#i had to change her armour so many times

[awesome-shoes-with-wings]

Amphitrite, Goddess of the Seas. The gentle guide of sailors, the keeper of deep secrets, the protector of the depths.

Baker of surprisingly delicious deep-sea cookies.

[just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace]

The Two (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which Galadriel fights to withhold Nenya and the Nine, but in the end she fails to stop your husband placing yet another ring upon your finger

Warnings: evil!reader, killing (sorry Adar), allusions to smut, injuries suffered by reader (bad ones but not very graphically described), blood drinking for healing purposes

Note: another one in the evil!reader collection. Shout out to this lovely anon for the inspiration behind a certain bit of dialogue.

This is not exactly where you had imagined you would be on this day—shackles around your wrists and blood marring your brow, being escorted through the woods in a filthy and tattered dress by a band of Orcs. You admit it isn’t the best look on you, but circumstances change, and so you must adapt.

So far, you’d say you’re managing quite well.

Adar is not alone as you reach him in the clearing. Facing him is a blonde-haired Elf with whom you have been itching to meet again, now that she has found out the truth of your identity. Galadriel turns towards the approaching Orcs, her eyes widening slightly when she sees you. She may not have known you all that well, but neither could she have imagined that one of Celebrimbor’s unassuming aids was the one being held dearest of all by the very darkness Galadriel had sworn to destroy.

Adar, on the other hand, had never known you as anything else.

“What an unexpected honor,” he says when he sees you. “To what is it owed?”

You stare him down—the Uruk who had been your husband’s near destruction, leaving you to await his return for what had felt like an agonizing eternity. If looks could kill, he would be in bloody pieces.

It’s Glug, one of the Orcs at your side, that answers him. “We found Sauron. He tried to make us betray you, but we resisted. We lost many,” he shoves you into stumbling forward, “but we got our hands on this one. His Queen, he said,” Glug mocks, and the group of Orcs breaks into a cacophony of snorted laughter. Your face remains impassive as Adar approaches you.

“Indeed, Sauron’s bride herself.” Adar stands before you, meeting your gaze head on. “After all this time, you are still at his side.”

“I am at his side once again,” you correct him coldly, “after you took him from me. For centuries.”

“So long ago, yet your hatred of me has not waned,” Adar muses. “I always wondered how deeply this great love he claimed to feel for you truly ran. Whether you were another of his victims, or some unnatural exception. I can only hope he values you as much as you do him.” He turns to Galadriel. “With any luck, she will be enough to draw him out—”

His words are cut off abruptly, and Galadriel gasps—for the tip of a sword had emerged from Adar’s stomach, then withdrew as swiftly as it had cut through him. He falls to the ground, clutching at his wound, looking up only to see you as you truly are.

Without the illusion, there is not a speck of dirt on you, never mind blood or shackles. You stand clad in elegant battle armour, your bloodied sword held in your hand with the ease and practice of centuries.

Realization dawns on Adar’s face, as you had seen it on those of so many others before, a little too late. “My children!” he calls out, visibly astonished that he even has to. Yet not one of the Orcs move.

“For years, I’ve wondered,” you mock his musing tone from before, crouching to his level and slowly putting your blade to his neck, “would it please me more to kill you myself, or to watch my husband do it? But then, I realized—and he agreed—what end could be more terrible to you than to be killed by that which you love most?”

You stand back up to your full height. To Adar’s credit, he struggles to his feet as well. Even if what happens next is plain to see, before you even speak the words.

“Uruks,” you command, a sinister smile tugging at your lips. “Finish him.”

Your new servants surge from behind you, surrounding Adar and plunging their swords into their former master. It’s poetic, really—an inverted mirror of what your beloved suffered all those years ago, whilst your husband himself walks into the clearing, no longer hiding in the shadows, and recovers the crown that should have been his in the first place from the boulder on which it had been placed. Galadriel doesn’t see him, her eyes fixed on you in anger. It’s a delight to watch it be replaced with dread when she hears your husband’s voice call her name.

By now, Adar has fallen to the ground once more, yet the Orcs are slow to cease their blows. Galadriel is frozen in place as your husband joins you at your side, both of you looking down at the Uruk who has tasted your vengeance.

“My... children...” he croaks out, pitifully.

“They have found new parents,” your husband says, pitiless.

You exchange a look with Glug, and if there was any trace of hesitancy left in him, it vanishes under your demanding gaze. With a roar, he plunges his sword into Adar’s heart, putting an end to him and the killing frenzy of his brethren.

“What orders,” he asks then, his irritatingly pitched voice downright fanatical, “Lord Sauron? My Queen?”

“Raze Eregion,” your husband says evenly. “Leave no Elf alive. But bring me their leaders.”

“Be sure to destroy every single record of Celebrimbor’s works,” you add. “We would not want the secrets of the Rings’ craft revealed.”

The Orcs bow their heads, so wonderfully obedient as they begin to chant, “Hail Sauron, the Dark Lord! Hail our Dark Queen!” They repeat it as if in a craze, still muterring the words in their speech as they scurry away to carry out your orders. Glug, however, lingers by your side.

“Forgive me, my Queen!” He drops to his knees, all but touching his head to your boots. “For the offence I brought you. I only meant to convince Adar of our lie.”

You tilt your head, such an indulgent expression on your face, one might think it was genuine if they knew no better. You put a finger beneath Glug’s chin and lift his head, his bulbous eyes widening in awe as he meets your gaze.

“Earn my forgiveness,” you say sweetly, “by carrying out the task you have been given.”

“Yes, my Queen!” he exclaims, shooting to his feet the moment you release him. “My Lord!” he bows to your husband as well, then rushes after his companions as you watch, deeply satisfied. So this is what it feels like to be worshipped as a goddess. For now, by Orcs—later, by every being in Middle-Earth. The mere thought of it feels like a sip of the most exquisite and intoxicating wine, the elation second only to that sharing in this glory with your husband. You would love nothing more than to bask in the moment, mark it with a kiss, but there is still a pressing matter to attend to beforehand.

And, at once, she demands your attention.

“All this,” Galadriel says, voice thin with held-back terror, “was your design from the beginning!”

“Not all of it,” your husband tells her with eerie humility. “When my beloved came to find me,” he glances to you, letting his knuckles graze a gentle line down your shoulder, “having sensed my presence as I strived to regain my form, we believed we would never be parted again. It was hardly by our design that we were separated in that shipwreck. Once the sea brought you to me, however—”

“—an opportunity arose,” you continue seamlessly, smiling up at your husband, “too tantalizing to pass up.” You turn to Galadriel with a self-assured gaze. “You see, my love and I may be apart in body, but never in mind. And though not even we knew where our paths would lead, we trusted that we would be reunited at the end, and be all the better for it. So, I made my way back to Eregion, where my false life still awaited me—”

“—and I let you take Halbrand there yourself,” your husband finishes. “With a Númenórean army to fight against my enemy, and your trust to help me earn Celebrimbor’s. So, in the end...” A devious smirk tugs at his lips. “One could say it was your design.”

Galadriel purses her lips, keeping them firmly shut. She knows better than to take that bait of self-blame, you can tell. Instead, her eyes dart to her sword, discarded on the ground—betraying her intentions.

In an instant, you both bolt for her sword—and it’s only by a fraction of a second that you stomp your foot on the blade before she can lift it, leaving her to pull helplessly at the handle whilst you put your own sword to her throat. She glares up at you, her words spit out like venom, “You are a traitor to your people!”

A short, sweet laugh escapes you. “I am a traitor to all peoples.” You knit your brow, feigning bashfulness. “How kind of you to notice.”

Galadriel blinks at you, a trace of pity mingling with the disgust in her eyes. “Your mind has left you.”

You open your mouth, prepared to let her know you completely agree, and are rather pleased with yourself—when your attention lands on her hand, drawn there by a glimmer of light reflected off the gem on her finger. Nenya, the Ring of Water, shines before your eyes in all its devastating perfection.

You almost forget to keep your blade at Galadriel’s throat as you crouch down and grab her hand. She flinches, but your grip is relentless as you hold her hand still, admiring the Ring.

“Oh, this is simply...” you murmur, almost tearfully, “exquisite.”

In your long life, the only sight to grace your gaze which held similar beauty was your husband, in any form of his. And perhaps, only perhaps, from a purely aesthetic point of view, the Ring might just surpass him.

The thought, even just in passing, leaves you disoriented. And Galadriel takes full advantage of it.

She moves swiftly. Whilst you are distracted, she yanks her sword from underneath you and you lose your balance, finding yourself face up on the ground, barely parring the immediate blow she aims at your throat. Unsurprisingly, she is strong, making it a real challenge for you to keep her sword at bay with your own, but your mind is now fully present once more and you hold your own as fiercely as ever.

You don’t have to do it for long, however. Your husband’s sword intercedes between yours and Galadriel’s, breaking them apart and forcing her to fall backwards. She scrambles back to her feet, but now she is being attacked by a doubly armed foe, and it is her on the defence, struggling to match your husband’s skillful blows. You’ve stood back up, ready to fight again, but you can’t help taking a moment to behold the glorious sight of your husband fighting. It’s a rather short dance between them, brought to a halt as their blades clash and your husband swings Morgoth’s crown at the place where they meet, trapping both within its iron spikes.

Both of Galadriel’s hands hold the hilt of her sword in a white-knuckled grip, giving your husband a full view of the Ring as well. It tempts his gaze as quickly as it did yours.

“Even more beautiful than Celebrimbor led us to believe,” he says, bemused. “It would compliment your wedding band beautifully.” He glances at you. “Don’t you think, my love?”

As you meet his gaze, you are left breathless with how ardently you want to say yes. To have him place that wondrous Ring upon your finger, just as he did your wedding band all those years ago, and to admire the jewel on your hand as it touches every single inch of your husband’s skin whilst you make love for days and nights on end. You would begin right there, in the clearing, if not for the unwanted company.

Galadriel grunts, breaking away from your husband. Their withering stares remain locked as he circles her widely, coming to stand at your side. Can she not grasp that she is at a disadvantage?

“This is hardly fair. Two against one” you say, trying to sound reasonable. “It would be much wiser to simply give me that Ring, and him the Nine.”

“We do not wish to harm you,” your husband says, in that falsely reassuring tone that has worked wonders on so many others. Galadriel is having none of it.

“Do you wish to heal me?” she asks, defiantly. You would admire her determination, if it wasn’t so inconvenient to you personally.

Your husband proves more patient than you feel in his answer. “We would heal... all Middle-Earth.”

“As you have Eregion?” she growls, face twisting in rage as she readies her sword.

“Well, then,” you sigh shortly and do the same with yours, glancing at your husband, “ladies first, I suppose.”

And so you are the first to meet Galadriel in her attack. For a little while, you are evenly matched, but once your husband joins you shortly after, well—that is a different story.

You have to admit, Galadriel lives up to her reputation as Commander of the Northern Armies and then some. And yet, the fight would have been much shorter if it weren’t for a silent agreement between you and your husband, for the sadistic streak you share that makes you want to draw this out, let her believe she might prevail before you prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that she never stood a chance.

You had almost forgotten the utter pleasure that it was to fight at your husband’s side. It’s no less harmonious or fierce than when you are making love, how fluidly you complement each other’s movements, acting as though you are simply an extension of the other. In that way, you suppose, the fight is fair—Galadriel’s opponent is as one alone, in all but flesh.

The Ring, however, and the Nine whose presence your husband must feel as keenly as you do, prove a distraction. Your blades draw Galadriel’s blood, but the wounds are relatively minor, and she manages to nick your skin as well in moments where your eyes stray to the Ring on her finger, your mind clouded with thoughts of it becoming yours.

You can’t explain how else she manages to gain the upper hand as she eventually does, catching your husband sufficiently off-guard to kick him down from a small height. Your battle had taken you to the ruins of an old stone structure at the edge of a cliff, your husband landing gracelessly in the midst of it. You’re more concerned for his pride rather than his body, however. Panting from exertion, you and Galadriel lock gazes.

“You say you let him use me,” she challenges, taking her chances at riling you up now that you are alone. “Do you know what he offered me?”

“What he pretended to offer you was mine already,” you say, unwavering. “Had been for a long, long time.”

“He seemed rather convincing,” Galadriel taunts, “when he called me his Queen.”

You huff out a chuckle. “How could you not be convinced,” you retort, “when you so badly wanted to believe him?”

You charge at her again. Perhaps she has managed to make your blood boil after all, but it only works against her, because your attacks are all the more vicious as you force her backwards, down a set of stone steps leading to where your husband had fallen.

“I don’t blame you, you know,” you taunt her between strikes, “for desiring him.”

“I did not desire—!”

“Liar,” you hiss, narrowly parrying a particularly rageful swing of her sword. “I quite liked that form myself. Had a certain roguish... charm to it.” The word becomes a grunt as you kick her back into the stone wall, your swords and gazes locked together in a battle of unrelenting wills. “That stubble of his... felt especially pleasant on my skin.” You smile wickedly, voice laden with sinful implications. “Did you never imagine it on yours?”

She must have—otherwise, her eyes would not betray the sliver of shame that they do as she cries out and pushes you off her with renewed strength. You stumble to the bottom of the stairs with a deranged chuckle, putting your fingers to the stinging spot on your cheek and finding it wet with blood. She had managed to cut you.

And she seemed intent on trying to do worse to you, if not for your husband distracting her with something yet more disorienting than your words.

She freezes in place when she sees him standing before her—not as Annatar, but as Halbrand.

“Fighting at your side,” he says, as if from a distant dream, “I felt if I could just hold on to that feeling...”

Words that had once tugged at her heart, no doubt. They are not enough to deter her from attacking him now, but the internal conflict painted on her face is a delight to watch as they cross blades. Your husband changes the guise of Halbrand into that of Galadriel herself, then that of Celebrimbor. Each of them taunting her with the words he knows would cut the deepest, driving her into one attack after the other.

Until the old structure on which they are fighting crumbles, and they fall along with the boulders back to the ground. Your husband is the first to rise, back to the form he had taken as Annatar, and as you meet his gaze, alight with wrath, you both know—it’s time to put an end to this.

Galadriel gathers her sword from where it has fallen, staggers back to her feet, stubborn and determined as ever as the fighting resumes. But there are two of you, and she is more tired. Before long, you have her backed into a corner—or rather, with the very edge of the cliff at her back, with nowhere to go but into a deadly fall to the ground below. She fights valiantly, but in the end the inevitable happens. Half-distracted by you, she is not quick enough to stop your husband from plunging one of the crown’s iron spikes deep into her shoulder. He backs her into a pillar of the stone arch at the cliff’s edge, and in that position it’s too easy for you to knock the sword from her hand, once and for all.

It’s almost sad, seeing such a mighty warrior reduced to cries of pain, sagging helplessly against the stone. When your husband pulls the crown from her, she falls limp to the ground, the satchel containing the Nine slipping from an inner pocket at her chest. Leaning down, your husband finally reclaims his creations, then slips the Ring of Water off Galadriel’s trembling finger. She is too weak to do anything but groan, her eyes fluttering shut in defeat.

“The Rings are ours,” he says proudly. With his opponent utterly defeated, he lays down his sword and the crown on a nearby boulder, then tucks the satchel away within his own robes. The Elven Ring, however, he keeps in the palm of his hand as he leaves Galadriel lying there and turns to you. His steps are slow and measured as he comes to stand before you, close enough to take your hand in his if he so wishes to. But he withholds, his eyes boring into yours.

“My love,” he says, and it feels like a vow. “My Queen.” He holds out his hand, reverently. “Allow me.”

Your chest swells as you place your hand in his. You hold each other’s gaze a moment longer before you both look down and watch as he, with utmost delicacy, slips Nenya onto your finger, right next to the one that wears your wedding band. Your sword clatters to the ground, unwittingly loosed from your grip, but you don’t even hear it. The sight before you is almost too beautiful to behold, making you weep with joy.

“With this, I vow my life to be yours,” your husband says then, voice strained with emotion. “In life and in death—”

“—and for all eternity,” you finish breathlessly, raising your tearful gaze to meet his. The vows you had spoken to each other on the night you had bound your souls together, repeated with equal devotion after all this time.

His brow furrows in awe, and he beholds your face as though he cannot believe you are real. Your Ring-bearing hand trembles in his as he raises his other one to your cheek, thumb gently brushing the skin beneath the cut left there by Galadriel. He leans in and kisses the wound, his warm tongue soothing the pain and relishing the taste of you. You feel it too, sweetly coppery, as he then seals his mouth to yours with soul-wrenching tenderness. And you already know, but it still sweeps the floor from underneath your feet each time you are reminded of the full might of your adoration for him. You would crumble to the ground with the force of it, if not for your husband holding you close.

“Wed again,” you murmur as your lips part, lightheaded with bliss. His smile is soft, his knuckles grazing your temple reverently.

“I never imagined you could be even more beautiful than you already were,” he all but whispers, glancing down at the Ring of Power upon your finger. “Yet as my Queen, your radiance is nearly too great to look upon, even for my eyes. All of Middle-Earth shall bow to worship at my beloved’s feet. All shall love you and despair.”

And you shall love to be adored, yet his adoration would forever be the one you cherish most. You are leaning in to taste his lips once more, when the voice of your all-but-forgotten-about foe rudely interrupts.

“The free peoples of Middle-Earth,” Galadriel declares, “will always resist you.”

With a small sigh, you turn to her. She has managed enough strength to sit up sideways, her glare as defiant as ever even as the poisoned wound left by Morgoth’s—by your husband’s crown slowly consumes her. She’s resilient, fearsome and beautiful. Like you.

Now that she is no longer a real threat, you allow yourself a spark of admiration. Sensing your wish, your husband leaves to break away from him and go to her, lowering yourself to one knee so you meet her at her level.

“I could yet help you heal,” you offer mercifully, knuckles grazing her jawline as she flinches away. “You could yet pledge your allegiance to your King and Queen.”

“Not while I still breathe,” she spits the words obstinately. Predictably.

It seems you’ll still have need of your sword after all.

“This is a waste, truly,” you say, and mean it. “You would have made a great ally.”

Galadriel frowns, as if contemplating your words. “Perhaps,” she admits. “You, on the other hand...” She leans close to you, and hisses in your face, “...would have made a dreadful Queen.”

‘Would have’? You’re about to tell her you already are Queen, and always will be. A taunting smirk is already tugging at your lips—

—quickly snuffed out by a sharp pain, deep in your chest. Jaw slack, eyes wide, you look down to find Galadriel’s hand there, gripping the hilt of the dagger she has plunged into your heart. Nothing but a small blade, most likely conjured from some hidden pocket in her garments whilst you and your husband had been absorbed in each other, and which she had concealed within her sleeve since—it hardly matters. It all happens too quickly for your husband to reach you, and it’s distraction enough that all you can do is gasp as Galadriel grabs you by the shoulders and, with her last of her strength, pulls you over the edge of the cliff along with herself.

Your name, roared out by your beloved, is the last thing you hear as you fall.

*****

You’re alive.

Barely.

You exist somewhere between wakefulness and oblivion, the sounds around you distant and pain threatening to greet you once you have returned to your full senses—if you ever will. But a touch of your husband’s godly nature has resided within you ever since you bound yourself to one another in marriage, and so your form endures, your mind alert enough to serve you even as you lie broken on the ground.

���She should be healed,” a voice says, and you recognize it—king Gil-galad, no doubt come to recover Galadriel from where she must be lying close to you. “And made to face judgement for her treachery.”

There is another presence, yet closer to you. As a hand touches your neck, fingers pressing to your pulse point, you grasp at every last sliver of your power to conjure one small, but vital illusion.

The hand leaves you.

“I agree,” you hear Elrond say. “But she is dead already.”

Relieved and utterly spent, before long you are lost to the world once more.

*****

Your name, whispered softly by your beloved, is the first thing you hear as you wake up.

The next is your own weak moan, pain spreading through your body as feeling returns to you. The room to which you open your eyes is, thankfully, low-lit—you doubt they could handle anything else. But all that truly matters is that you are met with your husband’s gaze, relieved and endlessly caring as he sits at your side, leaning over you.

“Shh,” he cooes, caressing the crown of your head as a tear slides down your temple. “This too shall pass, for I will look after you as you did me in my time of need. I’m here, my love,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to your forehead. “I’m here.”

The pain mercifully dulls once again, most likely your husband’s doing. This time, you are at peace as you drift away.

*****

It isn’t pain, but warmth and comfort that greets you when you next wake. Your limbs are still weak, your body made heavy with a dull ache all over, but the familiar feeling of being cradled in your husband’s arms overshadows the lingering discomfort. Your head is resting on his chest, and, in natural reflex, you nuzzle into him, lips searching for his skin and pressing to his neck.

“My love,” he greets softly, his pulse a pleasant thrum beneath your mouth. “You are awake at last.”

You lift your head, wincing at the stiffness in your neck, and look into your husband’s eyes. “Did I keep you waiting terribly long?” you ask, finding the strength to work a trace of playfulness into your tired voice. Something in his gaze breaks in the face of it.

“Unbearably so,” he replies in earnest.

There’s no response you find within you other than to press a light kiss to his lips, reassuring yourself that this is real. After, you allow him to carefully maneuver you so that you are both sitting up against the headboard, with you still tucked into his side.

“You are nearly recovered, my love,” he says as you grimace and shift, looking for a comfortable position for your aching joints, “but your strength will return with time. Until then...”

He offers you his hand, his black blood already spilled from a cut in the palm of it. It’s fresh, different from the one he had used to provide the false mithril for the Nine. This sacrifice he has made for you alone, to mend his beloved piece by piece. You don’t need him to explain all of this—you simply offer him a grateful smile as you cradle his hand in yours and bring it to your lips, kissing it almost as you would his mouth as you gather his blood with your tongue.

“There,” he says hoarsely, eyes fluttering shut with the great pleasure of feeling you consume him, any part of him. “Take my strength,” he urges, cradling your head as you drink from him. “Make it yours, my love.”

The effect may be temporary, but the relief is instant. You pull away, sighing pleasantly as you wipe your thumb over any lingering droplets of blood on your lips, and lick those off your finger as well. You feel almost as new, as if you had never even taken a blade to the heart and a shattering fall.

The memory sends a jolt through your chest. Instinctively, you bring your hand to it, looking down at the place where Galadriel had managed to stab you. The wound has been healed, but the spark of rage is kindled within you once more. And it grows into a wildfire when you notice your horribly bare finger.

“Where’s Nenya?” You scramble from your husband’s arms and off the bed, gripped by a sudden, blind panic. “Where’s my Ring?” you demand, nearly a growl. His gaze becomes grim.

“The Elves took it back,” he says darkly, standing to face you. You huff out a furious breath. So, Galadriel succeeded, then. She recovered the Ring, even if it meant taking all of you along with it. Even if she was risking her own death.

You sincerely hope she survived the fall and the wound inflicted by your husband’s crown. Otherwise, you would have no revenge to look forward to.

“And Eregion?” you ask, scrambling for some victory to which to cling in your rage. “Our army? What of it?”

“We are in Eregion,” your husband tells you, adding proudly, “what is left of it. As for our armies... nearly all Middle-Earth is ours for the taking.”

“Nearly?” you frown.

“The Elves have used the Three to create a sanctuary beyond my reach.” His voice drips bitterness. But as he steps to you, taking your hand in his, he seems more disturbed than vengeful. “Had I found that they had taken you there... where I could not follow...”

You soften, then, your anger tamed by the torment in his gaze as he trails off. You wonder if, within this sanctuary of the Elves protected by the light of the Three, you could still feel your husband’s dark soul caressing yours even from afar. The thought that you might not, that you had been at risk of suffering such an appalling emptiness, is sickening.

“It is well, then,” you say, chasing away the dread of what might have been, “that I led Elrond to believe I was dead. That is why they took only Galadriel.”

“My love.” Your husband smiles, pride swelling in his eyes as he cups your cheek. “Clever and fierce, even as you lay broken.”

“I knew you would find me,” you say simply, as if nothing more had been needed. But then you sigh, and take hold of his wrist, lowering his hand from your face. “But our victory is not yet complete,” you say sullenly. “The Three are free of your influence and beyond our reach.”

“Do not despair, my love,” he is quick to reassure. “The Seven have known my touch. We have the Nine. And very soon...” Something sparks in his eyes, cunning and mysterious. “...we shall have more.”

You raise a brow, intrigued. “More?”

He nods, brow knitting slightly as he begins to explain. “You told me it did not sit well with you that I had used only my blood in the making of the Nine. You were right, my love,” he admits. His gaze drops to your hands, his thumb brushing over the empty spot where Nenya had been. “And so,” he says, locking his gaze with yours, “it shall be with your blood and mine combined that we will forge the Two.”

The words linger in the air, ominous and captivating even before you fully grasp their meaning.

“Two Rings,” your husband continues, wrapping your hands in his and bringing them to his chest, where you feel his heart beat as furiously as yours as he speaks. “Born of our flesh and love, inextricably intertwined with one another. Whose power shall be as fierce and eternal as the devotion between you and I, greater than that of all the other Rings. Great enough to bind them in the darkness we share, and to rule them all. One for their King...”

“One for their Queen,” you whisper, the words falling from your lips as if they had always been there. Always locked behind your tongue, written in your fate, meant to be spoken in this very moment. This feeling, the things of which he speaks—it is all so intoxicating, a design too perfect in its terrible splendour to imagine it being brought into existence.

“Is that possible?” you ask, cautiously.

“If it is not... then we shall make it.”

And when he says it like that, gazing so deeply and so fiercely into your eyes, you believe him.

“Will you join me in this act of creation, my love?” your husband beseeches, so desperately hopeful. “Will you stand at my side?”

There is only one answer that could ever leave your lips. But first, you lean in and capture his in a deep, ravenous kiss, the taste of him both remedy and fuel to the delirium surging within you.

Creation. Not meant for Elves, or Dwarves, or Men. Not crafted through the deception of Celebrimbor, or even so much as with another’s aid. The very embodiment of your entwined souls, brought into being and meant to be worn by you and your beloved only.

The fruit of your union.

You break apart, opening your eyes to find the same all-consuming desire reflected in your husband’s. And once again, you speak the vow that shall very soon become inscribed upon the gold of the Two.

“For all eternity.”

Previous fic with same reader -> Defied

[bangaveragewhitewine]

laundry day

Dad!Eddie Munson X Mom!Reader 

Laundry day in the Munson residence. 

Word Count: 1.1k

Author’s Note: After weeks and weeks of struggling to write, I finished something and I’m genuinely happy with how it turned out. It’s short, it’s sweet. I hope you like it!  

proofread by @specialagentmonkey (best!!), dividers by @saradika-graphics

Nimble fingers pluck freshly washed socks from the basket, pinching wooden pegs to hang them carefully from the washing line in the garden. 

You watch him with a smile on your face, thinking of his reaction if you had told him all those years ago that this was how it would be. Ink-stained and guitar-string scarred fingers that rolled joints with muscle memory alone, hanging out baby clothes on the washing line in the garden. Your garden. A green patch of land sewn up tight against the house; your home together, a few miles from the city.

You think he would laugh, deep dimples and that smoky cackle and perhaps a hopeful sparkle in his eyes, if you told him all those years ago that this is how it ends up. The two of you standing side by side, barefoot in the grass, hanging out baby clothes,  watching them flutter in the breeze against the big blue sky.

Do we make it out of here? I didn’t fuck things up, did I? Am I good… A good Dad? 

He places the pegs delicately to drape one of his t-shirts (black) next to one of her sleepsuits (pastel yellow), hanging by the toes. A pair of your undies, two pairs of his boxers, another pair of tiny socks.

Eddie cried the first time he held one of her socks. The gravity and weight of this tiny thing, its overwhelming magnitude. His world was forever changed after he held that scrap of white cotton. An intimidatingly small sock that fit in the palm of his hand, its pair laid out on the bed with the spoils of your shopping trip - vests and baby grows and mittens. 

“Why am I crying? What the hell, it’s so small?!” He had laughed through tears and you laughed with him until you held each other crying a salty blend of happy and terrified tears. And then Melody came and she cried and smiled and laughed, and she wore those tiny socks.

She looks just like him, follows him like his shadow. Dark curls, big brown eyes, impish mischief. He taught her how to headbang as soon as her neck was strong enough. Toddling now, she squats on her baby-fat legs and dips clumsily into the laundry basket to hand him one of her socks, then one of yours, one of his own, and on and on until the basket is empty.

“Thank you. Thank you, Mel. Thank you very much.” Letting her know her help is invaluable after every item is passed and pegged. 

She beams at Eddie with that sunshine-bright smile, appreciating his appreciation of her helpfulness. Sometimes she will look over at you, sitting on the picnic blanket full of forgotten toys and books, and wave or babble-tell you how helpful she’s being with one hand on her Dad’s leg to keep her steady.

“You’re such a good helper, Melody. Good job!” wiggling your fingers her way before she goes back to helping, handing Eddie one of her t-shirts.

“Dada.”

“Thank you kindly, Miss.” 

When he reaches down for the next item, mentally calculating how many pegs are left and how much washing there is still to hang, Melody reaches up without anything to hand him. 

“Up!” 

“Up? Am I hanging you with the laundry?” Eddie asks, hands on his hips. You bite your lip, smiling at their standoff.

“Up, Dada!”

He is easily weakened by her doe eyes and that pouty lower lip. A critical hit through the Melody-shaped chinks in his armour. 

He sounds more like Wayne when he lifts her, knees creaking and his back twinging, and settles her on his hip. A kiss and then another shared as she holds on tight, their heads together and you can’t tell where her curls stop and where Eddie’s begin.

“Is that better? See, these are the socks you handed me.” He pokes one with his finger, smiles when she shadows him. “Mama’s socks and Melody’s pyjamas. Daddy’s vest.”

He pinches a peg, hands it to her to inspect as you cross the garden to join them.  

“Hi, Mama.” Eddie smiles, warm like the sun, and draws you close with his arm around your waist.

“Hi, Daddy.” His unshaven cheek bristles against your lip, prickly but no less lovely than Melody’s baby-soft face as you dole out kisses. “Hi, darling girl.”

“Mama!”

Okay, maybe her cheek is a little more addictively kissable and you find your nose nuzzling the warm pocket of her neck until she’s shriek-giggling right in her Dad’s ear. His battle-worn eardrums from decades of heavy metal are no match for her, making his eye twitch. 

“Jesus. The pipes on this kid,” he tuts, blowing a raspberry on her other cheek for good measure until her laughter rings through the garden, mingling with your own in-love-with-life laugh.

Eddie’s laughter is low in his throat lest he unleash that near-dastardly cackle into the sky. The low rumble settles into your bones and you feel fit to burst with how happy you are. How lucky you are. 

Eddie’s fingers slip beneath the hem of your t-shirt, squeezing your waist as you curl against him. Three bodies swaying gently in the breeze like the clean clothes that flutter on the washing line. 

Barefoot in the green grass, you balance the laundry basket on your hip, passing the last few socks and vests to Eddie. Passing them slowly, you watch as he guides Melody’s little fingers to drape and peg them carefully. He murmurs praise against the crown of her head, presses proud kisses against the curls they share.

The basket is empty and you step back, admiring their hard work. A washing line full of clean clothes - band shirts and sleepsuits and socks in three sizes. There are bedsheets and towels and Eddie’s work overalls still to be washed, clothes to be ironed and folded and put away inside your little house. They can wait. 

For now, you stand and watch the laundry in the gentle breeze against the big blue sky. You think about the boy you fell in love with; the blush on his cheeks when you first held his hand and the way he smiled at you after the first kiss. You think of the late nights lying on his bed, dreaming out loud about the future and wishing on shooting stars and fallen eyelashes that one day those dreams would come true. 

Eddie is already looking at you when you turn your head. Thinking about the girl he fell in love with, thinking about how he would have smiled if you told him all those years ago that this would be how his life turned out; still side by side, hanging baby clothes on the washing line in your garden. 

thank you for reading! reblogs, comments & likes are cherished and adored

[stu-dyingstudent]

Sakura Haruno fic recs: time travel AU

I'm finally getting around to recommending some good Sakura-centric time travel fics! There are plenty of them out there and they can be kind repetitive, but I always eat them up. Typically speaking, I really don't care much for the whole introduction bit at the start where it's the actual process of her being sent back... So just make it past there before you decide whether or not to continue!!! Also, I'm starting to think this list is getting kinda long, so maybe I'll do a second one?

I've been dying to post some of these fics in a list, so please enjoy!

Started: 2024.08.16

Last Updated: 2024.08.26

note: feel free to check out my master list which has a bunch of Sakura Haruno fic recs (all organized)!

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Sakura - lilac haze || ffn/ao3 || M || minasaku || time travel AU || complete

AU. Non-Canon. Time Travel. Please see inside for full warnings. Cross posted on Ao3. On his deathbed he was granted eternal peace and place to rest for all of time. Of course that was not appealing to him. Ever unpredictable to the end he had a counter offer. One that the Sage had to consider. In which Sakura's going to have a rough time. A really rough time.

If there is one thing I want you to take away from this list, it is this fic right here. I kid you not, Sakura is one of the best fics I have ever read. I have never felt so gutted, so heartbroken, so giddy, so stressed, all from one work. It's a masterpiece all while being criminally underrated. The characterizations and storytelling are beautifully done. You feel for the characters and the relationships formed along the way are truly great. Please share this author some love.

Check TWs before hand!!

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The Misadventures of Kakashi and the Girl From No Where - Goldfishlover73 || ao3 || kakasaku || M || time travel AU || complete

When a girl called Sakura seemingly falls in the sky, Kakashi is skeptical. Far more skeptical than the rest of Team Minato are. War is approaching quickly and this strange girl is leaving more questions than answers in her wake, Kakashi must decide where his trust and loyalties lie in a constantly changing world.

Told in the perspective of Kakashi in his youth! Really interesting take and I love how strong Sakura is in this in addition to the fact that we get to see a different side of Kakashi that we aren't used to.

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Anachronistic Drift  - Elesrea  || ffn || gen || T || time travel AU || incomplete

Her plan was flawless. Save Shisui. Save the world. Time-travel, Sakura-centric AU

Sakura spends years training to be sent back in time and save the world from Sasuke. Whilst masquerading as her younger self, she poses as an unofficial ANBU to stay anonymous in her efforts of changing the shinobi world for the better.

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Tourniquet - lilac haze || ffn || T || minasaku || time travel AU || complete

She was his tourniquet. She stopped the bleeding, she stopped his bleeding. She stopped his pain, his despair, his loneliness. She was the first face he saw. She was the first person he trusted. She was the first person to keep his secret. She was his tourniquet. He did not love her. He only loved the idea of her. SakuraXMinato. Time-Travel Fic. Alt. Universe

I quite honestly think this is a hidden gem amongst time travel AUs since I never see people recommending it, but Touriquet is so good! What's interesting here is that it isn't Sakura that's playing with time, but rather Minato. The night of the Nine-Tails attack, rather than dying, he is sent to the future where post-war Sakura is the one to find him and keep the former Hokage alive. It's a delicate situation and one which is kept a secret from many, but through Minato's depression and difficulties with his new life, Sakura becomes a close confident.

Same author as Sakura! I gotta read more of their works

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Armour-Sleeved Single Hit - thatdamnuchiha || ao3 || T || madasaku || time travel AU || one-shot complete

Sasuke always told Sakura she was weak. Even after she trained with Tsunade for years he only had eyes for Naruto whom he considered strong. She would forever be invisible to him no matter how many mountains she toppled. Being a member of Team Seven despite Sasuke’s refusal to acknowledge her meant she got herself into her fair share of sticky situations. Getting stuck a hundred odd years in the past had to take the cake though. But she was just a weak little girl and compared to the shinobi of old she’d be ridiculously pathetic. Sasuke had said she was weak to him – a modern day shinobi who hadn’t been forced into battle after battle like they did in the Warring Clans Era. Obviously she’d be nothing more than a spec of dirt in the eyes of the Founders.

Sakura manages to find herself in founding-era Konoha! While trying to prove that medical ninja are capable fighters she unknowingly gains the affection of Madara Uchiha. After all, the Uchiha find beauty in strength. Super cute read!

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here are the fruits of your labor (would you like a cherry on top?) - snickiebear || ao3 || M || shisaku || time travel AU || one-shot complete

Shisui smiles and it is unlike any smile she has seen before. She cannot remember the last time she had seen a smile. 

Sakura manages to fix everything and now tries to live her life in a past she doesn't know. Shisui is the first to find her and the two of them form a close relationship that continues through her journey of recovery.

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The Moon Knows Best - darth_healer || ao3 || E || madasaku || time travel AU || complete

The Moon has played a cruel trick on Madara. He's still home, but it's not the same. Instead of a tranquil forest, there's a colorful vibrant village. Instead of the cliffside he knows so well, it's a collection of Senju faces, one of which belongs to his good friend Hashirama. And instead of Hashirama, Madara is saddled with a very interesting, pink-haired girl. MadaSaku in which young Madara goes forward through time.

Madara finds himself far into the future where the first to stumble upon him is Sakura. He's such a brat, but his and Sakura's interactions are rather entertaining.

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In the Magic Hour - summersirius || ao3 || E || minasaku || time travel AU || complete

It's not perfect, but everything is beautiful. —Minato/Sakura

A sharingan mishap lands Sakura in the past where she drops down in front of team Minato. With her hope of returning to the present time dwindling, Sakura excepts her new life and tries to make the best of the situation and the new bonds that come with it. The dynamic between Sakura and the older generation is quite refreshing and her mentor relationship with the former team 7 is great.

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Stumble - writer168 || ao3/ffn || gen || T || time travel AU || complete

Sakura wanted to die.Sasori was fine with staying dead.But it seemed fate had other plans for them, because when they both wake up younger with blood pulsing through their veins, they had to remember how to live again.Time Travel AU

Sasori and Sakura are both sent back in time and they try to make a difference in their respective villages. Told in the perspective of both characters, but primarily Sakura. She ends up forming a pretty sweet bond with Ibiki and Genma (which I love) and they help her through some things. Sakura has a rough time

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A Twist in Time - wolf08 || ffn || sasusaku || T || time travel AU || complete

With Konoha on the verge of destruction, Sakura is sent on a last-resort mission to save her world by travelling to the past. Join her in coping with her old body's shortcomings, testing the natural laws of time, falling in love all over again, and rediscovering who she is.

With Sakura frustrated at being back to where she started in her becoming of a shinobi, she begins to train with Sasuke. This time around in her life, her relationship with her brooding teammate isn't so strained. Pretty cute read imo

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Return & Rehash - SpaceNugget11 || ffn || sasusaku || M || time travel AU || incomplete

"You," Sakura snarled with bared teeth. Sasuke gagged for air, clutching at her forearm, but she only pressed harder into him. Her green eyes crackled, and she wished she could burn him alive with the heat of her anger.

Sasuke and Sakura certainly did not end in their last life on goods terms and it is prevalent from the moment Sakura awakens and attacks her teammate.

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An Inch of Gold - KuriQuinn || ffn || sasusaku || T || time travel AU || complete

Team 7 is sent on a mission to investigate a disturbance outside of the village, where they encounter an unconscious girl in a crater. The mysterious Sarada insists she's a shinobi from the Hidden Leaf trying to rescue her teammates. When the team discovers she possesses a Sharingan, things become even more unbelievable. [Part of the Legacy of Fire Series]

Sarada lands herself back in time all while crashing into another team 7 mission gone wrong. An Inch of Gold is in multiple perspectives, but they're all done quite well. Sasuke and Sakura are obviously rather flustered by the situation and the fact they have to deal with it in front of the team makes it quite entertaining.

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These Eyes of Mine (I Can See) - tsukuyue || ao3 || gen || time travel AU || complete

They've lost. Naruto was dead, killed at Kaguya’s hands. Along with him died any illusions of hope that they could win. They couldn’t win, but perhaps they wouldn’t need to. In attempts to stop the Fourth Shinobi War from ever occuring, Sakura is sent back in time to the moment of her birth. Protecting the people she cared about would be much easier if she knew all the facts. OR Where Sakura can see the dead, and Danzō deserves to die.

I'll be honest, I can't remember much, but I do remember that it was really good! I believe a large focus is the Uchiha massacre.

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Trials of Change - Espoiretreves || ao3 || gen || time travel AU || complete

Haruno Sakura made a promise. Looking in the eyes of her Shisou and the reanimated Hokage, she took on the most important mission of her life. Go back in time and try to prevent the 4th Shinobi War. Now, Sakura is back to her 5-year-old body, with all the knowledge and haunting memories of the future. She vows to keep her precious people safe and stop certain events from happening, without altering the timeline too much. The trials her emotions and logic put her through have her questioning her very existence, but for the sake of peace, she has to push forward. No matter what.

If you love Shisui then you'll definitely like Trials of Change. Him and Sakura form the most wholesome friendship ever and try their best in taking down ROOT. A huge cast is present here and the whole thing is just great. It seems as if everyone has some character development lmao.

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Time Flies Like An Arrow - Katlou303 || ao3 || gen || K || time travel AU || complete

Sakura traveled back in time with the intent of changing everything, but something went wrong, and now she's four years old having nightmares about impossible monsters and losing friends she has yet to meet.

I always like the ones where Sakura isn't fully aware she time travelled. I find it interesting in this fic to see how oblivious Sakura is to her situation, she's a four year old in mind and body. However, she still feels the need to make a difference in the lives of the people around her.

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cut the head off the snake - itsthechocopuff || ao3 || T || time travel AU || complete

when eighteen-year-old, post-war Sakura is thrown back into her tiny, pre-Academy body, she makes a decision. she'd had a childhood once already, and this time, she's more interested in Not Dying when the inevitable shit hits the proverbial fan. so she will work harder, care less, kill more, and smile when she's done.and hey, if she ends up reviving an extinct nature transformation to attract the most corrupt, power-hungry man from her timeline, all the better for her, right?

Sakura decides that her first order of business after traveling back in time is to infiltrate ROOT and that's exactly what she does. Sai, Shin, and Shisui are all great characters and team Ro is present as well. Very good!

Update: just found out it was recently completed!!

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Q: Do you guys like my little comments? If you look at my other lists you'll probably notice that I tend to reuse some of what I say (bc I'm lazy), but for the most part I try to add something new whenever I put a fic on a list. I know that descriptions aren't always very helpful, so I like to put a little something for y'all to get a better idea of what to expect!

Send me recs if you have any!!!

[edges-of-night]

OMG YIPPIEEIE YOU'RE BACK🎉 you're one of my favorite Lotr blogs ever❤❤❤ hope you're having an absolutely wonderful day❤

You know when there's a short character that's comically strong? Could you do the characters of your choice reacting to a short reader just tossing them over their shoulder like it's nothing? I'd think it'd be a little funny

Thank you very much, nonnie! I hope you’re doing well, too. I picked six characters which I think would be the funniest for your prompt!

Also: I’ve decided to introduce a “humour” tag! And a divider, perhaps? What do you guys think? Anyways, have fun reading!

･ﾟ✧ Boromir.

When you pick him up, Boromir is so stumped he cannot speak. How could a small person like you be so strong? Did you practice dark magic? Have you been bonded to the enemy and only now shown your true colours? It causes him quite a dramatic headache. He would stay up late by the fire to stare into it and question your relationship. Once he realises nothing had changed – you’re still yourself after all, always have been! – he would grin and exhale in relief (but still probably ask you to not do that again).

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･ﾟ✧ Éomer.

You probably won a bet against Éomer, that’s why he lets you throw him over your small shoulders in the first place. He expects to hate it but actually has a lot of fun being carried around like this. The two of you would often joke about how you could become his horse (or rather: pony) and use your strength to win many bets and free drinks among those who haven’t heard of your power. Additionally, Éomer would invent legendary stories to tell about you at drinking sprees. His fun would only be over when someone would ridicule your height – then it’s time for a brawl.

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･ﾟ✧ Éowyn.

When you first threw Éowyn over your shoulder, she protested like a dragon, so you let her down again quickly. But as time passes, she grows accustomed to the thought of being carried by someone she loves so deeply – just maybe not over your shoulder, but bridal style through the halls of Edoras. She would also carry you in return, needless to say, though she would often blush when asked about it. But she would always defend you against bigots! Sidenote: Éowyn loves your standing on your tip toes to kiss her ♡

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･ﾟ✧ Gimli.

You and Gimli vow to never speak of the day when you effortlessly carried him all the way back home over your shoulder. Though it fractures his Dwarven pride, Gimli is impressed with your strength. After all, he was wearing his heavy armour as well as his helmet and axe. Secretly, he would think back fondly to the instance. Still, the principle remains: “No one tosses a Dwarf over their shoulder!”

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･ﾟ✧ Haldir.

You wouldn’t have carried Haldir all the way back to Lothlórien if it hadn’t been absolutely necessary. But he was unconscious, so you had no choice. Other Elves of your party had volunteered, but you were quicker than anyone else (and also untiring). Every single one of you swore to never speak of this again, though you now do share a great insight joke to rile dear Haldir up more than you already do. Needless to say, he would never suspect you tiny little thing were the main culprit!

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･ﾟ✧ Legolas.

Being the Elven prince that he is, Legolas likes being carried around by you (and the scandalised faces of other people) so much that he would pretend to be fainting or otherwise stricken so that you would pick him up again. He is very playful about the entire thing, throwing his long arms around your neck and kicking his legs like a damsel in distress. He would also retort to your massive strength to threaten people, should the need arise…

[suzannahnatters]

Let's talk about what IMO The Rings of Power gets RIGHT about Galadriel as an interpretation of Tolkien & a female character.

I think Galadriel is an inspired choice for a major protagonist of the series. Audiences already know her, yes. But she's also a perfect choice if you're wanting to make a Tolkien fantasy fanfic in the 21st century - which does expect prominent female characters (thank goodness).

This is because Tolkien's Galadriel contains multitudes. The important thing to know about Galadriel is that she was at different times in the legendarium's creation BOTH a rebellious mess AND a wise queen.

It was only towards the end of his life, when Tolkien began to see Galadriel as an analogous figure in his world to the Virgin Mary, that he began to remove the traces of rebelliousness from her backstory. But originally she was up to her neck in a little event called "the Kinslaying."

The version of Galadriel we see in THE LORD OF THE RINGS is one who has been specifically banished from Valinor for her part in rebelling against the Valar in order to go to Middle Earth. She sings a whole song about how sad she is she's never been allowed to go back:

I sang of leaves, of leaves of gold, and leaves of gold there grew: Of wind I sang, a wind there came and in the branches blew. Beyond the Sun, beyond the Moon, the foam was on the Sea, And by the strand of Ilmarin there grew a golden Tree. Beneath the stars of Ever-eve in Eldamar it shone, In Eldamar beside the walls of Elven Tirion. There long the golden leaves have grown upon the branching years, While here beyond the Sundering Seas now fall the Elven-tears. O Lórien! The Winter comes, the bare and leafless Day; The leaves are falling in the stream, the river flows away. O Lórien! Too long I have dwelt upon this Hither Shore And in a fading crown have twined the golden elanor. But if of ships I now should sing, what ship would come to me, What ship would bear me ever back across so wide a Sea?

By the end of LOTR, that exile sentence has been revoked, probably in part because she resisted the temptation of the Ring when Frodo offered it. What we're seeing through Frodo's uncomprehending eyes in THE MIRROR OF GALADRIEL is the end of a REALLY REALLY long character arc.

In Tolkien's published work, Galadriel the wise queen wasn't born, she was made over many centuries of rebellion, temptation, and struggle. She had to learn.

Until Tolkien changed her. A flat arc is also valid, of course. But, for this character, the change arc is equally valid.

In TROP, beginning with a younger, more rebellious Galadriel seems to be a clear artistic decision to follow a change arc. I LOVE, BTW, that in the first ep we see her both in armour AND in beautiful dresses. This character is not going to fit easily into boxes.

Just like she does in Tolkien, TROP Galadriel contains the potential both to be Nerwen, the "man-maiden" and Galadriel the wise queen. TROP Galadriel doesn't seem to be under a sentence of exile, but she DOES start the series with a stated inner struggle.

I'm not going to spoil it for you, but I'm so excited to see where this goes. This is a young, angry, sword wielding Galadriel who is clearly at the start of what could be an epic character arc that refuses to put its protagonist into a tidy little tradwife/rebel binary.

[the-fiction-witch]

Baby Dragon

Media House Of The Dragon,

Character Daemon Targaryen

Couple Daemon X Reader (Targaryen Visery's Heir)

Rating Suggestive

Warning Uncle X Neice

I sat at the foot of Balerion's skull bathed in the flames of hundreds of candles. My hair was pulled into a sleek braid down my back, and my red textured dress with my decorative Valyrian steel dress Jelwery, the metal formed into layered spikes like amour across my shoulders and hips with filigree around my breasts. It wouldn't do anything to defend me in a real fight but it was dramatically decorative giving me the illusion of spines that glimmered silver to match my dragon 'Silver Star'. I watched the flames dance in front of me and I fiddled with my rounded Dragonglass necklace between my fingers in the silence. 

I enjoyed the silence heard only my breaths until I suddenly jumped as arms and thick hands wrapped around my waist and he breathed down my neck his breath hot against my skin. I knew by the feeling of his arms and hands were enough to identify him but his voice hissed into my ear. "I'm Home," 

I chuckled a little a sly smile broke across my lips as I did my best to be proper even if I still teased him,  "Ah ... pleasure to see you have returned safe and well Prince Daemon"

He tightened his grip, “What are you smiling at?”

"Can I not smile? I am happy to see you, home uncle,"

“How is it that the thought of seeing me doesn’t bring you to hysterics?” he chuckled as his breath tickled my skin, 

"I admit the thought of seeing you does thrill me. It has been three long years without you." She answered, "However there years is a long time, and... You might say I have changed. And now am at an age where a princess cannot be in hysterics just because her uncle is home" I answered and I could tell immediately he wasn't happy, he didn't like my newly found confidence, he didn't like that he wasn't the one to turn me so hysteric at his meer sight, touch and breath. 

"You've changed," He accused, "Explain." 

"As I said I was pleased to see your return Prince Daemon. And yes while on some level I do indeed wish to... Throw my arms around you and rejoice in your return. A princess should be proper, should she not?"

“I am not your subject to act proper around. What of my wishes, princess? Do they not factor into this equation?”

"And what are your wishes Prince Daemon?" I wickedly smiled as I turned to glance over my shoulder at him meeting his eyes, 

“I wish to hear that you will stop being so goddamn proper and act like the girl I left behind and have you melt in my arms like you did when you were younger, and kiss me without a care in the world." He growled, 

"I'm afraid that is impossible" I chuckled slyly, "my father has spent the last three years ensuring my proper education and behaviour. It is no act. I'm afraid to inform you but... The little girl that would melt into your arms that you left behind is gone, father ensured she was replaced." I turned to face him fully revealing her dress, my Valyrian steel decorative armour and the necklace of dragon glass which took his attention and made him smile as it was a gift he had given me the night before he left for the war and the sight that I still wore it for him after all this time gave him a prideful smile as he stood in his red and black finery with his silvery hair cut short, "As much as our desires may be to do so, there are too many cares in this world to kiss you."

“Damn my fool brother… he has ruined you…” he complained in his frustration, “My gods what has he done to my sweet little Y/n…" he glared as he inspected me, "You're dress is tight, your spikey, your proper and refined,"

"he did what had to be done. I am his heir. A blushing stuttering princess would have no place on the iron throne." I explained, "I suppose I am... No longer your baby dragon," for a moment I let a smile slip through as I spoke the name he had always called me. 

“I suppose you are no longer the baby dragon you once were princess… and what of that necklace? I gave it to you when I left. Do you still have the same sentiment I left with when I gave it to you three years ago?” he asked,

"you asked me to wear it always and think of you. I have never removed it since you left," I admit with a blush, 

“And have you kept to the other rule? Have you missed me since I’ve been gone? Do you think of me every night before you rest your little head to sleep?”

"I have missed you greatly, I wear the necklace always and I think of you nightly as I set my head to sleep I think of ... The night before you left"

“That was quite a night… wasn’t it princess?” he smirked, 

"it was... A night of many Impressive things,"

“Impressive huh? And how many of those many things still haunt your fantasies?”

"all of the things," I admitted, "Tell me Prince Daemon... How many of those things from that night still haunt your own mind, your own fantasies, has the thought of us that night... Kept you warm these long nights of war"

“That night has not left my mind for a single day… not a moment… nor has this foolish girl that had the audacity to grow up when I wasn’t there to keep her in check," he growled as he moved his lips close to my own, 

"humm I did not wish to grow up. To abandon being your baby dragon. However, if you have complaints about the foolishness that grew up and now stands before you." I whispered, "Take it up with your brother. My father. The king"

“Don’t tempt me with that suggestion princess- because I know your father would take delight in denying me such pleasures…" 

"Perhaps that was his intention? To make me his heir to train me to be a proper princess all while you were gone unable to add input. To deny you your baby dragon,"

“Do not tell me you have become so indoctrinated by his teachings that you do not desire the things I gave to you years ago Baby Dragon." he smirked, "You still want me? do you not?"

"what I want. Is not of consequence."

"Not of consequence?" He raised an eyebrow, 

"I am a princess. Heir to the throne. Future of our kingdom and its people... What I want is not relevant. The baby dragon you once made your plaything has been forced away," I explained as I tried to move to put space between us, but he grabbed my arm. 

“I don’t give a damn of your place, princess. I gave you this necklace as a token of my love- to be kept on your person at all times and I do not care what that fool brother of mine wishes for you- you are still mine- to touch, to kiss." He said as he stroked my necklace, "I still want you to be my baby dragon…"

"...he will never allow us our love. Then or now. He is disgusted by our feelings. He will have us sent to death if he ever knew we did so now ... Now that I am mature, that I am at an age of understanding and of consent, now that there is risk I could give you children. My father, my brother. The king of the realm. Will not allow this. As much as I love you and as long as I have loved you." I explained fighting back tears, I pulled off my necklace and held it in my hand as I offered it to him, "I understand if that means... I cannot have this anymore,"

“I would rather die than live a life without you, princess. Just as soon as we are apart I am filled with despair and anguish… no matter how much I try to put my feelings aside I cannot you are meant to be with me…" He said as he took my necklace and slipped it back around my neck, 

"he will put us to death if we ever-"

“I. Do not. Care. What he will do to us… I just want you. I need you. I will have you. No matter what. and I will burn all of the seven kingdoms to be with you," 

"I-I... I know it is foolishness but..."

“But what princess?”

"Dragonstone." I blurted out, "... Steal me. Steal me from your brother. From my father. From this castle. From this kingdom. Take me to Dragonstone. your castle. Take us there on dragon back and make me your bride."

“Steal you?" he smirked,

"Yes."

"Yes, steal you I shall princess and take you to Dragonstone. I shall make you my bride. I will not live another day without you by my side.”

"you would truly do this for me?"

“I would do anything for you Y/n, my baby dragon. I… will not live to see you marry someone else. And I would rather die than not be in your life, not wake up every day without you.” He smirked, “If it means we have to run together to Dragonstone to escape the king and our duty…then so be it. Nothing will keep me from my love and future wife… not even death.”

I smiled and let everything go jumping into his arms wrapped my arms around him but he pushed me away, 

"Ahh! Damn it." He complained before he removed my decorative Valyrian steel dress Jelwery, "You're too spikey baby dragon," he laughed before hugging me tightly again, "I will have you. I will always have you. I will protect you. I will cherish you. You will be mine. My baby dragon. My wife." He cooed, “Do not worry, princess. We shall be gone by the morning. The king will be devastated- but we shall be together. There will be nothing stopping us. Nothing to keep me from putting my lips on yours. I shall claim you now and forever.”

"I do not care for his devastation, I care only that ... This is what you truly want?"

“And what if it is? What if I want you and only you? What if I want to spend the rest of eternity holding you and kissing you? What if I wanted you to be the mother of my children?

what then princess? What then?”

"Then I will happen stolen!"

“Then that is what I shall do to you princess. I will steal my bride. That is what I wish for.” he looked into my eyes, “Do you wish for the same? Will you steal my heart forever then? Will you make me the happiest man alive and claim me forever and claim me as yours for a lifetime to come?”

"I will I swear it on the old gods, the new, the seven, on old valyia and the seven kingdoms.

“Then that is good enough for me- my precious princess, my baby dragon my beloved… I will steal you away and we shall be gone tomorrow morning. You will become my bride. My queen. My love. My wife, forever.”

[witchthewriter]

���𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒐𝒏 𝑫𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 | 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒕𝒘𝒐.

⤷ gender neutral, Valyrian blood (dragon rider), and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

a/n: so I realised I didn't exactly go with the 'how they show their love'. Instead, I've changed it to general headcanons w/ your bonded dragon (because I can talk about a whole lot more!)

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐅𝐘𝐑𝐄

・Also known as 'The Mother of Dragons', her pale blue scales shone with silver detailing, giving an almost shimmering appearance.

・30% Aggressive, 35% Loving, 15% Graceful, 20% Wise

・A mother hen sometimes; won't fly until you've had something to eat, you MUST have your water satchel at all times

・Her favourite food is lamb, she cannot stand pig. Even if there isn't anything else to eat, she would rather starve. You have no idea why she's like that.

・LOVES the water, absolutely adores waterfalls in particular. That's where she likes flying off to.

・It's mind-blowing to see a dragon swim, a lizard-like head bobbing up and down. Making happy noises as she floats in the crystal-like water

・She's actually one of the dragons who does like to collect things. In can range from precious jewels to gold to shells to things she's found while swimming

・You bring her things if you've been away (she doesn't like when you don't visit her at least daily)

・But she forgives you when she sees the sack full of *things*

𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐘𝐒

・Known as 'The Red Queen,' in her youth, she was the fastest dragon in all of Westeros.

・When she was younger, and being trained; she excelled. So much so, that others wondered if she could become the next Balerion.

・Because it isn't just about brute strength, but understanding commands, connecting with what needs to be done etc. Some dragons learn the art of war, and others just ... participate in wars.

・That's why your father pushed you so hard to train. It wasn't to experience difficult situations, but to understand how Meleys would react to them. And in turn, she learned how you react.

・You and Meleys became known for your victories, for if there is a battle, or even a war, you and Meleys are called in.

・Meleys does not like to be touched by anyone but you - so you're the one who bathes her, who tends to her wounds.

・Meleys is very graceful, and likes to be preened. Especially the crown of thorns that grow from her head. With each year they seem to get stronger and larger.

𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐗𝐄𝐒

・The most unique-looking dragon to ever exist in Westeros. And you love that about him.

・His elongated neck is one of your favourite features about him (he was a bit insecure about it when he was younger. His appearance freaked out not only other people, but the other dragons. Who basically shunned him

・He wasn't allowed in the Dragonpits because too many wanted to fit him.

・But Syrax, she was his only friend. Well, besides you...Well, you're his family.

・Both of you are loners, but intimidating loners. That's how you became the most formiddable pair. All that time together.

・Because then you started to move in connection with one another. Like magnets. Foreseeing each other's decisions, and being able to react; this connection makes it so easy to win battles.

・Even against other dragons and dragonriders, they just don't seem to be on your level.

・Caraxes is very warm, moreso than the other dragons as well. It may be because of his colouring, the fact that his fire is also so hot it melts men in armour where they stand. It might also be because his neck changes how his fire sits within him.

・Either way, it makes for a great help in the Winter when you're shivering, while in the clouds, flying.

𝐒𝐘𝐑𝐀𝐗

・Willful and stubborn, Syrax doesn't like flying unless the weather is nice.

・She LOVES being doted upon. Call her a good girl and she's yours.

・However, she does have a quick temper

・And doesn't like her limits pushed

・Understands when something is important, i.e., when she has to be used as a weapon (she likes using her fire - bit of a pyromaniac)

・She shows her love by flying you to the outlands of King's Landing or Dragstone. You love being near the water, with the sun beating down on you.

・Syrax is impatient though and you have to find a place where she can fall asleep underneath shade

・Snorts when she scares someone

・Syrax HATES when she gets dirty, and demands to be bathed every day

・Training her was actually a nightmare. She has the capacity to learn a lot but just doesn't have the ambition

・She had to be bribed with food, basically all the time.

𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐊𝐄

・More of an introverted personality. Doesn't care for warfare, but trains when he has to. But when it comes to you, he will fight til the very end.

・Extremely loyal, doesn't like being away from you for very long

・And is the second best looking dragon in all of Westeros

・But you always tell him that he's the prettiest boi the world has ever seen

・The difference between Sunfyre and Seasmoke is that Sunfyre knows he's a hottie and loves the attention. Seasmoke doesn't care for the cheers of the crowd

・Seasmoke is a lot less self-indulged

・He does love being near the water. Definitely has Pisces energy about him.

・The pink frills behind his neck are very ticklish and once nearly shook you off because you wouldn't stop tickling them.

・He prefers to eat fish over anything

・And you actually made him a pearl necklace from all the oysters he finds while diving into the ocean

𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐅𝐘𝐑𝐄

・The most beautiful dragon to ever grace Westeros.

・Known as 'Sunfyre the Golden.'

・Well that's what the Maesters had written in the history records

・Sunfyre is very stunning

・With gleaming gold scales that seem to create sunspots when the sun hits them

・His wings are pink entwined with gold. Pearlescent white showing here and there.

・Crowds flock to see Sunfyre

・And both you and Sunfyre love flying above those crowds, hearing the cheers as you swoop low and show off

・However, even though he loves being complimented, he mostly just wants to be loved. Adored. He hates being on his own, and absolutely loves when you sleep beside him.

・He will tug on your clothes when he's bored; but one time he accidentally bit you and you were so grumpy with him.

・To make up for it, he had brought back a dead sheep (in dragon language that means " I'm sorry " )

𝐓𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐍

・One of the younger dragons, she is known as 'The Blue Queen.' Her name is after a Valyrian goddess. One of power and glory.

・But you just know her as Tess, and she nudges you whenever you do so

・She's your best friend, and you're hers.

・For a dragon, she's very reliable and down to earth (major metaphorical sense for the latter)

・Her appearance is nearly completely blue, with touches of pearlescent white on her horns. Her eyes are a glowing blue as is her flame.

・Very good around children, and has actually allowed one to touch her snout.

・Has a thirst for adventure and you show your love by allowing her her freedom

・Never chaining her in the dragonpit, your only command is not to go too far when she might be needed.

・She actually loves flying at night, and keeps herself steady so you can watch the stars

[taesanluv3r]

laser tag!

kim woonhak x reader

a silly laser tag date with bf!woonhak, turns into a cheeky first kiss. fluffy cuteness, slight betrayal (in a silly way) :3 lowercase intended, excuse any grammar or spelling errors! this is kinda messy but enjoyy

wc: 1,383

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

"your first kiss was during...laser tag?!"

okay, maybe to the untrained eye this wasn't the most ideal scenario. romantics might argue that the first kiss should be special, warm, filled to the brim with roses upon a candlelight dinner and - well, not in the middle of an intense laser tag match.

to young and naive lovers like kim woonhak and yn ln however, this was just the right time and place for such a thing. i mean, what's more romantic than a gruesome battle in an awfully humid indoor space, accompanied by extremely cheap plastic guns?

exactly, nothing.

"i'm gonna get you, yn!" woonhak yelled as he ran across the room. he held onto the laser gun tightly, a bright blue circle at the centre of his plastic armour - it glowed, indicating he hadn't been defeated yet. he follows his girlfriend, chasing after the glowing red on her own suit.

"oh yeah? we'll see about that!" yn retaliates, a giggle escaping her gloss stained lips as she skips through the maze-like battlefield. she doesn't stop running, and he doesn't stop chasing; they had seemingly forgotten of the other players, bending the rules of the game to focus solely on each other - as if it were a one on one match.

"hah! got ya!"

the boy's teeth peeked through as he grinned. he had successfully cornered the girl at a dead end, now it really was a one on one fight. "you gonna shoot me or what?" she asked, her weapon locked and loaded, pointed at him and ready to go. he was in the same position, an eye squinted as if he were trying to get a better aim. "aren't you?" he asks as they begin to rotate in a circle, covering the area of the small grounds they stood in.

"how many more shoots do you have left?" woonhak inquires, his head tilts to one side when he asks but the rest of his body stays alert - there was no room for distraction. "i'm not falling for that, you're gonna shoot me while i check...child's play" yn replies, scoffing at her boyfriend's dirty tactics. she has this smile on her face, it's smug and somewhat annoying, but something about it made his stomach turn (in a good way) and he couldn't help but break character for a moment, letting his guard down.

bad idea.

"FUCK!" yn cursed almost way too loudly - especially at a place dominated by children. woonhak laughs manically, in a split second he had managed to dodge her shot. "HAH! i'd like to see you try that again" he snickers, watching her face as her eyebrows furrowed and eyes narrowed. his own expression changes quickly however, when she lifts her gun up to point at him again, right at his chest.

"kim woonhak, consider yourself...dead?"

fuck.

"looks like someone's out of shots..." the boy smirks, watching as a look of shock washes over her complexion. "this is seriously so unfair" she whines, dropping the, now useless, gun onto the floor. yn frowns when woonhak begins to walk towards her. she steps back each time he comes closer but this method only worked for as long as she didn't come into straight contact with the plush foam walls - which, obviously, she did.

"woonhak, babe, don't do it...spare me!"

he laughs again, the same manic laugh as before, as if he could already feel the glory of victory reeling in. he fully corners her this time, her back against the wall and one of his palms pressed onto the surface right beside her head, caging her in so that there was no escape.

yn sighs, she's about to give up. i mean, there really isn't any other way to win...unless of course if she could stall him long enough for the time to run out. but how? if there's anything about kim woonhak that anyone should know it's that he's dead serious about games like this, nothing in the world could distract him - well, maybe a true loves kiss but where would yn ln find a true loves kiss at a time like this? hey that rhymed, also! yn you idiot, you're the true loves kiss!

"what are you thinking so hard about right now?" his words pull her out of the short trance she was in. observant as ever, the boy caught on immediately to the smirk that played against her lips. "what are you plotting, yn?" he sounded almost nervous.

"aren't you gonna shoot me?"

he chuckles, "i'm savouring it. gonna wait till the very last minute", she raises a brow, "what if you don't make it on time?" and he rolls his eyes, "with you weaponless and cornered, no one else around, and the clear shot i have? fat chance" she sighs, "fine then..."

"you can't say i didn't warn you then"

before the boy could even try to question her odd statement, he was pulled forward by the two hands she had hooked between the straps of his armour. in a matter of seconds, kim woonhak had gone from feeling rather victorious to losing himself in his girlfriend's mouth.

not that he was complaining though, he's been waiting for this moment to happen since the very moment they started dating about two and a half weeks ago - he just never thought it'd be at laser tag that he'd get his very first kiss from her. again, not complaining though.

the kiss was simple. distracting, sure, but for the most part it was simple; sweet and passionate - maybe a little sloppy, but what would you expect of two amateur teenage kissers?

kim woonhak was on cloud nine! i mean, he's got the love of his life - namely, yn ln - locked on his lips, his hands in his hair and everything, and on top of that, his laser tag victory was just inches away...at the edge of his finger tips, literally. nothing could go wrong now...nothing in the whole wide world could ever ruin this moment in any way...nothing could-

'shots fired! player freshboy has been defeated! congratulations red team you win!'

"huh...?"

woonhak's face went pale as the speaker intercom voice filled his ears, he finally pulls away from the kiss, "what...?" his confusion is answered when yn laughs from her spot in front of him. his eyes widen at the sight of his girlfriend, pretty - as always - but something was different. why was she armed? her weapon was gone minutes ago! and where did his weapon go? what...

"got ya!"

he couldn't believe it. about a billion thoughts raced through his mind as he watched his girlfriend cheer with glee - cheer in glory of her victory, the victory that was meant to be his. but amongst all these thoughts only one read clear in the very center of his head, in big and bold letters, in a colour so brightly red, a singular word floating with a background of fire:

betrayal.

"aw woonagi don't be upset, it's not the end of the world!" yn giggles at the large pout on his face as they return the plastic suits and weapons to the counter. "yeah it is, my girlfriend totally betrayed me! worse! she distracted me with a secret weapon! that's totally against the rules and so very unfair and i think that-" woonhak didn't finish - or rather, he couldn't finish. his words all swallowed up by her lips that attached themselves onto his again.

once more, she laughs at his bewildered face. "you're so adorable, hakie. now let's go, dinner is on you remember, loser" he frowns again, but wraps an arm around her, pulling her close to kiss the top of her head. her nose scrunches at the contact and she tumbles to side a bit, walking lopsided as a result of their difference in height.

"you're so lucky i love you, yn"

they went to dinner after that, on woonhak's latest pay check from his part-time job. then when they parted that night, neither of the pair could fall asleep; lost in space as images of their spontaneous first kiss flashed against the stars. the rest was history, a story to be told over and over again until everyone and their mother's got sick of it.

"so yeah...we did have our first kiss at laser tag"

the end.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

YAYYYY FIRST FIC(ish) IN A WHILE 😭😭😭😭 hope u enjoyed it <3 sorry to have kept u waiting. love, kona.

[probably-writing-x]

Armour

Rafe!AU x Reader

Summary: Having your heart broken was one thing. But Rafe watching somebody break your heart? That was something nobody could prepare for.

Warnings: Suggestions of a toxic relationship, cursing, mentions of alcohol / drug dependency, I think that’s everything??

Word Count: 4.1k

Author’s Note: I LOVED writing this - it took me ages but I just had the idea from this gif and went for it. Let me know if you like it <3

It wasn’t a feeling you could describe. Because, really, it felt like there was no explanation. You’d been in love. You’d been consumed. And now? Nothing. It felt like a part of your future had been torn away in front of you. And you didn’t know why.

For nine years now you’d been dating your boyfriend, James. He was your high school relationship, turned college relationship, and the two of you had returned to the Outer Banks and bought a place together - planning on staying here so that he could work for his father now that the two of you had graduated college.

You’d been living in the house for a year now, down the road from his parents’ home, where he’d grown up. It was weird really, you’d been so certain that you wanted to get off the island. But he’d suggested moving back here and you agreed. That was what was going to keep him happy, anyway. And, plus, him working for his Dad’s company would mean that the two of you were practically set for life. Though it felt strange to think that your life would begin and end here. You’d done it for him, for your relationship, your future with James.

And yet you couldn’t figure out where things had changed. You couldn’t pinpoint a day, a moment, an argument; nothing. One day he was yours and the next he was disappearing. And, as much as you wanted to keep him, there was only so much it was in your control.

It was a day burned into your mind, one that would remain burned there for a long time. The way he’d looked at you, cold and heartless. The way he’d spoken, yelled and screamed when you disagreed. And, just like that, he’d packed a bag and walked out towards his parents’ place, telling you that it was over. Nine years of a relationship slipping away, disappearing into the dark of your first night alone.

Sarah had come round that night and stayed with you, her baby bump growing into her fifth month of pregnancy. She’d stayed with you on the couch as you cried, still been there in the morning when your eyes were tired and puffy. She’d stayed the entire day and helped pack up as many of your things as you could, called John B to get him to help take your stuff to their house.

They lived where the chalet used to be, in a house John B had built with the boys, much bigger than what they used to have. One of the rooms was taken up by the starts of their nursery, and they’d already set up an air mattress in the other room for you, a spare sheet and comforter folded on top. You didn’t sleep much more than a couple of hours that night either, or the night after, and you only slept from exhaustion on the fourth night.

“Hey, (Y/N),” Sarah knocks gently on the door before letting herself in, “How are you doing?”

You pull yourself to sit up in the bed, pushing yourself back against the headboard, drawing your knees to your chest, “I’m okay, just tired.”

She frowns and comes to sit on the bed beside you, her hand squeezing your knee, “So, you don’t have to see him if you don’t want to, but my brother is flying back today.”

Rafe. Her older brother. The boy you’d grown up with. He’d been your first kiss at a party when both of you were too young to know what you were doing. He’d been the boy that picked you up from your first drunk night when your parents couldn’t know you’d been drinking. He’d been the one your eyes were drawn to in a crowd of people since you could remember. You hadn’t seen him since the summer after your first year of college. He’d decided to move to New York - taking up a job in the city. The two of you had sat on the dock and spoken for hours and he ended the conversation by telling you he was leaving in the morning. Since then, your paths hadn’t crossed. He was barely home nowadays. But, you suppose, with Sarah being pregnant, it was a better time than any for him to return to the old stomping grounds.

“He’s coming here?” You swallow the lump in your throat.

She nods, “He’s going to sleep on the couch for a couple of nights. I haven’t told him anything about you and James - I figured it was up to you if you wanted to tell him or not.”

You take a deep breath and nod too, “Okay, thank you.”

Sarah squeezes your leg again and places her other hand over her bump, pushing herself up to stand, “John B is making some food if you want any breakfast. I’d make the most of it, he hates cooking normally,” She laughs, the sympathy still casting a shadow over her bright eyes.

Sarah knew how things were with you and Rafe, as much as she never mentioned it to you - it was a conversation that it felt like the two of you had already had without any words being spoken. She’d seen his face after the two of you kissed, the way he blushed and stuttered afterwards. She’d watched the way things had changed between you when you and James got together, the way Rafe seemed to distance. And she’d watched the pain in your eyes the day he left, like a little window through to the ache that seemed to never leave your heart. And, right now, she’d seen the slightest glimmer of hope in you at the mention of him coming home.

For the first time in a few days, you find yourself actually wanting to get up, get ready, feel a little human for the day. You shower and do all of your skincare, spending a little longer on it than you usually do. You half-dry your hair and plait it instead of leaving it to frizz around your head, and you change into clean clothes from the duffle bag of things that you and Sarah had packed up from your house - well, what was your house.

By the time you come downstairs, John B and Sarah are sat at the dining table, tucking into plates of food with a fresh pot of coffee and a jug of orange juice on the table. One of his arms is around the back of her chair, his eyes bright as he listens to her speak.

“Hey! You’re up!” He looks over and grins as you come down the stairs, “How are you feeling today?”

You smooth a hand over the two braids on your head and smile, feeling like you have to force it just a little less than before, “Better, thank you.”

“Good, well there’s food here if you want it,” He gestures to the table, “And eat up quick because Sarah’s eating enough for two at the minute.”

You laugh and make your way over, sitting down at the opposite side of the table. From the angle, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror in their lounge and the sight doesn’t feel like yourself. Your eyes are dark underneath, something no eye cream would fix after just one use. And your body seems weirdly shrunken in the sweatshirt around your figure. It sits long over your arms and so baggy that you can’t make out the shape of your torso. Your skin looks drier and your lips are chapped. But you remind yourself that you feel a little more human today and it seems to ease the worry for a while, your breath feeling less shaky as you turn back to the food.

“Oh shit, I didn’t realise the time,” John B glances at the clock, “I promised I’d go and help Pope build their crib before I went to pick your brother up - apparently I’m a pro at it now.”

Pope and Cleo were also expecting, due just a month after Sarah and John B’s baby would likely be born. They lived in a house not far from his parents’ place. JJ and Kie had come back to the Outer Banks a few months ago after travelling for a year - though they said it was less travelling and more finding as many places to surf as they could. Before that, Kie had been working on turtle conservation in a few different projects and JJ had been flying out everywhere with her - experiencing the world as a pair. They had no plans of marriage, or kids, or even where to settle, but that was perfect for them; chasing another adventure until it felt like they’d done it all. And you - whilst it felt like all of your friends were starting a new chapter, yours had just ended and the author was yet to think of where the story would go next. It was as if one of the main characters had just dropped out of the pages, leaving the story in ruins from here on out - all chapters of marriage and pregnancy and growing old together disappearing as quickly as James had told you it was over.

John B kisses Sarah a quick goodbye and grabs the keys to his truck, disappearing outside. A chill flurries through the house but it dissipates quickly, settling back into the home they’d managed to make together. You weren’t sure if you could remember your house feeling like that, and when you think about it for too long, you settle on the fact that maybe it never had.

~~~

It’s early afternoon when you hear the sound of a car in the driveway. And you’re sure your ears prick up to the noise, your heart seeming to pause a little in preparation. You set down the book in your hands and stand up from the couch, glancing at your appearance in the mirror quickly and dragging your fingertips underneath your eyes as if to push the fatigue away from them.

“I think that’s them back,” Sarah comments as she comes downstairs, making her way over to the door, “Yeah, that’s them! Are you okay?”

You glance at her and regather your words, “Of course.”

And, just like that, the door clicks open and the sound of two rumbling voices tumbles into the room, a deep laugh that pauses halfway through.

“Hey little sis!” Rafe’s voice seems no different than when you last heard it, deep and intense but seemingly so comforting.

He grins as he wraps his arms around his sister, cautiously as if the bump between them is the most fragile thing he’s seen. His eyes flick down to the baby bump and back up, shaking his head with the slightest reflection of tears in his eyes.

“I still can’t believe it,” He chuckles, hugging her again, “I was just saying to John B that I-“

As he pulls away from her, his eyes flick back to the only other body in the room. The few metres between you. His shoulders and features soften, his body relaxing just slightly. His smile falters, somewhere close to shock, before returning as bright as it had been before.

“(Y/N)…” His voice seems to trail off, Adam’s apple bobbing and the sound of his duffle bag hitting the floor seeming to echo in the space between you, “Long time no see.”

With that, he strides the short distance between you and wraps his arms around you tightly, tight enough that your feet just slightly lift from the ground. He smells like dark cologne and coffee and his hair is longer than when you’d seen him last, his face seeming fuller and sharper as if he’d grown into himself, a shadow of stubble growing darker around his jawline.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” He comments, settling you back as he steps away from you, hands still gripping your forearms - his eyes seem to graze over you as if checking over.

“Yeah I-“ You clear your throat, voice seeming scratchy as your eyes find it impossible to leave him, “I’m just staying for a few days.”

“God, it’s good to see you,” His brows raise with his smile, a light laugh warming the space between you before Rafe seems to come back to himself, clearing his throat and letting go of his hold around your arms, one of his hands flying up to scratch at the back of his neck.

“I’ll leave your stuff down here if that’s okay, Rafe,” Sarah comments, “Are you sure you’re okay with sleeping on the couch?”

He turns away from you and takes a second to rejoin a conversation away from you, nodding, “Yeah, of course. We all know I slept in way worse places after drunk nights before.”

You’d learnt from Sarah that Rafe was completely sober now - he’d stopped the drinking and the drugs not long after you’d gone off to college, and Sarah still swore it was like a weird shift into his old self coming back. You weren’t sure that you knew what she meant - he’d always been Rafe to you.

“Alright, I’ll bring down some pillows and a blanket,” John B nods, jogging upstairs.

Before you can say anything else, your phone starts to ring on one of the side tables by the couch, buzzing loudly against the wooden surface. The screen flashes up with “James” accompanied by a blue heart emoji and a photo of the two of you on vacation that you still hadn’t removed.

“I-“ You feel your cheeks heat, “I should take this.”

You grab the phone and flee down the corridor, only answering the call when you’re outside, the door to the garden remaining ajar behind you.

“Hello?”

“(Y/N),” He returns, his voice seeming cold even through the speaker of your phone, “Are you still at Sarah’s?”

“Yeah I’m just staying here for a few days I-“

“Okay, I have more of your stuff to drop off,” James cuts in, “I’ll swing by and leave it at the front door.”

“James can we just-“

He hangs up then and the phone feels heavy in your hand, still lightly pressed against your ear as if any part of him still remained. Your heart seems to clench and your bottom lip quivers but you pierce your lips together tightly to stop it, clenching your nails into your palm until the slight sting centres you back into where you were. This morning had felt like a better day, a few steps forward, and within just a few short words you seemed to have tumbled all the way back to square one.

When you turn around and go back inside, it’s just Rafe left in the lounge.

“Where did-“

“Something to do with pregnancy,” Rafe narrows his eyes a little, a small smile on his lips, “But I have no idea what she actually said.”

You nod and wrap your arms around yourself, avoiding his gaze.

He frowns, standing up from the couch, “Is everything okay?”

You nod again.

“I saw you were reading To Kill A Mockingbird, do you like it? I realise I never asked you,” He picks up your copy from the table and brushes a thumb over the worn cover.

He’d given you that book when you’d graduated. You’d read it front to back at least four times since then, sometimes just reading the annotations that he’d put in the margins instead of the printed words on the page.

“It’s the one I gave you,” His brows drop as if in sudden realisation, and his eyes seem brighter like they’re swelling with the hints of pride in his heart, “I didn’t even realise it was the same one. I can’t believe you’ve still got this.”

You fiddle with the material on the sleeves of your jumper, noticing how it seems to scratch at your skin more now, “Yeah, same one.”

Rafe glances up and the pride in his eyes seems to etch towards worry, “(Y/N), what’s going on?”

You shake your head again, “Um, I think I’m going to go and lie down. I should probably give you a chance to settle in anyway, you’ve been travelling and everything.”

With a slight stumble over your words, you hurry towards the stairs, disappearing out of his sight before he has the chance to stop you.

~~~

Somewhere between then and now, you’d fallen asleep. You wake up hours later and the sun has shifted to the afternoon angle that meant it no longer came burning through the window in the spare bedroom. The house is quiet but you can hear the sound of conversation downstairs, quiet voices and hushed tones.

When you open your bedroom door, the conversation becomes clearer - Rafe and Sarah.

“She’s not herself, why won’t you tell me what’s happened?” Rafe says, and you can hear the worry injected into his words.

“Rafe, I can’t tell you for her, you’ve just got to wait until she’s ready to talk about it,” Sarah explains, “It’s been years since you two have seen each other, you can’t blame her for not wanting to talk to you about stuff yet.”

“We used to talk about everything, I knew everything about her,” Rafe returns, “I’ve just… I’ve missed her. And I’ve come back but it still feels like I haven’t got her back.”

You feel the weight settle and flutter on your chest, a weird combination between wanting to run down to him and run away from it all. It felt weird to have Rafe back when you felt so distant from yourself. The closest to him you’d been in years and yet feeling like the furthest from you.

One of the floorboards creaks beneath your feet and their conversation quickly ceases. You take that as your sign to go downstairs, feeling a little more human now that you’d caught up on another few hours of sleep.

“Hi honey,” Sarah smiles warmly, “There’s a box of stuff for you on the counter.”

“Of course there is,” You roll your eyes at her and she laughs a little, “Thank you.”

It’s an unlabelled box, likely one of the small ones you’d used to move into the house in the first place. But you take the lid on top as a sign to not open it - whatever was in there you probably didn’t want to be thinking about now. It could be opened on one of your bad days when you needed to cry. Until then, it could definitely be ignored.

“Alright I’m just going to call John B and get him to pick up some dinner on the way home,” Sarah comments, walking out of the kitchen and into the lounge instead.

Rafe is leaning back against one of the counters, a red solo cup in his hand, his eyes looking down as he swirls around the liquid in the cup.

“I thought you stopped drinking,” You comment, gesturing to his hands.

He chuckles a little and looks up at you, “Yeah, yeah, I did. It’s just water. This was the first cup I could find.”

You nod and walk over to him, leaning against the kitchen island opposite Rafe so that you were facing him, your arms folding over your chest.

“So, how’s New York?”

Rafe smiles, “Very different from home. Sometimes a good different, other times not so much. Just a lot to get used to, you know?”

You nod in agreement but don’t say anything.

“Makes me realise how much I miss from home.”

Your eyes find his again and both of you smile just enough for it to be visible. The air feels warmer between you, warmer still every time your eyes meet.

“So, you moved back here, to the Outer Banks, glad to come home?”

“I don’t-“ You purse your lips for a second, “I did, when I first got back. I don’t know anymore.”

He’s silent in return and your eyes lose contact, yours flicking to the floor. Rafe stretches out one of his feet and nudges at your ankle, tapping you, “Hey.”

You look up and let your eyes return to his, his gaze softening as his words quieten. The tension in you seems to relax just enough.

“What happened, (Y/N)?”

You feel the lump reform in your throat, the way it seems to constrict any chance you have of speaking, the way your muscles feel weaker, like you could crumble there and then, “I don’t know.”

The words come out barely audible, scratching from your tongue as your bottom lip trembles a little.

“One day we were fine, the next he told me it was over,” You half-laugh because you’re certain it’s the only way you can avoid crying, though tears are already blurring your vision, “I don’t know what happened.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Rafe steps forward and pulls your arms from around your torso, guiding them around his back before wrapping his own arms around you too, letting your head bury onto his chest. He brings a hand up to your hair and keeps you close to him, tightening his hold on you as much as he possibly can.

You let yourself cry into him, tears staining the t-shirt as you grip onto the material at the back, holding him like you’re terrified that he’ll slip away too. Despite the way you need him to hold you, you’re sure that he needs you too - in the way his chin rests on top of your hair, the way he adjusts every few seconds as if reassuring himself that you couldn’t get any closer.

The pair of you stay like that for a short infinity, neither of you wanting to be the first to move, both of you certain that years of emotion is pouring into the single gesture, the single contact after years without. A short infinity.

~~~

That night, you sit down for dinner with Sarah, John B and Rafe. They all make sure that you fill your plate of food first, and encourage you to have the last slice of pizza. They look at you with a sense of relief on their features, like you were back just a little more than you had been. Rafe’s arm settles over the back of your chair, his other hand wrapped around a glass of water. He looks at you when you speak and chuckles deeply when you make a quiet joke. You feel the most human you’ve felt in years.

And when you go to bed that night, it feels less likely that you’ll be lying awake questioning everything, much more likely that you’ll sleep soundly. You change into your pyjamas - a baggy t-shirt and a pair of shorts - and get under the covers, tugging them up to your neck.

Just then, there’s a knock at the door, a little tap like it isn’t sure if it wants to be heard.

“Come in,” You announce, pushing yourself to sit up a little against the headboard.

It’s Rafe on the other side, only his silhouette visible against the dark of the room, the light of the corridor illuminating him from behind, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you,” He whispers into the dark, “I was just downstairs and I realised you left this.”

His hands are wrapped around the copy of your book, the pages slightly folded at the corner.

“Oh, right, yeah, I forgot it,” You smile, “Thank you.”

“You just, you normally always read before bed,” He continues, bringing it over as the bedroom door starts to shut slowly behind him, “Well, you used to, I don’t know if you still do that anymore, I just remember when you used to- I’m sorry, I’m rambling.”

You laugh a little and he sets the book down on your nightstand.

“So, you promise you’re okay?”

“I will be,” You return, watching as he stands awkwardly at the side of your bed, like he’s completely out of place, “Do you want to sit down?”

His mouth opens and closes like he’s not sure what to say but he nods, walking around to the other side of the bed and sitting down beside you, looking out of place still in his clothes from the day.

You’re both silent, illuminated by the slither of light coming through from the ajar bedroom door. On the far side of the room, there’s a vanity stretching across the wall, it’s scattered with a few of your belongings, and right in the middle sits the box that James had dropped off earlier.

Rafe nods his head in the direction of it, “So, have you opened that?”

You look at him and frown, “No, no I haven’t.”

“Don’t you want to know what he’s given you?”

You laugh a little, “I can tell you want to know. Go and get it, let’s open it.”

He chuckles and scrambles to stand up, grabbing the box and bringing it back over. Rafe settles himself back into the bed and sets the box down between the two of you, “Go on, you do the honours.”

You laugh and take the lid off. The box is only half full, littered with a few relatively meaningless things. There’s a couple of your tops, a jewellery box you took when you went on vacation, a couple of bracelets, a photoframe - empty, though that had once held a photo of you and James together.

“Holy shit! You kept this?” Rafe exclaims, picking up a shot glass that had been buried under a few things.

The glass had come from a night the two of you had snuck into the bar near the port. You’d managed to pick the lock on the door, spent hours just the two of you chatting and figuring out random drinks to make. Rafe had poured you shots of every liquor he could find and you’d shared each one, grimacing a little less with every shot as the alcohol started to take effect. You’d left some time after sunrise, managed to stumble your way down to the beach, and woke up hours later with the shot glass still held in your grasp. It had come with you to college, and came back when you moved back home. A little pocketed story that only you and Rafe knew.

“Of course I did,” You giggle, “That was a good night.”

Rafe traces his thumb around the top of the glass, “Yeah, it was I loved that night.”

“Do you remember it?” You scoff, “We were wasted.”

You remembered it. You were so sure he was going to kiss you, then. To kiss you for the first time that wasn’t controlled by a party game. To kiss you for the first time away from a party of laughing eyes. He’d looked at you like he was going to kiss you, but he never did. Though, when you slept, he’d linked his fingers with yours, squeezing three times before both of you fell asleep. His hand, just like the shot glass, had still been in yours hours later.

“I remember.”

The silence falls once again as both of you pick and pull at the rest of the objects in the box. Nothing takes much interest after that, but you find yourself instead drawn to what was missing.

“It’s not in here,” You mumble, pulling through the box one more time to check again.

“What isn’t?” Rafe frowns, “What’s not there?”

“It’s um-“ You clear your throat, glancing up at him, “It’s stupid really.”

He shakes his head, “It’s not stupid, what is it?”

“Do you remember that little giraffe I used to have? My nana got it for me when I was a kid, it’s not in here, and I couldn’t find it when me and Sarah got my stuff. It’s not here,” You frown again, taking out the shot glass and closing the lid on the rest of the box.

“Well, it’s got to be at the house somewhere,” Rafe shrugs, “We’ll find it.”

You half-laugh, setting the box down on the floor beside the bed, “What are we going to do? Break into the house?”

Your laugh continues but Rafe’s stops after a split second, shrugging his shoulders, “Let’s do it.”

You halt in your movements, looking at the way his eyes seem so set on you, like nothing could tear them away, “You’re serious.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

~~~

That’s how, within the hour, you’re walking up towards your old house, it looking eerie and dark in your absence, the flowers you’d planted outside looked dry even after a few days without you here and it bubbled a new sense of loss inside you, like a part you hadn’t thought you’d lose - a mundane part that just added to the rest.

“Do you still have a key?” Rafe hisses from beside you as you both walk up the driveway.

“No, I left it at home,” You return, glancing up at him.

“What?” Rafe raises his brows, “We came all the way here and yo-“

“Kidding,” You smile, pulling the key from your pocket, “This is still my house too until he settles everything.”

Rafe grins, “I like the way you think (Y/L/N).”

You step up to the door and go to unlock it. Rafe steps forward, his hand wrapping around yours before you can move. He looks at you and presses the index finger of his other hand to his lips, guiding his hand around yours to turn the key in the lock. The door creaks when it opens and you both wince, letting it close slowly behind you.

“Damn, this is a nice place,” Rafe whispers, glancing around the downstairs rooms of the house.

You look at him and roll your eyes, “That makes me feel better.”

He laughs quietly and clasps his hands together, widening his eyes at the quiet noise that seems to echo around the house, “So where are we going?”

“I don’t know where it would be,” You shake your head, “Maybe the lounge?”

He outstretches a hand, “Lead the way.”

You take Rafe’s hand in yours as the two of you go towards the lounge. You bump into the couch as you step into the room and he stumbles behind you, hands flying to your waist to stop you from falling.

“We’re not exactly pros at this,” Rafe laughs, letting you balance yourself again as you stand up, your back pressing against his chest.

You glance down at yourself, a baggy hoodie over a pair of shorts, a pair of crocs on your feet, and him, a pair of slacks and a checkered shirt with a couple of buttons undone. He steps back from you and glances around the dark room, pulling out his phone and flicking on the flashlight. It casts a circle of light across the room as you start to look around, noticing the empty spots where photos of the two of you used to decorate the space. There are a few takeout boxes sprawled over the coffee table and a line of empty beer cans, one of them rolling along the floor when you step beside it.

“I can’t see anything,” Rafe hisses, flashing the light in your direction before you squint at the sight, blocking the brightness from your eyes, “Ooh sorry I-“

You both freeze then as a light flicks on upstairs, the hallway light.

“Who’s that?” Rafe mouths in your direction and you look at him like it’s the worst thing you’ve heard, watching the realisation sink onto his face just a second later.

Before either of you can say anything, there’s the sound of feet padding down the stairs, picking up their pace as they near you. Rafe takes a stride across the room, bumping shoulders with you as he comes to a stop.

“Who the f-“ James rounds the corner, “(Y/N)? What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I ju-“

“Rafe?” James interjects, “What? Did you hear (Y/N) was single and catch the next flight back?”

“Hey, no, that’s not what-“ You begin again.

“Fucking unbelievable,” James interrupts you again, “What are you doing in my house?”

“Cut it out, asshole. Stop interrupting her,” Rafe cuts in, and you can instantly sense his change in demeanour, the way he shifts on his feet, “And this is (Y/N)’s house too, you got that?”

James scoffs, folding his arms over his chest, “What? So you brought Rafe here to fight your battles?”

“No, no,” You blush at the discomfort, “I just needed some of my things. Well, no, not some, just one thing actually, it’s stupid, just a little thing… I just-“ You swallow the lump in your throat, “Seb. He wasn’t in the box of stuff.”

“What? That weird giraffe thing you brought everywhere,” James scoffs, “That’s really that important?”

“Um,” You laugh a little to relieve some of the awkward tension clenching your chest, “No, I guess it’s not important but we were just talking, well, we were looking through the box and we realised it wasn’t there and Rafe, um, Rafe said-“

“Rafe?” James scoffs, “You’re kidding, right?”

“Seriously, man, cut it out,” Rafe repeats, stepping forward just a little as if he’s protecting you, not enough to block you off but enough for you to know that he was there, “I don’t care if you don’t think it’s important, you’re done making her feel bad for things she cares about - do you understand that?”

James lets out a laugh that seems to echo around the room and scratch at your ears, sending an uncomfortable shiver up your spine, “How the hell do you know what she wants? What’s this? The first time you’ve been home in how many years?”

“Yeah, well, good timing I’d call it. Something about some asshole that didn’t realise how lucky he was,” Rafe cocks a brow.

“Rafe…” Your voice is quiet, as if you’re shrinking into the room but he looks back at you and nods just gently, reassuring you. And you’re surprised when it works, settling the fear in your heart.

“So what? You think you come back and know everything about her? Like you’re some sort of knight in shining armour?” James scoffs, “You don’t know jackshit about her, let alone our relationship.”

Rafe laughs and steps away from you, narrowing his eyes at James before letting out a slow breath, shaking his head as he walks the length of the room, “Oh you really are an asshole.”

James doesn’t say anything, watching as Rafe strides the room, a harsh air about him you were sure he hadn’t shown in years, perhaps since he’d last seen you.

“You’re dating a woman like (Y/N) for nine years. Nine years. Nine fucking years you had her there for you - picking up the phone when you’d call, letting you complain about your bad days, not thinking to mention it when your cooking was terrible, always always thinking of you before anything else. And what? That wasn’t good enough?”

“This is nothing to do with you Cameron,” James defends, shifting his stance.

“You hurt (Y/N),” Rafe steps forward until he is less than a foot from James, staring at him coldly, “That means it does have something to do with me. In fact, it has a hell of a lot to do with me.”

You’re watching the scene unfold as if it’s fiction, as if this is a cross between a dream and a nightmare that you were about to wake up from. This Rafe isn’t the same boy that he was with you, he’s never this cold with you. But with someone that had done you wrong? He was a completely different version of himself.

He’s close enough to James now that you’re practically counting down the seconds until he’ll swing a fist at him, it’s inevitable. But you shift in your spot and he glances back to look at you, his eyes softening when they meet with yours. His brows relax and the features of his face do with them, settling into himself a little. His lips smile a little against the tension in his jaw and he takes a deep breath in, turning back to James.

“I don’t know what you’re doing. I don’t know what you think you’re gaining from all of this. But we’re gonna go now,” Rafe’s words don’t shift from their blunt tone, each word feeling calculated and exact, “And you’re going to go to bed, in a house that’s not fully yours, in a bed you used to share. And you’re going to wake up the next morning and the morning after that and again and again, and every time you’ll be on your own. You might not realise it now, maybe not tomorrow or the day after, but you’ll realise it. You’ll realise that every single day you’re waking up without (Y/N) here, you’re missing the one damn thing that made your life worth it.”

He clenches his jaw again and watches as James swallows the lump in his throat, his eyes flicking to you.

“Oh, here it is,” Rafe reaches down to the couch and picks up the toy giraffe you’d been looking for, holding it in his hand, “Good seeing you, James.”

He hits your ex on his chest as if a friendly gesture but it knocks James back just enough for him to be reminded of his place. Rafe looks back at you and offers you the same smile as before, offering you your exit as you make your way over to him. He lets you step in front and places a hand to your back, guiding you out of the house, slamming the door behind the two of you. And for the first time since you’d left this house days ago, you feel alive.

[sorcerous-caress]

I would like to request Karlach and Shadowheart (maybe Jaheria) with a Tav who loves praise and compliments but they always get incredibly shy and embarrassed whenever they are praised or complimented if that’s cool

Praising a shy Tav

[Fluff, nb!reader ]

[Karlach, Shadowheart, Jaheira ]

Karlach

It's a guilty pleasure of hers that she absolutely adores seeing you flustered whenever she compliments you. Acting as if she doesn't notice the way you look away or try to change the subject when she loudly announces how badass you were in the last fight, or how pretty your armour looks on you.

Strong, smart, and humble? You're really the whole deal, huh soldier. She'd say teasingly.

Also she isn't blind, she notices the light in your eyes whenever she compliments you. The way you always look at her whenever you achieve something remarkable as if you're anticipating her praise before turning away in shyness when it comes pouring in.

Her heart can't take it, literally, she had her engine heat up multiple times because you were just so damn cute. Gale had to resort to an emergency casting of ice storm to cool her off.

She didn't learn her lesson after, the second she could speak again she immediately went to fluster you even more.

Shadowheart

Few ever who lived to tell the tale of being complimented by Shadowheart. Her praise is never earned easily.

And yet, even at your first meeting with her after the ship crash, she couldn't help but thank you and compliment you for saving her life.

You're an anomaly, she herself can't understand why she is so enamoured with you. Why praises in your name seem to slip so easily from her lips as if it was her second nature to point out your well doings.

Maybe it's the face you make after she whispers a praise in your ear, staring at her with wide eyes like a deer in headlight.

Or maybe it's how you seek her out after every battle, like a puppy looking for treats while attempting to be subtle.

She'll indulge you, even if you won't ever admit what you want put loud. After all, how can she not spoil her favourite hero?

Jaheira

Unlike what her children claim, she is more than capable of praise and giving compliments.

It's just that...well, she was never good at them. It was usually Khalid who gave the compliments freely to people like candy, so she never had to deal with the situation herself.

She tries her best, even when her compliments sound like something a football coach would tell to their team. Even when most people don't appreciate her or her seemingly plain compliments.

Yet, cub, you've always seemed to reveal in her praise. No matter how many layers of harshness and bluntness it was coated in, you'd still accept it and have the nerve to look embarrassed from how happy you are by it.

It's more than a surprise to her when you don't only seek more of her praise, but do so while acting as if her words made you redder than a tomato.

In a way, your reactions encourage her to put more effort into her vague compliments to be more honest, sincere, and touching.

[thealtoduck]

Being Helen of Troy’s son and being ”rescued” by Percy Jackson…

Percy Jackson x Male Reader

Warnings: Reader is kidnapped by a creepy giant who wants to marry him…

Summary: You get taken by a giant for your beauty and Zeus sends a hero to rescue you…

——

After Helen died in ancient times Zeus brought her up to Olympus and made her immortal, but that wasn’t the last time she set foot on earth. She had a child with a mortal, a son she would name ”Y/n”, leaving him to be raised by his father in New York.

Many years later he would find out about his heritage but in a harsh way…

One day when you were walking home late at night a giant man had snuck up behind you, grabbed you and shoved you in to a giant burlap sack.

You didn’t know how long you were in the sack but the next thing you knew you were emptied out of the sack on to hard cobblestone floor, looking around it looked like you had been taken to some kind of dirty old castle or fortress.

You looked up at the person who had taken him, it was a giant man dressed in torn ancient greek robes, he was tall and muscular but with a nasty looking face. ”Who are you? What do you want?” You questioned scared.

The man spoke up in a hoarse sounding voice saying ”I am Tityos, i have taken you son of Helen to be mine”. ”Son of who?” You questioned confused. He ignored you and picked you up, throwing you over his shoulder and carried you up to a tower.

He pushed you in to a room and growled ”We are to be married in a week”. He then slammed the door behind you and locked it.

Despite being extremely confused by the fact that a man dressed as if he was from ancient greece had kidnapped you calling you a ”Son of Helen”, you did your best trying to think of a way to escape.

After being carried in the burlap sack for hours your clothes were sweaty, the only type of change Tityos had provided were greek chitons kind of like the ones he was wearing. You changed in to one.

After changing you got an idea, there was a window in the room, you opened it, the fortress you were in was on the top of a tall mountain, further down the mountain you could see the lights of a village.

If you could tie together all of the chitons, the curtains and sheets, you could make a makeshift rope to climb out of the foretress and down from the tower and then go down to the village and find the authorities.

You immediately got to work tying together the different fabrics. It was going to take a while to make a rope that was long enough to go down to the ground and also hold your bodyweight.

It took days and you had to hide what you worked on everytime Tityos came by to give you food. Luckily you could always hear him coming because he wasn’t exactly quiet.

The rope was almost finished and it was the night before the day you were meant to be married to Tityos. You frantically worked as you tied the bed sheets to your now probably almost 70 feet long rope. Then you heard something behind you, a loud thump.

You turned around and saw someone scrambling to climb up in through the open window. The person in the window then managed to get in and said to themselves while panting heavily ”Gods, i’m never taking a mission for him ever again”.

The stranger then looked up making you see he wasn’t actually much of a stranger, that black hair, those green eyes…

”Percy…? Percy Jackson…?” You questioned confused. It was one of your classmates. But a bit different… instead of being dressed as usual he had a orange t-shirt covered by some light armour.

”Y/n?!” He asked loudly making you hush him and whisper ”Tityos might hear you”. ”You’re the son of Helen?” Percy questioned. ”I don’t know, i don’t even know what that’s supposed mean and why are you here?” you stated.

Percy then started ”Boy, this is gonna take a while to explain, so basically…” he then proceded to explain that the greek gods were all real, that you were the son of Helen of Troy and that he had gotten a mission from Zeus to rescue you from Tityos.

”Okay that was… that was a lot” you commented. You then realised something ”Wait? How did you get up here? You’ve got a ladder?” You questioned going over to the window to check.

”No, i flew here” he stated. ”You can fly?” You questioned. ”No no no, but my pegasus can, the winds were strong so he couldn’t stop outside so i had to jump and grab on to the window and climb in, but when we get out he’ll be waiting a bit further down the mountain” he said and then realised something.

”But first we have to find a way out” he said looking around you then gestured to your several feet long makeshift rope. ”That could work” he said and he helped you finish it. You then tied the rope around the bed and threw the rest out window.

It reached all the way down, you and Percy started climbing out the window and down the rope. You were starting to regret the fact that you were wearing a chiton, as the cold mountain wind hit you.

Once you got down from the tower you and Percy quickly started moving down the mountain. You followed a trail taking you down towards the village and at the end waited a black horse, but it had large wings on it’s sides.

”Y/n, this is Blackjack my pegasus, Blackjack, this is Y/n, my classmate” Percy introduced you to the pegasus. He then helped you climb up on it’s back, he then climbed up in front of you while saying ”Hope you’re not scared of heights”. ”I just climbed out of a 70 feet tall tower, i should be fine” you stated.

”Hold on to me” Percy said and you wrapped your arms around his waist, the pegasus then took off and flew in to the night.

You flew until sunrise and eventually landed in what looked like a summer camp and soon the two of you were surrounded by campers. Suddenly you felt really exposed in your short length chiton.

The campers then parted and half man half horse walked over between them. ”Good job, Percy” he praised the hero. The man then turned to you and said ”Son of Helen, welcome to Camp Half-Blood”.

You decided to stay with Percy at camp for the rest of the summer and as you were technically a legacy of Zeus, you were allowed to stay in Cabin 1.

As you had inherited your mother’s great beauty people were quick to start flirting with you. And as you had no siblings Percy’s friend Annabeth made sure to keep your admirers at a distance. She also gave you a knife and taught you to fight.

Once summer was over you and Percy returned to New York as close friends. And in the future even more if Aphrodite had anything to say about it.

[distant--shadow]

The witch and the widow chapters 1-4 author’s notes

Ok, so first off I feel I gotta preface this by saying I am absolutely not a history buff. Kinda the opposite of one really. I was one of less than 10% of the kids in my year of 300 or so that didn’t take history at GCSEs, mostly caus a subject taught and based around names and dates etc is the definition of something not suited for my type of brain, also I hugely lost interest in it caus we moved past the fun trebuchet eras and all that real fast and it became of slog of me falling asleep in lessons caus I had a teacher whose method was putting on movies and shutting the blinds (I’d always fall asleep and he was later jailed for being a p*edophile, so that’s a thing.) Anyway, all that to say I’m not good at this shit, but as ive gotten older I have taken a bigger interest in queer history in particular, and that often if not always links into other areas such as fashion, women’s rights, religion,the arts, class, and race etc. (I’m still not good at names and dates though!)

They are outfitted and arsenalled - the stones of the wall - in a manner to rival any army; tapestries of red and gold perhaps once brandished on battlefield as banners promenading around death now retired and indoor-still-air-still as taxidermy giving colour between all of the shades of metal, burnished and polished and in some cases rusting, some still purposefully left blood-stained, swords and pikes and maces arranged in wallpaper patterns as though flowers or fans, sword-sheath beams spreading from chest-plate armour suns.

Let’s start with something easy and recent. The Baron’s armoury was inspired by a few castles I’ve visited, these rooms are always so bizarre to me. I don’t know if this is at all of the time/how they were decorated or a more recent thing, but either way it’s pretty wild but I do love the visual and metaphor of it. In this one castle I found out from talking about the carpentry to an attendant that the decorative ceiling work around the chandelier above the dining room table actually hid a trapdoor - and there was other hidden doorways for passages and to secret rooms in this castle, that’s not that unusual - but this particular trapdoor was to allow for the chandeliers to be switched out. Why? Caus they had them in multiple colours of glass, and the lady of the castle liked the chandelier to co-ordinate with her dress if they were having guests round. Aint that such a flex? Definitely some food for future thought.

Aight. Clothing. So anyone that chats fic/au to me or is in my server has probably heard me yell to go watch Kaz Rowe’s videos many times. As I’ve said this fic aint meant to be historically accurate but it does kinda straddle histories, one of which being our own; so women wearing trousers and the like at this time would still be a crime, and draw a lot of attention . Imogen in men’s clothing genuinely isn’t meant to be much of a gender thing but a thing of practicality, and she has mostly lived in the countryside or in the outskirts, so she does not get into the trouble she would should she go into the towns and cities (another reason to keep away past the potential noise, but this Imogen will happily don a dress or skirts if she needs to, she’s just usually working – and maybe it’s a bonus that dressing as a man acts as a sort of flagging for any women who might be interested lol.)

I guess here I should mention how I think this version of Imogen's powers and how they’ve manifested (along with everyone else being unaware of them) will have somewhat changed her disposition and personality, it is a lot more aligned with later campaign Imogen who has more confidence and empowerment, she hasn’t been ostracised for her abilities or particularly bombarded by them, think more like when she has her circlet on, she chooses to listen in (mostly), although of course she has still heard many terrible things (and her life has still been pretty brutal but that’s to be written still).

(it’ll be really fun in this regard getting to explore and explain this version of Laudna, but early days for giving much away on that yet!)

Her skirts are full and structured and plumed by many layers of petticoats that hide the movement of her feet across the wildflower lawn, causing her to appear to be drifting like the bees do from petal to petal, pollen dusting her pleats though ghostly her skin in contrast to the fine fabrics that she dresses for the part, black in mourning, still, bodice tight and sleeve leg of mutton, an ornate decorative layer of black lace laying over each yard of textured textile like spider webs on porcelain patterns, her husband's tableware collecting dust in the kitchen cupboard.

real impractical for how tending towards practical the Lady dares to be, hands on, too busy for errant hairs in piano key ivory and ebony windswept and loose from the high bun she pins in place with a cameo broach, a memento mori engraved in silver and inlayed with ruby eyes and tied with red ribbons. Her skin also proudly displays the age and perhaps trauma that her hair does, lines from laughter and furrowed brows and the feet of the crows that cry from the top of the chimney pots

A little note as to say that Laudna’s appearance is heavily influenced by Victorian mourning wear, with some of the clothes cuts altered to be a little bit more regency and earlier in places. (her  attire is a little outdated, further suggesting her distancing from society and fashion)

A couple of days ago Imogen happened upon a bird with an injured wing, crying helplessly and rolling in circles, feathers taking flight away from the bird that could not, settling around it as it panicked itself bald-

The bird could not live without the use of its wing, and it didn’t, whether that was by Prosciutto or a fox, only its feathers were left in a pile.

Imogen had gathered them into an empty burlap sack; taken them to one of the maids downstairs to clean, repurpose them for filling pillows.

Here’s a silly little easter egg for my p(r)oof reader. Last time he visited we was enjoying a cinnamon roll from the local bakery by the city river (as you do) and a cyclist hit a seagull. It was real distressing, the seagull was distressed too. A handfull of middle aged women stood around it not wanting or knowing how to intervene as its wing was twisted at a crazy angle and it flapped about in a pile of its own feathers, there’s still bird flu about so it is wise to not touch wild birds, and as bleak as it is I was saying to freshy that a wild bird who’s wings broken like that is gonna die, and probably slowly and painfully. Some man came along and lifted up the bird to take the bird off the path and laid it to rest behind an old bridge building, I think he must have mercy killed it too as the bird was already dead when we walked past 10 or so minutes later after finishing our cinnamon roll and giving a cautious glance. So there’s a nice happy memory thrown in there for him.

what appears to be driftwood breaches the surface, then another point, then another

the water belches

Ceviche scares, whinnying as he rears onto his back legs, the Lady leaning forward and clinging to his harness. Imogen stands in her stirrups, leaning across the gap over to the black stallion, grasping his reins and cooing

“All good, boy, all good-”

What had appeared to be driftwood lands on the surface with a slap, looking like the carcass of an old boat left to rot in the muddy bed of a dock, timber ribcaged and leathered skin cladding.

A femur surfaces, followed by a jaw.

Second easter egg for the p(r)oof is a quick one (I’m such a considerate writer, I know.) On a train ride to a loch we went to for a day out there is a stop that is on another lake/body of water, and right by the train tracks (which are at water height) there are 4 or 5 old ships stuck in the mud, most of them just the frames/structures of the old boats, mostly wood and some bits of metal, but they’re pretty big boats! It really looks like whale carcasses. I’ve always wanted to get of there and check it out, and we were gonna stop by on the way back but my health being what it is was giving me some grief that day so we missed 2 trains and then soon the daylight, so hopefully next time buddy.

There’s alotta meat and gore talk and Imogen being a vegetarian without the label for such is just another way of me playing round with all of her complex feelings about what the Lady might be doing, her feelings towards Angharad butchering and nourishing the women with these communal stews and all of that. I’ve been vegetarian myself for 20 years now, and it was all triggered by an existential crisis in my mid teens (still a huge fan of leather and blood though) – Imogen greatly cares about animals, struggles with the thought of anything being slaughtered, she is in some ways more empathetic than most because she knows those she does on so much more of a personal level, really feels how someone is reacting to a situation they are in, but also because of this she knows humans are often corrupt and vile and she is spared such thoughts from animals, only knows their instincts and the love and comfort and service they bring – and yet she will obsess over the Lady’s (potential) tooling on that saddlework leather that’s really fucking brutal if she thinks about it one way and beautiful if she thinks about it another hmmm what if everything’s not black and white.

Oh, and the stew is a homage to @picturesofthegoneworlds’ pre-campaign fic Intertwined which I am lucky enough to co-parent and her writing is hugely influential on mine.

There’s a few things being bread crumb trailed here that I can’t explain in the author notes yet, but I’m looking forward to when I can. One small detail I will give away is just a silly thing about the chapter headings. They are something of significance from within the chapter, given in its ‘proper’ name – maybe someone gets access to some books to do research at some point?

anyways, thanks @astoriacolumnstaircase for enabling me. will do another post like this for future chapters if folks find it interesting.

[eatmeandbirthmeagain]

◇ The Lady In Armour - King Baldwin x Reader: Part 1 ◇

◇ Long fic ◇

A/N: Oh boy this is a long one. I have had an absolute blast writing it. This was requested by @lzsia, I hope its what you had in mind! Let me know if you all want a part 2. As always, this is based on the film Kingdom Of Heaven and not the real historical figgures. This is also set pre-film. Enjoy!

PS: Also this has a desctiption of y/n

TW: Mentions of blood, death, battle, and leprosy

Y/n was never a weak woman. From the time she could walk, she was a fighter. Just like her father. Her mother despised this, often going as far as to scream at her when she even dared touching her fathers sword. This was 8 years ago.

She had since left her mother and siblings to join the mercenaries when she was 14. “You are just like your father. You are going to get yourself killed just like he did!” were the final words she ever heard her mother say. That was 2 years ago.

These words rang in her mind as she sat, perched atop her stallion. Women not being permitted to fight meant she had to keep her identity concealed from the prying eyes of men that surrounded her. 

She had not meant to be a part of this battle. She thought it was too risky with the weight of her femininity pulling her down. Yet, here she was.

The army approached Jerusalem. And now there was nothing she could do. There was no going back.

Everything was a blur. Everything went so fast. They were out there for days. Weeks. But it passed like mere hours.

Until one night. One night everything changed. Her camp was ambushed. She was the first to see them coming, but she was not fast enough to warn everybody.

There were so many of them. They came from everywhere. Swords smashed against each other, blood sprayed the tents, bodies from both sides of the battle fell. Then everything went black.

-------------------------

Y/n’s eyes snapped open. It was still dark. The first thing she noticed was the sharp pain in the back of her head. The second thing she noticed were the tight restraints, wrapped around her wrists and ankles. Shackles. She was in shackles. And whatever she was on was moving. She remained still to ensure whoever was around didnt she was awake, but opened her eyes wider to take in her surroundings. 

She was on the back of a horse drawn wagon. 

This was not good. Her mind immediately went to how to get out of this. She couldn't jump off the wagon on account of the shackles around her ankles and how fast it was moving. And she couldn't feel her sword on her belt anymore. She appeared to be the only one on the back of the wagon. That meant everyone from her camp was either dead or retreated to the base camp for backup. To make matters worse. Her helmet was gone. She turned her head to then side and saw it sitting on the opposite side of the wagon.

That explains the reason she wasn't killed. This was not a good situation. No doubt about it she would be executed. A prisoner being captured  is bad enough, but as a woman? She would be killed for sure, but maybe even worse beforehand.

At least she would die like her father. With dignity. Not as some old woman after simply having children to a man she hated. 

As she was thinking about this, the wagon stopped. It was sudden and abrupt. She heard the sound of men speaking and she could make out the faint outline of large white tents. The horse began moving again. She could not see the man who guided the horse but she knew it would be a soldier of Jerusalem. It had to be.

She wanted to put her helmet back on in case her face had not been seen yet, but she didn't want to move and risk whoever was on the horse knowing she was awake. It was better to stay silent.

The horse stopped again a few minutes later. She heard the man guiding the horse speaking to someone but she couldn't quite make out what they were saying.

She was not afraid. There was no need for fear. Fear was useless. She had not been afraid since she was a child. And she was not afraid now. She would not give them the pleasure of seeing her quake in fear like a scared little girl. She was a woman. A strong woman and she would not allow them to perceive her any differently.

The man dismounted the horse and approached the back of the wagon. She turned to look at him, not saying a word. “So you're awake. You have been awfully quiet back here little lady” she remained silent.

“I'll let the king decide your fate, you heathen. Follow me, I know you can walk” he stepped aside to allow her to get out of the wagon.

She stood and picked up her helmet, placing it over her head again before jumping from the back of the wagon. The man grabbed her arm hard and dragged her to the largest white tent in the center of the camp. She was still not afraid. 

The man pushed her into the tent and bowed his head as two guards ran to grab her arms, holding her in place. She put up no fight.

“My lord, this was the last surviving prisoner from the camp we claimed”. Y/n turned her attention from her captor to the center of the tent.

There were a few guards and some royal officials she recognised from recounts given to her by other soldiers. And in the middle of them all, sat behind a desk was the king of Jerusalem. Baldwin IV. His face was bandaged around his nose, cheeks and forehead, leaving his eyes, brow and mouth exposed as well as the suprisingly soft looking blonde hair that framed his face.

Y/n peered at him from behind the slit in her helmet. She was not afraid of this man. If she could even call him that. To her, he was just a boy. A boy with a filthy disease. He was merely 16, just like her.

He stood from the desk to approach her. She stared at him until he stood feet from her.

“Get on your knees" He commanded.

She did not move. The king gestured to the guards and they shoved her to the ground, one hitting her in the stomach, causing her to groan in pain.

She stared up at him through her brow with rage in her eyes. He had given the command for her camp to be executed. They were dead because of him.

“There is something you should know my lord” her captor chimed in.

The captor stepped forward and placed his hands on either side of her helmet, pulling it from her head dramatically.

Long, black hair fell from the helmet to spill out onto her shoulders. She turned again to look up at the king, a scowl plastered onto her thin, femmine face.

The king's expression changed from one of anger, to one of shock, confusion, and something else she couldn't quite place. 

“What is the meaning of this?” a royal adviser called out. “This has to be a mistake, she has to be the wife of a knight who was caught up in this!” another said.

Neither y/n or the king were paying any attention to this pointless banter. They stared at each other with a feeling that neither had ever felt before. Y/n could see him more clearly now. He was actually quite handsome.

A few more stray words were exchanged in shock before Baldwin called for silence. “Release her, now!” he shouted at the guards who still held her in place harshly. They loosened their grip, pulling her to her feet. “We will keep her. As a servant. Her camp was the last and the battle shall be over before sunrise” the king said sternly, eyes never leaving y/n.

As the night wore on, Saladin’s army retreated and y/n’s captors returned to the kingdom, bringing her with them.

---------------------

By very early morning y/n was shown to the servants chambers. Now she laid in the small bed, staring at the ceiling. She was not tired in the slightest but she was not permitted to leave the room. The guards that stood outside the door would make sure of that.

She was torn. She wanted to leave, yes. But to return to what? She had no family and all of her friends who didn't even know who she really was were dead. As much as she wanted to leave, there was something that she could not stop thinking about. The long gaze that she had shared with the king.

She still could not quite place how he was feeling when he looked at her. It had her baffled for the first time in her life. Spending so much time around men in the mercenaries meant that she usually knew how to read them very easily, but Baldwin? She had no idea. 

On the opposite side of the castle, Baldwin himself was in a very similar situation.

He laid in his bed, staring up at the high ceiling. That young woman had him in a trance. She was beautiful, so beautiful. He did wonder how she managed to get to the battlefield.

Women were not permitted to fight and there was no way she was the wife of one of Saladin’s knights. Perhaps she had snuck into the army? But how?

Unlike y/n, the young king was very tired. He resisted the urge to shut his eyes, he wanted to hold onto the image of her beautiful face for just a moment longer. As he felt his eyes begin to close, one last thought crossed his mind. “I must to speak with her tomorrow”.

It was afternoon by the time Baldwin opened his eyes. The exhaustion from the battle had worn out his body entirely. This rest was much needed. Barely a minute passed since he woke when there was a knock on his bedroom chamber door.

“Come in" he called out, rubbing his eyes. Tiberias pushed open the door and entered slowly. “Good Afternoon my lord” he greeted, bowing his head. “Good afternoon,” Baldwin replied, his words slurred and tired.

“I just wished to see if you were ready to speak with that woman we captured last night? You mentioned you wanted to speak with her on our return to the castle”.

Baldwin sat up straight at the sudden memory of her flooding back, the tiredness leaving his body in a second.

“Yes, of course. Why didn't you remind me earlier?” he stammered out, getting to his feet.

“You were still sleeping my lord. You seemed very tired and I did not want to disturb you”. Tiberias had entered the king's chambers earlier that day to find him still fast asleep. Not wanting to wake him, he told the girl that the king would decide her fate in the afternoon.

“Well I am more than ready to meet with her this instant. Tell the physicians to wait, I must see her” 

“Very well my lord” Tiberias replied, leaving the young king to dress himself.

Y/n was still in shackles as Tiberias led her down the corridors, accompanied by two guards. A group of servant women had prepared her change of clothes, telling her that she must look her best to meet with the king alone.

When they reached the kings chambers, the doors were already opend. Y/n could see the king, sitting at his desk with his back to them writing something with a feathered quill. “My lord? I have the girl with me” Tiberias called out.

Baldwin turned to the group and signaled for the guards to leave them. “Release her from the shackles as well” he added. “Are you sure my lord?” one of the guards asked. “Yes, now leave us” he said sternly.

Once y/n was free from the chains, she turned her attention to the king. They were alone now.

Then Baldwin did something she never could have expected. He gave her a warm smile and greeted her with a soft kiss on her hand. “My lady. Please, sit” he gestured to a couch that sat against the wall of the room.

“I must hear about how you came to be in Saladin’s army”.

In return, y/n smiled and took a seat on the couch. Now she knew the emotion he had shown the previous night. It was much easier to see now without confusion and shock shrouding it. He had looked at her with love.

[moriaarts]

Captain Kiss of the 343rd

Blorbo of my own creation. Whom i love and adore. Who didn’t survive the war to let her assigned gender get in the way

Text under cut 💜

 AKA, Kisses (Duo), Capin' (The twins), Smooch (DT). The name Kiss comes from the kiss curls that frame her face. She styles these baby hairs, and paints curls on her bucket to match, along with teeth on her armour to resemble her beloved pet and service Massiff, Mooch. Captain of the 343 company on Naboo in the Lake Country.  Not to be confused with the sprawling fields and grand estates. This troop guard an outpost a few clicks from Auroa, a ranching village, as a look out for oncoming ground/swamp infiltration attempts. If the senators living it up in the Lake Country or the capital of Theed are under any threat, they'll know about it first, so its mostly surveillance and scouting work.

Kiss was originally designed to be a CC unit, but as a cadet crying too much saw her reconditioned and transplanted into a CT batch that had just lost a cadet in training. Crying is still difficult if not impossible for Kiss, who comes off as tough and aloof but feels things deeply. Kiss was deployed as heavy infantry to Geonosis in the first clone trooper assault, and took over as Captain of the company she was in when their Captain died. The role would remain hers for a time until she was struck down by a mortar shell that almost took her jaw. The wound would be cosmetic but the implant to replace the structure of her cheek and the horror of being unable to breathe or speak for so long would have lasting effects. But she's a good soldier, and despite the few and far between episodes, she is exemplary, but the danger of her doing so during battle is too much of an unknown that she is inevitably shipped to Naboo to aid the Naboo Royal Guard in protecting the mid-rim edge planet. A somewhat menial task for a would be perfect soldier. But it wouldn't be all bad. Mooch would be assigned to her as a pup.

Mooch was too docile to be an attack massiff but showed talent in being a service dog. When they met, the pup was able to detect an oncoming attack in Kiss and pawed at her until she complied with her demands.

Kiss would join two other clones in being the first clones to request transition. And seeing as her involvement in the war was considered to have little impact, two years in, she was approved. With her identity known to higher ranking clones. She would aid in the transfer and protection of other "Obsolete" or "faulty" clones. Some would stay with her and name themselves the 343 company in her honour.

Bonus: Nabooen locals worship a goddess called Hemeela. A goddess of bounty and beauty, known to take many forms but to be a brave fighter and mother. 

Upon discovering this deity, Kiss made her identity known to her vode and now lives as a woman adopting markings that match scars Hemeela received in her battle against the all-consuming Jutorus. 

She is in a constant debate with Duo about the nature of her weight. Hormones are new to her and have changed the distribution of fat much to her delight but to Duo's despair as they state "A fat ass isn't regulation." Much to Kiss’s despair. 

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

Swallowed Whole by The Flame (Messmer the Impaler x Tarnished! Reader) 7

MASTERLIST

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Summary: In the Keep now as a guest rather than a prisoner, the Tarnished gets used to her new surroundings.

A/N: Tarnished had the last laugh in the last chapter, and Messmer is all the more grumpy about it. Tarnished also really loves calling Messmer 'My Lord' as a mocking title.

A03 link

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Chapter 7: Vindication

"Impressive, the stab wound has healed remarkably!"

Remarkable, you say? Lowering your shirt as Sir Aldwin finishes assessing your injuries. Your body feels energised and rejuvenated once you've awoken by the golden site of grace, embraced by its warmth, only for the reality of being back to hit you in the face. It was always a constant disappointment. 

Aldwin is as fascinated in your revival as are Messmer's men: calling it some fate from the Greater Will. You called it sheer humiliation. 

"This process... tell me about it." Aldwin is ever more curious about the ways of unnatural order. Something flashes in your waking mind, as clear as a living dream. Of a memory you cannot tell if it belonged to you, holding an ornate sword, covered in someone's blood or your own. Experiencing dying for the first time. Waking up in a place, dark and cold, only just remembering your name.

You shudder, trying to think of something else. "I'm uncertain I could explain it all to you, Aldwin. It's... still so unfamiliar to me. Why I was chosen." You hold out your hands, staring deep and hard. These hands, this body, this is not your first life. You would need answers, and the curiosity of walking past the large specimen storehouse piques your interest.

Aldwin seems disappointed but he seems to understand. "He who doesn't fear death shall only have to die once. I have seen it many times in the dying." His words carry a sense of acceptance, though you cannot think of dying over and over again the same way. It is not the acceptance of it that men dread, but its arrival.

"Aldwin, I must ask you something." You bring the Nightfolk's attention back after changing the subject quickly. "The storehouse, who uses it?"

"Well, it is rather a place of collection that his Lord uses for gathering everything known: the history, the arts, culture. It has become his very own gallery."

"And does he... allow anyone else to use it?"

Aldwin seems confused by your question before he pieces it together. "Ah, well, it would be odd if it was not used. Many in his Lord's libraries pour into the histories, using that knowledge to piece a clearer timeline." He pauses, eyeing you carefully, "Why do you ask?"

"No reason."

Before the Nightfolk can answer any more, there is a growing sound of heavy armour approaching. You're already looking to the doors when you see who comes around the corner, a black knight, armour gleaming like Obsidian, Messmer's personal guard has come to greet you.

"Lady Tarnished," His voice is muffled behind the heavy imposing helmet, covering the entirety of his face, "Lord Messmer has asked that I show you to your apartments."

You look to Aldwin, before facing the black knight once again. You're surprised to hear of your new title, questioning to yourself whether it was something the staff and knights had come up with or something higher up ordered them to address you by. "So, I'm not bound to that cell anymore?"

"Nay, milady. His Lord has also asked that a tour of the Keep is given."

You say your goodbyes to Aldwin, relieved he cannot ask more about your whole life and death process, following grudgingly behind the knight. You pass many of those under Messmer's control, all willing soldiers ready to die for his honour. It's amazing and chilling to see the amount of power one can hold, but also the loyalty they have for him. 

You pass by those who are still surprised their Lord has given you his protection. They whisper as they pass you in corridors: a Tarnished who came back from the dead. It's rather comical to hear, for them to create their theories and marvel as you go past. Some are still hesitant around you, others are cold and look through you, as if you don't exist in your eyes. A few of Messmer's staff have grown to give you a bit more respect.

When you reach the highest of the towers, towards the Keep's chambers, does it dawn on you that it would only be you and Messmer in this part since it was the royal apartments, and though you knew you were not part of some royal branch, this was all very unfamiliar to you.

Your apartments were certainly something to marvel at; a canopied bed was big enough to fit maybe five of you, decorated with embroidered cushions and sheets of a deep rich red hue. A roaring fire hit you in contrast to the coolness of the air outside. Intricate tapestries decorated the walls, of faces you didn't recognise, others, from their red hair were obvious. There, in the middle of the mantle above the flames, was a portrait of Marika, holding in her arms the same clothed babe, this time it was obvious from the details that there were two tiny serpent heads poking out surrounding the babe. 

A vanity was present beside a desk by the stained-glass windows, oddly barred from the outside with spikes not allowing anyone to crack them wider than a few inches. There had been a chest opened with a variety of clothes already out for you to touch and gawk at. It had been far grander than you had expected, far better of a place than sleeping in the mud and rain, fearing to catch a chill.

Messmer had provided you with maids-in-waiting, women of different ages who all curtsied as you greeted them. How odd, indeed. 

Turning to the guard, still hovering in the doorway to your room, you asked. "This is all been provided to me by his Lord?"

"His Lord did not say otherwise." The guard muttered curtly, and before you could have more of a chance to get used to your room and look around, you were being whisked away, back down the tower and into the main part of the keep to be shown around. By the time it was almost over, you felt exhausted, not realising the hunger gnawing at your stomach. You couldn't remember the last time you had eaten something properly, but you did not doubt that Messmer's staff would provide some proper meals for you.

The tour was not quite over, until the final part you had been very excited to see appeared to you. 

The high walls, decorated with thousands of books, and artefacts, were a sea in your vision, clear and bright. You could sense if you didn't have to return to your chambers, you would spend days here, looking at every book if you could and finding more information for you to take in. 

Light poured through, casting bright streaks of light to come through like the heavens had opened and poured through. It was a hearth of endless knowledge, stored in what you thought was maybe one of the best citadels you had come across. 

Marvelling silently to yourself, you could not help but have to look to every section as quickly as you could, trying to best believe where you would begin in your pursuit for knowledge, when something, or rather someone caught your eye. Standing in the corner by piles of books towering high, was an armoured man, his silver-white long beard a familiar sight to you. 

"Righteous Tarnished, what brings you here?"

"I could ask the same for you, Sir Ansbach. How did you find your way here?" You're wary of how he's been allowed to step foot through the Keep without all of Messmer's soldiers on him. Surely, there has to be some misunderstanding? 

"Kindly Miquella's charm has worn off from me. I have seen through his ways." He says earnestly.

"What insight of Lady Leda do you have?"

"She schemes and her blind love for Miquella has set her astray. It did the same to me, blinding me to his charm. Truly, there is nothing so Kindly about him. He's a monster. It is why I have come to Messmer not only for his aid but to seek shelter. There will be no doubt Leda and the others will hear of my betrayal."

You feel your eyeball twitch involuntarily at the mention of seeking shelter. "You mean Messmer handed it to you willingly?"

"Yes, did he do the same for you?"

"No, no he did not." Of course, he didn't.

"Ah, what challenge did you have to do to prove your worth?"

"By bringing Redmane Freyja's head."

Ansbach is silent by this, but when he responds, his voice wavers, "Ah, I see. A true Redmane, to the very end." He is resolute in his decisions, you note. "Then we are both running from the injustices of this world. I stand as your ally through and through, Tarnished."

You don't give much to rethink Ansbach's words, as you're stalking back to your chambers in a huff. Your cheeks are hot in rage as you storm into your apartments, dismissing the maids there. You look out the window, to see it is already dark. Exhaustion has claimed you, and when you expect to go to your new bed, you find sitting on the desk is a meal, still steaming with heat.  

It's a simple bowl of something that looks like stewed chicken in a sauce with a small cut of bread freshly prepared. Eyeing it cautiously, your hunger betrays you before you can believe it was all to have you poisoned, grabbing the spoon and delving into the meal. You come to realise it's chicken stewed in an ale sauce. You can taste other ingredients like pepper, ginger, breadcrumbs and even saffron. The bread is not stale or covered in mould, and you appreciate the warmth that comes from it, hinting that it had just come fresh out of the oven. You also find in the room two pitchers, one full of fresh water, the other with wine. 

You don't waste time after finishing your meal to grab a glass and delve into drinking the water first, two glasses of it before you drink the red wine, full of body and richness. It hits your tongue with unexpectedness. It tastes almost familiar to you, though you can't quite place when or how you tasted wine that belonged to the royal house.

Now that you've eaten, you can finally think back to Sir Ansbach's words, thinking to the storehouse, but most importantly, to Messmer. It was only did you realised since your revival, that you had not spotted him for a full day, being whisked away to the infirmary rather than to be seen by him again. Had he been avoiding you since you bested him at his own game?

You look at the portrait of Marika and a baby Messmer in her arms. It seems through all his isolation, he has few allies and fewer allies. He is a lonely demigod, but a man still is part of him. All men need companionship, no matter how small. You thought, dressing in a simple white shift dress as you got into bed, praying that whatever you found in the darkness of your dreams, awaited you was finally peace.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It is maybe the first time in what feels like forever that you get the first night of unbroken sleep. A dreamless sleep is however all you need to feel alive. Dawn rises as do you, triggering the door to your chambers to be rudely opened, pouring in are your new handmaidens who come, already pulling back the curtains as they present you with a flurry of things: clothes to wear for today, a suggestion of a bath, and jewels that would suit you well. The bombardment of options is so much that you opt firstly for a bath, which is given quickly when they go back and forth providing already hot steamy water.

Your private tub is smaller than the one in the bathhouse and you're thankful for it, for it gives you your privacy away from those as you scrub yourself and clean your hair. When you're dried and dressed in a simple cotton shift, the maids once again present you with many options for clothing, and it is only when you cast your eye on them, that you come to realise something.

"Is there anything else here than dresses?"

One of the maids, younger than you eyes the eldest, unsure how to answer. "My lady," the eldest responds, "We were given direct orders that these were what were to be provided to you-"

"Ordered you say? By whom?" You already know by who, but it twists in your gut and anger rises in your throat.

"Lord Messmer had asked we provide you a ... fitting selection of dresses that would be appropriate for you."

You scowl at all the garments, all oddly enough differing shades of red. Is this some kind of twisted joke to him? You seethe, telling yourself the next time you see him, you will give him a piece of your mind. You cross your arms like a child having a mild tantrum. "I refuse to wear them."

"My Lady-"

"If Messmer wishes for me to play dress up, he can think otherwise. I require trousers, boots and a decent tunic instead."

The maids give one another side-eye glances, bowing quickly before some go on the hunt for your request. It takes some time before they find what you ask for: some of the knights had some spare which you're thankful for, however, the tunic they do find had to be brightly coloured crimson. You huff through it all but finally dress, more comfortable than you would've been in silk dresses.

"Where is Lord Messmer?" If he wishes to play games so early this morning, you're not going to stop yourself from competing against him.

"His Lord is breaking his fast privately this morning, my Lady. We shall bring you to the solace where you may have yours."

You silently grumble, being led into another isolating room, windows barred against the stained-glass windows, with a hint of peppermint heavy in the air. You sit as you're presented with an array of dishes: dried berries with apples, salted cod and rye, bacon and sausages spiced with something that stings your nostrils, and a cup of what you're told is nettle tea.

You begin with the fruits, which are sweet on your tongue and better than anything you have before. The sausages entice you as you pluck one and cut into it, where the smell is stronger. Curiously biting into it, you're surprised by its almost sweet taste, with a hint of heat that makes you nearly cough. You wash it down with the tea as you eat some bacon and bread too, before you are done.

Your morning has you continuing your exploration of the keep, certainly aware you're not wandering alone, for you hear the heavy thuds that move in time with your footsteps. You look back a few times, eyeing the fire knight who seems just five paces behind, following intently and keeping an eye on you. It had you greatly irritated, trying to lose track of him but to no avail. 

It is only when you come outside to the training yard that your sights are taken by what has gathered in front of you.

Before you, Messmer's soldiers train, the clanging of swords, some metal and wood, clash with one another. You take in those of a lower rank, trainees who fight one another as they're taught the best stances and positions. Those of more experience duel with the intent of knocking their opponent to the ground. It is far more interesting to see what is indoors, and you find yourself stepping closer and closer to the ring that has formed around one certain fight.

A soldier wielding a wooden spear and shield is knocked onto his back like a turtle, struggling to get up from the weight of the shield, when his opponent launches on him, triumphantly holding the tip of his sword under his chin. "You'd be dead." You hear from the victor, his voice muffled yet there is a charm as those around him cheer him on. The one who lost gets picked back up as he slinks away, the cockiness of the victor is embued in him.

"Who dares best me I wonder? Any one of you fools brave enough to fight me?"

"I will." 

Heads turn as you step into the middle, and whispers can be heard as some aren't certain what to do with you. Should they allow someone from outside to train with them? It is only when you hear amongst the chatter the taunting laughter of the soldier in front. "You? Trust me, Tarnished, I wouldn't wish to have you spilling your guts all over the courtyard." There is some quiet laughter amongst some of the soldiers, but you pay them no attention.

"Oh, no need to fret. I'm feeling the need to knock some teeth in." You're looking at your selection of weapons, realising all of them are wooden props. Great, all the more to enjoy whacking than slicing. You pick a wooden sword, light in its hold, it's shorter than your nagakiba, but it will still be of some use to you.

You both get into your positions, knees slightly bent, torsos upright and rigid as you await him to swing first. He is cocky and does so, charging you as you swiftly dodge out his way, slapping him as he passes across his lower back. He grunts, rage building as he goes to attack again, this time you block as you push him back, jabbing another time just below his armpit in the part where armour is not covering him.

"My, did you have a heavy breakfast?" You taunt, smiling throughout. It's only now that you're enjoying this, the thrill of not having to strain yourself, and you feel you could taunt them forever. These are Messmer's men, loyal, but in need of good training. What would they do if you or another Tarnished were in the field to meet them? A warrior with years of experience compared to a page.  

 Though this opponent is quick and skillful, he is full of rage, one that could evenly match the raging flames Messmer channels. The soldier cries out as he lunges again, taking a hit whilst you're distracted, and you give him the benefit of the doubt, it did hurt. You copy by getting him by the shoulder blades, hearing a crunch of your sword as it almost snaps from how hard you hit him. It's enough to have him stagger forwards to his knees, as you stand over him.

"That was easier than I expected-"

You see the glimpse of his vicious grin through the visors of his helmet, so fast does he move and have you believe it's all done that you only feel the connection of his fist right into your nose. You nearly fly backwards, holding what you believe is your now broken nose, feeling the heavy pouring of something drip down your lips. 

You spit in disgust, hissing as you now hold the offensive, charging as he only gets up in time before you're swinging down on him. One, two, three, he tries to block, but you're angrier, blood boiling as you kick him in the stomach back. It's not foul play you assume, for no one calls out that you just cheated. The crowd around you is larger, consuming you as you feel as if you're being engulfed in an oven from the pure heat despite being outside.

It rages like a storm, your head hurts, your nose too, but you continue to fight in a rage, swinging harder and quicker until the soldier can't keep in time with you. You knock him onto his back, as you point the sword down on him this time. You witness he only has bruises on him, despite the now bloody knuckles he has thanks to his lovely punch.

"Do you yield?" You growl above him, shoving the wooden tip of the sword into his throat. He is quick to nod in shame, and the crowd around you continue their murmurings, their eyes cast on something above.

You follow their gazes, believing it was some divine being of Miquella that had flown down upon them, only to see a mass of red, two-winged serpents and one cold golden eye.

Ah, there you are. You stare at one another as you chuck the sword into the mud. You believe that to him, you must look like some madwoman, dressed in men's garbs, wielding a wooden sword with blood dripping down your face. In fact, rather than wiping the blood from your face, you keep it there. Look at how dirty I fight now, My Lord. You think mockingly.

You don't break eye contact with him, grinning wildly with red in your teeth as Messmer simply holds your gaze a second longer, before turning and walking away. But you know all too well that through that scowl, there is something that he is thinking other than wishing to burn you alive. 

Vindication builds within you, as you saunter off back to the infirmary.

-

A/N: Ah, I love feral Tarnished, looking like some rabid dog that needs to be put down, whilst Messmer must be thinking what on earth has he brought into his Keep. More fighting! And even though I didn't think this chapter would have any, I surprised myself by including some. I'm also really building into the 'they hate each other's guts and want nothing to do with one another' but I promise I shall have them interacting with one another once again.