#she is alone and cold. the city has fallen silent. there’s no one there. there’s no one to balance out her view

[itspileofgoodthings]

is everything terrible or is it just the damp of the first spring rain

[mya-valentine]

Eternal Frost and Stone

Summary: In a world where only two yakshas remain, Xiao and the Cryo Yaksha, fate has brought them together in their eternal duty of protecting Liyue from the remnants of their past. While their bond as the last remaining yakshas is undeniable, the Cryo Yaksha has always felt a deeper connection with one individual—Zhongli, the former Geo Archon, who walks among mortals under a new guise. As ancient memories stir, the Cryo Yaksha must face the truth of her past and the growing feelings she has for the one who once led the yakshas into battle.

Liyue Harbor, a city bustling with life, felt both foreign and familiar to the Cryo Yaksha, whose real name had been forgotten by the ages. She went by the name [Name] now, one given to her by Zhongli, the once-reigning Geo Archon, who had also bestowed names upon the other yakshas. Her true name, lost in the eons of battle, was but one of the many sacrifices she had made for the peace of Liyue.

[Name] stood on the cliffs overlooking Liyue Harbor, her arms folded as the bitter winds of Dragonspine swirled around her. The cold never bothered her; it was as much a part of her as the frost in her veins. She watched the bustling city below, her expression calm yet distant. Beside her, Xiao stood in silence, his golden eyes reflecting the city’s lights, yet his gaze was unfocused.

“Do you ever tire of watching over them?” [Name]’s voice was as cold as the air around her, though there was a hint of warmth reserved for Xiao alone.

Xiao’s response was brief, as expected. “Our duty never ends.”

She nodded, knowing his words echoed her own thoughts. They had been the only ones left for centuries now. She remembered the others—Bosacius, Indarias, Bonanus, and Menogias. All had fallen to their karmic debts, consumed by the madness they had fought so hard against. [Name] could feel that same madness clawing at the edges of her mind, but she had long since learned to suppress it, to freeze it in the depths of her soul as she did with everything else.

“Do you think we will ever be free of it?” she asked quietly, her eyes fixed on the distant horizon. “The duty, the karmic debt?”

Xiao hesitated, his hand tightening around his polearm. “Perhaps… someday. But not yet.”

Her lips curved into a small, almost sad smile. “Not in this lifetime, at least.”

The wind howled in agreement, and they stood in silence, two ancient beings bound by the same cursed fate. Yet, even as the world changed around them, one thing remained constant—Zhongli.

---

Later that evening, Y/n found herself walking the familiar path toward the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor. Despite her stoic nature, there was a certain comfort in visiting Zhongli. His presence grounded her in ways that even Xiao’s did not. Zhongli was a constant, an unwavering pillar of strength and wisdom, much like the element he once wielded.

As she approached, the scent of incense and the soft hum of conversation greeted her. Hu Tao, ever the mischievous soul, waved at her from the entrance.

“[Name]! Back from your silent vigil already? You’re just in time! Zhongli is about to tell one of his famous stories.” Hu Tao’s grin was infectious, though [Name] only offered a polite nod in return.

She stepped inside and saw Zhongli sitting by the hearth, his amber eyes glowing in the firelight. He looked up as she entered, and a small, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. It was a gesture meant only for her, a recognition of the long years they had shared, both in war and in peace.

“[Name],” Zhongli greeted, his deep voice resonating through the room like the roll of distant thunder. “It’s good to see you again.”

She inclined her head in acknowledgment before taking a seat beside him. There was a silence between them that felt as ancient as the mountains of Liyue, but it was not uncomfortable. It was the silence of understanding, of countless lifetimes shared.

“How goes the harbor?” Zhongli asked, his gaze steady, though there was a hint of something deeper in his eyes—something that had always intrigued her.

“Quiet,” she replied. “No new threats, at least not yet.”

Zhongli hummed in response, leaning back slightly as he regarded her. “And how are you?”

It was a simple question, one often asked between friends. But from him, it held more weight. Zhongli, despite his mortal guise, knew the burden she carried. He had watched over the yakshas for millennia, had seen them rise and fall, and had always been there to guide them. Now, with only her and Xiao left, his concern was more personal.

[Name] hesitated, the cold mask she wore cracking ever so slightly in his presence. “I’m… fine.”

It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. Zhongli seemed to sense this, as he always did. His golden gaze softened, and for a moment, she could almost feel the warmth of the sun in his eyes, melting the frost that clung to her soul.

“You’ve done well, [Name],” he said quietly, his voice a balm to her weary heart. “But you don’t have to carry this burden alone.”

Her breath caught at his words, an old ache stirring within her. “And yet, there’s no one else left to carry it.”

Zhongli was silent for a moment, and she wondered if she had said too much. But then he spoke, his voice laced with an ancient sadness that mirrored her own. “You are not alone, [Name]. You have Xiao. You have me.”

The unspoken meaning behind his words sent a shiver down her spine, but it wasn’t the cold that caused it. It was the weight of something unspoken, something that had always lingered between them but had never been acknowledged.

For centuries, [Name] had suppressed the feelings that stirred in her heart whenever she was near him. It felt wrong to feel anything for the one who had once been her leader, her Archon. But Zhongli was no longer the Geo Archon—he was simply Zhongli, a mortal walking among mortals.

And she was no longer just a weapon of war.

---

Days passed, and the weight of her unspoken feelings began to wear on [Name]. She found herself returning to Zhongli more often, drawn to his presence in ways she could no longer ignore. He was a constant in her life, a reminder of the past, yet also a promise of something more—something she had long denied herself.

One evening, as the sun set behind the mountains of Liyue, painting the sky in hues of gold and crimson, [Name] found herself standing before Zhongli once more. This time, the air between them felt different, charged with something unsaid.

“I remember the days when you led us into battle,” she said softly, her gaze distant as memories of the past flickered before her eyes. “You were… unshakable. Like the mountains.”

Zhongli’s expression was thoughtful, though there was a hint of sadness in his eyes. “I was merely fulfilling my duty. Just as you and Xiao continue to do.”

[Name] looked at him then, her icy blue eyes locking onto his golden ones. “But it was more than that for me.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Zhongli’s gaze softened, and he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently touch her cheek. The warmth of his hand against her cold skin was a stark contrast, but it was a contrast that felt right, like two halves of the same whole.

“I know,” he whispered, his voice like the low rumble of the earth. “I have always known.”

In that moment, the walls [Name] had built around her heart began to crumble. She had spent centuries suppressing her emotions, denying herself the simple act of wanting something for herself. But here, with Zhongli, she couldn’t deny it any longer.

“I’m tired, Morax,” she admitted, her voice trembling with the weight of her confession. “I’m tired of fighting. I’m tired of being alone.”

Zhongli’s hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing away the single tear that had slipped down her face—a tear that froze as soon as it left her skin. “You are not alone, [Name]. You never have been.”

His words, so simple yet so profound, broke something within her. Without thinking, she stepped closer, resting her forehead against his chest. The warmth of his body seeped into her, chasing away the cold that had long settled in her bones.

For the first time in centuries, she allowed herself to feel—to truly feel.

Zhongli’s arms wrapped around her, holding her close, and for a brief moment, the weight of her past, her duty, and her pain seemed to melt away, leaving only the warmth of his embrace.

“I will stand by you, [Name],” he whispered against her hair. “For as long as you need me.”

And in that moment, as the last of the sun’s light faded from the sky, [Name] finally allowed herself to believe him.

.

.

.

Masterlist

[punderdome]

The Fine Print: Chapter 2

Summary: Rapidly running out of options, signing Raphael’s contract was the only way to free herself from the tadpole and defeat the elder brain.  She should have paid closer attention to the wording of the contract before she signed it.  Now, Tav gets more than she bargained for, and the devil has come to collect.

Rating: SFW, some suggestive language

Word Count: 3,637

Chapter 2: The Terms and Conditions

It was over…mostly.

Tav felt strangely empty as she sat on the docks of Baldur’s Gate with her knees pressed tightly to her chest.  Alone.  The consummation of her promises to Raphael felt particularly shameful, and she did not want anyone else to see how low she had fallen.  The Netherbrain was defeated and the Crown rested in her hands, glittering in the dawn.  She heard a snap and a familiar stench of cherries, musk, and sulfur invaded her nostrils.  This was the last thing she had to do to fulfill her contract: present the Crown of Karsus to Raphael.

“Such a glorious sight to behold,” Raphael swaggered, standing behind her.  She silently refused to turn towards him.  “A Netherbrain falling from the sky in an arc of fire, such a grand conclusion to a very epic tale indeed.  The bards will be singing your praises for centuries to come.”

“Alright, Raphael.”  Tav was too exhausted to think and the emotions of the hurried goodbyes on the dock left her feeling numb.  “Here is your Crown.”  She rose and finally looked up at him.  The sinister glee on his face made her stomach turn.  She handed him the Crown, and he took it gingerly, in a mocking display of reverence.

“My beloved Little Mouse, my most cherished client.”  Raphael said softly.  “I have business to attend to, and I expect you desire some rest.  I shall leave you to conclude your business for three days, after I will collect you for our dinner at the evening bells.”

“What dinner?”  Tav exclaimed.

“One of the obligations of your contract.  A lovely feast in celebration.”  She paused but then remembered his grandiose promise of dinner when he received his heart’s desire.

“Alright, our dinner.”  She was too tired to argue with him, and an agreement was an agreement.  It was just a line on a contract.

“Three days.  Until then, I bid you a pleasant rest.”  With a snap he had gone in a flash of embers.  Regret pooled in Tav’s stomach.

*******

Tav returned from an aimless and completely unproductive afternoon in the ruins of the Lower City and retreated to her room in the Elfsong Tavern.  There was wreckage strewn everywhere in the streets and a gut-wrenching stench of decomposing bodies of Baldurians and mind flayers alike.  She wanted to help with the rebuilding efforts, but with neither strength nor necessary skills, she was more of a hindrance than a help.  Some of the tradespeople had weakly accepted Tav’s offers of aid, due to her new status as Savior of Baldur’s Gate, but after the third time of being asked to alphabetize spare tools, she finally took the hint.

Her room was quiet and lonely.  What used to be a center of enlightening conversation, jokes, laughter, and breakup awkwardness was now silent.  The beds they shared together were cold.  Tav brushed her hand over the other pillow on her bed, wishing Karlach was still there to share it with her.  Lae’zel and Karlach had been the only ones to truly still support and trust her after her unceremonious breakup with Gale.  For the last month of their adventures together, Gale had refused to speak with her, preferring to speak around her as though she never existed.  He had done as he promised by continuing to fight with her, even though she had not followed through with her promises to him by giving the Crown of Karsus to Raphael.  Her sternum had started to ache with the loss over the last day or so, but she wasn’t completely sure it wasn’t just heartbreak or loneliness.

It had been three days since the Netherbrain fell and their departure at the docks.  Astarion had fled into the Underdark, hoping to lead the other vampire spawn to a more satisfying existence.  Wyll and Karlach were in Avernus until Karlach’s engines could be fixed.  Lae’zel had immediately left to lead her people against Vlaakith’s tyranny - inspiring them with Orpheus’s memory and legacy.  Jaheira went home with Minsc.  Halsin was in Reithwin and permanently renamed ‘Daddy.’  Shadowheart and Gale left for Waterdeep, her to seek the Temple of Selune and he to find a permanent solution for the Orb, now that there was no way to remove it.  That left her.  Tav.  Alone.  Having dinner with fucking Raphael.

That fucking bastard and his fucking contractually-obligated dinner in the Hells.

All she had to do was play nice for one stupid fucking evening, and their contract would be complete.  

Tav ruminated on what would happen in her future.  She could go somewhere else.  Become someone else.  She could do anything she ever dreamed of with her new life, but she had to put that on hold for a brief moment.  What she had to do next was get through one stupid, terrible dinner in a stupid, terrible place.

She turned and noticed two parcels on the opposite nightstand that had appeared while she was out.  A note was neatly laid atop the parcels, and she immediately recognized that fucking perfume.

Please enjoy these gifts, I look forward to our dinner at the House of Hope this evening.

-R.

Bastard.

She opened the larger parcel and unfolded a beautiful boreal blue gown of silk with delicate gauzy sleeves and intricate silver embroidery of roses and vines everywhere across the bodice.  She balked.  This gown must have cost several small fortunes.  She paused for a moment.  Boreal blue was her favorite color, but how did he know?  Was Raphael spying on her?  No.  She banished the thought quickly, he obviously noticed that her sorceress’s robes were a similar deep color and figured it was a safe choice.

The smaller parcel was a wrapped wooden box the size of her hand.  Oh Gods no. It had to be jewelry. Why the fuck was that smarmy asshole getting her jewelry?

It was a silver bracelet with links like chains, small diamonds embedded into the linkages.  There was a larger ruby dangling from one end, encircled delicately with silver.  Why was he giving her a gown and a bracelet?  At least he realized at some level that silver was much better with her cool, pale complexion than gold.  The ruby she could do without.  She could probably get a jeweler to remove it later.

A resigned sigh slipped from her mouth: Raphael clearly expected her to wear his gifts this evening, and she already knew she was going to be treated like some kind of exotic pet.  His pet adventurer wearing his gifts.  His pet adventure wearing his beautiful gifts.

Tav departed for the bath, relaxing in the warm water.  Her thoughts raged within her through the steam and the nagging ache in her chest.  I only have to play nice for one night, she repeated to herself.  This is what he demanded in his damn contract, and so I must do this to save my soul.

Her mind slipped inadvertently into a dark and lonesome place.  The memory was seared into her mind in a haze of beauty and pleasure, and now as she recalled it, it was transformed into loneliness and regret.

Gale’s hands, trailing all over her body, basking in the afterglow of lovemaking in his tent.  He smiled at her before gently tracing his thumb over her lower lip.  He said he had a question for her, and she told him to ask.  He pledged her his soul, and that he was hers.  He would do anything for her.  She was annoyed that he wasn’t asking his question. Verbose wizards.  He traced his hands over her body before pulling her closer.  He ran his fingers gently over the scales on her cheekbones.  He still wasn’t asking his question.  Quit stalling.  Overly dramatic wizards.  He asked her to marry him after their tadpoled adventure was over.  They would return together to Waterdeep.  She agreed and realized that perhaps it was ok that he took his sweet time to ask her this burning question.

Over the coming days and acquisition of a singular Karsite book from beneath the Sorcerous Sundries, he had reiterated that his soul belonged to her but again renewed his obsession for ascension to godhood.  They would be together forever in Elysium, and Waterdeep was forgotten in his mind.  

Tav refocused to the situation ahead of her:  Gale was gone.  There would never be any life for them in Elysium or in Waterdeep.  Her adventure was over.  Her friends were all gone.  The only thing she had left was dinner.  Dinner with fucking Raphael.

After she had bathed and dried, she started to do her hair.  Raphael hated disorder, so while she was tempted to fuck with him by leaving her dark brunette curls to run wild, she tried to tame them into something that resembled order.  She secretly wished they would rebel and escape to frizzy, chaotic freedom.  Her Trobairitz knot was mostly neat, with her curls pinned back carefully in a semblance of order.  Respectable indeed.

A small amount of kohl around her eyes and a quick smear of red pigment across her lips would have to do.  Raphael did say he was collecting her at the evening bells, and she wanted to play the part of his good little mouse until she was free of her contract.

She donned a chemise and corset before donning the gifted gown.  She was amazed by how perfectly it fit her.  Gods above, what kinds of tailors did the Hells actually have?  The gauzy sleeves were the perfect length.  The square neckline showed off her collarbones.  The length was perfectly tailored to not brush the floor in the flat slippers she donned.  She clasped the bracelet around her left wrist and examined in the remaining dusk how it sparkled and shimmered in the sinking sunlight.

The peals of the evening bells told her it was time.  One terrible, stupid dinner with one terrible, stupid devil.  Perhaps she was the terrible, stupid one for not negotiating out of this dinner.

****

As soon as they arrived at the House of Hope, Raphael shed his human guise and appeared in his cambion form.  “Welcome, my dearest, to the House of Hope.”  Raphael stood tall, wearing fine embroidered silks in black and gold with red patterns that resembled the lick of a fire.  Atop his head was his very own halo: the Crown of Karsus, framing his four horns in a regal sight.

Having some sense of self-preservation, Tav swallowed her instinct to remind him petulantly that she had been here before for a different feast at their original meeting.  “Thank you, my Lord, I do appreciate your invitation.”

“Ah, but invitations are no longer necessary, hmm?”  She didn’t know what he was implying.  Was he inviting her to show up whenever she wanted?

Raphael clapped gleefully before breaking the silence.  “You look ravishing, my darling.  Your gown suits you so well.”

“You have fine taste.” 

“I do, don’t I?” he bemused.  She smiled politely, and deigned not to roll her eyes or point out his obvious demands for attention.

“You do have good taste, my Lord.” Formal.  Dignified.

His sharp grin widened, and he extended a hand to her.  Play nice.  She gingerly placed her right hand in his, observing how large his cambion form really was.  He towered over her, and as his wings outstretched, she felt every bit that she was a tiny rodent.  He shifted her hand gently to the crook of his elbow and led her to the dining hall where they first met.

Thick curtains were pulled across the windows to shield the room from Avernus’s perpetual daylight.  Hundreds of candles brightened the room while bathing it in a soft glow.  The fire in the hearth was simmering but not raging.  Dozens of cambions stared down at Tav from dozens of portraits, all different versions of Raphael in different situations and wearing different regalia.  It would have almost been majestic if it just hadn’t been so ridiculous.

Raphael gestured grandly at his dining table, adorned with a staggering variety of different foods from the Material Plane.  There were fruits, raw and cooked, from every part of Toril.  Dozens of different vegetables were stewed or roasted with different sauces and seasonings.  Tav struggled to identify all of the cooked meats, whether they be in roasts or pies.  She only prayed that none of them were constructed from humanoid creatures.

“A glorious feast, my dear, for such a wonderful celebration.”  The smug coo in his voice irked her, but only politeness was on the menu this evening.  She smiled brightly up at him, but she knew it would never appear sincere.

“Thank you, my Lord,” she repeated like a clockwork toy.  Whenever his ego was hungry, she would feed it.

Raphael led her to a pair of chairs on the far side of the dining table where two places were set.  He pulled his arm out from under her hand and offered her a dramatic bow before pulling out her chair and motioning for her to sit down.

“This is kind of you, my Lord.”

“My dearest Mouse,” he whispered in her ear as he pushed her chair into the table.  He brushed his hands lightly over the embroidered shoulder of the gown he had purchased for her.  An involuntary shudder worked its way down her spine.  Small sprays of snowflakes worked their way down her dress as she struggled to reclaim her decorum.

Raphael sat down at the place next to her and grabbed a bottle of wine.  He poured them each a goblet and offered a disarming smile.  Why didn’t he have the mage hand serve them like he had before?

“I propose a toast!” he grabbed his goblet and gestured towards her.

Tav gingerly grabbed her own goblet but made a genuine attempt at a cheerful toast.  “To what are we toasting, my Lord?”

“To a most fruitful partnership.” There was a mischievous catch that caught her off guard.  She only responded with a smile before the gentle clink of the glass goblets.  She drank a sip of the lush red wine and noted that it was clearly even smoother than anything he had served her in the Devil’s Den while trying to earn her favor.

Raphael gestured eagerly for her to begin feasting.  Tav looked around at the options, and decided to eat something where she could definitely discern the origin.  She wouldn’t have put it past Raphael to have a rack of roasted Dwarf hidden behind the breadbasket.  He smiled at her before beginning to carve a suckling pig.  Seeing him decapitate and bisect a roasted animal was definitely not something Tav had expected for this dinner, but then she remembered that she was dining in the Hells, so maybe she should have anticipated something like that.

Only one evening.  She repeated silently.

Raphael offered her the carved meat from the suckling pig, and she wordlessly accepted, allowing the fiend to gracefully place the meat alongside her other choices on her plate.

“Tell me, my darling, what have you been doing the past few days?” Raphael politely inquired.

“I have been assisting in rebuilding the ruined Baldur’s Gate,” Tav stated assertively.

“Oh?” Raphael hummed as he began to cut his food, his diet clearly carnivorous.  “Please regale me with tales of your heroics in the rebuilding of the Gate.”

He had been following her, and he knew that she had failed at doing anything really meaningful during the rebuilding process thus far.  She should have offered the Flaming Fist cold drinks by means of her magic, that would have been more interesting than the reality.  As much as it pained her, she told Raphael the truth.  “I have alphabetized the tools of many a great tradesman, my Lord.  I shall soon see all of the masons and woodworkers have order in their workshops.”

The cackle that followed unnerved her.  

“You are so endearing, my Little Mouse.” He took incredible pleasure in his condescension.  

“I aim to please, my Lord.”  Raphael bristled very slightly at her continuing formality.  Good little mice keep their good little souls.  She ate gently and gracefully like her rodent counterpart.

“You are wearing the bracelet I gave to you, please show me.”  His request was hungry and eager.  The desire was clear in his golden orbs and blackened sclera.  She offered him the bejeweled wrist for inspection.  He turned her wrist over a few times looking for something unknowable.  “I shall seek more gemstones next time.”

Next time?

“You are too generous, this is a fine and lovely bracelet.  I have been admiring it, my Lord,” Tav responded truthfully. 

Raphael unexpectedly rose from his chair to stand behind her.  His form seemed to grow larger in comparison to hers at every opportunity.   She opted not to shy away from him and defiantly sat straight up in her chair.

“I think something different is in order.”  Raphael gently traced his claws from collarbone to collarbone spending a great deal of time at her throat.  He could easily slice her skin and make her bleed out in his dining room if he had wanted to.  Tav wondered absentmindedly if he did slit her throat now, where would her soul go?

“What do you have in mind, my Lord?”  Her question was flat, testing the waters.

“A necklace to match the bracelet, but with additional gemstones this time.”  Tav hummed an acknowledgment but still felt the pricks of danger as Raphael’s cambion claws traced along her throat.  His claws gently traced to the back of her neck and lightly through her hair, absently playing with a single curl that had fallen out of her Trobairitz knot.

What in the nine hells of Baator was he doing?

Tav scrambled to change the subject and lean away from his touch.  “Would you prefer a sweet course for dessert?  I can also serve you the traditional fruits and cheese.”

Raphael declined dessert altogether, stating a different type of hunger, and a wave of realization washed through her.  Tav wriggled quickly out of his grasp, and she could feel his frustration at her motions. To break the tension, she requested tea from the servants out of pure panic.  As Raphael nodded to the servant with her request, prayers to save her from this particular situation flooded her mind.  He thinks this is a date.  Lathander!  Azuth!  Umberlee!  Waukeen!  Tymora!  Tempus! Lloth!  Save me!

She tried to make light conversation, and Raphael seemed to relax again.  His eyes moved over her hungrily.  He was clearly mentally undressing her, spending a great deal of time at her chest and the upper part of her thighs.  He was prepared to devour her, and the look of pure lust sent her back into a panic.  The servant returned within a few moments with a cup of hot tea for her, but Tav scrambled out of her chair, knocking over both tea and chair and bringing a fresh wave of chaos into Raphael’s house.

“My great thanks for your hospitality, Raphael,” she managed to stammer out, trying not to trip over freshly upended furniture.  She fled towards the portal chamber, eager to return to the Elfsong Tavern.

“My darling-” Raphael started as he followed her.

Gods, he really did think that was a date, didn’t he?  Would he expect some sort of kiss at the end of the night?  No, he clearly expects more than that.

She was only mildly out of breath when she reached the portal chamber, and Raphael looked less than amused by her antics and attempts at flight.

“Tavara,” he started and took a long breath trying to subdue his quickly rising anger.  “What are you doing?”

The portals were all inactive.  She eagerly touched each one hoping somehow that they would hum to life and one of them would bring her home.

“Raphael, thank you for the dinner, but please take me home,” Tav pleaded.

“No.”  His response sucked all the air out of her lungs.

“No?”

“No.”

“Raphael, I thank you for the hammer, but now I want to go home.”  Her voice raised at least a half octave, hoping the devil would hear her, but the look in his eyes clearly betrayed that nothing was going to change his mind.

Raphael grabbed her by the shoulders and was surprised at the fear response she showed.  She genuinely cowered before him, her internal fire fading into embers.  A brief moment passed before he understood.

“My dearest, you are not going home to Prime Materiel.”  His voice was assertive and final.  “You live here now.”

“No I don’t!”  Her response confirmed Raphael’s suspicions and he silently cursed every reading tutor in all regions of Faerun.

“Tavara, my dear,” Raphael started, with his voice far gentler than she thought possible.  “You are my wife.”

“You’re fucking joking, you sick fuck.”  His jaw immediately clenched with barely contained rage, and his grip on her became much more punishing. “I never agreed to anything like that.”  Her voice became more desperate with every word, cracking and faltering.  She knew the devil standing before her was concentrating his wrath and determining which debtor was going to experience it all firsthand.

“Tavara,” Raphael started again, annoyed at her continual challenges to his patience.  “We are wed.  You signed the contract.”

“I signed no such thing, our only deal was for me to give you the Crown for the Hammer.  I agreed to nothing about some ridiculous imaginary relationship with you!” Tav desperately countered.

“Tavara.”  He was mentally cursing whomever taught her Infernal and vowing to disembowel them before slowly removing every fingernail then severing every limb before restoring them to perfect health and doing it all a second time.  “Tavara, that contract for the Hammer is our marriage contract.”

[nature-writes29]

An Oath fulfilled |Vanathi × Ponniyin Selvan

      It was a quiet, silent Night. The city of Thanjai was getting ready to sleep. It has been 6 weeks since Sendhan Ammudhan's death. The throne was widowed within a night. With no Chakravarti to rule the place, the whole chola kingdom faced quite a threat from other kingdoms. Everyone knew that Ponniyin Selvan would ascend the throne sooner or later. It was inevitable and everyone knew it. The whole palace had started preparations for the coronation. Everyone seemed to be in the festive mood, exept the person who was about to get coronated.

      Arulmozhi knew that one day he will ascend the throne. At first he didn't even had many problems with it, but now, it seemed impossible for him to do so. 13 years back, when he was to be coronated, he had faced a problem similar to his current one. Vanathi and her her oath.

      He wanted to deny the fact that she had taken the oath, but he just couldn't. He wanted her to stay with him till his last breath. He wanted to hold hands with her even at an old age. He wanted to close his eyes with her face infront of him, giving him the last goodbye, and not the way around. He wanted her.

      Yet, he found himself catching her fall after she fainted between a pooja 1-2 weeks ago. Yet he found himself tending to her high fever. Yet he found himself holding her hair as she vomited like there was no tomorrow. Yet he found himself comforting and cuddling her as she shivered from a non existent cold. Yet he found himself listening to the Vaidya say that she was getting nearer to see Vaikuntha (heaven). Yet he found himself being comforted by his Akka and Vanthyathevan as he cried like a baby after hearing the news.

      Yet he found himself alone in their chambers with her . The night was quite and chill. Arulmozhi was laying beside Vanathi as she slept. His strong hands running through her now weakened and frailed hair. He hated how she looked right now. Her skin was almost sticked to her bones. Her usual bright doe eyes were sulking. Her hair were withered. And what he hated the most was, how sick she looked. He hated seeing her in pain, but he wasn't ready to let her go yet. A bit selfish? Yes. But she was just too precious for him. She was his brain, she was his heart. She was his soul. She was in every breath he took. She was a part of him. Inseparable.

      He was shaken out of his thoughts when he felt her stire beneath him. He quickly but cautiously pulled out his hand from her hair, as if she were a really fragile piece of glass.

      Vanathi slowly opened her eyes. She felt someone was there beside her and looked over. There she saw her husband, her Ponniyin Selvan, her yaanai paagan beside her. He had a serious and... What was it? Sad expression of his face. She knew that he knew, and he knew that she knew. And since today morning she had been feeling that weird feeling far more strongly that it had in many days. She knew that her time was almost finished.

      She looked at him, studying his face. His beautiful face, the same one she had fallen so hard for. But right now, there was something glistening around his eyes and cheeks. Then she understood, he had been crying. For her. Because of her actually.  She felt bad for this.

   "Swami-" Vanathi croaked out. Even slight talking was starting to feel like a big task to her. Arulmozhi quickly grabbed the glass which had her drinking water in it and he slowly made her sit a bit with his other hand, and started to feed her water little by little.

      After she was done drinking, she quitly asked him.

   "Swami.. Why are there tears on your cheeks? She asked in a low voice

   " Tears? -" Arulmozhi hadn't even realized that he had started to cry. He quickly wiped them away but Vanathi stoped him and tried to do it herself.

   "It's actually nothing chellam, I wasn't crying" He started.

   "Swami, I know that I am not actually able to think properly right now, but, I do know when you are sad" She said. He looked at her more intensely after this. What had he done to deserve her?

      "Aay.. Forget it, look what I got you few hours back." He pointed at the table beside her. It was a flock of Kodupul flowers. These flowers had always been the symbol of their love. He had gotten then for her in all of their milestones as a couple, or when he had gotten a bit too romantic.

   "Kodupul? " She smiled a bit saying this. Remembering all those beautiful times. A single tear rolled down her cheek. Arulmozhi was quick to notice it.

      "Kanne, why are you crying? " He asked slowly tilting her head towards his.

   "It's nothing" She said. But she didn't wipe it. She didn't think that she had enough strength remaining for that. Amv took her hands into his own.

   "Tell me, please. Don't hide what you are thinking, please. " He said with plea written all over his face.

   "It's just... I was thinking of all our memories which are tied with this flower." She said. Her tone was getting lower and lower. He smiled at the thought. She continued. But it was evident that talking was getting harder for her. Yet she wasn't stopping. It seemed like she sense that this was going to be it.

   "How many times you bought these for me... One time you even climbed a tree right? Just to give me these before our wedding. Our every single moment was tied with this flower in one way or another. Till now. It was great wasn't it? " She said while looking at him. More tears were forming under her eyes.

   "Haan- wait- was great? Dear, we are going to have those moments again. We just have to wait till your sickness goes away! Look! you are improving! There is no need to say anything like this Chellam! " He said. Vanathi smiled sadly at this statement.

   "Natha, I think we both know that I don't have much time left-"

   "Don't say anything like that! You are going to recover. I know it!" Amv interrupted her.

   "Natha, there is a thin line between what we want and the facts-"

   "Vanu-"

   "No! Let me finish. I have been wanting to tell you this Swami from a few days. I heard what the Vaidhya said. And I am also feeling myself slipping away. Initially I was scared of the very thought of leaving you. I want to stay with you for an eternity. I really do. B-"

   "You can Vanathi, You can! Please listen to me,-" He took her hand in both of his palms "-I can't live without you! I want to listen to your laughter, I want to see your eyes in mine, I want to hold hands with you like this, I just... Just want you Chellam! " His voice croaked at the last word. Why was this happening to them, why was this happening to her! Why does parmeshawara opt to take the bestest of people first along with them! Why?

      "Swami, pleased don't make this difficult for me, I also don't want to die, but it is fate swami, fate! And I have also taken the oath-"

   "To hell with your oath! I don't care about your oath Vanathi! I. Just. Care. About. You!! And the very thought of you- yo- not-" He fully broke down. His head bended down in defeat and rested on their hands. He wasn't able to comprehend this fact. He knew that she was telling the truth, but it. was. just. too. much!

    Vanathi's heart broke down seeing this. She didn't wanted to die, but she knew that her life was going to be short the day she took the oath. So she had excepted this fact long ago, and used to cherish every single moment she had with him. Today morning when her Akka had visited her ( she used to be there in the morning and he used to be there for her at night time. ) she was also holding back her tears. Vanthyatevan had also been there and he was already in the crying state.

   "Swami.. " She gently kept her free palm on his cheeks, forcing him to look at her.

   "We can't do anything about the oath, and I knew that this day was going to come. But now, I will have to take my leave-" She said breaking down a bit herself. Arulmozhi quickly stoped her by placing one of his hand on her mouth.

   "Please don't say anything like this Vanathi. Please. We are supposed to get old together! And what about Madhu! He needs a mother. We were supposed to see his marriage together! When he first goes to battle, when he will be crowned the next prince, when he will become the chakravarti, whe were supposed to see all this together Priye! " After listening to this Vanathi grabbed his hand pulled it down. And said quietly.

   "Do you really think that I will leave you that easily Swami? I will always stand with you, whether I am there or not. I will always look for your back, be there with you. And in the end we will meet again right? I will always wait for you Natha" She said with a weak smile. Arulmozhi just looked at her. Impressed by how greatly she was handling it.

      He then took her completely in his arms so that one of her hand rested on his heart and his on her shoulders. One of both their arms were interlocked together. They were looking at each other. Comfortable in their positions.

      He was comforted by the fact that she will at last be free of all of her pains. All he wanted now was for her to be happy. He quickly pecked her and looked at her with an expression which can only depict love, sadness, excepted fact, and adoration.

   "I love and will always love you my Vanu" He said just after giving her a deep kiss.

      This was all she wanted to hear. This is what made her heart free of every burden, worry and questions she was carrying. Her family will be okay. She will meet him again in few decades and she was sure about it.

   "I love you, My Yaanai Paagan.. " She said in a soft voice. She knew she only had a few moments left. All of her energy was drained.

      He looked at her peaceful expression as she closed her eyes. Her last thought being of him. The last thing she saw, was him. Her last breath was of his name. Her heart beated for the last time with only him in it. She was his, and she will always be his. For an eternity.

      He stared at her lifeless body. Tears building up in his throat. His Vanu, his Kadhal, his Chellam, his Kadambur illavarasi was gone. He held her more closely. He bought her shoulders close to him and kissed her forehead.

   "Vanu, you not only did just leave me, but you also took my peace, my love, my brain, my heart, the half of me, my soul with you Kanne. You took a big part of me with you chellam, you did. " He said hugging her close. She had left him to deal with this world alone, without her love, without her enchanting doe eyes, without her laughter, without.... Her. He had no one now to come home back too. She had taken his life away along with her.

_Epilogue_

Kundavai came rushing into the room after hearing the noises. Only to find the scene which shattered her heart beyond anything. Vanthyatevan came rushing behind her, just in time to catch her as she fell down crying. Her sweet best friend, her thozhi, his maya kanan had left them.

The night was filled with cries as Amv's other 2 wives were crying too. They also loved their Akka. Madhu's cries were the loudest, as he had lost his mother at the tender age of 12.

Arulmozhi didn't make any sound, but his grief made the loudest sound. He and his Akka, after some time, we're only starting into the abyss. Vanthyatevan was trying to console Kundavai but Arulmozhi had no one.

He was the one who had given fire to her. The whole country was in awe and shock... For the queen had completed her oath, but at the cost of her life. After persistent requests from his Akka, he did proceed with the coronation. He did it 'cause he knew that this is what his Vanathi wanted. His other queen sat on the throne with him, but in his heart, Vanathi was the only queen he ever lived for.

•••••~•••••~•••••~•••••~•••••~•••••~•••••

( A/N )

Ha ha ha, I made you all cry, didn't I? This is the longest OS I have written standing at 2300+ words. And of course, the saddest on also. I started writing this yesterday instead of studying for my Marathi exam. (It went well), and here I am completing this. Please tell me your thought on this. I hope that you guys liked this one shot. Instances mentioned are from the book. If any confusion let me know! :)

Any suggestions and feedback appreciated.

If you want to read more from my works, visit my wattpad page. Same Id name.

∆ Requests Accepted ∆

_ All work is original. Do not copy _

( I usually do not mention anyone unless it's an request, but, I want to hear your feedback :) and I got some of your id's from a fellow writter. And I won't tell who, but they told me to tag people, so it reaches to more ps lovers. )

@nspwriteups @thelekhikawrites @dr-scribbler @kovaipaavai @dosai-maavu @matka-kulfi @curiousgalacticsoul @harinishivaa @chiyaanvikram @celestesinsight @thegleamingmoon @ragkee @inlovewithfictionalbeings @voidsteffy @whippersnappersbookworm @hollogramhallucination @thereader-radhika @sowlspace  @favcolourrvibgior @ponniyin-selvan @ponniyinselvann-blog

please tell me I made you cry :)

[allerya-christinet]

To fall for you

Allerya was a secluded Aasimar, one that never met one of her own and knew nothing more than to accomplish her mission with Faerun. Her life, lonely, bloody and indoctrinated left her nothing but a deep need to feel something else but the obligation to serve.

That's when that pale elf and his suspicious routine at night cought her attention.

AO3

Pairing: Astarion/Tav (Aasimar) (non tav named OC) Warning: None. Words: 2147

Image: Mykiel, Allerya's guide.

Ch. 1: When the need was from her, not from an order.

Life as an Aasimar was… different, maybe just for her, maybe for every one of her kind there was. She didn’t know, never met another winged being as ethereal as her creators said she was.

She met a demon once, she thought it was one of hers, soon enough her guide screamed at her to kill it. It was weird, but the creature fought to kill her, so she did back and painted her hands with the burning blood of the demon that laid dead before her.

She learned about Avernus on her early years, then about everything else there was. At least what Mykiel considered “everything”.

She liked to wander around at night, walking on the roofs, spreading her wings for once. Away from the praying eyes that tried to look under her hood. She would sit down, her legs hanging on the edge of an old house, and she would watch. There were usually a few drunk men going back home, a couple kissing on an alley, all of them oblivious of her presence.

She usually found herself wondering how it must feel, anything, kissing someone, getting drunk, be free. She wanted to feel something more than her eagerness to fulfill her duty with the celestials, she wanted something else, so she watched and pretended for a while.

One of those nights she saw him, an elf with white hair, walking alone at night. She wouldn’t have paid him more attention if it wasn’t for his face, he was too handsome to be alone, too beautiful to wander around that flophouse.

Her gaze couldn’t leave him, for a briefly moment she thought he may be one of hers, but without wings, she decided that “ethereal” was what he was, so he might be an Aasimar. A fallen? How did fallen Aasimar look? Like him?

She followed him around, saw how he went from the flophouse to the tavern, then got out with a lady, both of them giggling as he guided her with a hand on her lower back. Allerya understood he was not strange then, just looking for his partner to go home. She smiled softly, pretending again it was her who knew how his hand felt like on her back.

Things turned suspicious when the next night the elf was there again, and the next, and the next. He always did the same, but his partners always changed as well as the name he claimed to have. She followed him like a cat, jumping through the roofs and trying to be as silent as possible as the three walked towards a palace she knew for having great view of the city.

The couple got inside, she tried to look but every window was covered even at night, she thought of breaking in, an utter desire to know, to see what he did. But why? She didn’t know.

“What’s inside, Mykiel?” She whispers, her hands touching the cold glass of the window, she has never been so anxious about something.

“Barely our business, Allerya.” Her guide answered on her mind, she frowned.

“Barely?” She repeated. Mykiel stayed silent.

She sighs, that was all she was going to get from them. She looked around, wanting to get in but knowing better, so she flew away. Maybe another time she would find out, she wished to learn his name.

Mykiel was fast to gave her things to do, but she always found a way to get back to the same roof and watch the elf, she noticed how he always wore the same clothes even though he lived on that big palace. How his movements seemed rehearsed and he always touched his partners on the same places. She was positively intrigued, so she looked for him at day too, when she was supposed to kill some evil guy she forgot about as soon as she thought she saw him around the corner, she turned her head so fast her helmet almost flew away from her head, leaving the men to bleed out for themselves as she ran behind that person, only to realize she was wrong when the blonde woman stepped back in horror when she saw the bloodied hand of Allerya almost touching her expensive dress.

Allerya blinked a few times, what was she doing? That elf would probably do the same as that woman if he saw her. She was no one to him either.

She turned to finish her duty, defeated and confused, the feeling of disapproval from Mykiel burning within herself.  

It was weeks later that she finally was able to go back to the Lower City, her limbs sore and her wings stinging where her feathers were ripped out by the ambush of goblins that tried to cut her wings off of her. They were long death by now.

She sat on her usual stop at the top of that old house, she learned that it was abandoned by now, and waited. The hours passed by but the elf didn’t come around the tavern nor the flophouse, she tilted her head to the side and raised to her feet, maybe he was somewhere else, so she looked around for him.

She jumped through the roofs, flew around a little and waited, but he wasn’t there. She came to the conclusion that he wasn’t coming that night, so she left to sleep, disappointed that her gaze wouldn’t wander on his hair, that she wouldn’t get to try and sneak a peak at his eyes to see what color they were.

Mykiel weren’t happy about her behavior, they were sure Allerya would forget that wretched thing as soon as she was out of the city long enough, as soon as she killed enough, did enough. They were wrong, and Allerya felt the building contempt of her guide the moment she looked for the elf another night.

Normally she wouldn’t even make her guide upset, she was the perfect Aasimar, the shiny protector, the sword of the celestials, the chosen one so bright she had to hide behind a hood to not make everyone turn her way.

She didn’t know what to do, so she did nothing, maybe if she was good enough to do this herself… What this? Do what? Find the elf? Learn his name? She frowns at her own questions, what was this thing that possessed her?

Week after week she looked for the elf everywhere, at day and night, but he was nowhere to be seen and Mykiel were firm with their order to not get close to that palace. But he had to be there, it was the only place she didn’t get to go, if was eating her alive, why was she so desperate so see him? She was positive about being possessed at this point, it killed her inside to not see him around, she never felt something alike, much less for a man she didn’t even know his name. It’s because he must be an Aasimar, she convinced herself without a better answer, she wanted to be with her own for once, to know someone like her.

Her feet hit the ground of the palace’s roof, “Cazador Szarr” she read on a plate, was that him? Cazador? His name didn’t fit his face.

She walked around the building and reached a door, tried to look inside but the windows were as covered as the first time she was there. The anxiety was eating her alive, Mykiel was almost raging and Allerya felt it, but she couldn’t help herself no more, she had to find him for once.

And just when she was opening the door voices startled her, was it him? No, two females. She ran to hide in the shadows and she watched the couple go inside the palace, it was similar at how that elf behaved, how he talked and moved, almost luring.

“This is not a place for you.” Mykiel said, almost like a mantra of his previous warnings through the days. “Turn around and leave.”

But she didn’t listen, her wings bringing her up to let her look better at the façade of the palace, something pulled her towards the graveyard and so she went there. Allerya took her time reading every tomb, the epitaph nothing like she saw before, just names without an ounce of love for the once living that laid there.

There was a faint sound, a whisper? Maybe even a scream if you paid enough attention, she turned and searched for the source but there was nothing but a brick wall and more tombs, she frowns.

Allerya walked the path silently, following the screaming and soft thuds, maybe an animal in a cage, she thought.

The sound came from… under? Her. She frowns and reads the tomb “Astarion Ancunin” the name didn’t ring a bell on her mind. She bends down and presses her ear to the ground, her light vibration of the sound coming from it.

“Gods! There is someone alive there, Mykiel!” She gasps, unconsciously starting to dig wit her own hands.

“And maybe they should stay there.” Mykiel warned in return.

“We can’t let someone die like this! I can’t, help me.”

“I won’t do such thing, there are more important things to do than save the weak. Much less just one.”

She kept digging like her life depended on it, her hands sore and her skin ripping with every movement she made against the dirt.

“If you keep going on, I will have to punish you. This is none of your business nor your destiny.”

“You said I was made to protect, im doing that,”

Mykiel remained silent.

She looked around, there must be a better way, the screams slowly becoming louder as Allerya took layer after layer off the casket.

She found a shovel behind a mausoleum and started digging with just that. The casket glowed with a faint golden light, enchanted perhaps. It was spotless, no damage on any side of it from the weight of the dirt or the shovel hitting on it each time she digged too deep.

“Take me out!” Screamed who was probably Astarion Ancunin. She tried to open it with little success, the enchantment to strong to fight with just force.

“What do I have to do for you to help me?” She asks Mykiel as she sits on the ground, her nails broken and bloody just as the rest of her hands.

“I won’t.”

“Please.” She hears her voice say, though she gets surprised by that. “I’ll do anything.”

Mykiel stayed silent and she thought of taking the coffin with her somewhere else. They weren’t going to take this from her, she left a lot of people die because they just weren’t “the greater good”... not anymore.

“Well, fuck you! Fuck all of you! I lived a life to serve only for you to turn your backs on me when I ask for something in return!”

Suddenly the enchantment broke and the lid flew open, the pale elf, the one she was looking for everywhere crawled out of the pit, his hands a mess of blood and dirt, his eyes raged, scared, lost.

“Who are you? Why are you here?” The elf, presumably Astarion, asked. “No! you made it worse! Bloody hells, what did you do?!”

Allerya was out of words, she expected everything but this, her own bloody hands shot up in a sign of peace. “Are you alright?”

“Alright? Alright?! I’m not alright, you have no idea what you caused!”

She stuttered, unable to get her words out of her mouth. “I’m sorry? Ah!” She bent down and hold her head, a piercing pain on her eyes consumed her every thought.

“Oh, and now you do this.” The elf scoffs, looking down at her form, thought he was curious.

She kneeled down, her limbs failing to hold her up as she feels like all of her body burned, she grunts and screams as her hands become ashes.

“What’s your name?” She asked between gritted teeth.

Astarion was weirded out to say the least, that thing, the only Aasimar he ever saw, was becoming ashes in front of him after taking him out of his punishment. It made it worse for him, probably, and it was no use to blame her for that, but he did anyways.

“Astarion.” He finally said, he stood there watching, not an ounce of sympathy on his face as the creature became nothing but ashes at his feet.

The wind took what was left of her, and he waited. What for? He didn’t know, but he knew deep down that the moment he stepped inside the palace a punishment would come his way just because he escaped from his prison on the ground. He didn’t know what was better, but he hoped he wasn’t the only one suffering.

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

Hey there! This is kind of knew to me, i never wrote a fanfic in English before.

Welcome to this mess Astarion have made me. I feel the need to share my character with anyone willing to know her.

First of all, "english is not my first language" because one, its true, and two, i know its kind of a meme. So you will have to excuse me when my brain wouldnt get the difference between "in" and "on" during my midnight writing. Oh, what a pain is for me to write "thought, though, through and throw" haha.

This history starts before the events in BG3, but will reach canon in a few chapters. I learned a few things about canon in D&D, so i will put them here to give Allerya a deeper background. For reference, Dame Aylin is an Aasimar, they have this glowing features and really big wings. I will describe her better from the eyes of Astarion on next chapters.

Anyways, feel free to roast my poor Allerya, she is too innocent for this world, for now.

[miss-littevi]

~ Under the open Sky ~

(Repost from Valention 2021)

As Aymeric woke up that morning, he was alone in the bedroom, not a single sign of Yorina, who arrived in Ishgard a few days before and wanted to stay a little bit longer – for him and their son Florent. It wasn’t unusual that she came to bed long after he fell asleep but normally, she was lying next to him in the morning – still sleeping and far from waking. Not today, but that had happened before too - even if it was rare. She often sleeps in her study in that case and he would look after her later. First, he went to their son’s room, where Jallia, a young Hyuran they employed as Nanny, took care of the boy. After that, he silently entered Yorina’s study and found the Duskwight sleeping with legs drawn up on the alcove bed. He took the blanket, that has fallen to the ground, and put it back over his wife’s body and left the room again.

It wasn’t that bad, that Yorina was still asleep, for it gave him the opportunity to make some arrangements before he would talk to Yorina. He decided to make a small trip with her. The Valentiones-festivities just had started and that seemed to be a good occasion to take a few days off. Florent was in good hands, Aymerics duties in the cities administration and military could be handled by his representatives and a few days off would be good for his wife’s well-being – he was sure of that.

As he returned home at noon, he got to know Yorina was awake and in her study again. Es went to that room, knocked at the door and waited a few moments. “Come in.”, came Yorina’s voice with a cold shiver from the other site of the door. He opened the door, entered, and saw his wife sitting at her desk, the baby on the arm, a quill in in her free right hand. She looked up at him in surprise and put the quill in the inkpot as he stepped next to her. He smiled, held his open hand towards her and said with warm voice: “Come, we are going on a little trip.” She looked up at him and could have asked a thousand questions, but her thought could only form one of them, the simplest one, and she asked: “What?”

(more under the cut)

Her husband was nearly amused as he repeated himself: “We are going on a little Trip. The Valentions-festivities just started and that seems like a good occasion to ‘kidnap’ you for a few days.” She rocked the baby in her arm, looked up to Aymeric and asked with dry voice: “To Gridania, then?” Aymeric nodded and Yorina continued: “I don’t want to go to Gridania… you have obligations to do there or why to Gridania of all places?” He shook his head: “No, no obligations. I just expected, you’d like to visit your old home – and a trip to the festivities looked like a good idea.” She suddenly giggled: “But you are aware, that I am from one of those caverns in the Black Shroud, right?” Aymeric laughed with his warm, dark voice, muffled by his hand to not wake up the child: “But you have that nice little Summer house in Gridania.” Yorina pressed her lips together. “I don’t want to go to Gridania and not to the Black Shroud.”, she confessed and looked at him with a sad face, “I don’t want to go anywhere, where I could meet anyone. I just would been recognized and moved into the middle of attention again. I’d rather stay here, where I have some moments of peace.” He crossed his arms and leaned against her desk. “Okay, chance of plan.”, he spoke after a few moments, “I can not promise, there will be nobody, but we wouldn’t meet other people.” She looked at him with a questioning look, didn’t say anything.” He explained laughing: “What about the Churning Mists? Just you and me, some Moogles and Dragons.” “And the knight, who are stationed at the construction works at the Zenith”, she pointed out. “We don’t have to go there.”, he determined, “So it is decided?” She sighted: “But this threat. I have so much to look up, so much preparation to do. Before anything changes, I have to” “This threat won't change for better or for worse the next few days. You know that better than I do.”, he interrupted her. Yorina looked down to her peacefully sleeping son: “And Florent” “Is taken care of.”, Aymeric interrupted her again and smiled open and warm. She gazed at him but couldn’t be angry for long. He once again held his hand to her: “Florent is well taken care of and it are just a few days anyways – only two, maybe three. The time will do you good, trust me. And when we are back, I’ll leave you alone for as long as you want. Promise.” “I hope the world will leave me alone then too.”, she said, smiling tiredly, took his hand and stood up, “I’d love to travel with you. Let’s pack a few things and then leave.”

The Mana-Cutters brought them into the Chrning Mists fast and so they did waste much time on the way. And as they arrived in the Churning Mists, Yorina decided where they would go, flew around, visited the highest places she could find and spared all the places, where she expected to meet people or Moogles alike. When they stood on one of the higher platforms of the Zenith and the wind blew round them, Aymeric looked at his wife and could feel, how the worries fell away from her, how her mood lightened up and how happy she was.

He approached her, took her hand and as she turned her head to him, he saw the joy in her amethyst-eyes, heard the cheerful laugh of her usually cold voice. And if he wasn’t sure before, he now knew it was the right decision to talk her into this trip.

Those rare Moments, when she could just be an adventurer, without all the obligations, without the heavy burden of being the Warrior of Light, those were the moments when he saw the woman he fell in love with long ago. The woman he wanted to protect from the world - the world, that was asking way too much of her. “Thank you. “, she suddenly said out of the blue. With questions in his eyes, he looked at her. “I want to thank you for talking me into this trip.”, she explained, “I had no idea how much I needed this. But now, I feel so alive, so much more than even yesterday.” Aymeric remained silent, put his arms around her and held her tight, like he couldn’t do as often as he wanted to. “Please, say something.”, she spoke, almost pleaded, “Don’t let me stand here like that. You so often find at least some words.” “I don’t ‘let you stand here like that’. But I don’t want to ruin the moment. But be sure, I am so glad, to be here – here, with you. And if I could, I’d make this moment infinite.” She smiled and spoke breathy: “Let’s just pretend, this moment is infinite.” She raised her head, her lips found his and the moment certainly wasn't infinite, but it felt like it would last forever.

[babybluesquid]

Consequences of Karrnath Session 15

A Merciful Betrayal

Our Players this week:

Dagne, Vengeance Paladin, an undead soldier with the curious property of acting like a living person. Trusts nobody and acts as the leader. Has a skeleton horse mount from Find Steed named Coffin.

Nux, Pact of the Fathomless Warlock, a young teen Marcher who is far from the Kyrzin cult who wants to kill them. Personas are Murlo, a preteen orc girl, Orim, a young adult elf boy, and Vel, an adult tiefling enby. Party child.

Vaeren, Swarmkeeper Ranger, a Deathguard sent to investigate Dagne’s nature. They’re the quiet one who helps keep everyone in line.

Ro, Circle of Spores Druid, a Talentan halfling who survived The Mourning and won’t go home. They tend to not take things seriously.

Dagne refuses to let the party move on before resolving the issue of killing Berent Rischer. They point out to Vaeren the contradiction in their orders: Karrlakton is a Red Watcher sympathetic city, why would the local authorities be untrustworthy for handling a member of the Emerald Claw? Aleksas, for his part, agrees. If the party turns Berent Rischer in, he will surely be executed as a traitor. Vaeren refuses to budge, they do not care about the justification for their orders making sense. They will follow them because they came directly from the queen. Frustrated, Dagne also points out that it would be useful to interrogate Berent, and that the party could take him back to Korth if Karrlakton’s authorities are the issue. Aleksas Deneith interjects to say that he’s fine with that plan. Still, Vaeren does not give Dagne any ground. If Dagne will not kill Berent, they will.

Then, Dagne says that the orders are a test. It’s strange that both Dagne and Vaeren received orders to kill Berent Rischer, especially since both were on the same document. It’s almost as if the king and queen planned this conflict, so it seems foolish to take any action before determining the correct answer to the test. Vaeren remains silent, seething, unable to come up with a retort for that. Uncomfortable with the tension, Orim pats Vaeren’s arm and says the party can capture Berent and figure out what to do with him afterwards.

Sensing that the conversation is over for now, Dagne begrudgingly moves on to discuss the party’s plan of attack. They ask Ivis if he could run in there first and attack Berent Rischer, who should be unaware of his switched allegiance, by surprise. Ivis agrees, despite the fact that it would leave him alone with the flesh golems for a brief time. Dagne then turns to Elona the arbalest and tells her to leave. The fact that she agreed to help the group is enough, and Dagne does not believe she’s powerful enough to face the flesh golems. Gratefully, she does leave. The group, led by Ivis, approaches the lab.

Ivis runs in first, making a show of it, “Dr. Rischer, we have to flee! The defenses have fallen!” The party then hears a thud and Ivis yells, “come help! The golems!” The rest of the party bursts into the room to see the flesh golems. They’re grotesque, large, muscular, with seams of grown scar tissue connecting patches of their skin. One is colored mostly a sickly yellow, standing on the right side of the room, the other a deathly grey, standing on the left. On work tables, there are various corpses in various states of deconstruction. On the floor beside Ivis lies an old man with a third skeletal arm attached beneath his right arm, knocked out cold.

Dagne issues a vow of enmity to the yellowish flesh golem before charging it. Their spearpoint buries itself into its flesh, and Dagne pulls their poleaxe free to shop with the axe head. The flesh of the thing feels unnaturally tough and its blood is thick, scabbing over the wounds almost as soon as their weapon is free. The golem growls and closes the gap with Dagne, raising a fist and punching. The movement is slow, so slow that Dagne is able to completely sidestep the attack. It tries to headbutt Dagne, but they’re able to trip the thing on their poleaxe, knocking it to the ground.

Seeing Dagne is doing just fine, Orim nudges Vaeren, “let’s get the far guy.” Vaeren nods assent and places a hunter’s mark on the greyish flesh golem, then shoots it with an adamantine arrow. The arrow buries itself deep in the thing’s chest, and Aelrie slashes at it, leaving pale frostbite on its skin. Ivis joins Dagne in fighting the yellow golem, charging the fallen thing and chopping it twice. Its tough flesh absorbs the force of the blows, and the cuts he leaves are shallow.

The grey golem roars and charges straight for Orim, who manages to roll out of the way just in time. However, the golem swings its arm and connects! The slap bruises Orim’s upper arm, and as he’s stumbling, the golem grabs him. It won’t let go! “You seem to need a bit of assistance,” Aleksas comments as he draws his sword. The blade is stark, straight, and dark, unfamiliar to modern design. Most of the party recognize it as a Dhakanni weapon as Aleksas slashes the golem. “Rah! Threats. Destroy. Protect.” The thing says as it blocks with its arm, jerking Orim around in the process. He looks down at Berent, laid out on the floor, still, but maybe only feigning unconsciousness, “watch the old fucker!” Sure he won’t be able to break free from the golem’s grasp, Orim hurriedly draws his wand. With a yell, he leaps up and stabs it directly into the golem’s eye! A continuous stream of black pudding shoots from the wand and into the thing’s head, melting the eye and most of the skin on its face. The golem roars in pain and grips Orim’s arm tighter still.

Meanwhile, Dagne wastes no time taking advantage of the tripped yellow golem. They smash it twice on either side of its head with their hammerhead. They hear bones crack. With a swipe of its arms, Dagne and Ivis are driven back and the golem clambers to its feet. In the next moment, deceptively fast, it punches out at both of them. The force cracks Dagne’s ribs through their chestplate and despite their gambesons, and strikes Ivis hard in the stomach. He staggers back, seemingly about to throw up, but then, clutching his stomach, he looks up at the golem and laughs uproariously. “That actually hurt!” He lunges at it and hacks it twice with his axe, once again to little effect.

Vaeren draws back an adamantine arrow and looses it, striking the grey golem in the arm. A second shot goes straight through the thing’s chest, flying clean out the other side. The golem roars again, but this time it’s a chilling sound, a warning of imminent ferocity. Orim, still firmly in its grasp, goes pale. The grey golem throws Orim into the air and slams him back down like a ragdoll. His head hits the stone floor hard. He lies still. The golem then turns to Ro and kicks her but its foot bounces off a barrier of red light, Dagne’s shield of faith is still up. Aleksas, wary of the golem’s strength, raises his shield and stabs at it from behind that all too meager defense.

Orim makes a death save. He fails.

Seeing her chance with the golem distracted by the more obvious threat of Aleksas, Ro darts behind it. She leaps up, yelling and hitting the golem square in the back with her shillelagh. It crumbles forwards immediately, broken, and thrashes on the ground, roaring in pain and outrage. But it slows, and finally dies.

Seeing that Orim is down but currently trapped in combat with the yellow golem, Dagne grits their jaw and focuses on the task at hand. They avoid the golem’s clumsy swings and look for their opening. After what seems like forever with Orim in danger, it presents itself. Dagne feels strength and calm as they swing down their axe blade, right through the golem’s neck. Red flame spreads through the thing’s body like it’s made of parchment. It stands there for a moment, headless, until it seems to realize it’s dead. It falls.

With a big grin, “good fight friend,” Ivis reaches out to shake Dagne’s hand. Dagne takes it. Then they hurry to tend to Orim, their magic mending his broken arm and concussed skull, restoring him to consciousness. He smiles when he sees that the fight is over, commenting about how it’s a relief that Dagne healed him after handling the danger. Dagne nods before checking on Berent Rischer. Contrary to Orim’s earlier fears, the man is actually knocked out, not just faking. Dagne pulls a dagger from his belt and begins to tie him up, keeping their eyes on Ro and Vaeren, almost daring them to object. Aleksas finds a wand in Berent’s sleeve and tosses it to Syv.

Orim begins to loot the room, finding seven eberron dragonshards, two siberys dragonshards, and one khyber dragonshard. He also finds a load of residium and artificer’s equipment. Aleksas monitors him, not allowing him to take any of the necromantic equipment. He says that he will destroy it. He also is not keen on staying in this room to wait for Berent to wake up, the mangled bodies on the work tables are beginning to upset him. Ivis confirms that there should be no more threats in the sewers, so Dagne agrees that the party should pick up the captured arbalest and find a more suitable place to rest. However, when the group returns to the first room, they find the ropes around the pillar cut, and the arbalest long gone.

The party finds a secluded area to rest for a bit. At this point, Dagne asks Aleksas to leave, but he refuses because he has questions for Berent Rischer. Dagne does not press the point. Orim asks Ivis why he stayed with the party after Dagne was willing to let him go. He responds that he wanted to see the necro-alchemist defeated. During the break, he changes out of his Emerald Claw chainmail and into the elven half plate Dagne had offered.

Finally, after about two hours, Berent Rischer stirs, groans, and opens his eyes. He blinks as he looks around the room, at each member of the party in turn. Then, he puts his head down with a sigh, “I’m screwed.” Dagne begins to spellcast, explaining to Berent that if he lies, they’ll know. He nods his understanding as they pour blood on the ground. “What is your name?” Dagne asks him. “Doctor Berent Rischer.” “What were your intentions in creating flesh golems?” “I was being paid and refining my technique.” Orim cuts in, “who was paying you?” “The Order of the Emerald Claw.” Dagne shakes their head, “What’s your boss’ name?” “Which one?” “All of them.” Nervously, Berent begins to list names, starting with someone he calls the Queen of the Dead, who he believes in in charge of the whole organization. Nobody knows her real name, as far as he knows. Aleksas quickly scribbles down everything he says, while Dagne writes down the names. Berent lists off the rest of his superiors, and then says that’s everybody. It pings as true.

“I intend to take you to Korth to be questioned more fully,” Dagne asks, “will you come peacefully?” “I will,” Berent says truthfully. Vaeren seethes. Noticing this, Orim moves to stand between them and Dagne. Aleksas looks up from his notes and asks, “why are you in Karrlakton?” Berent confesses no knowledge there. It seems like an unlikely location for such an operation, and he’s unable to understand it himself. “Do you have any means of contacting the Emerald Claw?” Dagne asks. “At this time, no.” Sensing a loophole, Dagne presses, “do you intend to contact them, now, on the road to Korth, or once you reach that city?” “No,” and Berent adds, “I have no particular loyalty to them.” Amazingly, that also pings as true.

While Dagne is questioning Berent, Vaeren and Ro exchange some hand signs. Then, Ro runs up to Berent, drawing her knife! Dagne steps in front of her just in time, the blade deflecting off their armor. Vaeren draws their knife as well. Orim grabs their wrist. They switch to the other hand and throw the knife! It flies true, burying itself in Berent’s shoulder. Dagne looks at Vaeren and Ro, but they say nothing. Instead, they scoop Berent Rischer up and start to run for it. Ivis, alarmed by the turn of events, follows. Orim punches Vaeren in the face to stun them and joins the two in flight.

“Cut them off, stop them from escaping!” Vaeren orders Ro and Aleksas. For his part, Aleksas is just confused, why are you trying to kill Berent when he’ll be executed anyway in Korth? Vaeren replies that they are under orders to do so, orders that Dagne is disregarding. They begin their pursuit.

As they flee, Orim changes to Murlo and calls Levistus. “Yes?” The imp asks as it appears from invisibility. “Stall Vaeren for us!” Murlo begs. “Sure, I can do that,” Levistus flies towards Vaeren in crow form and pecks at them. Vaeren pulls off her mask and bats the crow out of the air with it. Dagne and Ivis run much faster than Murlo, who ends up overtaken by Vaeren as everyone exits the sewers. The two up front cut their way through the streets, hurrying to the lightning rail station. Dagne flashes their royal orders in front of the clerk to be let aboard. Vaeren runs onto the platform just as the rail pulls out. They stand still for a second, watching it speed away. Finally, they tie their mask back on and walk back to the hotel in defeat.

Back at the hotel, Vaeren locks themselves in their room, the room they had been sharing with Dagne. Ro, just thoroughly pissed by the day’s events, takes to wrecking the room. They get kicked out of the hotel and have to fork over two galifars in damages. Nux, in their own room, looks up at the ceiling, “thanks for trying to help.” “It’s alright,” Levistus responds, “I can try to help ya since I’m here anyway.” “Still, thank you.” “You should try to remove the Mark of Kyrzin as soon as possible. They’ll come after you again.” “Do you know how they found me?” “No.” “Do you know what the ritual was for?” “Such rituals are usually performed in exchange for a boon. I have no idea if that’s true in this case, though.” Nux pulls a dragonshard out of their pack, “here.” Levistus is confused, “what am I supposed to do with this?” “It’s for helping me out, take it.” Because Nux insists, Levistus takes the eberron dragonshard, turning it over in its hands curiously.

Eventually, Nux goes to check in on Vaeren. They knock on their door, and Vaeren opens it. “Can I come in?” “Why?” Something is off about Vaeren’s tone. Nux can’t quite place it, but their voice is strained. “You don’t deserve to be alone,” Nux responds, walking in and sitting down next to the window. Vaeren closes the door and sits down beside them. The two are silent for a long time, each one reflecting on Dagne’s absence.

On the lightning rail trip to Korth, Dagne is for the most part quiet, steeling themselves for what they are about to do. They had made a big show of claiming the orders were a test, but it was an unfounded claim, based only on a hunch, no, a hope. Dagne and Ivis disboard, escorting Berent through the streets. Dagne leads them unerringly towards High Court Ward, towards Crown Home. Dagne stops square in front of the gate and knocks. A soldier in full plate answers. “Do you have business here?” “Yes,” Dagne produces their orders from King Kaius and asks to be let inside. The soldier first wishes to know who Dagne’s companions are, and they say that they’re a captured prisoner and a companion who helped them carry out their orders. Apparently satisfied, the soldier opens the gate and leads them inside. Two more soldiers appear to take Dagne and Ivis’ weapons and escort them through Crown Home. Soon, one soldier knocks on a door. “Your Highness. One of your agents has come to report.”

The king opens the door. It’s a small, private meeting room. Inside stands a changeling, who glances over at Dagne curiously before turning and leaving from another exit. As they do turn, Dagne notices a thurimbar rod at their belt. “Your Highness.” Dagne says, “I’m sorry, but I was unable to complete your orders. However, I bring you Berent Rischer alive.” King Kaius nods, “that’s very principled of you. Guardsman, bring this one to prison and question him.” One of the soldiers leads Berent off. He then has Dagne come into the room, but Ivis has to remain outside. King Kaius shuts the door, “this room is soundproof and protected against scrying. You did good, Almante. You’ve proven yourself trustworthy.”

“Trusted to fulfill your orders or trusted to behave in a consistent manner, Your Highness?” Dagne asks. “Trusted to fulfill my orders without breaking your own moral code. There are few uncompromisable people in these times.” Wanting more time to consider that, Dagne changes the subject, giving the king the list of names Berent Rischer gave. Kaius looks at the list, “this is even better than I expected. We can use this to deal a significant blow to the Order.” Then, with a grin, he adds, “I’ll knight you when this is over. How about that?” Ready to be direct and ignoring the offer, Dagne changes the subject again. “Pardon my asking, but why have your wife send orders to one of my party members to kill Berent Rischer?” They’re unable to maintain an amiable tone, a bit of anger slipping into their voice. “Another test,” King Kaius dismisses their anger. “Did Vaeren pass?” The king smiles, “I would say so.”

“And why seek me out as an agent?” Dagne can’t help but let some of their suspicion show as well. “Simply put,” King Kaius responds, “you have no connections, aside from a personal loyalty to one man in particular. You have no ties to the warlords, Red Watchers, or Emerald Claw. You’re principled, and, as we have just proven, incorruptible. You recognize that I act in the interest of peace, a goal you share. And you have a group of powerful companions who listen to you. The principles of war developed in the past one hundred years dictate using every resource available to ensure victory. I am simply following these principles.” Dagne is quiet for a moment, mulling it over. King Kaius’ words seem true. There is just one more thing they came here to do.

“Up until recently, Ivis, the man outside, was affiliated with the Emerald Claw. I want you to pardon him, as he betrayed his own commander and aided me in bringing in Berent Rischer.” King Kaius blinks in surprise, “and he’s just a soldier?” “Yes.” He thinks for a second before giving his response, “very well. I can do that. Is there anything else? I was in the middle of an important meeting when you barged in.” “Can you brief me on this Shadow War?” “Yes. I already intend to send you a letter with everything you should know.” Dagne nods to the king and steps back out into the hallway.

Ivis, who had been leaning against the wall, stands up straight when Dagne comes out. “Well, that’s sure something, getting to talk to the king himself,” he smiles nervously. “Let’s go get a drink and talk about it,” Dagne offers. “Sure. There’s a military bar here in Korth that I know of, if it’s still open.” Once the pair are escorted back out to the street, Ivis leads Dagne to a bar called The Scabbard. It’s full of wolves and white lions. The two get a booth in the back and sit down with their drinks. Dagne takes a sip through their straw, keeping their visor down, an action which thoroughly baffles Ivis, though he does not dare comment aloud.

Finally, Dagne speaks first, “I’ve secured you a royal pardon.” It takes Ivis a second to process, then he grins and takes a big drink, “that is great news!” “Of course, you’re still in danger of the Emerald Claw retaliating.” “I’m not sure about that,” but Ivis’ grin fades as he realizes “...oh yeah, that one arbalest.” “Not to worry. Go to Atur, find the guide Nenad Rukavina. Tell him I sent you and of your situation. He can get you access to a cosmetic transmuter who will keep quiet and not ask questions,” as Dagne speaks, they produce a bag of coins and press it into Ivis’ hands. As the magnitude of Dagne’s kindness dawns on Ivis, he mutters, “then I can do just about anything. The Order traps you, but now I’m out.” “Indeed, you are out.” Ivis looks away, “I wish some of the others could have gotten out.”

Wanting to know for sure, Dagne asks what happened to his comrades after their party let them go outside the tomb. He reveals that they returned to the Emerald Claw base, but something was different. There was a new uneasiness in the ranks, whispers in the night. Then his commander discovered that there was a plot to betray the base’s location to the military in exchange for immunity. The men had decided among themselves that they ought to escape the Emerald Claw. Everyone under his commander, except himself, who was allegedly the only one with no knowledge of the plot, was killed and raised as undead. Dagne asks what his commander was named, and Ivis tells them he was called Severin Waller. He had been his commander for a long time, since the Last War. That was how he and the rest of his men joined the Order, they just followed their commander.

“Well, you’re your own commander now. You can strive to right the wrong of the past now,” Dagne offers. “Well, I’m not sure what I’m going to do, but now I can figure something out. Warriors are still needed, even if the war’s over, and there are a few places someone could vanish to to escape the Order’s gaze. Q’barra, the Eldeen…” Dagne finishes their drink, “I wish you luck in your future endeavors and I hope your divinity within is not quenched.” “The same to you,” Ivis replies. With everything said, Dagne boards the lightning rail bound back toward Karrlakton, while Ivis heads on to Atur.

The King’s Pawn adventure is complete. The party takes 1 XP.

Dagne gathers the party and tells them they’re going to Greenheart, now. No more delays, if the party leaves and travels nonstop, they should be able to arrive by Eyre 9th, an eighteen day trip. Feeling responsible for the trip, Vel sells their dragonshards to buy rations and the lightning rail tickets to Rekkanmark. Then, the party sets out. From Karrlakton to Rekkanmark by rail, then a ferry to Thaliost. Not stopping, they board another lighting rail to Passage, where they find a boat to take them across Lake Galifar. With that, there’s no more infrastructure than a road. The party has to walk.

Well, not everyone in the party. Dagne calls upon the divinity of the party, their community, and wills it to take shape. A skeleton horse dressed in black armor appears. Vel is taken off guard when Dagne offers to let them ride behind them on the skeleton horse, which Dagne names Coffin. Despite being put off by the undead creature, Vel agrees. It beats walking.

As the party heads into the woods, Vaeren seems to be in their element, soon taking the lead. Ro walks behind. Eventually though, the two of them sense that the group is not alone. There’s another party following them, a couple miles away. When Vaeren reports this, Vel looks alarmed and looks behind them, but they are unable to detect such distant people.

“Hey, Levistus?” Vel asks. “Yes?” The imp responds. “Can you see who’s following us?” “Yeah. It’s the cult.” Vel cries out and goes pale, gripping onto the saddle tightly so they don’t fall. “We can lie in wait for them in the woods,” Levistus continues. “How many were there?” Vel asks. “Thirteen,” the imp responds, and, seeing Vel scared, adds, “I can help you fight them.” “No,” Dagne grabs their poleaxe, “we don’t need your help.” They attempt a swing at the imp, but it flies out of the way and Vel catches it, holding it behind themselves. “If we’re going to attack them,” Vel tells Dagne, “we can’t let any of them get away, and we have to get them to talk. If they’re here, there will be more.” “Perhaps,” Levistus suggests, “you can wait for them to make camp for the night, kill them in their sleep, except one. Keep that one as a prisoner until you get information from them.” Horrified, Vel drops Levistus, and the imp resumes flying beside Coffin. “Let’s just outrun them,” Vel says. Dagne agrees, they’re a smaller party, and will probably be able to reach Greenheart first.

Strangely though, the cultist move faster than they ought to. They take few breaks, and tirelessly close the distance. Soon, they just out of bow range. Seeing that they will be caught, the group decides to leave the road and head a ways into the forest in order to get some cover from the terrain. As the cultists close in, Dagne smears a bit of blood on Ro’s face, creating a shield of faith. Ro powers up her symbiotic entity, feeling the familiar rush of vitality lended to her by her spores. Vaeren and Vel hide behind large trees, finding good angles to shoot arrows and sling spells. The cultists, fanned out, walk close enough.

Vaeren steps out from behind cover and fires two arrows. One cuts across an orc’s arm, the other goes through their side. They stop, wincing, but make no sound! Nym flies forth from Vaeren’s spirit idol and slashes the orc, and this finally breaks the silence as they scream in fear of the ghost. That scream seems to break a spell. Four cultists duck out from behind trees and shoot arrows at Dagne, two of their shots hitting true. Another cultist chooses Ro as their target instead, the arrow grazing her.

The orc Vaeren shot at rushes her and swing a club at them. It goes wide, but they swing back around and knock them with it. A human cultist hurries to join, charging at Vaeren with a spear. It catches them in the chest, but it luckily mostly stopped by their armor. As the cultist tries another thrust, Vaeren draws their scimitar and parries. A minotaur, one who Vel recognizes as a great warrior, charges right for them. They duck under his mace, but then get caught by a shield bash to the face. Vel touches her nose to feel blood. An orc charges at Dagne and tries to stab them, but cannot penetrate their armor.

In the back, an orc raises a wooden staff, and an eye on the middle of it snaps open. He shouts in Daelkyr, words that Vel can understand but are nonetheless devoid of much meaning, “sick! Sick! Venom! Sick!” Then he points the staff at Ro. She gets her shield up just in time to block the ray of green light. Beside the spellcaster, a half-orc produces some herbs and mud, tossing them in the air. Then in Daelkyr, she says one word: “shatter.”

“Get down!” Vel shouts, moments before they, Dagne, Ro, and the orc attacking Dagne are all caught in the concussive blast. Their ears ring in the aftermath, but luckily Vel and Ro were able to duck underneath the center of the spell. Dagne is rattled powerfully in their armor.

Not giving the group any time to recover, a human woman enveloped in a translucent ooze, holding a greatsword made of pulsing flesh and bone, rushes Dagne. She swings her sword and knocks them hard in the helmet with the flat of her blade.

“I think I could be of assistance,” a strange voice, deep and cutting, announces. A blue devil with a spiky beard of tentacles, holding a glaive walks into view. “Who the hell are you?!” Vel demands. “I’m also Levistus,” the bearded devil explains calmly, “we’re all the same thing.” Vel throws up their hands in exasperation and refocuses on the fight, raising their jar of mud. It freezes as their shatter goes off. The ooze woman, orc facing Dagne, and two other cultists are caught within the blast. However, the ooze around the woman hardens and allows her to weather it better than the other three.

Seeing that she has some serious protection, Dagne issues a vow of enmity to the lady in ooze. Then, they thrust forwards with their spearpoint. It strikes her in the midsection, but, as expected, the ooze mostly stops the blow. Dagne pulls back and strikes again. It goes through, cleanly, easily, straight through the woman’s ribs. Shocked, Dagne watches as she slides off their poleaxe. The ooze sloughs off her skin. She’s dead.

The bearded devil changes places with Vel so they’re out of melee with the minotaur, then attacks him with its glaive and tentacle beard. An orc runs up to Levistus to help the beset minotaur, but the devil parries the attack and gets in close, ready to strike out with its beard. A human and a half-orc rush Ro, who’s able to parry and duck the first’s attacks, but takes a nasty gash in the chest from the second’s axe. Her spores lash out against the human, and then she darts in and hits them hard with her shillelagh. The force of the blow crushes the whisperer’s ribs, and they fall to the ground, dead. Seeing their companion so easily dispatched, the half-orc cries out in fear and rage.

——————

Highlights:

Ivis is the best. If he dies or betrays us I will be crushed.

Orim was absurdly badass during the fight with the golems. Gets grappled, doesn’t try to get away, shoots the thing point blank with eldritch blast, and then gets tossed like a ragdoll and knocked out? Then while making death saves, the player tells us to heal them afterwards, to finish the fight? Omg.

Vaeren has reached a new level of concerning this week. Trying to kill Berent Rischer, the party’s prisoner? Messed up. It really shows that they are willing to follow any order without hesitation. However, the fact that they were crying after Dagne left is interesting.

Ro is also concerning this week. Killing that cultist on purpose? Yeesh. Have one intra-party fight and now people are disregarding the no killing policy.

Levistus is very “how do you do fellow kids” and I am suspicious. I am loving Nux befriending them and I am so excited for that to turn out to be a terrible idea.

Dagne finally killed someone. It was an accident but still. Hoo boy they are not feeling good about that. Also, their betrayal of the party for their own morals feels iffy to me. Yes I’m the one who did it but I think I regret it. I should’ve tried to talk it out instead of running away, and now I’m going to have to deal with a loss of credibility in the party’s eyes.

This week was hard. Hard to play, hard to write about. It was a very unsatisfying session, I think. We didn’t resolve the mess of a conflict between Ro and Vaeren and Dagne and Nux. Which makes sense, it’s the type of conflict which will be hard to resolve.

Session 16.

[primofate]

im feeling kinda akward since its my first time requesting,i really really really like your writings and im wondering if you could do some angst for albedo, anything you feel like tbh, but if may i be a little selfish i was thinking on something like he hurt you, so you break up with him or maybe he break up with you and regret later, im in love with the genius and your writings so why not lol, hope you are doing well, xoxoxooxox

Thanks for the request anon. <3 Sorry it took so long, but I’m feeling angst today so here goes. Let me know what you think <3

QUEUED POST

Scenario: Breaking up

Characters: gn! reader x Albedo

Warnings: angst, break ups, regrets, did I say angst?

Categories: angst in Part 1, comfort in Part 2 (It was getting too long so split it into two parts)

Read: (Part 2) (Part 3 - Final)

Albedo

Alone.

These days you found yourself alone in your shared home. It had been nearly a year since the two of you decided to live together. Maybe that was a bad idea.

You were smitten. He was such an intelligent man, and truth be told you loved how his mind worked. He was silent and mostly kept to himself at first, but with you, there were subtle touches, fleeting kisses. Oh and his eyes, the way his eyes brightened or the way his lips turned up at the sight of you. The way he held you close at nights, up until the morning.

Gone were those days. 

He was hardly home. The intelligent man you had fallen in love with, was also a workaholic. Perhaps you should’ve seen it coming. There were so many signs.

Maybe he changed. Maybe you changed. But the little things weren’t enough anymore. He came home just to sleep and wake up, and he was off again. 

“Bedo, have you got some time off on the weekend? We haven’t been up to Starsnatch Cliff in a while,” you had prodded him a few days ago, wondering if the problem would be solved if you made the first move. 

“Sorry, Y/N, we’re just about to discover more about the properties of electro crystals... It’ll be useful if we want to sustain higher energy concentrations on...” and just like that he had gone off a tangent explaining the whole thing. You smiled a little, it was still endearing how excited he got discussing those things. 

But you couldn’t help but be lonely at how he seemed to love his research more than you. 

‘Maybe I just need to be more proactive. That’s it! I’ll go and visit him at the lab today!’ Surprising him was one of the things that you had always wanted to do. But not a lot of things got past Albedo. He was observant like that. You made a quick run to the bakery, getting him some croissants and welcomed yourself into the Favonius Headquarters. 

You looked up at the sign on his laboratory door. That sign was always there though, Klee had told you about it, and Sucrose had also talked about it once or twice before, telling you that it wouldn’t be a good idea to go in if the sign was up. But when was it ever down? So, you shrugged, and pushed the door open with a wide smile.

“What are you doing here?!” There’s a wild look in Albedo’s eyes the moment you step in. He didn’t appreciate being disturbed. You tilted your head a little at his reaction, you weren’t expecting that.

“Oh, since you’ve been so busy these days I just thought I’d drop by and give you something to--”

“Y/N, did you not see the sign on the door? No disturbances, even from you,”

“I’ll just be quick, I’m just dropping this off,” you lift the paper bag from the bakery and lay it down on the nearest table. Albedo closes his eyes with a sigh. 

“...We’re working on something dangerous right now, I don’t have time to eat. Please take it back,”

Surprisingly, you obey quite quickly, and take the paper bag back into your hands. Annoyance start to pulse in your veins. “Anything else you want me to do? Maybe disappear so I don’t bother you or your research so much?”

Sucrose had been standing there the whole time, and you can see the slight wince on her face at your cold statement... But Albedo had returned it ten fold, snapping an answer back. “Yes, Y/N, that would be excellent, don’t get in the way. Stop being irritating at the wrong moment,”

You didn’t expect how much it would sting. Your shoulders slump downwards at the realization that this... had gone too far. You couldn’t take it anymore. Sucrose opens her mouth, but doesn’t know what to say looking back and forth between you and Albedo. 

The Kreideprinz had continued with his task as if nothing had happened at all, but he knew what he said. He didn’t want any interferences nor accidents happening in the lab and that was the only thing he cared about at the moment. 

Your foot moves to step back, but your eyes are glued to Albedo. You can only see his back. His hair tied up neatly, the shoulders that you loved to wrap your arms around and his hands that were always gentle. You took a good look, drinking the whole scene in like you hadn’t had a drop of water in days. 

This was the last time you would lay eyes on him and it broke you into so many pieces. You turned away without another word, Sucrose staring at the door, before she decided that she needed to follow you. “I-I’ll be back, Master Albedo,” she rarely ever abandoned an experiment, but she knew that you needed a friend right now. 

Ironic, because it should have been Albedo running after you, but instead the green-haired girl caught up to you just as you reached the fountain in the middle of Mondstadt. “Y/N!” she jogs, and stops when you do as you hear your name.

Tears prickled your cheeks, but they were more of frustration than sadness. You stand there for a moment, drying your tears and turning around towards Sucrose, gaze on the pavement. “Y/N...” Sucrose approaches carefully, hand resting on your shoulder.

“...I don’t know anything other than Albedo, Sucrose,” you start, a curtain of memories flashing through your mind. “...Without him, there isn’t much reason for me to stay in Mondstadt,” Sucrose shakes her head rather hastily. “H-He’s just... a little occupied right now, Y/N, I’m sure he doesn’t mean what he said,” You close your eyes, the scene repeating in your head.

“Anything else you want me to do? Maybe disappear so I don’t bother you or your research so much?”

“Yes, Y/N, that would be excellent, don’t get in the way. Stop being irritating at the wrong moment,”

A hard lump forms on your throat at how hard you try not to sob. How hard you try to keep yourself together and Sucrose sees it from the way your lips tremble. “Sucrose, please watch over him,” and that is also the last that Sucrose sees of you. 

That night, Albedo arrives home exhausted, just as he always does. But now that he was home, he could at least expect a warm meal and a warm hug. A soft smile tugs on his lips at the thought.

When he turned the lights on, he was met with a strange stillness instead. His hand stays on the switch as his eyes scan the living room. It was...quiet. There were no plates on the table, and there were no sounds from the kitchen.

Deep in the pits of his stomach there’s an anxiety that starts bubbling up. He brushes it off, opting instead to check the kitchen. “Y/N?”

Empty. 

His footsteps hasten as he opens the bedroom door, expecting you to be curled up there, asleep. 

Empty.

Albedo takes in a shaky breath. You were probably just out in town, doing some late night shopping. Yeah, that’s it, perhaps you just didn’t have enough ingredients for dinner today and--his eyes land on the bedside table.

The photo frame is gone. The photo of the two of you standing side by side together with comfortable smiles on your faces, his hand on your waist, and the house on the background. 

He throws open the closet doors. Your clothes are gone. Your shoes are gone. Even your scent seemed to have disappeared. The anxiety that was once a small bubble in his stomach had started to claw it’s way out, wrenching his heart in places that he didn’t know could hurt. The tears pooling in his eyes were so foreign that he didn’t even know what was happening until he hears himself gasp back a sob.

You’re gone. 

Suddenly it was so hard to breathe, but he pulls himself up and out the door. There’s no way. Where would you go? Perhaps you were just around Mondstadt, trying to get a breath of fresh air to calm your nerves. He searches everywhere. The church, the tavern, the Good Hunter and even atop the rooftop of the Favonius Headquarters. There was a decent view of the city there, and his eyes roam the streets, just to get a glimpse of you.

“...Please...” There’s another lump in his throat, his eyes dart around looking for any small sign of you. 

“Albedo? Tired?” you ask as he returns home one day. He merely lets out a small “Mm,” and pulls a chair out from the dining table to sit on. You walk into the kitchen to fetch him a cup of tea, and he snatches your hand to press a soft kiss on the back of it. “Thank you, love,” 

“...Please!” his grip on the stone walls of the rooftop tighten. His vision blurs.

“Al! Don’t do that!” you try to swat his hand away from the pot, a short laugh coming off of your lips at how mischievous he could be sometimes, trying to dip his finger into the sauce. He has a grin on his face as he successfully tastes the sauce off his finger, making a sound of approval as he draws you in for a light kiss on your forehead, “It’s good, as always,” 

His legs buckle, and he finds himself on his knees, hands fisted upon the cold stone wall. “At least tell me where you've gone! I can’t--” he doesn’t know when the last time he cried was, but whenever it was, he doesn’t remember it to be this bad. The pain was unlike any injury he had, it grasped so tightly at his heart.

“Anything else you want me to do? Maybe disappear so I don’t bother you or your research so much?”

“Yes, Y/N, that would be excellent, don’t get in the way. Stop being irritating at the wrong moment,”

He furiously shakes his head because he knows that it was his fault. “I didn’t mean it, please give them back,” as if there was someone else who took you away. As if there was a God listening to him right now. 

He realizes that the worst of it was not that you had left, but that you had left no traces of you behind. No photo. Not a piece of clothing. Not a trace of your existence.

Nothing for him to hold on to.

That night, he dragged himself back home. Face flushed and hot from the tears he had shed and the ones he was attempting to hold back.

That night, he painfully got into bed.

Alone.

Taglist:  @larkspyrr @rim0na @sweeti-pie @l3mon-mxshroom @hai-q-haikyuu @tkshoki @kyquu @KimbapSana @fanfictionenthusiast

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[peterthepark]

Could I request a Andrew Garfield Peter Parker x reader where reader gets kidnapped as someone trying to hurt Spider-Man with a happy or happyish ending?

here u go love! hopefully i brought it into fruition :)

take me home

pairing: tasm!peter parker x f!reader

tags: kidnappings, depictions of violence and blood, wounds, kinda angsty kinda fluffy, husband!peter, mentions of anxiety and loss, happy ending, she/her prns, mentions of God and church, venom and symbiote

summary: peter doesn’t know where y/n has gone and deals with the aftermath of trying to locate her.

note: sorry this took forever to get up bb!!! enjoy! trying out a diff pov for this one :)

missing out? ➤ my masterlist

The place is cold. It’s almost as if a storm has come through — a shattered window, the fist-shaped hole in the wall, the fallen vase that once held a bouquet of roses, and the torn photo of her and Peter that once hung above the fireplace mantle. It invokes tears into his vision, and suddenly, he finds himself unable to breathe in the space of his own home.

Home.

How could it be home if Y/N wasn’t here?

Peter balls his fists into the knitted blanket on the couch, shutting his eyes to inhale her lingering perfume. He wishes it were a dream, that she would walk into the room at this moment and greet him with a sweet kiss to commemorate his return from patrol, to tell him that the house was just a mess and he had nothing to worry about — he always worried. Peter thinks of her warm hands, the softness of her palms, her gaze of unconditional love. He imagines her sitting in his lap as they rest in their big red armchair, eating nothing but bowls of cereal and making fun of each other as they watch TV. But as he opens his heavy eyelids to stare at the doorway to the living room with diminishing optimism, he realizes that she, in fact, isn’t going to come back at all. Someone had been here, and someone had stolen his home from him.

The tearful boy has no choice but to push those emotions aside, struggling to catch his breath as he began eyeing the state of their house. He needs to focus if he wanted to find Y/N. The study room is the worst out of all; the papers she had been grading for the past week were scattered across the hardwood floor, the desk was no longer upright, the bookshelf was indented — he winces at the thought of her needing to put up a fight — and the novel Y/N had been reading was decorated with drops of blood. His gloved hand brushes over it, and he shudders at the knowledge of her being hurt.

He avoids calling her mother or father, not wanting to worry them until he knows what happened here. His steps are quick as he scans the house once again. Peter’s throat tightens at the sight of the doorknob to their bedroom, and his worried eyes finally widen as he realizes who — what took Y/N.

The black thick liquid swirls around the brass knob. Peter doesn’t hesitate any longer, barreling out the front door and swinging out onto the streets like second nature.

He knew Eddie Brock had been holed up in some Catholic church right outside of the city. And he also knew that Brock was losing control of the venomous symbiote within him, blinded by hatred for Spider-Man and the world around him.

What better way to taunt the hero than to take the love of his life?

Peter doesn’t bother to make a silent entrance. His gracefulness and suave as Spider-Man has vanished by the time he opens the double doors to the church with a shout, sweat accumulating beneath the confines of his mask.

“Eddie!” He yells with tears in his eyes, voice cracking as he doubles over. His hands rest on the tops of his thighs, and he finds himself bordering on insane at the emptiness of the building and the echo of his broken voice. His chest feels tight, like anytime his whole body would collapse and the hero tears his mask away from his head.

The crucifix at the front of the church is nothing but a mockery. Peter can’t look at it.

If God was real, then how could He let Y/N face this alone?

Peter freezes at the shuffling noise behind the altar. He turns quickly, shooting a web out once he feels the familiar shiver of his spine.

“Darling?” The choked sound has his bones trembling.

Y/N peeks out from behind the marble fixture. He lets out a garbled sigh, and rushes over to embrace his lover. Up close, he studies the purplish bruises surrounding Y/N’s right eye, the bloody split of her bottom lip, and the huge gash along her abdomen.

“Oh, Y/N.” Peter cries, kissing into the tangles of her hair. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Pete, he’s still here.” She croaked, looking up at him with fearful and terrified eyes. “He said he wants to kill you.”

Almost like Eddie had been waiting for the right moment, he emerges from the shadows. The contrasting black suit to the Spider-Man one makes Peter’s soft features harden.

“I thought you said you’d leave Y/N out of this.”

“I said a lot of things, Peter.” Eddie shrugs. Peter winces at the drops of dark liquid falling from his fingertips. “Just be thankful you aren’t a widower tonight.”

Peter grows mad.

Y/N moans painfully under Peter’s touch, kicking out her legs as he applies pressure to the stomach wound. He takes his eyes off Eddie briefly, searching her face. “Apply pressure. You’ll be okay. I love you.”

She nods through shut-eyes, whispering the declaration of love under her breath as she clutches her torn blouse.

The blood stains the wedding band on her finger.

Peter doesn’t speak to Eddie any longer.

A couple punches are thrown, grunts ringing through the church as the colors of the sacred stained glass cast over Venom and Spider-Man.

Eddie is much stronger than him, but Peter is quick and agile. His only goal was to get Y/N out of here safely — out of here alive.

To take her home.

Peter evades the monster quickly, weaving in and out from between its legs and over its shoulders to keep him in a tight chokehold. The spider is thrown onto the altar, cracking the marble in half as he coughs out blood from the impact. He searches for Y/N in the chaos, seeing his wife behind one of the tall pillars, watching with slumped shoulders and a broken form as she struggles to stand. Peter rolls away before the symbiote can crush him, sliding behind the altar. He effortlessly picks up the broken pieces of marble, throwing it at the monster in defense.

The collision sends Venom flying backwards, and the stone clashes over its head as a result of Peter’s fear and anger. He’s out cold, and the hero takes the moment of vulnerability to scoop Y/N into his strong arms.

“Is he dead?” She whispers as Peter relieves her of walking, shooting a web outside the open window by one of the pews.

“You’re gonna be okay now. I’ve got you.”

“Are you alright?”

“I should be asking you that.”

By the time Peter gets to the house, Y/N is unconscious. His worry doesn’t reach the extreme, since he can still hear her shallow and wheezy breaths, plus the slow heartbeat in her ribcage.

He lays her down on the couch, like she had done many times to him before. Fishing out the first-aid kit from beneath the coffee table, his clumsy hands dig through for sutures and bandages. He rids her of the bloodied shirt, kissing at her forehead as she stirs at the movement.

“Thank you, Peter.” She mumbles, hissing as Peter cleans the bloody slash.

“For what?” He whispers, meeting your gaze for a second.

“For saving me. Like you always do. I was so scared that something would happen if — if you came. Part of me wished that you wouldn’t just in case he’d try to harm you.”

Peter tugs his lip between his teeth. “Y/N, I will always be there to protect you. No matter what. Even if it hurts me, as long as you’re okay, it’ll make it all better.” He presses his nose against Y/N’s hand before moving to kiss the ring on her finger. “You have my life. You are my life. I vowed to save you the moment I met you.”

“And the moment you married me.” She smiles down at him, letting her hand tousle with the curls in his hair. “I love you.”

“I love you more.” He tears his eyes away from her face, focusing on stitching up the gnarly wound.

Peter feels at home now.

And fulfilled, knowing that he would get to spend another day with Y/N And another. And hopefully more.

After all, home is where the heart is.

And his heart was hers.

-

[theficpusher]

Contact by myownspark | nr | 2483 A short story about two men navigating the wilderness.

Unto You by LadyLondonderry | T | 3671 Louis is a lamplighter celebrating the saturnalia season in his own way. Harry is heavily pregnant and new in the city. The holiday of Christmas is yet to be created.

Manifest Destiny by casuallyhl | E | 15210 Harry and Louis had fallen into bed together again that night, mouths greedy and hands needy. And now every time Louis stops at Fort Kearney, even if it’s weeks in between, he and Harry spend the night together. The nights are always filled with heat and passion, and it gives Louis something to think on fondly as he rides across the western territories carrying sacks of mail. They’ve never talked about it, and they’ve never kissed. Louis doesn’t know if he wants either of those things to change, but he knows that his presence in Harry’s life is sporadic at best. Probably best to leave things be. Or, Louis is a Pony Express rider and Harry runs a station along the trail.

Leave Your Damage Behind and Gone by QuickedWeen | T | 15673 It's the spring of 1882 and Sir Louis Tomlinson is a simple man with simple needs. Money. Running an old estate and dairy farm costs money, and he would much rather focus on his science experiments than take a trip to the Exposició Universal de Barcelona to beg for funding especially when everyone there is English anyway. He's taking a walk one night to clear his head when he comes upon something mysterious on the beach that may or may not change his life forever.

No One Like You by myownspark | M | 19924 Dear Niall, I was glad to have the chance to talk with you again at the AHA conference. Your idea that the Musee D’Orsay Tomlinson painting is in fact not a self-portrait is an intriguing one, and I may have discovered something that will have a bearing on that theory. Some background: as you may remember, I’ve been researching for a book I’m writing about Harry Styles. I’ve been in communication with Styles’ last living descendant, who is in possession of a trunk that her family believed to have belonged to Styles himself. It held some personal items she presumes to be his, including two unmounted paintings and a small collection of letters. Upon spending the last few days in Provins studying these items, I believe there to be a connection between Tomlinson and Styles, and I would very much like your opinion. Are you up for a trip to France? Sincerely, Liam Payne Where Liam and Niall are art historians discovering the truth about two nineteenth century painters on opposite sides of an artistic divide.

And down the long and silent street by whimsicule | M | 86090 The year is 1881 and if you’re alone in this world you might as well be dead, because starving dogs have no mercy. Or: Wherein Louis and Harry are on the opposite ends of the social ladder, but their paths still cross on the filthy streets Louis calls his home. The odds are staked against them from the beginning, and even more when Louis' past finally catches up with him.

Coax the Cold by MediaWhore | M | 86440 England, 1897. English Professor Louis Tomlinson’s passion for the occult has been a source of mockery and derision for most of his life. When he hears whispers of a travelling freak show newly established in London claiming the existence of a monstrous sea hybrid, half-man, half-fish, Louis sees it as his ticket to credibility amongst his peers. The summer he spends undercover working on the show, however, gives him much more than that.

Victorian Boy by audreyhheart | E | 101209 Victorian AU. Harry the virgin Duke of Somerset knows little of love, while Louis the sly Duke of Warwick knows too much. When the two dukes come together for the Bilsdale fox hunt in York, Harry finds himself drawn into Louis' bed. But when secrets from Louis' dark past come to light, Harry fears that the fox isn't the only one being hunted.

A Taste of Desire by casuallyhl | E | 104414 “As forward as I have been with you this evening, I am also aware this dinner party isn’t the place to conduct business.” Mr. Tomlinson chuckles quietly to himself, shooting a subtle glance across the table towards their hostess. “And besides, I am sure our hostess would be horribly disappointed to learn that we went away this evening with a business agreement and not a mating one.” Harry, who had been sipping his wine, coughs harshly at this. He splutters, unaccustomed to such blatant statements about mating. Mr. Tomlinson continues to laugh quietly, clearly pleased at Harry’s reaction. “Mrs. Humphreys promised that there was an alpha attending the dinner tonight that I would certainly get on well with,” Mr. Tomlinson continues, voice teasing. “She assured me that we would have much in common since we both work with mills.” Mr. Tomlinson glances at Harry, eyes flashing with mirth. “Little did she know that would be where our mutual interests began and ended.” Or, a Victorian ABO where Harry is the owner of the most successful cotton mill in Manchester, and Louis is an opinionated social activist about to disrupt Harry’s world.

[beckface]

Oh lord, I just had the worst idea on how to add Rhyme and Reason to the zombie apocalypse AU.

Rhyme survived, but Reason didn't. All those superpowers she has, and she wasn't strong enough to save her best friend so she's wracked with survivors guilt. She no longer rhymes because she needed Reason to help her with it, and rhyming brings back painful memories. She wears her peanut butter toast necklace and Reason's jelly toast necklace together as tragic keepsakes of her fallen friend.

She's barricaded herself inside and lives all alone in an ice fortress made from her own frost breath with spiky walls to keep the zombies out and she wanders the city, to scavenge for supplies. She's wondering why she's even still going at this point. There's nothing left for her.

I'm gonna go cry now from thinking about it.

Rhyme becomes the ice queen REAL

She talks to the necklace like it’s him sometimes, and those are the ONLY times she rhymes anymore.

She wishes she could just freeze herself and sleep in the ice but her body is naturally made to withstand the cold. So she just stays in her little area, tired and sad. Missing him.

One day the main group is trying to fend off a zombie hoard without killing them, and Reason is in it. Becky notices and also Notices that Rhyme isn’t with him. Could there be another survivor?

She flies around and eventually finds Rhyme hidden alone in her castle, sulking. Becky tries to talk to her but Rhyme sees her and tells her to go away. Becky noses in and attempts to convince her to come back to the hideout, but Rhyme attacks her and tells her to leave. Becky’s stronger now and knows Rhyme, so the fight is more even then before.

Rhyme gets one big shove in and yells “LEAVE.” Before collapsing on her knees sobbing. Becky is unsure of what to do and just sits there cross-legged and quiet until Rhyme calms down. Eventually Rhyme just goes silent and Becky is like “Hi uh 😐😑😐 we. I saw Reason.” And explains everything, including how DTB is looking for a cure, reluctantly Rhyme agrees to go back and join the group,

She’s very adamant about not killing the zombies, and bonds with Leslie, who reminds her a lot of Reason

[watercolorfreckles]

Thanks for the Ride - Pt 3

I cannot express how surprised and happy I am that this story has gotten so much attention! I am so, so appreciative of everyone's support and encouragement. Thank you for your interest in my story. I'm not sure yet whether this will be the final part, but for now, I hope you enjoy!

Part 1 Part 2

TW: Violence

Kaira sat curled up on the couch with her cat, flipping between tv channels. Villain and Superhero flitted across the screen in a flash of showy suits, violent attacks, and--in the hero’s case--triumph over the fallen villain; The fallen villain who was really alive. She turned off the screen and hugged Missy close to her chest with shaking hands.

The villain knows where I live... What if he comes back? He had yet to hurt her, but the cold barrel of a gun to her head and the electric hum of a threat in the air certainly showed that he was willing to, if pushed. What if word got out that he was still alive and he assumed she’d told on him? What if he kept coming back and forcing her into being his accomplice again and again until--

Kaira nearly jumped out of her skin as her front door opened and closed with a whine and resounding click.

For a few seconds, she sat frozen.

“Villain?” she called out in a soft tone.

There was no resulting thud of the villain’s chunky boots; no sauntering footsteps that she could pick out of a lineup even after hearing them so few times. Instead, the superhero appeared in the living room doorway without making so much as a sound.

Ever light on his feet.

“Sorry to disappoint, Kaira Flint--” he enunciated, tone sharp, “--but I’m not your little boyfriend.”

Gyro, as the press called him, was the city’s golden boy. Its number one hero. Even now he seemed to drip with sunlight, blonde waves framing a perfectly symmetrical face always smiling. The venomous look he speared her with clashed with the honey smile he wore. It was unnerving, looking...wrong, in the way that shadows do when stretching lanky and sharp under buzzing streetlights.

The 'hero' before her felt entirely different from the one she saw on tv, yet entirely unmistakable at the same time.

Kaira merely stared, every muscle winding tight. “He’s…..I don’t--”

“--Oh but you do.” Gyro treaded closer, steps silent but sure and measured. His feet barely touched the ground. Nothing like Villain’s leisure, teasing steps that affected casualness while still setting every alarm bell in her jangling...

She blinked the comparison away and then the hero was within touching distance.

Gyro smiled again, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Otherwise," he continued, "you wouldn’t have called out his name.”

Missy, the cat, bristled at the intruder’s proximity, hissing at him before scurrying away, hiding under the sofa.

Kaira swallowed. Tracked the hero’s movements with her gaze.

"What makes you think I have something to do with Villain?" Kaira asked, tone slow and cautious.

Gyro's eyes illuminated gold, glowing like a sun of their own as he shifted the gravity surrounding Kaira. She shot up with a shriek and a flail of limbs as her back hit the ceiling and he held her there.

Kaira whimpered before going still, eyes wide.

"That sweet neighbor of yours across the street--old lady with a cane? Yeah, she called it in when she saw you leaving with that cockroach yesterday." The hero shook his head in blatant disappointment, tsking. "Not to mention you returning, alone and unharmed. Helping a dead man evade the Justice Association is a serious offense."

Her stomach sloshed cold.

"I-I have nothing to do with Villain, I swear!" Kaira gasped out. "I was under duress!"

"See, now… I don't believe that's true. If you were truly on our side, you would have called it in yourself the moment you realized Villain was still alive. The anti-power serum would've still been in his system; overpowering him would be child's play for one hero, let alone the entire Justice Association together."

Kaira shook her head adamantly, trembling like a leaf. "No, no, I'm not lying. I-I was scared…"

Gyro's head tilted as he observed her, golden gaze still burning with power.

"Are you scared now, Miss Flint?"

His level voice sent a chill crawling down her spine.

"Do you know how fast, how hard, you have to hit the ground for your bones to shatter?" That not-quite-right, sunny smile was back in full force as the superhero straightened. "Do you know how many newtons of gravity it takes to splat a person like a bug against the hardwood floor? How easy, do you imagine, would that be for a gyrokinetic to accomplish?"

He let her drop with accelerated force, stopping her before she could hit the ground. Kaira screamed, stomach swooping, and in an instant, she was flung back up against the ceiling.

"P-Please--" she squeaked.

Gyro clicked his tongue in warning, his piercing stare holding her in place every bit as effectively as his powers did.

"I'll ask once nicely. Tell me where Villain is hiding."

Kaira opened her mouth to speak, then froze as every hair on her body stood on end. The air suddenly tasted sharp with static and buzzed with energy.

"Now, now, Gyro, isn't terrorizing innocents more my scene than yours?"

Relief cut through Kyra at the sound of the villain's voice. Her gaze flicked to him where he leaned against the doorframe in an air of casualness, lightning sparking the air that surrounded him.

The superhero's eyes hardened as his attention shifted to the villain. "Innocent people don't accomplice with supervillains."

Villain snorted. "She is not my accomplice. I merely stole her car," he purred. "Though I'm afraid I will have to take her from you now. It's the principle in the matter of you calling her mine, you see."

Gyro growled and hurled a chair at the villain, manipulating its gravity into a deadly force. Villain narrowly sidestepped and it crushed into the doorway he'd been lounging against, blowing a massive hole in the wall in a scatter of drywall and dust.

Villain stepped forward, lightning coating his fists as he directed a strike at his nemesis.

Kaira yelped as she crashed to the ground when the attack on the superhero rang true, knocking him hard to the floor and breaking his focus over her. She scrambled back on her hands to get out of their crossfire until her back hit a wall.

The fight continued back and forth like a choreographed dance, destruction piling in their wake. Gyro staggered back and crashed to his knees when the Villain managed to surge him with a jolt of electricity. Burns tattered holes in the hero’s clothes, and his exposed flesh was blotched with smoldering, red skin.

Villain smirked at Gyro, looking pleased, and blew on his finger as if extinguishing candle smoke. "Does anybody smell barbeque?"

Gyro's eyes glowed again, thrusting a hand forward and surging the villain back against Kaira's bookcase where he collided with a crack.

The frame splintered apart at the forceful collision, and his body left a massive dent in the wall behind it.

Villain cried out, a grimace searing across his normally confident expression.

Gyro pushed to his feet. He strode forward to grab his enemy by the throat and threw him to the ground, adjusting the gravity beneath Villain so that the impact cratered the floor.

Villain coughed, a terribly broken sound, and lifted a hand to fight back. Electricity sparked to life in his palm.

The superhero stomped down on Villain's wrist, eliciting another pained groan. The bone crunched under the hero's perfectly polished shoe.

Kaira inhaled sharply, shoving to her feet. "Stop.” She staggered closer before her brain had time to catch up with her.

A lightbulb went off in her mind. Closer...

Gyro rounded on her. His hand shot out, closing around her throat and lifting her into the air.

Kaira gasped for breath, kicking her useless, dangling legs.

"Poor thing." The hero's voice pitied her and he stroked her hair with his free hand. "You want to be Villain's little sidekick? I know he's outnumbered these days, but still, I'd imagine he could do better than the likes of you."

He squeezed tighter and her airway cut off. She clawed at him, scrabbling at his chest and torso before swiping the gun holding the Association's bioweapon from his belt. She pressed the barrel to his neck and squeezed the trigger. The syringe plunged the anti-power serum into his bloodstream.

Gyro let go of her and she crumpled to the floor, coughing. He slapped a hand to the injection spot and swayed on his feet. "Why you--" He lunged for her and Kaira scrambled back.

Hero staggered side to side as the serum started to take effect.

Villain sat up with a labored groan and blasted Gyro with a final crack of lightning. The hero's unconscious body dropped like a rock.

Villain and Kaira both flopped over to lay sprawled on the hardwood floor, straining to catch their breaths.

Moments later, a concerned 'meow' interrupted the quiet. Kaira cracked a smile as Missy sniffed the side of her face, moving on to paw at the villain’s chest.

Villain rasped a cough and his lip twitched into something close to a smile, lifting a bloodied hand to stroke the cat’s back. “Some help you were,” he mocked the animal. “Utterly useless.”

Kaira rubbed her throat and wheezed a harsh cough. Villain’s gaze flicked to her at the sound and he sat up again with effort. “You on the other hand…”

He studied Kaira with that laser interest and her insides swooped with sudden panic.

Kaira took a few more wheezing breaths before speaking, her voice gravelly. “I-I never told anyone about you, I swear. Oh my gods, Gyro knows and-and he thinks I helped--”

The villain smiled, not unkindly. “You did help.”

“--He thinks I’m with you, and the Association must know by now, and look at all the commotion we must’ve just made, the-the attention we’ll draw--”

She slapped both hands over her eyes. She heard the gentle thud of Villain’s boots and her eyes snapped open again. He knelt in front of her, holding her inhaler out to her. It must have fallen on the ground during the fight.

Kaira eyed him warily as she took it, inhaling two puffs.

“He likely would’ve killed me if not for you.”

Kaira swallowed. “How did you know he was here?”

“Ah, I bugged your phone last I was here. Couldn’t have you gossiping about me, now could I? The tabloids live for that sort of thing.”

The corners of her mouth lifted in a gentle smile, but it quickly fell again. “The Association will come for me now, they’ll-they’ll probably lock me away, and oh my gods what if they’re on their way now?” Her gaze snapped up to look at him.

Villain straightened and held a hand out to her. “Come with me. Your firstborn too.” He flashed a winning smile. “I’ll give you a ride.”

Part 4

Taglist: @writing-on-the-wahl, @valiantlytransparentwhispers, @distance-does-not-matter, @redbircl, @lilaccatholic, @crazytwentythrees, @thelazywitchphotographer, @deadlygemuwu

, @chibicelloking, @lolafaiy, @thinkwrite5, @putridghost, @tobeornottobeateacher, @sunflower1000-blog, @bouncyartist, @thanatoastie, @vlerlove,

[separatist-apologist]

Aaaaand part 6 ideas - I think the timing works out and Starfall is coming. Lucien says he can’t come (a calculated lie), but Elain sends down the bond that she went to that shop along the sidra to wear under her dress. They manage to secure a private balcony. Smut ensues.

You know, I thought about doing a serial where like, Elain accidentally accepts the bond and her and Lucien hate fuck for a while before they get to know each other, but I guess we're doing this instead.

Time has no meaning in this ficlet, do not ask me about the timeline or seasons, they change based on a whim and my needs so anyway WELCOME TO COLD WEATHER AGAIN (I think? I'm unsure when Starfall actually is? And honestly, it doesn't matter).

This is, as per usual, NSFW, 18+ and unedited beyond me just glancing at it to make sure there were no red squiggles in word.

--

--

He hadn’t meant to be gone for so long. Spring had fallen to shit and what was supposed to be a two-week stay had morphed into months of trying to convince Tamlin to eat, to legislate, and enforce his border all while Tamlin used him as his personal punching bag. Lucien was exhausted and irritated when Feyre’s invitation for Starfall dropped in his lap.

No I don’t want to go to a party, he thought privately, quickly scrawling back a much politer response. What he wanted was a week of uninterrupted alone time with his mate in which he did every filthy thing he’d been fantasizing about while she begged him for more. Lucien could still taste her in his mouth, could still smell her in the air. She was a brand on his skin, a ghost trailing him everywhere he went. He wondered about her constantly. Was she thinking about him? Did she miss him? Want to see him?

Lucien hoped openly declining an opportunity to see Elain might spur her into reaching out to him in their game and admitting she not only wanted him, but she needed him, too. He was playing aloof, like always but she was just silent. He couldn’t pretend that didn’t disappoint him.

Feyre sent back her disappointment two days later and let the invitation open if he changed his mind. She swore up and down Cassian wanted to chat with him and perhaps the General did. Their friendship was an odd one but comforting and a little familiar. Of all of Rhysand’s inner circle, Lucien liked Cassian best.

He was walking to the stables to patrol Tamlin’s border when a vision slithered down the bond. Elain, standing in front of a mirror, wearing a gown that seemed to be made of pure starlight. Silver and low cut, with capped sleeves and a skin colored lining made it seem as though she only wore the glittering diamonds and nothing else. His mouth went dry at the sight. Had she meant to send it?

Yes. A note followed the image, appearing in the air before him.

Starfall?

That was all she’d written. She might have written pages and pages, for the effect that one word had. Lucien tugged his response back, a resounding yes, absolutely, if I have to crawl I will— and turned abruptly to let Tamlin know he was officially retiring from Spring, and to write if he needed any more assistance.

Back in Velaris, Lucien paid an obscenely large amount of money to secure one of the last private balconies in Velaris. It was far from where Rhysand and his ilk would watch, but still very much out in the open. The edge of the balcony, cut from smooth, gray stone, was thick enough he could hoist Elain up and fuck her brainless if he wanted to.

Lucien very, very much did.

The day before Starfall, Lucien sent Elain only the address and nothing else. There would be no polite teasing, no stolen glances. They would be together…maybe even talk and get to know each other outside of just kissing and touching. The thought of hearing her speak excited him more than anything else, though seeing her stripped of her dress was a very close second.

He dressed in a jacket of silver and trimmed in white to match the fitted white pants he’d worn. He’d neatly combed his hair and tied it off his face after debating for too long whether he ought to leave it down or not. He slipped on clean, black boots that hugged his calves, slipped a knife inside his boot just in case, and forewent wearing any other weaponry.

He’d just made it to the balcony he’d rented when the glass, double doors that led from the building they and others were borrowing, opened, and Elain stepped out. Lucien made no show of dropping to his knee, one hand pressed against his chest, jaw hanging open. He’d lost all rational ability to speak or stand when Elain, his goddess, stepped onto the balcony, a vision in silver stars.

Her cheeks darkened with what he hoped was pleasure, though she made a big show of rolling her eyes. “You’re dramatic,” she accused as he staggered back to his feet.

“Absurd. You’re beautiful,” he replied, caressing those same, heated cheeks. He suddenly couldn’t stand the thought of marring one inch of her body and wondered if perhaps they’d just have a nice, romantic evening with nothing else between them.

She walked to the balcony, illuminated beneath floating fae lights. Lucien stood beside her, resting one of his hands over her own, unable to resist. She smiled faintly at the touch and pressed her shoulder against his.

“I missed you,” she told him without looking up, her eyes still firmly focused on the city below. His heart pounded in his chest at the admission.

“Not half as much as I missed you,” he promised, squeezing her hand. A smile bloomed fully on her face, lighting her up like the sun across the sea and Lucien thought he was ruined entirely for anyone else, regardless of what happened between them.

She turned, suddenly, her sweet smile morphing into something wicked. His body instantly tightened as anticipating thrilled up his spine. What was she thinking? She ran her hands up his chest, dragging her eyes up with them until they were firmly focused on his lips. She didn’t need to ask him to kiss her. He’d happily spend the rest of his life attached at the mouth if she wanted.

That first, sweeping kiss wrecked all Lucien’s promises to himself. She tasted like citrus coated in honey and somehow like sunshine. He was frantic, unable to get enough and all at once, desperate for more. His tongue caressed her own, licking in time with the hips he was grinding into her beautiful gown.

Elain broke the kiss with a gasp, her fingers yanking on the laces of his pants. “Before everything starts,” she said, making quick work of them. He began hiking up her dress but Elain swatted his hands away.

“The first time you have me will be private,” she informed him, her brown eyes glittering with promise. “And somewhere nice.”

He started to ask what her plan was, then, but Elain dropped to her knees and Lucien’s head immediately emptied. The last remaining shred of rationality snarled at the sight of her kneeling when he thought it ought to have been him while the animal that typical slumbered in his chest roared with appreciation at the sight of his mate eye level with his cock.

“I borrowed one of Nesta’s dirtier books,” Elain informed him, her breath curling along the skin of his hard, twitching cock. “I don’t suppose this requires any amount of skill.”

Lucien took a shallow breath as her hand cupped the base of him. She ran her tongue up the broad side of his shaft and he reached for the railing behind him in an effort to keep himself steady.

She hummed softly to herself, pumping him once. She could have done only that and nothing else and he’d have come quickly, undone at just the sight of her. She glanced up at him, her lips moistened, her eyes mischievous.

“Will you beg, Lucien?” She asked.

“Would you like me to?” He choked in response. She smiled, lowered her mouth, and sucked just the tip of his erection into her mouth. Lucien concentrated all his effort on remaining utterly still despite his body’s urge to thrust into her mouth and fuck her throat. It was her first time, he reminded himself. He didn’t need to scare her.

“Yes,” she replied, withdrawing her pretty little lips to lick his head like a piece of candy. Lucien groaned loudly.

“Elain, please—”

His words choked into another groan of need as she took as much of him as she could into her mouth, her cheeks hollowed and her hand making up the difference. Her mouth was hot and wet and utterly intoxicating in its softness. Lucien was desperate and somehow building hotly towards release despite how little time and effort she’d put into the act of sucking him.

She hummed again, the noise vibrating along his skin and settling in his tightening sac. Saliva from her mouth pooled around her hand, making it easier for her glide up and down the length of him as she licked and sucked.

First time? His mind demanded, unable to believe she hadn’t done this before. Had it been so long since someone took him in their mouth that he’d forgotten? Was the act made better when it was his mate who sucked?

Shut the fuck up, the animal in his chest demanded of his wild, out of control thoughts. Lucien’s hips jerked a little as he built higher, fire racing through his blood.

“Elain,” he gasped, unsure what else to say. She quickened her pace and Lucien hung by a thread just long enough to offer a warning. “I’m going to come, Elain—”

She didn’t pull away, didn’t withdraw and a moment later Lucien exploded into a million pieces, yelling so loud he was sure Feyre heard him, wherever she was. He pumped hot into her mouth and Elain, the angel, took all of it without moving her mouth. She waited until he relaxed to withdraw, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“You,” he gasped, pulling her to her feet so he could kiss her. “Next, you next—”

A shooting star streaked through the sky and Elain twisted in his arms, her swollen, red lips parted with delight. Lucien quickly pulled up his pants and retied them, swallowing against the aftershock of his release.

“Another day,” she replied, letting him pull her against him, her back resting against his chest, his arms wrapped around her. He kissed the top of her head, aware of what she’d done.

She’d put him in a situation that forced him to see her again.

Did she not know Lucien wanted to see her all the time?

She wiggled a little, sighing sweetly, content in his arms.

He’d show her what he meant.

[bakingandbooks3]

A Court of Song and Serpents

A bit short but the begging of a project I'm SO excited for- hope you love this as much as I do.

Summary: What a time to be alive as Nesta Archeron, going backward to move forward and finding that the places she once called home are now empty tombs.

Nesta

Nesta held her breath for a moment, a pause, and stilled entirely. The Court of Nightmares. She knew the verdict would be severe, but never would she have expected exile to a world of terror. The horrors of that place, of how it was once the main residence of the High Lord- till Rhysand.

Rhysand, the man who boasted of lands bountiful with choice and reason, now sat across from her donning unmasked hatred. A look he kept shielded from his mate, reserved just for Nesta. The kind that rips one apart from the inside out, would carve out the belly of a beast, burn a witch on a wooden pyre.

Nesta felt nothing, she always did. It wasn’t hard to see what he was thinking of her, how his beautiful wife’s wretched sister was little more than a gambling thief who slept her way through his glorious city. Now, fingers smeared that blank canvas so pure of her darkest shades.

Eyes flicking back, she studied that same sister. The Cursebreaker, the Savior.

How small and insignificant she became next to the glimmering shining thing Feyre was. The lands spoke of her beauty and kind touch, and how she sacrificed everything to save a world of people, and Fae that she was raised to despise.

Nesta wished it’d be known that her touch wasn’t always kind.

She built her bricks firm enough that her house of grace never shattered; Held firm, it was all she had left in her. Too many eyes on her filled with grief, excitement, retribution-Nesta was keenly aware of how this Court of Dreams felt of her.

“This is an exile.”

Rhysand's smirk peaked so slightly, his mate tensing.

“No, no. This is an intervention, a chance for you to find yourself away from bad influences and habits. You can’t keep living like this, and I refuse to let it continue happening and I take the fall for it. Your decisions are impractical and immoral. You are sober much less than you are drunk and-”

“If you’re going to condemn me, do it. But don’t sit here and act as if this is out of kindness.” Nesta snarled. She hated the barbed words, but it’s what she felt. “Who are you to question my morality?”

“I think I can speak for my wife when I say that your presence here is….” Rhysand growled but pulled back, like he forgot Feyre was right there, too.

Nesta wished he would’ve let go, so maybe that facade Rhys reserved for Feyre was broken. No, that’s cruel. As much as she hated this and him, he was making her sister happy.

Something Nesta could never do.

“I do not give a shit what my presence is doing. The decision has already been made, so stop scolding me like a child and make good on your word, Rhysand.” Bile rose in her throat, the words feeling nothing but slimy and disgusting. Foreign, yet habitual all the same. Sometimes, she forgets there once was a woman called Nesta who was so much more than the viper living in her now.

Sometimes she remembers that she can’t ever be her again.

Home was nowhere for her, not in a person, not in a place, certainly not in this bombastic group of “heroes”. Nesta didn’t need a hero, she just needed someone to care. But Nesta knew better, no one would. She was taught to be unlovable, just a woman to be sold off and married- to climb her mothers' ever-growing social ladder.

But Nesta on her own was never enough, even with her mother six feet under and rotted away there were unsung expectations unmet. She was a catastrophic failure and a dark smear on a family name that never truly held weight to her.

Nesta looked up, felt everything all at once again, could only see one man pacing a worn-through tether between them. He wasn’t going to stop this, but she could see it, how it looked like he wanted to jump out of his own flesh, the veins of his arm prominent and knuckles normally so brown a new fresh fallen snow.

There was no prince to save Nesta, much less any will to save herself. So when Mor took the pleasure of bringing her to a living Hell, Nesta did not fight.

She was tired of fighting, after all, she fought an inescapable fate for the first twenty years of her life…

Flowers always made Nesta sneeze, but Elain lit like lights during winter whenever she could thread them through her hair. They all symbolized something, Laine would say. There are ones for good days, and hard storms, for sunshine and stars.

Nesta was always adorned in flowers that paralleled the estate. Astute, cold, tired, where she was warm, comforting, and smelled like cookies- ones that Celia normally baked for the sisters. She never asked Laine why she picked the ones for her that she did, her reasons would stay silent for now.

Spring was a high time of activity in the Archeron estate. There was always a flurry of activity, from preparing their mothers' obscene balls, to guests at every corner in every room. The halls were sprinkled in candles and on walls hung frames nearly kissing it was packed so tight.

They were in the gardens. It was an Elain day, as the girls would call it, and no matter how boring or mundane her wishes were they’d be fulfilled. Nesta was propped on the floor in front of Laine, who was bunching handfuls to weave in tangled auburn coils that gathered on Nesta’s head- as a bird's nest would.

Eventually, Nesta would have to learn braids or risk knotting the curls entirely.

The eldest basked in the silence she created from mentally muting her middle sister, and spared a glance at Feyre. What she saw was not surprising, but required far more willpower than she expected to not burst into laughter and risk the flowery rat's nest on her scalp.

Feyre appeared to be so bored out of her mind she was eating discarded flowers of Elains. Actually, ingesting them, as if she was a critique. When Elain wasn’t looking at Feyre, she’d grab another couple and study them- analyzing her next experiment. Glaring at the blues and yellows as if she was speaking to them, “Which one of you will make me puke the fastest so I can run away?”

In time, Feyre looked up from her taste tests to see Nesta grinning at her so violently you’d think Feyre hung the moon.

And Feyre beamed back, crossing a pinkie across her chest and pointing it back to Nesta. Then she viciously spit out the grass she’d just finished chewing, crying directly at Laine, “This MUST stop at once, my stomach hurts far too much to continue on here.”

Elain, in a garden so quiet, simply ignored her sister's poor attempts at escape. Making Nesta work even harder to stifle the shaking of her shoulders, covering her mouth and nose before she started wheezing. Elain would hardly hurt a fly but sent Nesta a glare that could’ve easily killed a man.

Nesta cleared her throat, “I do believe there are more of the blue flowers down that hill near the pond. Would you mind getting some more for Laine?”

Feyre was already on her feet, mouthing her thanks as Elain turned her back to get the next bunch of flowers, “Why of course I will!” And with a very bad curtsey, Feyre threw off her shoes and was rolling down the hill, spinning wildly, her laughter sure to be heard in meadows far beyond theirs.

You would find the Archeron sisters all together, or never in the same place.

Laine was the easiest to find, by the waters or pond on the east side, in gardens surrounded with bugs and willows calling to the young girl. She could hardly read but if the text included any mention of colors and blooms, suddenly she was a scholar. Elain was not simple or dull, but rather a passive spirit, like a summer wind- brief, fleeting, but teeming with love and hope.

Feyre, as their mother said, was a reckless wild child. Far too young to care, far too small to be whipped into shape. If you were sent to find her and your life depended on it, may the Mother bless you. Feyre liked the kitchen, because of the immaculate food and maids who would shove any sweet down the littlest Archerons throat. But, also for the immeasurable amount of sharp items to be found in there. If it was pointy and could stab a wall or scare their ice-cold mother, Feyre would be running the halls with it in hand or making targets of her fathers old trade route maps.

Then there was Nesta, the firstborn. Molded to be another woman that she somehow couldn’t fit, as if her feet were too big or hair too long, Nesta was outgrowing the standards forged into her being. You would see her as a ghost, floating in and out of rooms, comfortable in silence and slumber, but never escaping people. She loved the maids and could recite all of their names like clockwork, and the workers loved her in turn. Always stuck in new worlds between pages or willingly dragged by the two youngers, Nesta teemed with liberation. She was often alone, but never lonely, and found new loves in the library or in the fields beyond marble confines.

Adela was constantly dissatisfied with her eldest's progress inside these walls, as if at eight she should’ve already been engaged to a prince. Granted, Adela knew better. Nesta would never truly find another kingdom to buy into when she already had a crown waiting for her elsewhere. She was known as fair and beautiful beyond her years, would age like fine wine, and become so much greater than Adela ever was. What Nesta saw as fit would normally come to be, an instinct Adela was unprepared she would inherit. Nothing left her more confused than this daughter only by blood, who was hated by both her parents for reasons far from the same, and how at less than ten years had an entire mansion wrapped around her fingers.

But Adela would wait, and simply leave them be for now. When viper's strike, they kill. And even though the Matron of the house wanted her little queen gone, she had other ways to see this through.

Anyways, children's blood on her hands would stain her diamonds.

---

Cassian

Cassian was violently fucking ill. Watching whatever the fuck that was did not help in the slightest. The second she was gone, so was he.

The General and High Lord were not on speaking terms, his presence was an obligation and not a request. When Rhys first displayed his plans, Cassian just about murdered him. Had his brother on the table in a chokehold that the Shadowsinger had to come and release Rhys from. The way his so-called family planned her exile was… horrific.

Cassian was full of light and humor, but not dull the way his family made him out to be. He could see this for what it was, punishing an already broken female for not meeting every damn need of a fully grown woman that was no longer her responsibility. Cass knew better than to downplay the sacrifices Feyre made, but he was also well aware that Nesta's habits were hardly a financial problem and more of a reputation scandal.

That’s what the High Lord did best, when his Court was breaking at the bonds, the mess would “disappear”. Just like the Illyrians hidden in the mountains, the displaced families of Spring, the homeless warriors of Night.

Cassian loved his brother, but more often than not he wondered when Fate would come to bite them in the asses for Rhys’ neglect.

Now, here he was, in his mothers' cabin, wings dragging behind him wiping tears long since shed over a woman who was thrown to the wolves and torn into so many scraps he wasn’t sure how he could put her together again.

He missed his Nesta, the one who threw glares and begged for her people, not this one who hardly spoke and caved into herself enough that she couldn’t see where she was heading.

Cassian fingered for his mug in the wooden cabinets and hit his mark, soon placing water to heat over a small fire over the counter.

He was not okay, not okay at all.

When you look for something in the dark for too long, you eventually find what you need but not always in the way you expect. Cassian coped the same as Nesta Archeron in his first years post-war. It was suffocating trying to be the happy one while dying inside. He watched men he looked up to fall and a lover he admired take her last breath- too much in far too little time. Cassian was not an idiot, he was simply perplexed. Why was he allowed to grieve in unacceptable manners, but Nesta was a sinner in holy clothing?

Bright walls and unlit rooms in the house were silent, only the winds of the mountains singing outside. The newly dusted snow wrapped the dirt in a delicate kiss- a forbidden touch. It was the peak of winter, just after Feyre’s birthday and another insufferable party.

One that Nesta wasn’t invited to.

Cassian wished he wasn’t invited either.

The cup in his hands was dwarfed in comparison to the bulky Illyrian holding it, but at least it was warm. At least it wasn’t empty.

Because if there was one thing he knew, it could always be worse.

Cassian knew that if things were a little different, he’d be the one sitting in a prison of darkness and Hell because of mistakes made as a child. He’d be exiled by family, cast away by the only living remains of a life once lived.

Nesta didn’t know but long before this he had called it even, their sins atoned for in hurting each other equally.

She was the only one in the world who could tell which smiles he was faking.

To anyone on the outside, one kiss was merely that. How curious it was, the iceberg went far deeper.

So when the mug crashed against the wall, and in its wake resembled his inner turmoil, Cassian took to the skies and found himself at the door of a place far too familiar.

.

.

.

AHHHHHHHH OMG OKAY hope you guys enjoyed this:) if you want to be added to the tag list let me know!

@lovemeforever12345 @champanheandluxxury @nahthanks@perseusannabeth@queenestarcheron@silvernesta

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[heavenbarnes]

what’s your poison?

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings/Contains: a cheating ex boyfriend, alcohol, unprotected sex (please use protection), oral sex (female receiving), handjob, dirty talk, swearing, joking during sex cause i’m fun, pulling out onto stomach, bucky has a dog, new zealand english cause i wrote the start on my phone

Word Count: 5.5k

if you try and tell me you’ve never fallen in love with your bartender before, i hope you know you’re a liar! anyways, this is fun and it doesn’t mean anything so enjoy (so i guess this is technically an au, but could also not be cause there is references to in-canon shit) x

You wouldn’t say you were proud of finding solace in a bar, especially not one with those tacky red neons and a floor sticky enough to have you frozen in place.

But here you are, perched up on that high stool by the window, notebook spread open in front of you with a pen resting on your lower lip.

Funny thing about heartbreak, the world doesn’t stop moving around you, even when you wish it did. So when you come home to your roommate fucking your boyfriend, you still have to live in that house cause finding rentals is near impossible.

And when living in that house feels damn suffocating, you have to sit in the bar down the street doing the work that is kicking your ass, because people don’t stop filing reports when your heart gets broken.

Wasn’t the first time the world made it blaringly obvious that it didn’t revolve around you, but sometimes the ignorance is bliss.

Scribbling out yet another data set, you knew your life wasn’t about to get any easier, but even you had to admire your own perseverance. So did Astrid, the sweet waitress that was swapping your empty glass with a full one.

You smiled at her, picking up the drink and giving it a sniff, screwing your nose up slightly. “You’re very kind but this smells strong and I’m still working.”

“It wasn’t me, I’m just the messenger,” She returned your smile as she cleaned the little drops of soda from your last drink. “Bucky figured you needed it by the look on your face.”

Casting a glance over Astrid’s shoulder you caught eyes with the bartender, the one who’d already been looking at you but turned away once you caught his eye. You lent him a smile nonetheless, just in case he was looking.

Stirring the drink with your paper straw, you came in to take a sip, immediately feeling the flavours flood over your tongue. Bucky was onto something, you definitely needed this and about 17 others after it.

“Tell him I say thank you.” You gave her a sheepish little grin as you took another sip of his creation.

The thing about Bucky was, he didn’t say a hell of a lot but he was a god with his hands. Not like that, like when he was shaking cocktails. But you were sure he was probably good in that way too.

Six foot three and broad in just about every way, long hair and that brooding kind of look on his face. He might’ve been the reason you picked this bar out of the ten or so others littering the stretch.

He’d quietly mix your drinks with those large hands (even his prosthetic hand was big, dark metal glinting under the neon lights), always making you exactly what you needed. Sometimes, if you timed it right, you could see him watching you out of the corner of your eye.

That should’ve been weird, quiet guy that won’t even introduce himself to you watches you from across a bar. But Bucky made it different, something in you liked the way he stared.

Astrid had been the only one you told about your now ex-boyfriend, but from your hospitality experience, word spreads quick behind a bar. You didn’t mind, it got you free drinks and kindness from the other waitresses as they swirled around you.

Beanie, who was studying business on the side, would sit with you as you worked out your spreadsheets. She asked you mountains of questions that never got annoying, felt nice to be valued around here.

Every day that you left work, you’d sneak back to your apartment, avoiding your roommate by timing it with when you knew she’d be at the gym. Quickly changing your clothes, you slipped back out into the city and headed for the bar.

You kept it quiet with where you spent your evenings, not wanting your boss to think you had a problem with all your time spent there. But you knew that it was very seldom there was actually alcohol in your drinks, mainly just new mocktails Bucky was trialing and testing on you.

That’s how the two of you communicated, he’d make a drink, a waitress would bring it over, you’d sample it and she’d feed the feedback back to him. A rather outdated system that could be solved by you both picking up your nuts and speaking to one another.

But that’d mean hearing each other’s voice, incredibly intimate when you’ve drawn it out this long. You’d have to have something to talk about, be alone in each other’s presence, admit that there was-

Now what was there?

Every night of every week you were there until closing, walking with Astrid to her car, Bucky trailing a few steps behind the both of you. He wouldn’t say it out loud, but he was making sure you both made it safely. As soon as you both got in, he climbed on his motorcycle and wouldn’t see him again until the next evening.

The moment Astrid dropped you at your apartment, you’d sneak inside, thanking the gods that your roommate was asleep so you didn’t have any awkward hallway interactions. Instead, you lay in the centre of your bed and strangely enough, you thought of your bartender without a voice to even put to the man.

The next evening you were there, you found your mind straying from the work in front of you and heading into the conversation of the waitresses floating around you.

“No, but she’s like gorgeous,” Beanie groaned, putting her notepad in the pocket of her apron. “Bucky is so lucky, she’s just a dream.”

Your ears pricked up at the sound of his name being dropped, and without being able to control it, you found yourself travelling to a million different realities. Of course he had a girlfriend, a man that looks like that and makes a Singapore Sling that good cannot be single.

There was truly no reason to be sad right now, he wasn’t yours and never was. But maybe you enjoyed him paying special attention to you, especially after what the last guy did to you. Astrid did tell you that Bucky was a bit stone cold sometimes, he never used this special treatment on anyone else.

So here you were thinking you were special, and here was the universe pulling you into line again, reminding you in no uncertain terms that the world didn’t revolve around you.

You drank Bucky’s mew mocktails, but they didn’t taste as fun when you knew they weren’t genuine. Sure maybe the care was genuine, but there wasn’t anything behind it. You screwed up your face when you heard your own thoughts, you sounded like an actual fuckboy right now.

Gone are the days of alarmingly handsome men being able to gift a Moscow Mule in peace, no sex attached. You just had to go and set the women’s rights movement back a few years.

You scolded yourself silently, taking another sip of the drink and enjoying Bucky’s talents. You weren’t even in the headspace for a new man at the moment, so where were you getting off hoping the guy was single?

Lifting your head towards the bar, you found those blue eyes back on you. He stuttered for a moment, realising he’d been caught staring, so he lifted his eyebrow almost to say “what do you think?”

A smile formed on your face of its own accord, lifting your hand into a thumbs up you mouthed back “pretty damn good.”

And for the first time since you’d been coming here, you saw it. You saw the corners of Bucky’s pretty lips turn up into a smile as he nodded, looking awful proud of himself.

God damn it, your brain knew you weren’t ready but your heart didn’t seem to give a fuck.

Another night at the bar and as you came inside, your eyes went to your normal seat, only to find somebody already sitting in it. After a long day at work, you couldn’t help the childish groan drift out of your lips.

“I know,” Astrid caught you mid grumble as she started walking you over. “But there is a seat right here at the bar.”

Putting you in a stool, she wiped down the surface in front of you so you could lay out your papers to keep working. She gave your shoulders a squeeze and happened to hit the right spot, maybe it was her girlfriend you needed to be jealous of.

As she went to leave you be, you heard her call over her shoulder. “Bucky, she’s here.”

Your head snapped up, heat rising in your cheeks as Astrid scurried away to serve her tables. From the service door, a large frame took all of it up as Bucky appeared before you.

Watching the way his eyes scanned the room, they fixed on the spot you usually sat at before his brow furrowed in confusion. It wasn’t until his gaze drifted down and caught you at the bar, he nearly jumped in fright.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think Astrid tells him when you arrive every night, like it’s something he looks forward to. You gave him a smile and a pathetic little wave as you tried to calm yourself down. The man has a girlfriend, he isn’t waiting for you.

Bucky smiled back, seemingly looking just as nervous as you felt. He quickly raised one finger, as if asking you to wait, before he spun around and started grabbing different bottles from the back shelf.

As you watched him work, you smelt a breeze of perfume drift past you, one that had become familiar. You reached out and grabbed Beanie by the wrist, deciding now was the best time to put yourself out of your misery.

“Bucky’s girlfriend must be the luckiest person on earth, with a man who makes drinks like that.”

Beanie scrunched up her nose in confusion, looking between the two of you.

“Girlfriend? You know something I don’t?”

You studied her gaze, matching that look of lacking in understanding.

“He must have a girlfriend, right?”

“Oh, the only woman in Bucky’s life is his dog, Daybreak,” She laughed, turning on her heel to leave. “You should see her, she’s gorgeous.”

A dog, a fucking dog. You’ve been stewing every night for about a week over a fucking dog. A curt laugh slipped past your lips and you didn’t even try to stop it, top tier stupidity and you actually deserved it.

Bucky turned to look over his shoulder, caught off guard by your chuckle as he’d missed the whole conversation over the noise of the bar. He just smiled, stirring the glass in front of him before sliding it across to you.

Sniffing it first, like you always did, it smelt heavenly like winter mint. Taking the first sip, it went down ridiculously well and you nodded in content before flashing Bucky a thumbs up. He placed his right hand over his heart nodding back to you. Your silent communication always said enough.

Bucky made you two more of those minty little things as you kept studying your spreadsheets. The bar patrons moved around you as the hours ticked on and you were so enveloped in your work it made you jump when you heard your name.

That and the voice that the word floated off of.

Turning in your stool, your ex boyfriend stood before you with his hands clasped together. Shaking your head, you went to spin back around but he stepped forward, hand reaching for your upper arm.

“I know you don’t want to see me but please let me explain.”

“Normally I’d say ‘fuck off’, but I’d love to hear an explanation for how you ended up fucking my roommate.”

He grimaced at the sound of you throwing his mistake back in his face. But truthfully, if he didn’t like the sound of it, maybe he shouldn’t have cheated.

“I know I fucked up, it was so stupid but it didn’t mean anything.”

“When did it stop meaning something? The third time? Maybe the 15th time? Please, enlighten me.”

A part of him seemed shocked, that you weren’t folding like a hand of cards and letting him take you home. Stupid boy should’ve realised you were a whole person before he met you, you’d go on without him.

“Alright, I know I deserve all this but I just want my baby back.”

You almost responded, your mouth opened to say something- anything, but someone else cut you to the chase.

“Your baby back? This isn’t Ruby-fucking-Tuesday’s, but you’re more than welcome to get the hell out of my bar.”

Turning behind you, you saw large hands gripping the wooden legs, squared up and unafraid. It didn’t register with you that this was the first time you’d heard Bucky’s voice until it was too late. A shiver shifted down your spine as you watched the way he stared the other man down.

“And who the hell are you?” Your ex had always been stupid, never knew when to stop running his mouth and keep it away from other girls.

“I’m the one that’s been keeping ‘your baby’ company each night since you fucked up so bad.”

Not to set the women’s rights movement back another few years, but there was something quite lovely about being fought over. Picking your drink back up, you sipped it slowly as you watched Bucky refuse to back down.

“You don’t know the first thing about her.”

“I know she’s far too smart to be wasting her time with you, so I won’t say it again, get the hell out of my bar.”

Your ex looked to you, stupidly thinking he’d find reprieve with you. Shrugging your shoulders and turning your gaze to Bucky you finally spoke. “This is delicious, you really are gifted.”

And with his tail tucked between his legs, you watched your ex trudge out of the bar, silently hoping that would be the last time you saw his sorry ass.

The only thing about him leaving was the silence that now sat between yourself and Bucky, having to come to terms with the fact your quiet little knowings have now become incredibly loud.

Still sipping away at your drink, thankfully Bucky found the notion to speak first. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get involved-“

Thinking he was finished you spoke up. “Please don’t apologise, I loved it.” As you were speaking, he finished with, “I really care about you.”

That shut the both of you up, back to quiet as you looked at each other across the bar. Patrons kept milling about around you but the world seemed to stop for you. In your own head, you asked for a sign, a sign that you should risk it all.

Bucky’s tongue came out to run across his lower lip and you swore you saw stars.

That wouldn’t normally stand as a sign but you were fine with a reach, you’d already decided he could’ve sneezed and that would work.

“You know, uh,” You cleared your throat, placing down your now empty glass. “I’ve always wondered what it was like to be on a motorcycle.”

Bucky nodded slowly in understanding, pulling the rag off his shoulder and placing it against the counter. “I’ve always wanted to show you what it’s like.”

“What time do you clock off?”

“Now, now’s good.”

The sound of your stool scraping against the wood floor drew Astrid’s gaze up as she moved through the crowd between the tables. Stopping beside your usual spot, she stood beside the man who’d taken your seat that night.

“Thank you, Albert,” She passed him the twenty dollar note. “It was about time they got moving.”

There was something incredibly intimate about being within close proximity of Bucky, let alone having him sat between your legs as your arms closed even tighter around his waist. You swore he zipped in and out of traffic on that bike just so you’d get even closer, and you were reasonably thankful for it.

Going from only hearing his voice moments before to being so close to him you could smell the Calvin Klein aftershave? There was a lot going on and it was enough to make your head spin. So you chose to relax into him, as much as you could with the helmet locked around your head.

You were nearly going to pout when you arrived at his house, but the moment he stretched his hand out to take yours and walk you in, he wasn’t leaving you with much to feel sorry about.

Now, there are many dangers about walking into a single man’s apartment, mainly the state it could be in. Bucky’s was beautiful, dark furniture and well looked after, everything was tidy and it actually smelt nice. You’d think he was straight out of the 40′s with manners and charm like this.

As you gazed around in awe of the first male apartment you’d been in without a fist-sized hole in the wall, you felt something brush against your legs. Looking down, you found a husky nearly at your hip height, bright blue eyes like her dad’s.

“Daybreak, go easy on her.” Bucky sounded from the kitchen, he’d already made his way in and started fishing around.

“That’s okay, you’re even more beautiful than I was told.” You cooed, your voice immediately catering just for her as you scratched around her ears.

“They told you about her?” Bucky chuckled as he worked, two highball glasses in front of him and a dark liquor starting to pour.

Your cheeks glowed hot as you thought about whether or not you should tell him of your monumental fuck up from earlier. Maybe he’d laugh? Or maybe he’d think you were a sociopath? Better to get it out now you supposed.

“I heard them talking, and I thought they were referring to your girlfriend, so they just cleared that up for me.” You caught Daybreak’s eye, busying yourself with her so you couldn’t see the gorgeous man stood a metre away and laughing at you.

“Yes, my incredibly fluffy girlfriend with disgusting breath and a habit of standing on my back when I sleep.” He shook his head, squeezing lime into the glass along with what you thought might’ve been bitters.

“Hey, whatever you’re into, I’m not going to judge!” You put your hands up in defense before going back to fluffing Daybreak’s coat.

Bucky stirred the drinks before sliding one across the counter top to you. Raising back up, you gratefully accepted it as he began to speak again. “You weren’t jealous were you?”

Your eyes widened, thinking on it for a moment with as much expression as possible. Avoiding the question entirely, you took a sip, feeling the warm ginger taste roll through you. 

“What do you call this one?”

“Answer my question and I’ll tell you.”

Narrowing your eyes, you bit the bullet. “I might’ve been a little jealous.”

“This one is called a ‘howling commando’, why were you jealous?”

“Raunchy name, I love it! What was the other minty one called?”

Bucky’s grin widened as he knew exactly what game you were playing, he couldn’t deny he was looking forward to a little tussle.

“Answer my question and I’ll tell you, those are the rules.”

You scrunched up your nose before giving in, he was hot and he had rules, there was simply no denying this man. “Maybe because you make me want to do very bad things to you.”

Bucky’s jaw went slack, but the corners of his mouth tweaked up into a smile as he thought carefully on his next move.

“The minty one is called a ‘winter soldier’, can you tell me what those very bad things are?”

Wrapping your lips around your paper straw, you kept your eyes closely fixed on his as you shrugged your shoulders. You drew back, letting the straw rest in the centre of your tongue as he followed your movements with intrigue.

“Or maybe I could just show you?”

With a swift movement, Bucky cleared the table with one hand and the other snaked around your waist, pulling you tight to his chest. You felt his lips glide across yours, as soft as you’d imagined and that bite of alcohol resting just past them.

Your hands came up to fist at his shirt, tugging him down so you could slip your tongue in and against his. He brought his other hand down to rest just behind your knee, picking you up in a swift motion and placing you against his kitchen counter.

Legs locking around him, you pulled him in as you gripped at his flannel over shirt to push it off his shoulders. Bucky took the hint, stripping the shirt off before getting onto his t-shirt. He stood before you bare-chested and beautiful, so much so that your breath caught in your throat.

A hint of a smirk started on his face but you shook your head, not prepared to let him have the joy of catching you off guard. You took his jaw in your hands and brought him back to your lips, reveling in the feeling of him on you.

Feeling his hands go for your waistband, you lifted your hips to let him get rid of your bottoms, the cold of kitchen tile against the backs of your thighs.

“You are so fucking beautiful, been thinking of you since the day you walked into my bar.”

Giggling into his mouth, you ran your hands down his neck and into the hair at the nape, tugging slightly. “I could say the same about you, pretty boy.”

You could’ve sworn Bucky growled, but you weren��t given enough time to dwell on it as he began to ease you back until you lay against the counter. His fingers went to the band of your underwear, slowly easing those down your legs.

Here you were, spread out in this mans kitchen like dinner and he was going to eat his share. A shiver ran through you that you could pinpoint to excitement as you felt his breath gently ghost over you.

His hands ran from your thighs all the way up to the hem of your shirt, sliding it up your body and underneath to palm at your chest. You knew he had big hands, it was one of the first things you noticed, but you weren’t prepared for how good they’d feel when he held you.

The moment you felt his mouth come down against your pussy, your whole back arched off the bench. You gripped at his forearms, nails digging in slightly as you rolled your lower half into his mouth. His tongue came out, running along your slit and moving against your clit.

You’d definitely been swindled into a shit deal with your ex, it never felt anything like this and Bucky had only just started. His name fell out of your throat as his tongue sped up, moving back down to your entrance and making your eyes nearly rolled back in your head.

Bucky pulled back one of his hands for only a moment so he could hook your legs over his shoulders, before he grabbed back at your breasts. The contrast between the rough skin of his fingers tweaking at your nipple, and the smooth metal on the other was driving you wild.

“How are you so good at this, what the fuck?” You babbled, back going up against as he flicked the tip of his tongue at your clit.

He chuckled into you, the sounds vibrating off of where you were most sensitive and hitting you straight in the core. You’d never had a man pay this much attention to you, know exactly where to go and what to do. It was damn near overwhelming and this was the bare minimum, god you’d been missing out.

Bringing one hand down, he pressed two fingers to your clit as his tongue moved back down. The pressure of his skilled digits against you and the speed of his tongue, you were doing your best to cry out his name but it wasn’t coming out right. Your brain couldn’t keep up with everything else.

Pressing your foot into his shoulder, you slipped your hand into his hair, locking into the roots and tugging tight against them. A moan fell out of Bucky and straight against you, rocking your pussy up against his lips. You had to forget everything you thought you knew about men. 

This was a man and he was going to change your life.

He swapped his fingers, slowly sliding them into you as his tongue moved back to your clit. The minute he bent those metal digits up, still pumping his wrist and working his mouth, it was all over.

You clenched down around him, his name flew high into the air as you shook against him, your wetness covering his chin as he moved to lap it up. Like a good boy, he let you get your breath, pulling back and cleaning off his fingers with his tongue.

“Don’t do that in front of me, you’ll make my heart stop.” You joked, throwing your arm over your eyes.

Bucky chuckled, taking a knee in each hand where you’d clamped your thighs together, slowly easing them apart. He tugged you along the bench until your legs were wrapped around him again.

“I can’t believe I just came, and that hard.” You admitted, finally able to cope with it all.

“That’s kind of the point, pretty baby.”

“Yeah but you haven’t even?”

The soft little patterns Bucky was tracing on your thigh came to a halt, almost making you whinge. He looked down at you with an expression of pure confusion before speaking up. 

“Wait, did your ex never make you come during foreplay?”

“Are you kidding?” You snorted, propping yourself up on elbows. “He barely made me come during sex.”

Bucky shook his head, looking physically wounded by what you were telling him. “Oh baby, this isn’t even for pleasure anymore, this is an act of service.”

You snorted at him, gripping his arms so you could pull yourself up to sitting. He tugged you even further until you were flush against him. His face was so close to yours, every part of him was so close.

“You’re being goofy, you’re lucky I think you’re hot.”

It was his turn to laugh, before he slipped his hand down, undoing his belt with a little of your assistance. As he shuffled his jeans and briefs down, you brought your hand to wrap around his length, and it nearly put you back on your ass.

So soft and remarkably beautiful for a dick, it was heavy as all hell as you wrapped your fingers around. So thick and built for two hands to stroke it, you knew that no matter what happened from here on out, you wouldn’t be forgetting about him soon.

“I knew you had a big dick, I could tell from the way you walked,” You said, spitting into your hand so you could stroke him. “But this is just fucking unreal.”

Bucky tried to laugh but you twisted your wrist at just the right time, it filtered off into a moan as his head dipped into the crook of your neck. “And you say I’m the goofy one.”

“Is baby getting all shy, can’t handle the fact he’s hung like a fucking horse?” You teased, running your fingers over his head.

Sucking in a breath, his hands came to grip your hips as you kept jerking him, simply enjoying the way he felt in your hands. “It is far too early for me to be telling you that if you keep talking like that, it will make me come.”

Dropping your mouth open, you turned towards him but ended up nuzzling your nose in his hair. His shampoo smelt incredible, not like a 3-in-1 but like an actual shampoo.

“Bucky, you are a fucking freak, I’m going to have so much fun with you.”

Pulling back from your neck, he gave you the toothiest grin before tipping his head back with a heady moan that made your pussy clench. He looked so beautiful moaning for you, completely at your will with his cock in your hand.

There was something so refreshing about this, your ex never let you have fun during sex, it was always so boring and so incredibly serious. You’d never laughed so much, played so much, and still come so hard your vision whited out.

Bucky took your hand off his dick, wrapping his own it as you tipped your hips back slightly. He lined up, laying his head against your entrance where you needed him most. He slowly slid in as your arms wrapped around his shoulders and gripped tight.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as he moved in, the stretch and burn something you hadn’t felt in a wee while, it took over you as he did his best to be gentle. You were starting to understand the meaning of “rearranging guts” as he got to the hilt.

You paused for a moment, breathing through as Bucky strained with all his might to not move. He’d never felt something so fucking tight and so fucking warm, he would lay money on it that you were made for him and he was always meant to find you.

Finally, you tapped on his shoulder and signaled him to move. He rolled his hips into you, the first few thrusts to find his rhythm before he really picked up. Your ankles crossed over above his ass, keeping him as close to you as you could as his speed increasingly picked up.

“God, this pussy feel so fucking good.” He groaned, hands coming down to lift your shirt back up.

You pulled it over your head, throwing it behind you with your bra as his hands immediately gripped back onto them. Lowering slightly, he brought his mouth to one of your nipples, lips wrapping around and sucking gently as his hips never let up.

Raking your fingers through his hair, you thought about those incredible noises he’d made moments before. Tugging gently, you earnt yourself another moan that rippled through you as you rolled your hips back into his.

“Bucky, faster,” Panting out your words, you gripped him tighter. “I want you to fuck me like you mean it.”

Bucky’s eyes cast up to you, locking with yours and in an instant he changed. One hand gripped your hip and the other braced against the counter as he surged forward into you. A rippling cry travelled out of your chest and broke in your throat, a pathetic moan replacing it.

“You calling me nasty but I think you’re just as bad as I am, hmm?”

You smiled up at him, leaning back slightly so he could watch the way your tits bounced for him as he fucked you. “I never said I wasn’t, I was the one who wanted to do the bad things.”

Bucky lent down, nose to nose with you and lips nearly touching. “You weren’t the only one who was thinking like that.”

His lips caught yours again as his tongue moved straight into your mouth. He pulled you back onto him and made your whole body tense up on him, a ridiculously good rhythm that was making your legs shake.

Slipping a hand in between you, his fingers worked quick against your clit as you tried to match his movements. Everything was becoming increasingly difficult as you could feel your second orgasm working its way through you.

“You’re so good, you make incredible drinks and you’re really good at this too.” You cried, gripping onto his forearm as your back arched up.

Hearing him chuckle through his staggered breaths, his fingers only picked up against where you were most sensitive. “You make spreadsheets look sexy, holy fuck.”

You would’ve laughed, it was a pretty good one, but the orgasm that tore straight through you only allowed you to cry his name. Pussy locked tight around him you nearly left the table as everything broke inside you. The tension that’d he’d created was cut and you came with a near scream.

Bucky coaxed you through it, telling you how pretty you were, how good you looked. All you could do was whimper for him, aftershocks moving through you as he worked closer to his own end.

You opened your eyes to see him in front of you, fisting his cock above you as he panted your name. You’d never heard or seen something quite as good as this, he was something else entirely.

He came with a cry, painting across your stomach as he fell against the bench top. The both of you frozen in time, collecting yourselves and letting your brains set back to normal. Propping yourself back up, you looked at the gorgeous man lent over the sink.

“I know you’ve just put in the hard work,” You reasoned gesturing to your state. “But I could really do with another drink.”

[whispering-about-loki]

A Little theory regarding the Loki series

Warning! Image-heavy!

I am going to preface this by saying that this won’t happen. Well, maybe it won’t. Most of it won’t. Maybe some of it will. So SPOILER warning, in case it does. 

I’ll put some of my thought process in a note at the end.

---------

After Loki is arrested and brought before court to be charged for his part in certain time crimes, Mobius M. Mobius takes him “somewhere to talk”. He shows Loki snippets of how his life would have gone if he hadn’t skipped out with the Tesseract, then he tells him that he needs his help. Someone has been causing changes throughout history, making a myriad of variant timelines. Mobius believes that someone is taking advantage of their position in the TVA to cause this chaos; but his superiors refuse to believe that any of their ranks would behave in such a manner. So Mobius figures that if you want to handle chaos, you need to embrace chaos, and without consulting his superiors about it, he offers the God of Mischief a deal: help him find and bring back the rogue agent, and Loki will get his freedom. 

It is, of course, against the rules; but Mobius is willing to bend the rules a bit, if it means ending the time incidents. Loki agrees, thinking he will be able to use the situation to escape. But Mobius understands Loki’s thought process and warns him that if he strays from his assignment, he will be brought right back to the TVA. Loki being Loki, though, does try to skip out; but after he is zipped right back to the TVA a couple times, he doesn’t try it again.

Loki then does what he agreed to, slipping through time with Mobius and looking for the cause of the chaos. Disconcertingly, though, Loki’s power and strength begin to diminish, to the point where simple attacks he should have been able to easily counter are enough to take him down. Mobius says he doesn’t know why it is happening.

After a while Mobius's superiors suspect he is up to something, so he begins sending Loki out on his own, staying behind at the TVA to keep the others off his trail. Loki still doesn't like being in someone's "servant", and he resents being kept on such a tight temporal leash; but he continues reporting back to Mobius. While on assignments, Loki occasionally ends up preventing disasters that the “Agent of Chaos” had set in motion; though he also can’t help but make some “small” changes to the timeline, himself.

Mobius tells him to be more careful, or he might cause unforeseen effects. When Loki scoffs at this, Mobius asks him if he wants to see the world where he “won” the battle of New York. Mobius doesn’t wait for Loki’s answer, but immediately ships Loki off to an apocalyptic-looking New York City. When Loki gets there, the air is cold to the point where he can see his own breath, and it is utterly silent. A result, it appears, of not only the Chitauri attack, but of the bomb that the Humans used to try to wipe out the invading army. Apparently, the only ones that got wiped out were the Humans -- Avengers and all.

Loki wanders around the desolation for a while, until he is at last found by a roving group of ragged men. They seem to recognize him and he is brought to the leader of the city, who happens to be himself. Boss-Loki has gone a bit around the bend, though. He has been stuck in this place for years since the attack, and has carved himself out a little “kingdom” in the ruins, based in an old arcade. Our Loki is shocked and almost disgusted to see how far he has fallen. When Boss-Loki’s men turn on him because of this other Loki’s presence, though, our Loki gets caught up in the fighting. He calls out to Mobius that he has made his point, and to get him out of there.

Loki goes on doing his “job” then, being more careful with time. At long last, he finds a strange object at the scene of one of the chaotic events, and he brings it back to Mobius, who recognizes it as something he had taken from one of the young agent recruits, a girl named Sylvie. Mobius explains that some of the agents in the TVA are clones (like himself), but that some are recruited at a young age by the TVA because they show special abilities. Sometimes these recruitments occur from outside the main timeline, which is where they found Sylvie. Not only was she a gifted individual, but the TVA records showed that she should not have existed in the first place; so they took her in to train her, and also so that her presence would not disrupt the flow of time. 

Mobius and Loki go to confront her in her room, but she is gone. Mobius feels responsible because it was he that “recruited” Sylvie. Additionally, he knew that she had a habit of slipping through time on “joy rides” and coming back with souvenirs, which was strictly against the rules. She always seemed innocent, though, so he went easy on her about it. Hidden in a drawer in her room, they find other “souvenirs”, and Loki notes that some of them have Asgardian runes on them. Mobius says that Sylvie is human, according to her genetic code, so he doesn’t understand what she is doing with the runes. 

As they ponder the meaning of this, an alarm sounds in the TVA headquarters, and they know something terrible is happening in some variant timeline. They leave Sylvie’s room to try to get to the portals to take them to the time-incident; but on the way, some TVA agents try to stop them. They claim that Loki is the rogue element that has been causing all of the chaos, and that he needs to be “erased” as soon as possible. 

Mobius pretends to be on the agents' side, then sets them off-guard so Loki can get to the scene of chaos. After fighting his way through the Minutemen that are guarding the portals, Loki arrives when/where Sylvie is--at a quarry mine--the moon is shattered and the fragments are falling to the Earth. 

Loki runs to get to safety, and the ground opens up as the mine before him collapses, blocking him off from the now-adult Sylvie, who is staring up at the falling moon. She turns and looks at him just as the ground completely falls out from underneath him.

Suddenly the world around him stills and he lands hard on the ground. He struggles to his feet and looks up to see that everything has frozen around him. As he is standing there, gaping in disbelief, he turns and sees Sylvie standing beside him. She is wearing clothing very similar to his old Asgardian outfit, and she is smiling at the destruction and chaos before them.

“Hello, Father,” she says. “Have I made you proud?”

-------

-------

Notes: 

SPOILERS below.

My main thought was that since Cailey Fleming is listed as playing “Young Sylvie”, that would imply the presence of an older Sylvie. Otherwise, she would have been listed as “Sylvie”. Sylvie Lushton being the girl that Loki, in the comics, empowered and/or created, and who later became a version of Enchantress. 

That is who I think Sophia Di Martino is playing as an adult, rather than Lady Loki, like I used to think. Her hair is the wrong color to be Loki, for one thing; and she has been shown filming in the same location as Tom Hiddleston, who was wearing an Agent outfit at the time. I’m not gonna put the set photos here, but you know the ones... the pictures where she is wearing just about the same outfit as Loki has in the past. And we know that this character is the one that is causing the chaos, because in those set photos she is wearing a certain pair of boots and fingerless gloves, both of which are freeze-frame bonusses on the “mystery figure” in the trailer (when she drops the lantern and lifts her hands to her hood).

I’d also like to point out that she is wearing what appears to be a sword on her hip:

Anyway, I figure it goes something like this: 

Sylvie exists because another version of Loki had adopted her when he discovered that she had talents close to his own. He had begun training her how to use magic; but he was not so good a teacher as Frigga was, and the training was complicated by her wily and independent nature. Loki in that timeline died, though, leaving Sylvie alone. 

The TVA (specifically, Mobius) took her in, but because of her abilities, she was naturally able to slip through time, create illusions, age herself up and down, etc. Eventually, she decided she would “make her father proud” by sowing chaos. The thing is, she has grown stronger and more chaotic since Loki showed up at the TVA, because she has been inadvertently drawing his power and life force from him -- basically depowering him to charge herself up (c’mon... he gets laid out by a Roomba...). In fact, the draining of his life-force was what killed her “father” in her own timeline, though she didn’t know it.

Additionally (and on another note), the Loki series is said to be a “crime thriller” with sci-fi aspects; so while Loki tracking down a rogue time-agent seems to be a pretty straightforward idea, it could be given a nice twist at the end by having the rogue element not be an agent, but someone of Loki’s own making. And it would be one hell of a cliffhanger for the next season.

And... that’s all I got for now.