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anyasathenaeum · 3 months ago

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I Need Some Sleep

A/N: Well, I wasn't kidding when I said I was gonna write the little scenario I described in this post and that nobody could stop me. I've always imagined dancing with Vash to this song from the Shrek 2 soundtrack because it reminds me so much of him. I listened to it while writing, so I encourage listening to it while you read. Enjoy. Warnings: Honestly, none, really. This one's wholesome, I swear

Sleepless nights weren't a new thing for Vash.

Over the many years he'd lived and spent wandering across the deserts of No Man's Land, he'd often found that sleep was just as elusive as the supposed Mayfly of love he had once joked about. Endless thoughts, what-ifs, and memories always seemed to haunt him once the glow of the moons was the only light left, and his mind never seemed to have an off switch. No matter what he did, no matter how many walks he took, no matter how much he tried to meditate or focus on trying to quiet his mind, sleep never seemed to come when he wanted it to.

As he stared at the ceiling of his little private cabin and listened to the steady rumble of the sandsteamer as it chugged along its route through the sand seas, Vash found himself feeling especially restless. He wondered to himself what it was that kept him awake this time - was it the usual, overwhelming sense of self-loathing he felt? Or the guilt that threatened to drown time every time he remembered that he'd failed to save somebody? Or was it just the worry he felt at the fact that you, his longtime travelling companion and one of his best and only friends, didn't end up in a cabin near his?

After what felt like at least a couple hours, Vash let out a deep sigh and gave up trying to identify the cause of his wakefulness, accepting that it was likely a result of a combination of all the things usually troubling him plus worry for you. Simultaneously, he decided to stop trying to force himself to sleep, knowing it would do him no good to continue trying at this point.

'Well... the least I can do is go make sure (Y/N)'s safe.' Vash thought to himself, standing and stretching while trying not to smash his head on the low ceiling of his cabin before quietly heading out to go check on you.

The sandsteamer almost felt abandoned. There wasn't a single soul in sight, not even a single straggler or drunk who'd lost their way back to their cabin. As Vash walked through the halls, he found himself thinking of you, wondering if you'd managed to fall asleep with the rumbling of the sandsteamer and the rare situation of having a room to yourself.

More often than not, you and Vash shared rooms and beds in inns, motels, or whatever accommodations you could find from time to time in order to save double-dollars, and the two of you were more accustomed to falling asleep with the other nearby, the sounds of the other's breathing and the way you both moved in sleep familiar to each other. So, to suddenly be greeted by complete and utter silence and a lack of your warmth was more than unsettling to Vash, more so than he cared to admit.

Not having you tucked up by his side as you slept felt... wrong.

He missed the feeling of your warmth against his body, the softness of you pressed up against him as you slept undisturbed, at peace by his side, peace that he brought you. He missed the sight of your face, somehow more youthful as you slumbered on. He missed the sound of your deep, steady breaths. He missed the scent of you and the way it would linger on his clothes the following morning.

He missed you.

However, Vash was quick to brush those thoughts away, shaking his head to himself as he approached your cabin. He couldn't be thinking about you like that. He couldn't be feeling about you like that. After all, it wouldn't be fair to you. You deserved better than the pitiful, stressful, touch-and go, unsettled life that Vash could offer you, even if he would love you better than anybody else ever could if you gave him the chance. In his eyes, in his mind, it wasn't enough for you. He wasn't enough for you. You deserved better.

However, all his self-deprecating thoughts disappeared the moment he realized that you weren't in your cabin.

'Where did you go?'

Trying hard to quell his rising panic, Vash decided to head up to the open-air decks first and look for you there, as he knew sometimes you, too, had difficulty sleeping. In those times, he tended to find you stargazing, your eyes glued to the heavens, mesmerized by the way the stars seemed to sparkle and dance in the night sky.

So, without wasting a second longer, Vash began to make his way up to the deck.

He walked much faster than he normally did, trying desperately to stop himself from breaking into a sprint all the way up to the deck and preventing his panic from overtaking him completely.

Yet, despite all his efforts, he found himself thinking on repeat, 'Please be safe. Please be safe. Oh, Gods, please let (Y/N) be safe.'

As Vash got up to the deck, he looked around for you, moving around as quickly as he could, desperation and fear beginning to take root in his heart when each place he searched came up empty.

Then, thankfully, he found you.

You sat on a bench on the deck, your head tilted up and your eyes on the heavens, watching the stars as the desert wind ruffled your clothes and hair. When you heard Vash's footsteps, you quickly glanced over to see who was approaching, your body tensing as if anticipating a fight. However, when you realized who it was, you quickly relaxed, an easy and genuine smile appearing on your lips.

"Oh, hey, Vash." You greeted your best friend with a small wave of your hand.

Trying hard not to let his relief be so obvious, Vash came over and sat on the bench next to you, smiling back at you warmly, "Hey, (Y/N). Couldn't sleep?"

"Nah," you answered, sighing softly as you leaned back against the bench, looking out at the endless dunes that passed as the sandsteamer chugged along. "It was simultaneously too loud and too quiet in my room. I couldn't get comfortable."

"I can understand that." Vash chuckled softly, following your gaze out onto the horizon. He let himself relax next to you, all his previous panic and worry fading away as he caught your scent, carried by the breeze.

A comfortable, familiar silence fell over the two of you as you sat there next to each other, taking in the sights of the sea of sand, the night sky and the moons that glowed bright enough to cast shadows. After a few minutes of silence, you allowed yourself to move a bit closer to Vash, letting your head rest on his shoulder as you let out a small sigh.

"It feels weird, sleeping without you being nearby." The words spilled from your lips before you could stop yourself. "I don't like it."

The flutter that Vash's heart gave betrayed the depth of his feelings for you, but he ignored it, focusing instead on answering quietly, "I don't like it, either. I'm not used to sleeping alone, anymore, I guess."

You found yourself looking up at the blonde gunman sitting next to you, a curious look on your face and a hint of worry seeping into your words. "Is that a bad thing?"

Vash couldn't stop himself from looking down at you, his eyes meeting yours as he pondered the answer. Then, after a couple moments, his lips turned upward into a small, amused smile. "No. It's not a bad thing."

You could feel your body relaxing slightly as you let out a breath you hadn't even realized you had been holding. Vash wanted to laugh at just how endearing your obvious relief was, but he restrained himself, instead turning his head so he could tear his gaze away from you, his heart pounding frantically in his chest.

After a couple more moments of comfortable silence between the two of you, you whispered softly, "You need some sleep, Vash."

Your care and concern for him was so obvious, your every word and the tone of your voice so telling that it made Vash want to scream. Instead, he simply offered you a quiet, weak laugh, "Yeah, I know. I just can't seem to get my mind to quiet down is all."

That made you pull away from him, your gaze remaining fixed on his face as you studied him carefully. You knew that Vash struggled with a lot more than what he shared with you, and that he carried a lot more scars than just the physical ones that marred his body. There were scars on his soul, more than you could ever think to know. You could only imagine how heavy a weight he carried on his shoulders and in his heart, and how badly you wished that he'd share some of the load with you. You knew better, though, than forcing him to do so, and you knew that when and if he decided to share any of the burden with you that you would carry it gladly.

Wordlessly, you stood up from the bench, turning so you were facing Vash and extending your hand out to him. Vash looked up at you quizzically, clearly not understanding what was going on. The determination and glint of something he couldn't place in your eyes, however, led him to offer you his prosthetic hand, gently resting it in yours.

Without hesitation, you tugged on his hand gently, clearly wanting him to stand with you. Vash followed your silent requests without complaint or question, but his curious expression remained, his blue eyes trained on your every move. As the two of you stood, you guided one of Vash's hands to your waist, trying hard not to let the heat rise to your face as you did so, before taking his other hand in yours and resting your free hand on his shoulder. Then, slowly, you began to sway the two of you back and forth, as if to some tune.

After a couple seconds, Vash settled into his stance, allowing himself to sway with you on the spot, a small chuckle escaping him. "(Y/N)? What are we doing?"

"Isn't it obvious, Stampede?" You replied, looking up at him with a playful little smile. "We're dancing."

"I figured that much out for myself, oddly enough." Vash answered with a proper laugh, his smile becoming more genuine as he kept his warm gaze on you. "I meant more along the lines of "why are we dancing?"."

You shrugged. "It seemed like a nice night for a dance."

Vash couldn't help but laugh softly at your reasoning, and he let himself relax and enjoy the gentle swaying of the two of you. Tightening his grip on your waist, he gently began to turn the two of you as you swayed, both of you completely unbothered by the lack of music. The thrumming of the sandsteamer's engine, the whistling of the wind, the shifting whisper of the sands, were your music.

You found yourself getting closer and closer to Vash the longer the two of you danced together, unsure if it was you stepping closer to him or him pulling you in or some combination of the two, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. As your head came to rest on his chest and you felt Vash rest his chin on the top of your head, you let your eyes close, focusing on the feeling of Vash against you.

He was your safe space. Your home, in every way that it mattered. Your heart was his, even if he didn't know it, and always would be. And right now, on the deck of the sandsteamer, there was only the two of you in the world, as far as you were concerned. You knew that Vash needed some way to get his mind off his worries so that he could rest, and maybe, just maybe, this would do the trick.

Meanwhile, Vash finally felt his mind fall quiet, his focus solely on you and holding you close to him as the two of you gently rocked from side to side in time to some silent tune. Somehow, just the feeling of you in his arms and dancing with you in the middle of the night on the deck of a sandsteamer was enough to pull him away from the suffering that plagued his mind. You were a soothing balm to the torn, raw and bleeding mess that was his soul.

"You finally dozin' off on me, (Y/N)?" Vash's voice teased you playfully after a couple minutes of silence, a gentle undertone to his words.

You reopened your eyes, pulling your head away from his chest so you could look up into his eyes. "Not yet. I'm just enjoying this. Besides, I don't think I'll be able to sleep when I'm alone again."

A slight frown appeared on Vash's face at your statement, and he whispered back before he could stop himself, "You don't have to be alone."

Your eyes widened as you looked at him, and you could've sworn you saw his cheeks and the tips of his ears darken slightly as he said that. Uncertainty filled you, but so did the overwhelming need to accept Vash's thinly-veiled offer.

All you could bring yourself to ask was, "Are you sure?"

Vash nodded slowly, his eyes not leaving yours for a moment despite the deepening of his blush. "I'm sure. I'd prefer to have you nearby, anyways. It always makes me nervous when you're not close enough for me to protect you."

That made your heart flutter wildly in your chest, and you could feel the heat rising to your own face now as you answered, "You don't always have to protect me, you know?"

Something in Vash's face shifted, a resoluteness taking its place in his eyes as he looked at you, his voice firm and leaving no place for argument or negotiation. "Yes, I do, (Y/N)."

You felt the heat in your face intensify at his resolve and determination to protect you, and while you desperately wanted to ask him where this was coming from, you didn't have the courage to start down that road.

Not yet.

Instead, you asked quietly, "Should we head back, then?"

You could've sworn you felt Vash's grip on your waist tighten a bit, pressing you against him just a little more than before. His expression became warm and tender as he continued to spin the two of you, something you couldn't quite identify shining in his eyes and a genuine smile appearing on his lips.

"Not yet. We've only just gotten started."

#anya's athenaeum #trigun stampede x reader #trigun stampede #trigun x reader #trigun #vash the stampede #vash x reader #vash the stampede x reader #trigun imagines #vash trigun

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madwomansapologist · 4 months ago

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one look and you knew | shan yu x fem!reader

for shan yu, you are his destiny. for you, he is the man that kidnapped you. love at first sight is a tale as old as time. he just didn't expect you wouldn't believe in it.

cw: love at first sight. meet cute. public nudity. accidental voyeurism. murder couple in the making. yandere. kidnapping. shan "i'll make you my empress" yu x fem!reader "what's your name?". in this house we hate the misogynist version of Shan Yu in Mulan (2020).

an: rip moon you would've loved hearing nu metal while doing the dishes. also my favorite dinamic is war criminal x someone that would have the time of their live being a nun.

The wind howled against his ears. Trees spoke in their ancient language. Silently, the world continue to move. Harmonic in its apparent chaos, carefully built even in its broken pieces, the world continued to be.

It was quiet there. Not maddening as the silence of soldiers well aware of their wrongdoings. Not numb as the moment right before a battle. Not debilitating as his sleepless, lonely midnights.

It was quiet there in the mountains, but not still. The world wasn't holding its breath, muscles clenching in tension or fear. It was what it has always been: uncaring, an indiferent witness to mankind.

Man can die, man can kill. The wind will keep on howling either way.

Marching forward in the monster's belly, he thought. A battle against time. An unstoppable war against the inevitable end.

Stupidly feverish, Shan Yu then admitted to himself. He ignored as his body plead for rest, instead riding his horse away from comfort. Shan Yu is the one to blame for his boiling mind and those irrational, melancolic thoughts.

Following an old path hidden by trees, Shan Yu travelled deeper into the mountains. The cut on his forearm throbbed. It would need new bandages, he could feel the blood drying against his sore skin.

Still, Shan Yu chose the ruthlessness of the mountain and whispers of a tired mind rather than the bought hospitality of an warm inn. More so, he chose silence over chaos.

He needed to think. To plan.

His armies invaded China. Battle after battle, they were always victorious. Now they understand this place. His generals trained soldiers with new formations that fit this land better. But real victory isn't as near as Shan Yu would want to.

His army is at disadvantage. They are in the enemy's territory. They are the ones moving forward instead of defending what they already own. They are the ones making arrangements with villages because a war this long means more food, more water, more time.

Shan Yu left his army behind, allowing them to celebrate. It was a good deal with the village's leader, whom only desire was to keep his people safe. He need his man confident, excited with the prospects of war. Let the alcohol soothe their minds, they earned it.

Alone, facing the place he must conquer, Shan Yu could deal with the stratagems. Challenged, he must find a way to humiliate the Emperor. To make even his own people turn their backs on him.

A sneeze made the strategist give place to the warrior.

The horse stopped with the pressure of his feet. Still as stone, Shan Yu searched for the source of it. He wasn't being followed. That he knows. This can't be a trap. At least not a good one.

He jumped to the ground, hand already searching for his jagged jian. He stopped at the handle, not wanting the steel to reflect light and warn his enemy. It was time to hunt.

Following his instincts, he wandered between the trees. His feet were light on the ground. This threat won't be able to gasp before he attacks.

He found a river bank surrounded by stones. No signs of an ambush. He couldn't smell anything strange in the air, only the... No. Shan Yu stopped moving. He felt something sweet. A strong perfume in the air.

Shan Yu glared at the river, now unsure of what he was looking for. Maybe it wasn't a trap. After all, that's not an important village. No soldiers or officers live here. Maybe this old hidden path isn't as old or as hidden as he thought. Maybe he's hunting something that simply isn't aware of him.

Then he noticed. Clothes folded in the river bank, a towel spread on a stonr, a basket half-filled with shells and stones.

Deep into the river, your fingers brushed against a shell. You grabbed it, and checked if anything lived inside of it yet. It was a few inches bigger than your hand, and in a beautiful shade of green.

A cold breeze welcomed you to the surface. You took a deep breath, shaking your head and getting the water away from your eyes. Your face felt like it was burning, but you know the cold was causing it.

You cleaned the shell, brushing your fingers against the mud stucked inside it. It really was a beautiful shade of green. Brighter than you could see underwater.

Absolutely perfect for your collection. All other green shells you've ever found had crustaceans living inside of them, and you would never leave them without a home. This one will make it all even more special.

You laughed to youself, observing all its details. You continued to explore the surface, crossing the river a few more times. You knew it like the palm of your hand. Maybe even better than your own bedroom.

You can be bored, overwhelmed, exhausted: this place solves it easily. Its silence involves your brain, and its water washes over the very fabric of your soul. You can feel it. The knots coming lose, the tissue shining, each thread becoming softer.

Shan Yu released the handle of his jian when you emerged, froze in place as his eyes followed your every movement. As if cursed, his body wasn't his to control anymore. Immovable muscles, unstoppable heart. His worries were shut down, any hardship simply erased from his usually sharp memory.

Moonlight blinded him for an instant. No, it was you. Your light was that bright. Was he seeing your soul? Brighter than the moon, as enebriating as barley, more soothing than popy.

Your light casts no shadow.

Were you a witch? A sorceress dominating his body and mind, sinking Shan Yu into a trance he would never want to get out of. Or were you a siren? Luring him into the water, waiting for the perfect chance to bite his heart out of his chest.

He can't believe you're any of those. None could be half as beautiful as you. A nymph. Only that could explain your beauty.

He admire you. The old scar on your knees, stretch marks on your waist, freckles on your back. The way your eyes shone as you collected your shells, how your body moved as if the water wasn't an obstacle but a path made for you to follow.

It was so cold, but that didn't stopped you from doing what you wanted. It takes a certain hunger to do something you desire despite the world around you. For now, deep into the mountains, you were free.

Your laugh made him forget about everything. That sound was deserving of a thousand praises. People should dedicate their lifes for the chance of witnessing you blossoming.

A small price for such a great gift.

But you sneezed, and that woke up Shan Yu from his trance. He was reminded of where he was and who he is. Of how cold it was. Shan Yu looked at your clothes again. Such a light tissue would never fully protect you. Unlike his fur.

Unlike him.

With a storm for a heart, Shan Yu approached. Glaring at your back, he purposely stepped on a branch.

Part of you hoped to be surprised by an animal, but you knew someone was standing behind you. You couldn't see who was there, but you knew someone not looking for trouble wouldn't be there.

It's fair ground then.

"If you want to approach me, do it", you whispered. You didn't need to be any louder to be heard. Your fingers clenched around the shell you were studying, aware the only thing stopping it from being a weapon was your intent. "But I am not fazed by blood."

A chuckled was heard. A man, of course it was. What surprised you was to hear him walking away.

You turned around, but all you saw was the stranger's back as he dissapeared among the trees. Folded over your clothes, you found a wolf fur coat. You hesitate before brushing your wet fingers against it. It was so warm and soft.

Warm, soft and real.

You were quick to get out of the river, drying yourself with a towel. You put on your clothes, took the basket and ran towards the old path you made sure to hide with stones. Apparently not everyone was deceived by it.

A scream came out of your throat as you bumped into someone. Your basket fell on the ground as a familiar hand squeezed your shoulder.

"Mom", you whispered. You blinked, trying to stop yourself from feeling... whatever it was that you were feeling. You gave her your brightest smile, kneeling down to grab all your things. "I know it's late, I was already heading back home."

That earned you a hiss. You did your best to hold the smile. "You're trembling", she said. "I've warned you. You'll get sick."

"I won't", you said. "I promise."

She bit back a smile. So calm, so full of certain. Making promises you can't possibly keep, and somehow keeping them anyway.

"You better", she took the basket from your hand, looking at your new findings. "Your father already has enough patients as it is."

Going back home was always the worst part, but even there you could feel the cage closing around you. One thing is to be alone at the river, other to be lonely at your home. There nothing can distract you from thinking until your mind is far away from this village.

Instead of walking forward, you glanced back.

Part of you knew he would be there. Like a ghost at the corner of your eyes. It still chocked you to see his sillhouet there, a blurr in the darkness, right where you left the coat.

Now, you were the one observing him. Trying to understand him. Had he stayed there, hidden somewhere to observe you after his gift? Or did he heard your scream, and only then decided to come back?

You forced yourself to move away. Your mother could never see him. It would be the end of your free evenings if she ever discovered you were naked, futhermore if she even dreamed a man was near.

Unaware of your curious gaze, Shan Yu brushed the mark of your wet fingers on his coat. It got your attention, earned your touch, gained the sweet perfume of your skin. It was a gift, and one you so politely declined.

As if a saint would ever accept anything coming from a conqueror. "Now that is a challenge."

Back at the inn, Shan Yu was a new man. Maybe it was your laugh. Perhaps your freedom. Now, Shan Yu wasn't worrying anymore.

He already knew what to do.

⋆✦⋆

A scream woke you up.

You pulled the blanket away from your sweaty body, hands trembling as you moved. Surrounded by darkness, your heart beating so loud you could feel it twitching on your ears, you sat on the bed and faced the darkness surrounding you.

A nightmare. Squeezing the fabric of your nightgown, you tried to force yourself to calm down. Don't allow it to consume you, you thought. Be good, be quiet.

They were gone for a while now. It's been a few weeks since you last woke up at midnight, silence devouring you alive, searching for a comfort that just wasn't there. After a lifetime of nights filled with terror, you saw the anesthetized sleep as a good omen.

Should you see this night as a bad one?

Part of you hoped to be proven wrong. With your fingers brushing against your lips, you wonded if you really screamed in your sleep. In worse nights, worse times, you would wake up to your father holding you down. He isn't there, your house is silent.

Everything is fine.

But hope is a treacherous thing. So easily it lift you up to your feet, so quickly it shoves you down on the ground again.

Of course you father isn't holding you down. Of course your house is silent. Of course you feel alone. It's because you are.

A messenger came a few hours ago. Someone was injured. If they didn't bring the girl there, the reason was obvious: it was so bad they were afraid to move her. And if your parents aren't home already, then it is worse than you have imagined.

You hugged yourself. You know that being alone in that house is the first step for your mind to break you. You would start to think about this place, about your old home, and soon your mind would worry about the place you need to go when he is back.

If he comes back. After this war is over, will you have a husband you despise or a funeral to attend? A husband you dislike is easy to deal with, specialy if he comes back sick and tired. To find another one is worse: they might chose one you hate.

Steps made you stop worrying. Your heard the gate swing open, and that made you walk barefeet to the entrance of your home. Brushing your eyes, you noticed a shadow getting closer to the main door. They're home now.

For now, all you wanted was to not be alone anymore. "I had another nightmare", you spoke while sliding the door open, aware they could hear you from the other side. "Is she dead?"

Instead of what you expected, you saw him.

His golden gaze felt so heavy on your skin. The tall man, surrounded by darkness as if it was his to command, covered by fur and smelling like steel and iron. His sword glistened, his teeth too.

You felt like a prey. A sleepy rabbit facing a hungry wolf. His gaze reminded you of a predator, a cruel one playing with its meal.

Then you saw the eagle on his broad arm. That made you aware of his name. Oh, how you head the whispers. A man surrounded by death and blood. The bearer of destruction and fear. Leader of an army with a single duty: to break China apart.

"No one died tonight", Shan Yu whispered, somehow apologetic. As if he was an unexpected visitor with a good reason to surprise you, not a wild man that appeared in the middle of the night armed while you're alone. "You had another nightmare?"

You should've screamed. You should've ran away from him. But instead, understanding the only thing keeping Shan Yu from being violent is his desire to do so, you looked into his eyes and pretended to be fine. "What do you seek here?"

Closer, Shan Yu discovered he was wrong about you. The light inside your eyes was a mistake of his. They're on fire. Burning inside you, you soul warmed him.

"Your heart", Shan Yu answered, taking a step back. "Care to join me?"

You glared at the open gates, then at his eyes again. You waited for a manic laugh, a mean gaze, anything that showed the violence implicit on his words. If it was there, your eyes didn't catch it.

A hun after a chinese. A man oathed to destroy your nation asking for your heart. Maybe a few years ago when you were young and stupid this could almost sound like a fairytale. You know how to name this situation: spoil of war.

"You said no one died tonight", your throat burned. "But if I don't follow you... someone will, right?"

It took him a second, but the true meaning of your words hit Shan Yu like a poisoned arrow. "I wasn't threatening you", he started to clarify his intentions, but you stepping forward shut him.

Shan Yu saw anger on your eyes, disgust on the curl of your lips. Violence fits you heavenly. "But you will hurt others", how dry you sounded. Heartless. But he could see the truth behind it all. You were about to explode, but couldn't allow yourself to. "I rather not see this village burn like the others you passed by."

Shan Yu takes what he wants, claims what he desire, get rid of what doesn't fit his goals. But you're not a thing to be possessed. You're a person. A person that shines and burns. He can't take your love from you. Shan Yu can only hope for it.

Shan Yu wants to earn you.

"You will be my empress", he declared. "My heart is yours. I will wait until you feel the same. I won't touch you unless you allow me. I will protect your honor, defend your body and mind."

You chuckled. "Shan Yu, do you really believe in love at first sight?"

"Moon, I will give you China as a dowry", was his answer.

Your name coming out of his mouth made shivers run down your spine. You sighed. "You won't give up, will you?"

He wouldn't. Shan Yu would never.

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

general taglist: @lovelyy-moonlight

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

#madwomansapologist #shan yu x reader #shan yu mulan #shan yu scenario #shan yu fanfiction #shan yu fanfic #shan yu #prisoner/bride au #disney classics #disney villains #walt disney #disney animation #disney movies #disney #disney villain #villain #shan yu x you #shan yu x y/n

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aerynwrites · 1 year ago

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Fear of Losing You

Dammon x GN!Reader

A/N: Had this idea and realized it would work perfectly as a part 2 to Emeralds! I hope you all enjoy!

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: angst, talks of death, fear of death, emotional hurt/comfort, fluff, kissing, Dammon is once again a sweetheart and I love him.

Part 1

His screams are the only thing you can hear.

His screams among the dozens of others filling the air. You can’t even see what’s happening, darkness filling your vision as you search blindly for him.

“Dammon!”

You scream his name, desperate to find him, but it only echoes around you, never receiving an answer.

Swords clashing, more screaming, the iron tang of blood flooding your tongue.

What’s happening? Where’s Dammon? What’s going on?

A frantic call of your name has you spinning, that blackness nearly suffocating you as you search blindly for the man calling your name.

He sounds scared. He sounds scared and hurt and you can’t see anything-

Another call of your name is what finally jerks you awake, the all consuming blackness giving way to the familiar darkness of nighttime at camp.

You’re shaking, sweat making your clothes cling uncomfortably to your skin as you take in your surroundings.

Gale sits in front of you on your bedroll by the fire, brows pinched in concern as he gazes at you. His hand on your shoulder squeezes gently as you try to get your bearings, your other companions looking on in worry.

“You were having a nightmare,” Gale says softly. “Are you alright?”

You nod your head, bringing a shaking hand up to rest against your forehead.

“I’m fine I…” you shrug his hand off. “Something just feels…wrong.”

“Such is the way of the shadow cursed lands,” Halsin says from across the fire, arms crossed pensively over his chest. “The shadow magic here affects more than just the creatures it creates. I’m sure when we reach Last Light, we may find some solace.”

You nod despite the deep pit of anxiety settling in your stomach.

“Yeah…you’re probably right.”

You give a small thanks to Gale before laying back down and turning your back to the fire, knowing no sleep will come to you. Not with the fear of those terrible screams returning.

When morning comes, you’re already on your feet and gearing up for the trip to Last Light. You’d spent most of your sleepless night finding the best route to the inn the Harper’s had marked on your map, and once everyone was ready, you head out.

You had tried all night to ease the pit of dread that formed in your stomach, but nothing helped.

It’s as if you could sense that something was wrong. Something more than the evil that cursed these lands. And your mind would not stop going back to that dream. To Dammon’s screams…

“Oh, gods…”

Shadowheart’s murmured gasp pulls you from your thoughts and the map you are currently looking at, coming to a stop as the group does. You’ve barely blinked when the map falls from your hands, utter fear gripping your heart as you see what caused even the sharran to pause.

It’s the refugees. The tieflings from the grove.

Dozens of them lay slaughtered in an open field in front of you, and before you can think better of it, you’re darting towards the massacre and out of the safety of the light Karlach holds.

You faintly registered muttered curses and calls of your name as your companions chase after you, but you don’t care. All you can do is scan each body you pass, hoping and praying with each one that you don’t see his body among them.

You see dozens of faces, some familiar and some not, but you know for certain they were from the grove. And with each one you find that isn’t Dammon you feel equal parts relief and dread.

Until your eyes land on an all too familiar green scarf caught in the branches of a bush on the side of the path. It flutters weakly in the bitter breeze constant to these cursed lands, the only source of color besides the blood soaking into the ground.

You stumble over towards the item slowly, reaching out and clutching the soft material between shaking fingers. Pulling it free form the tangled branches, you hold the fabric up to your nose, confirming what you already know.

It’s Dammon’s.

It still smells like him. Like burnt metal, smoke, and the subtle sweet spice cinnamon.

A cry works its way past your lips before you can stop it, and Shadowheart just barely manages to catch you before your knees buckle.

“He’s…it’s Dammons,” you tell the others, tears already wetting your lashes. “They…they’re all dead.”

The last word is choked out and you can feel a torrent of tears ready to follow, but Karlach steps forward, getting down on one knee beside you.

“Don’t lose hope,” she says, voice firm. “He isn’t here, you looked remember? We haven’t found him yet, and this-“ she gestures to the scarf in your hands. “He could have gotten away.”

You nod as her words sink in, the fear subsiding ever so slightly, but still gripping your heart.

“Y-yes I suppose…” you trail off, looking back down at the scarf in your hand before wrapping it tightly around your knuckles. “We should push on to Last Light, maybe they…maybe they know something.”

The rest of your companions mutter small agreements, as well as words of hope. Even Astarion places a gentle hand on your back, saying something about how Dammon wouldn’t go out that easy.

The last leg of the journey to the inn feel like eons, each step feeling like a mile and each turn and bend looking the same as the last.

Despite Karlachs encouraging words, you can’t stop the sorrow from clogging your throat.

It feels foolish really - you and Dammon hadn’t even really started your relationship and yet here you are… mourning him.

You try not to let the darker thoughts creep in. The thoughts of what his last moments were like. If he was afraid or angry or… scared . Did he think of you? Was he in pain?

You let out a shuddering sigh as you turn the last corner, a cobblestone bridge coming into view, revealing a large dome of what looks like pure moonlight.

This must be Last Light Inn.

You just hope it holds what you so desperately yearn for. But just as you cross the bridge into courtyard, you’re stopped by two Harper guards.

“Halt! Keep your hands off your weapons!” The woman says, drawing her own.

You hold your hands up as you approach, your companions following suit behind you.

“Who are you?” The guard asks, her crossbow at the ready.

You introduce yourself as a friend of Halsin’s, before jumping into your more pressing concern.

“We’re just looking for someone,” you tell them. “Please, we just - I need to see if they’re here.”

The woman regards you for a moment before dropping her weapon. “A friend of Halsin’s? She will want to see you. Come.”

You cast a wary glance at your companions before following the guard, your desire to get more information winning out against any caution. You follow them further into the courtyard, watching as they approach a woman with long ashen hair.

She turns to face you upon your approach, lips turned downward and eyes pinched distrustingly.

Before you have a moment to speak, the woman reaches down towards the ground magic erupting from her palm as vines explode from the ground to wrap around your legs, leaving you immobile.

You panic, tugging uselessly at the tendrils as you glance up at her.

“We mean no harm!” You say, hysteria rising.

You don’t have time for this! You need to find Dammon-

The woman regards you coolly, “We will see soon enough.”

Using her free hand she reaches behind her to produce a small jar, holding none other than a tadpole. You watch as the creature squirms, knocking against the glass as your mind pulses with familiarity.

“This is why we’re here you see?” The woman says. “If there’s one thing we know about these creatures, it’s that they know their own kind.”

She looks to you then, tucking the tadpole away in favor of unsheathing her dagger.

“You never should have come here, True Soul.”

Your heart rate spikes, and you hear your companions ready their weapons behind you.

“No! Please , you don’t understand! We’re not true souls we -“ you can feel your tears threatening to spill over. All of your emotions from mere moments ago to now proving to be too much. “I’m just trying to find someone, please-“

A faint call of your name causes everyone to pause, and your heart stops as you hear a commotion from the back of the gathered crowd.

Bodies are pushed to the side, grumbled complaints silenced as the person comes into view.

“Stop!” Dammon calls, wide eyes settling on you. “They are the saviors of the grove, they aren’t the people you’re hunting.”

“Dammon…”

Everything else falls away then, the surprised murmurs, the muttered orders of the woman questioning you. All that remains is the man before you, the man you thought you lost.

He looks the same as when you last saw him, sans his signature emerald scarf. But there, sitting against his chest is that all too familiar silver and green emerald pendant.

The necklace you gave him.

You don’t even realize the vines have receded from your legs until you’re stumbling towards Dammon, the tears finally streaming down your face as you all but fall into his waiting arms.

“I thought you were dead,” you tell him, voice so quiet you’re sure only he can hear.

His arms wrap around you tightly, holding you securely to him as his lips fall to press into the crown of your head.

“I’m alright, I’m okay,” he tells you, voice soft as he holds you in his arms.

You faintly hear the woman who interrogated you invite your companions inside to discuss things further, thankfully allowing you a moment with Dammon, who slowly starts to lead you away from the crowd.

He leads you to a small stone building off to the side of the inn, the warmth from the glowing forge offering you some form of solace as you both come to a stop.

Slowly, Dammon reaches up to cup your face in his hands, urging you to look up at him, bright blue eyes searching your face. His brows are pulled together in concern, his thumbs wiping gently at the tears on your cheeks.

“What happened?” He asks.

Your lower lip wobbles, the tumultuous waves of emotions from earlier rushing back.

“I kept having this terrible feeling,” you begin, sniffing lightly. “Then when we were on our way here we saw…we saw the refugees and they-“ you force down a sob. “I thought you - I saw you scarf, and even though I didn’t see you, I thought the worst and I-“

“ Shhh…”

Dammon shushes you gently, pulling you back into his arms as more tears spill forth. “I was among the people you saw…we were ambushed. But me and several others were able to escape and make it here.”

He pulls away from you once more, eyes soft. “We’re alive, I’m alive. And I don’t plan on going anywhere.”

His words are so sure and full of conviction as if he plans to survive against the odds on sheer will alone.

Before you can think better of it, you lean forward capturing his lips with your own, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly.

There’s only a moment's hesitation before Dammon responds, one hand cradling your cheek while the other slips down to wrap around your waist to pull you closer to him.

His lips move against yours gently, as if silently reassuring you that he’s here and he’s alive.

He’s the first to pull away, but not before pressing a few parting kisses to your cheek and forehead before tugging you towards the back of the forge.

You follow silently, taking in the small stall he leads you to. It’s clean, the straw looking fresh and the bedroll tucked in the back corner making you raise your brows.

“You sleep here?” You ask, not missing the way Dammon’s cheeks turn just a tad darker.

He nods, pulling you down beside him as he sits on his bedroll, his arm slipping around your waist as you take your place beside him.

“Figured it’s easier this way - I keep odd hours so it’s nice to have a place close to my work.”

For the first time in days you smile. Albiet small, but genuine smile as you turn to look at your blacksmith.

“Why does that not surprise me?” You say, relishing in the way he smiles back at you.

It’s then as you look at him, that you remember the scarf wrapped tightly around your hand. You look down, unwinding the fabric from you before holding it up.

“You’re missing something,” you say softly, reaching out towards him. “May I?”

Dammon smiles again, eyes twinkling in the orange glow of the forge. “I’d love nothing more.”

You reach forward, slowly wrapping the soft viridescent fabric around his neck before tucking the ends beneath his leather vest. You then reach up and tug the delicate silver chain from beneath the scarf, letting it and the emerald pendants at its end rest on top.

You thumb the pendant between your fingers, eyes flicking up to Dammon.

“You still wear it,” you say, voice whisper soft.

Dammon nods, reaching out to brush his fingers against the dagger holstered at your hip. “And you still carry this.”

You smile, leaning forward so your nose just barely brushes his own. “So we always carry a piece of each other, right?”

Dammon smiles, lips brushing yours. “Always.”

Then he’s kissing you again, lips full of promises and so much more.

#Dammon x reader #bg3 Dammon x reader #bg3 x reader #bg3 Dammon #bg3 #Dammon

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underdark-dreams · 1 year ago

Text

Not sure if anyone is still following this oneshot, but I ended up writing a second chapter. Turns out I couldn't stop thinking about giving them a happier ending. (Rated M now 👀)

Rolan x Fem!Tav (Unnamed)

Good Night For Company - ch. 2

Tags: Mild Angst, Sexual Content

Word Count: 4,794 [Read on AO3]

Rolan had spent many hours cursing his timidity that night.

He’d lain sleepless at his camp as the sky lightened outside the Emerald Grove, replaying each moment in his mind. The look in her eye when she asked to kiss him—her hand tugging him toward her tent—the lovely way she collapsed against him when his lips found her soft neck.

He'd escaped the very fires of Avernus itself with his whole family miraculously alive and in tow. Yet confronted with the puzzle of her hands drawing him down to her bedroll, his mind had seized up in uncertainty. How much easier could she have made it for him?

Although, he allowed himself, he had made some sense that night. For one who daydreamed of her face as often as Rolan, the strain in her features was instantly noticeable by campfire light. Her eyes were heavy-lidded and shadowed with dark, tired circles. Even her skin seemed drained of its usual color. She needed a good night’s sleep more than anything.

But as they said their goodbyes that night outside his campsite, Rolan's hands still holding her shoulders, he could have sworn she wanted him just as badly as he did her.

Rolan shut his eyes with a groan—her face only swam behind his eyelids, that same invitation drawing him into her gaze. He pressed palms to his eye sockets until she burst apart into popping stars.

When he opened them, he was back in the torchlight of Last Light Inn and sitting in his grim new reality. There was empty silence on either side of him where Cal and Lia should have stood chattering.

Rolan dragged his tankard back towards him across the bar, until he peered down and saw the bottom.

"You two," he snapped at the little Tieflings behind the bar. The boys' conspiratorial giggles hushed immediately as they both looked at him. "Are you tending bar or not?" He waved his empty mug toward them.

"I don't know," Ide said, brows lowering in a skeptical line. Rolan tutted at him.

"It's not difficult. Bottle," he pointed at the open dry red behind the bar. "Cup," he continued, waving a hand in front of him.

"Mistress Jaheira said not to over-pour," Umi piped up, clearly not knowing the term but understanding the sentiment behind it.

"Mistress Jaheira didn't save both your hides from the Shadow Curse, did she?" Rolan snapped. He badly needed another drink; unwelcome lucidity threatened to close in. "If it weren't for me, who knows whether you two would still be out there right now."

“Stop it, mister Rolan,” Ide insisted. Rolan was opening his mouth to chastise him before he caught sight of Umi’s lip trembling.

The child was already a timid thing. Through the recent memories of too many kin lying on the road, Rolan recalled Asharak, the childrens’ fighting instructor from the Grove. He’d been cut down before their young eyes just days ago. Umi seemed especially affected by the loss. No doubt the man’s body still lay spread-eagle on the path up the hill; the urgency of survival had left no time to bury their dead.

Rolan gave a heavy sigh as he watched the child’s forlorn face. Yet again, he felt like a monster. “Go. I swear I’ll practice moderation. And if Jaheira asks, tell her I ordered you off.”

The two of them scampered away without a response, clearly eager to get away from Rolan at the first chance. If only he could escape his own unpleasant company just as easily.

But that, Rolan reminded himself, was what all this wine was for. He lurched across the bar for the bottle and tipped the rest of its contents into his tankard. Its heat down his throat welcomed him back toward oblivion.

If he still lived, their errant paladin had everything to answer for. Whether he’d lost his senses to the curse or just lost his mind entirely, Rolan cursed Zevlor for the umpteenth time for fucking off with the cultists and landing him in this unwelcome position of authority.

Rolan was no leader…at best a very, very uninspiring one. The yoke should have fallen to someone brave and selfless. Someone like broad-shouldered Ikaron. But Ikaron was now another empty body lying along the Risen Road, to be slowly consumed by the shadows.

Rolan knew he was no beacon of encouragement. He’d done his best to herd the other panicked survivors onward, however, using every last bit of evocation knowledge he had to keep them surrounded with light and flame.

He also knew it was sheer good fortune that saved them in the end. If they hadn’t found the sanctuary of Last Light Inn when they did, they’d all be shambling undead by now.

Yet somehow in the days since the ambush, he found all the children hovering around him with frightened eyes, asking him questions he barely knew the answers to himself. How were they going to save the ones who’d been taken by the cult?

Perhaps his unpleasant habit of ordering others about was finally coming around to bite him in the ass.

Nevertheless, Rolan felt vexed and inconvenienced by the unasked responsibility. Weren't his siblings enough of a weight on his shoulders already? Saving everyone would be a miracle; all he could privately hope for was Cal and Lia returned to him.

If they’re still alive. Those were the thoughts that drove him to drink, and drink he did, tipping back the pewter vessel with abandon. In between bouts of liquor, however, Rolan’s mind was working as hard as it ever had.

Cal and Lia would be at Moonrise Towers. No question. Moonrise was the headquarters of this insane Absolute cult, the one whose small patrol had butchered their numbers on the road. And a fortress of that size had to have a dungeon of some sort on the lower level. Why would they go through the trouble of taking them alive just to kill them? They must have plans for them all—ones Rolan tried not to imagine in detail.

He had to think of a way to slip through unnoticed—possibly by river, if the rumors he’d overheard from the Harpers were right. How far could he get on his own? Asking any of his fellows for help was out of the question.

Rolan glanced across the common room at what pitiful few remained. Alfira sat near the open hearth, fingers going through the motions of tuning her lute strings. Her usually cheerful eyes were blank and distant. Rolan hadn’t heard her play a single note since Lakrissa had been taken with his siblings. He should have thought to comfort her, but that kind of gentleness never seemed to occur to him.

Rolan crossed his arms on the bar and dropped his horns to them. If only he’d thought faster, acted sooner, left the others to fend for themselves in order to grab hold of his brother and sister before their screams grew distant. His sharp nails dug into his palms as the sound replayed in his mind.

He wished he had anyone besides himself to be angry at. He wished he could be angry at her.

If only she'd never taught Cal and Lia how to hope to fight back or be heroes. If only she'd never taught him how to hope…for anything, he decided. For any single single thing he might wish were possible.

Through his haze of drunken self-pity, his ears pricked at some kind of shouting and commotion out front. No doubt another attack by some new shadow-cursed horror. Rolan heard one of the little ones begin calling his name.

"I’m coming, I’m coming,” Rolan spat, sliding petulantly to his feet as one hand reached for the quarterstaff leaning against the bar. “The damned hells is it this time?" He didn’t care what language the child might hear, but young Mattis was unphased.

“Stow your frown—” Mattis was grinning toothily. “Goblin killer finally made it!”

“What?” But the boy was already gone, bounding away from him through the front doors. Rolan swallowed dry against his fuzzy tongue. He felt fully awake for the first time in days, and he gripped the bar to steady himself before his feet stumbled forward.

Jaheira's enchanted vines were disentangling from her legs just as Rolan entered the courtyard. It was fortunate; he'd grown to respect Jaheira, and it would've been a shame to have to hex her. Rolan jostled through the gathered Harpers without a care in order to push closer.

She and her companions had been waylaid just past the bridge. Harper Lassandra was relaying a report in her defense, it seemed, but all Rolan could concentrate on was her face.

Her cheeks were splattered with dark, shadow-magic blood. One of her sleeves was ripped open at the shoulder, displaying another patch of blood-stained skin at the seam of her leather jerkin. By the dark circles under her eyes, she still hadn't slept properly since the Grove.

She was the most beautiful thing Rolan had seen in weeks.

Her eyes came to rest on his own face then; he watched her blink hard, as if she might be dreaming.

"Rolan?" She croaked out softly.

He had already half-closed the gap by the time she started toward him. They caught each other so hard Rolan felt the air leave his lungs in a huff, but he gathered whatever of her familiar scent he could, tinged with coppery blood though it was.

“I’m so glad you’re—I’m so glad,” she laughed shakily into his shoulder. Rolan wished he could kiss her, but it didn’t feel right in front of so many other eyes. He settled for standing back with his arms circled tight around her middle.

"Where's Lia and Cal?" She glanced around behind him, her smile fading. Rolan should have expected her constant concern for others by now, but could only look at her. Her eyes landed back on his face. "Zevlor?" She added quietly.

“Come inside.” Jaheira’s voice interrupted the silence between them. “We can talk over a drink.”

As the druid directed forces back to their posts, Rolan felt her slip out from under his arms. She approached Gale to ask something—Rolan saw the wizard glance his direction before he replied.

“Come on,” she said, jogging back into his embrace.

“What about Jaheira?”

“Gale can handle it, he’s good at talking.” She notched herself back firm against his side as they walked in. “I’d rather hear from you.”

Rolan tried his best not to stumble up the stairs beside her. He cursed his impulse to reach for the bottle at any sorrow—he must reek of it. If he did, she was kind enough not to say anything.

He led her to the empty room beside the cleric’s and shut the heavy door behind them.

“We were ambushed,” he said in a rush, before she could open her mouth. “Cal and Lia were grabbed up by those monsters on wings. Along with others. They’re being held at Moonrise.”

“We’ll find them.” Her voice was automatic and steely-certain.

Rolan nodded, borrowing what strength he could from her eyes. “We will.”

“I thought…Zevlor was leading you,” she prompted him slowly, as if she might not want to know the answer. He only shook his head at her. How could he explain what he didn’t understand himself?

“We took the same path here that you did,” she admitted to him. Rolan knew what she was saying. He remembered each and every blank, upturned face that shrank to a pinpoint in the darkness as he led the survivors away.

“I’m so sorry, Rolan.” His numbness was broken by her two hands rising to hold his face. “I just—I’m so fucking sorry—”

For some reason, his grief felt more real than it had yet. Rolan looked down at her bloodstained face and folded his fingers around one of her wrists. It would be idiotic to cry in front of her, so he kissed her instead.

His lips shook against hers, from sorrow and from want in equal measure. Rolan didn’t want to think about his dead friends, or his family waiting for rescue in a dark dungeon—just for a moment, he wished he could lose himself in her. She was the one person he could let himself unravel with.

“Rolan, wait—” But she didn’t want him to wait. Rolan heard it in her breathless voice against his lips, felt it in the way her hands clutched at his clothing to pull him closer.

He knew she must taste the alcohol on his breath. Hadn’t he said something to her that night in her tent? Something about wine and sex being a bad mix.

Foolish words of a foolish man who still thought he'd have time to do things properly. Rolan couldn’t remember them, and right now, this seemed like the best thing that could ever happen in such a desolate place.

Was it so wrong to want her? Even now, with the rest of his life crumbling around him?

Only his very real feelings for her could have broken through the haze. With a lurch of effort, Rolan stumbled back from her. The four walls of their room pressed in unbearably quiet without the sounds of hands and lips filling the air. Her eyes shone dark to him in the candlelight, pupils blown wide in a way that his deepest instincts recognized with primal satisfaction. He was certain his eyes blazed with just as much desire.

Rolan licked his lips, gathering his last shreds of control. “Tell me to go,” he rasped. “Say it, and I will.”

He was rooted to the spot to await her judgment. She was silent before him, only a soft pant from between her lips. Rolan stood there for what felt like an agonizing eternity as her eyes traveled over his face.

So slowly it felt like a dream, she raised one arm across to her opposite shoulder. The gesture made no sense to him at first. Until Rolan heard buckles clicking and watched the plates of her leather armor shed from her chest like scales to the floorboards.

Her tunic was next, and before Rolan could ready himself it was up over her head and thrown on top of her armor, her bare breasts covered only by a few stray wisps of her hair.

He swayed where he stood, lightheaded; her darkly shining eyes didn’t break from his for a moment, even as her hands were already moving to the fastenings of her belt.

Rolan felt an ache like loss. Those should be his hands—gently undressing her, taking his time as he slowly unveiled each new and beautiful expanse of her flesh—not the two of them rushing through this first moment of newness that they’d never get back. Because even as the thought occurred, he himself was ripping his own robes off his shoulders without a care for the state of them. They would have time enough some other night.

She was faster, already kicking her pants off her bare feet. She wore nothing underneath—the realization brought a groan from his throat. Once his last garments dropped forgotten to the floor, she practically pounced.

Rolan had just enough reflex to catch her as she threw her body against his. Her bare skin on his was electric, filling his mind with wild want even as he tried to take in every sensation at once. Her taut breasts pressed against his chest—fingers lovingly exploring the ridges on his shoulders and back—the heat between her legs barely grazing against his thigh, yet enough to send his mind reeling. She made him feel real again.

And her lips—how could he have already forgotten how sweet she tasted? He kissed her back with hunger, wishing he might dissolve into her soft warmth for good.

Rolan wasn’t as strong as he wished, and he was tipsy as all hells, but he did his best as he guided their bodies down on top of their clothing. Her hips and shoulders thumped under his weight against the wood boards. Surely it must have hurt her—but then he felt her legs cross behind his bare flanks, rutting their hips together, and every other concern was lost.

Slick wetness pressed against his pelvis as she rolled herself against him. The proof of how much she wanted him, if Rolan had any lingering doubts. He fell braced on his forearms around her.

“I missed you so much,” she gasped against his lips. Rolan paused everything as his eyes opened to meet hers, almost too close to focus. “Rolan, I wish we—I should have—” Her face shone with more yearning than he could bear.

"I know, dearest, I know—" The endearment fell with shocking ease from his lips. Though he might share them, tonight was not for regrets. There were enough of those going around to last a lifetime.

Rolan stopped them with his mouth, licking and tasting her as deeply as she would let him, one hand splaying under her thigh to angle her hips deeper against his own.

With anyone else, Rolan might have felt self-conscious about how hard he’d been since the moment she undressed for him. With her, what would be the point? She'd confessed more with her body and her words than he'd ever expected.

His ridged length pressed between them, his underside slickening with each rocking motion she made against him. He broke from her slightly.

"Tell me." The words came out husky. Rolan didn't mean them to tease her, only wanted her to direct him, but the way she squirmed under him was addictive.

"I want you," she breathed, and he felt fingers clasp behind his neck. "Please, Rolan—"

How could he deny her anything? Rolan grabbed himself to guide and nudge his tip to her folds, spreading her wetness along his length best he could. She deserved so much better than a hard floor in the middle of nowhere. But everything felt too urgent, like they were at the edge of the world’s end. And her face held nothing but eagerness as she watched him.

Gently, slowly, he guided himself just inside her. She was perfect; Rolan's head dropped to her chest as he exhaled with a shudder.

"Oh—" She only let out the little gasp, but her hands hooked under his ears, tilting his head back up so she could press lips to his forehead and eyelids.

"More," she purred against him.

Reflexive, Rolan pushed into her to the hilt and let out a groan at how perfectly she gripped him. She hummed in satisfaction, her legs pressing tighter around his hips to hold him there.

It was somehow tender and frantic all at once. Rolan's hips rolled into her with increasing urgency, even as he cradled her face up toward his with both his forearms, wanting to watch each sensation play out over her face.

When he hit a new angle inside her, her fingers actually gripped one of his horns as her lips gasped open. It sent a shudder reverberating through his core.

"So good," she gasped. "You feel so perfect—"

He would do anything to keep it feeling that way for her. He ducked his mouth to her breast, sliding his tongue over one tight bud and sucking her into his mouth.

"Fuck, Rolan—" Her voice canted up a register, and he felt her walls tremble and grip around him with each thrust. Her fingers clutched sweetly at the ridges over his shoulder blades.

In the back of his mind Rolan wondered whether the whole inn could hear his name on her lips, but he wasn't sure he cared, wasn't sure he didn't fucking love the idea in fact.

Both of them were starved for it, and neither of them could last much longer. Rolan groaned something into the flesh of her breast, words lost to the way her body shook under him just as he unraveled all around her. He collapsed against her soft chest and held her tight with trembling arms.

—---

"What did you say before?"

As he drifted back to reality, Rolan lifted his head from her to rest his chin on her stomach. "Hmm?"

She was looking down at him with shy curiosity. "When you came," she said. He loved hearing words like that casually tumble from her. "You said something, I didn't recognize the language."

Rolan realized with some embarrassment that she was right. "I did, didn't I." He moved to press his lips along her abdomen, as if it might distract her from the topic. But she was far too stubborn for that.

"Going to tell me or not?" He felt his insides melt as she traced her thumb along the lines of one of his pointed ears.

Rolan regretted letting her in on that fact about Tiefling anatomy, and he told her so with a grumble. She only laughed and gave his ear point a teasing tug.

Rolan closed his eyes against the feeling instead. "It's Infernal," he admitted to her. He hadn't spoken the tongue in many years; the fact he remembered any was a surprise even to himself.

"Oh." She didn't sound put off, only curious. "What did it mean?"

He carefully considered how to answer. "There's…not a word in Common that directly translates." Rolan met her eyes as his lips brushed absently near her navel. "A feeling that cleanses like holy fire. 'Love of salvation.'"

She gazed down at him. "That's the most romantic thing I've ever heard," she whispered.

Rolan reached to smooth her hair across her forehead. "Is it? To be cleansed, you have to be corrupted first."

"Is that an offer?" she asked, a grin teasing at the corners of her mouth. “I mean, we’re all pretty corrupted around here. Don’t forget I’ve already got a worm in the head.”

Abruptly, she pushed herself seated upright; Rolan caught himself back against his knees.

"I’m an idiot," she gasped. “Rolan—that’s how I get to the Moonrise dungeons. This tadpole makes me a True Soul. I can walk right through the fucking front door!”

Anxiety gripped him as he watched the excitement unfold on her face. Rolan wasn't sure he could watch her willingly rush into a den of vipers.

"I'm coming with you," he insisted, already knowing she would tell him no. She shook her head at him.

“I wish you could,” she told him, and he believed her. “You're not tadpoled, the guards would know. But I'll take as many of my companions as I can, I swear. We can do this," she added, gripping his forearm.

It was all too fast; Rolan caught her hand before she could rise. "Wait," he implored firmly. “Let me travel with you to the bridge, at least.”

That she agreed to. They dressed quickly—though Rolan couldn't resist grabbing her a few times to kiss what bare flesh was still exposed, absolutely adoring the way she melted under his hands and mouth each time.

When he and her party stood at the bridge to the Tower, Rolan regretted agreeing to this all over again. She only gave him a quick peck on the lips with the soft promise of more later, and headed down the walkway with her companions.

Rolan stayed back in the shadows to watch her speak with the guards. His heart pounded in his throat. There was a short exchange; even his sensitive ears couldn’t catch the words. But then the guards stood down, and she and her friends walked freely through the front doors of Moonrise Towers. He allowed himself to feel a sliver of hope.

Back at the Inn, Rolan paced around the hall for what felt like an eternity. Mol complained he was making her dizzy. In reality, it couldn't have been more than a few hours.

When he heard the soft shout of the patrol below, Rolan rushed through the wide doors and down to the underground port.

Cal and Lia stood alive and well on the wooden docks. Her too, further down the line—she even caught his eye with a smile. Rolan could have laughed in relief, but the guards curtly ordered him back while the Harper on duty checked them over with Jaheira's bottled tadpole.

Rolan deeply wished to aim a cantrip at the man's skull, but he clenched his fists to gather his last remaining shreds of patience.

When they were cleared, all of them dashed together. Rolan gripped Cal and Lia's heads with a hand each, holding them tight against him.

"You absolute fucking idiots—" Rolan was half scolding, half trying not to cry. "Don't you dare stick your necks out like that again, do you hear me?"

"I'll remember that the next time we get kidnapped by murderous lunatics," Lia's voice said into his shoulder, but she was squeezing his ribs tight.

"Sorry," was Cal's only meek response, and Rolan stifled the juvenile urge to rumple his little brother's hair.

"Just get inside," Rolan said as he released them. "When was the last time you both ate?"

They both complained over his continued fussing, but each of them obeyed him in the end. The return of bickering and normality somehow eased a weight from Rolan's heart.

As the Tieflings he knew and the deep gnomes he didn't all made their way up the stairs to the Inn, Rolan linked his arm around her waist beside him.

"I love you," he told her first, low so that only she could hear. Then—"thank you."

"Thank those lot up there," she told him, though he heard through the smile in her voice that she hadn't missed his confession. "They were ready to fight tooth and nail out of there. I just unlocked the bars."

In the dark Rolan placed a swift kiss on the crown of her head, and was rewarded by the feel of her cheek leaning sideways against his shoulder.

Last Light Inn still had an undeniable gloom to it, but it was lightened considerably by the reunions of friends and lovers. To Rolan's eye the hall seemed practically packed compared to a few hours earlier.

His siblings settled back at the bar, removed from the chatter at the hearth. Rolan watched them toast each other with two very well-earned pints. As they both launched into conflicting narratives of their adventure, Rolan felt a deep sense of ease soak into his bones.

"This one's fucking amazing, by the way—" Lia was gesturing her mug to the woman at Rolan's side. "Watched her cut down a Moonrise guard with one swing of a sword. You better have thanked her properly, Rolan," she added.

His sister was clever; Rolan strongly suspected she knew what she was doing. He decided to play dumb for the sake of the dear person beside him, whose cheeks he could practically feel burning from here.

"Believe me, I will," Rolan said. As he spoke, he drew her toward him again with an arm around her middle.

Cal was significantly slower on the uptake. "Eughh." He let out an amused noise of disgust. "Why don't you two just kiss each other alre—"

But Rolan's lips were already on hers, tilting her chin up and back with a hand so he could capture her mouth. His other arm wrapped her shoulders back against his chest, and he felt her fingers grip tight over his forearm. As they gently broke apart, the quiet lasted only for a second.

"Twelve pints at the Elfsong." Lia smacked the bar next to Cal. "That's it, you owe me."

"Taking bets on my fucking love life now?" Rolan began, his indignance slightly undercut by the fact that his love in question was shaking with laughter under his arm, both hands clasped over her face.

In the end, Rolan left his siblings to argue over the details. He was too overwhelmed with embarrassment and the desire to save her from any of the same.

As he drew her back up the stairs, Rolan felt her shoulders shaking with laughter again under his arm. He glanced sideways, wondering what had ruined the mood now.

“What?” he prompted her.

“Nothing, it’s just—” She was positively sparkling as she looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “Can we use the bed this time?”

With a mortifying jolt, Rolan realized there was indeed a perfectly serviceable bed in the room where he’d unceremoniously taken her on the floor.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

“Plenty of time for that,” she agreed, biting her lip as she drew him with her hand. “Now come on.”

#back to classic rolan pov because i am weak #rolan x tav #bg3 rolan #rolan bg3 #underdark-dreams #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 spoilers #baldur's gate 3 spoilers #rolan

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leggerefiore · 5 months ago

Note

How about some wedding/honeymoon headcannons for Cyrus, Larry, and whoever else you want? 💚

SO. I did Submas stuff for weddings already. So they're out, but you can read it here.

I tossed in some assorted person headcanons too... I hope that's alright lol

cw: sort of long?, fluff, weddings, proposals,

characters: Cyrus, Larry, Nanu, Grimsley

🌌Cyrus🛰

☄️ Marriage is admittedly something that he tries to avoid. Inherently, he sees nothing wrong with it. More so, he views it logically as a legal union between two people to make asset inheritance and division easier. The issue comes up due to his past with it. His parents had tried to force him into multiple arranged marriages. For people of his social standing, it was normal. Expected, even, but the thought of being legally tied to someone his parents had decided for him left him sleepless for many nights. Yet… when it came to you, his current partner, the idea was growing to bother him less and less. After his plans… went awry, he found himself even more comfortable with the idea. His plan had always been to propose the idea anyway. Which is what he did. Quite bluntly, he held his hand out to you and spoke, “Beloved, marry me and hold this hand.” It was not posed as a question – No, it was simply a statement. You had no intention of saying no, anyway.

☄️ A wedding was not at all on his mind. He saw no use in a decorative ceremony for what could just as easily be done within legal parameters in a more quiet and easy manner. You will just be added to his family registry. Simple as that. Nothing flashy or traditional – Legality only. Granted, he would allow a smaller party if that was what you wanted. It is more tame than a wedding and is composed of a few select friends and family members. Cyrus's side is lacking, to say the least, but his commanders show up, as does his grandfather, unexpectedly. The event is likely held somewhere at the Galactic building on a day off and makes the event almost feel like a weird office party. It is all a bit odd, but Cyrus was not exactly known for his normal proclivities. It is overall a good time, and you even awkwardly get to feed him cake while he tries to remain collected.

��️ Cyrus struggles to comprehend why he should take a while off from work to enjoy his marriage. To him, it is illogical. Being married to you does not change your situation. You have lived with him for a while leading up to everything, so there is no adjustment period. Still, you clearly wanted it, so he would relent and take off work. It was to say no as well when Mars seemed to glare at him until he did. Her investment in his love life bewildered him. Even Jupiter seemed to get in on it. He almost felt forced out of the office and onto a vacation with you. His choice in location was originally going to be somewhere else in Sinnoh, but it changed when Mars and Jupiter suggested something more grand. Jubilife was not grand – It was a day trip.

☄️ Instead, you both went to Johto. Something about the traditional charm drew him in. It seemed like a quieter and more peaceful place as opposed to other options. He opts to stay in Ecruteak to allow you both to fully absorb the area's unique scenery. You both spend a lot of time in the inn that he somehow booked despite it apparently usually requiring months prior reservation. The old building's charm intrigued him. Yet, you both visited many of the different offerings of Johto. Goldenrod caught his attention quite thoroughly, but he seemed to enjoy the peace that both Ecruteak and Violet held. You both opted against Cianwood and Olivine for a few reasons.

☄️ The most memorable part was… climbing Mt. Silver. Cyrus's previous training paid off, and it was a fun bonding activity. It also made soaking in a hot bath at the inn all the better. A few day trips over to Kanto made the trip all the better, too. Ultimately, Cyrus felt glad he took the experience and deeply enjoyed the precious moments spent with you. Though, it was less of a honeymoon and more of a general vacation.

💼Larry🏢

🍙 Marriage crossed Larry's mind a few times over the years. It was something that he wanted aspired for at one point, but that had gone away as his work quickly became overwhelming and made meeting people outside of it difficult. His age was also a concern. Being middle-aged did not make marriage any easier to achieve. Yet, here he was, readying himself to propose exactly that. The stress swirled in his mind as his hands tied his tie from muscle memory alone. Rika had suggested something simple. A nice date out and then pulling out a ring in a quiet, isolated location.

🍙 He naturally asked you out to one of the nicer restaurants in Medali and planned to walk with you into a quieter part of the city to ask you. Dinner had gone well. Sharing a meal truly was one of the best ways to bond with another person… His confidence felt oddly higher as he brought you to the amphitheatre. The location was almost entirely deserted when he turned to you and fumbled down to one knee. The ring was brought out with all the stiffness expected of carrying a stack of papers. He made uncomfortable eye contact and cleared his throat, “… Marry me?” Despite everything, you were more than eager to take the ring and agree to his simple request.

🍙 He does not really care for anything wedding related. Truthfully, he was panicking thinking about how he could schedule it in to his itinerary. He expected Geeta to hear that he was engaged and dump extra work on him instantly in reply. Instead, she gave one of her polite smiles and a quiet applause for him. He was given a few days off, stating that it was about time for him to settle down. He still is not sure that he wants the stress of a ceremony. Though, he does relent if his partner asks specifically for one. He would only ask that it be a smaller one. For him, the part and parcel that matters most is simply signing the paperwork and having it notarised under the letter of the law. He would also be fine with a reception party afterwards. His fellow league members would likely pop in and happily chat about how they cannot believe the ageing man finally did it. He is just eating the food provided in the background. His favourite memory is you feeding him a slice of the wedding cake, at least.

🍙 Larry almost wants to beg to just take your honeymoon at home. He is exhausted, and having so much time off almost makes him want to sleep for the entirety of it. After all, it was not like your situation was heavily changed from anything. Legally, you were married, but he would not deny that he had basically begun to treat you like his spouse even before he thought about proposing. Though, for whatever reason, Poppy seemed to gush to Rika about how lucky it was for Larry, and you get to go on a romantic trip together. Rika then turned around and asked where he was going. The green-haired woman was shocked with his reply and essentially insisted on doing something – Even just getting out of Medali! He did relent, especially if you had previously asked about taking a trip for it.

🍙 Somehow, Alola becomes the settled location. Larry felt nervous about putting everything together but became intrigued when finally both landed in the tropical paradise. Hau'oli city was definitely a tourist area filled with the hustle and bustle of people. Yet, he felt the slow pace of the region began to sink into him as you both took a boat ride across to Akala island. The Tide Song Hotel was very accommodating and pleasant. He could almost sleep an entire day away in the bed, yet you absolutely made it clear that you desired his attention. The two of you ventured around to see the natural beauty provided by the islands and even found Larry a friend in a Drampa by accident. He felt as if Hassel was standing before him in pokemon form. There are even a few romantic moments spent together watching the ocean together from your hotel room's balcony or sitting together on the beach. Larry, however, would admit the food was the most memorable thing for him. He recalled some older look at him in shock as he ordered seconds at the Sushi High Roller. Ultimately, the honeymoon ends up more as a nice getaway than anything overly romantic, but it does have its moments.

🐈‍⬛️Nanu❤️‍🩹

🌑 Marriage… He does not think it ever really crossed his mind. It was not like he did not want it, but more so that his path in life did not exactly align with it. Marriage was far from his mind while he was an International Police officer, and then by the time he found himself back in Alola, he had the role of Kahuna forced on him. Love was not something he actively sought out, yet it found him. Marriage had not been something he considered until his heart had been captured by you. It felt strange to be considering a proposal at his age.

🌑 A ring was easy enough to get, but how did he do this? Hala said to just ask while Olivia suggested something grand. He felt exhausted while thinking about it. Yet, he did not want you to feel like he did not care. He found himself inviting you out to Route 14 just as the sun was beginning to set. His hand grasped the ring box in his pocket as he gazed at the water. Eventually, he found himself holding the ring box out to you while scratching the back of his head. “You can say no,” Nanu felt almost like you would. He worried that you were going to break a bone with how tightly you held him.

🌑 He dreaded the idea of a wedding ceremony. Alolan ones were often overly romanticised, but the idea stressed him out. The Tapu might even decides to make an appearance and make everything all the more exhausting. It almost felt like an obligation as a Kahuna, and you might even have your heart set on it. If you do, he will warn you clearly that the ceremony will have some odd moments. Despite that, if you still insist, he will obligate. It almost feels a bit like a festival with how all the other Kahunas and a few captains show up. Acerola was beyond excited to fill in as a flower girl. The officiant got scared by Tapu Bulu's loud cry when he allowed you to come together for an interesting ending. Nanu pressed his forehead to yours – not for a kiss – but for a shared breath. Apparently, it was a tradition. The Tapu seemed proud to see its choice of a Kahuna finally settling down. Nanu would admit that he enjoyed it despite the hassle in the end. The end of the wedding was followed by a feast, in which everyone seemed more than ready to congratulate the old man on his accomplishment. Hala gave a full laugh after saying his piece. The day was truly something joyous on Ula'Ula

🌑 Nanu did not understand the need for a honeymoon… First, he would have to get the Tapu's permission, which might get rejected, and then he would have to leave someone else in charge. He just wanted to accept the change in the comfort of your shared home. Besides, Alola was already considered the location for honeymooners. Most people paid insane amounts of money to spend time here. You lived here with him… Is that not enough? Olivia actually agreed with that one unexpectedly, too, but Acerola seemed to demand that you two take an actual trip. He struggled to even think of anywhere to go. Sure, his job used to take him all over, but now all he wanted was to stay and relax. Olivia suggests Unova. Tapu Bulu accepted his request. He could not escape this fate.

🌑 Unova ended up being the destination. Nanu was not unfamiliar with the region, but he would not say that he was overly familiar either. The region was busy, yet full of entertainment. Nimbasa was where you both found your honeymoon anchored. The city was vibrant and exciting. Nanu felt like he was in an entirely different world than the one that he had grown accustomed to in Alola. Yet, you both quickly took to exploring the sights. The amusement park was a thrilling and allowed for a romantic moment between you both on the Ferris wheel. The musicals showed a strange form of entertainment that had not quite made its way to Alola... You both even tried out the Battle Subway but found yourselves defeated the two odd fellows that ran it. There were even trips to Castelia, Virbank, Black City and anywhere else that a friend of Nanu's seemed to recommend. The trip became a nice change up. Undella and Humilau almost had you both feeing as if you were back home. Though, Nanu definitely preferred the comfort of your hotel to anything else. Relaxing in with you was nicer than any offerings of this region. Ultimately, Nanu is glad he took the trip and you both had a fun experience together.

♠️Grimsley❤️

♤ Marriage… Grimsley loathed the idea a bit. Perhaps it was the nature of his collapsing family that he grew up in that turned him away, or how badly it meshed with his lifestyle. He was not afraid to say that he slept around with little interest in proper relationships. Marriage seemed like a thing that would never intercept his path. Besides, that gamble of being in the fifty-seven percent of people that did not divorce… He felt his luck might run out there. Well, he had felt that way. Grimsley had been quite certain of that for a long while. But, he went broke. His thrill seeking behaviour had finally done something that he could not recover from easily. Then, you showed up. For once in his entire life, marriage had entered his mind as a desired thing. The scariest gamble of his life. Grimsley truly felt strange.

♡ Shauntal had come to him as he sat in deep thought within his Elite Four chamber. She had started laughing at how plain it was. Stop thinking of it as gambling… The advice led him to finding himself on one knee across from you in an isolated area of a casino. A brilliant ring was held out to you. “… Will you marry a guy like me?” he asked, feeling the hesitance eat at him. Your reply was to eagerly put on the ring and embrace him. A smug feeling filled the gaps left by his uncertainty.

◇ A wedding ceremony was fine to him, or you both could just go through the legal channels. Though, a ceremony will likely be held in a far too expensive venue within Black City. The other Elite Four members attend alongside Alder. A strange older man also shows up and seems bewildered to see Grimsley as a groom. The event has a classy, high air feeling to it somehow, yet there is some strange undertone. The ceremony is admittedly quick – The dark-type specialist was not one for lingering on traditions. The kiss between you both left you breathless. His piercing eyes gazed at you, much like his Liepard when she was ready to pounce. The reception consisted of multiple people amazed that he actually got married, and many congratulations. The older man scratched the back of his head and tried to figure out what had changed in Grimsley. You could not help but feel flustered when he said one word. Your name. The day quickly became one of his favourites. Marriage did not seem so awful now.

♧ Taking time off for a honeymoon felt next to impossible, and he struggled to think of where to go. Being married honestly had changed little in your lives but legal things, yet he felt strange when he thought about you being his spouse. The racing feeling in his chest could only be compared when he was a card away from twenty-one in blackjack. A getaway… But to where? Unova was already quite a tourist spot. He considered Alola but felt it too relaxed for his tastes. Caitlin had suggested Sinnoh, but he wondered what was there of intrigue. Shauntal recommended Kalos, and he felt more inclined. Marshal said that he should just keep focusing on his training. Grimsley opted for Kalos. It was a romantic region, after all.

♤ Lumiose was an exciting city that Grimsley could only think to compare to Castelia... Though, the metro in Kalos left much to be desired when compared to Unova's system. The city did have a romantic allure, and the gambler certainly enjoyed all the time spent with you inside the hotel room. The room was big enough to count as an apartment in some areas of Castelia. Yet, you both wandered the streets of the city, enjoying the many things offered. Food was delicious, and he certainly enjoyed the battle system in place. You could only watch as he got his thrills filled in there. The clothing was beautiful and much to his style. Though, you found yourself being gifted a nice outfit. At some point, you both had ventured out of the city and into Parfum Palace. Grimsley felt engaged by the beauty. Yet, even as he enjoyed everything with you, part of him craved the certain seediness found within areas of Unova. Ultimately, the trip really is a honeymoon with most of the time spent in your hotel room with Grimsely, but there are some vacation moments mixed in.

#pokemon x reader #cyrus x reader #larry x reader #nanu x reader #grimsley x reader #pokemon/reader #pokemon larry x reader #pokemon cyrus x reader #pokemon nanu x reader #pokemon grimsley x reader #cyrus/reader #nanu/reader #larry/reader #grimsley/reader

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eleanor-bradstreet · 10 months ago

Text

Let Me Be Your Anchor

Chapter 10: The Orangery

Benedict Bridgerton x Sophie Beckett An Offer from a Gentleman reimagined Chapter rating: 18+ - explicit sexual content Word count: 3.9k

Masterpost Previous chapter Next chapter

Author's Notes: Well folks, we're 1/3 of the way through this story. You have more than earned your smut 😉 Enjoy 💙

Sophie managed to reach her quarters without encountering anyone who would see the state she was in. She cried for what felt like hours, muffling her sobs with her fist until they eventually subsided into whimpers. She kept fearing that someone would knock on her door either because they heard her, or because Benedict had sent someone after her. But mercifully no one appeared.

Once she had lost the energy to cry she stared at the ceiling, lost in the turmoil of her thoughts. Benedict had kissed her, had said he’d dreamed about her, had made it clear he desired her. It was everything Sophie had ever wanted, but it was also the most painful reality she could imagine. She had known he desired her at the masquerade but that made sense. He had assumed she was a member of the ton and someone worthy of his attention. But as a housemaid he could only see her as a dalliance, a pretty plaything that he could easily discard.

Should she reveal her identity to him? What did she think would happen if she told him about the masquerade and her true feelings? He’d probably be incensed that she had not explained it earlier. Then what? Would he confess that he loved her too and run away to marry her, breaking all the standards of society and risking a lifetime of reproach? No. More likely he would turn her in to the authorities or laugh her out of the room. She was no better than a girl with a silly infatuation. He was a man from one of the most dignified families of the ton with wealth, power, and prestige. She suddenly felt incredibly small. Small and stupid.

She needed to leave Aubrey Hall. Hell, she could sneak out tonight the same way she had from the Cavender’s. She had the same amount of money in her purse, not having been paid yet by Benedict. But she didn’t relish the idea of hiking through the dark alone, especially now that she was even deeper in the countryside. The money from Aubrey Hall would spare her so much misery, and poor Benedict would probably assume that she saw him as no better than Cavender if she took off in the middle of the night after being subjected to his advances, which couldn’t be further from the truth.

No, she would wait until morning and ask to collect her wages from Mr. Dewitt. Then she would formally take her leave and board at an inn until she found a new position. But should she speak to Benedict before she left? What would she say? Would he even want to see her?

Her thoughts continued to race until she noticed the grey light of morning brightening around her door. She felt wretched, tearstained and dazed. She splashed water on her face, changed her dress and donned her cloak. Fresh air would help her clear her mind and formulate a plan before the rest of the house woke up.

The morning air was chilled and misty. It soothed her lungs and brought her a degree of energy despite her sleepless night. Sophie had always enjoyed cooler weather. It reminded her of her childhood at Penwood Park, set on a windy heath. She moved from the back doors of the house across a lawn and into the statuary garden. She wandered among the hedges and benches observing the likenesses of cherubs, muses, mythic heroes. In the pre-dawn shadows they looked more ominous than inspirational, but Sophie found that appropriate, considering everything she was feeling.

She was inspecting a statue of Artemis with her bow drawn when she heard footfalls behind her. Nearly jumping out of her skin, she whipped around to find Benedict.

“Sophie,” he greeted her softly. He looked about as good as she felt with his hair a tousled mess, dark circles under his eyes, and clothes disheveled as if he had thrown them on in a hurry and only bothered with half of the buttons.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered, though there was no one outdoors but the two of them.

Benedict shook his head. “I couldn’t sleep.” That explained his appearance. Sophie wasn’t sure what to think. If he hadn’t slept either, what had he been thinking about? He had clearly followed her to the garden. Had he been watching for her all night?

They stared at each other in silence. Sophie couldn’t fathom what to say. Benedict looked her over. “You’re leaving?” It was more of a statement than a question and there was a hint of defeat in his tone.

Yes. Sophie should have said yes. But seeing him there, looking distraught and being as exhausted as she was, her true feelings came out. “I don’t know.” She felt as if she was being pulled down into the earth. She wanted to cry, she wanted to collapse, she wanted someone to tell her what to do.

Benedict’s eyes were impossibly sorrowful. He walked toward her, hands extended in a plea. “I’m so sorry if I did anything that upset you. I took liberties.”

Sophie shook her head. “No. You didn’t do anything I did not want.” Her voice was breaking. She couldn’t tell him why she had pulled away but the last thing she wanted was for him to feel like a villain.

Benedict stopped short, his brow beginning to furrow. “And yet you do not want to stay?”

She shook her head again and looked at the ground, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t think it would be appropriate.” More meager lies. It was all she had. She hoped to appeal to his reason and class sensibility rather than tell the truth.

He scoffed and crossed his arms, arching a brow. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed how little regard I give to propriety.”

Sophie rooted herself to the spot. She couldn’t let this go on. She wouldn’t be charmed by him again and dragged down a path to heartbreak. Mustering all of her courage, she gritted her teeth. “We agreed this would only be a few days until you were well again and then I would move on.”

“Sod the agreement!” Benedict threw his arms in the air and stalked even closer. He wasn’t holding anything back now. “I know you don’t have anywhere to go yet.”

His words cut into her. He was right, but she wouldn’t be manipulated. She looked up at him, glowering. “Once Mr. Dewitt is awake, I will collect my wages and go.” She hoped that if she said it aloud she would actually follow through.

Benedict balked, blinking at her in surprise. “I see.” There was a snideness in his tone that she had never heard before. “So you will simply take the money and leave. You are that desperate to get away from me?”

Sophie felt torn in half. Of course she wasn’t desperate to get away from him. Quite the opposite. She wanted to melt into his arms and never let him go. But he was being flippant, acting as if he were entitled to dictate what she could do. He had no idea what it was like to be in her position or to face any real challenge at all. He was starting to make her resent him. “This isn’t just about you,” she growled. “You don’t understand.”

“Then help me understand!” He shouted, closing the distance between them. He grasped her by the arms, pale eyes alight with desperation. “If you don’t find me repulsive, why don’t you want to stay?” His grip tightened and he all but shook her. “Why?”

Sophie could barely breathe, seared through by his gaze. She wanted to scream the truth at him, to tell him who she was, to tell him she loved him, to tell him he deserved better than her. Just as equally she wanted to chastise him, to tell him he was a rich fool who couldn’t simply take whatever he wanted, particularly when it was a person. And she wanted to turn and run. It was all too much and she shouted back into his face, “I just can’t!” Hot tears started to roll down her cheeks.

Her reaction clearly rattled him and his eyes regained their characteristic softness. He released her arms and brought his hands to rest lightly on her back, holding her as if she were made of glass. He steadied himself, eyes searching her face. At last he spoke, his voice devastatingly tender, “I won’t see you cast adrift.”

Sophie could feel herself breaking. Entitled as he was, his heart was pure. She had known it at the masquerade and she knew it now. He was pompous as a circumstance of the lifestyle he had been born into but when it mattered, he cared for people. He cared for her, and it felt so good to be cared for.

She had run out of defenses. She could only confess the truth through her tears. “I have been adrift all my life.”

Lifting a hand to her chin he tilted her face, questing deeper into her eyes. “Let me be your anchor.”

Then Sophie’s heart was lost. He was her anchor. He was all she had to hold on to for so long, this marvelous, wonderful, infuriating man who had haunted her dreams for years. Meeting him was the best thing that had happened in her toilsome and lonely life. Now he was with her again, wanting her, holding her, his touch painfully sweet. She was tired of hiding, tired of resisting, tired of denying the inevitable. She couldn’t fight it anymore.

She surged up and seized his lips with her own, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling him tight against her. Benedict froze, caught off guard but only for a moment. Then his arms held her back just as tightly, his mouth caressing hers, his breath hot on her skin. Her hands moved hungrily, raking through his gloriously soft hair, tracing the breadth of his back, feeling the warmth of his neck and the angle of his jaw as they pivoted to explore each other’s kisses more deeply. He was strength; he was bliss; he was comfort; and in this moment, he was hers. He was so delicious and so beautiful, tears continued to run down her face from pure joy.

With a gentle nibble at her bottom lip, Benedict eventually pulled back. Grinning breathlessly, he took her hand. “Come with me.”

He led her through the garden and Sophie realized they were headed toward the massive stone orangery. She cast a quick glance around to find the grounds empty and the sun just barely peeking over the horizon.

As soon as Benedict closed the door behind them Sophie was overwhelmed with the sweet scent of citrus and jasmine. She hadn’t yet visited this building and was instantly entranced. With marble floors and vaulted ceilings, it was a veritable jungle of potted tropical trees and vine covered trellis walls. She only had a moment to observe it before she was back in Benedict’s arms, his hands entangled in her hair as he kissed her with a soft moan. She felt giddy, heady with the perfumed air and the breathlessness of his attentions.

They clutched at each other as if fearful to let go, and all the while, they were pressed so tightly against one another she was certain she’d melt into his skin.

“Sophie, Sophie,” he murmured. His lips moving gently along her face until they found her mouth again. “I need you.” He pressed one of her hands against his chest. Even through all of his clothes, she could feel his heart begin to beat even more rapidly, hear his breath coming in hoarser gasps. “Do you feel how I need you?”

“I need you too,” she whispered. And she did. She’d spent so long dreaming about him, trying desperately to remember the scent of his skin, the sound of his voice. There had been many nights when the fantasy of him had been all that had kept her company. She had been living on dreams, and she wasn’t a woman for whom many had come true. She didn’t want to lose this one just yet.

He pressed her back into a wall of cool stone and kissed her with a newfound fierceness. His tongue swirled around hers while his slender fingers held her face. She gasped as his kisses traveled down her neck and his touch moved across her body. Every sensation seemed to rob her of the ability to breathe. His hands were on her breasts, kneading, teasing, sending a rippling shiver across her skin.

“Benedict,” she murmured, touching the crisp silkiness of his hair. There was a fire burning within her that had been simmering quietly for years. The sight of him had ignited it anew, and his touch was like kerosene, sending her into a conflagration.

He groaned, crashing his lips against hers again, locking one hand on the back of her neck and another around her waist. Sophie was dimly aware that they were moving, that he was pushing her somewhere deeper into the artificial forest. Then somehow she was lying on a bench and he was on top of her while his hand reached to lift up her skirts.

He seemed so dominant, so powerful, and in that moment, so perfectly hers. A very small part of Sophie’s mind was still functioning, and she knew that she should tell him to stop, to put an end to the madness, but god help her, she couldn’t. Not yet.

His hand stroked her knee then inched upward, squeezing the soft flesh of her thigh. She began to pant with anticipation. She knew where his fingers were headed but was surprised to find that it did not make her nervous. She trusted him implicitly. She wanted this, whatever it was he was about to do.

Benedict smirked as he deftly shifted fabric to expose her womanhood and the cool rush of air made Sophie realize how very wet she was. She would have been embarrassed but before she could even form the thought, Benedict’s fingers were on her and he inhaled deeply with a satisfied grin.

Sophie stared up at him, agape, unable to form words.

“I daresay no one has ever touched you here,” he rasped. Sophie shook her head. No one had touched her there, not even herself, not in the way he was doing it. It was a strange, intensely intimate, and entirely enjoyable feeling.

“Do you like it?” Benedict whispered, still smiling down at her. His nimble fingers switched from smooth stroking to rapid circling, spreading her slickness upward and focusing right on the center of her ache.

He may as well have set a match to her blood. She cried out uncontrollably and arched off the bench, gasping. “Yes! What are you doing?” Her every muscle tightened as he moved his fingers in a particularly wicked manner.

“Everything,” he returned, capturing her lips with his. “Anything you want.”

Sophie’s breath grew heavier, her heart started to pound. His fingers continued to dance, relentlessly circling. Something was building inside of her, deep in her gut, coiling, pulsing, making her rigid. She clung on to Benedict for dear life, not knowing where he was taking her but desperate to reach the destination. Anything to quell the ache, the burning that never seemed to stop growing.

“Do you want more?” His voice was husky in her ear.

She had just enough control over her body to nod and choke out a “Yes” as she gripped the back of his neck.

He smiled wolfishly. “Then lie back and let me pleasure you.”

Sophie didn’t know how he could possibly pleasure her more but she was willing to find out. She had to consciously remind herself to breathe because she felt as if she were drowning - drowning under the pressure of Benedict, the heat of his gaze, the thrill of his touch and everything it did to her. As she panted he began to move down her body, trailing hot kisses along her jaw, her throat, her chest. His fingers were still teasing her crest, pressing and circling as she squirmed.

He moved himself lower and lower until he settled between her legs, kneeling on the floor as she lay sprawled across the bench. Now he could see the marvelously slick evidence of her desire. Sophie could feel the heat of his breath against her entrance. It made her shudder and filled her with the most wanton craving. This was so terribly wrong, so terribly naughty. But she didn’t want it to stop. She trembled and gripped the edges of the bench as his fingers twirled faster.

Benedict delighted in watching her writhe. Every signal from her body was pleading with him for more - her ragged breath, her hums of anticipation, and the way her hips had started to gyrate, ever so slightly, in a waltz with his hand. When he began to feel guilty about the torment he took hold of her quivering thighs and leaned in to taste her, running his tongue up and down her opening.

Something like a sob escaped Sophie’s throat as she lifted off the bench again. She moaned his name and he moaned back into her flesh. His tongue moved methodically, exploring her folds slowly, repetitively, stopping on sensations that made her whole body tense as she groaned. She tasted like a plum crossed with an orange, or maybe that was just the scent in the air around them. She was sweet and he would polish her off like a dinner plate. He continued moving languorously, savoring her and letting her adjust to the sensation. It was only when her muscles relaxed and she started to push herself back against him that he moved his mouth over her sweetest spot, flicking his tongue across her aching bud.

A cry tore itself from Sophie’s chest, animal and needy. Never in her wildest fantasies had she imagined being kissed like this, tasted like this, teased like this. The indecency of it all shocked her, but her shock drowned out by the wave she felt spreading upward through her body. It was heat and tightness and hunger and she would do anything to fulfill it, to hell with decency. Benedict’s mouth was so warm, especially against the cool air of the orangery. All she could feel, all her mind could focus on were his movements, small but incendiary, on the most sensitive part of her. He began sucking at her, massaging her nerves with fluctuating pressure punctuated by quick darts of his tongue. She whimpered, too overwhelmed to exclaim any louder.

The steady cadence of suction and licking made Sophie’s mind start to cloud. As tormenting as her need felt, she wanted to stay there for hours. She fell into a trance which was only broken by a wholly new sensation. She gasped and looked down to find Benedict slowly pushing a long finger to enter her. Dear god, he was inside of her. It was an odd pressure but rather than feeling painful it simply felt…correct. She knew that a woman’s body was designed to take a man’s and while they weren’t engaged in the full act, this was her first small experience of how that might feel. And it felt wonderful.

Mouth still latched onto her, Benedict raised his eyes to meet hers and it was the most frightfully arousing image she had ever seen. Never breaking his gaze, eyes somehow darkened, he started to slide his finger slowly in and out. The pleasure she felt made Sophie choke and fall back against the bench. His teasing her on the outside and moving steadily inside was too much to handle. Heat pulsed through her core and she felt a sudden spasm deep within.

Benedict released her from his lips and rasped her name. The speed of his probing increased, gliding into her rhythmically. “You feel so bloody good.”

All she could do was moan in acknowledgment, eyes clamped shut. The tightening, coursing feeling was building steadily within her but with his mouth removed it had slowed. She ached for it. She wanted to ride it out before she went mad.

“Please, Benedict, please,” she could hear herself whining but didn’t care. “I don’t…I don’t know what…this feeling…”

The grin was evident in his voice as he replied, “Don’t worry, you will see.”

She lolled her head in the semblance of a nod.

“Tell me what you want,” he purred, hand beginning to press into her more forcefully. “What feels good to you?”

Sophie could barely comprehend speech at this point. How could she explain? “I…everything,” she sighed.

She thought she heard a small chuckle. “You like me inside of you, I can tell.”

The cheeky devil. Sophie just mewled with another half-nod.

“Do you like my mouth on you?”

“Yes,” she squeaked, beginning to writhe in desperation. “Benedict…I need it…”

He granted her wish immediately, hot mouth descending on her once again, sucking furiously while his hand began to pound at her entrance. The caresses of his finger and tongue worked together to magnify each other.

Sophie hissed and gripped his hair with both fists. The wave was surging within her, burning her, lifting her out of her own skin. Her toes curled. She wanted to scream, she wanted to cry, she wanted to explode, but all she could do was hold her breath and hold on.

Then Benedict did something with his finger, bent it in just the right way that it added to the pressure, massaging undiscovered places within her depths, and it was more than she could bear. The wave broke, roaring to a crescendo and crashing over her every muscle, rippling outward with the most glorious feeling of release she had ever experienced. And it persisted. She had no choice but to submit to it, lying breathless as her body clenched over and over. Benedict groaned against her sensitive bud causing her to spasm harder, drawing out the aftershocks as the sensation slowly ebbed.

Sophie was limp, astonished, and utterly without her faculties. Her body was left trembling and her mind was left entirely blank. She felt as if she were floating, softly held in the weightless embrace of bliss. She had never known such an incredible feeling.

The only thing that drew her back to earth was the gentle attention of Benedict’s tongue. He had withdrawn his finger and was kissing her reverently between her legs. He kissed her crest with a parting lick then moved to her opening, eagerly lapping at her and cleaning her of her slickness. He was so thorough that he entered her with his tongue. It was warm and sweet and absolutely the most sinful thing Sophie could imagine. All she could do was lay back and let him feast upon her.

At last she felt him pulling down her skirt, then he was on top of her, pressing her down with his entire body as he nuzzled and kissed her neck. Sophie weakly wrapped her arms around him, still dazed and panting, filled with wonder and gratitude that the man she loved had just gifted her the most ecstatic experience of her life.

Tagging: @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @secretagentbucky @eg-dr3amer3 @time-to-hit-the-clouds @lyta2323 @autumn-grace @sadprose-auroras @the-other-art-blog @goldrambutan @colettebronte @heeyyyou @musicismyoxygen84 @faye-tale @ambitionspassionscoffee @starchaser325 @malna4903 @sincere-sarcasm @kmc1989 @makaylan @queen-of-the-misfit-toys

#let me be your anchor #an offer from a gentleman #benedict bridgerton x sophie beckett #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #sophie beckett fanfiction #benophie #benophie fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #sophie beckett #benedict bridgerton smut #bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #head canon

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anghraine · 2 years ago

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Sometimes, people suggest that Elizabeth is not truly romantically in love with Darcy towards the end of P&P, but just has a rational respect for his character (and property). Here are my three favorite pieces of evidence against it:

1- The coffee scene

When Darcy returns to Hertfordshire, there's a delightful period of frustrated pining between Darcy and Elizabeth. My personal favorite moment is at a gathering where Elizabeth is assigned to pour the coffee. She follows Darcy with her eyes, resents any not-her people he talks to, etc, and then gets mad at people for interrupting her by wanting coffee.

Absolutely top-tier content.

2- I do, I do like him; I love him.

Yeah, she does outright say she loves him.

There is something incredibly endearing about Elizabeth's struggle to defend her choice to her father—a choice that in this context represents many things, but IMO a big one is that she's both physically and emotionally moving beyond him.

It's also pretty funny that she has to wrangle with the legacy of Past Elizabeth's hot takes, it's bittersweet, it's a lot of things. But, ngl, my favorite part is when Mr Bennet concedes that the marriage is okay with him if she likes Darcy despite his pride and unpleasantness, and Elizabeth replies that she does like Darcy and she loves Darcy (both are important!) and it upsets her to hear him described that way. Just a lovely moment.

3- Lady Catherine v. Elizabeth

During Elizabeth's confrontation with Lady Catherine, she wonders how she could ever have thought Lady Catherine was similar to Darcy. I find this hilarious, honestly.

I mean, seeing Darcy's traits writ large in Lady Catherine is a perfectly natural and reasonable thing to do, even if it also flowed out of Elizabeth's prejudices at the time. Anyone would see the resemblance. But Elizabeth has got it so bad at this point that she's just like "how!!! could I have thought such a wrong and unfair thing." <3333

Honorable mention - Lydia aftermath

Elizabeth privately feels like she could have loved Darcy after he leaves her at the Lambton Inn post-Lydia disaster. It's only afterwards, out of scene and as the Lydia situation hits its nadir, that she realizes what her feelings for Darcy already are. It's a hellish time anyway, but she still owes half her sleepless nights to Darcy.

...out of dispassionate respect, I'm sure.

#anghraine babbles #austen blogging #austen fanwank #elizabeth bennet #fitzwilliam darcy #otp of otps #mr bennet #lady catherine de bourgh #i know a lot of people are drawn by how much darcy loves elizabeth and it /is/ very endearing quality content #but elizabeth's feelings evolving into this true and slightly unhinged love for darcy is what seals the otp deal for me #bless everything they choose to be <3 #long post #jane austen #pride and prejudice

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knifemartin · 1 year ago

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hello hello my dear! My prompt for you is: Wilde bedhead. Do with it as you will <3 -shofics <3

sho honey i wrote this days ago and have been waiting for jerry so we could post together and treat you real good. but has jerry finished yet? nooooooo. no she has not. and i am impatient. so here's your ficlet without art

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Zolf wakes first. The bed is softer than he’s used to, warmer too with Wilde’s penchant for excessive blankets and thick quilts trapping the heat from both of their bodies. Wilde’s snoring gently, drooling from the side of his mouth that used to be rough with scar tissue from years ago, from another life. It really feels like that, the time between last Zolf saw him this vulnerable stretching back like a chasm, a deep pit he doesn’t want to focus on.

No point dwelling, though. Zolf rolls over and gets up, wheeling his way through to Wilde’s kitchen.

Wilde’s a clever man, thoroughly deliberate with his plans and intentions. It doesn’t slip Zolf’s notice that Wilde’s bought himself a flat with wide hallways and low benches, something he doesn’t need for himself. Zolf coughs to himself as if the action would be enough to dislodge that fact from his heart, unstick it from where it’s landed.

The coffee’s exactly where Zolf’d expect Wilde to keep it, a small unlabeled tin near the back of the hob, and Zolf can just reach it if he pulls himself in close, leans right over the bench. Wilde used to live off the damn stuff, back when they were travelling, back when they were posted in the inn. Used to have five or six a day when he was working on something that really sucked him in. A memory comes to Zolf, and he puts the tin of coffee back, reaches instead for the loose leaf tea.

Sometimes they’d have downtime. Never for long, never very often, but sometimes there was no rush, no need for black coffees and sleepless nights. Those days Wilde would sit with the rest of them for breakfast, hands around a cup of milky tea.

Today’s a Saturday, and while Zolf hasn’t exactly figured out what it is Wilde does for a living these days, he doubts it would be as important as saving the world, doubts he can’t afford him this little break here and now.

He busies himself with the process of brewing a pot of tea, the familiar method a sure thing to focus on. Leaves, strainer, hot water, wait. Wilde’s usual mug is nowhere to be found, left behind at the inn in Japan, so Zolf chooses two at random, one for each of them.

The tea’s ready to be poured when Wilde gets up, that impeccable timing he’s mastered the art of only coming into effect for the most trivial things. Zolf can hear his footsteps in the hallway, and then he’s there in the door, smiling at Zolf like he never left him, like it hasn’t been five years and three letters, too long to really pass off as just a break.

Wilde’s in his robe, his favoured bright purple with slippers to match, and he leans into the doorframe, watching Zolf as he pours their tea. His hair is a mess, flat on one side from being slept on, the other half tangled haphazardly from where he’s shoved it off his face, behind his ear, over his shoulder. He’s been growing it out ever since they shaved it back in Damascus, but it’s never regrown with colour. Neither has Zolf’s, mind, but Zolf’s never cared much for his looks. Wilde, however- this is new. He’s certainly giving off the impression that he doesn’t care for his looks, or at least doesn’t mind. His eyes are bleary and his cheeks are flushed, and that damn hair is all over the place in a way Zolf’s never seen before, and he doesn’t know why it’s this that gets him, but his heart catches in his chest and he has to look away.

“Tea’s ready,” he says, and Wilde crosses the room to join him at the small kitchen table. He yawns as he sits down, back of his hand to his mouth to hide it, and he’s still smiling that damn soft smile.

“Welcome home, Zolf,” Wilde says, and for the first time in his life, Zolf knows it to be true.

#rqg #ask #shofics #zolf smith #rqg wilde #i actually made them this soft just for you. i wouldn't usually write something so sickly sweet. nope not me. not ever #this wasn't incredibly indulgent and a pleasure to write ha ha what #shhhh.#your fault. i am not responsible.

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throughtrialbyfire · 8 months ago

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WIP Wednesday <3

tagged by the amazing @saltymaplesyrup @skyrim-forever and @your-talos-is-problematic !!

tagging the incredible @thana-topsy @totally-not-deacon @viss-and-pinegar @dirty-bosmer @orfeoarte @changelingsandothernonsense @mareenavee @thequeenofthewinter @archangelsunited @gilgamish @wispstalk and anyone who wants to participate, consider yourself tagged!!

this week i bring a section of the rewritten chapter 9 of Cycle of the Serpent. i'm planning to do some final edits to chapter 8 and 9 both and update those in the fic, finish 10, and then do some tiny editing for consistency in the rest of the published chapters in the next couple of weeks. for now, have this! <3

Thick, impenetrable night slid through the cracks of the inns walls, cool air and occasional passes of torchlight from outside bringing slivers of light into the otherwise dim hall. In the rented upstairs room, the flickers from the hall found their way in, bathing it in a bronze hue. Sleep, the elusive beast, sometimes captured and sometimes wild and far away, had wrestled itself from Athenath's grasp minutes ago. So now, he lay there, eyes fixed on the ceiling, the heavy wooden beams, the aged surfaces revealing previously unseen shapes as his mind tried making sense of the dark. There were promises to keep, come tomorrow. Whispers from under the balcony flew up through the wooden floors, the conversations of some patrons up well into the night. The constant hiss of syllables against teeth, the sharp, whistle sounds of them, made the Altmer want to grab the pillow and shove it over their ears and clutch it until his hands forced themselves loose from aching. But he couldn't do that, and he definitely didn't want to wake his friends, so they lay there, chest tight at the agitation. The shuffle of blankets rose up to end the quiet. Just Emeros, turning over in his sleep. They glanced to him and then returned to staring at the ceiling, brow knit, the sound of whispers softly fading. Finally. A sigh of relief had nearly left their mouth, but they stifled it, his focus again on the two Mer beside them. He didn't want to wake them. They'd both earned the rest. Athenath could hear Wyndrelis breathing, but aside from the rise and fall of his side when he did, he resembled more a corpse, entirely still and curled into himself. Emeros, meanwhile, had his forearm tucked under the pillow, his other arm around himself, blankets tight to his form.

The bronze light dimmed. A torch blown out. The night must be deep into itself, somewhere in the latest hours before morning would come and wake everyone up with its crowing. Athenath had blamed his sleeplessness on the whispering below the bed, but now, it was as though that had just been the catalyst, and now he was truly awake and alone, and unable to creep out of the bed if he even wanted to. At this rate, they'd look like a draugr in the morning, shambling up to Dragonsreach and barely forming the words to tell the Jarl of what happened to Helgen, what happened to them.

He shut his eyes tight. Gods, they didn't want to think about that day. But it still found a way to invade their thoughts, even when they were making all the effort in the world to go back to sleep. Their mind ignored every attempt to shove the fires aside, Athenath's arms wrapping tight around their middle as he stubbornly tried to push his mind to something else. What about the nights in Anvil, walking the salt-scented paths through town? And the dares to go up and knock on the old haunted mansion? What about the laughter of their old friends, and the house they grew up in? What about the shopkeep with the strange necklace, and the strangers in town in their black coats, and… Athenath's eyes shot open. The dark was still the dark. The same thing he'd closed off. But now, it seemed to wrap around them, tighter than they could bear. They fixed their gaze on the ceiling and thought of poems he'd memorized on the road with troubadours from High Rock, or the songs that they'd thought about writing down and quickly forgot, or the bards who sent them on this damn journey in the first place, but none of it replaced the sinking feeling in his stomach, like he was desperately clinging to a broken raft far out to sea. "What are you doing up?" Emeros whispered. He didn't need to open his eyes. He knew from jokes shared at the campfire that Athenath never slept on their back, and here they were, and he could feel the way the blankets laid over them and how different it was from when they were truly well asleep. Athenath shot their gaze to him, brow knit.

"Just can't fall back asleep," they whispered back. Emeros cracked an eye open, face half-buried in his pillow, hair tousled along his neck. He pushed a hand through the front strands, a couple small noises leaving his throat as though he were returning to the waking world by force. "Tomorrow, I fear, is going to be dreadfully long. Don't keep yourself awake, or you'll regret it." "It's not-" Athenath inhaled, held it, and exhaled, "I'm not. I know." "Then what's the problem?" "I woke up, couldn't fall back asleep, and now I'm just… Up. When I wish I wasn't." A long pause. Emeros sucked his inner cheek between his teeth on one side, then repeated to the other. "Did you have a nightmare?" "No," Athenath blinked curiously at the Bosmer, "did you?"

The alchemist rolled slowly over onto his back, palm draping over his eyes, other hand still firmly beneath the pillow. He inhaled, moved his hand down his face, before his arm came to rest over his middle. "I suppose one could say that fire has never been my favorite thing." The bard didn't reply, laying there, watching him as well as they could. He sucked in his cheek, then exhaled, peering at Athenath out the corner of his eye and the smallest turn of his head. "It'll be morning before you know it. Try not to keep yourself awake." The smallest fringe of concern at the edge of his words caught the Altmer off-guard, who only continued to watch him quietly. Emeros' gaze shifted. "You too, Wyndrelis. I know you're listening in." Wyndrelis snorted. "How did you guess?" At this, Emeros merely grinned, rolled over, and said, "I saw you move."

#skyrim fic #tes fic #tes v #ficblr #tesblr #fanfic #fanfiction #wip wednesday #my writing #oc ; athenath #oc ; emeros #oc ; wyndrelis #cycle of the serpent #bishop.txt

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vanalex · 3 months ago

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"I Watched the Moon Around the House" by Emily Dickinson Another moon-obsessed poet, Dickinson took the mysterious orb as a metaphor for all sorts of moods. One night, sleepless as ever, she encountered it as a familiar reflection of her own strangeness.

I watched the Moon around the House

Until upon a Pane—

She stopped—a Traveller’s privilege—for Rest—

And there upon

I gazed—as at a stranger—

The Lady in the Town

Doth think no incivility

To lift her Glass—upon—

But never Stranger justified

The Curiosity

Like Mine—for not a Foot—nor Hand—

Nor Formula—had she—

But like a Head—a Guillotine

Slid carelessly away—

Did independent, Amber—

Sustain her in the sky—

Or like a Stemless Flower—

Upheld in rolling Air

By finer Gravitations—

Than bind Philosopher—

No Hunger—had she—nor an Inn—

Her Toilette—to suffice—

Nor Avocation—nor Concern

For little Mysteries

As harass us—like Life—and Death—

And Afterwards—or Nay—

But seemed engrossed to Absolute—

With shining—and the Sky—

The privilege to scrutinize

Was scarce upon my Eyes

When, with a Silver practise—

She vaulted out of Gaze—

And next—I met her on a Cloud—

Myself too far below

To follow her superior Road—

Or its advantage—Blue—

#emily dickinson #i watched the moon around the house #poem #poetry #american poet #modernism #19th century #literature

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sparking-steps · 1 month ago

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Sparking-Steps' Acquisitions Log, entry 2: A far too exciting entry into Skyrim.

Much less precedes this passage than the last. This time a reddish, circular stain adorns the top of the page, inside the circle in small handwriting "The scaled one forgot to close their book! All will know the Fey Lux was here!" is written along with a small winged stick figure that seems to be laughing.

Well, shit. My little trip over the Jeralls was far, far more eventful than I was hoping it would be and it turns out that I might have accidentally fallen face first into a major historical event. I wasn’t intending to use these entries to talk about events like this, but honestly this is justified.

To start the story from where I left off, it turns out the route I was taking wasn’t as safe or unpatrolled as I thought it was. I knew it was a risk to cross the border without proper paperwork, but delaying the trip for the month it would’ve taken to actually get all of that filled out, signed and paid for would have been excruciatingly boring. So I was caught by an Imperial patrol and, well, they didn’t take any excuses. To make matters worse I had run into a group of them that were just about to hold an execution due to one of their prisoners being the damned leader of the Stormcloaks himself!

So there I was, unable to successfully bargain with the somehow handsome soldier with my fate in his hands, about to get my head chopped off, when the worst possible miracle happens and a DRAGON ATTACKS THE TOWN WE WERE IN!!!! A FUCKING DRAGON! THE FIRST DRAGON SPOTTED ON MUNDUS IN MILLENIA AND IT PREVENTED MY OWN DEATH BY MERE MOMENTS! Is some god playing a prank? Is Sheogorath laughing it up on his throne? Was Mephala soaking up my fear in that moment? Gods.

So I was able to escape with the help of the previously mentioned somewhat handsome soldier, kind one he is, I hope he does well in his war. I can’t say the same of most of that town, Helgen it was called. I went through the place later, it’s just entirely ruined. Gods above though, dragons are back after all this time. Beasts gone for so long that some people thought they were myths. I’m fairly certain there’s a prophecy from one of the elder scrolls on this happening, so it’s probably very likely that we’re about to start living in very, very historically interesting times. Gods damn it.

Well, none of that matters though, I still have a job to do and current history has only a little to do with it. The possible end of the world at the hand of an ancient draconic tyrant isn’t going to fucking stop me from doing the job I’ve been wanting to do for years! I AM GOING TO BE A PROFESSIONAL ARCHEOLOGIST AND NOTHING CAN STOP ME! Take that damned overgrown dragonlings.

So, besides my near execution and the possible start to the end of Mundus, I have actually had a nice time here in Skyrim so far. The people have been kind enough, I’ve even found a traveling partner, a fellow scholar named Lucien. A rather charming fellow, if a little unprepared for the exploring lifestyle. Of course, I’d be a hypocrite if I dismissed him for that, I’m not exactly too prepared for actual life and death combat either. Fortunately my dueling skills are carrying me so far. Regardless, Lucien seems eager to learn and I’m eager to learn with him.

Lastly before I actually get to what this journal is supposed to be used for, I have made it to the Auryen’s museum and, I have to say, the old Mer has outdone himself. This place is magnificent! It’ll take years to actually fill this place, it’s absolutely massive! Even the housing that he arranged for me in the place is immaculate! I genuinely don’t know what to say in regards to all of this, this is perfect! The fact that I’m getting this living space and an actual pay is more than I could’ve ever dreamed for! Goodbye loud sleepless nights in university dorms and inns, hello COMFORT!

But, well, on to what I’m actually writing this damned thing for, the log.

ACQUISITIONS LOG #1:

Alcoholic Drinks, Various: For a display on the more unique types of alcohol native to Skyrim. Most of these are various regional liquors and meads from the holds I've visited. One of them is a rather odd magical alcohol by the name of "Daedra Drink” that can render the imbiber invisible. Not sure who made this or where, bought a bottle of it from one of the inns I visited. Bit of an odd one.

Amulets of Birthsigns: A small collection of amulets found amongst several of Skyrim's standing stones that represent the various birthsigns. They seem to be enchanted in ways that match the signs' blessings. I might keep the Mage stone's amulet on me for the time being, it's not my sign but the enchantment is useful.

Amulets of the Nine: Amulets showing devotion to Arkay and Stendarr. Not to my taste in terms of gods, honestly. I don’t have time to worry about death and Stendarr’s devotees are completely overzealous in their pursuit of putting down Daedric cults.

Amulets of Ancient Nordic Make: I'm fairly certain these don't have to do with the Dragon Cult specifically, but they do match certain etchings in Dragon Cult barrows. Before the creation of the Dragon Cult there were cults dedicated to the veneration of these various other animals, so likely these were cultural holdovers from that brought into the Dragon Cult's beliefs.

Ancient Nordic Boots: Unfortunately this was the only armor I could salvage from Bleak Falls Barrow's draugr. The rest fell apart upon being removed or were fused to the undead cultists' skin. Still, a good find.

Ancient Nordic Weaponry: Fortunately (or not considering they were swinging them at Lucien and I) the weapons the draugrs were using were far more intact than their armor! Despite their age, these weapons retain much of their ornate embellishments. Nordic culture commonly adding embellishments to its weapons and armor seems to be a trait that has carried over the ages.

Art Pieces of Various Types, Style and Origins: This is a very broad category, but I simply don’t have much to say about the things within it. What can I really say about a fancy drinking horn, a wine glass made of emerald or a statuette of a sabrecat? Ugh, if my mother was here she could go on for hours about these things, I never did inherit the family’s mind for making or critiquing artwork. I suppose there’s one notable thing in this, a statuette of a dragon. Remarkably accurate given that dragons only recently came back, I’ll have to see if there’s any way of finding the original creator.

Backpacks, Various: Not sure why Auryen wanted these. Some of them have interesting enchantments I suppose.

Battleaxe of Hatred: Alright, the first (possibly of many) artifact I've collected! Not a very prolific one, though its status as such has been magically verified. Based on the records I could find of it in the museum's library, the earliest known appearance of this axe was at a store selling weapons and armor in the Imperial City around the time of the Oblivion Crisis. I'm not sure how a group of bandits came into possession of this item, though their proximity to Skyrim's border with Cyrodiil implies it likely came here via conventional means (aka being carried). The appearance of the weapon has changed from that of a Cyrodilic battle axe of that time period to modern Skyrim's style of battle axe, though the iron is now colored red as if stained with blood. Notably the enchantment has changed entirely, originally sapping one's vitality, it now creates a potent fear reaction in the people it strikes. Strong enough to send summoned entities back to their plane of Oblivion. Despite the name, it seems this axe has become somewhat pacifist, scaring people away rather than fighting them. (Note: see if we can find out if The Fighting Chance still operates, they might have further information on where this weapon originally came from.)

Books, Various: A big batch of books that I’ve picked up for use in the museum’s library. A good chunk of these were donated from the Jarl of Whiterun’s own collection, generous man he is. I’ve skimmed through a few, but I didn’t have the time to sit down and read any during my travels. Not yet at least. There’s no way in Oblivion that I’ll be able to spend enough time to read through the entire library, but hopefully time will permit enough to read some of them. For now though a good few of these can make good reference material when researching new artifacts.

Capes and Cloaks, Various: Matching ones to be used in the various armor displays. Others are just ones I've collected because I quite like capes.

Cheeses of Various Kinds: Just a whole lot of cheese, both local and foreign varieties. Also a few cheese-based dishes. These aren’t for the museum, collecting these is a personal hobby. Don't ask why.

Dagger, Possibly From Oblivion: First off, I have no real proof of the claim of this dagger’s origin. It was told to me by the donator, the priest of Arkay that runs Whiterun’s hall of the dead. He did not explain where he acquired it from, however. The most notable thing about this dagger is its enchantment. It can trap souls, but unlike other enchanted items it does so without needing to ever be recharged. It is an oddly shaped dagger, having twin blades that curve towards each other. A design that seems remarkably inefficient, so along with the soul trapping enchantment, a ritualistic purpose seems likely. If I was to make a bet, this might’ve come to Whiterun during the Oblivion Crisis. Possibly being left there by cultists or Daedric invaders. Possibly an artifact, though that’s hard to prove without further knowledge on it.

Denstagmer's Ring: One of several artifact rings found on the body of an explorer at Silent Moons Camp. The exact origin of this ring is a total mystery, even the name “Denstagmer” brings up no leads whatsoever. The first notable records of its locations were when the Nerevarine found it a bit over 200 years ago in the Falas ancestral tomb in Vvardenfell, so it's possible that the family had a history with it. The last living Dwemer, Yagrum Bagarn, mentioned the ring in his book, Tamrielic Lore, though there wasn't much he could say about it. No changes to the ring’s enchantment or its appearance have been noted. Best guesses for how it made its way to Skyrim are either that a refugee from Morrowind or that this dead explorer, this Malrus fellow, must've been brought into the province.

Dolls, Enchanted: A pair of dolls, one a blacksmith and one an executioner. The both of them are enchanted to enhance skills relevant to the doll's occupation. Using a forge and wielding large weaponry respectively. Odd little things. Auryen mentioned he believes they're part of a larger set, which makes me wonder who made and distributed them.

Doll, Unenchanted: A completely unremarkable doll to be used in the enchanted doll display. I can’t say I like the look of this toy, it’s cute I suppose but the design is a bit lacking. Perhaps some tiny clothes could improve the look of it.

Dragonstone of Bleak Falls Barrow: A map of various dragon burial mounds throughout Skyrim carved into a stone tile. This must’ve been made in the late days of the Dragon Cult, after the (apparently temporary) defeat of Alduin. I'll have to visit these sites at some point! The actual artifact has been requested by the Jarl of Whiterun, so unfortunately the museum will have to make due with a replica. I don’t know why the Jarl’s court mage couldn’t just take a recreation of it, but I suppose this is going to be used for something tactical so he likely wants the information to be exact.

Dragon Claw Key, Golden: An interesting artifact of the Dragon Cult. They used ornate claw shaped keys like this to seal the innermost sanctums of their burial tombs, typically along with an ornate door locked with a puzzle. Some theorize that these keys function more as a way to lock whatever is on the other side of the door inside, however, due to Bleak Falls Barrow having an alternative exit to that chamber I feel that theory falls flat. The current owners of this key did not want to part with it, so the museum will have to make due with a replica.

Elven Style Armor, Modified: Elven armor previously owned by a member of a now disbanded gang of bandits called the Crimson Dirks. The armor itself seems like a more practical variant on Skyrim's normal style of elven armor, including leather sleeves and pouches.

Faeries (!!!!): FAIRIES! By the Hist, I don’t think I’ve ever actually met Fey before! What fascinatingly pretty little things they are! Specifically, these ones are Nixads, a small humanoid insect-like being with a pair of wings on their backs. Absolute joys to be around they are, pranksters though. One of them stole my pen while I was taking a break from writing earlier and it took me an hour to find the damned thing again. The little bastard was giggling the whole time, said they thought my break should be a little longer. Why exactly they are coming to the museum is an interesting point. There’s a superstition amongst Skyrim’s sailors and fishers that having a Fey with you is good luck, that you’ll either have safe travels or good hauls, respectively. This has led to a tradition of caging Fey in modified lanterns, as they also shed a small amount of light due to some sort of magical aura. The museum was only looking for the lanterns for an exhibit on that cultural practice, but upon letting these two out of their prisons and telling them about the museum, they seem to have found the idea of coming here interesting. I’ve spoken with Auryen and after discussing it, we’ve decided to make a space for them in the Natural History Hall. They’re free to leave if they wish, but we’ll give them safety, food and a space for themselves if they want to stay. Plus, it gives us a chance to educate people on Tamerials’ Faeries on those Fey’s own terms! Side note, as an unfortunate side effect of the Nordic superstitions around them, I have found a Fairy’s corpse in the wreck of a sunken ship in Lake Ilinalta. We’ll ask the other Fay how they should be given a burial.

Fish, Various: To be added to the Natural Science Hall's aquarium. Side note, I can see why some people enjoy fishing, it's quite relaxing. I might have to participate in it more.

Fishing Equipment: Not sure why this was asked for, to be honest. Fuck it though, if Auryen wants a fishing pole I’ll get him a fishing pole. He’s the one paying me.

Fossils, Various: Found while digging through a few veins of ore found throughout Skyrim's landscape. A record of Skyrim’s history set into stone. None of these ones are too interesting by themselves from what I understand, though one depicts a fish eating another one, which is somewhat rare I think.

Gauntlets Made for Fist Fighting: An eccentric customization of the usual styles of armor in Skyrim. Probably better to use than a normal set of gauntlets given they are just as sturdy and can still hold an enchantment just as well. I will be honest though, I can’t imagine myself actually resorting to punching someone. Close ranged spells are far more effective.

Guard’s Armor (Whiterun and Falkreath): Donated by the Jarls of those two holds. Nothing too interesting here but I felt they were meaningfully different enough from the other sets of armor to justify their own entry. Hopefully I can get sets of armor from every hold as easily as these two.

Gemstones and Minerals, Various: These are being collected for a large display of Skyrim's various minerals within the Natural Science Hall. This is not my area of expertise, though they are very pleasantly shiny.

Lunar Weapons: A unique set of weapons made at an ancient ruin called Sleeping Moons Camp. The forge seems to channel some sort of power from the two moons to enchant what would normally be mundane weapons. What a unique ruin it is! The forge itself seemed like a recent addition and the bandits around the ruins did as well. However, despite the book near the forge documenting the creation of these weapons and the presence of those weapons as proof that it does work, I find myself unable to actually make this thing work. I’m unsure as to why. This place requires further investigation.

Magical Oil Lamp: An oil lamp that seems to contain some sort of entity that grants minor boons upon request. Doesn't seem to want to leave the lamp, nor does it seek payment. Not sure what exactly the entity is, though I feel it's unlikely for it to be a Daedra. Honestly it is fully possible that it isn’t inhabited at all and the entity itself is just a trick made up through a bit of enchantment. I asked it for "Knowledge" and it gave me a pile of books, useful little thing. A donation from Solitude's Temple of the Divines.

Magical jars: A small group of magically sealed jars with what seem to be enchanted toys inside. Things like a tiny ship or flying dragon. Odd little things these are. Not sure who made them or where they all came from, but the common design of the jar itself implies a singular source. An oddity that hopefully will be figured about eventually, but isn’t too much of a priority.

Mundane Weapons and Armor of Various Styles: Primarily these are made of iron or steel, though a few other kinds are in this pile. There's something to be said of the ornate style that the Nords of Skyrim add to even their most mundane armors. I quite like the horns they add to their helmets, perhaps out of my own vanity. My horns are quite nice and honestly I should say that more often. Preening aside, I quite like the steel armors I've seen. There are a few more notable examples amongst this list, those will get their own entries.

Orcish Style Armor, Modified: Another set of armor from that aforementioned disbanded bandit gang. Apparently this one was made by the gang’s resident smith, who had fallen in with another gang after the group split up, though she seemed to dislike her current circumstances. This set of armor was, once again, modified from the normal style. Replacing some of the orichalcum metal with leather and fur, seemingly to keep the wearer warmer in Skyrim’s cold climate.

Raven Statuette Made of Ebony: At a glance this seems mundane, but this seems to have some connection to Daedra worship. I couldn’t sense any actual enchantments on it, but something about it feels just slightly odd. I know that’s not exactly a professional way to see these kinds of things, but that’s just the way I feel about it. I’ll ask a few others what they think of this statuette before I turn it in though, just to make sure. My first instinct is to assume it was made to honor Nocturnal, though ravens and ebony aren't symbols unique to her. It would be a perfect fit for Ebonarm, while his animosity for the Daedric Princes is well known it’s not exactly known for sure where he falls amongst the pantheons so this could have been made in honor of him.

Reconstructed Tapestry of Ancient Nordic Design: I was able to recreate this from fragments found within Bleak Falls Barrow (I need to find a shortening of that name). It's remarkable that the fabric stayed mostly intact over the centuries.

Ring of Transmutation: Another of the artifact rings found alongside the body of the explorer, Malrus. This one is less historied than the other though, similar to Battleaxe of Hatred it made its first known appearance in Cyrodilic store during the Oblivion Crisis, specifically one in Bravil. No major changes, though the gemstone set in the ring is larger than previously recorded. No known history before that time, similar to the battleaxe. I'll have to see if the store it was recorded as being in, The Warlock's Luck, is still around so we might be able to check their records. As for how it got here, the explorer Malrus is the most likely reason that I can think of.

Severed heads: What? Who made these little display cases for these severed heads? Why have I found several of them? Why did Auryen ask for them?

Shells and Corals: Another collection of things for the Natural History hall. Nothing much to say here, though the fact that I found coral in the stomachs of a group of slaughterfish in Lake Ilinalta is probably odd. Once again, not my area of expertise, but I'm fairly certain coral doesn't naturally occur in freshwater. Do slaughterfish swim upriver like salmon? I suppose their presence in both fresh and saltwater implies so.

Taxidermy Supplies: Various animal hides and other bits and pieces to be used in to make some taxidermied animals to display in the Natural History Hall. Auryen is pretty skilled at making taxidermy, I wonder where he learned it.

Varla Stone, Flawed: One of the Ayleids’ star stones, a small fragment of Aetherius itself fallen from the heavens down to Mundus. These minor magical miracles that were used for, of all things, lighting a room. I’ve been in a couple Ayleid ruins and honestly I do have to admit that the light from these is certainly very pleasing. Perhaps the wild elves had a decent idea there after all. This specific stone is a bit clouded, making it not as useful as a more perfect specimen, but that’s not to say it isn’t useful, these little things are perfectly capable of containing and releasing souls, for example.

Weatherward Circlet: Another artifact ring, though this one was a donation from Whiterun's hall of the dead. How did that crypt manage to come across two separate artifacts? I suppose this ring might have just been on one of the deceased and no next of kin claimed it. As for the ring's history, it isn't the most storied but it was owned by the Hero of Kvatch! Apparently she had been given it as payment for a job, the exact details aren't recorded so I assume it must have been something someone didn't want known. Interesting, though that unfortunately means that researching its origin is likely a dead end. As for appearance and enchantments, there doesn't seem to be any recorded change.

Welkynd Stone: As with the previous entry on varla stones, but much more powerful. These things were used all over Ayleid cities of the past for all sorts of purposes, not just lighting. In the modern day these things are amazing tools for magecraft. A magically inclined individual can draw upon the power within one of these and be filled to the brim with magicka. A shame that the method of growing these was lost with the Ayleid civilization, the feats of magecraft that could be accomplished with a large amount of these would be incredible.

Whiterun silver proof coin: For a display on Tamriel's various currencies. Look, I am not a numismatist, I have very little room in my head to be interested about coins. They are shiny and can be spent to acquire nice things, that's about the end of my thoughts on any coins minted in the last half millennia. I suppose this one has a nice design, very swirly and pleasing to the eye. Definitely nicer than a septim.

#Sparking-Steps #Sparking-Steps Acquisitions Log #elder scrolls oc #skyrim oc #OH GOD I DIDN'T REALIZE HOW MUCH STUFF I COLLECTED #I DIDN'T THINK WRITING THIS WOULD TAKE THIS LONG LOL #well hey I can finally play the game again now!#Despite Steps' protests I'll likely keep having a proper journal intro section #both to give reactions to plot and to let Steps muse on whatever they wanna talk about

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