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itsthesinbin · 1 year ago

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Blood Drunk (Thranduil/Vampire!Reader)

Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit got me in a fucking Vice lately.

if i forgot a warning lmk and ill add it

Warnings: Blood drinking, alluding to addiction (very minor and more as a metaphor than real addiction), vampire biting, reader is GN but bottoms, Elven blood is a minor aphrodisiac/drug to vampires, high sex

Do not read or interact if you are under 18!

If you like it, reblog and/or give me some feedback :3

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You've learned a few things since ending up here. The sun left you just as weak as it did back home, for one. For two, vampires weren't well known at all- the only person that had known anything about blood-feasting creatures was a strange wizard's Elvish companion. For three, the races' blood tasted different.

Human blood was the same across worlds, except for a very select few. Rich, although affected by things like diet or disease. You avoided very small villages, as peasants tended to be more tired and anemic more often than not.

The wizard's blood was unique. It left you charged. Energized. But too much would make you physically sick. The magic in his veins burned you from the inside out if it was too concentrated, so you only fed from him in emergencies.

Dwarvish blood was... compact was the best way to put it. Absolutely bursting with excess iron and more filling than humans. It almost left you ill afterwards- like the night of Thanksgiving when you decided that third helping of dinner was necessary. You had thirteen chances to see how Dwarvish blood would affect you, and it was the same every time. You had to learn to drink carefully.

Hobbits were tricky to feed from. With how small they were, you had to treat them like feeding from a child. Only in small doses- a supplement, not a meal. You've only fed off of one, and he was a fidgety thing. Got woozy very easily as well.

And Elves... were intoxicating. You had only drank from one once, when you arrived. It left you nearly drunk, or high. You never told the wizard, but you craved another taste. Especially since becoming close with the Elven king, Thranduil. It was a test, every time you needed to feed.

Normally, you'd leave Mirkwood once a month to travel to the newly-rebuilt city of Dale- or even make the trek to Erebor- to get your fill and bring back a few spare vials of blood. Your Elven partner knew of your condition, as did a few trusted friends in Dale and in the Mountain, and he would offer some of his own. You never accepted, however much you wanted to.

Now, however, the Greenwood was struck with a harsh storm that had been raging for a couple days. It wasn't lightening, either. You were getting hungry, and it was making you ill. It was making your lover worry.

"Why will you not just feed from me?" he asked finally, sitting at your side as you rubbed your tired eyes. You sighed slightly as he grasped your cold hand. It was colder than usual. He scowled to himself, taking your hand in both of his in an attempt to warm your long-undead skin.

"I react to Elven blood differently than I do the other races, I've learned. I don't... want you to see me in such a state," you admitted. He didn't respond, but he pulled your hand up to plant a kiss on your hand.

"I would rather see you in a state-" a kiss on your wrist "- than ill and starving". His lips trailed a bit further up your arm in an attempt to persuade you. You shuddered slightly. Normally, Thranduil would feel a bit of heat from your skin at such an act, but the lack of blood left you cold even while flustered. It scared him.

"Please, love," he murmured against your skin. You finally turned to him, looking at him worriedly.

"Promise you won't think ill of me- I might not be able to keep myself together". He reached over and stroked your cheek with his knuckles. His mouth upturned into the smallest smile.

"I will understand". You were hesitant, but didn't have much choice. There were no non-Elven guests in Thranduil's realm at the moment, and you had no idea when this storm would let up before you started getting really ill- and feral. You squeezed Thranduil's hand as he helped you stand and led you to your chambers.

As soon as the door shut out the prying eyes and ears, Thranduil sat down in a chair near the fireplace. He had dreamed of this- wanting to know what it was like to be drained by his dear vampire. He would see you drink from the Dwarves, or Bard, and scowl at the fact they didn't seem in pain. In the cases of some, they seemed to enjoy it more than they should.

You knelt in front of him, grabbing his wrist and turning his palm up toward you. You ran your thumb over his smooth, pale skin. You'd almost think him another of your kind, if not for the inhuman warmth Elves had. All the people here were so warm, even compared to the humans back home. It was jarring.

You pressed the sharp nail of your thumb to his flesh and dragged. Thranduil gave the smallest inhale, the only indication he felt anything. A quick glance up at him showed you that he was fine. His gaze was intense, as it always was, but this time there was a fascination in his eyes. He had seen you drink, of course- he almost always came with you during your feeds to ensure your safety- but never experienced it.

You lowered your eyes back to the new cut on his hand, your own pointed ears flicking back at the sight of the small droplets of blood that bubbled to the surface. Your tongue ran over your lips as you eyed his hand like a beast starved. Your thumbs pressed against the sides of his palm, drawing more out, as your mouth met his skin. The taste of iron filled you and you almost moaned with delight. You let your eyes slip shut, savoring the taste- and the moment.

Thranduil, however, was entranced. You knelt before him in almost reverence, drinking him in to the most literal degree. The slice on his palm stung, but feeling your mouth on him- your tongue sliding along the wound to not waste anything- was intimate. He felt his breath quicken ever so slightly, his head beginning to swim a bit from the... eroticism of it all. He never thought he'd enjoy it this much. But it was hard not to enjoy you.

The Elven blood began to take effect as you drank more, and your body relaxed. You pulled away when you were satisfied and stared at him with half-lidded eyes. You dragged your tongue up his palm in a more... provocative manner, causing him to stiffen. Your saliva had minor healing qualities and would help the blood clot and the wound seal faster, so you always licked the wounds after you finished.

"Have I ever told you how pretty you are," you muttered, sliding your hand up his arm and pushing the sleeve up. Your thumb followed a vein along his arm, threatening to cut it open. Despite the haze settling in your mind, your hand was as steady as ever. Thranduil couldn't help but smirk, amused at the sudden flirtation.

"Only in the dead of night, when you think me asleep," he responded. You slowly released him, only to climb into his lap. You were tall for a human, but he was still taller. You straddled his lap, a faint purr rumbling throughout your chest. His hands settled on your hips.

"Have I ever told you how much I wish to mark that pretty neck?" Thranduil's eyes widened a touch. You were always a bit reserved with such things- never wanting to accidentally draw blood and "partake" and end up scaring him off. Not that much would truly scare him away. If anything, this side of you was thrilling. Perhaps he should have tried harder to convince you in the past to feed from him.

Your hand trailed from his chest and to his shoulder. Then up the side of his neck, following where you knew an artery was. He shivered at the press of your claws to his skin. You could easily kill him- rip his throat out in a moment of passion and he'd not be able to stop you at that point. Maybe that was part of the thrill.

Your lips met his in a somewhat sloppy manner- rough and uncoordinated. He returned it with the grace only an Elf had, tilting your head further toward him. You let out a loud, unashamed moan. His ears perked at the sound.

You pressed flush against him, pressing quick kisses down his cheek and jaw. Then he felt your fangs sink into his neck. He let out a sharp breath, grasping your hips out of instinct. This time you didn't hold back the noise of pleasure when his blood touched your tongue. Your hand grasped the other side of his neck and held him in place.

The sharp pinch of your fangs hurt, but then Thranduil began to see why the others would always seem so at ease afterward. Something spread through him, urging him to relax. Urging him to feel good. It turned from pain to pure pleasure, and even he couldn't hold back the groan that rose from his throat. His head dropped back against the chair, exposing more of his skin to you.

"How I've longed for a taste of your blood," you rasped, voice heavy with lust and pleasure. Your chest heaved. You tilted his head further to the side, laving your tongue against the wounds your fangs left behind. You rolled your hips, grinding against him. He was harder than he'd like to admit.

Normally, you'd take each others' clothes off like normal people. But you were fully blood-drunk off of him. Instead, you hooked your claws into the collar of his shirt and dragged them down, slicing through the material easily. You saw his eyes widen and knew in the back of your mind you'd hear it later, but for now you hardly cared.

You barely took the time to pull your own trousers down enough to free yourself, and did the same to your stunned partner. You ground against him, snapping him out of his daze and making his hips buck. You dragged your fangs down the other side of the king's neck, biting down as you slid onto his length. He let out a breathy moan.

You didn't bother waiting and set yourself into a good, if uneven, rhythm. Thranduil could feel your strength returning, the heat of Elven blood finally rushing through you. If he didn't know better, he would have thought another of his kind was bouncing on his lap.

Your claws raked down his chest, leaving welts in their wake and drawing a near desperate noise from the usually stoic Elf. You growled deeply against his throat. Animalistic and needy. Thranduil began to feel lightheaded in the most pleasurable way possible.

He had shifted slightly, trying to sit forward, only to have you shove his shoulders back with inhuman strength. He grunted as you raised your head. You looked at him akin to a wild animal. His blood stained your lips and your eyes nearly glowed in the firelight. You were terror. You were death incarnate. You were beautiful.

You were his.

In that moment, you were addicted to him. He could see it in the way you gazed at him. The way you pulled yourself toward him for a searing kiss laced with iron. The way your hips sped up and stuttered as you chased your pleasures. His hips bucked up to meet yours and you moaned into his mouth. Neither of you were going to last.

Whether it was from the erotic display you gave him, or from the new sensations of being so lightheaded and having his very blood drained from him, he was the first to crumble under the pleasure. He moaned lowly, dragging your hips down as he came hard enough to make him dizzy. Although, that wasn't as hard of a feat as it would normally be, he supposed.

You weren't far behind. Your head was thrown back in rapture as a snarl left your throat. Thranduil shivered as you released around him. You ground your hips down to draw out as much pleasure from you both as you could. You moaned, pulling him into one last kiss. Now satisfied, you were beginning to calm down from an insatiable need to a pleasant buzz.

You had enough of a mind to get up and clean you both off, and he managed to get to the bed nearby without falling over. You purred as you climbed into bed with him, laying on his chest. You then, promptly, passed out on top of him now that you were full and satiated. He was surprised when you began snoring almost as soon as your face hit his chest.

He laughed to himself, a little bewildered, as he smoothed your hair back. His neck began to feel stiff from the bite marks, but he'd have the healers deal with it tomorrow. For now, he was exhausted. He was more than happy to fall asleep, now that everything was taken care of.

He'd have to ask you to feed from him again, however, now that he knew what it would entail.

#the hobbit #thranduil #thranduil x reader #nsft #blood

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emerysnonsense · 1 year ago

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Ooof okay time to write the absolute essay that is our DND session today. One of our players couldn’t make it today though but we didn’t cancel or push since they pulled out so last minute.

Especially since we already bought snacks and stuff for it so we proceeded with super long DND session. But we had a guest person to play a character for part of it as well so that was fun. It went for like 5-6 hours so this is gonna be an extra long essay

Okay very not sure where I left off when I last went through and explained a session but basically we’re in the town where the princes castle is and the party was planning to leave this morning but the night before(this was the end of the previous session so it actually lined up pretty well for having to exclude their character for the session) Kaci ran off to the tree and got super hecking drunk and passed out there. We all set out to go find em with the prince going to the tree and Rhea and Ali going into town to see if he’s in the market. Now start of this campaign we go to the prince funding Kaci stupid drunk and passed out cold and he stays there to watch Kaci. Back with Ali and Rhea we go out into the town and see it’s busier then yesterday and people seem to be setting up for a festival or something. Rhea goes and asks someone what’s going on and we’re told that today is the chosen hero festival, something that at least in this city happens only once every hundred years(it’s mainly elves so not actually too long for em). We’re told it’s to celebrate the hero who will unite all the countries and everyone and bring peace and all that. It’s kinda to also go and hope that the hero will be born in their own country so that they can raise the hero right and prepare them for the prophecy and all that

We eventually run into the drunk people Kaci sat with for a bit and they tell us he might’ve said something bout a tree and then they left to get more booze.

So Ali and Rhea go and try and head out of town to get to the tree so they can check on Kaci and the prince. But festival and people so definitely harder to get out then intended. As we continue to try and leave we run into this blue 5’10 half goat kinda person who we find out is named Vynn.

Vynn volunteers to help us out a bit and we head out of the city. He says he can take us to his ship if we want and as we leave we see the tree so we head there to check on Kaci.

We find him and the prince and yeah Kaci is knocked out cold. Turns out Vynn and as we learn his actual name is Archy/the prince know each other. Turns out that when he ran away 3 yrs ago he went and joined this ship pirate group and then we kinda snatched him and he just never bothered going back even tho he definitely had the chance to.

But also Ali has no clue what I pirate is and asks what a pie rat is and what a boat is and Rhea explains it’s like thieves on the water in their floating water houses. This does not help and now Ali just thinks pie rats go and steal water. Absolute menaces. Yeah they also don’t have a clue how to actually say pirate so it’s pie rat

Anyway woosh switch and Rhea is now Ray again. Kinda get him all caught up again and he’s definitely chilled out now that he’s had time away basically.

Anyway we decide to take Kaci back to the Inn and Vynn convinces the prince to take us to the castle/help us sneak in. Which Ray is very for because yay crime and robbing and stuff.

So we drop off Kaci in his and Ali’s room with his frog and proceed off to the castle. Vynn goes and uses a magic item that changes his face and covers the rest of his body with a cloak and we find a secret entrance and super sneaky sneak in.

Anyway we go up a few floors find an armory/guard barrack with one dude who’s just asleep. Vynn decides to loot the chests VERY LOUDLY and wakes the dude up. Vynn then proceeds to walk up to the guy who literally just woke up and slaps him and then bonks him to knock him out.

But yeah there isn’t much there. Ray asks Archy where the treasury is and it’s at the top floor. So we proceed to go up sneaky sneak style till we reach the top. Three doors. Vynn takes the first Ray the second and Ali takes the furthest. Vynn does not know how to pick a door and tries to kick it down and fails. Ray tries to pick his door and also fails. Ali tries and succeeds extremely well so whoop opened the treasury door. The others see this and Vynn rushes in and whoops he didn’t check for traps so he triggers one and it shuts the door on him. While he’s stuck he goes and loots some and gets some money. Ali repicks the door once again succeeding and whoop doors open again. Ray goes in this time making sure he doesn’t trigger anything and looks around. Vynn while looking around more triggers another trap and whoosh all the treasure is sinking into a hole that is slowly going across the whole room. Ray very quickly loots some money and gets a lot. Vynn accidentally starts slipping and pulls Ray with him. Ali and Archy go and save them and they leave that room. Ray peaks back in real quick to see it all just entered a lower room where all the treasure landed tho is doesn’t seem like there is a way back out so we ignore it and leave. Vynn and Ray decide to still open the other doors which are for Archys old room and the king and queens room. First Archys we don’t take anything. Then lastly the Queen and kings room. We don’t take anything again but Ray decides yknow what screw these people and sets the room on fire with Vynn being like yeah! And helping the fire spread faster. Anyway yeah fire started we start running out. No longer sneaky style so yeah we we’re definitely all noticed tho cloaked so not really recognized. Anyway while running Ali notices another secret tunnel thing and we start running down it. Basically big zig zag stair case. But yknow we running fast and staircase so we all roll and all pass…. Except Vynn who is in the back and pushes everyone else with him. Vynn gets pretty banged up. Ray is taken down to half health. The prince gets a lil banged up too. And Ali gets taken down to one hp…. So L. Anyway we fall allllll the way down that staircase and when we get up again we notice Vynn has now disappeared, not having time to really care we continue running(aka guest had to leave) so we continue running we’re still pretty far from the ground floor tho and as we run down another tho significantly less deadly staircase we’re cut off by guards. Ali literally a breeze away from having to start making death rolls. I decide now would be the best time to use fey step, so Ali looks past em and fey steps past em as far as they could. They definitely still felt bad about kinda ditching the other two but they still manage to get by with no more injuries and minimal fighting tho definitely more fire. Anyway we all make perception checks and notice that we’re definitely close to the ground floor now. It’s close enough that Ali can use their last fey step charge to get out of the castle as the prince and Ray Aladin style jump from the castle window to the festival and booths and stuff. Ray lands find but the prince doesn’t land as well and gets a little more banged up. Anyway we run out of town people definitelyyy notice the prince even tho he was trying to cover himself more with the cloak and we run back to the tree and lose anyone chasing us.

So yeah very intense we all take a long rest so we can wait till night for Ali and Ray to head back into town when it’s calmed down more and they’ll be less likely to be noticed. So whoo all back to max hp and fey step recharged as well as all the spells Ray used. Ali also decided to change to spring during the rest as well. Anyway we head back into town to go check on Kaci and Frog and oh he’s not doing well. So we look around the festival to see if anyone sells medical supplies or potions or something. Nope not really.

Tho Ray notices some people decides to make them think god is suddenly talking to them to distract them while Ali robs em to see if they have anything. We end up with another bag of ball bearings so now Ali has 2000 ball bearings and we also got a staff or healing….. that neither Ali or Ray can use but oh look the prince can! So we head back go and ask the prince to help Kaci feel better cause for all we know man could be dying.

But ope as we go back the prince hadn’t bothered hiding the staff and ah there are the people we robbed whoops. So Ray managed to convince them that Archy stole em but not that we weren’t associated and then Archy kinda rats us out but still tells em it was so we could help our friend so now they just actually know the truth and have the staff back so we end up asking if they can still just heal em

But oh turns out these guys are actually part of the pirate crew as well, actually the captain and some other guy, and know Archy as well and they plan to go take him back to the boat.

Tho they plan to just head straight there Archy manages to convince them to still heal Kaci at least first.

So we head back to the Inn and the guy has to get reattuned to the staff so while we wait dude tells us he’s the captain and Ali is like oh my gosh pie rats they gonna steal the water, and Ray is like oh my gosh please explain what a pirate is in simple terms this one has no clue and has gotten horrid explanations and also knows so little common

And yeah explanation doesn’t really help Ali know what a pie rat is or does but they think they might know what a boat/ship is now… maybe.. they’ve got the general idea

We were also told he just kinda called Vynn back to the ship so woah magic stuff oooo definitely not just for convenience.

Anyway staff guy reattunes to his staff and goes to heal Kaci…. And that’s where we left off!!

Yeah no clue what we’ll do next time. Ray wants to rob em again but the pirate guys are like 6+ feet tall and Ali is like if I get caught imma get scruffed and I’m not ready for that yet

But yeah we’ll have to see what happens especially since we’ll have Kaci actually conscious and part of the party again

Anyway sorry if the DND explanation thing was kinda messy and rushed and confuddling. It was a realllyyyyy long session and I was trying to not write too much. If you want clarification or to ask anything bout this feel free to!! I just didn’t wanna write a super long thing and absolutely fill your ask box

Anywayyy I’m tired and dry air and all the talking during the session has made my throat hurt and long session made me eepy and I’ve got work tomorrow so imma eeeeeep now

I hope you have an absolutely wonderful day today though sweet tea!!! Even if we can’t talk much cause busy ;-;

And I want you to know that even when I don’t respond right away or have time to talk that I still love you (/platonic) and care for you even if I don’t have time. If I could and had time I’d absolutely talk to you more. I know that even if you know I’m busy it can sometimes feel like it’s being ignored or pushed away or just not important.

But I want you to know that is absolutely not and never will be the case. I know I’m super busy sometimes and can’t always talk and sometimes I just straight up disappear when I feel bad. But don’t you dare think that that ever means I don’t care. I’ll always read your messages and they make my day, so know that I’ll always care.

Anyway like I said eeeepy

Hope you have a wonderful day sweet tea!!!

Remember to take care of yourself!!!

And lots lots lots lotsss of tons of tons of platonic love to you sweet tea!!!!

<3333333333333333

hi starshine!

first of all, don't worry about writing too much! you can write as much or as little as you want and I'll still happily read it! I'll sit down to read it for an hour or longer if I have to XD

seems like you all had a fun time!

sad someone had to cancel last minute, but that was handled well in the story

also, pie rats XD

beautiful, love it

just pie rats stealing water XD

I think I got everything going on

at least nothing comes to mind that would need an explanation

the reassurance is so sweet of you starshine

I mean, I do know that you still care even if you don't answer

but brain be doing funky things when anxiety is high

I hope you know that the same goes the other way around too! I care soooo much about you, even when I don't send an ask bc I'm just exhausted that day or when I don't answer right away bc I forgot time exists when I did something

when you sometimes send me an ask when I didn't send you one it makes me so happy

like you don't even know

bc in a way it shows that you care too

ahhh I really didn't expect any reassurance and now it got me flustered aaaahhhhh

ahem anyways

I hope you're taking care of yourself too

I love you so so so sosososo much /p

I'm giving all of the platonic love in the world to you starshine <33333

thank you for existing and for being the amazing person you are

#maybe I should start using tags....#answered ask #starshine ✨

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sekhisadventures · 2 years ago

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Earth Quakes, Paths Open

Valdrakken, The Roasted Ram

It was late evening at the Roasted Ram, and most of the members of Avalon and Savage United had gone to bed at this hour.

Grimo was still in Bilgewater Harbor hard at work on finishing the device that, using Az’arad’s fang, would allow them to detect demons and other things that specifically resonated with not just fel energies, but Dissonantia’s own aura.

Edwood had explained the logic of it to the less magically inclined members of their group. Because a warlock enters into a blood pact with their demons, their auras begin to synch up the longer they’re together. It may not work for Xel’kek or Cenoon, who had only joined her very recently… but for Az’arad, Quzgup, and Dissonantia herself it would alert them whenever they entered it’s detection area.

That being said, Grimo had to first work out the prototype, then make it portable, then use Az’arad’s fang which he had safely secured inside the bank in the middle of the harbor to attune it to Dissonantia and her demonic allies. At this point he had all he needed though. It was just a matter of making it work.

Grimo had warned them it could take a while but give him enough time, tools, money, and Kaja Cola and he’d have it.

For now, they were enjoying a bit of peace. Dissonantia wouldn’t dare risk attacking them in Valdrakken. The city guard would be upon her in moments and it was possible one of the aspects themselves might intervene in a battle in the city. It had happened before. The escape of the Incarnates had everyone on edge and tempers were running high.

At this late hour, however, there were only a few of them in the bar.

Jaie had mostly recovered from her encounter with Dissonantia but was still taking it easy. Zhan-min had retired early, though he had said he’d been tinkering with using some minor samples of elemental essences that the miners and herbalists had been finding across the isles to try some milder beverages. Sekhi was right, he didn’t want to give up his brewing even after what had happened… but he would stick to something lower proof until he regained his confidence.

Galdia had passed out drunk a while ago and had been hauled up to her room by Nitika. It took a LOT to get a drakanoid drunk, and Galdia was never one to pass up a challenge… but brews like The Queen’s Choice, Malygos’ Own Mead, and Dreams of the Green Faeries were proving quite the challenge even for the liver that had made her a legend at the Broken Tusk back in Orgrimmar.

Nelen as well had turned in, having tried several improvised rituals to attempt to scry the location of the Incarnates… but without anything to use as a focusing object which would involve either trying to excavate the ruined Vault which had mostly caved in when they escaped or a part of the Incarnates themselves, he had to resort to scrying for extremely potent sources of elemental energy… and after accidentally peeping in on Queen Therazane of Deepholme (who was reportedly NOT happy about that) he had decided to shelve the idea for now.

Lastly, Dareley Steelhammer had called it an early night. The paladin was not a young man anymore, though he’d be damned if he’d retire yet. Still, a good night’s rest was important for a dwarf his age and so he’d elected to go to bed.

Besides them, Laurelgosa was out helping her dracthyr brethren in the Forbidden Reach, and thus wasn’t in Valdrakken at all.

So, at a bar table together sat the most unlikely of groups. Two elves, and two undead, with a vulpera between them.

Shalandrae leaned back in her seat, sipping a large mug of moonberry wine. It wasn’t an especially common sight outside of Alliance lands, but there was a grove held by the Green Dragonflight on the island and, well, they were fond of it too. She was up late as she was a Night Elf. It was right there in the name.

Next to her sat Samantha, the rogue naturally more nocturnal leaning due to her ‘career’ as it were. She was enjoying a bottle of Thunderbrew Ale that one of the Alliance caravans had brought up from Dun Morogh. Not all the caravans were vulpera ones after all, trade was important no matter which city you hailed from.

Across from them sat Mola’raum, the undead troll sharpening his spear. He normally didn’t bother drinking anything. It wasn’t like he needed to worry about starvation or dehydration, and his liver was as dead as the rest of him so any alcohol would be more likely to embalm him than intoxicate him.

Edwood, as usual for the Forsaken, had brought his own drink in a special reinforced mug as it would eat through a wooden one. Whatever he was drinking was sending wafts of steam up around his face, and glowed green.

Both of them were awake because, to be totally honest, they didn't sleep. They were called 'the restless dead' for a reason after all. The undead didn't need sleep anymore, though some still enjoyed it for the meditative quality it wasn't actually 'sleep' that they did when they laid down.

Sekhi wasn’t drinking anything. Rather the vulpera was curled up on the seat, dozing away. She’d wanted to stay up with her friends, but tiredness had won out and she’d fallen fast asleep on the spot. Mola’raum had already said he’d take her up to her room when he went.

Shalandrae looked between the two members of Savage United, biting her tongue. Edwood had stood by her against Dissonantia to save Jaie, and Mola’raum… well… she didn’t like death knights, but she felt they had an understanding after what had happened in Zereth Mortis. She still remembered the fate of their former Illidari ally, Merihim Suneater, and how both she and Mola’raum had done the grim deed at the Illidari’s pleading when Dissonantia had set his inner demon loose to run rampant.

She at least had a grudging respect for them but... they were undead, she was a druid. It didn't entirely make her comfortable being around them.

“Sooooooooo…” began Samantha almost as if she could sense Shalandrae’s irritation at being near two things that were so antithetical to a druid of the kal’dorei. “Any word from Grimo about his device?” she asked.

Mola’raum shook his head, “Nah girlie. De boss mon be sayin’ it be ready when it be ready… or when he run outta fingers knowin’ how his inventions usually be goin’.” smirked the troll, running a whetstone over his spear until the tip was razor sharp once more.

“Mmm, hopefully soon. I dunno about ye lot, but one warlock knows another’s strength when we see ‘em… ‘n lasses…” he looked up from his… lets go with ‘beverage’ with a grim expression. “Dissonantia is a lot stronger ‘n me… She knows better ‘n ta try ‘n fight someone like Jaie face ta face, but when it comes ta another magic user… me goin’ toe ta toe with her is like a rowboat takin’ on a galleon. No contest, I’d be sunk.”

Dissonantia took a drink from her wine and mumbled, “(Why even have another warlock around then…)” in thalassian as Sam made a face at her.

The void elf shrugged it away, then said, “Well, at least it’s quiet otherwise. I mean yeah the other three Incarnates are out there still, but maybe they just decided to go into hiding and stay there after they saw what we did to Rasza-…”

KABOOOOOM!

The four of them cried out as all of Valdrakken shook! Ed’s mug flying out of his hands and clattering to the ground where the drink splattered out and steam rose as it etched the stone floor! Shalandrae almost choked on her wine as Mola'raum swore and nearly dropped his whetstone.

Sekhi was bolt upright, her eyes huge and her ears twitching like crazy as she looked around, “THEY’RE HERE!” she cried out, “I CAN HEAR ‘EM! THEY’RE HERE!”

There was a thunder of footsteps as a mob of adventurers in various states of dress rushed down the stairs, wielding enough weaponry to outfit half the Stormwind city guard as they barreled out of the Inn.

From the press of bodies emerged Nelen and Nitika, the former wearing just a pair of plain brown trousers and his glasses as the latter had on a sky blue camisole and shorts. “Is everyone alright?!” asked Nelen, his eyes wide.

The other five adventurers were already out of their seats as their allies appeared before them. All around the city came cries of alarm, the calm of the night replaced with utter chaos as the guards tried desperately to restore order!

“I can hear ‘em Nelen!” yipped Sekhi, her tail thrashing behind her as her fur fluffed out in fear. “Their songs ain’t in Valdrakken, but they’re really really close!” she warned.

The magus nodded, gesturing with one hand, and his stave appeared in his grasp. He had crafted himself one like Shalandrae’s, but in his case instead of a stag it’s head was carved into the image of a snarling wolf with fangs made of moonsilver.

Nitika stepped forward, looking towards the vulpera shamaness, “Sekhi, can you tell us where they are? We need to get their location and tell the Aspects immediately before they can escape or attack!” nodded the tauren firmly.

Sekhi nodded frantically, then dove under the table and darted between the legs of the others, running to the door. “FOLLOW ME!” she yipped as she vanished out of the inn, the others running after her as quickly as they could!

It was bedlam in Valdrakken. Adventurers were racing about the city trying to find where the source of the explosion had come from, a few of the smarter ones taking to the air to try to see if they could spot it from above.

The sky was thick with gryphons, windriders, gyrocopters, and all sorts of other flying creatures and contraptions as Sekhi raced ahead of her allies, shifting into the form of a spectral vulpin, following the songs she was hearing.

A furious guitar-like sound, and a spirit-song with a voice like a roaring blaze if a fire could LITERALLY roar demanding vengeance and retribution.

Through the city Sekhi ran, down past the forges and smithing areas, rushing by the Market Board stalls, through several tanning racks, and finally scrabbling to a halt at the edge of the city as she looked out down the cliffs.

From here one didn’t need her ears. Anyone could SEE what had happened!

A river ran between Valdrakken and the Ohn’ahran Plains, and smoke was rising in gigantic plumes from the far side of it. The wind blew from the heat rising from the crater, carrying the smell of scorched plant life, boiled water, and death. Any creatures in the area were likely incinerated on impact.

The others caught up to the vulpera as she changed back, gazing out at the wound in the land. “Its Fyrakk. I can hear th’ other two’s songs, but they’re gettin’ faint. They’re leavin'… but Fyrakk’s song is still strong. He’s down there… ‘n going deeper every second.” she said.

Nelen nodded, “Right… why do that though? Valdrakken is right here, why attack some random riverbank?” he asked.

“Oh I think we know…” said Nitika as she stepped forward, her eyes a deep violet. “We’ve been hearing that the whole damn time we’ve been on the Isles, and now it’s louder than ever… right Sam?” she asked.

Samantha nodded, the void elf padding to the edge of the cliff and looking over it. “Yep… there’s something down there. Something nasty. Something me and Nitika are really familiar with…” she frowned.

Nelen looked back down the cliffside, towards the hole in the ground. The Dragon Isles had been home to all five of the original Aspects… including one who the others didn’t even like to think about anymore. It would appear the dark legacy of Neltharion the Earthwarder, better known as Deathwing the Destroyer, may have just been quite literally unearthed.

The tauren seer and the void elf rogue narrowed their eyes as they heard beyond what their allies could hear. An incessant whispering coming from the direction of the crater, louder now than ever before.

Come now… come now… down deep… dark and deep… where we wait… in endless sleep… come now… come now… to the hidden halls… deep below… where dread things go… and the great dragon fell…

#Adventures in Azeroth #warcraft roleplay #warcraft fanfiction #world of warcraft #dragonflight

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nancywheelersgirlfriend · 2 years ago

Note

Can you write about a night where they're all together in Nancy and Mike's basement and while the kids are playing some borad games, the older ones decide to play truth or dare, or something like that, and Nancy and Robin end up revealing their feelings for one another?

Bonus if the kids have to watch after the older ones because they end up all drunk ahahaha

i never know how to end these. i think i've forgotten the meaning of the word 'one-shot', haha

anyway, i hope you enjoy!! (minor steddie included btw)

not allowed (5,005 words)

There were only so many things a person could do in the Wheeler basement. Especially when the kids had spread out like they were now, taking up half and then some for their latest D&D adventure - something about a dungeon and the undead and Will having to get dressed up like a wizard for the majority of it. Robin couldn’t keep track well enough. Not that she wasn’t a nerd, she totally was. But a nerd for tabletop roleplay? Hell no. There was too much quick math involved.

And she wouldn’t normally be downstairs anyway. The kids, whole sophomores now, could typically handle themselves. Sure, something would probably get set on fire, and somebody would be bleeding by the end of the night, but it was all in good fun for the latchkey kids of Hawkins, Indiana.

Tonight Robin was though. She was for one reason. One reason that was so utterly embarrassing she couldn’t possibly say it aloud, though she struggled to give a better excuse to Keith when she’d explained why she couldn’t lock Family Video up that night. The reason being: Nancy Wheeler.

Because, apparently, it was Robin’s fatal flaw to follow Nancy around like a lost dog. Whenever Nancy flew in from her tiny college over in Massachusetts Robin sniffed her out like a bloodhound. Not that the sentiment was unwelcome, or - at least Robin desperately hoped it wasn’t. At this point she wasn’t sure if she could handle the idea of Nancy not wanting her around. A day without seeing a glimpse of Nancy’s bouncy curls or freckled nose or even just the pink tips of her ears was a day wasted.

Yeah, she was completely and hopelessly gone. She’d never admit it, though. That idea was even worse than the one where Nancy wanted nothing to do with her. Mostly because, in Robin’s uncontrollable anxious daydreams, they worked in tandem. Robin would inevitably spill out something condemning, Nancy would pick up on it like the detective she was, and their friendship would be over in minutes. Seconds even. Nancy was quick like that.

Anyway - tonight they were down in the Wheeler basement, ‘babysitting’ the tikes as they stayed up way past their bedtime pretending to be knights and elves and whatnot. Steve and Eddie, attached at the hip as they always seemed to be these days, had also come. Steve refused to let Robin skip out on work if she wouldn’t take him with her, standing in between her and the door like a petulant child once she’d clocked out.

“I’m bored,” Eddie announced, twisted around on the couch with his legs up against the wallpaper and head on the cushions. He tapped his combat boots on the wall absently to a song only he could hear.

“We could try a board game,” Nancy suggested with a glance over to the Wheeler’s pitiful single shelf of games. “I mean, it’s in the name.”

“No more Monopoly,” Steve said, bordering on a plea. The last time they’d played Monopoly the basement had nearly burnt to the ground and their foursome friendship had almost been destroyed. As Monopoly games tended to do, especially to people as intense as the four of them. She shuttered to remember the railroads.

“Life?” Nancy had gotten up from her place at Robin’s side, a warmth surely missed, to trace the words on the boxes laid out on the shelf.

“None of that kid shit,” Eddie dismissed, waving his hand. Upside down, his grin looked absolutely devilish. Very manic. “Let’s play Truth or Dare.”

“Right,” Steve said in a monotone voice, shooting him a raised eyebrow. “Because that’s not a kids’ game.”

“Not the way I play,” Eddie retorted, his grin stretching dangerously across his face. Robin could feel her stomach twisting in half-excited anticipation, as was typical whenever Eddie got that glazed over look in his eyes. He was always cooking up something. She glanced over her shoulder at a burning on her neck to find Nancy stood behind her, already watching. Their eyes met and flashed quickly away, Nancy as bashful as she. Robin swallowed thickly.

Steve’s graceless plop down beside her onto the floor shook her out of her Nancy-induced trance. He had a small, hesitant smile on his face. She narrowed her eyes as she took in the presence of a faint mustache on his upper lip - something he’d clearly gained while she was away at her first semester at Purdue.

“I don’t like that,” She established, gesturing to the whole of his face. Steve rolled his eyes. Much to her dismay, she hardly wounded him anymore. In fact, her dislike of his new facial ornament probably spurned him to keep it longer. She picked him with a handlebar and couldn’t hold back a cackling laugh, which made him twist his face up in pretend annoyance.

“You don’t get the appeal,” He corrected.

“Yeah, Buckley,” Eddie cut in, reaching over with a limp hand to bat at Steve’s face. Steve let him with a poorly hidden smile, Eddie’s fingers poking at his little mustache. “You don’t understand the appeal of a flavor-saver.”

“I’m going to throw up,” Robin announced warningly. Eddie cooed and flipped over, long legs sprawling out across the plaid couch and his arm moving past Steve to bat Robin in the face.

“Not yet, you haven’t drank anything,” Eddie said. She frowned and his fingers touched at her narrowed eyebrows.

“I’m gonna be drinking?” Robin asked. Eddie grinned and slid up into a folded-leg position, gesturing for Nancy to return from where she’d wandered off to watch the kids play.

“Gather ‘round, gather ‘round,” He offered, arms spread wide. Nancy plopped down on the opposite end of the coffee table. Robin watched her with owl eyes. How was it possible that a person could even sit gracefully? She stole a peek at the way the veins in Nancy’s neck flashed when she turned her head to look at Eddie. It nearly made her pass out on the spot - she felt Victorian. “Instead of ‘Truth or Dare’, we’ll play ‘Truth or Drink’.”

“Getting drunk in my ex-girlfriend’s basement,” Steve hummed, fake consideration on his face. “Yeah. Okay.”

“I’m a little worried about what questions you’re planning on asking,” Nancy cut in, voice going up slightly at the end. She and Eddie shared a knowing glance: his grin combating her growing scowl. They often hung out as a duo, the group sometimes spilt down the middle when others were occupied or working. Clearly he knew something Robin didn’t. She was hit with a wave of irrational jealousy - what was she hiding from them? From her?

She loathed to imagine something truely horrific. Like - and this was undoubtedly the worst possible scenario, shut up - Nancy liking Steve again. God, Robin would rather drink bleach.

Eddie smacked down a bottle of pre-drank vodka and Robin supposed she’d learn whatever it was before the night was over. From their half-assed parties the past summer, Nancy got fairly loose-lipped when she was tipsy. She seemed to hazily remember Nancy spilling about she and Steve’s previous sex life in late August (which, yuck, because Steve was her best friend, but also God did Robin want to know everything there was to know about the sexual habits of Nancy Wheeler). Steve pulled his knees to his chest. She could feel his eyes on the side of her face, analyzing.

He knew about her embarrassing crush. How could he not? They practically shared a brain.

“Is this a good idea?” Steve asked her. Robin shrugged.

“Let’s make bad decisions,” She decided. She’d hardly had the room to these past few years. They fist-bumped in mutual agreement to get shit-faced and regret it in the morning.

“Glad to hear it,” Eddie grinned, hair falling charmingly in front of his eyes as he leaned forward to twist off the cap on the bottle. “But remember: keep it down for the shitheads.”

“Right,” They chorused. Nancy’s eyes found Robin’s again over the table. Her soft smile, pink lips shiny in the dim lighting of the basement. She licked at her bottom lip absently. Robin started having heart palpitations.

A few minutes, and then four cups had been found. Robin didn’t want to ask if they were clean or not. Eddie dumped a good amount of the bottle in each, excess vodka dripping off the rim of the cup and onto the wooden table. Nancy reached out with her sweatered arm to wipe it off, casting a glance back at the kids. They weren’t paying attention - they usually weren’t. Robin took an experimental sniff.

She’d never drank vodka before - wine, sure. Beer over the aforementioned summer, because it was cheap and the only thing the guy at the liquor store let underaged Steve-Harrington-with-the-fake-ID take. But never straight vodka. It smelled like rubbing alcohol. Nancy seemed less affected. Perhaps she had more experience with party fuel than Robin knew about.

“Steve,” Eddie began, looking up through his curly bangs and spreading himself languidly back onto the couch. His head landed some inches from Steve’s, who went curiously red. Robin could feel him tense by her shoulder. “Here’s your question: Do you remember the time you bought an ounce from me four years ago? And if you do, you have to tell everybody the story.” Steve blinked for a moment before letting out a long, dramatic groan of recognition. Eddie cackled in pure joy as the other buried his face in his hands.

“I might have to drink,” Steve spoke, muffled by his sweaty palms.

“What happened?” Nancy asked, eagerly leaning over the table.

“Come on, this is an easy one!” Eddie teased, poking at Steve’s ear with his hand. Slowly, Steve’s head returned to the basement, and he glanced at his three friends in agony.

“Fine,” He groaned again, setting his cup haphazardly on the corner of the coffee table. “Okay, so you gotta remember I was like, a total douchebag - it was Halloween of my sophomore year.”

“What was your costume?” Robin asked, feeding off Eddie’s energy (as she tended to). They shared twin grins, cornering Steve in with their amusement.

“I was. Uh,” Steve snapped his finger, attempting to remember. “I dunno. Something stupid.”

“Han Solo,” Eddie supplied for him. He’d propped himself up on one hand, watching with excited eyes.

“Right,” Steve agreed absently. “And I wouldn’t have gone looking for weed, except the girl I was with - uh. She wanted to get high.”

“Who was it?” Nancy asked, knees pressed to the leg of the coffee table. Robin couldn’t take her eyes away from the way she leaned, her curls falling on her face and against her collarbone. Her hair had grown out over the months they hadn’t seen each other. Plenty of calls, but no face-to-face interaction. The longer hair looked good on Nancy. The curls tumbled like a brown, beautiful waterfall. It suddenly became unbearably hot in the basement. Steve grimaced, glancing back at Eddie. Robin was glad he was too wrapped up in his embarrassment to tease her for drooling all over Nancy’s carpet.

“Do I have to say?” He asked him. Eddie nodded as solemnly as one could manage whilst wearing a shit-eating grin. “God, okay. It was Bianca Ambrose.”

“Bianca? She’s got a whole-ass baby!” Robin gasped, moving in closer to Steve.

“That’s part of the story,” Eddie giggled.

“If you say it like that-” Steve cut himself off, shooting Eddie a half-glare, half-fond grin. “Anyway. So Bianca wanted to get high and I wanted to get laid. We went into the laundry room, since that’s where Eddie hangs out at most parties. But when we got there, he was in the middle of another deal. So I’m like ‘alright man, just head upstairs when you’re done’.”

“But then Bianca just, like, launches herself at me when we get upstairs. So fast we can’t even get a bedroom, we end up in the second floor bathroom. In the tub. And we’re making out when somebody knocks on the door. I call out, thinking it’s Eddie, and I’m like ‘just fuckin’ wait, man’. So I’m getting a little pissed because he just keeps knocking and knocking and so eventually I just shout ‘if you keep knocking on the fucking door, I’m coming out and knocking you out.’”

Robin took her eyes off Steve to instead watch Nancy, whose face was alight with curiosity. Her doe eyes, pupils enlarged by the dim lighting of the basement, looked positively ethereal.

“Then the door bursts open and it’s not Eddie,” Steve said, running a hand down his face as if exhausted by the memory itself. “It’s her baby daddy, Chris.” The other three burst out into laughter; Robin and Nancy surprised, Eddie gleefully knowing.

“And then he proceeded to beat the everloving shit out of Stevie,” Eddie sing-songed, rolling over onto his back so that he could stare up at the ceiling. Steve nodded, miserable.

“She’d been so desperate because she was trying to avoid him seeing us. Like that worked,” Steve said the last bit absently. Despite the point of the game being either to answer the question or drink, he took a sip of vodka and winced accordingly. Perhaps to cleanse himself of the memory.

“I gave him the ounce anyway,” Eddie finished, patting Steve’s shoulder comfortingly. Robin tore her eyes away from Nancy’s glowing face to see Steve’s eyes lingering just a little too long on the way Eddie’s ringed fingers encircled his arm and squeezed. “I felt bad for the sucker.”

“Okay, Robin -” Steve began, pointing at her with his cup. “Your turn.”

“Alright,” She said, steeling herself. She trusted him not to make too much of a fool out of her, but as she watched his eyes slide dangerously back to Nancy (who’d shifted closer during the story) she considered otherwise.

“Who did you like sophomore year?” He asked like the little shit he was, taking another absent sip of vodka. She snarled at his cocky face and, after a moment of pause, downed her drink.

God, vodka was disgusting. She took way too much in one go, feeling its burn all the way from her throat to her stomach. She put a hand over her mouth in an inane worry she might puke from one sip, grimacing at the taste.

“That bad, huh?” Eddie asked, laughing. She rolled her eyes and set her drink down beside where Steve’d put his back on the coffee table, ignoring the way Nancy was watching her with rapt curiosity. Like she’d admit to Tammy Thompson.

Not that Eddie and Nancy didn’t know she was gay - it wasn’t like Steve was outting her or anything. She’d come out to them the previous August, because what says ‘trauma bonding’ like coming out to the people she’d spent a good chunk of time exploring an alternate Hell dimension with. They were both very nice about it.

Eddie’s response was unsurprising. He was the same. Nancy’s was more surprising. Despite her parents’ affinity for Reagan, she seemed a stanch ally (and Robin would not let herself dream of anything else). She was even a little too overeager, repeatedly attempting to wrangle Robin into driving up to Indianapolis with her when she came to visit and attend gay gatherings. Apparently there was plenty of that at Emerson. Robin couldn’t let herself be jealous. Purdue was not the most ‘out’ campus, but she felt comfortable enough to come out to a few non-monster-hunting friends her first semester.

“Okay, Eddie,” Robin began. The rest of the group ‘ooh’ed in response as Robin leaned over Steve’s head, arm pressing down the meticulous brown tuff, to stare Eddie down. He looked so goofy from that perspective, half-upside down and still grinning like a fool. She couldn’t resist reaching out to ruffle his hair. “Here’s your question: who’s the craziest person you’ve ever dealt to? Like, the person that would surprise us the most.”

He flopped back onto his side, face scrunched up in deep thought. Then: the biggest grin Robin had ever seen him wear.

“Jason Carver,” He said.

“No. Fucking. Way,” Nancy gushed, practically leaping over the coffee table. Her hand came out to land on the wooden surface, nearly knocking Robin’s drink over into her lap. Both reached for the cup as it tipped, fingers clashing against the plastic as they saved Robin’s pants from sudden death. Robin looked up from their connected hands, breath catching in her throat as Nancy’s sparkling eyes met her own. It was like a flash of lightning.

“What’d he buy?” Robin rushed out all in one breath, desperately trying to distract herself from drowning in Nancy’s eyes.

“Heroin,” Eddie said. All three pairs of eyes landed on him and he laughed, loud and booming. “No, jesus! I’m kidding, you guys are so gullible. It was just weed.” Steve laughed too, head hitting the back of the couch. Robin laughed in order to release the adrenaline, high-pitched and weird. She let go of the cup as Nancy did, who shifted back to her place across the coffee table.

The game continued for a few more rounds, questions ranging from absolutely invasive (‘Steve, do you wash your ass? Be honest’) and fairly tame (‘What’s the weirdest dream you’ve ever had with me in it, Robin?’). Robin drank practically half the cup when Steve asked her about her family in Kansas. Steve chugged after Nancy pressed him to admit to her (and the group) about the small stuffed animal collection under his bed. Eddie took sips a leisurely pace, answering every question lobbied at him - shameless per usual. Nancy, however...

Nancy was drunk, clearly. She was drinking at practically every question, no matter if she answered. At this point they were having to pass around the bottle, her cup having gotten thoroughly drained. Robin was nearly done hers, far behind her friends on that account.

“-and that’s why Mayor Brown despises me now,” Steve finished slowly, words slurring as he laughed aimlessly and leaned awkwardly onto Eddie’s exposed shoulder. Eddie looked up, chin to chest, from his sprawled spot on the couch. His eyes were unfocused.

“Okay, okay, Nance,” He started, pointing at Nancy. His finger went somewhere behind her, but she didn’t seem to care.

“It’s not your turn!” Nancy protested. “It’s Steve’s.”

“Who cares, I made this shit up,” Eddie whined, waving her away. She laughed and ran a hand through her curls, tugging at the strands by her pink-tipped ears absently. Robin watched as if watching God. “Nance, here’s your question: Who do you have a crush on?” He dragged out the word ‘crush’ like a child.

She ducked her face into her sweater sleeve, giggles buried. When she reappeared, her face was a bright, beautiful red.

“Eddie, I hate you,” Nancy proclaimed. Her hand came out to graze her cup before recognition flickered across her face, a dim remembering that her cup had been empty for some time. There was nothing left to drink. Her smile dropped. “Eddie, I hate you.”

“You love me,” He challenged, cackling into the rim of his cup and shutting his eyes with glee.

“Who is it?” Steve asked, ever the oblivious golden retriever. He had no idea how tense Nancy had gotten over the past ten seconds, smiling like an idiot still. Robin knew, though. She watched Nancy’s eyes flicker over the two best friends cautiously and her heart tumbled down into her stomach.

The terror: Steve is Nancy’s crush. How juvenile was to get jealous over a past relationship, especially one that included her best friend (who no longer felt anything for Nancy, she was sure). Still Robin’s whole body seized. The mere idea of hearing the words leave Nancy’s lips wounded, stabbed at her chest like a rough spear. Nancy’s eyes continued to drift, anxious and aimless. When they landed on Robin’s face they would dash away, the deer caught in Robin’s highbeams. Robin took a steadying breath and thought through her options. She needed to avoid this admission, no matter the cost.

“Take my drink,” She offered, lightbulb flashing in her head. She held up her red solo cup as a gift, the perfect amount for a sip left lingering in the bottom. Nancy’s face fell in utter relief, grinning at Robin with a tipsy, lopsided smile. It was almost unfair, how utterly otherworldly she was.

“Thanks,” Nancy said, all giggly again. She lifted herself up onto the coffee table, similar to how she had before - but much drunker. Something slipped and Nancy all but collapsed over the table. Robin barely managed to keep the cup out of tipping distance as the other girl landed in her lap, flimsy limbs sprawled across her. Nancy looked up through those thick eyelashes, freckles smothered by her growing blush. Robin watched her, eyes no doubt crossed from the way their noses had smooshed together. “Sorry!”

“It’s fine,” Robin said, barely audible from the mortifying squeak that followed. Eddie and Steve had burst into loud, wild laughter somewhere in between Nancy falling and Robin melting. Nancy scrambled to sit herself beside Robin after a belated realization she’d stayed atop her for a little too long, their legs staying mis-mashed underneath the coffee table. “Here.”

She passed Nancy the cup, who took it with shaky hands. She downed the rest before slowly lowering the cup, face abashed with heavy embarrassment.

“I drank the rest of your drink,” Nancy realized, mouth half-full of vodka. “Shit, I’m sorry. That was yours, and I drank it.” Robin waved her off. She couldn’t decide whether it would be easier for Nancy to hop off and free her from the torment of sitting so close or for her to get closer, to stay just as warm and radiate as she was.

“Why don’t you give her some, then?” Eddie pressed. “You haven’t swallowed yet.” As Nancy nodded slowly, eyes drifting over Robin’s face in a steady trek. They lingered on the mouth in question, and as her tongue darted out to wet her bottom lip again, something slowly clicked in Robin’s brain - the vodka did nothing to help the budding realization come any faster.

Nancy liked her. Clearly that was why Eddie was teasing her. Robin nearly fell through the floor from the shock of it all. Nancy fucking Wheeler had a crush on her and she was the reason she was blushing so hard. Nancy Wheeler with the three guns in her childhood bedroom and a stuffed animal named Mr. Rabbit. Nancy Wheeler, pseudo-valedictorian of Emerson College. Robin’s perfect girl. Her unattainable crush. That’s how it was supposed to go.

No, no way. But then Nancy was glancing up at her again, as she had over and over that night. She hadn’t swallowed still. Her tentative smile stole Robin’s breath from her lungs.

“Yeah, why don’t you give me some?” Robin asked in a voice that wasn’t her own, apparently possessed by the spirit of Steve ‘Casanova’ Harrington. She almost immediately choked back an apology and a quick scramble to the safety of the couch, away from the beautiful girl half-sprawled across her. But then Nancy was shutting her eyes and lunging forward, kids and D&D and shitty, meddling best friends be damned. Robin only had just enough time to wrap a protective arm around Nancy’s waist before they were crashing into Steve’s side.

She felt the begrudgingly familiar acidic taste of the vodka push into her mouth, along with the unfamiliar and intoxicating feeling of Nancy’s tongue pressed against her own. Up so close and personal, Robin could smell Nancy’s heavy, flowery perfume. Her eyes practically rolled into the back of her head.

“Okay, damn, get a room,” Steve chastised, smacking at Robin’s shoulder and shoving her back into a sitting position. Robin rocketed up, head smacking the underside of the coffee table as she did so. Nancy stumbled backwards, falling onto her elbows and cackling like a hyena at Robin’s clusminess.

“Jesus,” Robin said, more embarrassed as she had ever been in her entire life and so unbelievably happy.

“Yeah,” Nancy agreed. She grinned and flopped back onto the yellowing carpet, arms spread out as if about to make a snowangel out of the fuzz.

“What the hell are you guys doing?” Dustin’s voice poked through the tipsy haze. Robin turned head towards the corner of the basement to see the kids faces hanging in front of her own, all varying levels of unimpressed. Apparently they’d made enough commotion in their drunken state to force them to pause the D&D game entirely, where Dustin now stood at the center of the gaggle of children - obviously disapproving. Robin couldn’t help but laugh at the way he rested his hands on his hips, nudging Steve in the side. Like father, like son.

“We’re having fun,” Eddie explained, head flopping back down onto the couch and eyes shutting. “You should try it.”

“We are trying,” Dustin spoke slowly, as if communicating with a toddler. “But it’s a little hard when you four are shrieking and injuring yourselves.”

“Yeah, aren’t you guys supposed to be babysitting us?” Will cut in, eyes narrowed in judgement. But he was smiling, so Robin knew he wasn’t too upset. A tug at her sweater reminded her of just what had happened - and who was next to her.

Had that even been a kiss? Or had it been more like an alcoholic version of shotgunning? The look on Nancy’s smiley face gave nothing away, but her fingers curled in Robin’s sweater nonetheless.

“We’ll go to bed, then,” Nancy decided. “Come on, Rob.”

“Okay,” Robin agreed, because she’d follow Nancy anywhere. As she stood up, Steve tugged at her ankle.

“Hey, what the hell?” He protested quietly, rubbing a hand against his forehead. “Don’t leave us with the twerps.”

“You willingly choose to spend your Friday nights down here!” Dustin protested, voice entirely too high-pitched for how drunk they all were. Steve waved his hand around in absent dismissal, moving to stand up on shaky legs beside his best friend.

“Party in Nancy’s room!” He cheered, hands above his head. “Here, look how fast I can run up the stairs.”

“Steve,” Robin weakly protested, hardly paying attention as he hopped up the basement steps two at a time. Nancy’s fingers were wriggling their way underneath her sweater sleeve as they stood there, cold fingers tracing her freckled bicep. She hoped she couldn’t feel how much she was sweating.

“You guys move too fast,” Eddie muttered, sitting up at his spot on the couch. Dustin moved forward, seemingly to help him get up, but Eddie grinned and stood by himself. He stretched once, all old-man-like, and then tore after Steve, battling him to reach the top of the second floor. They could hear them stomping around upstairs, no doubt waking up both adult Wheelers and setting Nancy up for a harsh conversation the next morning. By the look on her blissed-out face, she didn’t seem to care.

“Let’s go to sleep,” Nancy repeated, fingertips lacing their way around Robin’s wrist.

“Alright,” Robin agreed again.

“You guys are hopeless,” Dustin groaned, the blurry faces of the kids behind him chorusing their agreement. Either they left or went back to their D&D game, because suddenly it was just Robin and Nancy at the foot of the stairs. Tangled up together. Robin let her hang off her wrist. The press of her carefully cut fingernails felt nice against her skin, her cold hand to her burning hot body.

“It’s you,” Nancy said without context, eyes unfocused. Robin lifted up a hand to brush a stray curl off Nancy’s sweaty forehead, frowning.

“It’s me?” Robin copied, before remembering her previous revelation. “Ah. It’s me.”

“It’s you,” Nancy nodded seriously. She slumped forwards, head coming to crash against Robin’s head. Both arms came up to circle around Nancy’s waist, holding her upright and close to her. They fit perfectly. She pressed a tentative kiss to Nancy’s messy curls, stealing one indulgent sniff of her perfume.

“It’s you, too,” Robin said, praying she understood what she meant. Nancy giggled as Robin started to walk her up the steps. Luckily she was fairly easy to carry, practically going ragdoll in Robin’s willing hands.

“I’d hope so,” Nancy’s voice was muffled. But Robin could feel her smile against her sweater.

“Don’t crack your heads and die!” Dustin shouted from the bottom of the steps. Robin rolled her eyes. She barely tripped going up the stairs, thankfully. Maybe alcohol made her more coordinated. Maybe she just felt too good to care. It was probably impossible to have a bad night with Nancy Wheeler hanging off your arm, anyway.

Especially when she was that close. And she smelled that good. And she kissed Robin goodnight, a big smacking kiss on open, eager lips before they passed out in tandem with the boys at the foot of her bed.

#ronance fic #robin buckley #ronance #nancy wheeler #stranger things #robin buckley x nancy wheeler #steve harrington #ronance fic requests #eddie munson #fruity four #steddie #ronance fic prompt #robin x nancy #nancy x robin #ronance fanfiction #bisexual nancy wheeler

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luna-writes-stuff · 3 years ago

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The Mistletoe Mission, Bagginshield

Fanfic, Bagginshield + Platonic! Gender neutral! reader

Fluff, kind of crack, everyone lives! AU

Word count: 1076

Tw: Christmas in Middle-Earth? These headcanons from my bestie @bogginswritings . Mentions of alcohol? Bofur is a little drunk and Fili might be too?

Summary: When Christmas tends to get a bit more hostile, you and Fili try to lighten the mood with a mistletoe. Only question is, how will you get both Thorin and Bilbo under that thing?

Oh, Christmas: What a joyful time. A joyful time indeed. Especially when your host was very clear on the ‘no gift’ rule, while one dwarf insists on everyone bringing gifts. And that wasn’t even Thorin. No. Bilbo and Kili had been arguing all night about whether presents were needed or not. The dwarf had shown up with presents for everyone, while Bilbo tried to shove him away the entire time.

And you hadn’t even gotten the memo of dressing code. Apparently, the dress code was fancy, and not an ugly Christmas sweater. Thankfully, Fili had gotten along with your idea, but the two of you really stood out.

Thorin had appeared surprisingly quiet during the whole debacle, only paying attention to the fact nothing would get destroyed in Bilbo’s homage. He couldn’t care less about the gift debacle or the dress code misunderstanding. Not even about the fact that Gandalf had set down little Christmas elves everywhere as a fun ‘hide and seek’ game for the company.

The second someone would near the tree, Thorin would go on a full rant about how precious the glass ornaments were and how they should not be dropped. But when his spouse and kin were fighting, it was all fine to him.

You and Fili had been standing from a distance, laughing as Kili kept trying to shove Bilbo’s present in his face. Fili had already had a relative amount of alcohol, and it was obviously getting to his brain, but something about the way he proposed a mistletoe, your whole head just shot off fireworks.

While Bilbo was very much set on traditions, besides the gift thing, there were no mistletoes in Bag-End. Well, none, until you decided to buy one to mess with the company. A gesture both Fili and Kili had encouraged for days.

The blonde dwarf gestured towards his uncle, who had taken a chair and shoved it in front of the tree, now guarding the ornaments with his life, to the hobbit who was now nearly yelling at the young dwarf with gift bags dangling from his arms.

“How are you planning on getting them together?” You asked in a hushed voice.

“Thorin is obviously not moving from his seat and Bilbo will not stop fighting with Kili until the presents are burned.”

“I can lift Bilbo.” Fili showed off, already prancing up to the hobbit. You hissed at his words, roughly grabbing his arms and jerking him back.

“No!” You protested. “It has to be done discreetly.”

“What are you whispering about?” Bofur interrupted, standing next to the two of you, an ale in his hand.

“Nothi-“

“We’re discussing how to get Thorin and Bilbo to kiss under the mistletoe.” Fili interrupted, dismissing your secretive tone. “I suggested carrying Bilbo over to uncle, but our dearest friend doesn’t seem too fond of that idea.”

“Because it shouldn’t be too obvious.” You defended, glaring at the blonde.

“Well, why don’t you just throw one of Kili’s gifts towards Thorin and have someone else stand there with the mistletoe?” Bofur proposed.

“Well, because…” You were ready to explain, but you stopped yourself halfway. You took a look towards both victims before staring at Fili, who now seemed lost in thought too.

“You know what, Bofur?” You began. “That might not be such a stupid idea after all.”

“Aye!” The hatted dwarf explained. “Always full of good ideas.”

He landed a quick pat on your back, before strutting over to his cousins, laughing very loudly suddenly. He was wasted. But incredibly clever.

“I’m not grabbing the gift.” You quickly spoke, raising your arms in defense.

“You are the absolute worst.” Fili sighed, putting down his drink.

“If this works, we are all mad.” He went on.

“Obviously it will work. Bilbo would never say no to a good old-fashioned Christmas custom.” You bragged, holding the mistletoe in your hands.

“We will see.” The blond dwarf spoke, letting out a big sigh, looking at his brother, who was furiously protecting his gifts.

“Better catch him before Bilbo throws him out.” You joked, slowly making your way towards Thorin, but not enough to make him notice your presence quite yet.

And so, Fili wandered to his brother, ignoring the hobbit’s shouting.

“Is there something for me there?” He asked, though he already knew the answer.

Kili smiled brightly in response, looking down at the bags in his arms, before handing one to Fili.

“This one.” He offered. “Merry Christma-“

The blonde dwarf had already thrown the bag over the floor, the gift landing exactly in front of Thorin’s feet. And he might have prided himself on that excellent throw, had it not been for the fuming look he received from his uncle.

“Fili!” Kili groaned, shaking his head in annoyance.

Bilbo, however, saw his chance, running over to the gift before he could possibly think, leaning down to grab it.

“Oops.” You whispered, dangling the mistletoe just between Thorin and Bilbo.

“By the laws of Christmas, you must now kiss.”

“What?” Thorin wondered aloud.

“It’s the law.” You repeated.

“That’s stupid.”

“Oh, come on!” Fili complained from beside his brother. “The two of you have kissed plenty of times. Why is now so different?” He sighed, rolling his eyes at his uncle’s stupid behavior.

“I’m not kissing him because a plant tells me so!”

“You hear that, Bilbo?” You joked, still holding the mistletoe up. “Thorin wouldn’t kiss you for something as little as a few leaves.”

The dwarf in question grew annoyed at your attitude, rising from his seat, before grabbing Bilbo’s face with both his hands, pulling the unsuspecting hobbit in for a kiss.

Both Fili and Kili could be heard cheering in the background as Bofur seemed to have found this extremely hilarious for some reason.

When Thorin pulled apart from his spouse, he took his seat back in the chair, leaving Bilbo there; incredibly red and flustered.

“Are you alright there?” You asked, lowering the mistletoe to take a proper look a Bilbo.

“J-just fine, thank you.” The Hobbit babbled, raising one of his hands to his cheeks.

“Should I keep it?” You proceeded, gesturing towards the tiny plant dangling from your hands.

Bilbo looked down at it, not entirely sure what to answer to that question. In all honesty, he didn’t even know what he had to say to begin with.

“It is Christmas tradition, did you not say so?” Thorin offered.

“Yes?” You answered unsurely.

“Well, then…you should keep it.” He decided. “Since it is tradition and all.”

You smirked at him, taking a look at Bilbo, before turning around to face the Durin siblings.

“Sure.” You agreed.

“Because it’s ‘tradition and all’.”

#christmas week with luna #luna writes #bagginshield #tolkien #the hobbit #thorin oakenshield #Bilbo baggins #bilbo x thorin #thorin x bilbo #an unexpected journey #desolation of smaug #battle of the five armies

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elvish-sky · 3 years ago

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The Grumpiness of Uncles Does Not Outweigh the Drunkenness of Nephews {Fíli x Tullaina}

A.N: Ok, so first of all I’m 15 (almost 16 though!) and I have no clue how alcohol or being drunk works. I also don’t know if cold water sobers you up but I decided for the purposes of this fic it didn’t! Also- I had a total blast writing this. Fili and Tullaina are one of my favorite couples, and I loved these prompts because I just got to have so much fun with them! I hope I wrote Tullaina okay, and I really hope you like this!

Requested by @guardianofrivendell for my 1K celebration: 💜 - 1 and 11 from the general prompt list with Fíli (can be x reader or an AU with Tullaina, whatever you prefer!) 1. "I love you.” “Tell me that when you’re sober.” 11. "Did you know that you talk in your sleep?”

Summary: Fili gets rather drunk the night the elven delegation arrives. Shenanigans ensue.

Pairing: Fili x Tullaina, mentioned Thorin x Bilbo

Word Count: 1,318, because @guardianofrivendell picks the best prompts so I can’t resist writing longer stuff!

Warnings: Alcohol, Drunken Behavior

*****

The Grumpiness of Uncles Does Not Outweigh the Drunkenness of Nephews {Fíli x Tullaina}

“Fíli! What in Mahal’s name are you doing?”

Tullaina stood in the doorway of the best pub in Erebor, watching her fiancé- the prince of Erebor and heir to the throne- dance along the tabletops.

The issue wasn’t that he was a bad dancer. It wasn’t even the embarrassment this would cause him in the morning (he knew what would happen when he got drunk! It happened every single time). The issue was that, firstly, Fíli had a big meeting in the morning and would not do well hungover, and secondly, the elves were going to be arriving for said meeting any minute (Thorin had grumbled for hours about how Thranduil had “No respect for sleep,” and that “Some of us can’t stay up all night and then look fresh as daisies in the morning.”)

After the fiasco that had happened the last time the elves visited, which had involved Fíli, Kíli, several jugs of ale, and a game of catch, Thorin was determined to keep everything under control for this visit.

“TULLAINA!” Fíli exclaimed, jumping down from the table and drunkenly making his way over to her.

“I love you,” he said, wrapping his arms around her waist.

Tullaina giggled for a moment, then shook her head and pushed him away. “Tell me that when you’re sober. Now c’mon. The elves should be here any moment.”

“ELVES! Where?” He crouched into a battle-stance and looked around warily.

Tullaina laughed, grabbing his arm and dragging him out the door. She rounded the corner of the pub, entering the alleyway behind it.

“Did you get it?”

“Yes,” said a figure, stepping forward out of the darkness.

“Kíli!!” Fíli greeted his brother with a wave. “Did you know I Love Tulls? I. Love. Tullaina.”

“Oh, wow. He really is drunk,” Kíli said.

Tullaina nodded. “Yup. Now let’s do this so that we can get to the gates and not have Thorin scold us.”

Kíli nodded, reaching down and grabbing a large bucket. Tullaina knew what was in it- ice cold water.

“Ready?”

Tullaina let go of Fíli and backed up. “Ready.”

Kíli hefted the bucket over his head, dumping all the cold water over his brother. Fíli starting shrieking as the cold water rained down over him, jumping and squirming and generally just not looking very pleased as his brother and fiancé both cackled while watching him.

Tullaina waited until Fíli had shaken most of the water off, then approached him. “You at least slightly clear-headed now?”

“Huh? Oh, Tullaina! Kíli, did you know I love Tulls?”

Kíli sighed. “Ok. That didn’t work at all.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” said Tullaina. “We need to figure this out.”

Kíli walked up to his brother, placing a hand on each of Fíli’s shoulders and looking him directly in the eyes.

“Fíli,” he began.

“Yes?”

“Yes, hi. It’s me. We’re about to go see Uncle Thorin and Uncle Bilbo, and we’re going to be greeting the elves. You need to act completely normal. Got it?”

Fíli nodded, suddenly looking very serious. “I’ve got it.”

Tullaina and Kíli let out simultaneous sighs of relief, each grabbing one of Fíli’s arms to frog-march him to the front gates.

As they walked, Fíli asked, “Do you think Thranduil will let me touch his ears?”

“No,” Kíli told him.

“Awwwww,” Fíli pouted. “But they’re so pointy. I want to touch them!!!!!”

The next morning, Tullaina sat on the window seat in her bedroom, watching Fíli blink his eyes open in the spot he’d collapsed last night- spread eagle on her bed.

“Did you know that you talk in your sleep?” She asked.

“Tulls?” Fíli shot up to a sitting position, blinking his eyes in confusion.

“You collapsed in here last night because you were very drunk,” she told him. “Anyways, did you know talk in your sleep?”

Fíli looked wary. “I did not know that. May I ask what I said?”

Tullaina giggled. “Let’s see, there may have been a fully formed dream-plan to prank Thranduil’s son for revenge-”

“Did you write it down?”

“I- what?” Tullaina was confused by the sudden interruption.

“Tullaina. Focus. Did you write it down?”

She shook her head, and Fíli’s head sank back in disappointment.

“I remember it, though!”

Fíli’s head shot back up. “Great! We’ll discuss it later. What else did I say?”

“There was also a whole lot of grumbling about ‘the grumpiness of uncles,’ and how ‘ever since Uncle Thorin had married Bilbo he’d gotten supremely worse about manners.’”

Fíli groaned. “I hope I didn’t say anything like that in front of my Uncles!”

Tullaina smirked. “Well, you actually did a whole lot worse.”

Fíli shot out of bed. “What?! What did I do?!”

Tullaina sat back against her pillows with the air of someone who was taking entirely too much delight in telling someone else something.

“Well,” she began. “You started off an abysmal night by commenting on the pointiness of the Elven-Kings ears. In front of the whole elven delegation- and like ninety percent of Erebor.”

Fíli flopped back onto the bed in despair. “I really hate to ask, but… did I touch them?”

“Welllllllll, no.”

He sighed in relief.

“However, you did somehow manage to touch Legolas’s ears. And then Legolas caught a whiff of your breath and commented on how drunk you must have been. And then Thorin… well, let’s just say Thorin was not pleased. Especially not when you started yelling at Legolas.”

“What did I yell at Legolas about?” Fíli looked like he wanted to shrivel up and never be seen again.

The smirk on Tullaina’s face was growing. “You said, and I quote, “C’mon, Leggy!! Bros don’t rat out other bros for being drunk at a diplomatic thingy! And you! I thought you were a bro! How could you?”

“So that’s why I wanted revenge in my dream?” Fíli asked.

Tullaina nodded.

“It’s official,” Fíli declared. “I will never leave this room again.”

“I would say that was a good idea,” Tullaina said. “Except for the fact that as of right now, you are officially late to the ‘crisis management (the crisis being your behavior last night) meeting that Thorin scheduled for this morning. The one that all the elves will be attending.”

Fíli shot into the room where Thorin usually held all important meetings, skidding to a halt in shock as he saw the faces of the people inside.

It was everyone. All the elves, Thorin, Bilbo, even little Frodo! And- was that-

“Tullaina?”

Everyone in the room started laughing.

Fíli stood there in complete bewilderment. “What- what is happening?”

Thorin approached him. “Last night, when you were behaving so ridiculously, we figured out that if dwarven-elven relations could withstand that kind of diplomatic fiasco, we could withstand anything.”

Thranduil stepped forward. “Exactly. However, your Uncle still felt you deserved some punishment for last night. So, your all-too-willing fiancée stepped in.”

Tullaina gave Fíli a little wave.

“So- so I’m not in trouble?”

Thorin laughed. “No. We thought that the fact that everyone, until the end of time, will remember you asking to touch an elf’s ears was enough.”

Fíli was blushing like crazy.

“Fine,” he said. “But my retribution for this will be legendary! They shall mark this day as the day when Fíli, Prince of Erebor, came up with his greatest prank ever!” He spread his arms wide to punctuate the declaration.

And then promptly stopped, holding out his hand. “Now, c’mon, Tulls. I’m hungry. Let’s go to the kitchens.”

As the two left the room, Fíli turned around just long enough to yell one more thing.

“There will still be repercussions for this, never fear! There shall be RE-PER-CUSSIONS!”

The large double doors to the conference room slammed shut in their wake, and everyone in the room could hear them walking down the hallway on the other side, Tullaina giggling as she teased Fíli and him good-naturedly replying.

Everything tag: @entishramblings @itgetsatadhazy @boyruins @anjhope1 @kumqu4t @katbby16 @thewhiteladyofrohan @kirstenscaffeinateddisaster @beenovel @shethereadinghobbit @guardianofrivendell @hey-its-nonny

Fíli tag: @laurfilijames @claraofthepen

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holycatsandrabbits · 3 years ago

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Tollense, an original serial romance by Dannye Chase, Chapter 7

A history professor falls in love with his best friend, a 3000-year-old vampire.

READ FROM THE BEGINNING

Chapter 7

2021 (18 years later)

Liam was in his office chair and Kurt was half-sitting on the corner of the desk. Allie, one of Liam’s grad students, was looking between the two of them with a smirk on her face. “Do you know that you two laugh together without saying anything first?”

“Mind reading,” Liam said, at the same time that Kurt said, “Don’t say mind reading.”

“Yeah, you also do that,” Allie said. She was Kurt’s current lover and source of blood. “So how long have you two been together?”

Liam decided to ignore the phrasing. “We’ve known each other twenty-eight years now. A long time. For me, anyway.”

In that time, Liam and Kurt had developed a deep, abiding friendship that had become the main relationship of Liam’s life. And Liam had come to the conclusion that this was probably how things were meant to be. He and Kurt were not lovers. They’d nearly been lovers once or twice, but Liam had been reluctant because Kurt had told him that he never allowed himself to become attached to the humans he knew. His grad student lovers were usually with him a mere two years at most, and while twenty-eight years was a long time to Liam, Kurt was over three thousand years old. In another thousand years, Kurt probably wouldn’t remember Liam at all.

And Kurt was reluctant too. Because they were so close, Liam could sometimes get a sense of Kurt’s emotions, and whenever the subject came up— an accidental brush of hands, a weighted pause in a conversation, other people assuming they were a romantic couple— Liam could sense a hesitation in Kurt to let it go any farther. Liam wasn’t sure what Kurt’s reasons were, but he knew he had to respect them.

And besides, it had been twenty-eight years. Liam was no longer a young assistant professor, but one of the older ones in the department. He was 55, and Kurt appeared to be in his thirties. Liam had put on a little weight over the years, lost a little hair, and the truth was, he’d never been terribly attractive to start with. If Kurt had ever had real romantic interest in Liam, it had probably faded by now.

Liam, of course, was hopelessly in love. But he knew in his heart that things had ended between them already. They’d shared a kiss many years ago, and Kurt had once drunk blood from Liam’s wrist, but Liam understood that neither of those things was ever going to happen again.

Allie had to go to a study session, and Kurt walked her there. Liam went home, and when he got there, Kurt appeared in a chair at his kitchen table. The table was new and the kitchen had been redone after the package bomb 18 years ago, but Liam could still see slight marks of smoke on the ceiling. They’d never found out who was responsible, but at least it had been the last letter or package Liam had received from whoever was harassing him.

“Did you know that they think you’re the weird one?” Kurt asked, as Liam kicked off his shoes.

“Who’s they, and what do you mean, weird?”

“Faculty and students. Allie was just telling me. Because you are rumored to be able to disappear and reappear, not just here, but around the world. Tollense, especially. And Antietam lately, where you were doing your other research.”

“That’s all your doing,” Liam said.

Kurt was smiling. “But they don’t know I exist. So you’re the weird one.”

“I’m glad this amuses you so much.” Liam sat down at the table and picked up the cup of coffee Kurt had made him. “You might be an elf,” he said.

“Elf,” Kurt repeated. “I liked draugr better.”

“Draugrs are bloated corpses. Elves possess an, ah, otherworldly beauty.”

Kurt turned his head away, but Liam could see he was smiling. “Still going through Germanic mythology, then?”

“And Proto-Indo-European. The dog’s mentioned in there, the one you see when we go to Tollense, the one with six eyes. That kind of dog guards the entrance to the Underworld, which is located on the bank of a river.”

“I can see the dog, but no other world.”

Liam sighed. “You know, I’m not sure we’ll ever figure out exactly what you are. You seem so different from other vampires, but that could still just be age.”

“I don’t think it matters,” Kurt said.

Liam hated to hear the sadness in his voice, and he knew its source. “You only want to find out about the person you lost. The one you can’t remember.”

Visits to Tollense over the years had stimulated Kurt’s memory enough to help the site’s research, although no one but Liam knew of the existence of a living witness. The bridge Kurt had remembered was discovered in 2013.

Liam had spent his career studying battles, and Tollense, while surprising everyone with its numbers and organization in a sparsely populated area, was turning out to be no different from so many other conflicts throughout history. People fought then, as they did now, over money and territory, cultural differences, and emotional things like honor and faith.

The world knew about Tollense because archaeologists had discovered the skeletons of young men struck down in battle, body after body, seeming never to end. It was like that anytime people studied war: you could remap the battles and recreate the weapons, but the story was really told in lost lives.

“You’ll remember eventually,” Liam said, hoping to offer consolation. “It might take you another few thousand years, but the science will improve, and I’m sure you’ll have other historians to help you when I’m gone.”

Kurt did not seem terribly consoled, looking out the window and frowning to himself.

Liam heard the mail truck, and walked out to the mailbox. He was flipping through the letters on his way back down the driveway when he saw it: a plain white envelope with a typed address and a postmark from a city where Liam knew no one.

“It can’t be,” Liam said to Kurt, who’d instantly materialized beside him on the driveway, no doubt alerted by Liam’s feeling of shock. Kurt seized Liam’s arm and hurried him into the house. “It’s been 18 years,” Liam protested.

Kurt ignored him, slitting the envelope with a knife and using a cloth to pull out the letter. There had never been fingerprints on the threatening letters before, though, so Liam wasn’t hopeful.

“It’s him,” Kurt said. “It’s started again.”

Liam knew what that meant— the letter spouted anti-academic nonsense that might or might not have been sincere, along with a threat to kill him. But Liam didn’t answer. He was a little busy noticing the changes that were coming over his house. The kitchen was growing darker, as if they were outside and a cloud had passed over the sun. The air felt somehow heavier in a way that reminded Liam of being under water. “Kurt,” he said.

Kurt looked up at him, and he was different too, not that Liam expected otherwise. Kurt tried hard most of the time to seem human, and it was that exactly that had convinced Liam long before that Kurt was definitely not. He wasn’t doing a very good job of masking it now. His green eyes were too bright, and Liam was sure that if the kitchen got much darker, he’d be able to see them glowing. Kurt was also somehow larger than Liam had ever seen him— a little too tall, too broad, too solid.

“I should have found him,” Kurt said, in a voice that sounded oddly amplified, like it was coming from multiple places at once.

“You tried. You and the police. It’s not your fault. And he stopped, after the bomb.”

“I’m going to look again,” Kurt said. “Starting with this postmark in Pennsylvania. Either he was there or he got someone to mail it for him.”

“Okay.”

“And while I’m gone, I want you somewhere else. Anywhere but here.”

“Kurt, no. I’m not going to rearrange my life because this idiot—” Liam couldn’t finish the sentence because he was suddenly pressed between Kurt and a wall. Kurt’s hands on his arms weren’t really hands anymore, but clawed things, and the whole house had been plunged into semi-darkness.

Kurt’s face still looked mostly human, and Liam thought that might only be because Kurt wanted to be able to talk. “Do you understand,” he said slowly, “that your life is the flash of a match to me? I will not allow it to be blown out prematurely.”

“It’s my life. I won’t live it in fear. Not of him or of you.”

“You’re not scared of me,” Kurt said, sounding far more gentle. He was right, of course. Even in the darkness of Kurt’s anger and fear, Liam wasn’t being threatened.

“I won’t open any packages,” Liam said. “Or letters from him. We’ll get the police involved—”

Kurt let go of him and stalked off a few paces. The air seemed to ripple around him as he moved. “That’s not enough. He obviously knows this address, he could just walk in here, and—”

“Well, I’m not going into hiding.”

Kurt made a growling noise loud enough to ruffle the pages of a few open books on Liam’s desk. “I could force you. Compel you.” Kurt ran a clawed hand through his hair. “I should just give you my blood. Enough to make you indestructible. Should have done it ages ago.”

Liam was shocked to find himself walking forward until Kurt was close enough to grab his arm. Liam hadn’t meant to walk forward, hadn’t done it of his own will. “Kurt!” he exclaimed.

Kurt slowly slid claws into Liam’s hair until he was cupping the back of Liam’s head, holding him steady. He definitely was taller than usual, and Liam felt very small.

Kurt didn’t look predatory, though. He looked lost, his eyes traveling over Liam’s face with a startling anguish.

“I should,” he whispered. “There’d be enough time after for you to forgive me.”

“But would you forgive yourself?” Liam asked.

“No.” But Kurt didn’t let go of him. Instead his gaze fixed on Liam’s mouth, and Liam was suddenly certain that Kurt was going to kiss him, and that when he did, it was only going to be the beginning of it. It was like everything that had passed between them so many years ago, their near-misses at romance, had just lain quietly in shadow, unseen but alive. Liam felt his heart pounding, not with fear, but longing.

But Kurt didn’t kiss him. With another growl, he released Liam. “Be careful,” he said, in a rough voice, and then he disappeared. The darkness and heaviness went with him, leaving Liam’s house feeling light again, but also incredibly empty.

************

READ FROM THE BEGINNING

Updates Fridays on Ao3 and DannyeChase.com (rated E), and Tumblr (rated T)

Want to create fic, art, or other works based on this series? Please do! Just dm or tag me.

My previous serials are for Good Omens: Mr. Fell's Bookshop and Love's Endless Light

My Carrd

#Dannye writes #original fiction #serial fiction #tollense #vampires #romance

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5lazarus · 3 years ago

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Ultramarine

Sylaise attempts to trademark the color blue, initiating a civil war. Fen'Harel disapproves. Felassan, at this point, is just along for the ride.

Highlights include: Andruil attempts to create biological weapons out of the conquered children of the stone and sell them to absolutely everyone, Mythal may or may not involve, Solas greatly disapproves, and everyone wants to kill Fen'Harel for disapproving. Also an explanation as to why Solas has to think before answering Sera on whether he has ever pissed magic by accident.

Sorta a love story, sorta a comedy, sorta a story about political intrigue--but hey, Solas said Arlathan was even worse than Orlais!

A big thank you to @potatowitch and isomede for talking me through this and getting me to finish it--and for giving me the best ideas for it. Read on Archive of Our Own here.

Felassan drowses in the marketplace, listening to the gossip and basking in the bright sprint light of the Durgas Durgen’len. The Valley of the Children of the Dwarves marks the frontier of Mythal’s demesne, but is no less busy for it. Thaig-crawlers anxious for a Stone-milk fix bring the treasures of their houses. Elves from across the empire come to hawk their wares for the Stone’s blood, and under the Dread Wolf’s supervision, the two species live in uneasy coexistence under the Sky. He is a better procurator than Dirthamen, people whisper, but is that really a high bar to exceed?

Felassan shifts against the cool marble pillar of Mythal’s temple gate and keeps listening. One trader has come from Arlathan, seeking lyrium milked from the heart of the Titan itself. Another has high ambitions of dealing with the Dread Wolf himself, for a fragment of the Titan’s heart. Another is wondering what kind of money could be made out of the Children of the Stone’s need for the blood of their own god. Felassan lazily opens an eye at that. Fen’Harel does not want speculators driving the cost of living up, and is in rather tense negotiations with Mythal for a cleaner way to treat her new stone-children. He takes down the woman’s face: marked with Andruil’s vallaslin, but blue, so moderately wealthy and looking to buy her freedom soon. He resolves to arrange for her to meet an accident soon, but not too soon--he wants to see where she leads to.

“They could be useful, you know,” Andruil’s agent is saying. “Not just as miners, not just for their pretty little crafts. Since they need that fix, they can be controlled. You just need to mine enough lyrium and water it down to milk, and after a generation, you can train them into whatever you want. That’s what the Titans do to them, after all. Why not us? At least we’re brighter. And war’s coming, anyway.”

Felassan opens his eyes and stirs. He makes a show of warming his hands, trying to look like an indigent trader and less like the Dread Wolf’s spy. “War’s always coming, lethallin.”

The woman says, “Not like this. Of course, Mythal always stays neutral.”

“Hail the Adjudicator,” Felassan says pointedly.

Andruil’s agent rolls her eyes. “Hail the Adjudicator. I suppose news makes it to the frontier slow. Sylaise invaded Dirthamen’s lands last spring. Their champions are currently fighting it out for control of Dirthamen’s lapis lazuli monopoly. She’s declared that all colors of the sky are hers, and especially the stones that make blue.”

That’s remarkably stupid, Felassan thinks: but she has always been vain and foolish. He makes his excuses amiably, and heads out to tell the Dread Wolf. At the market’s gates he finds another of the Dread Wolf’s loyalists and sets them to track Andruil’s news-spreader. He ambles through the narrow streets, dodging clever halla guiding floating aravels to their destinations, and slinks into the Dread Wolf’s personal residence. As he suspects, he is still at home. He could hear music drifting from an upstairs window. He knocks on the door, and a hand emerges from the window to throw down the keys. Grinning, Felassan catches them, and lets himself in.

Felassan says, “I suppose you’ve heard the news. Sylaise has trademarked the color blue.” He has come bearing gossip straight from the caravansaries, right to the Dread Wolf’s headquarters—a cheap apartment at the outskirts of Mythal’s newest colony, Durgas Durgen’len. Solas has moved recently; Felassan glances up at the blank ceiling and notes he hasn't had the time to start drafting his starry mosaic yet. The Dread Wolf himself is sprawled in his chair, feet on his desk, reading a report and laughing. Solas grins. He hands Felassan the lyrium tablet. “Alas, not entirely--you know I was planning on painting my ceiling?” Felassan looks down at the tablet. It’s a trade manifest. “I put in a massive order of lapis lazuli seasons ago--and it arrived safely this morning, despite the current trade war. Sylaise may be fighting for the mines, but production cannot continue when there is war going on. So we have the largest supply of lapis lazuli in all of Elvhenan. And the All-Mother wrote me that they’re running low on blue pigment in Arlathan--so Sylaise will not have enough ultramarine paint to finish that magnificent dome she was planning for her palace.” Felassan reads through the trade manifest, impressed despite himself. The Dread Wolf preens slightly. Whoever named him pegged him perfectly. He does so like to be praised. He says, “I suppose you started hoarding pigment when you heard she started the project. So we’ll make some money. But what about Andruil? Her spy’s doomsaying war and talking about--shaping the stone-children with lyrium itself, turning them into a whole disposable workforce. How are negotiations with Mythal?” The merry mood dampens. Solas taps the crystalline music player, and the song shifts. It sounds like lyrium, except cleaner and somehow sad. He says, “The dwarves listen to this. They play it on their own crystal communications array. I’ve tracked two in the Valley, and there are at least three more. Beautiful, isn’t it? Unthinking, but with its own natural harmony.” Felassan thinks it sounds like waking up in the bright morning, tousled in the sweating arms of a still-drunk lover, when he untangles himself from the sticky sheets and picks up the abandoned wine glasses, knocked over but unbroken on the floor. It sounds like flicking a wine glass, slightly hungover. It sounds like the last time Solas let him stay over. Felassan coughs, a bit embarrassed; the lyrium song caught him. Fucking dwarves: he still doesn’t understand their enchanments. “What do you want me to do about the spy? Kill her?” The Dread Wolf looks meditative. “No. Not yet, at least. We do not need to give Andruil more reasons for war, and if we need to escalate let us have one of Mythal’s temple guards do it. If she’s talking about shaping flesh, she’s been talking to Ghilan’nain. And we know Ghilan’nain has been talking to Mythal.” He smiles thinly. That answers that, then. Negotiations with Mythal are not going well, and this petty war between Sylaise and Dirthamen covers up something nastier. The alliances between the Evanuris are shifting, and that leaves Fen’Harel and their people in the lurch. The Dread Wolf says, “If Andruil wants Mythal’s little stones, she will have to come to me first. Sylaise’s vanity will not be the reason for outright war. I will speak to her and Dirthamen both, and then we shall see what hand she plays next.”

Mythal’s court is terrifying. Felassan trails Solas, who has traded his usual homespun tunic for a more impressive set of lyrium-inscribed leather armor. The lyrium sings as they walk, and Felassan can almost taste the words. Solas projects an aura of calm authority, with a testier threat of violence underneath. It’s the lyrium, somehow. The Dread Wolf is manipulating it. When they approach the throne, Felassan kneels but Solas only ducks his head. Insane, Felassan thinks. He’s caught wind of an incipient civil war so he’s decided to tease Mythal. What a fucking madman. Mythal sighs. “Get up, you fool.” Felassan glances at Solas worriedly. Solas says laconically, “She means you.” Hurriedly he rises to his feet, blushing. Mythal shakes her head. “I have always said the People are too quick to bend the knee. I expect more pride from your people, Dread Wolf.” Solas gestures at him to retreat to his back. Felassan gladly slinks back into the shadows, and scans the hall for potential enemies. It is empty but for the lyrium ostentatiously woven into the very brickwork, shaping the earth into a temperature-controlled paradise. She could pull at it and made the whole palace implode, but Solas could as well. Even Felassan could give that a try. He realizes, slightly shocked, that the All-Mother trusts the Dread Wolf, as much as she is capable of trusting anyone. The All-Mother rises from her throne and stalks down to greet her favorite. She places one claw on his shoulder and caresses his face with another. The Dread Wolf stiffens but does not draw back. “My child,” she says fondly. “You’ve come to ask about the blue war, then.” “It’s a particularly idiotic reason to start a civil war,” the Dread Wolf says. “Particularly since I have enough ultramarine pigment to last out Sylaise’s monument to her own stupidity. And my workers have found a lapis lazuli cache in the Durgas Durgen’len, so we will be able to shift productive in the valley from lyrium to paint readily enough.” “Your workers,” Mythal says. “You mean my workers.” Solas says, “I do not own them.” Felassan tenses. When he was manumitted, Solas swore never to hold another in bondage, even the durgen’len. They are his workers only because they toil under his supervision, and Solas is quick to point out that he pays them and encourages their economic freedom beyond his holds. Mythal is doing this deliberately to upset him. Felassan knows how much Solas resents how Mythal keeps her hands on the reins of her freed slaves. He knows how much Solas resents how that is still how the court thinks of him, encouraged by Mythal: the All-Mother’s freed slave, her Dread Wolf—and not even his workers are safe from her clutches.

Solas says, “My man found one of Andruil’s agents, spreading rumors of war in the marketplace—and worse, suggesting we splinter the autonomy of your little stones, and addict them to their stone-milk to keep them pliable. You know Ghilan’nain put that into her head, and Ghilan’nain is not to be trusted. She dares too much, we cannot—“

“Ghilan’nain is not to be trusted?” Mythal is amused. “Dread Wolf, you’re the one who put her eyes out.” Solas opens his mouth and closes it. Felassan looks down at the ground. He has never seen him at a loss for words before. It is less satisfying than he imagined. Mythal laughs. “Trust in my judgement, as you always have. Ghilan’nain may overreach but her experimentations with lyrium and my new subjects will do Elvhenan no harm. These…weapons are soulless, but not at a risk to our own souls.”

“You do not know that,” Solas says. “Is this why you have allowed Sylaise’s hostilities to increase? Are you looking to test her new experiments in this petty war? Nevermind her…trademark,” he sneers. “We will begin production forthwith. This war will stop here.”

Mythal says, “War is inevitable. Winning is not. When will I next see you at court?”

Solas leaves seething, Felassan dogging his footsteps. Felassan follows him home. It is clear that he is upset. Felassan himself is more frightened than angry, but the gods are different than the rest of the People, even ones like the Dread Wolf, who had been born a spirit made enslaved flesh.

Solas lets him enter his home and finds a bottle of wine. He pours them both a glass, hands shaking, and settles back in his desk chair.

Felassan drags the chair in front of his desk and places it next to him.“I thought you were going to fight her,” he says. “I thought you were going to snap and yell at her.”

Solas says, “Drink.” He leans forward in his chair, pride demon eyes staring him down. Felassan wishes he would blink. He looks away and drinks the thick, sweet red wine that tastes too fresh, too close to the grape. This was a wine to get drunk to, not to drink.

He casts about for something to say, anything to move that stare away. Ghilan’nain and her grotesqueries are not an option. Solas will not respond if he tackles the issue of Mythal directly. Finally, he tries, “You’d think she’d do something about Andruil’s spies.”

Solas quirks an eyebrow. “Why would she? She’s paying her.” Now he leans back. The gold night is slating through the apartment’s window and lends a shimmer to his skin. Felassan watches him sip. The apartment might be small and a bit rundown, but Solas has arranged himself impeccably, glorying in the natural light. He is a god, he is Mythal’s procurator, he is a lord in his own right: and he is still ever the artist.

“What,” Felassan says.

“Oh yes,” Solas shifts in his chair, gesturing with his glass, “the All-Mother has spoken, before witnesses—yourself included—that Ghilan’nain’s experimentations with lyrium and Mythal’s own little stones are for the good of Elvhenan.” He barks a bitter laugh. “You know the dwarves sing a hymn to their own children, about the promise of Mythal’s freedom? Let me show you.” He waves a hand at the crystalline radio and once again the music plays, the odd echoing that vibrates within the nose and the smallest bones in the ear and the jaw.

Felassan closes his eyes and listens as the voice of the Stone reverberates, “Ir sa tel’nal, Mythal las ma theneras. Ir san’a emma. Him Sola evanuris. Da’durgen’lin, Banal males elgara. Bellanaris, bellanaris.”

Solas says, “She uses me to keep them placid, promising them their freedom—freedom of thought, through their imagination, but they will never freely walk under Elgar’nan’s sun. I have no love for the Children of the Stone. I find them lacking in understanding. What can be gleamed, by people who do not dream? But no one, for all the horror they have wrecked with their earthshaking, deserves Ghilan’nain. Mythal promised me my freedom. That should be extended to all the workers under my control.”

Felassan throws back his drink and sets his glass on the desk. “Pour me another one,” he says. “So. What are we going to do, to stop this war? Because that is what you intend to do. To make the need for these lyrium-worked stone weapons redundant. What do you need me to do?”

Solas is taken aback for a moment, though he should know better. He was the one who left him, after all. Solas reaches for him. Felassan leans into the touch reassuringly, knowing Solas is already making excuses, a moment of weakness, a moment of sentimentality, he has been alone for so long. They lock eyes, Felassan thinks let me stay over again, let me love you but the music changes pitch and Solas gets out of his chair to turn it off, and then shifts to the kitchen for better wine.

They spend the night strategizing how to prevent a war, but when Solas goes to bed, he chooses to go alone.

Arlathan is resplendent for the peace summit, but the Dread Wolf’s retinue is glorious in their wonderfully-dyed ultramarine silks. It is a statement and it is a bold one, and Felassan is feeling smug, because not only are they, the former foot soldiers of Mythal’s army, wearing an entire kingdom’s worth of cash on their backs—they also look magnificent in blue.

“You’re strutting,” Felassan tells Solas, beautiful in a blue tunic and a woven gold scarf.

Solas laughs. “Look at them, watching,” he says happily. “I see Sylaise’s little spies chattering away—the Dread Wolf has enough ultramarine to turn out his own court, and spare. I love this pageantry. Next time, if we live to see another time, I will ask the dyers to dress the cloth like peacocks. And then we truly will put on a show.”

Felassan was more referring to how he was walking so everyone would look at his ass, which was certainly one of the nicest he himself has ever seen, but he does like the idea of both of them done up in turquoise and gold, glittering in the sunset. Solas rarely dresses well outside of court, preferring the anonymity or alternate political statement of plain dress. But the message here is clear: the Dread Wolf carries enough wealth, independent from Mythal, to stop a war.

They process into Mythal and Elgar’nan’s palace, which is of course overheated. The ritual of welcome is interminable. Mythal is clearly amused, Elgar’nan is already drunk, one of Falon’Din’s slaves attempts to trip Solas’ herald, and Sylaise glowers the whole time. Solas is simply serene. Felassan does his best to arrange his face, but he’s best at parties, not the cult aspect of life as a servant of an immortal godking. When he first hit on that bombastic new recruit in the barracks, this was not how he thought it would end. He really had thought they would all be dead before then.

Eventually they are released to Solas’ own wing of the palace, much smaller than all the other children of Mythal and their co-rulers. There Solas will arbitrate the terms of the peace agreement between Sylaise and Dirthamen. Even for a former slave—and a rumored bastard child—the quarters are grandiose. An obsequious slave branded by Andruil’s insignia informs them that Sylaise specially redesigned them in line with the latest fashions, and then makes a quick gesture with his hand as Solas enters. Felassan catches it: pinky and pointer up, middle and ring finger touching the thumb. He’s made the sign of the wolf at them. He’s asking for help.

“Rubies,” Solas says. “Gold. Far too gaudy.” They stand in the atrium, bejeweled and overheated, with rooms all along the courtyard. The Dread Wolf’s retinue—loyal soldiers, clerks from across the caste system, kitchen staff and cleaners—all stay close. The heat is overwhelming. The red seems to shimmer in Arlathan’s bright light

“Well,” Felassan says. “It’s gaudy, but it’s a peace offering from Sylaise. Anyway, you’re one to talk. You’re wearing enough blue dye to buy an army.” He brushes against Solas, trying to get his attention, and Solas leans into the touch and then abruptly moves away. For fuck’s sake, Fen’Harel, Felassan thinks. For once I’m not trying anything.

“Which is the point,” Solas says, refusing to look at him. “This though,” he waves a dismissive hand, “is a migraine. But the expense and insult to Sylaise for redesigning apartments she so kindly put together…”

Felassan says, “I think some of this is colored glass.” He flicks a particularly obnoxious cut gem over the threshold of the drawing room. It resounds like lyrium-song, but even more distorted, haunting and hot in his ears. It’s red lyrium, and the retinue pauses and draws together quickly.

“Touch nothing!” Solas barks. “Pack up your things. This is red lyrium, and it corrupts what it touches.” He shakes his head. “Unsubtle. This is a gift from Sylaise, but at Andruil’s prompting.” He puts his hand on Felassan’s shoulder. “I must ask a favor from you, my friend. Stay close to me. I need you to be my slow arrow, to catch Andruil out.”

Felassan remains Solas’ only guard. The rest work quickly to calculate and capture the red lyrium contamination in their quarters. He’s nervous. Normally the Evanuris are more subtle, but Andruil has changed since the war. He tells him about the sign Sylaise’s slave made and Solas just looks smug, choosing to keep the story to himself. Of course Fen’Harel has spies in every court, of course Fen’Harel knows who needs him before they even do, of course Fen’Harel doesn’t communicate anything beyond need-to-know even to him, his personal guard. He thinks, not for the first time, that Solas is a hard man to love. At least Solas knows that too.

The peace summit is boring. Sylaise puts on a show, decked out in lyrium-woven silver and lapis lazuli, which makes her brilliant red hair shine gold and rather disruptive. Dirthamen is more severe. His graying hair is braided with silver thread, making the red in it even more distinctive, and the lyrium-silk he wears whispers the impressions of all that he has seen. At this point Felassan has ceased to be rattled by how very much Solas looks like him. Fen’Harel keeps his head shaved because it is anonymous and convenient, and also because it makes him look even less like his rumored half-siblings.

The children of Mythal gather around a round table. Solas opens negotiates. Felassan is bored. There is so much lyrium in the room, it thrums in his sinuses and he is afraid his nose will bleed. The conquest of the Durgas Durgen’len has brought plenty to Elvhenan. The excess is rather grotesque, and while Felassan likes grotesque—why else would he be in the Dread Wolf’s retinue?—the other Evanuris are a bit much. Absolutely no one in the room brings up Andruil or Ghilan’nain’s name, but their presence is felt.

The meeting ends after Solas successfully convinces both to sign a nonaggression pact that includes reporting to the other when they begin outfitting for war. They can track the movement of Andruil’s experimental soldiers that way, though the clause does not require them to inform Mythal. They have enough spies. Solas has them sign the contract in blood laced with lyrium, providing his own knife.

“Ah,” Sylaise says. “Fen’Harel’s fang. How cute. Did my mother give you that?”

Solas smiles coldly. “My father, actually. I have never asked how he received it.” Score, Felassan thinks. Sylaise has always been a fucking idiot.

Dirthamen says, “You’ve never asked?”

Solas says, “It was his once and is mine now. I rather think I have made written is backstory.” He glances at the contract, slowly drying on the table.

Felassan says helpfully, “In your blood. Literally.” Solas catches his eye and they both begin to grin before he looks away hurriedly. “Now, everyone will know, that it is at this daggerpoint that war was averted and peace brokered between two of the greatest powers of Elvhenan, and the nation’s supply of blue dye restored.”

Solas says mildly, “I should add that Mythal has asked me to draft legislature making it clear that colored dyes themselves cannot be patented, though of course ratios and forms of manufacturing may remain trade secrets to the craftsman.” He bows slightly to Sylaise, who visibly grinds her teeth. Felassan can hear the squeak.

Dirthamen says, “Good. If you will excuse me? I must tender my regards to our mother. She and I have much to discuss.”

Solas says, “Give her my love.” He means it, too. For all that Mythal has wrecked, Solas has always loved her. He may have removed the mark from his face—and Felassan’s too—but the writing is in the blood, as the saying goes. The vallaslin can never truly be erased.

Dirthamen leaves and Sylaise follows hurriedly, and Solas leans forward, elbows on the table, steepling his hands. He rubs the bridge of his nose, staring at the contract.

“Nicely done,” Felassan says. “Dirthamen came very close to acknowledging you as his brother. You might’ve alienated Sylaise, but she was always a lost cause.”

“I’m not,” Solas says sharply. He drops his hands. “As you know. But it’s interesting that he has an audience with Mythal. Perhaps Andruil approached him first, rather than Sylaise. Perhaps this all was yet another game of hers, testing to see how easily her children fracture if she chooses to leave Elvhenan unattended. Or perhaps they’re simply gossiping together, as a mother is wont to do, with her only son.”

Felassan says, “Fine. Forget I said anything. Sorry. But no one’s tried to kill you that well yet. The red lyrium was a cheap shot, but Sylaise has always been cheap. What now?”

Solas says, “I need to clean my dagger, file some paperwork, and see when Sylaise will try to kill me again. I hope, for your sake, that it happens so soon, because I can see that you’re bored.”

“Nothing like an assassination attempt to liven up a peace treaty,” Felassan says. “If you would try to risk your life in more entertaining ways, I would not complain.”

Solas says, “Don’t worry. Andruil’s slave, the one you saw? He invited us to a party. He’s working for the Forgotten Ones. Things will get entertaining yet.”

Geldauron throws the best parties. Everyone knows that. It’s because he’s no longer corporeal, so he focuses on the vibes of the space, to bring everyone’s desires to fruition. He is also a wonderful musician, because he is music and thought becomes music, and he knows how to sing everyone’s desires into a wonderful piece. Felassan is excited, because Solas is his favorite person to get fucked up with, and while both of them will have to pretend to be sober, the night promises to be fun.

Geldauron throws the best parties. He’s also a fucking asshole. The two return to Solas’ quarters to prepare—Solas changes his clothes and Felassan smokes instead. He lounges on Solas’ bed, watching him dress. Solas swaps the cloth leggings for blue-dyed leather and a gold-edged tunic. Picking up a wolfskin, he turns to Felassan, only to catch him ogling his ass. He raises an eyebrow.

Felassan says, “Good choice. But if you take those off you’re not getting back in them any time soon.”

Solas snorts. “I doubt it is that kind of party.”

“We could make it that kind of party.”

Solas grins. He says, “No.”

“I thought you like mixing business and pleasure,” Felassan says. He takes a drag and, concentrating, blows a smoke ring toward him.

Solas’ smile fades, and he returns to the mirror, adjusting his collar. “Not now,” he says. “I cannot afford to be so reckless anymore.”

Felassan sees himself, desirable in the mirror, and Solas looking frustrated. He says, “Why did you ask me to come along?”

“Because I trust you,” Solas says readily. “Because I care about you, and I will behave more cautiously so I may keep you safe. As you would to protect me. And that is why I must ask you—stop this. I am your commander now. It’s inappropriate concerning our differences in rank. We might no longer be slaves, but I have certain responsibilities.” He stops, seeing Felassan laughing in the mirror. “What?”

Felassan sidles up and puts his arms around him. “You’re so full of shit,” he says fondly. Solas stiffens, and then relaxes. “Sure. I’ll stop. I’m sorry.”

“I,” Solas begins, and then stops. “Yes. Thank you.”

Felassan thinks, you want me to persuade you, don’t you? You’ve always enjoyed being courted. But tonight, I’d rather not. It’s my turn for some flattery. I’m tired of being hung out to dry. He pushes him away and goes to the door. “So,” he says. “Where in the Void are we going? Didn’t Geldauron get rid of his physical form? This is a trap, isn’t it?”

“We wouldn’t go if it weren’t,” Solas says. “You asked for adventure, and I am glad to deliver.”

They have to take three different eluvians and briefly melt into the Void to get to the spot in the Abyss where Geldauron has shaped according to his munificent Will. Melting always makes Felassan have to piss, but there are no bathrooms in the Abyss. Geldauron eschews such mundanities.

Felassan grumbles, “Subject and object, actor and acted upon. Easy to say when you’ve jettisoned your bladder to become a fog of resentment and envy. That still smells like piss.”

The Abyss, triggered by Felassan’s desire for shape, sense, and a toilet, warps. Tiles, Felassan thinks. Please. A nice hole in the ground to piss in. I’ll take a tree. Solas waves an idle hand, and a cobbled path appears out of the blankness. A white threshold opens at the end. From there they feel the vibrato of lyrium-song, electric and hungry. Felassan shivers. Carefully they step on the path. Halfway up, Felassan stops.

“What do you think will happen if I piss off the map?” Felassan says. “Into the Abyss?”

Solas pauses. There is mischief in his eyes. “We know that Geldauron will not bother to manifest anything to accommodate our corporeality.”

Felassan squints into the blankness. “If I conquer his Will with my Will, it won’t bounce back.”

“It would be purely an experiment of magical energy,” Solas agrees. They stare at each other.

Felassan says, “I bet you I can aim farther than you.”

“There is no distance to measure,” Solas says. “It’s the Void.”

“Coward,” Felassan says. “Don’t you need to take a piss too?”

Solas looks exasperated. One more taunt, Felassan thinks, and I’ve got him. He’s never been able to back down from a bet.

“I bet you I can Will it farther than you, and get rid of the smell,” Felassan says. “And, anyway, there’s not going to be anywhere more private to take a piss than our personal pathway through the Abyss. Especially if we’re walking into a trap. Unless you want to weaponize your bladder.” He pauses. “Is that why Geldauron smells like piss?

“Geldauron stinks because as he lost his physical form, his body relieved itself of all its former functions. He captured himself in the moment of his dying renewal. Unfortunate, but to be expected for one as foolish as he,” Solas says, amused. “But to your question—are you saying you think you can piss magic?”

Felassan says, “Wanna bet?”

The lyrium-high hits them both as a physical force as they pass the threshold, and Felassan’s heart skips a beat as it thrums through his body, teasing his sinuses and twinging behind his eyes and ears. Solas takes a deep, steadying breath, and Reality begins to vein, blueing the whiteness into shadowy shape. Felassan sniffs: lightning, storm clouds, fertile earth, and—that’s it, just the hint of piss.

He whispers, “I think I found Geldauron.”

Solas chokes back a laugh.

The slightly stinking vibration that is the Forgotten One Geldauron wraps around them and gives a token attempt at conquering their Will. Solas brushes him off as if he were a fly. Felassan thinks very hard, shit piss shit piss shit piss fucker—and the buzzing stops. Geldauron backs off, giving off a sense of being decidedly rumpled. Felassan is smug.

“Greetings, the Will that is Geldauron,” Solas says. There is a touch of irony to his voice.

Geldauron arranges the particles of the voice into a throat, complete with tongue, lips, teeth, and vocal cord. Felassan eyes it with disgust, Solas with interest. Felassan has always thoroughly enjoyed having a body, and has never understood why the Forgotten Ones gave up their form to vibrate in the Abyss—and, of course, the fact that they backed down from fighting the Pillars of the Earth when thousands were dying in those earthquakes does not incline him to being kind. Solas, though, has always liked to experiment.

Geldauron says, “Welcome to the Void. I see you’ve brought a guard.” Felassan stands up a bit straighter and attempts to look intimidating. The vibration that is Geldauron twinges. “You wouldn’t trust your old friends?”

Solas says lightly, “I especially wouldn’t trust old friends. How’s your lyrium-mining operation going?”

“Better, if you’d give me the workers.”

“Which I would, if you added basic safeguards to your mindvision. The Abyss is still Evhenan, and follows the same operational safety protocol as part of the empire.”

Geldauron scoffs. “Anaris is still pissed you backed out of the deal. He’s looking for a better buyer.”

Solas says, “Anaris caused the death of three hundred and twenty-nine elvhen miners from my home province. Not every man has the ability to project, with utmost confidence, the certainty of their own mortality while handling certainly noxious substances. Is he here?”

Around them the party swirls in blasting lyrium-song and crystal colors, and Felassan closes his eyes to feel the Will solidify as the voices sing. He is not drunk and only a little high, but there is a hive and there is the mind and there are infinite and only two hundred people in this Void, just vibing, and six at least are vining around each other, flesh to plant twirling photosynthesis, and he tastes—

Solas says, “If you think your profit margin outweighs the worth of any freethinking person in my employ, I will override your thought-form myself.” He puts a hand out and grips a shoulder as he forces Geldauron to take shape, Will snapping Will back into Reality, and Felassan shakes himself and watches as the old god flashes into a form, snarling, and then unravels again. Showing up the host at his own party, Felassan thinks. That’s a mistake.

He steps in, to back him up. “Can you still be the Will when others have more Will than you?” He waves a hand through where Geldauron’s vibrato played. There are others staring at them, taking physical shape, and now the Abyss becomes a black castle, lyrium roots twinging at their feet. The air is hungry. He suppresses a shiver.

“Cute,” a voice drawls, and then there is a body to match: the slave Felassan saw, who warned them about the red lyrium in their quarters. Then the vallaslin melts away and he grows taller, face sharpening and eyes narrowing, pupils elongating to slits.

“Anaris,” Solas says neutrally. Felassan looks at him quickly. There’s history here. The most physical of the Forgotten Ones is unearthly handsome, as aesthetically perfect as a monument, and thus completely unfuckable. Judging from the slight tension in Solas’ posture, Fen’Harel once disagreed. Felassan checks a sigh. He looks at Felassan. “Give us a moment. I’ll meet you near the path.” Felassan pauses, because leaving him alone with the Forgotten Ones is ridiculous, however ridiculously overpowered Solas is, but Solas gives him that cold Fen’Harel look so he backs off without trying to argue. There is never any point. He never listens, and out of the few arguments Felassan has ever won with him, it has only been because Solas has already decided to agree. He bows slightly, only to make him uncomfortable, and wanders off into the Void. Maybe they are just meeting to talk over labor disputes. Maybe it is something more—but it is not every night that Felassan finds himself partying in the Abyss, and so he intends to take advantage of it while he still can.

Felassan has a crowd of sympathetic quasi-corporeal spirits surrounding him, and they all pet him and tell him he is right. He is drunk and this is the Fade leaching into the Abyss to massage his desires into reality, but that does not spoil it.

“I am done with bad bosses,” Felassan announces to the crowd. “Bad bosses who say they love you and take you along to arbitrate weird labor disputes with their exes and then cut you out of the interesting part. Bad bosses who when they’re promoted above you stop sleeping with you but keep you around anyway. This has been a centuries-long break-up and I deserve better.”

A Compassion spirit says, “You should tell him. Communication is always key.”

Felassan wails, “But he told me!”

The spirits rustle. The Compassion spirit looks slightly less sympathetic. A spirit of Authority and their friend, one of Geldauron’s lackeys who couldn’t quite eschew their form entirely, say in unison, “Is it the debasement that you like?”

Felassan pauses. “No. Yes.” He thinks. “No. Just the presence. I could handle the profession. I can! I am. But mixing business and pleasure?”

Suddenly, out of the Abyss, comes Solas’s voice, and then Solas’s presence. He says, amused, “Anaris is not my ex. How have you managed to get drunk off the Abyss? There is nothing here.”

Felassan flushes. Solas offers him a hand and helps pull him up. Felassan says haughtily, “I find the Nothingness very intoxicating.” Solas’ eyes crinkle, and Felassan hangs onto him a second longer before Solas gently lets go. Felassan says, “Someone manifested the drunk. Not me.”

Solas says, “Yes. Compassion, or Authority, manifested your current state of inebriation. Not any of your desire to taste oblivion.”

Felassan says, “Yes, that’s right. Everyone brought oblivion to me.”

Solas chuckles. “Ridiculous.” He takes hold of Felassan and walks him into the blackness. “Place more drunk,” he whispers. “We’re being followed.”

Felassan stumbles. Solas leans over to catch him. Felassan whispers in his ear, “Anaris? Geldauron? Ghilan’nain? Which one of your enemies is it today?”

Solas’ lips brush his cheek. “Andruil,” he mouths. He presses a lingering kiss to his cheek, and Felassan draws back, furious. Solas closes his left eye quickly, barely even a wink: Felassan whirls around, and Andruil jams a needle into his neck, and then he is falling as Solas backs away, eyes flashing with Mythal’s lightning.

“Where the fuck is that fucker?”

Felassan is rudely shaken awake. “Easy, easy,” he grumbles, putting his hands out. Anaris, beauty distorted by frothing rage, slaps them away. Felassan sits up, takes stock: he is sitting on the worn stone path out of the Abyss, hanging over the Avoid. Anaris looms over him. Fen’Harel is nowhere to be found. Felassan decides to play dumb. “What fucker?”

Anaris says, “That fucker. Your fucker. Fen’Harel.”

Felassan objects: Solas hasn’t let him fuck him since Mythal made him a god, citing the power differential. That, of course, has not stopped them from flirtation, tension, and angst, and Felassan is occasionally jealous that Solas seems to fuck everyone but him—Anaris, really?—but that all goes to say: Fen’Harel is not his fucker. He opens his mouth to say all that, but Anaris shoves him roughly to the ground.

“He’s mine,” Anaris says.

Felassan props himself up on his elbow. “Yeah. I had a nice talk with a spirit of Compassion early….” He looks over his shoulder, trying to find the entrance to the Abyss where Geldauron’s party was. There is nothing, which makes sense, because this is the Abyss. He shrugs. “Really, he’s no one’s but his own. Built his own brand on that. Terrible commitment issues, and not the most appropriate commander—you need to learn to let him go—“

“The fuck are you on about?” Anaris stares at him. “He broke our fucking contract. Mythal ordered him to sell us her workers, he backed out. And now he’s sitting on an entire kingdom of gold because of Andruil’s stupid gambit—biologic-fucking-weapons. Not like he’s doing anything useful with those dwarves. May as well test them out in one of Sylaise’s petty wars.”

Felassan stares up at him, disgusted. “They’re not weapons,” he says. “They’re people. Just because they don’t dream…we threw down the Pillars of the Earth and scorn them for making machines of their own people. We can do better than that.”

Anaris says, “Did I ask for moralism? No? Gods. You’re definitely one of his followers, ugh. Does he keep you around for his conscience?” He shakes his head. “I’m done with that shit. Geldauron said—whatever. Where the fuck is he? He owes me money. He broke our contract!”

Felassan thinks, I’m done with this shit. He rubs his aching head wearily. “I think Andruil took him.” He isn’t quite sure, but he thinks Solas was trying to protect him. He’s never been very good at letting his guards guard him, but Felassan is rather glad to still be alive. Doubtless enough time as Mythal’s thrall will teach him to let others die.

Anaris swears so loudly and angrily the path, which is itself a thought form, shakes slightly. Felassan eyes him warily. He points in a random direction. “I think they went that way.” A doorway, shining brilliant with white light, opens up onto the path. Felassan considers it. The wondrous thing about living in a malleable reality is that if one Wills hard enough, it comes true. Felassan wants Anaris to fuck off and find Andruil, so the gateway appears. “Nice,” he says aloud.

Anaris sets off. Felassan lays down on the floor, which obligingly broadens so his limbs won’t dangle into the Void. This is the sort of mess only Fen’Harel could get embroiled in. He thought they were just investigating a trade embargo, then a war, and now it’s a labor dispute. He pities himself and his aching head a little bit longer, and then rolls to his feet. “Right,” he tells himself. “Let’s get him out of there.” With that, he walks into the light.

The Void opens into a dark forest, somewhere south of Arlathan—Andruil’s demesne. The earth is warm and welcoming below his feet, and the trees press closely, watching his back. Felassan can hear the night-birds sing, bats chitter their paths through the darkness, and the ever-present insect scream. He looses a breath. He walks through the material world reassuringly, touching a tree or caressing a leaf as he goes. Anaris’ deep footprints mark an angry path through the mud. Felassan tastes the rain-rich air: it has rained before and it will rain again. Andruil will be quite damp.

A clearing with a warm fire opens up through the woods. Felassan hears Andruil’s laughter. Obeying his prey instincts, he hurriedly clambers up a tree to get a better view. Solas is trussed up, hands and feet bound, leaned against a tree. He is entirely nude, covered in mud, and looking a bit scratched up and tired. Felassan raises a hand and waves at him from the canopy. Solas looks up, makes a face, and looks down quickly.

Andruil says, “No. He’s mine. He ruined my bioengineering program and now my mother expects me to pay out of pocket for the trials. We’re going to test the red lyrium armor on him first and present him to her as a gift. You can use him when we’re done with target practice.”

Anaris stomps his foot. “He broke our contract and bankrupted half the Forgotten Ones—and you promised us you’d invest. I claim him, in the name of the Abyss.”

Solas, temporarily forgotten, begins to chew on the ropes binding his wrists. Felassan stifles a laugh. Intervening now would be suicide. He’ll wait for the right moment.

Andruil says, “Fuck off. Your Abyss is nothing.” Literally, Felassan thinks. It is an abyss after all. “He is mine to do what I wish. After what he did to Ghilan’nain, his life is forfeit.”

Solas mutters, “Notwithstanding what she did to me and mine.”

Anaris says, “Ghilan’nain isn’t here to pursue her claim.” He strikes a pose. “By the All-Mother’s law, there is only one recourse. A duel of honor!”

Solas says, “How flattering. And the winner gets my entrails. One does love to see the letter of the law followed.”

Andruil kicks him over; Solas takes the blow and falls with a grunt. She says, “Fine.” She draws her magnificent bow, reinforced with lyrium mined from the heart of the Titans itself.

Solas calls out, “Sylaise made her armor—there’s a flaw just above the right hip, where it curves to show off her shape. The silverite is weakest there. Stab well, my friend. And quickly, if you do want my entrails.”

Andruil shrieks, “Shut up,” but Anaris blurs, skin tearing into bear hide and his skull elongating into a bestial mix of lizard, bear, and elf. The two gods wrestle; Solas hurriedly rolls out of their way, towards the tree Felassan climbed. His nose is bleeding from the kick in the face, and his bottom lip is swollen. He holds up his wrists, and then twists them, easily slipping a hand out. He gestures: throw down a knife.

Anaris is stabbing wildly at Andruil now, trying desperately to get at the weak spot at her right hip. Andruil has her hands fixed around his throat. Felassan passes down the knife, unwilling to get involved in the carnage. Solas, rather than cutting through the bonds at his feet, stabs it into the grass and leans over the hilt, hiding it from view. He puts his hand back into the loops of rope, and waits.

“Try a sixty-degree angle,” he suggests idly. “No, twist the knife, if you please.”

Andruil’s hands fall from Anaris’ neck and he stands up, baring his bruised throat at the Dread Wolf. The Dread Wolf stares at him, amused. Anaris says, “Dead.”

Fen’Harel says, “Unlikely, but you are welcome for the break. Twist her neck to make sure. You owe me your victory, Anaris.” He smiles, teeth showing. Above, Felassan shudders slightly. He’s left his wolf’s teeth in—normally he eschews mixing shape as gauche. “She would have killed you outright, if I had not helped. You owe me my freedom.” He makes a show of displaying the ropes around his wrists.

“Go fuck yourself,” Anaris says angrily. “Fuck off, you halfbreed whoreson slavey bastard. I will burn my mark into your flesh, you imbecilic—” A gold-tipped arrow protrudes from his throat. His eyes widen, he tries to scream, but his knees crumble. Anaris collapses to the ground. Andruil, eyes flashing blood, drops her bow.

“My victory,” she says. “I never lose.” She presses a hand to her bleeding side and stumbles over to Solas. He scrabbles back, but she has him cornered against the trunk. Felassan pulls out his own bow and aims.

Andruil prints her bloody hand onto Solas’ face and pushes his head against the tree. Quickly he tugs his hand free of the ropes and grabs at the knife he hid, stabbing at her back. The armor dents the knife, and Felassan sees Solas begin to panic, but then she coughs in his face and falls over.

“Fuck,” Solas says. Felassan jumps down and quickly cuts the ropes at his ankles. Solas slowly pulls himself up, massaging his feet. “They’re in uthenera now, dreaming their wounds away.”

“And you’re naked,” Felassan says.

“And covered in the blood of my enemies,” he returns, holding his hands out. “Like one of Andruil’s own slaves.” He wipes at his face, but only succeeds in smearing the blood across his face. “Let us go—before they wake.” And so, they escape. Felassan tells everyone Solas chewed through the ropes, because that is better than the alternative: being drenched in the blood of your enemies, naked and afraid.

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engie-ivy · 4 years ago

Text

James refuses to accept the break-up unless either Remus or Sirius will look him in the eyes and tell him he's not in love with the other anymore

“Yes, Moony,” James says in a mocking tone, and Merlin, Sirius could actually strangle him right now. “Tell me you broke up with Padfoot because you weren’t in love with him anymore.”

Remus just gives James an angry look.

Sirius sighs. “Look, Moons. If you’re worried about hurting my feelings, it’s fine. I already know, have known for the last three years. Hearing you say it now isn’t going to kill me.”

From second thoughts to first dates

“Lily’s going to kill me.”

Sirius is sitting on the floor of his flat with his back leaning against the couch. Remus is sitting beside him, and a very drunk James is sitting across from them. Sirius and Remus are pleasantly buzzed, but James is positively wasted. They watched the final of the Quidditch World Cup together, and after James’s favourite team lost, went to the pub where he made use of the opportunity to drown his sorrows.

Now they’re back at Sirius’s flat, sitting on the floor eating grilled cheese. Living alone without house elves has proven to be very beneficial for Sirius’s grilled cheese-making skills.

“Nah,” Remus says, laying his head back against the couch and closing his eyes. “She’ll just let him suffer through his hangover tomorrow and then it’ll be fine.”

“He’s supposed to have lunch with Lily’s sister and her husband tomorrow,” Sirius sighs. “After the disaster of their first meeting, Lily was hoping he’d make a good impression this time.”

Remus opens one eye to look at James, who is currently dipping his grilled cheese in the glass of water Sirius gave him instead of his ketchup. “Yeah, that might be a problem.”

“Don’t care to make a good impression anyways,” James says, chewing on his soaked grilled cheese. “Pompous nitwits the both of them were.”

Remus smirks. “Is that why you went on a rant about the newest broom models and made the husband think you were mocking him?”

James points his grilled cheese at Remus, making wet crumbs fly in his face. “He started it! Puffed up buffoon bragging to me ‘bout his bloody... muggle wagon.”

“Still, you should act your best for Lily’s sake.”

James shakes his head. “No use. Doesn’t matter how I act, they’re determined to hate me, so they’ll hate me. Pointless, trying to impress them, absolutely pointless.”

Remus lays his head back down and Sirius focuses his attention on his own grilled cheese, while James keeps babbling on about how pointless it would be to try and be liked by Petunia and Vernon Dursley.

“Pointless, so very pointless. No point anywhere to found. One of the most pointless things in the world. Almost as pointless as...” James seems to wreck his brain to come up with something in the same category of pointlessness. “Your break-up!” He eventually says, waving his grilled cheese at Remus and Sirius.

Remus responds merely by giving James an exasperated look, and Sirius is proud of himself that, despite the sting in his heart, he manages not to react besides lifting one eyebrow. “Prongs, that still bothers you? It’s been three years.” Another sting in his heart. Has it really been three years already?

“Has it really been three years already?” James asks. “That makes it even more pointless! Three years and nothing’s changed.”

“Nothing’s changed?” Now Sirius can hardly keep the annoyance out of his voice. Three years since he last kissed Remus, three years since he last woke up next to Remus, three years since he last looked into Remus’s eyes and could think to himself ‘he’s mine’, three years since the world turned into a continuous numbness with just memories of happiness, but sure, nothing’s changed.

“Yes,” James says. “You’re still each other’s most important person in your life, you still look at each other like that, and neither one of you has ever dated anyone else in these three years, so what’d you go and break up for?”

Sirius frowns. “Moony dated. That woman from work...”

James makes a dismissive gesture. “She was married, her husband was just abroad.”

“Not like that,” Remus quickly clarifies. “We just hung out as friends a couple of times, nothing happened between us.”

“Moony asked me to keep up the pretence, hoping that it would help you move on.” James lets out a laugh. “What a disaster that was! During that time, a bloke was chatting you up in the pub once, and Moony glared at him so intense I thought he was going to punch him!” James burst into a fit of giggles. “Remember, Moony? You were clutching your glass so hard, it shattered in your hand!”

While James keeps giggling, Remus gives him a look that gives Sirius a pretty good idea what that bloke in the pub must have endured.

James wipes the tears from his eyes. “I’m just saying, you could’ve saved me three years of dealing with jealousy, pining and fits of crying.”

Sirius flushes and grits his teeth. Drunk or not, James has no business letting Remus know how pathetic he’s been these last three years. “Don’t make Moony feel guilty about it, Prongs. He’s not obligated to be with me just for your comfort, so deal with it.”

James rolls his eyes. “I’d deal with it, if you’d have a good reason for the break-up.”

“What more of a reason do you need?” Sirius is now seriously annoyed. “When one person is not in love with the other anymore, there’s nothing else you can do but break-up. That’s just life, and yes, it sucks, but it happens, and it’s no one’s fault.”

James, however, insists on being stubborn. “I would accept that reason. So, let me put it this way: if one of you can look me in the eyes and tell me that he’s not in love with the other anymore, I’ll drop the topic forever and I’ll never bring it up again.”

Sirius pinches the bridge of his nose and decides to just accept his faith. “Moony, just tell him.”

Startled, Remus jerks his head up, from where he was intently studying a loose thread on his jumper. “What? Why?”

Sirius glances at him. “Because I don’t know about you, but I’m not particularly enjoying this conversation. I’d rather get this over with as soon as possible.”

“Yeah, okay,” Remus says. “Why me then?”

“Because that was the exact reason you broke up with me three years ago!”

“We could just wait till he’s sober,” Remus mutters.

“I want to get this over with, so please, just say it,” Sirius says frustrated.

“I just don’t know if we should indulge his drunken demands.”

Sirius now really loses his patience. “Moony, just tell Prongs you broke up with me because you weren’t in love with me anymore!”

“Yes, Moony,” James says in a mocking tone, and Merlin, Sirius could actually strangle him right now. “Tell me you broke up with Padfoot because you weren’t in love with him anymore.”

Remus just gives James an angry look.

Sirius sighs. “Look, Moons. If you’re worried about hurting my feelings, it’s fine. I already know, have known for the last three years. Hearing you say it now isn’t going to kill me.”

Remus opens and closes his mouth, and then stares down at his sleeve again, looking miserable.

“Moony,” Sirius says. “Why can’t you just tell him-”

“Cause Moony’s a terrible liar!” James interjects. “He can’t get the words over his lips, especially not in front of you.”

Sirius shakes his head and can’t quite keep the bitterness out of his voice. “He had no trouble saying it three years ago, so why would it be a problem now?”

Remus’s head snaps up to look at Sirius. “I never said I wasn’t in love with you anymore three years ago!” He flushes bright red and looks away again. “What I said was-”

“I know what you said!” Sirius interrupts. Like he’d ever forget the words that made his entire world come crumbling down. “You said you wanted to end things between us, because you didn’t want to be with me anymore. Why else would you not want to be with me anymore?”

“It’s because of the werewolf thiiiiing!” James shouts, making Remus and Sirius flinch.

“What?” Sirius asks, confused. “No, that can’t be. It can’t be because of the werewolf thing. I’ve never once made an issue of that.”

“That was exactly the problem!” Remus snaps. “You acting like it was nothing. You didn’t understand how much it would affect you, how much it would affect your whole life. You didn’t comprehend-”

“I comprehended just fine!” Sirius says, raising his voice in anger. “I comprehended all of it! I comprehended that we’d never have much money, as you’ll never be able to get a steady, decent job, I comprehended that we’d never be able to live in one place for too long, as eventually it’ll raise suspicion, I comprehended that there’d be parts of society we’ll always be left out of, due to prejudice and stigma. I did comprehend, I just didn’t care, and that’s a difference!”

“How?” Remus stares at him in utter disbelief. “How could you not-”

“Because I fucking loved you!” Sirius shouts. “I’d have given up everything for you.”

Remus shakes his head. “Then you must understand how, for that exact same reason, I couldn’t let you do that.”

“That was never your decision to make,” Sirius hisses. “It was mine! And I had decided long ago that it’d be you, no matter what.”

Remus stares at him again, and Sirius can hardly bear to see the emotions in his eyes. Emotions he can’t figure out. For a moment, he thinks Remus will get angry, but then he falls back against the couch and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “You tell him then. Tell him how I screwed everything up, and how you’re completely over me now and couldn’t possibly love me anymore.”

“Merlin, Remus, you’re such an idiot!”

Now Remus glares at him. “You’ve told me on multiple occasions how you’ve gotten over me.”

“Because I thought you had a good reason for breaking up with me!” Sirius replies. “I thought you had a good reason, and I didn’t want to make you feel guilty by letting you know how much of a fucking mess I still am, and how much I fucking miss you every day, even when we’re bloody together!”

“What are you saying?” Remus asks, voice suddenly trembling. “Are you saying that you’re not over me?”

“Are you saying that you didn’t fall out of love with me?”

Remus just stares at Sirius and Sirius just stares at Remus. He has no idea how to proceed, or how to go back. Back to half an hour ago or back to three years ago, he doesn’t even know.

They only come out of their contemplation by a drunken James loudly breaking the silence. “Still haven’t heard any reasooooons!”

Sirius apparates at a safe distance from the Potters’ home and starts dragging James towards his front door.

“Padderfootsie,” James mumbles. “D’you know how many werewolves have families? Of their own? So partners, not parents? I mean, I assume they all have parents, right? Where else would they come from? They don’t just shoot out of the floor.” James starts giggling again. “Can you imagine?”

“Prongs, please, I-”

“Zero!” James exclaims. “None whatsoever! It’s never been done! Too much weirdness about starting families when it comes to “dark creatures”.” He almost sticks Sirius’s eye out at the air quotes he makes around “dark creatures”.

Sirius doesn’t respond, so James continues. “Moony can’t just fall head over heels in love and fully throw himself into it with his whole being, without any doubts, like you and I can. Not with each other, of course. With Remus and Lily. Remus or Lily. Not both. Well both, but you know, one for each. You Remus, me Lily.”

Sirius really wants to get James inside as soon as possible, but James wiggles himself free from his grip to face him, and grabs his shoulders. “I know how much he has hurt you, I know. All I'm saying is, it’s different for Moony, but that doesn’t mean he loves you any less.”

“Merlin, Prongs.” Sirius swallows against a sudden lump in his throat. “I don’t know anymore if I never want you to get this drunk again, or wish that you’d gotten this drunk three years ago.”

Lily slams open the door and stalks into Sirius’s flat.

“Why, good day to you, Lilyflower.”

“Don’t you ‘Lilyflower’ me, Black,” Lily snarls.

Sirius rolls his eyes. “Aren’t you a ray of sunshine this afternoon.”

“Yes,” Lily says sarcastically, while taking a Butterbeer out of the fridge. “Waking up to find your husband knocked out on the couch really does wonders for your mood.”

“Well, you should be thanking me for the fact that he even was on the couch, instead of in a ditch somewhere.”

Lily swallows down a gulp of Butterbeer without breaking eye contact. “I would have preferred the ditch.”

Lily flops down on the couch with her drink and eyes Sirius for a while. “What are you doing?” She asks, after watching him pull on a fancy shirt and fixing his hair in front of the mirror.

“I got a date,” Sirius simply says.

Lily chokes on her next sip. “A...” She coughs a few times. “A date? You haven’t had a date since- in a long time.” She studies Sirius’s face, noting how, despite his efforts to look composed, he’s brimming with excitement. “That’s... That’s good, Pads. I’m happy for you.”

There’s a knock on the door.

Lily, not curious at all, turns around on the couch so she can watch the door as Sirius opens. Her eyes widen, and she can’t help how a small gasp escapes her lips, when she sees Remus Lupin standing there. He’s wearing his best slacks and his nicest jumper, and has even styled his hair. Lily looks with astonishment at the boys nervously staring and smiling at each other, dressed to the nines and well-groomed, like they didn’t eat pizza from the floor of Remus’s flat wearing stained sweatpants after not showering for days just the week before.

“Hi,” Remus says.

“Hi,” Sirius says.

“Hi!” Lily shouts.

Remus jumps, only now realising Lily is in the room. He blushes furiously and runs a hand through his previously well-groomed hair. “Oh, Lils, hi. I didn’t see you there. How are you? Is Prongs still alive?”

“Yes,” Lily replies solemnly. “I’m waiting for him to be sober enough before I kill him.” She gestures with her bottle between the two boys. “So what’s this? Are you two picking things up again?”

“No,” Sirius says hesitantly. “We’re more like... starting over?” A smile appears on his face with such genuine happiness as Lily hasn’t seen on him in... what? Three years? “This is our first date!” He adds.

Lily can’t help but smile back at him, bad mood almost forgotten.

“Well,” Sirius says. “We’ll better get going. There’re some left-over pumpkin pastries in the fridge, and there’s stuff for grilled cheese, but try not to burn anything this time.”

“Right,” Lily says. “You boys have fun then!”

After the door closes behind them, Lily turns around and slides back down on the couch. A huge grin spreads across her face. It’s been a long three years for all of them, but maybe, just maybe, all will be right with the world again.

#wolfstar #wolfstar fanfiction #wolfstar fic #marauders #marauders fanfiction #marauders fic #sirius black #remus lupin #remus x sirius #james potter #lily evans #jily #my tumblr writing

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nautiscarader · 3 years ago

Note

During a diplomatic event between the elves and humans rayla and claudia decide to try drinks from the others homeland, and now a beet red Callum has to try and get his tipsy lovers back to their room before they spill his and/or their secrets, or before they shed their formal wear that is suddenly too tight for their liking.

Callum has finally learned why one should never mix the drinks - especially those coming from, two vastly different cultures. Right now he had his hands - and arms - full of his tipsy girlfriends, Claudia and Rayla, one drunk on Sunfire whiskey, the other on Durenian wine, as they walked back from what was supposed to be diplomatic meeting, but at some point it turned into a battle of gossips, as both sides became way, way comfortable into sharing stories, some of which were very delicate in nature.

"Remember when we were lost in that-that Golden Tree Forest and we nearly got captured?", Claudia asked, laughing at her own story, "It's a good thing we knew the secret way through the mountain..."

"Claudia!", Callum tried silencing her, which was difficult as her waterskin was refilling, by magic, with the same spirit she was drunk on.

"And that time the elves nearly assa-sassa-sassi-KILLED us for 'me mingling with the enemy'?", Rayla burst into laughter, leaning onto the very enemy she has mingled with.

Callum was hoping they could get to their room. He had the solution of the bark from the willow tree, and that should at least limit the pain his lovers would soon have, and hopefully put them to sleep-

"And remember what we diod after the battle?", Claudia suddenly asked, gathering attention of the guests, "When we made love to Callum for the first time?"

The young prince stopped in place.

"He was so red Ah thought his head as gonna fall off!", Rayla continued, "He ne'er laid eyes on a naked girl..."

'R-Rayla...", Callum's face was getting as red as less than a year ago when their three-wa relationship has blossomed, as he was now aware of other people staring at them.

"Of course he has", Claudia countered, "he's found that loose brick in the wall of the bathhouse and he's been spying on me ever since he was-"

"Claudia!", Callum roared, "Maybe, uh, maybe we, we shouldn't be-be revealing details about our lo-love life..."

"But why? You are a flipping amazing lover!", Rayla threw her arms around his neck, "Last night we've done it like six times!"

"Each! and he has a magnificent cock", Claudia added, kissing him passionately. leaving lipstick marks all over his cheek.

"And his mouth is sooooo good..."

Suddenly,. Callum found himself standing just an inch from the door to their chambers, and realised he might let their tongues unknot just a little bit, just to let others imagine what will happen after they get inside...

#raydium #lemon #aged-up characters and all that #nautiscaraderfics

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littlestarofthewest · 4 years ago

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Santa’s Little Helper

This was supposed to be a Christmas present for the lovely @verai-marcel, but tumblr fucked me over and didn’t post it. I’m sorry, dear. Please accept a veeery belated Merry Christmas ❤️️ It was hard to write something for the person who already wrote everything, but I did my best :)

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female reader | Words: 2674 | Rating: Explicit!!!

Summary: You hate working at the mall as an elf. At least until a new Santa comes around.

You have to dig deep into your closet for your costume. You remember exactly how you tossed it in there last year, fed up from hanging around the mall wearing a stupid get up and a fake smile.

Every year, you tell yourself that you'll do better and won't have to do this anymore, but your year has been shitty, and while you hate being an elf, it's a steady gig with good pay.

After changing in the staff room at the mall, you head out to assist the others in setting up Santa's workshop. Without customers around, you can hold on to the rest of your dignity for now.

Santa's little helpers are a combination of a few new people and some regulars like you. They happily welcome you back, lifting your spirits a little. While decorating the giant slide, you overhear them talking about the new Santa. The old one went into retirement last year, making him the second one you saw come and go. It makes you curious how the new guy is going to be.

He shows up about half an hour later in full costume. The black belt digs deep into his full belly, a fake white beard hanging over it. The big boots make a heavy sound as he walks, the bobble on his cap swaying back and forth.

He exchanges a few words with the mall's manager before he walks over with purpose in his stride. It makes you confident that he's not a drunk or otherwise abuses substances that will hinder his performance. There's nothing worse than having to constantly supervise Santa, so he doesn't scare off the children.

He greets the other elves and helps with a few last-minute preparations. You're battling an oversized candy cane that's about to topple over and bury you when a huge hand grabs its top, holding it in place. New Santa is standing next to you, so close that you catch a glimpse at his piercing blue eyes.

"Careful," he says, his voice a deep rumble.

"Thank you," you say, tying down the rope that holds the candy cane in place. "I feared that one of these monstrosities might finally get me."

"You've done this before, huh?"

His voice sends a shiver down your spine, but you do your best to act calm. "A couple of times. You?"

"Me, too. Just not at this scale," New Santa says, looking around. "Usually, I go from door to door in small towns."

"Why the change then?"

"I just moved here, closer to my brother. My sister in law has a baby on the way, and I'm planning on helping out. Chances are she'll kill my brother otherwise."

"Sounds like a lot of responsibility."

"I'm Santa," he says with a laugh, clapping his huge belly. "I think I can manage."

"Let's see how you handle the mall crowd first," you say in a teasing tone.

He sizes you up for a moment, amusement sparkling in his eyes. "You're going to help me?"

"It's my job," you laugh, "like, literally."

New Santa smiles, holding out his hand. "I'm Arthur, by the way."

You tell him your name while shaking his hand, warmth spreading up your arm and to your chest. There's something so very different about this Santa compared to the others. It's going to be interesting to work with him.

-----

Since you've started working with Arthur, a miracle has happened. For the first time, you're actually enjoying the job. Arthur's great with the kids and endlessly patient even with the most pretentious parents. He doesn't take their shit, but he always finds a way to defuse the situation.

The breaks with Arthur are nice as well. He's quiet, but when you find the right topic, he's easy to talk to. Over time, you go from joking over teasing to right out hazing each other. If you're honest, it sometimes even feels a little bit like flirting. Still, you try not to read too much into it. The days of working with him are numbered, after all.

After one horrible shift where a kid is dead set on ripping off Arthur's beard, and another one vomits all over his shoes, you tell him to clear out. You and the other elves clean up, and when you finally enter the locker room, it's quiet. At first, you think you're on your own, but then you turn the corner, finding another co-worker half-hidden in his locker.

"What a night, huh?" you say, making him aware that you're here.

"You can say that again," he says, the voice sending the usual shiver down your spine. Arthur appears from inside the locker, smiling at you. "Thanks for cleaning up. I'll help out tomorrow."

You wish you could say anything, but you're too distracted by Arthur's appearance. It only occurs to you now that you've never seen him without the costume before. Without the fake beard, there's still a nice stubble shadowing his chin and cheeks. The huge Santa belly makes way for a nice little tummy that you wouldn't mind kissing, especially to get to whatever's hidden under the tight jeans Arthur's wearing.

"You alright?" Arthur asks, honest concern on his face, so you decide to tell the truth.

"I just realized I've never seen you without the costume. You're not really old and fat."

Arthur laughs, clapping his stomach. "I'm getting there, especially with the holidays coming up."

"Is your partner a good cook?" you ask, hating yourself a second later, but Arthur shrugs before pulling a shirt over his head.

"Nah, I'm single," he says, sitting down to put on his shoes. "Just got a bunch of friends who drown me in holiday treats."

"Not the worst way to go," you say, and Arthur laughs.

"You're right. I really can't complain." He picks up his bag but leans against his locker, obviously in no rush. "How about you? Any plans for the holidays?"

"The usual," you say with a shrug. "Eating, drinking, and staying in bed as much as possible."

"That sounds great," Arthur says, and the way he looks at you makes you feel like you're in a heap of trouble.

-------

"I can't get you all in the frame like this. Move closer together, people," the photographer says.

It's your last day on the job, and the manager insists on an annual picture of the Christmas Crew. You shuffle closer to your co-workers, but the photographer still isn't satisfied. He alternates between checking his camera and barking instructions.

"You there, stand behind the slide. You three on the side, get on the ground in front. And you, you can sit on Santa's lap."

With horror, you realize that the last order is directed at you. When you don't move, the photographer clicks his tongue with annoyance. "Go on, dear. I'm sure he doesn't mind. It's in his job description."

You throw a questioning look at Arthur, and when he gives you a little wave, the photographer claps his hands. "See? Now, the two of you, up here."

He keeps giving orders while you settle down on Arthur's lap, trying your hardest not to put any weight on him. That works for about a minute, but the photographer keeps giving orders, and you fear your legs might cramp up.

"I'm not going to break, you know?" Arthur whispers behind you, and you move around a bit to get in a better position.

It's not so much about not hurting Arthur but more about not embarrassing yourself. You had a crush on Arthur from the start, but ever since you've seen him out of costume, it's been way worse. You've been thinking about him a lot, and he even showed up in your dreams. Being close to Arthur is dangerous. It wouldn't be the first time you did something foolish because of a guy.

The photographer keeps rearranging people, giving you ample time to notice how good Arthur smells and how hot his body feels against your own. It makes you tingly all over to think about certain things you could do together. Without meaning to, you move around even more until you hear Arthur's breath hitch behind you.

You're about to ask if he's alright, but then you feel something pressing up against your ass, and a wave of heat rushes through your body. Arthur tries to shift his weight under you, but then the photographer finally seems satisfied.

"Alright, nobody move!" he instructs before diving behind his camera. "Big smiles!"

You do your best to force a smile on your face while you still feel Arthur pressing hard against you. The photographer lets all of you make faces or wave, every second of it seeming like hours. You wish you could say that it didn't affect you, but the thought of Arthur's dick merely a few layers of clothing away from your pussy gets you all worked up.

Thoughts of you together rush through your head, and you can't help but move a little, making Arthur groan behind you. You wish you could just turn around and make things interesting, but instead, you jump up the second the photographer releases you.

You still feel hot all over by the time you arrive at your locker, and you busy yourself with your phone, not wanting to change now with other people still around.

This morning, you even thought about asking Arthur for his number, so you wouldn't lose track of him, but that's out of the question now. You just hope he's not one to harbor a grudge in case you both end up working here next year.

"Hey," a deep voice says next to you, and you jump in surprise.

Arthur's standing at the far end of the row of lockers, fidgeting with his hands. "We're the last ones here, but I can leave as well if that makes you uncomfortable."

You didn't notice that everybody left already, but you don't mind at all. This gives you a chance to apologize. "No, it's alright."

"I just wanted to apologize for what happened out there," Arthur says. "It's just that you're so goddamn sexy, especially in that stupid costume, and you were sitting right there-"

You can't believe what you're hearing, but Arthur stops himself, taking a deep breath before speaking again. "I'm not trying to make excuses. I'm just very sorry for what happened, and I hope we can just forget about it."

"Don't worry about it, Arthur. I'm not uncomfortable, and you did nothing wrong," you say, trying to reassure him. "I would be happy to ride on your lap any time."

"Oh, okay. Good," Arthur says, a nervous smile dancing around his lips. "Have a good evening then."

He disappears behind the lockers, and you lean back against your own, swallowing a sigh. You can't believe you said something so stupid. Arthur's a sweetheart, and you totally blew it.

You open your locker to get out your clothes when Arthur rounds the corner. "You said 'ride,'" he says, "not 'sit' on my lap but 'ride.' Did you mean like-?"

He doesn't finish the sentence, but you can't help yourself. "Like sex, yes."

You both stare at each other, and you're about to apologize, but then Arthur moves. A second later, your hands are in his hair, and he cups your face in his hands as you kiss. You end up pressed against your locker, you and Arthur both ready to devour each other. Still, he manages to move a few inches away, both of you breathing heavily.

"Is that okay?" Arthur asks in between breaths. "Do you want to-?"

"God yes," you say, cutting him off to pull him in for another kiss.

Your permission seems to hit a switch inside of Arthur. He picks you up, and you end up on the next durable surface, Arthur's hands roaming all over you. You reach down to lift his shirt over his head, and while he opens the buttons on your blouse, you run your hands over his chest and stomach.

As soon as you're out of your blouse, Arthur kisses along your neck, down to your breasts. Your fingers dig into the skin on his shoulders as he teases your nipples with his tongue, both of you not wasting any time. When Arthur runs his fingers up your thigh, you pull up your skirt and spread your legs.

Arthur simply pushes your underwear aside to tease your pussy, and you're getting so wet that you can think about nothing else but getting off as hard and fast as possible. You open up Arthur's pants, his low curse when you pull out his dick, giving you way more satisfaction than it should.

Grabbing your legs, Arthur pulls you closer, and you can't help a little cry when he pushes into you. It's been a while since you've been with someone, and with the way this is going, you won't last long.

You put your arms around Arthur's neck, and he lifts you up a little. It's not exactly riding him, but you roll your hips to welcome each of his thrusts, both of you moaning and panting.

It feels so good; you wish you could drag it out, but the way Arthur's holding you in place to have his way with you already got you going, and then Arthur does the worst thing he can do.

He's holding on to your hair, his lips right by your ear, whispering between eager breaths. "Dammit, you feel so good. I dreamed about this."

Arthur talking right into your ear feels like someone poured honey all over you, a nice glaze soon covering every inch of your body. You pull him closer, doing your best to get as much friction as possible.

"Jesus, sweetheart, you're killing me here," Arthur groans, sending you right over the edge.

Your muscles clench around him as you come, your face burrowed in the crook of his neck. He doesn't move until you relax and your breathing evens out a little. Still, you feel how Arthur is, so you roll your hips, drawing more curses from him.

"Come on, Santa," you whisper in his ear, "let your little elf please you."

Arthur groans, his fingers digging into your hips as he buries himself inside you with short, hard thrusts. With eager moans, he picks up the pace, and although he seems like he might explode any second, he manages to kiss you in such a tender way that you feel like melting.

Finally, Arthur pushes deep into you, and this time he stays there until he comes, the tension slowly fading from his body. While he's focused on breathing, you scratch his back and stroke a few loose strands of hair out of his face.

Arthur looks up to you with a thankful expression, and you smile. "This morning, I thought about asking for your number."

"I guess we rushed way past that," Arthur says with a laugh, but then he reaches into the pocket of his jeans and hands you a small piece of paper. I usually start with coffee - not this."

You kiss him one more time before you part to get dressed. "I wouldn't mind coffee."

Arthur runs a hand through his hair. "I've got some great coffee at home."

"Do tell," you say, acting nonplussed as you get your things out of your locker.

"Remember what you said about not getting out of bed, just relaxing?" Arthur asks. "I have a nice bottle of wine I could never finish by myself."

The mere thought of spending more time with Arthur makes you all tingly, and you turn around to look at him. "Did you borrow that suit, or do you take it home with you?"

Arthur grins. "Really? Santa?"

"Probably not every Santa," you say, running your hands over his chest before kissing him again, "but I like this one."

-------

For the next two days, you and Arthur only leave his bed when you absolutely have to.

#arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 smut #rdr2 fanfic #my writing #modern au

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longing-and-heartache-and-lust · 4 years ago

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Prompt: Size Kink Title (optional): Relationships (romantic/platonic/etc): Geralt/Jaskier Rating: Explicit Content Warnings: None Summary: Jaskier has a thing for men bigger than him. He especially has a thing for the witcher he’d been travelling with. And eventually, Geralt gets tired of it.

@sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo

Crossposted on ao3 here -----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first thing Jaskier notices about Geralt are his shoulders.

More specifically - just how broad they are.

The way his armour emphasizes them, the same way it emphasizes his narrow hips, creating a contrast that takes the air away from Jaskier’s lungs all the way back in Posada.

And countless times after that.

The thing is, Jaskier’s always had a thing for men bigger than him.

Men that could probably break him in half with one arm, without even paying it much thought, which is one of the reasons he’d always had a talent for getting himself in trouble, flirting with men that had a rather strong preference for women.

He just couldn’t help himself, really.

Naturally, said weakness turned travelling with Geralt into a nightmare.

Having to come up with excuses when the witcher would catch him staring wasn’t the biggest problem, for Jaskier had an admirable imagination and could get himself out of pretty much any situation. The biggest problem was the irresistible need to touch.

No matter what Jaskier did, he couldn’t fight the constant need to reach his hand out, run it over the witcher’s shoulders or chest or arms.

He’d gotten over his uneasiness with blood not only in order to be able to help Geralt mend his wounds but also to have an excuse to touch him. To run his fingertips over the man’s firm muscles, press a palm over them, pat him on the shoulder, trying to hide the quickening beat of his own heart.

After some time, Geralt got comfortable enough around Jaskier and then it became much, much worse.

The first time Jaskier had offered to help the witcher with his hair when Geralt was too exhausted to be able to deal with it on his own, he didn’t really think it through. And when Geralt just started undressing like the bard wasn’t even in the room, it was way too late.

He tried to, he really did, but he just couldn’t stop looking, greedily taking in every inch of pale, scarred skin, physically feeling himself blush when Geralt got to the buttons on his trousers, undoing them one by one, still paying absolutely no mind to the bard.

Jaskier had seen many men naked. He’d slept with humans, elves, half-elves, even a few witchers but Geralt... Geralt was impressive.

Enough to make the bard feel breathless at the thought of how it would feel to have him inside, how long it would take him to work himself open enough in order to even be able to take all of him in.

Running his fingers through the witcher’s tanged, bloodied hair, slipping down to his neck and shoulders every so often, finally allowed to touch, Jaskier kept thinking about how it would feel to wrap his lips around Geralt’s cock, wondering if he’d even be able to fit all of him in his mouth.

He knew that Geralt can feel his fingers tremble, knew that he can hear his heartbeat and breathing but there was nothing Jaskier could do to help it.

And the worst thing was that even though Geralt kept to his usual grunting, he didn’t protest.

Jaskier had barely survived that evening.

After that, controlling himself got much harder.

There were only so many excuses as to why he started keeping even closer to the witcher, always offering help with his hair or his wounds, why he started crawling even closer to him at night if they had to share a bed, why he kept looking and touching and caring.

A few months went by that way but eventually, Geralt had had enough.

It’s when they’re in their little shared room of an inn a little North West of Vengerberg, nearly at the door to head downstairs for a drink or two that Jaskier reaches his hand up to tuck a silver strand of Geralt’s hair behind his ear but, before he can do so, the witcher intercepts his wrist and pins the bard to the wall behind him, taking all air away from his lungs.

“Are you even going to stop touching me, bard?“ he growls, low and impatient.

Jaskier can feel his heart stutter at the feeling of Geralt’s fingers digging into the delicate skin of his wrist.

With just a little more force, he could break it.

That thought alone sends Jaskier’s head reeling and it takes his a few very long seconds to lift his gaze and meet Geralt’s eyes, the amber glowing dangerously in the low light of the fireplace.

“Touching you?“ he repeats, playing the innocence card. “Darling, you’re imagining things.“

Geralt growls at him and pushes Jaskier into the wall with his entire body, making the bard gasp at the feeling of the witcher’s narrow hips against his own. Oh, how he wants to run his hands over them, feel the strong muscles, the sharp V-lines that look so fucking tempting that they literally make his mouth water every single time he sees them.

“Imagining things?“ Geralt’s voice suddenly get’s even lower than it usually is, crawling right under the bard’s skin. “I can smell it on you.“

Oh. Oh.

Suddenly, playing the innocence card gets a lot harder but Jaskier is not a man that gives up easily.

“Smell what on me, Witcher?“ he enquires, deciding to test his luck and run his other hand down Geralt’s shoulder, nearly shivering at the feeling of the firm muscles under his fingertips.

Instead of answering, Geralt leans in even closer, pressing his nose to Jaskier’s neck, right under the sharp of his jaw, where his scent is the strongest, and takes in a deep breath, his other hand coming up to wrap around the bard’s waist and pull him closer, fingers digging into the fragile bones of his ribs.

“It’s been going on for months now, for years, even,“ he breathes into Jaskier’s ear, catching his other wrist without looking and pinning them both to the wall above his head, nearly making the bard whimper. “But you just don’t have enough nerve, do you? To tell me you want me.“

For what feels like an eternity, Jaskier is unable to breathe.

He just looks at the witcher with eyes open wide with both fear and lust, painfully aware of the colour spilling over his cheeks before he finally lets out a trembling sigh and averts his eyes.

“How long?“

Geralt chuckles, showing off dangerously sharp canine that had cost Jaskier many hours of sleep, and pushes his thigh in-between the bard’s legs, making him gasp and instinctively try to set his wrist free, feeling his mind go dark when that does nothing other than remind him that he’s powerless against the witcher.

“How long have I known?“ Geralt asks, touching his lips to Jaskier’s neck and tearing a choked, broken moan out of his chest. “Ever since I heard you call one of your lovers by my name.“

There is no getting out of this, Jaskier knows that perfectly.

Ever since they met, no matter who he slept with, he couldn’t stop thinking of Geralt. Couldn’t stop whispering his name under his breath when his lovers were too drunk to notice or simply didn’t care.

He did it much more than once. And he knows that Geralt had heard it much more than once, as well.

“If you knew, why not do anything about it?“

Geralt scoffs, his breath hot against Jaskier’s neck.

“I’m doing something about it now, am I not?“

Geralt rolls his hips against Jaskier’s, tightening his grip on the bard’s wrist just enough to make Jaskier shudder all over, arching his back to lean into the touch.

“You know, for someone who talks as much as you do, you’ve been awfully quiet about this,“ Geralt murmurs, nipping at the delicate skin of Jaskier’s neck and making him snap his hips forward without even realising. “I’ve grown tired of waiting.“

“Of waiting?“ Jaskier repeats, feeling his heart skip a beat. “What are you- you just told me to stop touching you.“

“No,“ the witcher retorts, letting go of Jaskier’s waist to tip his chin upwards, making him look at him. “I asked if you’re ever going to stop.“

“That’s-“ Jaskier starts, only to be cut off.

“That’s not the same thing, bard,“ Geralt says, softer. “You keep touching my arms and my back and my hair but you never go further.“

And then, before Jaskier can come up with an answer, Geralt is kissing him, hard and possessive and full of lust. He bites into the bard’s lips, runs his tongue over them, licking into his mouth to tear another moan from Jaskier’s lungs.

Painfully aware of just how hard he is, Jaskier rolls his hips against Geralt’s thigh, pleasure sparking up his spine. His lungs burn with the lack of air, and with his wrists still pinned to the wall above his head, he can’t push the witcher away and break the kiss.

Even if he could, he wouldn’t.

“Did you really think I couldn’t tell?“ Geralt breathes out, breaking away when Jaskier’s vision already starts to darken.

He lets go of his wrists, leaning into the touch when the bard immediately wraps both his arms around his neck to pull the witcher closer, until they’re breathing the same air, barely an inch left between them.

“I thought you didn’t want it.“

Geralt just hums, shifting to press his hips closer to Jaskier’s, and the bard can hear himself take in a shaky breath as he feels the witcher’s hard cock against his thigh.

“Does it look like I don’t want it?“

And with that, Jaskier is gone.

He’d thought about it for way too long, one fantasy after the other, for years on end, to hold himself back any longer.

So he just pulls the witcher into another kiss, just as raw and hungry as the first one, runs both his hands over his broad shoulders, down his back, rucking up the fabric of his worn black shirt to dig his nails into the small of the witcher’s back.

He wants to take his time, he really does, but not now. Not now.

“Always thought of you,“ he whispers, breathless, pushing Geralt away just enough to take a step away from the wall. “For the last seven years, it was you, you, you.“

Without thinking about it any longer, Jaskier sinks to his knees, undoing the buttons of the witcher’s trousers with trembling fingers and peppering smudged, wet kisses all over his abdomen, moving lower and lower as the buttons give way.

Geralt runs his fingers through the bard’s hair, gentle at first but then unexpectedly rough as he gets a fistful and tugs, making Jaskier gasp and throw his head back, looking up at him.

“All you needed to do all these years was take,“ Geralt says, holding the eye contact. “And we would’ve been here much sooner.“

Still looking up at the witcher, Jaskier slips his hand under the fabric of his trousers, wrapping his calloused fingers around the base of his hard cock, nearly moaning at just how good it feels.

“Same applies to you, Witcher.“

He doesn’t wait for Geralt to answer, doesn’t even listen to him, choosing to finally get the unnecessary clothes out of the way and run his lips over Geralt’s lower abdomen, following the V-lines that he’d been dreaming about for years and leaving a bite on the witcher’s hipbone, moaning softly when Geralt tugs on his hair in response.

He’s painfully hard by now, lust burning through him like a wildfire but he doesn’t think about himself, only about Geralt, stroking his cock in slow, even motions before finally wrapping his lips around the tip, his sigh breaking off into a soft moan.

Jaskier’s got a lot of experience in this kind of pleasure, he really does.

But there is no way he’s going to be able to take all of Geralt in, even if he chokes.

“Hold still for me,“ he whispers, looking up at the witcher for just a second before running his tongue over the entire length of his cock, following the throbbing veins.

Geralt throws his head back, resting it against the wall, loosening his grip on Jaskier’s hair but not letting go, brushing his thumb back and forth through the locks.

Making an effort over himself, Jaskier holds back from moving too fast as he opens his mouth just a little wider until he can take in the head, moaning softly at the weight of it on his tongue, at the slightly bitter taste of precome.

He never stops the slow movements of his wrist, listening to every sigh, every choked little moan Geralt gives him, as he moves his head, taking the witcher’s cock in deeper until he feels it in the back of his throat. And then, without even thinking, shifts just a little more, keeping his breathing as deep as he can as he feels the head slip into his throat.

Geralt shudders, biting back a choked moan that sends Jaskier’s head reeling even more so than before and though he knows that he won’t be able to go any further, it’s enough for both of them.

“Fuck,“ the witcher breathes out, running his fingers through the bard’s hair in a praising, almost gentle gesture. “You feel even better than I’ve imagined.“

Knowing that Geralt thought of him like this echoes in Jaskier’s body as a spasm of pure lust and he moans, sending a shiver through both of them. He knows what he looks like right now, with his lips stretched over Geralt’s cock - too big for him to take all of it in - chin glistening with spit and precome, and still, he can’t help but look up at the witcher before he can start moving again.

There’s nothing that he wants more than to be able to go even further, nose at the short winter-white hair at the base of Geralt’s cock, breathe in his scent, but even as he tries, he finds that he is just physically unable to and that thought goes straight to his own cock, nearly making Jaskier whine as he feels himself leak with precome.

“You can guide me if you want,“ he says, raspy and breathless, as he pulls away just enough for the string of spit between his lips and the tip of the witcher’s cock not to break.

He loves making his lovers wait, he really does. But not right now.

Right now all he wants is to please, to hear those gorgeous choked moans that Geralt is giving him and know that he’s the reason for them.

And it just so happens that Geralt doesn’t have to be asked twice.

For just a second, he cups the sharp of Jaskier’s jaw, tips his chin up, his eyes dark and devouring, before running his thumb over the bard’s lips and pulling him closer, the tip of his cock slipping into his mouth.

“Breathe for me,“ he says, an order more than a wish, before getting his hand back into Jaskier’s hair and rolling his hips, making the bard take him in deeper.

He’s not gentle as he moves, fucking into the bard’s mouth deeper and faster, keeping him close with a tight, nearly painful grip but he’s careful, keeping Jaskier’s limits in mind even as his moans grow louder with the building, sharpening pleasure.

Jaskier takes everything with a hunger that he would’ve been ashamed of if only he cared.

He runs his tongue over the veins, presses it closer to them as he moves together with the witcher, paying no mind to the tears in the corner of his eyes. His jaw hurts with the strain but he barely even notices it, moving his wrist in faster, harder strokes.

And it’s when the tip slips all the way into his throat again that he swallows, hard, making an effort over himself not to choke, and that’s enough to push Geralt over the edge.

He growls, gripping the bard’s hair even tighter before letting go and spilling all over his tongue, trembling.

He tastes just as Jaskier had imagined, and that makes the bard moan breathlessly as he pulls away and swallows, wiping at his lips with the back of his hand.

Geralt looks incredible like this. Half-naked, sated and still trembling, he looks ungodly.

“Gods, Witcher,“ Jaskier grins, getting up to his feet to press a kiss to Geralt’s lips, sharing his own taste. “If only you’d told me sooner.“

Geralt blinks slowly, his eyes focusing on Jaskier as he pulls him closer and gets both his hands under his shirt, burning the bard with his touch.

“I’ve told you now,“ he grins back, pushing Jaskier towards the bed. “But less talking, bard. I’m sure we can find a better use for my mouth.“

#oh wow can you believe I'm actually done with the first promt #only eight more to go #the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #my writing #this turned out much longer than expected #calton writes

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noire-pandora · 4 years ago

Text

Blush

For @14daysdalovers also on my AO3

Words: 2317

Pairing:Solavellan

Warnings: pain and wounds mentioning.

Heavy, dark clouds gathered above Val Royeaux, threatening to release the cold rain over the streets, to flood every nook and cranny. Without warning, their burden poured over the people who enjoyed their walks around the luxurious streets. What started as a sunny autumn afternoon transformed into a cold, wet day. The downpour and the joining wind ruined the lovers' romantic walks, forcefully waking them up from their love-induced dizziness.

In a few seconds, markets filled with people emptied as the rain came down rapidly, transforming into a cold curtain, the smell of wet dust rising in the air. Women wearing sparkling and expensive dresses hurried to find shelter, their tiny multi-coloured shoes useless against the flooding waters. Soon, the streets transformed into small streams, the sewers unable to contain it all.

The open terraces slowly became waiting stations, as people gathered under the tiny roofs, finding temporary shelter against the unexpected turn of events. Among the tensioned gents and giggling ladies stood Elluin, annoyed by the lack of respect for personal space. A young, half-drunk man nonchalantly used her shoulder to steady his movements, winning a long, deadly stare from her. With a low growl, she left the safety of the coffee shop, to lie against the outside wall, hoping the small, extended roof will be enough to keep the water out of her hair.

She stared ahead, cursing her luck. Of course, it had to rain precisely on the day she decided to come back, after ten years of diligently avoiding setting foot in this town. She returned at the Diplomat's insistence. At first, when the woman informed her they have to come here to sign commercial contracts with the merchants, she refused, but Josephine advised her to let the traders see her face, especially after Haven's fall, to combat the rumours of her death and ease their fears. She accepted, dreading the meetings. But, to her surprise and joy, after a few minutes, the merchants grew bored with the Inquisitor, their interest grabbed by the offers laid in front of them. At that moment, Elluin slipped past her and her companions, to walk the streets of Val Royeaux again.

The stroll brought back memories long forgotten, the sights and the smells reminding her of a younger Elluin, one who ran around the city's avenues, ignoring their beauty and elegance, in a hurry to deliver the packages her adoptive father entrusted her with. Back then, the numerous faces and accents of the city fascinated her. She spent her free hours studying the people, learning how to read their emotions and moods only by observing their body language. Now, the busy streets, with everyone bumping and pushing her from every direction, took the air out of her lungs.

When the thunder rumbled in the sky, she decided to make her way back to the merchant's base. When the lightning electrified the clouds, her instincts beckoned her to find shelter. As she barely reached the terrace, the rain came down, making her feel as if every single inhabitant of Val Royeaux decided to retreat under the same roof as her and shove their perfumed selves into her soul.

And now, she stood under the small extended rooftop, her short-sleeved shirt and linen pants doing nothing to stop the cold from pricking her skin. She swore under her breath as the rain reached her toes through her sandals.

The wait reminded her why she despised the rain's touch on her skin, the icy kisses of the water drops, sending her body into a frenetic fight against the cold. A shiver shook her body, her teeth chattering with a dull sound. She whimpered, wishing she learned how to cast a barrier to protect her from the downpour; instead, she had to wait for the skies to finish pouring their anger on her. The thought of a walk through the rain sent another powerful shiver through her body, the hair on her arms standing up in indignation.

Suddenly, a pang of pain crossed her left leg, starting from her big toe, moving up towards her knee and stopping at the back of her thigh. There, the pain pressed on her nerves, forcing her to bite down on her lower lip to supper a groan. This affliction tortured her almost every day since Haven's fall and her trip through the mountain's cold paths. The wounds inflicted on her by those violent events slowly healed, leaving scars on her skin, but one made her life harder: a sword cut that reached the bones of her leg. No matter how careful and thorough Solas has been with the healing, the pain came back to remind her of her vulnerability. And when the weather turned cold, the sharp pain intensified.

She closed her eyes and took in a few deep breaths, flexing her fingers while trying to remember the calming techniques Solas advised her to use when her body suffered.

"What terrible weather, mademoiselle!" a man suddenly addressed her, forcing her to open her eyes and look at him.

A blond Orlesian joined her, his back against the wall to protect his expensive-looking clothes from the rain's touch. The bright colours of his attire stood out in contrast with the grey hues of the day. Under his tastefully decorated mask, deep blue eyes shone with delight. Elluin watched him, perplexed, unsure if he addressed her.

"Yes, it's been pouring for a half an hour already," she found herself replying. "I hope it will stop soon, my toes are turning blue."

"I suspect it will continue for at least thirty more minutes," he explained, his melodious voice grabbing Elluin's attention. "Autumn in Val Royeaux can be quite wet. I hope you did not plan for sightseeing today." He smiled at her, his perfect, white teeth, offering her a hint about his social status.

She sighed, cursing her memory for forgetting that. Three more drops reached the tips of her toes, and she shivered again. Gods, she hated rain so much.

"Are you in our exquisite town for the first time?"

"No, I've seen it a few times," she answered, wondering why an Orlesian bothered to talk with an elf. She suspected the wait for the rain to pass might have bored him. Truth be told, the half-hour-long wait bored her too.

"Oh, is that so?" he inquired, genuine curiosity colouring his voice.

"Yes. I lived here for a few years with my father. He owned a bookstore, close to the University of Orlais."

A sad smile tugged at the corners of her lips, the memories of the jealousy nestled in her heart as she watched the students leaving the University pulling at the strings of her heart. Back then, she would have given anything to join them.

"Did he?" My memory must be deceiving me, for I do not remember any book shop there."

"I closed it ten years ago after my father died."

"In the Blight?"

She gave the man a short nod, hoping he won't continue interrogating her. The loss of her adoptive father still haunted her dreams, even after ten years.

Silence fell over them, and Elluin thanked the gods the Orlesian man understood her tone. She had no desire to share her private life with a stranger.

"While we are waiting, shall we warm ourselves with a drink?" he said, breaking the silence and startling her. "They serve the most delicious Sun Blonde in here, imported from Tevinter."

Elluin blinked with disbelief at the man, amusement and confusion blending in her mind. Last time she checked, no one dared to even speak with elves, at least invite one to a drink in a busy cafe. The sly smile on the man's lips made her frown. Was he aware of her identity?

"Lethallan?" a voice reached her ears, making her heart skip a beat.

She spun on her heels to face the owner of that voice, thanking the gods for sending Solas at the perfect moment to interrupt the awkward invitation.

Solas stood outside, his tall, lean body unbothered by the rain, his clothes and face dry. A soft, white halo buzzed around his body, the magical barrier keeping the rain at a distance.

"Solas!" she exclaimed." What are you doing here?"

"I came to get you."

"Get me?" she frowned. "Did something happen? Does Josephine need me?"

He shook his head, nonchalantly. "No, our Diplomat is doing wonderful, much better than any of us can do. I came after you because of the rain."

"The rain?" she asked, knitting her eyebrows in confusion.

"Indeed. If I remember correctly, you told us you hate the rain and," a small smile appeared on his lips "your hair smells like a stinky wolf when wet. Since you do not possess the ability to create a protective barrier, I have been searching for you to offer my help against the rain."

Elluin watched him, baffled, various emotions knotting in her throat. "Did you search for me, not knowing where I am exactly? In Val Royeaux? In this immense town?"

"I did. But I found you faster than I anticipated. It took me only fifteen minutes."

"You walked in the rain for fifteen minutes, searching for me in a place you don't know," she repeated, dumbfounded, her breath shortened. "Solas, I--- that's so-- "

"Extremely romantic," the Orlesian man shouted, scaring Elluin who completely forgot about his presence. His hand reached for her waist, playfully pulling her closer to him, a bright smile adorning his face. "In all my years of courting, I have never seen such determination," he let go of her to move closer to Solas.

The elf watched the human with a raised eyebrow, a mild amusement reflecting in his eyes. The Orlesian circled Solas, carefully studying his body and posture. Then, he stared into Solas' stormy grey eyes, stroking his chin and nodding, as if understanding a marvellous secret.

"Yes, yes, I can see it in his eyes. He knows how to pleasure a woman," he turned to face her and gave her a dramatic wink. "This one is a keeper, my lady Herald."

Her eyes widened as she heard the man's words, a blush blooming against her freckled skin, starting from her neck, up to her cheeks, reaching even her lips, to travel all the way up to the pointy tips of her ears. A pleasant chill ran up to her back, but she felt considerably warmer than a few moments ago. She waved her hands in the air as if to clear the air.

"What? No, we're not….Solas is my companion!" the Orelsian snickered at the last word. "Not like that! Of for...Solas is just my friend, that's all. Friend!"

She looked at Solas and discovered a blush discreetly dusted his cheeks, and for a second, she hoped he felt the same rush at the words uttered by the other man.

"That is how all the relationships start, my dear," the man continued to tease her and Elluin felt the blush reaching her forehead and scalp. A few more seconds and her face would catch fire.

She opened her mouth to speak, but Solas intervened. "Thank you for your fascinating insight, Messere, but the Herald is needed in another place. Let us get going, Lavellan."

Solas reached out for her, extending his arm towards her, palm up, and for a second, she thought he wished to hold her hand. Then, she realised he waited to cast the barrier on her. Her fingertips reached for his, the cold touch of his skin soothing and calming the maddening rhythm of her heart. He whispered a few words, and the barrier shrouded her, instantly warming her. She instantly missed his touch when he retreated his hand.

"It was a delight to speak with you," the Orlesian man waved at them as they left the cafe, the sly smile never leaving her lips. "I offer you all the best wishes, Herald."

They walked in the rain, the barrier keeping her dry, a comfortable silence settling between them. She looked up at Solas, delighted to see the blush reached the back of his neck.

"Are you well, Inquisitor?" he softly asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"How is your leg?"

"My leg?" she asked back, unsure what he meant.

"Yes. Does it hurt?"

"Oh! Yes, it does, but not as bad as it did a few moments ago. The barrier is helping me by keeping away the cold and the rain.”

"I see. I am happy to hear it."

She frowned, looking down at the ground, the raindrops bubbling as she walked. Was this the real reason why he searched for her? Did he fear the pain would take over her again? The thought made her breath hitch.

"Who was that man?" he spoke again after a few minutes of total silence.

"I have no idea. He joined me when I was waiting for the rain to pass. Did you notice he called me 'Herald'?

"Yes," he paused. "You should be careful. People will not shy away from any means to feel the taste of power. Even if it means charming their way to it," he added, the vein on his temple pulsing nervously.

Elluin glanced at him in amazement, the faint note of irritation in his voice surprising her. "Do you think he tried to charm his way into my heart? Did the man make you jealous, Solas?" she spoke before her mind had any chance to catch up with the meaning of her words.

He chuckled. "I worry about your safety, as everyone does. After all, you hold the key to our salvation in your hand."

"Ah, of course," she commented, barely containing a cheeky smile. Somehow, the blush spreading towards his ears contradicted his words.

She grinned. For a reason, at this moment, even the infuriating rain filled her heart with unspoken joy.

#14DALovers #blush #solavellan #solas #lavellan #elluin lavellan #dragon age #dragon age fanfiction #noire writes

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scvrllet · 3 years ago

Note

If you're still doing these, could I get a 🎫 concert ticket for Harry Potter and Once Upon A Time?

Glad to have found your blog!!!

I'm Lucifer, but people call me Luci or Luce, I'm 21 (22 in September), I identifiy somewhere around the nonbinary category, but I see gender as something trivial. I'm a panromantic demisexual and prefer they/her pronouns. 6'3 tall, long wavy blonde hair, black eyes. I wear glasses and usually skirts with old band t-shirts (that I actually listen to).

I always have a bunch or rings around my fingers as well as multiple ear piercings. I'm super pale, to the point that people often ask me if I'm sick.

I'm introverted, but I can be a social butterfly if required. I love listening as much as talking. I never really talk about emotions/feelings but anything else I'mhappy to chat about. I don't really react to things apart from my facial expressions. The lift of an brow, a smirk or an eye-roll will let you know how I feel about things without verbal confirmation. I'm always calm and collected, and my voice stays monotonous no matter what ; I don't stutter, yell or scream.

I'm highly intelligent and very sarcastic, and rarely laugh outloud, but smirk a lot. I might come across as rude and blunt but on the inside I am a softie, just don't show it often.

I love literature (especially classic), arts and learning languages (I currently speak 18). I'm also musically very inclined. I study History and mythology. When it comes to hobbies, I read and collect lots of things things such as lighters, tarot cards, night lights, rocks/crystals and books.

I have four siblings and am the oldest, but I don't really keep in touch with my family that much. I have a few good friends (2 or 3) and I don't even really need much more.

I'm a Virgo, Slytherin and INTJ-A if that tells you anything.

I'm not athletic in the least, but am in good shape. My body is an hourglass figure and I also got a bunch of tattoos.

I have a bad habit of smoking, and usually having a glass of scotch or wine with me (but I never get drunk or even tipsy). I love spending time near water, but hate getting wet. I usually take long walks outside after midnight while listening to creepypastas or true crime podcasts. I love the genre horror overall, yet I rarely get scared. The only thing I'm scared of is being scared if something. And Santa Claus (<-- no idea as to why).

If I were to go on an ideal date, it'd hopefully be something original and not the cheese classics, but I wouldn't mind them either. I just want to experience new things.

I don't really celebrate holidays (e.g. Christmas, Ester) since I was raised in an atheist/witchcraft household.

If I still might add something, when it comes to relationships I'm never overly dramatic. I don't, as previosuly mentioned, yell or really even cry. I don't get frustrated or suspicious easily. If I see any inclination that my partner might be e.g. cheating on me, I ask them about it directly and will absolutely under no circumstanses go through their phone, computer or start stalking them.

You wanted 3 random things, here :

1. I can't cook shit, I have set spaghetti on fire, cracked a pan in half and blown up a microwave.

2. I'm very unpredictable, but at the same time I like to stick to certain routines etc.

3. I've had my hair dyed more times that I can count with more colors than I know how to name.

Uhhh, I think that's all? I hope you have a good day :)

(🎫) CONCERT TICKETS - get a platonic or romantic ship/match-up from the fandom of your choice (max. two) along with a shirt headcanon

JOIN MY 4K FOLLOWER CELEBRATION

I ship you with....

Peter Pan

- Arriving on Neverland, in hindsight, was a mistake. Magic beans while very reliable were prone to mistakes every so often and so instead of appearing in the Enchanted Forest, you were on the beach of a large island. And what was the most odd of all, was not the strange feeling you felt upon arriving on the island, but the pair of eyes you could practically feel staring at you from the trees. Hoping that it was just an animal of some sort, you walked off the beach and headed to the path through the forest.

- Unfortunately for you, the feeling lingered, following you almost as you walked through the forest. Tall trees lined the path and every once in awhile you’d see some small animals scurry away. What seemed to stand out the most however were the silhouettes standing off in the side, deep within the trees but standing right below the sunlight for you to see clearly. There was four, than five, than six than......only one. Looking at your surroundings, you saw your footprints in the ground before you and it hit you. You’d been walking in circles the whole time and the silhouette was still there.

“Hello?” You called out, not sure as to whether or not the silhouette really was there.

Without a verbal response, the figure disappeared only to reappear a few feet in front of you.

You jumped back in shock but quickly regained your balance as you studied the person before you. It was a boy, looking to be around your age, with a questioning look on his face as he looked at you. “Who are you?”

“I could ask you the same question.”

“I asked you first!”

“And I’m in charge of this island!”

“You? In charge of an island? What is this Neverland?” You rolled your eyes at the possibility. Neverland was a place made up so that kids could fall asleep. Not a real place that you could visit.

“Yes it is, and I run things around here so tell me, who are you.” The boy replied, emphasizing his last three words as he spoke.

“As if, what’s next? You call your little Lost Boys to come prove to me?” You scoffed. To believe that you were on Neverland was already too much and all you wanted was to get home to the Enchanted Forest but it seems you’re stuck playing pretend with a boy who doesn’t want to grow up. A shame really

Smirking, the boy simply pressed two fingers to your forehead and before you could even say something, your mind went foggy and your vision was filled with black.

- To say you got off on a rough start was an understatement. The two of you were constantly at each other’s neck while he kept you on the island, the camp specifically, and didn’t let you leave due to belief that you were a spy of some sorts. Not that he had anything to hide. Not yet at least.

- As time went on however, the two of you had begun to form a friendship. It wasn’t anything big or odd, but it was definitely new. He’d be less of an ass to you and let you explore the island on your own (with some exception).

- Upon finding your out about your hobbies, he would discreetly try to surprise you with materials to help you engage in them even if Neverland’s magic still had some restrictions. He would still try to the best of his abilities.

I also ship you with....

Blaise Zabini

- Losing was one thing Blaise never took lightly. Competitive he was but even with his ambition and skill, it was the mundane things that revolved around luck that often made him lose. Like the stupid bet he made with Theo on whether Gryffindor would win or lose where the loser would have to make a full four course meal complete with drinks for all the Slytherins in their year. Unfortunately for him, he had lost unlike Gryffindor and now here he was, spending his Saturday afternoon in the kitchens and a cookbook Pansy had given him “to help”.

- Blaise didn’t know what he’d see upon entering kitchen. He was sure to see a few House Elves, perhaps he could ask them for help, but what he didn’t except was to see you standing in front of the stove with a pot spilt cleanly in half somehow and a fire burning below. And to make matters worst, you were simply standing there as if you had been frozen.

“Hey watch out!” He called out as a flame went up towards you. Pushing you out the way just in time, he managed to save you from the burn in return of him getting burned.

“Fuck.” He hissed out in pain. Gripping his arm as he put out the fire with his wand before dropping it on the ground.

Without a word, you simply grabbed your wand and waved it above his burn. You seemed to be muttering something, a spell of some sort, as a cooling sensation covered his wound. Looking down, he was shocked to see that the burn was actually healing.

“How, how did you.... Thank you.”

“I was practicing a charm, fire control, but thank you for the concern.”

Feeling sheepish for thinking that you didn’t have it under control, he ended up excusing himself from the kitchen to head back to his dorm where his friends immediately pounced on the chance to tease him for a variety of reasons.

- The next day, instead of going to Hogsmeade with his friends, Blaise stayed back at the castle to catch up on a paper he had failed to submit on time. Deciding on going to the library, sh was disappointed to see that almost all of the tables were taken. All but one in the far back corner. Quickly heading towards it, a sigh left his lips as someone dropping their book bag into the table beat him to the table: you.

“Oh did you need the table? I can leave if you’d like?”“ You said upon noticing him standing in front of the table.

“No, no it’s alright I just uh, planned on finishing a paper for Flitwick’s class.” He admitted.

“You can have a seat if you’d like, I’ll just be doing my own work and you can do yours.” You kindly offered and Blaise gladly accepted. He really need to finish this paper or else he’s be kicked off the Quidditch team so while he didn’t get the complete privacy he originally wanted, he’s fine with this.

As the two of you worked in quiet, occasionally Blaise would sneak glances your way which you ended up catching once.

“Hi.” was all you managed to muster out as you tried to contain the wide smile that wanted yo grow on your face.

Trying his best to not chuckle at your slightly flustered state, he mirrored your smile as he replied with a “Hello.”

#you didn’t mention romantic or platonic so i just made it platonic #long post #jens record shop #jens 4k follower celebration #(🎫) concert tickets #marvelousluci

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