupted the two women, lest the back and forth of jabs between them continue.

“Both options are promising, and the way I see it, we shouldn’t settle for investigating only one of the two.”

“Indeed, it would be most unwise to put all of our proverbial eggs into only one proverbial basket.” Gale agreed.

Nodding, Syanna continued.

“We obviously still don’t know the exact location of the crèche, or just how far away it is. That’s not the case with the goblin camp where Halsin is supposedly being held captive.” she looked at Lae’zel, who seemed ready to protest, “And yes, I’m aware that we don’t know for a fact whether he is still alive or not. But almost the same can be said about the crèche - we don’t know whether the Githyanki there will even be willing to help the rest of us, or if they will even still be there once we do find it.”

“It will not be deserted, that much I know.” Lae’zel countered, “A crèche is too important to abandon completely, as you seem to be implying. We will find my people there. And they will help you, but only if I ask.”

Syanna sighed. It sounded awfully close to an ultimatum.

“I’m not denying that possibility, I’m only saying that we can be practical about it and start with the option that’s closest and work our way from there.”

While obviously displeased, if the irritated ‘chk’ she let out was anything to go by, Lae’zel did relent in the end, although not without a warning.

“Very well. But take too long with this, and I will go to the crèche myself.”

And there was the ultimatum.

#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion fanfic #astarion fanfiction #astarion bg3 #astarion x durge #astarion x the dark urge #astarion x oc #durgestarion #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fic #my writing #my oc: syanna

27 notes · View notes

darin-nidk · 10 months ago

Text

Judas. | Emily &. Demon!Reader x Saint Peter.

Content: Emily took sides too quickly, Vaggie is suspicious. Saint Peter doesn't recognize this new (old?) angel and can't explain why he feels drawn to them.

In Hell, location: the Hazbin Hotel

"I still don't get it... Why would Emily side so quickly with us? With your cause?", Vaggie thought outloud as she laid down on the bed with her eye staring at the ceiling, before moving to rest on her side as she stared at Charlie who had been reading that story her mom would have ages ago as she was having trouble falling asleep. The Princess of Hell froze at her girlfriend's question, now looking at her eye.

She was right, Vaggie was much sharper than her when it came to important details, after all, her girlfriend was logical whereas she was emotional which is why they complimented each other — Charlie hadn't pondered on why Emily was so quick to side with her and her cause, stand up against Sera and promising to help as much as she could, dimissing the lingering threat over her head to get expelled from Heaven as an openly viewed ally. Charlie had been blinded by finally having one who wasn't a demon that she had entirely overlooked something so obvious.

The blond demon tried to come up with an answer, but none came to her mind — she gave a puzzled look at her girlfriend who gave an awkward yet understanding smile before sitting down on bed and getting closer to Charlie. "As a former angel, I didn't question orders and simply followed. I... I did feel guilty everytime an extermination took place, more often than not", Vaggie let out a heavy side at that, and Charlie couldn't resist but to hold onto her, pulling her closer so she'd be sitting sideways on her lap on their shared bed. The angel blushed faintly before she took a deep breath and continued her story. "I would let kids escape, I would try to turn an eye to those who seemed vulnerable and... What I mean is, I didn't have free will exactly, I didn't question things even if I felt like crap. But Emily had a different status, a higher one and much more strict so she... She shouldn't be this... I don't know, just, something's off, Charlie".

The pair of girlfriends exchanged a glance and held each other. Since the last extermination took place... They hadn't been back to Heaven. Much less now that Lute was running the show. So, all they could do, was wait, and try to keep a positive mindset while also working on a variety of defense and attack plans while taking into consideration all possible altering factors within and outside their control. As a precaution.

In Heaven, location: Emily's room

"Can you please keep quiet or tone it down?", Emily whispered-shouted as she helped her friend get dressed like all the other angels in Heaven. (Y/N) had been her best friend since they were alive, both were raised in a small church community and they used to have the same values until life happened, causing them to become two different people — (Y/N) had lost their way, and lost their faith unlike Emily who kept holding onto the church, studying the bible, volunteering at shelters and more selfless acts because she also had the luxury of a better economical background whereas (Y/N) didn't have that cushion. As bitter as they were at times, it hurt that those who had a deeply need to survive were the most motivated to study and do research on any and everything, to hone their abilities to impress and sometimes surrender themselves to poor treatments and toxic enviroments, a lack of support equals grapsing whatever opportunity lies before you and being indifferent on whether it will be harmful or not.

The 'angel' stood still as their friend helped them dress up accordingly, changing their make up, their nails, even shaving the necessary bits. Emily was trying to make (Y/N) look as clean, fresh and impeccable as she could to mimic the exterior of someone who belongs to Heaven. How did Emily sneak them? By using the remaining bits of the portal that had allowed Sir Pentious to access Heaven as a newly redeemed soul. "I have been meaning to somehow bring you here, you are like my family. No, you are my family and the reason why I want sinners to be able to prove they can redeem themselves...", Emily spoke in a soft tone, cupping the side of (Y/N)'s face and smiled at them, making them smile in return as they leaned onto her touch. "Even before Adam had given us that poor list of how to end in Heaven, you were worth Heaven. Fuck, you were better than Adam himself who was the epitome of humankind yet he was worst than a demon", their eyes widened at her venomous words and darkened expression of irrate. Somewhat paranoid, their (e/c) eyes looked around nervously as Emily's wings flapped behind her and she flew off the ground, circling (Y/N) to see if any detail of their outer appearance was amiss. Humming and even chirping happily at her work, she descended onto the ground again and squealed, holding their hands and spinning around. "Your disguise is perfect, (Y/N)! Gosh, I can't wait to show you Heaven and all that you mlssed".

Smiling at her, (Y/N) felt guilt bubbling within their chest as endless scenarios of what could go wrong went through their mind yet Emily reassured them that no matter the outcome, she'd be there for them. It was a lovely sentiment, but Emily wouldn't make it in Hell as far as (Y/N) did.

In Heaven, location: the library

"—I'm telling you, I don't know how he made it past the gates when that's literally my work", Saint Peter groaned, he was in Heaven's extensive library trying to find a logical explanation as to why Sir Pentious made it into Heaven without even crossing the Pearly Gates — yet nothing showed up thus far, nothing that could explain how this came to be or why this was the only record and proof of a sinner getting redeemed. Was he talking to the bored librarian that wanted him gone? Yes. Was he mostly thinking outloud? Also yes. His wings were flapping behind him, clearly showing the stress he was experimenting as he paced back and forth through the library's floor, yet he was pulled away from this spiral of what-ifs thoughts by the door creaking and different step patterns which indicated that two other angels had joined him, and the librarian.

"Ah, names? Okay Emily and... Sorry, could you repeat that? Assigning an old citizen to work here with hearing problems and poor memory was a questionable choice", the librarian spoke, slowly and bored at this interaction but chuckled faintly nonetheless. "Ah, (Y/N)? Can't say I heard that name, but then again... Angels rarely come here, only Saint Peter".

A name he was acquainted with, followed by a name he never heard, Saint Peter himself who greets those who make it past the Pearly Gates. What is going on?, he is supposed to know every soul that got here. Exasperated, he abruptly turned around and if it wasn't because he was on the ground and throwing a fit with only his wings flapping behind him, Saint Peter was sure he'd have faceplanted onto the ground at the sight of Emily and this unknown angel.

The unknown angel and Saint Peter had locked gazes for a long amount of time, making the librarian and Emily herself feel like the third and fourth wheel. Clearing her throat, Emily made the pair break eye contact and look flustered before she pressed her palm in between (Y/N)'s shoulderblades and pushed them before her, looking up at Saint Peter and gesturing a introduce yourself expression. If they passed Heaven's watchful eyes, the one in charge of letting souls pass and know everyone's name in Heaven, they could fool God.

"Hi", their voice barely above a whisper as they watched Saint Peter spread his wings and fly from where he stood to slowly descend before them, still looking in a trance of sorts as his face had a yellow blush present. "I'm (Y/N), I think one of your ah, collegues? The one in the current shift greeted me and told me to uhm, you know, introduce myself to you".

Saint Peter was familiar with falling in love, he did so back in Earth yet when he reunited with his former wife in Heaven, they didn't feel that initial connection nor the obligation to get involved in a romantic relationship, remaining amicable at best and acquaintences at worst. Whatever they had on Earth had evaporated, only a feeling of familiarity whenever they crossed paths and they carried on without interacting, not even a wave. But this..? Saint Peter never felt his heart beating this fast, this erraticaly... His face felt like burning, and his mouth felt dry as his blue eyes widened, memorizing each detail and feature of them, a beautiful, astonishing... "Uhm, hi?". Snapping back to reality as he tried to focus on whatever they said, Saint Peter reached down to hold their hand and shake it as a greeting, making their own face turn a reddish hue as they got flustered. Adorable, deliciously so.

"Hi! Yes, pleasure to meet you, welcome to Heaven, (Y/N). Shall I give you a tour?", blue eyes were practically sparkling at the prospective of spending (alone) time with them, but there was an increasing worry creeping from the back of his mind, what's this desire to monopolize them..? It was worrisome, the need to touch their hands for longer than he should have, to stand this close within their personal space.

If you like my stories, consider donating to my Ko-Fi! Even cents are plenty of help!

Y si hablas español, 'tonces no seas garca y dame $2 para honrar el billete que no esta en circulación y que ni siquiera es de colección a mi MP .

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #🧍 he speaks #hazbin hotel imagine #saint peter x reader

58 notes · View notes

darkdevasofdestruction · 2 years ago

Note

Hi there please could i get some relationship headcanons for Thor! Thanks you so much!!

Let's see what we can do~

⚡Thor is generally a quiet and apathetic person, caring mostly about fighting only and putting everything else on a second place.

⚡Still, he's not ignorant to the happiness that you bring him simply by being in his presence.

⚡Only around you, can he feel fully at ease and calm.

⚡Keeping his head on your lap, playing with his hair while you hum a lullaby or read him a book is one of the few things that can offer him bliss.

⚡He loves holding you in his arms - You're so small compared to him, he can't help but feel the burning need to protect you from any kind of harm.

⚡Though, realistically speaking, there is little harm that could reach you, considering nobody would be dumb enough to even think about attacking you, let alone do such a thing.

⚡He doesn't care much about Odin's opinion, but he's rather pleased when he mentions approving of you - Not that he'd change him opinion if he disapproved, but he might have started a war with his own father.

⚡Since he's so tall, he ends up putting you on his shoulders often, so you can see things from above - The horizon during twilight especially is a most beautiful sight to witness.

⚡He appreciates the sky during all phases of the day, and would like to lay on the grass next to you and just relax, watching the clouds pass by, or pointing out constellations at night.

⚡You're the only person he allows to touch his hair, and even braid and put flowers in it - He'd rather not have other people see him, but if they do and comment something that might upset you, well... They're dead. He'd prefer to avoid the erasure of a whole pantheon though. He doesn't much like to subject you to too much bloodshed.

⚡He wants to make sure you live a happy, fulfilling and peaceful life.

⚡That's also why he hardly ever argues with you - He'd rather remain silent or agree with you, rather than confront you about something. Usually, there's barely anything worthy of fighting over, so he diverts the subject or just does whatever he wants regardless.

⚡But when he votes against mankind, and he sees you bursting into sobs, getting out of the council, he feels upset that he spurred such emotions in you, when he only ever wants to make you smile.

⚡He explains that he holds nothing against humans and just wants to see if humanity has any warrior worth fighting, but it doesn't console you at all - His whims might destroy billions of innocent lives.

⚡He just sighs, not sure how to deal with this situation, and leaves, hoping you would calm down on your own.

⚡Thor never expected to be challenged so such a degree, let alone injured, by a mere human - No, a friend, Lu Bu, the most powerful warrior that China ever had. After their fight, Thor had such respect for him and his allies, that he decided that, whichever side wins, he would impose the safety of humanity, in his honour.

⚡As he exited the arena, he feels two tiny arms holding him in a weak embrace, and you crying in his chest, telling him how worried you were about him and what not.

⚡He was moved that you still loved him so much, even despite his contrary decision during the voting, and he knelt to your level, pulling you in a strong hug and kissing your forehead, reassuring you that he'd fight all the Gods to honour the man he just fought.

⚡He wasn't one of the Norse protectors of Mankind for nothing.

⚡Though seeing you cry, especially because of him, only reinforced the idea that he never wants to see you upset or in distress ever again. You are far too precious for him.

⚡Kisses with Thor are mostly gentle, because he's so strong that he fears hurting you, even though you're a Goddess like him. He's so used to destroying everything in a single touch, that being tender is a bit odd for him.

⚡He gets used to it quickly though, and he likes it.

⚡But more than that, he loves your soft hands caressing his face so lovingly, and how you managed to steal quick pecks from him. It was adorable.

⚡You're probably the only person to whom he would engage in small talk, or would tell random stories about his past, his fights and whatever other things he finds worth sharing.

⚡And though speaking of his feelings is not a subject he cares about, you may be able to occasionally hear him say a whispery confession, when he's sure you're asleep in his arms.

#record of ragnarok imagine #record of ragnarok x reader #record of ragnarok #ror #ror x reader #ror imagine #shuumatsu no valkyrie #shuumatsu no valkyrie imagine #shuumatsu no valkyrie x reader #thor #shuumatsu no walkure #ror thor #record of ragnarok thor #thor record of ragnarok #shuumatsu no valkirye #shuumatsu no valkyrie thor

350 notes · View notes

estrellami-1 · 1 year ago

Text

If I Should Stay

Part 1 | . . . | Part 42 | Part 43 | Part 44

They do eventually get their waffles. Steve had brought her to his favorite diner, even though it’s a little farther away, and the payoff is almost immediate. El gets a waffle the size of her face that’s absolutely smothered in whipped cream and chocolate chips. She digs in with a ferocity that almost scares Steve as he tucks into his own breakfast-for-dinner.

A sudden thought occurs to him, and he leans in to speak to El. “El?”

She looks up at him, eyebrows raised, cheeks puffed like a chipmunk. He chuckles. “Maybe try taking smaller bites. Your waffle’s not gonna run away.” He grins when she swallows and grins at him. “I’m gonna call the house real quick. D’you wanna stay here, or come with me?” He points to the phone tucked into the corner of the diner, in clear view of their booth.

She twists her napkin in her hands, then almost nervously looks at him. “With you?”

“Okay,” he agrees easily. “D’you wanna talk to anyone?”

She shakes her head. “I just wanna stay by you.”

“That’s okay,” Steve promises her. “Ready?”

She nods, and together they stand, moving towards the phone.

He dials the number and waits, widening his eyes comically at El until she giggles.

The phone goes to voicemail, which he expected, so he sing-songs into the receiver, “Hello, it’s me, Robbie, pick up please!”

“Steve!” She gasps after a click and a cacophony of noises that has him wincing and pulling the phone away from his ear a little. El giggles again at that. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Practicing with El at the junkyard. Now we’re getting waffles at Jackie’s.”

Robin groans, and he grins. “Steve! You traitor! That’s my favorite!”

“Robin.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re being dramatic.”

She gasps. Dramatically. “I am reacting appropriately to something of this magnitude, Steven!” She hisses, but she can’t hide the smile in her voice. God, Steve loves her so much.

“We’re okay, Robs,” he says quietly, like somehow it’ll say everything he wants to.

Based on the way she gets quiet, too, Steve thinks she knows exactly what he means. “I’m glad.”

“We’re gonna finish eating then go practice a little more. We’ll be home after that, before sundown. Promise.”

“I’m holding you to that. I will find your nailbat and bring it if I have to.”

“Jokes on you,” he says, “I already have it.”

“Fine, then I’ll bring Nancy and her guns,” Robin responds. “And probably Wayne. The guy’s really cool. And he can shoot.”

Steve chuckles. “How’s he holding up?”

Robin sighs. “About as well as can be expected. Better, actually, I think. I think maybe at this point he’s seen so much shit that nothing surprises him anymore.”

Steve snorts. “I know how that feels.”

She hums, distracted. “Sure,” she says, then addresses Steve. “Alli wants to talk to you.”

“Okay.”

“Hey, Bubba,” comes next, and he’s smiling before he realizes it.

“Hey, Al. How’re you feeling?”

“Fine. Terrified. Pissed off. Ready to tear him apart with my bare hands.”

“I think if we’d had you last time, we would’ve won.”

“Oh, definitely,” she says flippantly. “Listen, Bubba, can I offer you some advice?”

“Sure.”

“You and Eddie. Whatever you are, whatever you want to be. Don’t wait, okay? Say something. Tonight, preferably. Just- we’re all gonna make it, I know we are. But I don’t want you to regret not saying something when you could’ve.”

Steve’s heart clenches, and he tugs El in gently to envelop her in a one-armed hug. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I will. Promise.”

“M’kay. Love you, Bubba. Be safe.”

“Love you. I will.”

The line goes dead, and he places the phone back on the hook.

“Steve?” He looks down at her. “Are you okay?”

He chuckles roughly. “Ask me again tomorrow, kiddo.”

They finish their food—El cleans her plate so thoroughly Steve is convinced she must’ve snuck away to wash it, and tells her so, resulting in another giggle—and head back out to the junkyard. “We don’t have much time,” he tells her as he parks again. “I told Robin we’d be home before dark. But this should be enough time to practice a little more. Whatever you felt earlier, whatever was in your chest keeping you company. Try to find it again, and draw from it, okay?”

“Okay,” she murmurs, looking out over the cars again.

He looks, too, and thinks he sees something, but by the time his eyes pan over the spot again, it just looks like a car. He plays it off as nerves and a trick of the setting sun and does his best to relax, so he’s not interrupting El at all.

He keeps his eyes peeled, and contemplates grabbing his bat from the trunk, but ultimately decides against it. He doesn’t think the demodogs would come out during the day.

Suddenly a demodog jumps on top of a car in front of them, and another appears to their left as two appear to their right, and Steve has time to think, famous last words, before it all goes to shit.

Permanent Taglist: @justforthedead89 @ilovecupcakesandtea @madigoround @bookbinderbitch @suddenlyinlove @nburkhardt @artiststarme @paintsplatteredandimperfect @i-less-than-three-you @alyelf @quarble @messrs-weasley @littlewildflowerkitten @vankaar @starman-jpg @bornonthesavage @steddie-there @goodolefashionedloverboi @andienotannie @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @platinum-sunset @just-ladyme @steddiestains @swimmingbirdrunningrock @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @martinskis-lydias @notaqueenakhaleesi @sleepyboosstuff @bestwifehaver @m-owo-n @thatonebadideapanda @finalmoondragon @velocitytimes2 @callmeanythjing @ajeff855 @ilikeititspretty @knitsforthetrail @sillysparrow @that-one-corvid @ace-is-bored @muricel @harpymoth @weirdandabsurd42

Fic Taglist: @blondlanfear @do-you-want-something-more @str4wb3rry-guy @paperbackribs @ninjapirateunicorns @bisexualdisastersworld @hiscrimsonangel @lolawonsstuff @xo-r4e @thedragonsaunt @l0st-strawberry

#stranger things #if I should stay #steve harrington #el hopper #el and Steve are siblings #adopted. but still #also just in case it’s not obvious. yes Steve is doing his best to make El laugh in the restaurant #robin buckley #platonic stobin #what’s the word for a man-crush but you’re a lesbian and also a lot younger than the man in question?#because that’s Robin with Wayne #Allison Harrington #starambles

115 notes · View notes

yandere--stuck · 2 years ago

Note

As much as I love D'arce and want only the best for her, seeing her struggle with her love for her Obsession and her "love" for Le'garde would be so fucking funny fr

(Tbh I don't think she actually LOVES Le'garde(or maybe I just really hate him), it's more of a situation where she forces herself to have feelings for him. Anyways, D'arce is a girl boss and I love her)

No dw I agree Le'garde is so sucks </3 I think she probably likes the idea of the guy or the image of him she built up in her head but it turns out he's super shitty 😔

---

It would be difficult for D'arce, realizing that the further down she descends into darkness of the dungeons, so too does she delve deeper into her growing affection for you. Upon your first meeting, even, it was like sliding your hand into a specially made gauntlet. The perfect fit. The perfect pair.

Though she held the soul of domination and the rest of your allies saw her as team captain, D'arce found herself deferring to you. It was just so easy. As easy as breathing, even. Acting out your orders, shadowing your movements, heading your every word. Almost like how she felt with…

Le'garde. He was alive. Alive, but tortured and beaten and bloody, and with very little memory of himself and the life he lived. D'arce should be happy. Overjoyed. Falling to her knees and crying as she embraced her captain.

But, there was barely anything. As if whatever emotions she should have felt only barely sparked within her and fizzled out before they could burst.

She met her captain's eyes, and there was recognition. And there it was - a small bit of warmth inside her. A smile made its way to her face. Maybe… Maybe she was overthrowing this. Or just in shock. And, well, the fact that in the time you spent down in the dungeons, D'arce had spoken with you much more than she ever had with Le'garde, at least in terms of personal matters. You spent downtime and guard shifts for your sleeping allies whispering anecdotes of times long passed, swapping rations over stories of your home and childhood and how you came to this place, holding back laughter as you shared some ale.

It felt like she had known you for lifetimes. And now, it was as if it'd been lifetimes since she last saw Le'garde. And what shone blindingly in the sun now seemed a bit dim and dull in the dark.

"I… Th- there's something down there," Le'garde insisted, pointing to a door that was just visible behind a veil of shadow. "I must get it. Then, then we can leave."

"Le'garde, we must leave," she implored.

"Please," Le'garde grasped her hands in his own. "I need this."

D'arce couldn't look him in the eyes. Instead, she turned to you and the others. Cahara and the girl were clearly anxious to leave while Ragnvaldr and Enki showed clear signs of irritation. But, you…

Despite your fear and exhaustion, you told her, "Wherever you go, D'arce, I'll follow."

She felt as if she should be the one saying that to you. A smile lit up her face and it takes her a moment to realize she needed to make the choice.

"Real quick, right?" She hesitated before nodding to Le'garde. "And then we can go?"

"I… Believe so. I don't remember."

—

She fell back into her role as Le'garde's right hand - but now, it felt wrong. Suffocating. Unnatural. She let him lead her down further, she followed him through the ancient, impossible city underneath everything. Because of her, you found yourselves within a Grand Temple. And that's when Le'garde let his facade drop.

She had let Le'garde trick her.

You were all wounded, some starving, some missing limbs. D'arce had led you further and further into this hellhole. This was all his fault.

"You don't understand. You couldn't understand, this is so much bigger than you," Le'garde approached the Throne of Ascension. "I must do this."

"You said you couldn't remember…" The Knight mumbled.

"You fucking liar!" Ragnvaldr roared like an animal, both Cahara and Enki barely able to hold the Outlander back.

D'arce's gaze flitted to you, only to look away when your eyes met. Instead, she looked to the girl, who peeked out from behind you, clutching at the fabric of your shirt. She looked upon Le'garde with an unreadable expression.

"D'arce, I'm sorry." The man said.

"You lied to me."

"I don't expect you to understand," he sighed, then made his way for the throne.

D'arce couldn't move. The world felt as if it was breaking apart around her. Everything she knew to be truth was all lies. Le'garde, captain of The Knights of The Midnight Sun, noble and fair and strong and true. Like a god in man's skin.

The false prophet. The false god.

D'arce gritted her teeth, shaking with rage. She white-knuckled the sword in her grip. She-

"No!" Your voice cried and D'arce gasped as she watched you fly across her vision. She whipped her head to follow, body as tense as wound-spring as you made a mad grap for Le'garde. Scrambling for a hold, you tugged the man away.

Le'garde nearly fell, before righting himself as he swiveled around to sneer at you, lips pulled back to bear his teeth. His hands fumbled for his sword.

"I won't let you take this from me!" He screamed, raising his sword with a flourish. D'arce watched, eyes wide and unblinking as you panicked and went still in shock.

She didn't even realize what had happened. It was instantaneous. Instinctual. One second she was watching you, and in the next, her sword was sticking through her former captain's neck. Droplets of blood began to coat and run down the metal of her sword. The man's eyes were wide and scared, sparkling with betrayal. Gurgle escaped his throat, either attempting to speak or already beginning to slowly drown in his own blood.

And she felt nothing. Just another casualty in this place. In the name of her leader. Her savior. Her living god. You.

In a flash, she swiftly pulled the sword from Le'garde, letting him fall to the ground as blood shot from neck. D'arce simply stepped away as blood began to pool at her feet. She turned to your group.

Meeting Ragnvaldr's eyes, she crossed one arm across her chest and gestured to the man on the floor. "You can take care of the rest, if you desire."

The Outlander was still for a moment, before shaking himself out of his shock, approaching the man as he shook with barely restrained rage, moving to straddle him and making Le'garde wheeze and bubble with pain and pressure.

D'arce turned away. Sounds of pain and fist meeting flesh echoed in the temple. But she didn't look away because the idea pained her, no. Le'garde simply was nothing to her now. She'd get nothing, not even pleasure, out of his painful death.

The others… Enki seemed slightly amused, a smirk on his lips as he ogled the beating. Cahara was across the room, shielding the girl's eyes and ears as best he could as he waited to depart. Apparently, the money wasn't worth it anymore. And you…

"D'arce!" You surged forward to embrace her.

You embraced her. Your arms around her, face pressing against her chest plate. If not for her armor, you could hear her heartbeat. She was euphoric. Filled with light. If this wasn't proof of your holiness, what could be?

"You saved me. You saved my life."

Of course. Of course she did. She is your knight, after all. Your knight. Your right hand. Your most devoted soldier. She loved you. She'd do anything, everything for you.

"I want to go home," you admitted. Tears collected within your eyes, stinging your cheeks.

D'arce nodded. She parted from you, only to slowly, with shaky hands, raise up to cup your face. She held you gently, like you were the precious, most fragile treasure in the world.

"Wherever you go, I'll follow." She promised.

151 notes · View notes

goldeneyedgirl · 5 months ago

Note

okay so since you asked here goes my main questions about Deaf Mary Alice: how was her relationship with Maria? Was she softer with her or tried to protect her in any way? Or did Jasper tried to protect Mary Alice from her? Also, was she and Charlotte and Peter friends? Did they talk to her like Jasper did?

And for what you said about Jasper not knowing how to act with her, since when I read the first snippet, I pictured him trying hard to be gentle (maybe because he had this misogynistic 19th century idea that she was a poor fragile little deaf girl) but really he doesn't know how to do that. It's like a baby monkey trying to solve a complex math problem. What I got from your last snippet (which I loved so much btw!!!) is that he didn't know if she would survive anywhere else.

But this is only my nonsese. I hope I got it right and I'd be the happiest with whatever you come up with because, again, this verse just touches my heart in a way I can't even explain, it's crazy the power that fanfiction holds

Oh I LOVE questions like these. Buckle up, I decided to ramble.

Maria

Maria's a complicated figure in Mary-Alice's life. Initially, she's tolerant of Mary-Alice - what's the point of killing her on the spot when she could be sent into battle as canon fodder? Free newborn without three days of screaming? Maria isn't going to say no.

Maria's been around a long time and she's seen vampires adapt to almost any circumstance. A deaf vampire is a new flavour, but not an insurmountable one.

So when Mary-Alice not only learns to fight with the other newborns, but makes her through her first few battles in one piece, Maria is suitably taken with her. She's completely useless for scouting, and not particularly helpful with hunting for the army, but she's a powerhouse on the battlefield, and a quick study at battle plans. Maria definitely suspects there might be some kind of gift at work.

But also on that side of the coin is that Maria accepted Mary-Alice into the army, and kept her after the newborn year. That's effectively claiming Mary-Alice as one of her own creations, which is about as affectionate as Maria gets towards her soldiers.

And Maria has a hard time dealing with Mary-Alice's positivity. She's so clearly pleased to be amongst them, and is loyal to them, that being nasty or violent towards her is kind of futile. It makes more sense when Mary-Alice can communicate enough to explain that she has no memories of her life or change. Maria might have an ounce more patience with Mary-Alice than hearing vampires, and she ends up carrying a flashlight to get Mary-Alice's attention urgently in battle situations, but that's about the most grace she gives her until Jasper leaves.

That's when Maria kind of promotes her, gives her more privileges, because she knows exactly how much of Mary-Alice's life relied on Jasper translating for her. It gets harder, the more time goes on, because Maria does not have the inclination to teach anything more than basic commands in sign language to newborns once a year, and the newborns often aren't interested.

Ultimately, Maria lets Mary-Alice leave for various reasons: officially, she's become a liability because no one can communicate with her effectively, and deserves a reward for her staunch loyalty to Maria's cause. Kind of a PR stunt with the rest of Maria's soldiers.

Unofficially, Maria realises that she's made mistakes in the past with her people, and she's learned from that. It would be nice if one of her people left the army considering Maria a friend and ally. It's also a gesture of peace and goodwill to Jasper - Maria took care of Mary-Alice, the person that Jasper prized most in the army. Now that he's healed and in a place Maria deems acceptable, Mary-Alice is following him.

Does that make sense? I hope so.

Peter & Charlotte.

Both Peter and Charlotte can speak to Mary-Alice, not as fluently as Maria, but Jasper really is the only person who can converse with Mary-Alice without her having to resort to lip-reading at some point. Peter is far more fluent than Charlotte.

Peter has a far better relationship with this version of Mary-Alice. She follows Jasper around like a puppy, and Jasper's somehow both embarrassed and kind of flattered by it. Most of the newborns were too frightened of the Major to hit on him, and here's Mary-Alice just trotting along at his side.

Peter and Mary-Alice joke with each other a lot, tease each other a lot, and competed a lot in training. The most you could say is that Mary-Alice was pissed that Peter picked a fight with Jasper the night he and Charlotte left because if Peter had used his damn words, Jasper probably would have let them go.

Peter's the first one to realise that Jasper's caught feelings when they're figuring out sign language, and he kind of just leaves it alone - but he definitely works double-time in battles to make sure Mary-Alice stays alive, and protects her from other newborns that see her as an easy target.

Charlotte doesn't get as much time with Mary-Alice, but sees her as some kind of magic - she caught Jasper and Mary-Alice together in her newborn year, and the way he went all soft and kind when she spoke to him. And then it's Mary-Alice who tells Peter that he needs to take Charlotte and go North as soon as possible. It's Mary-Alice who intercepts the fight between Jasper and Peter when they do try to leave.

Peter is the one that asks Maria if they can take Mary-Alice to Jasper. He's willing to negotiate, and he's kind of surprised that Maria agrees as easily as she does. Kind of a full-circle 'she got them out safe, so they returned the favour'.

If something were to happen to Jasper, Peter would insist that Mary-Alice leave the Cullens and join him and Charlotte. (That's not a spoiler; just kind of the dynamic Peter has with Mary-Alice.)

Jasper.

Jasper was exactly like a monkey trying to do algebra. Not once since he was changed did he have to be gentle. Everyone was terrified of him aside from Peter and Maria. By 1919, the only time he touches anyone is to destroy them. And he's so, so tired.

And Mary-Alice just looks at him and smiles. There is immediate trust there, and he has no idea what to do with that. He's doubtful Maria will even let her live if she can't hear. But Maria does, and he's put in charge of communicating with her. Suddenly, he's spending hours with this girl who has no fear of him. Who will grab him to point at something, whose face lights up when he returns from boundary runs. And the only thing he feels like he can offer her is to build her a language and train her to fight like the devil. The first scar she ever gets from a bite, she literally laughs and tells him they match now.

She forces him to remember how to be a man and not just an executioner, and it's hard. He does everything he can not to care but he does so, so much.

Jasper leaves her behind for two reasons; one is the depression. He's holding on by the skin of his teeth. He's barely making it through battles himself, he cannot protect her any longer. And then there's the fact that the North is a total unknown. Maria has always doubled-down on the idea that it's worse than the South, that it's a full death wish to leave Texas. He always thought Peter and Charlotte were destroyed when they left. But when Peter comes back, he's willing to take the chance on Peter's promises that it's safer and better - but only for himself.

The idea he could take Mary-Alice with him and get her killed, or have her harmed in any way, made him sick. He had no idea what he was running to, so he was going to leave the one person he loved best with Maria, the one person who knew how to survive no matter what. And he made this decision in about a minute, because Peter was begging him to just run.

The only thing Jasper ever really wanted was to keep the girl that looked at him like he was everything she ever hoped for safe, even if that meant he had to leave her behind.

Anon, I run with every little thing. You can just hit me with a question and I will get out my diagrams and pinboards and all my notes. I love getting into the details so much.

And I am genuinely touched that this little riff has had such an impact on you. I love trying out new stuff, especially things that make Twilight a little bit more diverse and nuanced than canon. Trust me when I say a lot of my weird little snippets and verses wouldn't continue without people who were invested in them <3

#my fic: deaf mary-alice #alice cullen #jasper hale #jalice #maria goes to calgary to test the cullens more than anything else #jasper's still in the full PTSD spiral and in no state to have mary-alice join him when the cullens won't be able to communicate with her #she's a scary fighter and wickedly calculating but has the self-preservation instincts of a daffodil when jasper's around #maria's honestly not sure what the cullens would do with a disabled vampire because she's heard rumours carlisle associates with the voltur #and if there's one thing maria does know it's that aro and caius - mostly caius - do not tolerate deviations from the norm #if they've destroyed vampires for having inconvenient gifts there's a chance they'll destroy one who didn't turn out 'correctly'#maria's self-serving but she wouldn't let one of her people be executed for 'existing incorrectly' according to the italians

13 notes · View notes