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mydadleft471 · 5 months ago

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For The Love Of A Daughter

Summary: After getting caught looking for food to feed your daughter, Lord Messmer takes pity on you and extends mercy.

Spoilers for Elden Ring and Shadow of the Erdtree. Slight warning for descriptions of violence and death.

This was requested by anonymous! I'll link the request here. This was SO MUCH FUN. I've never really wrote anything involving young children before, so I'm going off of the scant interactions I've had with some younger family members. I've also never wrote for a GN! reader. It was easier than I thought lmao. Thank you for the request anon!

I'm really considering making this a series tbh! If you'd like to see more, please let me know! I could've spent the whole day writing but I need to go eat lmao. (I've been writing for 2 hours help)

As always, thank you so much for reading, liking, commenting, and reblogging! I haven't had this much fun writing in such a long time and it makes me so unbelievably happy that I'm able to write things that make other people happy. Hope everyone enjoys!

Your lungs were on fire.

You hadn’t stopped running from the moment you entered the Land of Shadow. A few Tarnished once accompanied you, but they had been slain and you had no choice to move on for your sake and hers.

The little girl carefully strapped to your shoulders was maybe about 4 years old. You’d found her in the rubble of an old village in Caelid accompanied by two corpses, most likely her mother and father. Her sweet green eyes pierced yours and you knew you couldn’t leave her there. You were never much of a fighter anyways. Your hands were gentle and steady and your nerves did not hold strong in the throes of battle.

She only had one thing with her: a golden locket with a piece of folded paper inside with the name Jasmine written on it. You were unsure if that was her name or her mother’s, but you called her that. You found it fitting for her.

Currently, you were running from a pack of armed men all wielding the same unnatural fire. You had carefully snuck up to a dark looking castle in search of any food you could find, when suddenly, guards had honed in on your position and you ran for it, not knowing if they would be kind to you and your child.

Booking it straight for a charred town, you tried to maneuver your way around its buildings to confuse the men chasing you. After randomly choosing directions to turn and heading down a few alleyways, you found your way to a staircase. You squeezed yourself down into it, hoping that you were out of sight to go unnoticed.

You heard the thundering of footsteps approach your position and you held your breath. Jasmine began to squirm from where she was attached to your shoulders, so you quietly repositioned her in your arms. Her little hands meekly clutched your arm; it had been two days since she had last had something semi-filling.

You froze as you heard the sound of clanking metal approaching you. A man ducked down and his eyes found yours, your heart nearly stopping. He shouted to alert the other guards and they soon surrounded you. You couldn’t see them, but you heard so many footsteps. You were found.

“Come out, or we’ll drag you out.”

Slowly, you slid yourself from your hiding place, clutching Jasmine to your chest defensively.

“Please, I beg of you, let me go. She’s hungry. I was looking for food, that’s all.” Your voice wavers at the sight of so many weapons.

“Lord Messmer will decide your fate. You will come with us.”

With your head hung low, you follow their orders. They search you for any possessions you might have, which is basically nothing but a half-empty waterskin and a dull dagger, and confiscate them. They eye Jasmine, looking for anything she might be hiding, but they don’t dare touch her. Mercifully, they allow you to hold her as they march you back to the blackened castle you ran from.

You make your way up what must be a thousand stairs and your legs ache from the amount of walking you’ve done. Slowing down causes a guard to firmly grab your shoulder and keep you going at a brisk pace. Jasmine hides her face in your shoulder and you try to calm her by rubbing circles into her back. You would promise her that it would be okay, but you can imagine her parents promising that same thing, and now they were dead and she was being carried into an unknown place.

If it came down to it, you’d beg for her to remain safe and allow them to kill you.

Finally, the guards stopped you in front of a large metal door. It was intricately decorated and instilled true fear into you. This must be where Lord Messmer resided

“You will show respect at all times. Speak only when spoken to, or we will put you to the sword.”

You merely nod in response, not willing to test how quickly they would kill you.

The doors open with a protesting creak and the metal slides against the stone floor with an unnatural sound. It grates your ears and you cover Jasmine’s to save her from the awful noise. Two guards flank your shoulders and tap your shoulder, signaling for you to move forwards.

The room is lit with a few candles shimmering in the stagnant air. It smells like sulfur and blood. The guards stop you and push down on your shoulders, and you kneel. Jasmine stays in your arms, small hands wrapped tightly around your neck.

“My Lord, we’ve found an intruder. They were scouring around the castle and fled when seen. They say that they were looking for food for their child.” The guard barks out.

You keep your head down, terrified to look up.

“A child, here?” A new, lower voice cascades across the room sending shivers down your spine.

“Yes, My Lord.”

“A child does not belong in the Land of Shadow. Thou hast endangered them.” He doesn’t sound pleased. “Prithee, tell me thy reasoning for bringing one so fragile here.”

“I found her in Caelid, My Lord. Since then, we’ve been traveling with a group of Tarnished and our path led us here.” Your voice shakes as you speak.

“‘Tis not thy child in thine arms?”

You shake your head. “No, My Lord. She was in a ruined village, surrounded by rubble and rot. I couldn’t leave her there.” Your heart stings at the painful memory.

“Intriguing. What reason didst thou have to come to my castle?”

“As your guard said, My Lord. She is hungry. Food is not easy to come by here.”

“Dost thou remember when last she ate?”

“Two days ago was her last full meal. Since then, we’ve been living off of rowa fruits.”

Silence is your response, until you hear heavy footsteps approaching you. You squeeze your eyes shut and hug Jasmine tight. She trembles in your arms.

“The child has a name, I presume?” His voice is only a few feet away from you now.

“Jasmine, My Lord.”

He sighs. “How was thee treated by my men?”

“They didn’t take her away from me, My Lord. They never hurt us.”

He lets out what you assume is a sigh of relief. Something thumps against the ground making you jump. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the hilt of his weapon. You remember other Tarnished referring to Lord Messmer as the Impaler, and you shuddered in fear.

“Thy only crime is trespassing, but do not thinkest me heartless. Thou art forgiven, and I shall extend mercy unto thee.” His tone changes as he addresses one of his men. “They shalt be taken to comfortable quarters and attended by female staff only. Shall any man lay a hand upon the child, they shalt be killed immediately, without mercy.”

“Yes, My Lord.” The guard leaves the room quickly, probably thanking his lucky stars for permission to exit the room.

“Rise. Thou needn’t stare at the floors any longer.” His voice softens as he speaks to you.

With shaking legs, you do as he asks and you spare a glance in his direction. He towers over you, serpents coiling around his slender frame, and you notice he has one eye that glimmers a brilliant gold. His great spear is held firmly in his right hand.

“Thank you. Truly.” You do your best to bow in your current state. Without adrenaline, you’re extremely shaky. You almost collapse, but a serpent gently coils around your waist and holds you up.

“I shall have food sent to thine quarters immediately.” You can almost hear worry in his voice.

You nod and mindlessly pat the serpent holding you up gently. It nuzzles into your palm.

As if on cue, a female servant with deep brown hair enters the room and you see a smile work her way onto her face at the sight of Jasmine.

“Is this who you would have me attend to, My Lord?”

“Yes. They are exhausted and have been without proper food for days. Ensure they are looked after.”

The woman places a hand on your shoulder and the serpent withdraws itself from your waist. You feel extremely unsteady, but the woman is stronger than she looks.

“Come on now, love. Let’s get you some food.” She hooks your arm over her shoulder and wraps her other arm around your back.

Slowly, she guides you out of the stagnant room and towards your quarters. She keeps you upright and doesn’t allow you to sway.

“Lord Messmer has taken pity on you, truly. Usually, trespassers are not dealt with so lightly.” She explains to you.

You don’t desire to dwell on what your fate could’ve been, so you quickly change the subject. “Do you have a name?” You ask her and she smiles once more.

“Sianet. A pleasure to serve you.”

You reach your room and Sianet gently helps you inside, settling you on a large, extremely comfortable bed. She goes to shut your door, then grabs a large pitcher of water. She helps you drink, the cold water a welcome luxury.

“Would you like some, little one?” She holds out the glass to Jasmine who keeps her head tucked into your shoulder.

“Hey, it’s okay. You should drink some water. It’s cold.” You keep your voice steady and she slowly raises her head. Her eyes quickly scan around the room and she looks at Sianet.

“Hello, sweet thing. Do you have a name?”

You prepare yourself to answer for her, as Jasmine really only speaks to you, but you’re shocked when she replies on her own, her voice a meek whisper.

“My name is Jasmine.”

Sianet smiles wider, her white teeth almost blinding. “That’s a lovely name, Jasmine. Would you have some water for me?”

Jasmine nods and grabs at the glass. Sianet helps her drink, tipping the cup back slowly. Once she finishes drinking, the glass is put beside the pitcher on the table next to your bed.

“Your dinner should be ready soon. While we wait, shall I draw a bath for the little one?”

Jasmine’s eyes light up and she nods furiously. Sianet laughs and makes her way to the corner of the room, beckoning for her to follow. Jasmine looks at you with wide eyes.

“Can I follow her?”

“Go on. You stink.” She giggles and launches herself off your lap, toddling off after Sianet.

You flop unceremoniously onto the bed and shut your eyes. You had been wandering for so long that you almost forgot what a proper bed felt like. You remind yourself that you’re safe, even if only for a little while. You can relax and rest. You’ve earned it.

A sudden knock at the door interrupts your thoughts. You hear Jasmine and Sianet talking in the next room, so you make your way to the door yourself. Opening it, you are surprised to see Lord Messmer himself. His serpents flick their tongues at you, almost like a greeting.

“What can I do for you, Lord Messmer?”

“I came to ensure thy room was to thine liking.”

You smile at him. “I’ve never stayed somewhere so beautiful. I have no complaints, My Lord.”

His eye twinkles and he peers around you to look inside the room. You silently berate yourself for your horrible manners.

“My apologies, My Lord. Would you like to come in?”

“I shalt not invade thy privacy. Where hast thy child gone?”

“She’s currently taking a much needed bath. She’s okay.” To confirm your words, Jasmine lets out a delighted squeak. The corners of his lip turn up in a small smile.

“Sianet: is she to thine liking as well?”

“She’s very attentive and sweet. You don’t need to worry.”

He clears his throat. “Thy room is guarded well. If thou have need for anything, thou must only ask.”

“Thank you, My Lord. I hope you know how much this means to us.”

“‘Tis no matter. ‘Twould make me a monster to not attend to thee, especially the child.”

“Not that I’m not grateful, but… why are you helping us? Sianet told me that trespassers are usually not dealt with in such a manner.”

His expression falters a little. You worry you overstepped.

“Thou did not hurt my men. Thou did not invade my castle with ill intent.” He pauses, looking away from you. “And it hath been countless moons since a child has inhabited the Land of Shadow.”

“I see.”

Silence encompasses you both, and you take in the details of his face. He has strong cheekbones and a proud, regal nose. His golden eye shimmers in the dim candlelight around you.

“I shalt not bother thee any longer. Give my regards to thy child, and if thou hast need for anything, I permit thee ask.”

“Thank you, Lord Messmer. I’m lucky to have met you.”

His eye widens and a peaceful smile finds itself on his face. He looks handsome like that, you think to yourself.

He bows slightly and leaves you, his serpents coiling themselves around him as he gets further from your door. You shut it and sigh, returning to your bed. The mattress envelops you in a comfortable embrace, and you swear you could fall asleep now and not wake up for a few days. Exhaustion clings to your nerves and bones, and your eyelids grow heavy. You shut them and find yourself immediately succumbing to slumber.

“Wake up! Food’s here!” You’re rudely awoken by Jasmine bouncing excitedly on the bed. You groan and sit up, your body creaking in protest at the sudden movement.

“Alright! I’m up.” She giggles and grabs your hand, pulling you to stand.

Yawning, you do. Rubbing your eyes, you notice that Sianet is carefully arranging a table of food. The smell makes your mouth water. Jasmine runs to help her, her skin now cleaned and clothed in a new dress. Her little feet pad across the marble floors and you don’t remember ever seeing her so excited.

“Sleep well?” Sianet asks, turning her head to meet your gaze.

“Better than I’ve ever slept before. Until someone interrupted.” Jasmine giggles and runs behind a chair, hiding from your teasing.

“I am glad.” She dusts her hands off on her apron and stands back. “Your dinner is ready.”

“Thank you, Sianet.”

You make your way over to the table and sit down in one of the chairs. Just like your bed, it is extremely comfortable. Before you is a large spread of meats, fruits, and a few desserts. You had been given a bottle of wine to indulge in if you so desired. You can’t remember a time when you had so much choice in what to eat.

Jasmine is lifted into her chair by Sianet, which has been outfitted with a booster seat, and her eyes go wide at the amount of food. You see her gaze immediately lock onto a small tray of chocolate.

“You can’t have just chocolate for dinner, Jasmine.”

She scowls. “You’re right. There’s not enough.” You laugh and shake your head.

“If you need me, say something to the guards. I must go and ensure you have clothes. A bath has been drawn for you already.”

“Thank you, Sianet. We appreciate it.”

“Thank you for giving me a bath.” Jasmine has already stuffed a piece of chocolate in her mouth.

“Of course. I will be back shortly.” She bows her head and takes her leave.

You and Jasmine have your fill of whatever you want. You indulge in some chocolate and a glass of wine and eat until you’re completely full. You imagine this is how Messmer lives each and every day.

You could get used to this.

You make an effort to clean up your plates and stack them so they can be easily taken away and Jasmine makes her way over to the bed. Once you’re finished, you sit beside her.

“Will you tuck me in?”

“Of course.” You pull the soft blankets up and over her, folding them delicately so she can keep her arms out. She smiles and wiggles, getting comfy.

“Mother used to tuck me in every night.” She never spoke of her parents, so this was surprising to you. “She had long hair and a pretty smile. But that’s all I can remember.”

Your heart pinches painfully. “I’m sorry, little one.” You grab her hand and squeeze it.

“Why?”

“Because you can’t really remember your mother.”

“That’s okay. I have you.” She smiles at you and you feel tears well up in your eyes. You finally know that she’s safe and fed and warm, unlike so many other nights. She is protected by a demigod in his home. Nobody can touch her. She can finally be a child.

“You will always have me,” you promise.

She shuts her eyes and you gently stroke her hair. The brown shimmers in the candlelight. You wonder if her mother had brown hair. When you found her parents, you were so worried about Jasmine that you never looked at them hard enough to remember. Maybe that was for the best.

You rise slowly from the bed to not disturb her sleep, and gently tip-toe your way to the bathroom. Like the bedroom, it was extravagant. Marble floors and tiles and a large candelabra hung from the ceiling, painting the room in a serene glow. The bath sat full, the water still steaming with some petals gently floating on the water. The room smelled like vanilla.

Undressing yourself, you catch your reflection in the mirror. Bruises litter your body like constellations and scars are forever etched on your flesh. You’ve grown skinny, far too skinny, from not eating. You prioritized Jasmine’s food over yours. You did not want her to grow up malnourished.

Tearing your gaze away from yourself, you step into the water and sit down, your body relaxing into the water immediately. The warmth permeates your skin and soothes your bones. The tub is big enough for you to full submerge yourself if you so choose, and you do. The only noise you hear is the gentle swooshing of water. It’s almost like being in a void. You remain under the water until your lungs quickly remind you that you need to resurface for air, and you do. Your hair now wet, you shampoo and condition it, leaving it soft and silky smooth. You choose a purple soap sitting on the edge of the tub and thoroughly lather yourself in it, basking in the lavender scent.

You remain in the water until it begins to chill, and you step out. Drying yourself off, you notice a silk robe hanging on the rack by the door. It is much too large for you, but you don’t really care. You take it and wrap yourself in it. Once more, you look at yourself in the mirror, and you don’t recognize who stands there. They have soft hair and smooth, clean skin wrapped in fine silks. You remind yourself that it is, in fact, you who stands there.

Making your way out of the washroom, you smile as you see Jasmine still sleeping soundly in the bed. The fireplace nearby roars and you begin to extinguish a few candles. Gently settling into the bed beside Jasmine, you lay a kiss to her forehead before shutting your eyes and returning to St. Trina’s domain once more.

Little did you know that Messmer himself had ignited the fireplace and brought you one of his robes. He doubted that he’d tell you. But he’d be a liar if he said seeing you in his robe didn’t make his heart flutter in his chest.

#messmer the impaler #messmer x reader #messmer x tarnished #messmer the impaler x reader #elden ring x reader #elden ring messmer #he's a softie i swear #poor boy is having thoughts

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youlikefanficdontyousquidward · 3 months ago

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By Moonlight

Adar x Fem!Elf!Reader

Part One- Babes in the Woods

Summery: Reader finds Uruk children alone in the forest and returns them to their own meeting their "Adar".

Warnings: cannon typical violence

Only a little Adar in this first bit but this will be many parts of pining for Lord Father of the Uruks. So enjoy time with the babies for now!

Druadan Forest was the farthest west you'd ever been. The pine trees cast their needles to the uneven path, wind wiping them around your aching feet. You pulled your thin cloaks hood tighter to your face as a harsh gust sent them to your exposed skin. The last warmth of summer still clung in the air and you were thankful for that.

Avari elves were few and far between these days. After kin had been stolen by Morgoth many hid away farther South, deep in forests or caves. For you this was an impossible ask, to spend your millennia without a glimpse of starlight or another kindred soul to watch the ages pass with. Your wild flee into the moonlit night from everything you'd ever known had been the most terrifying moment of your long life. Though to this day you could not regret the action, not even as the hunger pains hit once more.

You stopped by a gnarly felled tree, tucking yourself and your knapsack low in the cover of its exposed roots. The ground was softer here, a patch of moss that you rested your weary legs on. Your water skin was nearing empty but you drank your fill regardless. There was a stream or river close enough you could hear its rubble from your resting spot. You let your eyes drift closed against the golden rays piercing through the canopy and tried to hold off from eating the last of your last catch a little while longer.

The sound that startled you from your rest was unlike anything you'd ever heard. Loud, piercing and in an extreme state of duress. Your body seemed to react to it of its own accord, slinging your bag to your back and leaping into a run in one swift motion.

A part of you feared it may be some kind of trap. You'd encountered enough slit throats and wolves to feed that concern. That you'd be sprinting headfirst into your own death here but the wail only seemed to get more pained the closer to the river you ran. You made your mind up when you finally recognised the sound. You'd been the youngest of your kin and had never actually beheld an infant before but you were certain that's what it was. A baby.

The forest thinned by the river, earth turning to stone but your feet were light and made not a sound as you caught sight of an over turned caravan. It seemed made of scrap material and brittle wood and now laid on its side with two more coming into view in much the same state behind it.

You stopped your approach on the edge of the trees as a jeering laugh broke out. The wailing had stopped a abruptly and in its absence you were able to focus on the group ahead. Three men around a large fire. There were body's already burning upon it, filling the air with its acrid, metallic smell.

They seemed to be celebrating, this their enemy's pyre and not one for their own. Still it hardly seemed the place for a baby to be and you set your keen eyes to the men themselves. Each had sheaved weapons, bows strung to their backs. A mousey blond swiped dark blood from a long dagger onto his sleeve as his broad companion tossed something to the fire.

Then you saw it, the little bundle hanging in its tattered blanket from the fist of the smallest man. He sneered wildly at his companions before bringing the child back to him and removing the blanket.

The screech pierced the world again, an excruciating wail as the low sun's orange rays beat against ashen skin. Again your body moved before your mind, short sword drawn and sliced through the man's wrist. You caught the babe rolling with it pressed to your chest before the severed hand hit the ground.

The small man brought his bleeding stump to his face, screaming and stumbling back into the pyre. His wails turned shrill as he fought the spreading flames. His kin turning to your hunched form and drawing swords.

It was at this moment a stone whipped past your hair and struck the blond on his temple. Using the distraction your surged forward, driving your blade under the larger man's leather armor and to his heart. You spun as you pulled your blade free spraying crimson across white stone.

The blond met your eyes, a hand over his eye were blood trickled down. He had his own blade in hand now, a broadsword that seemed too large for his frame. Still with unexpected strength he swung it one handed were you had been. The blade just catching against the hem of your dress and tearing the fabric. Not for the first time in your journey you'd cursed the thing.

The baby you held cried out again and you risked a glance down at it, eyes widening as you finally took in its form. Pale skin, paler even than you'd first seen, rendered reddish by the suns exposure. It's ears tucked in wisps of white hair were pointed like your own but turned slight downward. It was an orc child.

You didn't have time to take it all in as a nearby squeak altered you to the swords stroke coming down to your head. You just managed to lift your own to meet it, metal clashing and sparking as you used it's momentum. You slid with the force pushed atop you between the assailants legs, orc again pressed against you. Then with a cry of your own you raised up and stabbed through the blonds back.

The world seemed to hold its breath then with you. Silence ringing in your ears as you looked to the setting sun. You turned your back to it, letting your shadow cast over the infants form as you held it out from you again. The cries were nothing more than burbles now, residual pain from its burnt skin being forgotten as it blinked large amber eyes at your own. Tiny hands reached out to you as grumbling sounds of discontentment fell from the baby's lips. You brought it back to your chest, its long nails grasping the neck of your dress as it settled.

You stayed like that a moment, blood dripping from your sword against the pale stone before your ears twitched. You'd almost forgotten about the other. The one who threw the stone and called out to rescue you from that sword. There was a shuffling of feet, worn fabric soles shifting against stone and earth. Not just the one set either, it sounded like several sets from one of the over turned caravans.

As slow as you could you flicked the blood from your blade, not missing a sharp intake of breathes. They didn't exhale when you returned your blade to your belt. Carefully you moved your cloak from your shoulders draping the hood over the baby's head and making sure its little body remained covered. You stepped hard on the stone, ensuring your approach would echo out.

"Greetings?" You called out, cringing at your hoarse tone. You'd not spoken a word to anyone since you'd left home in spring save a little song when you were deep in the woods. Now with autumns turn you weren't sure how to make your watchers feel safe. There was no movement from the torn fabric door of the cart, no sounds of their flee either.

"They're alive." You spoke again, clearer this time but again you flushed at your failing words. Staring again into the dark where you could now hear breathing. "Your baby, they're... I'll just place them here then."

You knelt by the caravan as a gust of wind shifted what you now could see was animal skin from the darkness. There you were met with 3 pairs of yellow eyes staring wide out at you. Children. They were all children but all bared fanged teeth out at you.

"It's alright, be at ease." You tried, smoothing your voice the best you could. You moved to pull the baby from you to return them to their kin but tiny nails dug further into the linen of your dress. You looked to the infant brows knitting together at the situation.

"Please little one. To your own." You coaxed, pushing a finger to their palm to release their grip. They protested still grabbing more fabric in their firsts and gumming it in their mouth. You looked back desperately to the orc children.

In turn they'd moved closer to the edge of their sanctuary and now watched you with softer eyes, almost mirthful. The eldest it seemed, or at least the largest of them, moved past the other two. The trees provided more shade here and they pulled a worn hood over their ears. They reached forward with shaking arms and spoke to the infant in words you didn't understand.

It took a moment but they were able to pry the protesting baby from you and pass them back to the other two children. Though you suddenly felt the cold space the baby had been so sorely. It was then the eldest pulled a wicked knife from their layers and pointed it crudely out at you. They spoke but seeing your knit brow they started again.

"Leave us be or i'll gut you!" They demanded now in shaking westron. Close you could see this child was a young orc boy. He'd shed tears recently and the track marks through the grime on his face were stark even against his more mottled skin.

You cast your eyes over them again. Children. They were just children, now alone as their kin burned in the fading light. How could they possibly make it alone? With such a small one in tow as well? You weren't even sure they'd be able to carry the baby themselves not for far at least.

"Do you know what an oath is child." You said. His face scrunched in anger.

"Of course I do!" He huffed, still waving his blade at you. "You swear something, then... then there's blood and..." he seemed paused in thought as he wasn't sure what would come next.

Though the metal of his dagger was ragged it was a clean blade and it looked wickedly sharp. You took his hand despite his protestations and guided it to your palm. He stopped fighting you as you drew the blade across your own skin, biting your cheek against the sting. You held the hand up, palm to the others as you dropped your head.

"You have my word, on my life I mean you no harm. I will deliver you to your kin if that is what you wish." Your voice finally sounded your own again. Certain and strong.

The children seemed to contemplate it a moment in their own tongue before the eldest nodded to you. All at once the sun now hidden behind the horizon the orc-lings poured from out of their shelter. It was hard to tell on ones so young but you think the one with a shock of red fluff atop their head was a girl. The other younger boy had sparse black hair but eyes so deep in their colour they almost looked red in the firelight.

"Where can we find other orcs..." You began.

"Uruk." Three little voices grunted at you in unison.

"Uruk." You returned, testing the word. "Sorry, where can we find more Uruk then. Your kinsmen."

The children weren't much help on the matter, only voicing that they wanted to go to their "lord father". You set them a small fire further from the bodies and set about the caravan. There were no maps but there was food so you brought it to your young traveling companions. There were water skins, that you filled for them and a small cart that must have been dragged along with them. It didn't take too long to have it covered in the caravans skins.

The girl, Tûkâ, and eldest, Thrak, walked alongside you for a time, her small claws poking holes in your torn skirts as she held to them. The smaller boy who'd introduced himself with a flourish as Torz sat inside the cart, cradling the baby. It wasn't long after you'd crossed the river that the other two joined him, though Thrak held out until he'd stumbled into your side.

When light came you drew the skins tight around the cart, only peaking in when you were sure the shadow of the high trees would be enough cover. The baby stirred, crying out and causing you to halt the journey. In shade you stooped low, poking your head into the cart entirely. The baby cried harder still, reaching arms up to you. Thrak passed them up to you, still wrapped in your cloak. The cries continued as you bounced them gently, singing a soft lullaby you remembered your mother singing to you. It helped a little but their tiny face was still screwed up and they were restless in your arms.

"He's hungry." Torz offered, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"Will he not eat?" You ask, cooing as he took a finger into his mouth.

"...He's a baby." Thrak frowned, crossing his arms. "He's got no teeth."

You thought a moment before turning your knapsack round your body. You had cooked potatoes you'd taken from the caravan, if you mushed them up in a bowl maybe the baby could eat it then. Thrak watched displeased but his expression softened when you were able to spoon a bit into the babies mouth.

"We must move quickly, I fear for this little one." You sighed. The baby's hands seemed weaker in its grasp than before, loosely curling around your bloodied hand. The reddish skin where they'd been burned seemed to be pealing at the edges and weeping into your cloak. You pealed it back gently before tearing your chemise to make bandages. You hoped they'd help until your could get him to his own.

For the next two days you ran the cart as fast as you could, pushing it as smoothly as possible through the now rolling hills. The raw wound on your hand ached and bled against the rough wood but you had to keep moving. The sun lost its warmth and without your cloak the chill hit you hard. The little ones huddled under the covers of the cart, taking turns with the baby and singing your song to him.

The woods grew back up again, oaks and sycamore dropping a carpet of brilliant leaves matching the children's eyes. When night fell you had to stop, your lungs burning and your legs like lead. Thrak brought you water with and the others curled around your fast cooling body. Their warmth helped block out the icy chill of the night but you could not find rest. Your mind churning in anxieties as you held the baby between your bodies. He was so quiet and though he breathed his skin felt cold.

You set out again a few hours before dawn, Thrak insisting on pushing the cart with Torz after you and Tûkâ. Hope swelled in your breast as you spied the faintest glow over the next hill. When you were sure they'd see it as well you pointed it out to your companions. They seemed weary at first, the memories of men still fresh in mind but soon their ears flicked. You'd heard it too, the gruffer voices speaking in their language.

Without thought you hurried ahead, the boys abandoning the cart and rushing faster to your side. They called out to their Uruk elders in their own tongue as you reached to top of the hill. Bellow you could now see a great score in the earth. A trench leading as far back as the mountains and covered with cloth animal skins to keep the light out.

The Uruk's that approached drew weapons, arrows nocked and aimed at you. The children huddled to your skirts, Thrak moving ahead to shout something to the adults. They paid him no mind, brushing past him as they drew closer.

Fearing for them you passed the baby down to Tûkâ and raised your palms. You were brought to your knees by a jab to your leg, cold mud seeping through your dress. Thrak continued to protest on your behalf as your belt and sword were taken from you and iron shackles were snapped in place.

You were pushed down the hill towards the camps of Uruk by the one you assumed to be their captain. He was mottled skinned like Thrak but with none of the kindness in his eyes. You were pushed down into the trench, falling hard onto the turned over earth. A chorus of cruel laughter broke out as you scrambled back to your feet.

"Better take this one to Adar." The captain growled. He pushed your back with the tip of his blade, forcing you forward. Over your shoulder you spied the children being taken the other way, Thrak still fighting to get back to you.

...

Adar stood alone in a dug out room, running his gauntlet's spiked fingers over the map. By winter they'd reach the Southlands but it would take into Summer before their work would be done. He'd labored for centuries to give his children a home, what was a few more months.

"Lord father." One of his children broke the silence. Adar turned to him, darkening his face when he saw the Elleth. One of his children held her sword in his fist, whilst his scouts captain hit her on the side of the head with his. She groaned dropping to her knees in front of him, her head remaining low as Adar stalked forward.

"Found this one on the border with youngins' Lord Father." his child continued. She remained still on the ground as Adar appraised her. She hardly seemed like a scout herself. Her dress was almost formal though it had seen far better days, now caked in grime and blood. Though its style was all too familiar to him.

"Lembi... What brings an Avari so far from home." Adar rasped watching her stiffen at his words. Her hands clenched a moment before Adar watched her turn them, bloodied palm now resting on her knees. Her eyes turned to his and he was struck by the sight. Even with the mud on her face and on her knees, she looked fierce. A strength in her gaze like the rivers themselves.

"An oath." She said.

#adar x reader #the rings of power imagine #adar fanfic #my fics

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honeykaes · 2 months ago

Text

do robots dream?

boothill x wife!reader II 3.4k

warning: smut, 18+ content, minors do not interact, fem!reader, heavy angst, major character deaths, creampie, praise, marking, call back to boothill’s story, gave a name to boothill’s adoptive daughter, also gave jade some fake lore, also gave boothill an apache name, mention of killing, unedited

synopsis: boothill’s luck ran out and he finds himself captured by jade and the IPC. jade can only smirk at the galaxy ranger, preparing his sentence in an unexpected way.

“Bullets may fly round, but I’ll lay down”

It seems like bad luck was something Boothill should have gotten used to but wasn’t.

His arms were suspended, and locked shut, keeping him vulnerable in whatever lab he was in.

He grinded his steel-sharpened teeth. He shifted his wrist to see if he could break against the clamps of his imprisoned arms. He sighed, thankful his hat was still on his head to cover his expression.

Boothill didn’t know how long he'd been in there. It was supposed to be a simple job, nicking one, silly IPC worker who made their way on a hitlist. Before he had the opportunity to pull his gun out, he was surrounded shooting electricity into him before his robotic body gave out momentarily.

This stupid cold, robotic body of his.

His ears perked up hearing shoes click along the ground. He chuckled already, knowing the one woman who would love to serve his head on a platter. Boothill lifted his head, eyes calibrating as his target-assist eye focused on the woman’s face as it flashed red. She had a smirk on her pale face, cigarette holder dancing slightly at the mused strumming of the Heartstone member.

She leaned in close, blowing the smoke over his face.

”Did I catch you at a bad time, space ranger?” she cooed. Boothill scoffed before his lips tugged in a cruel smile.

”No no, course’ not. Please go on. Each time you piss me off, I’ll just have another bullet to lodge between that wide forehead you got,” he replied. Jade simply chuckled, leaning away.

”How many am I at now?” she asked, amused at his threat.

”30,” he grunted.

Jade sighed, her finger grazing the cold metal arms restricted in the air. He couldn’t truly feel it, as if it were a faint glimpse his mind was giving him of the time he did have skin, but he couldn’t help balling his fist up having that woman touch him.

”It is such a shame you had to be such a pain for the IPC. You would’ve made a wonderful member,” she chimed, gazing at the various metalwork that made up his body. Boothill rolled his eyes, scoffing.

”You destroyed my planet. Killed my daughter. And killed my fudgin’ wife. On top of making me into this. You’d be bat crap if you even think I would’ve considered it,” he barked back.

“Well you’re alive now, aren’t you? Shouldn’t that be a blessing for our dear Amber Lord,” Jade shrugged, taking a huff of her cigarette.

Boothill scoffed again at her laissez-faire attitude. That was the issue with all these IPC members. They didn’t even see the hurt they would cause people. It was always profits over people with these guys.

“Seeing those mushroom clouds cover everything I cared about and loved, is a blessing now? Maybe I should find the people you care about and do the same, huh?” Boothill murmured.

Jade remained stoic, that smirk still on her face. Boothill flashed a toothy smile, extending his neck as much as he could.

”Huh, Eve? Would your two boys Cain and Abel like to meet a space ranger in the flesh,” he patronized before he roared in laughter.

”Oh wait, I forgot. One killed the other one, right? And the other killed himself out of guilt huh? Lovely family I suppose, besides being cursed with your genes,” he cruelly laughed. He had remembered when he stumbled on the information typically locked tight. He may not do much physically, but at least he could relish in the mental games with this snake.

A flash of anger erupted in Jade’s pale blue eyes, before she closed them, trying to compose herself.

”It seems that we underestimated your intelligence,” she murmured. Boothill hooted before laughing.

”Intelligence? Sister, I ain’t very bright. But when it comes to dealing out debts….” he murmured. His face soon darkened, target dart flashing in his bloodthirsty eyes again

“Trust and believe me, I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure folks get what they’re owed,” he threatened. Jade turned around from this gaze, tapping her foot on the ground.

”And that’s the problem with you. You won’t stop until everyone else is dead. So, the Heartstones, on behalf of Diamond, were tasked to reign you in. It’s for the prosperity of the IPC you see,” she revealed. Boothill rolled his eyes.

“What? Kill me? Decommission me? For all I care, use me up for scrapes. But whatever comes next, I’m going to drag y’all down with me,” Boothill yelled, with a crazed smile.

Jade turned her head to him, her sly smile appearing once more.

”You don’t fear death? What about the dead?” she asked. Boothill furrowed his brow. He didn’t know what he was getting out. There was nothing in his life that they had leverage over him. He purposefully had no ties.

”Why the fudge, would I?” he grumbled.

Jade turned her whole body to face him before Boothill’s eyes widened feeling something slither in against one of his inputs, in snap into one of the units as his eyes flashed with colors and binary he didn’t understand.

”The fudge is this! Huh? Woman?! What are you doin’ to me!” he shouted. Jade smiles as Boothill struggles to keep his gaze on her as pop-ups on his system interrupt his visuals. She walks over, digging her lit cigarette into his once gleaming metal chest.

”Achieving your wish of course. Night, night, Káh Dił’tush.”

Boothill grumbled hearing the faint voice of yelling as his head pounded. He clamped his eyes tighter, massaging his forehead. The noise continued to remain loud as muffled laughter followed

“Who the fuck is making all the noise…” he grumbled. His eyes opened, trying to adjust the light of the room. He could barely see still. He covered his eyes, trying to navigate the room and his pounding headache. All he knew was he was in some wooden shack.

He got up from behind, trudging towards the location of all the noise. He squinted his eyes, leaving the room and heading to the hallway. Something felt eerily familiar about this place, vision still splotchy. It was as if his body even knew where to go.

”Someone needs to shut all the fucking yappin’. It’s too damn early for this noise!” he yelled, rubbing his eyes. A younger voice gasped, as an older one scoffed.

”Káh! What did I tell you about cursing in front of your daughter!” a familiar voice roared back. Boothill clicked his tongue, unamused.

”Daughter? I ain’t got no daughter and I can’t curse anyway from that stupid censor—” once his eyes adjusted once more, his heart fell to his chest. He saw his adoptive daughter, gazing up at him with curious eyes.

His wife stood there, arms fashioned on her hips with a spatula in hand.

”No daughter? So who is she then? The person we have been raising for 5 years now? Hm?,” you asked sarcastically. “What I don’t want to happen is that she catches her daddy’s bad habits and ends up cursing up a storm too.”

You sighed, massaging your furrowed brow.

”Look, honey, I know you’re tired and all and were patrolling yesterday but this ain’t it. Especially when I’m cooking your ass breakfast with our daughter,” you grunted. Aaboli looked up at you with a smile.

”You said ass,” Aaboli cheered. You sighed and turned around cursing and noticing you’d burn the bacon.

”Crap! Aaboli, sweetie, go take care of the grits. This batch is too bad,” you sighed. Your eyes flickered in anger momentarily as you pointed your spatula at Boothill.

”And you! Go in the bathroom and fix yourself up. You got drool all over the side of your face,” you huffed. Your daughter giggled pointing at him before she went to work on the grits.

Boothill’s gaze focused on you two working on breakfast as if his feet were cemented to the ground. How was this happening? How was he back here? Was this a dream? A memory.

He sucked a breath in, pressing his head to his forehead as a sharp pain erupted.

Every time he tried to think about what he was doing before, he’d get a killer headache that won’t go away until he stopped thinking about it.

”Don’t stand there sulking because you were scolded. Hurry up and clean yourself up. Breakfast is ready and Aaboli has school today anyway,” you called out.

”Gonna get all smart and help you patrol the town one day, daddy!” Aaboli chimed.

He forced himself to turn away from their bodies and walk into the bathroom, shutting the door tight. He turned the faucet on, water pouring out of his before flashing on his face.

”Get a grip. Get a fucking…”

Boothill paused, realizing you were right, he could properly curse now. No goofy censors were prohibiting it now. He looked up at the mirror, pressing his hand against his face.

His skin was as brown as mocha again, teeth normal and white, eyes brown with no weird codes analyzing or doing whatever in his vision again.

He could feel his fingers, calloused from doing work and riding his horse. His hand made its way to his bare chest, pressing hard at the warm skin. He could feel his heart. An actual heart beating and pumping blood.

He was himself again.

He was Káh Dił’tush, not the galaxy ranger, Boothill

Boothill had the urge to laugh and cry at the same time. He almost forgot how he looked before he was robotized. He wiped a lone tear threatening to cascade down his cheeks before he touched his long hair, without any white streaks from the stress of that damn experiment.

He slowly began to braid it, before he walked out.

He had heard the front door close, and you grumbling under your breath before your eyes made contact with his.

“A half hour…? Took you that long, really? You know how much convincing Aaboli needed to head off to school without you being there to see her off too!” you scolded.

Boothill smiled, wrapping his arms around your waist. You rolled your eyes, trying to fight the smile on your lips.

”I’m sorry darlin’. I had a weird dream. When I woke up, I thought I was still dreaming…” he lied. You clicked your tongue feeling his hands move up from under your shirt, feeling that warm of your skin again.

God, he missed it.

”You’re gonna need more than that for me to forgive you for acting like an asshole this morning. Wasting my food, scaring Aaboli with all that yellin’,” you murmured, feeling Boothill press his face against the nape of your neck.

He could feel your heartbeat again, warm, and strong. He pressed his lips on the artery letting it pulsate against it. You chuckled at the sensation.

”Insatiable… What are you up to now?” you asked.

Boothill leaned away and kissed you. He couldn’t help savoring the way your lips molded onto his. His thumbs pinched against your hips as you began to chuckle.

”I shouldn’t be giving into this from how you were behaving earlier,” you murmured, leaning your head away. You pressed your hand against his cheek, as his gaze softened.

”You’re lucky you got a pretty face, cowboy,” you murmured. Boothill grinned before lifting you on top of the wooden counter.

”You’re right. I am a lucky guy,” he murmured, kissing you once more.

His hand wandered beneath your long dress, cupping your sex as a moan broke the kiss with him. He could feel your panties dampen from his touch, watching your hips shift and grind.

”And you called me the eager one”

”Oh shut up you!”

His name breathlessly escaped your lips, feeling the flat of his thumb press against your clit, rubbing small and deliberate circles on your clothed clit. He moved his head against, toward the nape of your nape, peppering kissing along the sensitive skin; however against your pulse now and again.

Boothill soon tugged on the panties clinging onto your cunt, and slick with your essence, slowly riding them down your legs and tossing them to the side.

His thumb pressed against the bundle of nerves, the digit vibrating friskily as it flicked it. You wrapped your arms around him, clinging onto him tighter as you ground against his touch once more. You gasped feeling his digits beginning prodding at your entrance, spoon dipping themselves into your velvety insides.

Another gasp escaped your lips feeling his digits curl inside of you, continuously pumping.

“Ah, fuck…ah!” you called out as his tempo began to rise. Your nails harpoon against his back, beginning to scrape down as Boothill grins. He could feel the sharpness of proper pain again. Your touch. Your warm skin against him. Your breathy moans by his ear caused goosebumps to erupt throughout his body.

He didn’t realize how much he missed this.

You cursed loudly as your leg squeezed against your arms, back arching and reaching your high. He continued to pump his two fingers, riding your high out until you whined from the sensitivity of your burning clit. He moved up from his position of your nap, admiring the red blotches he had made on your skin.

A remnant that he was there. You looked tired, eyes half-lidded as you looked at him.

”Fuck, Káh…I don’t know the last time I came that hard,” you admitted. Boothill whistled and smirked.

”That seemed like a backhanded compliment darlin’,” he replied. You gave him a look, and he couldn’t help but smile. It was always this unamused look you gave him whenever he was right about something but you didn’t want to admit it because of your stubbornness.

Annoying at times, but a trait he found endearing all the same.

You slightly jolted, feeling his fingers slide out of you as he lapped up the taste of them.

”Shit might just be better than breakfast,” he joked. You rolled your eyes, unimpressed.

”You didn’t even eat, Káh,” you barked. Boothill chuckled regardless.

”Yeah, yeah…” he murmured. He pulled his pajama bottoms down, revealing his aching cock. He might’ve not admitted this out loud, but he did miss his manhood. His brown tip nudged against your slit, tapping against your overstimulated clit as you sucked a sharp breath in.

”Quit teasing me already!” you grumbled.

The tip of his cock nudged against your overly clit one last time before he finally slid back down and began to slowly sink his cock inside of you.

As he reached deeper inside of you, his grip on your thigh grew, fighting the urge to succumb to his urges right then and there and spill instead of you.

With a grunt, he finally bottoms out before lifting your dress to see how much his cock disappeared instead of you. Moving his hands to part of the globes of your ass, he slid out before jetting his hips back into you, cock pumping inside of you.

He watched your puffy folds, gleam in your arousal as his cock glistened in the fluid as well. You grabbed one of your breasts, squeezing the mound as his pace grew faster. His eyes lapped up the way your body rippled to the beat of his rhyme.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, allowing him to plunge even deeper inside you as you pressed your forehead against his.

”That’s it, that’s my good girl. Go’on. Show me how good you're taking me,” he huffed, with a grin. His pace grew as his blunt nails dug into your thighs, trying to ground you as your body squirmed against his touch.

”Fuck…fuck…!” you cursed, voice raising octaves in pitch. Boothill pressed his lips against your own, muffling your loudest moan as his tip brushed past the spongy spot inside of you repeatedly.

Your walls fluttered down— signaling your climax—as your eyes shut tight. You shivered in pleasure as Boothill continued to plow instead of you.

His hips finally bucked, as a throaty grunt wavered in your ear. Ropes of warm, thick cum shot inside of you as Boothill’s hips slowly jerked, coming down from his high. You leaned over kissing him as he closed his eyes, savoring the feeling.

”I love you. I feel like I don’t tell you that enough,” Boothill admitted. Your gaze softened, brushing a bit of his hair that clung onto his sweaty forehead.

”You don’t need to. I know you do,” you whispered, moving gently to kiss his eyelids. Boothill slid out of your cunt, momentarily admiring the cum leaking out of you. He tucked his softening cock back into his pajamas and moved the bottoms back on his waist properly.

Just as you were about to jump down from the counter, Boothall patted your thigh in defiance.

“Nah, let me clean you up. It’s the least I can do for pouncin’ on you so early,” he murmured. You simply smiled and leaned against the wall as he walked over to the bathroom to get a rag. He quickly came back with it, moving to wipe you down.

”Thank you. Now, for your actual penance, you’ll need to clean the kitchen up after you eat your cold ass food. When you’re done let me know. Maybe we can go to the market and pick up some stuff for dinner.”

Boothill, grabbed your waist to help you down from the counter, smoothing your dress down too.

”Any bit of time with my girls is good. Plus I’m going to have to get something nice as an apology to Aaboli,” he chimed, wrapping his arms around you once more. You quirked your eyebrow up, he knew you were silently wondering why he was so clingy, but he didn’t care.

Whatever miracle this was, he wasn't going to pass this up.

”You sure are. That girl is more like you than you realize.”

Jade smiled as she petted her snake's head with a smile, before hearing a knock at the door.

”Come in,” she called out, not paying much mind. One of her underlings hesitantly opened the door, shyly looking down as they approached her.

”Lady Jade. I have a few concerns about the Boothill project…” the worker admitted.

”Oh? Do explain” Jade smiled, leaning up from her position. The snake slithered, soon making its way to her chair as it wrapped around her shoulders. The worker gulped loudly, slightly shaking as her eyes fell slowly on them.

“How is making a virtual world where he is back with his wife and kid a punishment? That seems like we’re giving him peace than the payback he deserved,” the worker chimed.

There was a pause as Jade’s eyes sized up the lowly worker. The worker yelped and looked back down on the floor.

”A-Apologizes for speaking out of turn. I-I just want to make sure he suffers for his crimes, is all,” they stammered. Jade sighed, smiling.

”Don’t worry, he is. The program we have him in will slowly build down his defenses as our researchers study him, his body, and where we went wrong,” she revealed getting up from her seat. The snake hissed at the worker as they jumped in fear.

She walked up to the worker, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“Once that is done, bit by bit will be pulled away from his body, until he can’t properly function anymore and dies. We had a feeling if we didn’t do this, his system would attempt to attack us in some way,” Jade revealed.

The worker gapped loudly, trying to sputter a response.

”W-What?! How is that possible?” they asked. Jade laughed loudly in amusement. She witnessed firsthand the galaxy ranger’s scroll slowly morphing into a peaceful expression.

”We already detected a dirty bomb inside of him. I’m sure he was prepared to blow himself up and take me down along with this ship. But he was foiled,” she chimed, beginning to walk by the door, opening it once more.

The worker turned around as she waved her hand, to signal them to leave.

”He wanted his wife and kid so badly, and now he’s with them. Just as hatred clouds the system, love can do the same.”

“I feel safe and sound, on solid ground.”

#honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hsr smut #honkai star rail smut #boothill x reader #boothill smut #boothill angst #honkai smut

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blueberrypancakesworld · 5 months ago

Note

Hiii there!

I wanted to request an oscar tully x targaryen reader maybe rhaenyras daughter please.. tbh i dont even know what it should be about i just wanted it to ba a oscar and targ reader .. thanks ☺️☺️

The river and the flame

Oscar Tully x princess!reader

warning : hurt/comfort, kissing, holding hands, no use of Y/n

Summary : A sacrifice, the only daughter of the Queen of the Black had to be married and the best match was the new young Lord of the House of Tully who promised to give his strength to the Queen. An engagement and marriage consummated, the fire finds itself in waters where both young nobles must hold each other to make it together and not burn and drown each other.

info : thank you dear anon for this request it was a lot of fun to write it have fun reading and have a nice day everyone

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With fire and strength she could have been born, but when the gods were merciful and gave her first husband something in a night of listlessness through wine and potions, the Queen of the Black conceived her fourth child from a marriage that could never have been consummated.

The queen's first and own princess was born, the little child with the image of her parents bright hair thicker than her mother's silken hair and violet eyes like gems that captured everyone. Behind her were the symbols of the dragon and so she was the only one of her siblings to keep her mother's family name, a decision that complicated things and put her three brothers in an even worse light.

But sacrifices had to be made for the princess, sacrifices in the form of "assassinations", new marriages and the retreat to Dragonstone where the faction of the blacks gathered and rebuilt over the course of weeks and months.

The legacy of the Black Dragon Queen was laid on her true daughter and two small toddlers, even though Jacaerys Velaryon was her eldest son and a young man willing to prove himself to inherit his mother's legacy, he knew he had strength in his blood, a blood that his two brothers had but not his half-siblings.

So the Targaryen family, the black party faced with serious problems Daemond in Harenhall had been trying to gather support for some time, Aegon and Viserys sent away with Rhaena but what now?

An alliance had to be forged because even if honor still prevailed houses no longer chose Viserys' side, it was about the future of families, of royalty and children, it was a decision that could mean death or life, ,,Without news from Daemon we cannot rely on the support of the Riverlands…if you allow the proposal of marriage to be made" the Master began again, who returned without his raven's message.

But she didn't even have to look up from the map to hear her mother's reply, ,,Out of the question" before Rhaenyra tried to find answers in the documents and maps, she had no one to marry but her daughter, but what mother wanted to lose her child in an area she could never get to herself.

It could mean her death but when violet eyes met there was something like hope in the princess's eyes, ,,If my queen allows me to marry the new Lord Tully I would be protected by the Prince Regent and the lords of the surrounding houses who have sworn allegiance to Oscar Tully" she gave her explanation and clasped the small metal statue of the fish they had all heard the aftermath of the death and resurrection of the head of the house and it was the only solution.

It ended in a few arguments, tears and loving gestures but now just a few days later here she was under the banner of the fish with her husband Osacr Tully, despite the fact that they were both young so appreciative of each other he had welcomed her without vourtiele was sincere and loving…and perhaps her heart had beaten faster than she thought when he had placed a kiss on her palm.

He held her hand as he showed her Riverrun, introduced her to the household, the hall and the vassals who had also proclaimed themselves for his wife, he treated her as in the songs and stories of yesteryear about noble knights, ,,My reign would not be possible without you, you are the first flame in the river and my heart rejoices more and more every day in your company my beloved," he said to her as he helped her onto one of the boats and they sailed across the river together.

She smiled back at him and gratefully held his hand, holding this little,,,nushell" quite insecurely in contrast to her grandfather's boats, but with every little jerk he held her tightly to him, his dark eyes like the river assuring her of her safety.

,,You are safe I promise" he murmured to her as he held her and she dipped her hand in the river, the wetness and coolness was pleasant instead of the everlasting heat and warmth, ,,I will follow you my lord husband" she replied after the words her mother and grandmother had taught her.

Before she felt his hand gently on her cheek it was just the two of them and the still river as they came closer and kissed again, ,,Oscar please my love" she whispered and she leaned her forehead against his for a moment as the two barely grown nobles lay in each other's arms enjoying the river ride while a joyful scream could be heard above them from time to time between the clouds and she followed Oscar's interested gaze closely.

The water, the fish, the river was her new home, which she quickly took to her heart. Her clothes, although now more of a bluish red and bronze, she kept the symbols of the dragon with her hair, brooches and Seasmoke herself.

Until she met her great-uncle again who had watched this marriage with a disdainful look and even if he didn't admit it, it offended him that his great-niece had managed the union in what he couldn't do in weeks, ,,Impressive isn't it what a princess can do with such looks and devotion, isn't it Lady Tully?" he had asked her at dinner as he sat next to her and looked into tired, almost haggard eyes that resembled her own in color.

She knew Oscar must have heard, she knew her great-uncle and her husband hated each other, didn't like the prospect of sharing power, ,,Her sacrifice to her family and the Queen towards my Targaryen wife is truly impressive she is not only in my house she is the Guardian of the Riverlands Prince Regent" Oscar said with pride in his voice as he raised his goblet and took her hand saying a good luck to Rhaenyra and his wife and she welcomed the restraint of her great uncle who would have otherwise only made things worse.

But all could not always go well only one moon later at the weirwood tree in the garden of the ruined castle Harenhall the houses of the Riverlands found themselves together with Oscar as their new lord and Daemon, a confrontation the princess attended with Seasmoke watching over the whole thing with an interested eye.

A confrontation that ended in blood as Daemond cut off Ser Willem's head ordered by Oscar whose eyes reflected fear for a moment as he looked into hers she clasped his hand the highborn couple watched this execution for all to see she felt the brief squeeze of her hand as Oscar truly saw this bloodshed for the first time.

,,You did the right thing Oscar they will follow you now and so will my great uncle…I won't let any words come back to haunt you I will stand for it" she told him as soon as everyone else had left the ruined garden and the young lord sat down by the tree still somewhat affected by the murder she felt herself almost reflexively wiping the blood away with a handkerchief before helping Oscar wipe his away.

She returned his silent thanks with a gentle kiss and the two sat there in silence until an idea came to her and she called her dragon who was struggling for space in the garden, ,,You have shown me the beauty of the water of your river let me show you the beauty of the sky" she said and climbed onto Seasmoke's back who seemed happy to be flying again.

She saw how it confused him for a moment, the boy rose and placed his hand carefully on the bright waremn scales and Seasmoke nudged him, mocking Ocsar who had been feeding the dragon fish with the help of his wife.

,,Can we fly through clouds? " Oscar asked as she saw courage and joy return to his gaze and he placed himself behind her, his grip on her stomach tightened and she heard his cry as Seasmoke took off with a scream and seemed to disappear into the smoke of his fire in the air.

She put one hand on Oscar's while with the other she gently guided Seasmoke, knowing that Oscar didn't understand her she would one day teach him, ,,I'll fly through anything you want look at this peace and quiet" she said louder over the sound of the loud flapping of wings and Seasmoke's hissing she heard Oscar slowly relax and hug her, laughing happily as he too saw this special something she could see every day.

Up here there didn't seem to be any problems it was quiet not too hot or too cold and peaceful, ,,It's incredibly beautiful" he mumbled continuing to hold on to her fetus as she headed for the clouds and he hesitantly held out a hand and gasped as his fingers got wet and showed her like a little child enjoying a wooden swing but she did the same and they joined hands and flew through the clouds for hours.

She heard his thanks and praise every now and then, a kiss on her cheek and both their hearts beat together in peace as they found beauty in each other's homes, together in love that would go beyond war.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#hotd #hotd s2 #hotd season 2 #house of the dragon #oscar tully #oscar tully x reader #house targaryen #house tully #male x female #princess reader

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florencemtrash · 1 year ago

Text

The Artificer: Part II - Azriel x Reader

Warnings: Torture, violence, death

✨Based on this ask ✨

Masterlist of Masterlists

“She is my mate.” The male’s eyes flashed with horror and understanding, and that feeling chased him towards his death, “And your High Lord will burn for what he’s done.”

Five months later…

“Where is she?” The Shadowsinger stalked forward, silent as the dead and just as unfeeling.

The Autumn Court warrior at least had the sense to tremble when The Shadowsinger came near. But he kept his red-cracked lips shut, golden eyes shining with hatred.

“Bastard.” He sneered, spitting on Azriel’s polished boot.

“I said.” A shadow darted out from his side, grabbing a fistful of matted tawny hair and wrenching it back. His skin was thin, so translucent that Azriel traced the flow of his blood in his purple veins with dead eyes. “Where. Is. She?” Every word was emphasized with a violent jerk.

He’d gone to visit you last week, carrying your favorite chocolates from Velaris and hoping for a far sweeter kiss in return. Instead your workshop had been in ruins. Swords shattered and the fire burnt out. For the first time, the room had been cold and unlit.

Azriel had only found the pathetic male in front of him, kneeling on the ground and uselessly tugging at the sword which refused to move - Sunseeker.

Azriel held it now in his hands, the pale, yellow glow sharpening the shadows beneath his eyes and the elegantly cruel cut of his jaw.

It had been a risk trying to pick up the sword, but the weapon had sung to him and his shadows, calling out for him to wield it instead of the unworthy Autumn Court male. Azriel was no replacement for its real master - he was no replacement for you - but Sunseeker willed it and he obeyed.

“Is there truly no one else capable of wielding it?” Azriel asked, sitting so close to you that your knees and elbows brushed against one another. He didn’t have the courage to kiss you just yet, but gods did he want to. And with the hours he’d spent looking at and dreaming about your lips, he was certain he had a good idea what you tasted like.

“Her.” You corrected, holding the sword up to the steady stream of sunlight that spilled through the slats in the ceiling. Pressed against the light, the sword appeared almost transparent - as if made of glass.

Azriel smiled. You liked to name and personify every tool, weapon, and piece of equipment you owned, as if you had a secret third eye that allowed you to see into the lives of inanimate objects. He wanted to believe it was true - it was the only way he could explain the wonders you produced with your bare hands.

“There is one other person capable of such a thing,” You hesitated to tell him, but ultimately finished. “My mate.”

All at once Azriel’s heart fell into free fall, prepared to crash through the cradle of his bones and into the floor. His face, marvelously, betrayed nothing.

“Your mate.” He stole his gaze away, focusing on a very interesting speck of dust on the counter, “They’re lucky.” He murmured, drawing away.

You snorted, shaking your head. “Not lucky enough.” You sheathed the blade, returning it to its new place on the wall, “They haven’t found me yet.”

“Oh.” A flicker of hope filled his chest - dangerous and unwieldy. “Is that… is that something you want? A mate? ” Azriel wondered aloud before his mind could trap the words. He cringed, shaking his head in self-disappointment.

What a stupid question. Everyone wanted to find their mate. Everyone. He himself had been obsessed with the concept for hundreds of years. He had thought he’d find his mate in Mor, and then Elain, he had even thought he felt something more than friendship for Gwyn.

But more recently the idea had faded into the recesses of his mind. More recently the worst of his thoughts had fallen silent, and it was all thanks to you.

“Maybe,” You considered it, “Maybe not.” You sighed, sinking back into your seat. You rubbed at a metal coin on the benchtop, feeling the oil gather on its surface and taint your fingers grey, “My parents were mates. They didn’t love each other though. Not really.”

“I’m sorry, Y/n.”

You shook your head and shook off his sympathy.

“I don’t know if I want a mate…”

You pulled your chair closer and reached out, delicately beginning to drag your fingertips over the ridges and valleys of Azriel’s scars. His heart stopped when you picked up his hands and gently kissed them, your calloused fingertips rolling over his ruined skin.

“But there is something I definitely want.” You revealed, looking at him with more feeling than you ever had before.

You’d been scraping by on lingering touches and reserved smiles and momentary glances that spoke of more than friendship. But it wasn’t enough. It had never been enough, not since the moment he’d walked into your workroom. You felt like a woman starved, deprived of something that you hadn’t even tasted yet. It was a terrible pain to want something you didn’t even understand the nature of.

Azriel wasn’t everything. He wasn’t the air you needed to breathe. He wasn’t every piece of joy that life could bring. But he was the bright touch of color in the world that made everything that came before seem dull. And you didn’t want to live in greyscale anymore.

Azriel swallowed thickly, his hands instinctively falling to your waist and pulling you into his lap. “Whatever it is you want, Y/n - anything at all - I’ll give it to you.” He whispered reverently, closing his eyes when you pressed your forehead against his, “I swear it on my life.”

It was such sweet torture feeling you pressed against him with your hands caressing his throat. You smelled like woodsmoke and citrus. Heady, sweet, and clean all at the same time.

“Just you, Az. I just want you.”

He couldn’t handle it anymore. He tightened his grip on you, swallowing your little gasp of surprise with his lips.

Time was molten metal. Cooling, slowing, and warping around your hands as you molded it to your liking, so you could savor this moment for as long as possible.

Little did you know, your mate had found you. And he would find you again. Nothing but the crashing of the stars and the splitting of the earth would keep him from fulfilling this promise.

Azriel’s eyes darkened.

“Three of you were sent to take Y/n.” Azriel stalked around the male, slipping in and out of eyesight without warning. The male pulled at his chains and the ring of his futile efforts echoed throughout the dungeon.

“She put up a fight.” Azriel emerged from the male’s left, shooting out an arm so quickly that the pain followed after the fall of blood down his freckled cheeks.

Azriel cleaned Truth-Teller on his forearm nonchalantly, continuing his ambiguous path. If it weren’t for the hard cruelty in his eyes and the knife in his hands, he would look… normal. As if he were doing the grocery instead of slowly butchering a fae alive. He’d already taken three fingers and four toes.

The male began to shake.

“I saw the blood in the shop. It wasn’t yours, and it wasn’t hers.”

Another arm shot out, followed by a scream. The male grappled for an ear that was no longer there, feeling the blood drip down his arms from the stump.

“I DON’T KNOW!” The male cried out, curling in on himself, “I don’t know.” He repeated miserably.

“What don’t you know?” Azriel asked. His countenance said he was bored, but inside he was barely holding on by a thread. His shadows begged to be released and scattered across all of Prythian until you were returned home. They wanted chaos and pain - anything to distract from your aching absence.

Let us handle this. They hissed. We can take him. We’ll get the information. We’ll get everything. Let us-

Azriel shushed them, and they obeyed, falling to the edges of his consciousness and the edges of his body.

“What don’t you know?” Azriel leaned forward, some sick, twisted part of him relishing in the way the male flinched.

“I-I don’t know where she is. I don’t even know why he wanted her. Just some no-name artificer from-”

“Who wanted her?”

The male paled further until his skin was as pallid as moonlight on lakewater.

“WHO?!”

“THE HIGH LORD!” He whimpered, shuffling away from Azriel’s encroaching footsteps. The chains scuffed the ground and then clanged when he reached the end of his length, trailing blood. “Ber-Beron wanted her.”

Azriel stilled, his insides turning cold.

There were dozens of reasons why Beron might want you as his prisoner. Your talents alone made you worth a thousand men. But if Beron had any awareness of what you meant to him?

Azriel gritted his teeth. “For what purpose?” He growled.

The male’s dull eyes closed in defeat. He was as good as dead. He could only hope the rumours were true and that the Night Court were not the devils they pretended to be. Then, and only then, might he be offered the option of a violently quick end.

“He heard rumours of an artificer - a female artificer - capable of crafting weapons that could be bonded to a single wielder. He’s been searching for years now.” He shook his bloodied locks, “We thought…We thought it would be another dead end. Another body to bury. We didn’t think-” He choked on his words, trailing off into silence.

Azriel crouched down, dragging the Truth-Teller down the male’s face like a sculptor ready to carve a piece of marble down.

One wrong breath, one flinch, and he’d draw blood.

“Finish what you were going to say.” His hazel eyes cut deep.

He swallowed, “We didn’t think… we didn’t think she was anyone important.”

Azriel’s eyes were swallowed up by shadows until they hardened into two marble stones.

The male held his breath, feeling an oppressive power start to press down on him. Suffocating. Cold. Lethal. Darkness shoved him to the floor, crushing his ribs until they splintered and snapped.

“That was your mistake,” Azriel growled, “She is someone important. More important than you will ever be.” With a flash of blue and black, he buried Truth-Teller into the male’s chest all the way down to the hilt.

A shock of surprise and pain flooded the male’s face, and before the expression could dissipate, Azriel leaned in close enough to smell the blood pooling on his tongue and dripping down his chin.

“She is my mate.” The male’s eyes flashed with horror and understanding, and that feeling chased him towards his death, “And your High Lord will burn for what he’s done.”

___________

His shadows roiled in frustration, climbing up his legs and arms like fire greedily chasing after oxygen. They weren’t happy about being denied a kill, and every moment Azriel kept them on a leash, the more irritable they became. Their devotion to you was second only to Azriel. Even then, they would hesitate to disappoint you, even if it meant going against their master.

Soon. He promised them. Soon.

Azriel’s silhouette was carved out of the fabric of the night sky, shadows curling around his arms and wings as he stayed low, pooling his power to keep them all hidden. Cassian and Eris lay on the ground beside him, arms and wings tucked in close.

Autumn lay like a sleeping giant all around them, sighing with a breath that had mist floating up from slick, damp earth covered in leaves. Azriel was grateful for the weather, the rain disguised the curling of their breath in the air and masked their footsteps when they crossed over from Spring. Night and mist were a Shadowsinger’s dream.

The ground rose steadily in front of them, trees only daring to inch halfway up the hill as if they too could taste the magic in the air. All the trees - save for the godstree that marked the crest of the hill and snaked its thundering hand towards the sky in a knobby, clenched fist.

Icaryon Hill was one of Autumn’s most highly guarded secrets, and like the Forest House, it hid all its treasures and prisoners underground.

Azriel leaned down, pressing his ear to the ground and straining his ears for anything. Anything at all.

Eris smirked at him, reveling in the way Azriel bristled and bared his teeth. He would never let the Shadowsinger forget how he’d become desperate enough to swallow his pride and ask him for help.

Cassian looked equally displeased at the Lordling’s presence. “I hope your information isn’t as useless as the rest of you.”

“Careful who you call useless, Bastard,” Eris drawled, choosing his words very carefully, “Or else I might have to leave you and your pretty little artificer for the dogs.”

Cassian had to stop himself from wringing his pale, slender neck, but Azriel - for once in his life - didn’t have that much self control.

He shot forward, wrapping one scarred hand around Eris’s throat and slamming his head back into the ground, pushing down until he sank six inches into the damp soil.

Eris’s eyes flashed with something like triumph and curiosity. Nevermind that the Shadowsinger was currently crushing his ribs with his knee, or that Truth Teller was starting to leave a thin line of blood on his neck.

Azriel hated him, and the piece he hated most was that even when Eris was down, he had a way of making himself out to be the biggest person in the room.

“Az, that’s enough,” Cassian hissed. His eyes kept swiveling back up to the hill, “Let him go.”

Eris had warned them there would be a narrow window of time between the changing of the guards. The belly of Icaryon Hill was so expertly warded that no one - not even the High Lord - was capable of winnowing in. At some unknown time three guards would slip out and three guards would slip in, all winnowing to the gate hidden in the base of the godstree. One - and only one - of the males would have the key necessary to enter and exit and they’d have to unlock the gate in twenty seconds or risk triggering an alarm. If any blood was spilled on the earth, internal alarms within the Forest House would trigger the arrival of a squadron of gorgons capable of turning flesh to rock with a single touch.

That meant in order to evade the wards they’d have to winnow up the hill, kill six highly-trained males without bloodshed, and find the key in less than twenty seconds if they wanted even the smallest chance of getting you out.

Cassian knew this and it made his stomach turn.

Eris knew this and it made him cocky.

“Interesting.” Eris said, tilting his head with a smug smile on his face, “The Artificer, huh? Was that doe-eyed seer not enough for you?”

Azriel began to heave with rage, eyes turning pure black. It was enough to scare even Cas. Azriel had been on edge for weeks since you’d gone missing, but Cass had never seen him so… so unhinged.

Azriel had traded in his icy rage for a darker, more visceral variety capable of driving him to madness.

And Eris was not making things better.

He continued to goad him, “Maybe she ran away? I wouldn’t blame her.”

“Eris, shut the fuck up.” Cassian growled, “When are the guards changing?”

Eris ignored him, concentrating on the Shadowsinger. Azriel may have been the one to approach him for help, but that didn’t mean he was going to waste an opportunity to advance his own agenda.

It was funny. Everyone said The Shadowsinger was near unreadable - cold as a statue and as unfeeling as steel. But deep down, Eris knew he was still the same little Illyrian bastard that had been shoved into a cellar and convinced he didn’t matter. And more than making him insecure or thoughtful, it had made him angry.

Eris switched tactics, focusing on you instead, “Maybe, when this is all said and done, your precious whore will run away too.” Azriel stilled, shadows pouring off of him to the ground where they turned into claws and sank in deep, “And just maybe, I’ll be there to fuck her the way she likes. I’d pay her good money too.”

“Eris!” Cassian’s warning came too late. Azriel raised his arm, Truth Teller glinting in the darkness.

Something in the earth shifted, thin rays of light spilling out of the gate atop the hill.

Eris smiled.

Just on time.

The guards were changing.

“Fuck!” Cassian groaned, grabbing at his swords but not daring to unsheath them.

Azriel was roiling with panic and rage, every muscle in his body feeling ready to split in two. And Eris… Eris was smiling.

“Go on Shadowsinger.” He said, pointing to the hill, “Tick tock.”

Azriel clawed the front of his shirt, hauling him to his feet at the same time he clutched Cassian’s arm hard enough to bruise. They winnowed up to the gate in a whirlwind of death and shadow.

Six guards. 15 seconds.

Eris slammed his fist into two of the males’ throats, cutting off their roars of alarm. Two swift kicks to their knees and they exploded out with a sickening snap. Sharp cracks followed and they fell to the ground, their necks sticking out at a harsh angle.

Four.

Eris dropped to his knees, ripping at amour in search of the key.

Cassian rolled to the ground, narrowly missing the downward swing of a sword that buried itself in the ground. He bounced onto his feet, as lithe and limber as a fae a quarter of his size. He grabbed a fistful of blood-red hair, swiftly bringing the other elbow down. He made perfect contact at the base of the skull, severing the connection between the spinal cord and the brain.

Three.

This was taking too long. They would never make it in time.

But… but how was it still so quiet? Cassian dared to look up from his search for the key and his blood ran cold.

Azriel…

Azriel was death and decay given form. The moment they reached the gate, for the first time in his life, he relinquished full control of his shadows.

They swarmed around him until he was nothing more than a dark, blurry cloud of destruction. He grabbed the male closest to him, digging his hands into his throat and registering the horror in his eyes before shadows poured into his eyes, mouth, nose, ears. They flooded every sense, screaming in Azriel’s ears of a power that he had never been desperate or angry enough to unleash… until now.

The shadows filled the male’s body, wrecking bones and ripping apart tendons with a force that transformed them into razor sharp talons. The male gurgled, body jerking around in pain. Azriel finished him off by snapping his neck with a clean, sharp jerk. The body fell to the ground with a hollow thud.

Two.

The remaining guards similarly dropped to their knees, empty eyes and hands left to ghost over their throats before they fell forward. Dead.

Shadows leaked out of their eyes and mouth, slipping over their cooling bodies like the rain that pitter pattered against their backs. But no blood. Not even a drop.

One tendril of night slid up Azriel’s leg and washed over his hands, depositing a glittering bronze key that burned with warmth.

He should have felt more. More surprise and some semblance of disgust at what he’d just done. What he’d been capable of. But those feelings remained hidden, sullen and silent behind walls of obsidian willpower and adamant.

Cassian and Eris stared at him, wasting a few precious seconds to gape at the littering of bodies around them, raindrops pattering onto their backs and slowly absorbing into leather and skin.

Cassian swallowed, daring to break the silence, “I never knew you could do that.” He admitted blandly. Cassian wasn’t afraid of his brother - he never could be. He’d survived too many battles by his side to ever fear being on the wrong end of his blade… but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be unnerved by the powers that thrived within him, and how little anyone knew about them.

“Neither did I,” Azriel said without emotion, closing his fist around the key. “Let’s go.”

He stalked to the gate where it hummed in the ground like a dropped coin, fluttering with life, beckoning him to enter.

Just a little longer, Y/n. I’m coming.

He used the key and the gate opened.

You crouched in the darkness, cradling your ruined hands and trying not to cry.

The first few weeks Beron had let you out of your cell during the day, bringing you to the forge hidden beneath the hill so you could set about building him a weapon of his own. You’d leaned into his desires, working the metal until it sang a song of promise to the cruel High Lord.

He wanted power, and you’d promised it to him, proving your worth long enough for Azriel to come find you. But it had been almost two months, Azriel was nowhere to be found, and Beron was losing patience.

He traded empty compliments for threats, and when those failed to do anything, he turned to outright cruelty. Just this morning, he’d had one of his men whip your hands until they bled. Then, as a personal touch, he’d torn your shirt to pieces and trailed his fingers down your back. His touch had been light. You could’ve mistaken them for the kisses of a lover if it weren’t for the fact that he’d set the tips of his fingers on fire so they burned the whole way down.

They smarted and burned, the pain seeping in now that the shock was ebbing away.

“He’s coming. He’s coming.” You murmured to yourself, curling in on yourself with your arms pressed close to your exposed chest. “Just stay strong. Stay strong.”

“He’s not coming for you, dear.” A phantom hand, cold and bony as death, caressed your back. You looked up, eyes shining like two shards of glass in the darkness.

The High Lord was as handsome as he was deadly, the smooth and elegant planes of his face and his honey-sweet voice in stark contrast to the light of his eyes - or rather lack thereof.

They held no warmth, no pity, no fear.

“He’s not coming for you.” He repeated.

“Liar.”

He clicked his tongue in disappointment, shaking his head. His blood-red robes trailed along the grate of your prison cell, blocking out the meager light that trickled down. The gold-trim embroidery winked deceptively, flashing sultry looks of wealth and opulence in your direction.

Your stomach growled painfully and you wrapped yourself up as best you could. You’d spent most of your life time by the forge. Cold was not a familiar experience.

“I don’t know what that Illyrian bastard, Azriel, promised you. Wealth. Prestige. Love.”

You growled, kicking the wall hard enough for a shower of dirt to rain down on your head. You tried not to flinch when debris landed on sensitive skin, “Keep his name out of your mouth.”

Beron smirked, amused, “So much anger. So much defensiveness for a male who won’t care about you the next time a pretty female with doe eyes wanders into his path.”

You bared your teeth at him.

“Ahhhhh,” he clicked his tongue happily, “So perhaps you’re already aware he holds a certain reputation. Pity.” There was another swoosh of his velvet robes, “I’m promising you safety, enough gold and silks to make an empress jealous, and in return I just ask for you to do what you’ve always done.” He held up his hands, “I don’t understand where the difficulty lies”

“In return you’d want to make me your bitch.” You spit out, “To give you the tools to kill whomever you pleased.”

“I already have the tools to kill whomever I please.”

“No. No you don’t.” He narrowed his eyes in displeasure. You limped forward, holding your hands close to your chest. Your body may have been weak, but your heart and your mind were still strong. Not even Beron was capable of taking that from you. You looked up at the High Lord unflinchingly, “When Azriel comes for me - and he will - I’ll ask him for your head on a pike.”

Beron sneered, “If he and his half-breed Lord decide you’re worth the trouble, I’ll kill your little Shadowsinger first and reduce him to ash.”

You set your jaw, refusing to look away as the High Lord turned on his heels and left the room. Only then did you sink to your knees exhausted and breathed in the scent of damp, rotting earth.

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__________________

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#the artificer #azriel x y/n #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #the shadowsinger #shadowsinger #shadowsinger x reader #acotar fanfiction #acotar

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mt-oe · 5 months ago

Text

𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐢𝐧…𝐃𝐖𝐌𝐀?—soul eater au mizu!

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Hey dears!

Firstly, thank you so much for always leaving funny and kind replies on my fics, and being so nice all the time <3 All of you motivate me so much and make me enjoy writing more ////

Second, I know this isn't a request, but it's my birthday today! I have no idea how to celebrate this year and what better way than to make a crossover with the first anime I've ever loved?

Truly, I'm so happy to be making something anyone can enjoy on my birthday. Thank you so much for appreciating my writing <3

Hope all of you enjoy! Mwa mwa :*

warning/s: not proofread, mentions of weaponry, she/her he/him they/them for mizu, reader thinks mizu is a man

note/s: made mizu the weapon because of the scene where she said she was made of mixed metal

...

Ah...

It's so motherfucking hot.

Is Nevada...always like this?

Fuck.

"How much more?" you groaned out loud to yourself, collapsing on the seemingly never-ending staircase for the nth time that morning. Sweat was dripping down your forehead and back like bullets. You could feel your head pounding and spinning from the sweltering heat, too painful to even look up at the sun that was, quite literally, laughing at you.

But, you knew you couldn't give up right now. Not when the school of your dreams was just at the top, waiting for you. Your index finger hooked itself under your collar as you got up again and started making your way up again. "Ah damn it. Why the hell is the sun laughing?!" you yelled, voice hoarse from the drought in your throat. Step by step and complaint after complaint.

It took you a while—a long long loooooong while—but after a few more collapses and some prayers to Lord Shinra, you finally arrived. Wiping the sweat off of your face, you looked up and marveled at the grandeur of the building in front of you.

Death Weapon Meister Academy. DWMA for short.

The place where weapons and meisters from all-over the globe gather. A well-known institution dedicating itself to preventing the formation of another kishin through training students in combat and teaching to control their abilities as weapons. Entrusted and funded by countries all-over the globe, that's how much of a bigshot this place was.

Everyone on the goddamn planet knew about it. The school that the world's hero headed and where the world's heroes were formed. Anyone in their right mind dreamed of attending school here. Heck, this was your life long dream since you were a little kid. Luckily for you, you were born in a family with a lineage of meisters so admission was an easy process.

Thank you, dear ancestors. I hope all of you are resting well.

With a bated breath, you took a step forward, the wind cooling your body down as you looked around. This place was absolutely beautiful. Even more than what you had imagined or seen in pictures. The strong breeze blew against you, making the vastness of the place felt. Turning around, you gasp at the beautiful view of Death City.

'Guess this'll be my new home,' you thought with a small smile, taking in the scenery. The houses looked like little dollhouses from above, so cute and quaint. Despite being surrounded by the desert, the city did not look even the slightest amount of dead. In fact, it looked quite busy with all the people out on the streets.

You sighed dreamily, thinking about the life you'll be living from now own. All the lessons you'll learn, the friends you'll meet, what the dorms looked like, how the food tastes. You'd probably face a lot problems too.

But, first things first, you have to find a weapon.

That shouldn't be a problem, right? I mean, look around. Students were walking and mingling all around you and some of them were alone. There's probably lots of weapons that were in the same situation as you. Maybe you could ask them?

Stepping inside the building, you fully expected someone, maybe a student or a faculty member assisting the newcomers. But what you saw was the last thing you could have thought of. The moment you came in, by a table where some brochures were placed, you immediately found...a zombie?

You looked up at him, eyes wide open and shaken by his existence. The zombie stared—was he even staring? You couldn't even tell—back at you, a slightly serious but overall neutral expression on his purple face. 'Welcome Freshmen!' the sign above the door near him said. This was definitely a unique welcome. You opened your mouth to say something but couldn't find the words.

...

"Weapon or meister?"

HOLY SHIT IT TALKS.

Your body jolted at the sound of his voice before looking behind you to check if he was talking to you. You nodded before opening your mouth to reply, a string of stuttered incoherent words could be heard before you finally replied. "M-Meister," you replied nervously.

The figure nodded and handed you a brochure and a nameplate with the word 'meister' on it. "You can find a partner inside. If you don't, there's a dorm warming party in the evening." His blank eyes stared at you for a moment longer before he spoke again, "I'm Sid. A faculty member. Welcome to DWMA."

Attaching the tag on your shirt, you nodded at him with a slight smile. Seems like he was a good guy after all. "Thank you sir," you said, heading inside the room.

Inside, lots of students have gathered already. Some were just chatting amongst themselves and some where trying to convince others to be their partner. There were some who were arguing over who another person would choose. However, there were those who just sat somewhere, waiting for someone to approach them.

Similar to them, you sat down on a random chair, looking around at who could be your potential partner. You knew you couldn't choose just willy-nilly. The wavelength of your souls had to match and so does your personality. No one wants a partner that they couldn't get along with after all.

After a few more students entered, Sid closed the door before clearing his throat to gather everyone's attention. "I guess this should be everyone," he said, looking around and nodding. "I'll reintroduce myself. I'm Sid, a faculty member here in DWMA. All of you are gathered here to find your partner."

At the mention of 'partner', your heart began beating faster from excitement. The thought of finally finding someone whose soul matches yours, to go on adventures with and defeat bad guys with, thrilled you. "Once you're sure, head over to me to register. Registration ends a day before class starts."

With that, you pushed yourself up from your seat to begin interacting with others. Though it soon dawned on you that interacting wasn't the hard part nor was it finding someone who's personality was compatible with yours.

It was finding someone whose soul was on the same wavelength.

The first attempt you had tried was with a young woman who claimed to have lived in Nevada her whole life. Her weapon form was a baseball bat, and you would soon come to know that weapons that were incompatible with their meisters were immovable. Literally.

Upon transforming in your hands, an indescribably heavy weight suddenly pulled you down to the floor. With determination, you placed your hands on the handles and tried your best to lift her up to no avail. Both of you apologized to each other before going off to look for another person to try connecting with. In short, your souls didn't match. Incompatible.

You tried again, now with a morning star. Again. Incompatible.

Again. A 9mm pistol? Incompatible.

A butterfly knife? Incompatible.

A sabre? Incompatible.

A gauntlet? Incompatible.

A karambit? Incompatible.

A rapier? Incompatible.

Incompatible. Incompatible. Incompatible.

A sense of defeat washed over you as most people in the room soon found a partner, some even a trio. The event finally ended with you being one of the only people who wasn't able to find a partner. Your stomach twisted with disappointment though Sid tried to reassure you.

After receiving your monthly allowance, you headed to the dorms to finally get your room assignment. You knew it was childish to feel so down especially when the deadline for the registration was still a few days away, but you couldn't help yourself.

'What if I don't find one?' you thought to yourself, frowning as you watched your senior introduce the dorms to everyone. Worry was running through you, making it impossible for you to pay complete attention to what she was saying.

Going up the stairs, you were finally introduced to your room. Trying your best to cheer up, you thought maybe your roommate could be the weapon you were looking for. Or maybe you could be besties or something.

However, as soon as you reached your room, your senior suddenly stopped before you could enter. "Err...I know this is a bit difficult to understand, but as of the moment, you don't have a roommate yet," your senior, who you found out was named Tsugumi, said with a sheepish smile. "B-But don't worry! They said they already had someone in mind. Your roommate just..umm...didn't appear today."

Your eyebrows furrowed slightly. What do you mean you don't have a roommate yet? Was this some sort of joke? You haven't even made a friend yet nor have you found a weapon, and now your roommate was missing.

"Are you okay?" she asked, looking a bit nervous from your reaction. You tried your best to give her a smile, but the curve of your lips just wouldn't cooperate as easy as it usually did. "Yeah. I'm okay! Just a bit worried," you replied.

Tsugumi doesn't seem to be convinced but decided to let you be anyway. "I'm sure she's fine. I heard she was penalized for dueling with another student without faculty supervision. She'll probably be here by tomorrow. For the meantime, why don't you settle in?" she tried to reassure you, to which you nodded with a small smile of your own. "I will. Thank you."

After she left, you opened the door to your room before stepping in. Closing the door behind you, you sighed and made your way to the bed. The bed squeaked slightly under your weight, echoing throughout the room. A sigh leaving your lips as you looked around.

"The dorm warming party. If I don't find a partner or a roommate there, I'm speaking to the faculty," you whispered to yourself with a push of exhausted determination. You stood up again and gave yourself a little puff of air. For the meantime, you fixed your side of the room. At least you could pick which bed was more comfy.

---

Evening soon came by and most students in your dorm had gathered to celebrate the dorm warming party, though it was obviously turned into some weapon-meister finding event again, you didn't mind. You were just as desperate as the other students.

As everyone interacted with one another, you once again tried your best to find a weapon whose soul matched with yours.

You met a man, a karambit, who hailed from the same country as you so you got along quite well immediately. Having someone to talk to about familiar experiences especially in terms of culture and tradition comforted you despite your situation. Maybe the similarities you had could tie your soul's frequencies together?

After a few more chats, the two of you decided to try and see if your souls matched. However, upon his transformation, the familiar physical and emotional weight of rejection pulled you down. You, once again, couldn't lift him up. Incompatible.

Oh death, what was going on? Why can't you find someone to be your partner?

Apologizing to the man, you mingled with the other students, determination wavering but not depleted. No, you weren't going to let the night end without a weapon.

A flail? Incompatible.

A scythe? Incompatible.

A tanto? Incompatible.

A machete? Incompatible.

An M16? Incompatible.

A musket? Incompatible.

A double-crossguard long sword?

You didn't even know those existed but still...Incompatible.

Incompatible. Incompatible. Incompatible.

A deep disappointed sigh left your lips as you stepped out of the dorm to get some air. This was unbelievable. You've been trying all day! At this point, you were starting to doubt if you were ever going to find a partner.

Dear ancestors, I'm sorry if I disappoint you.

Groaning, you made your way to the city. Maybe a bit of exploration would cheer you up. Step by step, you made your way down the stairs to the streets of Death City. The streets were a lot more quiet than it was earlier. Only a few shops were still open and it looked like they were getting ready to close too.

It didn't really matter to you though. You were just here to take a walk anyway.

As the night deepened, the streets soon grew dimmer and dimmer. Soon enough, you found yourself lost within the city's labyrinth-like streets. An eerie aura soon covered the dark streets, as if you were going to get kidnapped any mome—Hey no! Don't think like that! You're fine, you're fine! Perfectly fine haha.

Nervously, you hummed a small shaky tune to distract you from the spooky atmosphere, turning around to try and make your way back to the dorms. Suddenly, the wind blew incredibly cold, goosebumps ran down your skin. A feeling that someone was watching you suddenly loomed over you, making your stomach flip.

"N-No that can't be haha," you told yourself, rubbing your arms to try and get rid of the shakes in your system. "The city is safe. The city is safe. It's just my imagination. I'm just really upset and I'm imagi—"

crash!

"—ning..things.."

Your blood suddenly ran cold at the sudden loud sound, heartbeat echoing loudly in your ears. That was definitely not your imagination. That sounded very real and that sounded like it happened right fucking behind you.

Hesitantly, you turned around slowly to take a look, hoping it was just a cat or something. But upon looking, the only thing you saw were sharp blue orbs staring at you. Glaring at you.

Oh shit.

Immediately, you sprinted forward, hoping to find someone or something that could help you. Your lungs burned from the lack of oxygen and your legs ached as you continued to push yourself beyond the limits of your corporeal body.

This was absolutely the worst day of your life.

First, you couldn't find a weapon whose soul matched yours. Second, your roommate, who you had hoped to be friends with, didn't appear. And now, you were being chased by someone or something that you couldn't even see from how dark it was. Worse of all, you couldn't fight because you didn't have a FUCKING WEAPON!

You could hear the mysterious figure's footsteps following close behind you, chasing you down tirelessly through the dirty and smelly streets. Your knees trembled from fatigue, heartbeat echoing louder than your footsteps. But the person chasing you sounded so close, you couldn't stop now.

Suddenly, the footsteps disappeared, the sound no longer following you as you ran. A part of your brain sighed in relief at it's disappearance, but the other part felt more paranoid from its absence. The logical side of you knew that it didn't disappear. There was no way it would after chasing you for so long.

Your suspicions were confirmed as a new sound could be heard behind you from a distance. Footsteps significantly heavier than those chasing you before. Looking back as you ran, your eyes widened in fear as you saw red eyes staring at you hungrily from a distance. A big burly bald man, reaching past 6 feet, carrying a mace heading your way. To make things worse, as you ran forward, you were immediately stopped as the streets cut off into a dead end, leaving you with nowhere to go.

Turning around, you looked at the person chasing. Without a doubt, this man's soul was definitely a kishin egg. But fuck, you can't do shit. Not without a weapon.

A shaky breath left your lips as you looked up at the sky, slowly accepting that this was where you were going to die. A weaponless meister whose journey in DWMA barely began. Your eyes glazed with tears, both of frustration and fear, looking up at the moon that was...grinning?

"Oh why the hell are you smiling?" you muttered, glaring at it. Hearing the man's footsteps close to you, you turned to look at him fearfully. The man didn't smile, nor did he talk, his arms merely lifted his mace up as he approached your defeated figure.

Man...at least this dude had a weapon, you thought. Ears ringing, you closed your eyes and waited for your impeding death.

...

Why is it not hurting yet?

...

Any moment now?

"Are you going to keep standing there?" a strained voice asked. Immediately, you opened your eyes to see a tall figure, hair in a bun, blocking the mace with what seemed to be a katana. You opened your mouth to speak but before you could, the figure had already turned to look down at you with a glare.

A soft gasp leaving your lips as you saw his eyes.

Blue. Like the ones from earlier.

The hypnotizing shade shaking you to the core, but at the same time hypnotizing your soul.

Realizing that you were frozen in place, your savior let out a loud "tsk" before looking back up at the kishin egg. As the enemy lifted his mace to swing it down, Mizu parried it with great force, a loud metallic crack resonating in the air as small bits of the sword flew. Upon seeing this opening, his hands grabbed your wrist, slipping away from the enemy and dragging you along the streets.

Static went through your mind as the two of you ran. Your eyes never leaving the mysterious new person's figure. It seems that there weapon from earlier wasn't a demon weapon as you expected, so you still didn't know if he was a meister, a weapon, or a regular person. You didn't even know if he was actually a good person.

Your savior wore what seemed to be a haori, tied close with an obi at his waist. His body seemed to be lean and his grip on your wrist was firm, but not enough to hurt you. A gasp left your lips as he suddenly pulled you into a corner, holding your body close to his. His heartbeat was so loud, you could feel it against your back.

"What are you—mmph!" He immediately covered your mouth with his hand, peeking around the corner to take a look at the enemy before immediately pulling back. Pulling you closer, a shiver went down your spine as you felt him lean down close to your ear, breath tickling your skin. "I'll distract him, you run. Got it?"

Breathing deeply, you tried your best to think, but the upcoming footsteps was making your anxiety rise, fogging your mind. With no other choice, you nodded. Taking your signal, your savior released the hand covering your mouth, putting the broken blade down on the ground.

Your eyes widened as you watched his hand transform into what seemed like a blade. Blue like his eyes with wave-like patterns, sharp edge telling you that this person was definitely already used to transforming.

The moment both of you felt the enemy's footsteps stop near your hiding spot, his untransformed hand immediately pushed you away before jumping in front of the enemy. Without another thought, you ran away, feet picking up the pace immediately.

A small part of your heart ached, feeling guilty for leaving the man behind after he had helped you. You felt horrible. Like something was wrong and you should go back to help him. The uncomfortable feeling running so deep you could feel it in your...soul?

You couldn't take it anymore. Before you could go on any further, your feet slowed down until they halted. The moment you did, you heard a loud crash by the street where you had come from, and that was all it took for you to run back.

On the ground, your savior laid, trying to pick himself up, but it was clear to you that he was hurt and exhausted. Your eyes darted for anything that could help you until they landed on the broken blade from earlier. Hurriedly, you picked it up, rushing parry the upcoming attack.

Anticipating the pain of the impact, your savior gritted her teeth and clenched her jaw. But to her surprise, the sound of metal crashing against metal could be heard before metal shards flew in the air as you parried the attack with all your strength.

Her eyes widened in shock, hands immediately pushing herself up before his sharp blue eyes glared at you with such ferocity. But before he could tell you to run away once again, you threw the sword away and gripped his hand, preparing to pull him away.

The moment she felt your hand in hers, Mizu didn't know why, but her mind went blank.

The rage inside her quelled and her heart began beating faster. She was so used to fighting alone, to using her abilities as a weapon for herself, to closing herself off. But right now, it felt like she wanted to transform for you.

It felt safe. Like your souls were connected.

Before she even realized what she was doing, Mizu had transformed into a weapon in your hand. A small gasp leaving your lips as you felt her form shift into something different and her weight become lighter. You turned your head to look at her, eyes widening as you gasped.

In your hand was a katana. A beautiful one at that. The blade itself was a distinct shade of blue which reminded you of the sky before sunrise. A wave-like pattern adorned the hamon in an almost artistic sense. Despite the beauty of the blade, the cutting edge itself was extremely sharp. Almost scarily sharp.

The handle felt different to the usual Japanese swords you have seen around the school, having no cords wrapped around it. However, it appeared to be a slight cream-ish white with patterns on it, reminding you of handles made of ray skin. Around the handle, you couldn't help but smile ever so slightly at the menuki wrapped around it. It was...cute. Not something you'd expect from someone so intimidating.

"Keep your eyes on the enemy!" you heard his voice say, snapping you out of your trance. Immediately, you looked up before dodging another attack just in time. Your body shook with fear and the adrenaline rushing through it. You couldn't even feel your face with how scared you were. Before both of you could comprehend it, you were already running.

Fuck. You could feel your soul shaking.

Unbeknownst to you, Mizu could feel the fear running through you too. She could feel how erratic your wavelength was becoming as she watched you flee the scene with her in your hand. But it was no use, the enemy was close behind both of you, hot on your trail.

Your feet continued to run as fast as you could until you found a small corner to hide in. Panting softly, you looked at the blade in your hands, biting your lip in shame. "I'm sorry," you whispered to him, curling up into a ball. "I...I'm scared."

His eyebrows furrowed as he looked at you. A part of her wanted to tell you off for being such a coward, but another part believed in you even if she didn't know why. Mizu sighed, looking down at her own feet, before looking off into the darkness. "I understand," he mumbled, making you look up.

He groaned to himself, unable to comprehend how compelled he felt to open up to you. Maybe she just didn't want to admit it, but deep inside her, she was scared too. "I...my soul is impure. Made by a kishin egg's and a good soul," he started, the sudden revelation making your eyes go wide.

"Not many meisters wanted to pair with a weapon whose soul was mixed with a sinners, and those who did...were incompatible." He looked up at you, before giving you a small smile. "That was until you," he chuckled, voice resembling a sigh. "It's fine if you're scared. We're both new to this after all."

You gulped thickly, looking at Mizu guiltily. His story tugging at your heart strings but at the same time calming you. No, you weren't going to let both of you die like this. You're not going to disappoint your savior who trusted you enough to let you hold him for the first time.

Gathering as much courage as you could, you shakily stood up, hand gripping the handle tighter. Her eyes widened as she watched your eyebrows knit together and your slightly swollen lips part as you took a deep breath. Her smile turned into something more genuine, more proud of you. "Look sharp, okay?" Pulse pounding loudly, you made your way out of your hiding spot, scanning the area until you made eye contact with the kishin egg.

The coward in you wanted to run, seeking the comfort of safety. But, you were a DWMA student weren't you? This was finally your chance to prove it.

The ground trembled as the enemy ran towards you, you swinging his mace aiming for your head. Dodging swiftly, you took the opportunity to stab the enemy's foot, making him keel and bend over in pain. With the new opening, you cut his hamstrings to render him unable to stand. All slashes done with ease, amazing you with how great of a weapon your savior was.

In attempt to save himself, the enemy prepared himself and parried your incoming attacks. But it was no use, with how light the katana in your hand was, you easily overwhelmed him, slashing his arm off before finally cutting his head off.

A loud thud could be heard as his body fell to the ground, head rolling to your feet, making you shudder. You watched as the enemy's remains turned to ashes, revealing a soul. A red soul. A kishin egg, as they called it.

You gasped as your savior suddenly pulled half his body out of the blade's sword and reached for the soul floating in front of you. His blue eyes narrowed at it, inspecting it before putting it into his mouth. Your eyes followed the outline of his throat as the red orb traveled down in what you could describe as an oddly smooth but very ever-so-slightly attractive manner.

But wait...

...

I think we forgot an important detail here.

"What the fuck?!" you yelled in surprise, making the man jolt back into the sword before glaring at you. You stared at him, then to the wave pattern on the flat of the blade, then to him, then to the cutting edge, then back at him.

Mizu looked visibly confused as you lifted him up and continued to stare with awe and wonder, wondering why you were acting so weird. "I'm holding...a weapon," you breathed out, grin tugging up your lips. "I'm actually holding one. I'm holding you."

You couldn't believe it. In your hands was a weapon.

An actual fucking weapon. One that didn't slam against the ground when you tried to carry it. One whose soul matched with yours.

Finally.

A katana? Compatible.

He looked at you, raising an eyebrow. Admittedly, the situation made her feel weird, but the look of amazement in your eyes told her that although she wouldn't like to admit it, your soul actually felt at peace with hers just as hers was with yours.

As if the two of you were sharing a moment more intimate than it seemed.

Taking a step back, you watched as Mizu went back to his human form. You've watched students transform before, but seeing Mizu transform made your heart soar with joy. After all, you were watching your partner transform. Your weapon They were your weapon.

Yours.

His eyes stared down at you as you continued to look up at him in amazement. Eyes tracing his features, taking in every detail, the way his mouth moved as he spoke. The sound of him clearing his throat snapped you out of your trance and to look at his expectant expression. "Mizu."

"P-Pardon?" you stuttered out sheepishly, pinching your arm lightly to make sure you weren't dreaming. "It's my name. You'll need it," he said with a nonchalant tone, turning to head back to the academy. Letting out a series of incoherent stutters, you walked right behind him. "I'll need it...?" you repeated, a smile of confusion and excitement tugging at your lips.

"Don't look so confused. You're my meister now, aren't you?"

156 notes · View notes

misguidedasgardian · 2 months ago

Text

The hour of the Wolf (XII)

XII. The Storm that is brewing

MASTERLIST

Summary:It was the calm before the storm

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Targaryen!Reader

Warnings: Cursing, war, death, mentions of killings, genocide and war, threats, arranged marriage, SPOILERS for ASOIAF, and Fire & Blood, TONGUE-LOSING, blood, death of a horsie, a tourney and all the violence that comes with it, also, might spoil House of the Dragon, birth, might miss some warnings

+18, MINORS DNI

Wordcount: 4 k

Notes: Alright, you know what? This is going to get ugly, I’m a sucker for happy endings but I want to make this story as “real” as it can be, and if ASOIAF is known for something… is that nobody is safe, and this isn’t your usual fairytale. Sorry for the long wait but it took me a WHILE to figure out where I wanted this story to go, and how I wanted it to end, and from how it began. I felt like I drifted too much, too ooc, so… here.

Aerion was fuzzy, it was the noise, but still, you did not want to part from him, and besides, this entire thing was for him.

A tournament had started, two moons later, knights and houses from all over the continent had come to enjoy whole weeks of celebrations for the birth of your child.

You kept gazing back at him, with the nannies in the corner of the royal box, as knights fought to death in the field in front of you. This didn’t amuse you anymore and you wondered why they ever did. After the war, you didn’t really want to see more violence, more blood, or more death.

But nobody died yet so you were hopeful

“Papa! look! that knight has a pointy spear, more like the others”, pointed Rickon, he amazed you more and more each day, he was so smart, nothing ever escaped his sharp little eyes.

But soon the relaxing environment turned sour, as the spokesman presented the next joust

“Ser Daario Blackwood wished to face Ser Jonos Bracken”, you frowned as you looked around and nobody was cheering

Who organized this?

“This cannot happen”, you whispered to Cregan by your side, who frowned, “who organized this?”

Worrying whispers took over the bleachers as the people made nervous remarks. Everybody knew the bloody story between the Blackwoods and the Brackens, they would make any excuse to shed each other’s blood.

Ser Daario approached the royal box.

“Your Grace, my queen”, he offered with a big smile, putting up the visor of his helmet. “If you do me the huge honor, of granting me your favor for this joust, ill surely assure it”, he said with a big smile.

“Of course”, you offered him, throwing through the end of his spear your flower crown, it made from Crepe Myrtle leaves, which look almost black, with red roses and ears of wheat that looked golden.

“Thank you, your most gracious Lady”, he said confidently

Ser Jonos Bracken rode his horse towards it to, this time, he stopped in front of Jaehaera

“If her grace would honor me”, it was odd, to say the least, she was small, and the way he referred to her made your skin crawl. Jaehaera, oblivious to it all and the way he referred to her, she was a child, but she shouldn’t be greeted as “your grace”

She threw her flower crown at him with a soft smile and twinkly eyes, she reminded you so much of Helaena it made your chest tighten.

“Thank you, princess”, said Lord Bracken.

Then both rode to the opposite sides of the tilt

At the signal, both spurred their horses, which neighed nervously and started galloping angrily against one another on each side of the wooden palisade. They met in a horrifying crash of wood, meat and metal.

It was the Bracken who had the point of his spear sharpened and without the protection of the metal point, and when they collided, people screamed as they saw the bloody outcome.

His spear failed at the last second, instead landing on the poor Backwood’s horse, the poor thing screeched in agony. Cregan was quick to distract the children as your eyes couldn’t be taken out of the bloody scene.

The Blackwood got out of his dying mount and unsheathed his sword in a violent movement. The Bracken was quick to release his weapon and do the same

“You are an embarrassment Bracken!”, you heard him scream, “Craven!”, he met his sword with a clash, “Treacherous!”, another swing, “Cunt!”

But the Bracken was quicker, pushing him and threatening him with his sword. You jumped out of your seat and that is when the whole stadium seemed to go quiet.

The Bracken stood tall with the point of his sword in the Blackwood's neck.

“For the one true King of the seven Kingdom, and his heir! princess Jaehaera Targaryen!”, everyone gasped and you just looked at him, straight in the eye.

Blackwood snapped out of the floor, taking advantage of the distraction, he kicked into his legs making him trip and fall, he did as well, he sliced his leg, and when he was back on his feet, he did the same as he had done him, he put the point of his sword in his neck.

“Your grace?”, he asked, “should I slay this traitor’s neck?”, he asked loudly. You heard the children being taken out of the box by the Queensguard.

“Let’s not sully this day with death”, you said loudly, “a tongue I think, sends a better message”, you offered. He did not seem pleased, but obliged.

He took out his tongue in front of everyone

And then they cheered as he raised it in the air.

But there was a part of the public who didn’t applaud, just watched the screaming Bracken on the floor with frowns and disgust.

And you didn’t know what to make of it.

You didn’t know what to feel, or if you should feel anything at all when the joust continued, you couldn’t let it bother you, not in front of the most important families of the realm who had come to celebrate ‘a new beginning’, allegedly. You had to show yourself strong, and that is exactly what you did.

You did not look at Cregan for the remainder of the event, you loved him, he was your husband, but you were the Queen, and you couldn’t be seen as the young girl -that you were- , looking at her husband for approval in front of any trouble that comes your way.

Although he grabbed your hand and squeezed it, in sign of strength.

And you were thankful for that.

The Blackwood was all too happy to continue jousting, invigorated by the Bracken blood you let him spill. The Blackwoods were unhinged but they were loyal to you, and after the situation with Alysanne Blackwood, but everything seemed fine. You wanted to make them an offer of marriage soon, they were key in the victory to the Blacks.

“Ser Abelar Hightower”, out of nowhere, came a knight dressed in all green, with silver marking, a whole tower in the top of his helm, as he wasn’t on the list apparently.

And nobody in the capital had heard anything from the HIghtowers since before Aerion was born, so probably half a year now.

This was the younger brother of the clown that appeared before you when you held audiences

“The Queen was requesting the Hightower presence!”, he said loudly, in a tone you didn’t appreciate, “so I came here to ease her worries”

Well, he didn’t, he faced Blackwood, your personal knight, carrying your favor.

He jousted against him, and he threw him off of his horse in the first assault, he was alive, but barely as they took him out in a made up bed.

And he kept charging at your knights, and winning, and winning yet again.

Then he rode back right in front of your box

“You grace”, he said, taking out the helm. He was nothing like his weak brother. This man was tall and broad as a log, handsome. “I’m here to ease your concerns, and worries, there is no danger to expect from us”, he said, again, the message meant well, the issue was his tone, he was mocking you, “after you emptied out coffers, my Queen, we were forced to cut the tree a little thinner, if you get my meaning”, he said simply

“I do not”, you said back, “but again, this is hardly the time and place”, you said

“We, the Hightowers, got nothing to hide”, he said, sporting a wide, mocking, grin, “we will always serve the House of the Dragon, and the rightful heir”, he said then, and that sparked your interest

“And who that might be? in your eyes?”, asked Cregan, as he stood from his seat, you had missed the fact that he was angrier than you.

He always got particularly in front of treachery and traitors, he took the capital without a single drop of blood, driven by justice and vengeance. And now he stood again in front of you, like the man who had taken King’s Landing in your name

In your late mother’s name.

“Well, the Queen of course!”, he said, “and the next in line, Prince Aegon and Princess Jaehaera”, there it was

It was a complicated situation, as you found the eyes of the mortified lady Tyrell of the Vale, who had attended the celebration in the Reach’s name, and representing her son. She seemed frightened of what was happening, no in any way shape or form what she desired out of her Kingdom.

But still, the Hightowers remained one of the most powerful houses in the realm. Because of where they stood… the oldest city in the seven Kingdoms, the peak of light and wisdom

“The Prince of Dragonstone and Heir to the Iron Throne is Aerion”, said Cregan, “of House Targaryen and Stark, a son of Ice and Fire”, he said firmly, “you might not have heard”

The knight only smiled and nodded, hsi auburn hair reminded you of Alicent

Soon, your son’s cry filled the air and he seemed to have put everything back in order, as chatter spread all over the stadium and noises began filling the air.

“Your grace”, called one of the midwives, you looked back at him with a fond smile

“Take him back to the Red Keep”, you allowed, as you had still tourneys to watch, “Ser Erryk”, you called, he nodded and escorted them back to the castle.

But you yourself couldn’t hold on for much longer.

The night found you in the bowels of the Red Keep

You lit up the candles underneath Balerion’s skull, where you tended to pray before Cregan took the city, before everything was… alright.

“Ao teptan nyke skoros nyke eptan hen ao”, [You gave me what I asked of you], you whispered, ”ao ossēntan ñuha qrinuntyssy, se isse pālegon nyke teptan ao mirri nykēla”, [You slayed my enemies, and in turn I gave you some myself], “ao teptan nyke ñuha dārion”, [You gave me my kingdom], “sir iksan asking syt kustikāne naejot gaomagon ziry”, [Now I’m asking for strength to keep it]

“Tepagon nyke kustikāne naejot mīsagon ñuha tresy”, you begged, you closed your eyes and focused your energy, your mind, your senses into this moment, this silent moment

Nobody ever taught you how to pray to the Gods of Old Valyria, but so far, Balerion has been listening.

You felt him, heard him coming towards you from the hallway

“Are you praying?”, asked Cregan, Erryk following closely behind him

“I’m very sorry your grace”, he apologized

“I didn’t know you followed a religion”, he said

“Some say Targaryens, as their dragons, don’t answer to neither god nor men”, you said gently, “But I find comfort of the Gods of Old Valyria, those whose names inspired the ones of our dragons”, you told him, “Balerion is the god of death, the greatest dragon of my house, and the one whose fire shaped the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms alike”

“You ask the God of Death for strength?”, he asked, he wasn’t judging, he seemed truly surprised. You didn’t answer, “I’m very sorry for interrupting your prayers, but, I was getting worried when I didn’t see you with Aerion, your head snapped back to his

“Is he alright?”, you asked

“Yes”, he was hastily to answer, making you sigh, relieved, “Yes, our son is well, strong like his mother”, you smiled, giving the skull one last look, you returned to the safety of the halls of the Red Keep.

“The feast is waiting”, said Cregan. You barely nodded. And began walking next to your husband

[“I’m concerned”, he said, frowning, looking all across the sea, a cup of wine in hand, “she is alone, without no friends, no family to guide her and care for her”, he said slowly, he then turned to his friends and confidant]

Cregan searched for your hand, and you squeezed it back.

[“She has you”]

“Let’s get Aerion”, he offered

[“It’s not the same”, he said, “I had made you come here because I believe you are the last one, the last one that could be of comfort, you are, in all effects, her aunt, cousin to her mother”, he said softly.]

“I have a surprise for you wife”, he said with a soft smile

“What is it?”, you asked him, intrigued

He led you to the rooms on Maegor’s Holdfast in which you usually would host members of the family who did not reside on the Red Keep

[Lady Jeyne Arryn sipped her cup of wine]

“Aunt!”, you said, happily, as you saw Jeyne Arryn herself waiting for you with a pleased smile. You remembered her fondly, she hosted you when you seeked her support for your mother days before the real war began.

[“I will stay, for a while, to comfort her”, she said, “as my nephew is getting ready training to be the future Lord of the Vale, and I do want to see that beautiful little cherub, a son of ice and fire, the prince of Dragonstone”]

“My Dear niece”, she hugged you back tightly

“Are you here to stay?”, you asked her once you separated, “I heard your nephew is doing great work, shows great promise to become future Lord of the Vale”, you say warmly, she smiled and nodded

“Indeed, it is my wish that I can indeed stay for a good season, to give you my company and my counsel if you so desire it”, she said warmly

“Nothing would please me more”, you said in all honesty. You missed the looks they exchanged with Cregan, you missed the complicity.

“You will be the guest of honor at our feast tonight”, said Cregan

“That would be your son”, sh chided carefully, “is him who we honor, although, not everyone was aware of that”

“Were you there today? at the tourney?”, you asked her, frowning

“Sometimes tells of treachery travel faster then the wind”, she said with warning in her voice

“It is normal, I think, to be resentment, specially after how the Hightowers were shunned”, he said

“After a fire there is always ember”, she said, “what’s important is that it doesn’t catch anything dry around it”, only five minutes -to your knowledge- here and she has already proved herself to be wise and a counsel worthy to listen to.

Until you gathered them in a great hall, you remembered how many great families are in the seven Kingdoms. So many you couldn’t possibly remember their names.

The music was delightful, the food was delicious, the wine was floating freely, thing to Lord Redwyne, but… BUT… there was still something tense in the air.

The mysterious Lord HIghtower didn’t present himself again, he left as mysteriously as he appeared and that did not make you feel better.

You and your counsel, with the arrival of your son and other events, had completely forgotten about the fact that Old Town seemed to have been erased from the map without any word to the capital.

And you did not believed the arrival of Lord Abelar HIghtower to be a ‘proof of life’

This was only one of many feasts you were holding for the week's events, so, to everyone's relief really, it ended quite early. The guest of honor, meaning your baby son was not in attendance and you felt restless after today’s events and you wanted to see him.

You have been so caught up inside these walls that you sometimes forget there is a whole world, millions of people out there.

What was happening in the cities? what was happening in the streets of the very city at your feet? in King’s Landing itself?

What was said today? Was it in the mind of most people that it was safe to be? That they wanted Hightower blood in the Iron Throne? that they wanted Jaehaera reigning alongside Aegon? that they believed the Greens should have won?

That you were not the one who should sit the Iron Throne.

Thoughts haunted you as you walked back to your apartments, you felt your resolve crumbling, and that could not happen, you couldn’t slip, you needed to remain strong.

You passed by Aegon and Jaehaera’s apartments, as you saw them both sleep separately you thought about marrying them, but, now? not so much. The betrothal was still not of public knowledge, perhaps you’d do well in marrying Jaehaera away from this madness, with a kind powerful family, that will treat her well, when she is at least eight and ten. Perhaps that is what is best.

She was a kind and sweet child, and even though you wanted to have her under your wing, this foul city was not for the kindhearted, for the faint of spirit.

You learned that the hard way

And despite your best efforts the Red Keep was a nest of vipers.

“Ser Erryk”, you greeted as you found the man guarding your apartment where your son slept.

“Your grace, might I introduce you… the latest member of the Queensguard: Ser Steffon Mangold”, presented Erryk, you smiled warmly at the blonde man stationed right beside him.

“Your grace”, he said enthusiastically, taking a knee in front of you

“It’s a pleasure, I have been told that you were the hardest to find”, you laughed softly, he smiled and stood up again. “The last spot to the Queensguard, where are you from?”

“King’s Landing your grace”, he said quickly, “I have been raised in the city, and I think that is why they chose me”, you looked at Erryk and smiled at him, he nodded back, he had done a good job, it had taken almost a year, but finally it was done.

The mythical seven guards of the Kings, Queens and Princes of the Seven Kingdoms. You looked at the other man at his side, the ones on watch.

Down the hall, following you, came…

“Ser Mervyn Flowers”, greeted Erryk diligently. From House Peak, of Starpike, this as the bastard brother of the Lord of Starpike, Unwin Peak, but you only smiled politely

“Ser Mervyn”, you offered, “Now that I’m in the best care possible, take the night’s watch and watch the childrens chambers if you please”, you checked with Erryk who nodded at you

“It is an honor your grace”, he said, nodding dutifully, and left you

You did not like him.

And it wasn’t unfounded, his brother, half brother, the current Lord of Starpike, had been a supporter of the Hightowers during the war, gathering a host of two thousand men to support the Green army from Oldtown.

During the time Cregan held trials for the traitors and afterwards when you yourself held audiences, Lord Peak came rushing to… demand… your forgiveness, you granted it, not wanting to trouble yourself and to give instability to the Reach after everything that happened so, you pardoned him after the counsel of your now husband. The problem was… he never left.

He had offered himself to fill the post of Tyland after his untimely demise, and Cregan had refused him, deciding to bring yet another Lannister, and now he spent his days… whining and bitching and commenting of every decision the small council had ever made, he couldn’t secure a position for him or any of his family, except for his half brother.

Who was the finalist of Erryk’s long list of candidates, in his defense, for the post of Queensguard, so they decided to pull him to the first seven, to calm his brother, and it looked like it worked

For a couple of weeks

Now the Lord of Starpike was at it again.

He had a daughter, of Aegon’s age, and he was insisting on betrothe the two. You avoided him like the plague, because of your doubts on what to do with the future of the little ones of your family.

No matter how good you tried to put everything together, with the right people, the right family, the throne kept being like a light in the middle of a swamp, I was going to pull in all kinds of creatures, good and bad.

“Ser Erryk, you and Ser Steffon are the ones in charge of Aerion”, you said softly, “until he is of age he will be sharing my chambers, so I want one of you at least with him at all times”

“Of course your grace”, you looked at Ser Steffon, who looked very professional and well mannered, standing there like a statue of the Father.

“Ser Steffon, can I have a word?”, you asked him, he seemed surprised, but nodded

He followed you inside your chambers.

“Have you been out there, in the city, recently?”, you asked him

“Yes your grace”, he said, standing firmly right by the door

“Can I ask, what had been said? in the streets?”

“Your grace?”, he didn’t seem to understand your questions

“What are people saying? about after the war, about the succession?”, you asked him

“The people love their queen!”, he said rapidly, like he was afraid of high treason

“Please”, you begged him, “I won’t hold you accountable for what the people re saying, they are my subjects and if they are worried or displeased I need to know”, you said gently, he seemed pleasantly surprised, but somewhat relieved

“Well, your grace, you see, the war was hard on everyone, and when they raised against your mother, the situation was critical”, he said, “but they love their queen”

“What about those who believed Aegon was the true King, that believe in his legacy?”, you asked

“People are contented with how things turn out”, he assured you, “food is being send again, the people are fed, and you are the one who made sure of it, that is what matters”, he said, “stability, food in their bellies, and safety”

“Well, I think that yes”

“They never cared if the reigning monarch was a man or not”, he said, “they believe in their King or Queen, whoever that might be”, he said, “as long as they are cared for”

“That is right”, you whispered. “Do they accept me as Queen?”

“People is glad that the war is over”, he said, “and they see you as the symbol of that, of a new era of peace and prosperity”

“You seemed to fear me, minutes ago”, you teased

“You are my Queen, and this is the biggest honor of my life, I do not want to disappoint you”, he said

“So you have seen what I have done, or at least heard about it, do you think I am a tyrant?”, you asked

“People in the city talk about how you burn alive your enemies, the pens who caused the war, and how you flew in the back of your dragon and saved the Kingdoms from the wrath of the Ironborns, they talk about how you are in truth the protector of the realm, and I do believe it too”, he said, “you are more than the Lady of the seven Kingdoms, you also are the Protector of the realm”, he said

“Thank you Ser Steffon, I value honesty above all else”, he nodded, “you may go”, he nodded and left the room.

The Protector of the Realm

A strong Queen

You were proving to everyone that it did not matter if you were a woman because you checked all the titles, all of your titles. Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, protector of the realm, Queen of the Rhoynar, the Andals and the first men…

With Fire and Blood

Cregan entered the room and smiled as he saw you in your nightgown

“You are happy”, he said with a soft smile

“I have an idea”, you said, “we should take a tour”

“A tour?”, he asked

“After this is over…”, you said, “I wish to take a tour through the Kingdoms, to see my people, so they can see me, and Aerion perhaps”, he listened to you carefully and nodded

“I think it can be done”

“The people need to see me, my heir, and my dragon, to remind them, to reassure them that the war is over and the Kingdoms need to be reunited again.

“I believe, it's a magnificent idea”, he said then.

“And we should go to Oldtown first”, you warned

PCN: I CANNOT SAY ENOUGH HOW SORRY I AM, my inspiration just left the station and didn't come back

AND LET ME TELL YOU SOMETHING ELSE

When I woke up this morning, I had no idea, I HAD NO PLANS TO WRITE IT, it just struck me like lightening while I was working, I SWEAR WHEN I ANSWERED THAT ASK EARLIER TODAY I WASN'T WRITING IT, I HAD TWO PAGES AND WERE MOSTLY RAMBLES

Don't know what else to say or how to explain it

I guess Inspiration does have to get you while you are working.

If you read the books, you know what -might- come when I started mentioning weird names, NO SPOILYSSSS

Taglist of the most patient people on the planet

@lyannesworld @tremendouswolfsaladranch @unlesshouse @mimsie95 @ostricx @amelia262006 @marihoneywk @ahristata @happinessinthebeing @dd122004dd@lyannesworld @aestmilky @lightdragonrayne @delaynew @mxtokko @stargaryenx @lightdragonrayne @delaynew @mxtokko @good-night-starlight @yentroucnagol @beebeechaos @brakingboundaries @duds31 @@persophonekarter @missusnora @aleemendoza2425-blog @aesthetic0cherryblossom @arrozyfrijoles23 @sacredmachine @wintfleur @kitkat-writes-stuff @green-lxght @elle-28 @cloudroomblog @r-3dlips

#misguidedhour #cregan #cregan stark x oc #cregan stark x reader #cregan x reader #cregan stark #cregan x you #hbo house of the dragon #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #targaryen!oc #targaryen!reader #house stark #house targaryen #hotd #hotd fanfiction #team black

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jasntodds · 1 year ago

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Alive | J.T.

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Request: yes, here

Summary: Red Hood shows up at your apartment only to reveal he's your not-so-dead boyfriend

Warnings: Swearing, 18+, smut, some fluff, mentions of death, mentions of canon drug use (he's not actually high in this but it's mentioned)

Words: 3,412

A/n: A huge thank you to @tenpintsof-sundrop for the idea 😭 please go check them out if you haven't already!! This kept turning into angst (why can't I just write fluff and smut ffs) which is why it took forever I'm so sorry to the anon who requested this lol but there's no angst!! If you wanna be tagged in my fics, you can click the link below, send me an ask/comment, or follow my library blog @jasntoddslibrary and turn on notifications if you prefer that!!

masterlist | request info | tag list

Gotham’s city lights are the only thing illuminating parts of your room where your curtains don’t quite close all of the way. The sounds of distant sirens and passing cars echo into your room as you’re finally getting some much-needed sleep. Bruce called you three days ago with the news about Jason. Nothing really seems worth the energy anymore, including sleep but tonight it’s as if your body finally caved under the pressure of grief. But, you’re not asleep long before something wakes you up.

You stir awake to the sound of creaking near the window. Your eyes shoot open as you keep on your side, facing the opposite direction. Your heart starts to thunder and you swear you locked that window. It’s Crime Alley in Gotham City, you always lock your door and window. Jason even got you good locks for your window and your door. Someone can’t possibly be breaking in but that’s the only explanation.

You reach to the side of the bed, slowly, careful not to make quick and harsh movements so whoever is in your home doesn’t realize you’re awake. The metal of the baseball is cold against the palm of your hand as your fingers curl around the handle. It’s not a knife or a gun, but a metal baseball can kill and incapacitate all the same. All you need is one really good swing and you’re good to go. So, you suck on a deep breath, gripping the handle as hard as you can before you sit up quickly, turning around on your knees to face the intruder.

“Get out of my apartment!” You yell, baseball bat swung over your shoulder with your arms ready to swing the second he comes close enough.

He takes a step forward into the light coming from your window and your heart drops.

Red Hood.

Why the fuck is Red Hood, Gotham’s newest crime lord, standing in your apartment?

“Don’t freak out.” He says, the voice modulator disguising his voice.

You almost laugh at the request. He’s killing people out there and is ruthless but he doesn’t want you to freak out when he’s standing in your bedroom? That makes perfect sense. And why does it have to be your apartment? There are so many other ones he could have picked but it just had to be yours.

Jason is careful as he takes the helmet off, revealing himself to you. Your eyes grow wide as your jaw starts to fall open. Jason can see your grip on the bat start to loosen as his chest starts to swell. He always questioned your choice of a baseball bat, thinking you'd never wake up with enough time to grab it and defend yourself. He's happy he was clearly very wrong.

“You…you died…?” You question, almost certain you’re dreaming.

Bruce Wayne himself called you and told you Jason had been killed. You knew he was Robin and it was all over Gotham City News. Robin had been killed by the Joker. But, Jason Todd is currently standing in front of you, his chest moving with every breath which means he's alive.

He's desperately trying not to think about dying. That's not why he came here anyway. It wasn't to discuss the gorey details of a deranged clown with a bloody crowbar. It was just to see you and let you know he was alive. That is it. No more reminders of dying, not tonight. Not when he isn't high enough to numb the panic or pain of the thoughts. All he wants to do is see you and exist in a moment with just you and him.

“Didn’t stick.” Jason chuckles softly, holding the helmet on his hip.

There’s something Jason would describe as a chortle escapes your lips. “Didn’t stick?”

Jason shrugs his shoulder easily but there’s still some tension wrapped around his bones. “Yeah.” Jason clears his throat, looking to the floor and then back to you, thinking you probably don't believe him. Who would?

“How though?” You ask and you’re not sure how this is real.

Maybe you think you’re actually hallucinating now. Maybe grief has sucked you into insanity. But he sounds just as you remember and he looks the exact same. Jason dying and coming back as Red Hood, still fighting crime in some way, does sound like a very Jason Todd thing to do.

“Gotham.” Jason scoffs. “It’s a long story.” Jason skimps on the details, partially because he doesn’t really know how it works and also just to keep you out of it. He didn’t really like that you knew he was Robin anyway. Too dangerous.

Jason takes a step forward as you watch him closely. Maybe it’s a dream. But, it’s Gotham City and the weirdest and most unbelievable shit tends to happen here. Jason being resurrected isn’t actually the most insane thing you’ve heard of happening. It's just one of those things that's hard to believe because losing him hurt so bad you swore you'd never recover. You want to be positive it's him before you let your hopes up even if they're rising like a steady tide. Jason can see the hesitance the way your brows are still creased and the bat still hanging over your shoulder.

“Not convinced?” He asks through a shallow breath, his own hopes falling.

He didn't really think of what he'd do if you didn't believe him.

“In my defense, this is insane.” You state as your grip tightens on the bat. "I mean, resurrection or being zombified, kind of insane."

Jason lets out a sigh as he starts listing things only he would know about you and only things you would know about him. He tells you about your first date which wasn’t anything fancy but was yours. He told you about how he has his half of a photobooth picture you two took on your third date as a bookmark. And he tells you about Alred teaching him how to make chocolate chip cookies his first week at Wayne Manor because Jason couldn’t sleep. It was too quiet in the manor.

“I also told you the bat was a shitty idea because you’d never wake up in time to grab it.” Jason offers a smirk.

“Guess you were wrong.” You point out with a teasing look.

“Yeah,” Jason scoffs. “But you didn’t take a swing so…” Jason shrugs his shoulders, a grin splitting his face.

“Haha.” You scrunch your nose with the sarcastic remark. "I'm not gonna just hit someone with a bat." You shake your head dramatically.

"I broke into your apartment?" Jason lets out a chortle "I mean, don't fucking hit me now but someone breaks in, do something, babe."

"Oh, it must really be you because only Jason Todd would criticize my weapon of choice and then criticize what I do about someone breaking in my own apartment." You quip right back as you place a hand on your hip, the bat now hanging loosely over your shoulder being held with just one hand.

Jason's smirk turns softer, a gentle smile pulling at his lips as he looks to the floor and then back to you. "Yeah, it's me." His shoulders move forward as he sucks in a breath, letting it out slowly as if the very act of breathing too hard might make all of this disappear.

Your face softens and as hard as it may be to believe, it has to be him. Everything he listed is all stuff only the two of you would know and the quick quips, Jason never missed a beat. You don't know how or even why he's alive, but it's him. So, you drop the bat to the side of your bed, quickly getting up from your bed. You don't notice how cold the floor is as you run up to Jason, colliding into him with a force study enough to make him step back just so neither of you wall.

Your arms wrap around his neck as you bury your face into his shoulder. He smells different than before but somehow the same. He smells like gunmetal with a mix of the minty shampoo he always used. But, his arms come and wrap tightly around your middle and it all feels the same. His arms are still as sturdy as always and warm. He still feels like home and you do for him, too.

His chest erupts in warmth like a dormant volcano erupting for the time in decades. Every piece of him starts to be encompassed in warmth and a sense of comfort. It's been the longest three days of his life but that doesn't really matter, not right now. It just feels safe here. Between coming back, the drug, and Crane, it's been busy and hectic and heavy. But, he's standing here with you and all he wants to do is focus on this moment because it's not so heavy or loud anymore. You always let him just exist in a way no one else ever did.

Jason's the one that pulls away first but only until you look back at him. The corner of his mouth perks up before he collides his lips with yours. The kiss nearly sucks the breath out of your lungs as your eyes close and your hands tangle in his hair. Jason's grip tightens around you as if he's afraid you'll fall away from him if he lets go.

You can feel him smile against your mouth and it's something that always sent your stomach swirling. Jason Todd genuinely happy is something irreplaceable. And he is always happy to be anywhere near you.

The kiss starts to grow sloppy and desperate, teeth clacking against each other. The happiness of being reunited starts to collide into relief and desperation to never let go again.

Jason's arms loosen just enough to go to your hips, his fingertips sliding under your shirt and digging into your flesh. He's missed the feeling of your skin against his. It's been three days but dying really has made it seem like it's been years and he doesn't want to waste the time he gets anymore. All he wants to do is be with you and you slide his jacket, then hoodie off of the armor.

"Miss me?" Jason asks against your lips and you can feel the devilish smirk that's splitting his face.

"Always." You mutter before Jason tugs your shirt over your head and tosses it to the floor.

In a heartbeat, Jason has you backing up until your knees hit the edge of your bed. The two of you fall onto the soft mattress, Jason bracing the fall for the both you and his lips never leave yours. He slides his leg onto the bed, slotting his knee between your legs right until his thigh meets your wetting slit.

You almost groan at the contact and Jason feels the tremble of your lips against his. And he fucking smirks again.

"Seems like you missed something else, too, huh?" His voice is low but easy with the teasing remark.

"Shut up." You bite back.

It's something about the way he says it that you almost want to bite him and melt under his touch at the same time. Jason has never been one to just let things flow and meet in the middle, he always had to have some sort of comment about it with the corner of his mouth perking upwards. He just can't help himself and maybe you always found it a little bit endearing, even when he's annoying.

Jason pushes his thigh against your slit again and this time he's successful in getting a quiet moan from the back of your throat. The pressure is hot and thick as your underwear start to stick to your pussy. You grind yourself on his thigh and Jason knows he has you exactly where he wants you, not that you would rather be anywhere else right now.

You help Jason tug the armor off and onto the floor, leaving his chest bare and every toned muscle on display. Your mouth practically waters before you yank him back down to you.

He keeps his leg slotted between yours as you slide your hands over the muscles of his back, feeling every raised piece of skin where his back is tensed. His skin is always warm under your fingers. You can't help but glide your fingertips along the skin before digging your nails in.

Jason arches his back, a snarl leaving his throat before his eyes lock with yours. His pupils are blown, black consuming almost every trace of green. So, you do it again as a smirk tugs at your lips because you know that'll get him going. The look he gives you turns feral and hungry as if he hasn't eaten in weeks.

His thigh is pushed harder against your slit, earning him a whimper before he takes it away entirely. There's a triumphant smile on his lips as he raises his brow.

"I can still play the game better than you, babe." Jason teases before he kisses your cheek and moves down to your neck.

"Up for debate." You quip back as his teeth graze your pulse point.

Your heart jumps and you know he can feel it. A snicker falls from his lip before he nips down and starts sucking a purple mark into your skin. A reminder that you're his.

Jason slides his leg back between yours and as if connected by a magnetic force, you don't miss a beat in grinding yourself back on him. Jason scatters just a few more marks across your chest as your breathing becomes quicker, a warm and static pit growing in the pit of your stomach.

"Could just leave now." Jason huffs as he comes back to your lips, sliding a hand between your bodies.

"Don't you dare." Your threat is weak and almost pitiful.

Jason tugs the elastic of your underwear up, exposing your pussy to some of the cool air in the room. You wiggle against him, desperate to feel more than just his thigh. But, then he snaps the elastic back, making you jerk forward and let out a displeased whimper.

"Jay." You scold, a hollowed glare on your face as his face fills with amusement. "Come on." You whine, pushing yourself against his thigh as your hands trail from his back and to the zipper of his pants.

"Since you asked nicely." Jason offers you a toothy grin before he sits up.

Jason reaches for a condom from your nightstand before tugging his pants down and sliding it on. His hands come to your thighs, pulling you to the edge where he can position himself right up to your leaking slit. He nearly licks his lips as he slides a finger through your folds.

"All for me?" Jason asks with a confidence that makes you want to burn from the inside out.

You almost tease him back but you know if you do, he might just plop down next to you and get himself off.

"I missed you." You stick out your bottom lip, offering him a pout.

A rumble comes through his chest as he moves his finger to your clit. You lose all bite and snark from your words as the rest of the room melts away. It's been the longest three days of his life and he's missed you, too.

It's more than this that he misses. You always had a way of making any place feel like home. You always got him to feel comfortable in his own skin even when his own mind was running away with damaged versions of himself. And he's missed the way you go back and forth with him. A lot of people find him obnoxious and sure, you do, too sometimes but you still go back and forth. He's missed the way you always smile at him, with something like warm and kind. It's a relief being alive again, but it's also a relief getting to see you again.

"I missed, you, too." Jason finally says and he pulls his finger away.

Jason grabs his throbbing length in his fist, pumping himself a few times before he lines himself up with your pussy. He pushes forward, slow and steady as he rests a hand beside your head, holding his weight up. You turn your head, offering his forearm a kiss and the feral look in his eyes softens.

As he bottoms out, Jason places his other hand on the other side of your head, bending down to offer a soft kiss to your lips. His chest is heaving, moving rapidly but his lips are gentle against yours.

You slide your hands into his hair and instead of tugging, you wrap your fingers around the messy strands gently, as if happy to have him near you. Jason pulls out and then pushes back in, keeping up a steady rhythm as the two of you seem to savor the moment with each other.

He showed up as Red Hood. In the back of your head, you know he'll probably leave after this. He's not injured and he didn't seem upset. It's not really late which means he probably has something to do after this. Maybe that raises a lump in your throat for a split second because he's Red Hood.

It's not that Jason Todd magically came back from the dead and he's here again. It's that Jason Todd was murdered as Robin and then came back from the dead to be Red Hood, pick up being a vigilante just a more brutal and ruthless version of one. Being a vigilante is dangerous, as was proven just this week but Jaon comes back to go right back in the game. That part is scary.

Your heart skips as you kiss him back and you'll always be worried as he goes out there. Knowing it'll happen again. But, there is a part of you that admires him for it. He gets murdered and instead of quitting, he comes back to fight harder. Maybe that's completely insane but it is admirable. And you're proud of him for it. Worried, sure, but proud of him. So, you savor the way his lips are chapped against yours and the way his thrusts start to become a little quicker and desperate.

"Missed you." Jason mutters against your lips, his voice raspy and staggered.

"I missed you, too." Your voice is caught between a whimper and a whine.

Jason slides his hand between the two of you, finding your clit. His finger is gentle against the bud as your eyes roll back. He quickens his movements, matching the speed of his thrusts. A pit grows deeper in his own stomach as he nips your lip between his teeth.

He gets a low moan from you and he nearly finishes right then and there, his hips almost stalling. But, he recovers quickly, moving his finger in the way that always got you to unravel.

Your hands move to his back, nails digging in as the pressure feeling grows, echoing into your legs and down to your feet. He's pistoning out of you, the sound of skin on skin mixing with your moans and his groans fill the room. You tug him closer to you as you wrap your legs around his waist.

"Jay." You manage to get out as your throat feels like it's closing.

The room spins and Jason is relentless, knowing you're close. You can feel yourself pulsing around his length and you think your head might explode while your heart shoots out of your chest.

"Gonna cum over my cock for me, princess?" Jason drawls, his breath hot against your lips before he moves back to your neck.

"Uh-huh." You sputter out feeling the stars start in the back of your head.

His name falls from your lips loudly and sharply as everything around you explodes into static and stars. Your toes curl as everything starts to shake and convulse against Jason's length. The squeezing of his length sends him falling right off the edge with you, biting down on your neck as the orgasm rips through his body.

Jason works you both through your highs, slowly sitting up but keeping himself inside of you once your legs fall from his waist. He gives you this smile that's a contrast between cheeky and gentle. He bends down and presses a kiss to your forehead, earning a tired but loving smile from you.

"Thanks for stopping by, Jay." Your voice is hoarse but soft.

"Can make it a habit." Jason's grin turns into a smirk, but there's a softness in his eyes.

"Uh-huh, okay, Jay." You roll your eyes, kissing him back.

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Tag list: @fairyofshampoo // @jasontoddsmentaldisorders // @purplerose291 // @lovelessamai // @makaelaseresin // @lenidaslenchen // @ghostkingblake // @dgraysonss // @im-done-with-this-im-out // @velvetskies // @vivian-555 // @kebonita // @deyja-the-duck // @jasontoddslover // @captainmarvels-blog // @totallynotkaibiased // @scarlovesyou // @whydoyoucare866 // @littlemeowmeow1000 // @septixtrash // @kplatzman

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #red hood x reader #red hood x you #jason todd smut #red hood smut #jason todd fanfic #jason todd fanfiction #red hood fanfic #red hood fanfiction #titans fanfic #titans fanfiction #dc fanfic #dc fanfiction

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x-heesy · 2 months ago

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𝕿𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖐𝖘 𝖑𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖉𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖍 𝖒𝖊𝖙𝖆𝖑

Silent Violence by Six Feet Under 🎵☠️

@bigbonzo @necro69mancer

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 1 year ago

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Pretty like the wind

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a/n the twelfth part! Would you look at that. Thank you for all the love as always. ✨🤍

warnings: kids, Illyrian camp brutality, deaths, killing, blood, trauma, knifes, I think that's all...

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Azriel dug his head into his palms as a twinge of pain shot through his eyes. The feeling wasn't foreign. Rhys had once lost control of his mental powers. Had nearly melted Azriel's brain in the process. So the spymaster knew that you were deep within his brain in some way. But then, it also felt different. A metallic smell filled his nostrils. Azriel slowly forced his eyes open, gasping at the sight in front of him.

There was no snow. No wind. No broken houses. A run-down camp. The place was full of greenery. The sun was shining. Once the ringing in his ears settled, Azriel could hear children laughing. The sound of swords clashing. You stood a couple of steps ahead of Azriel, watching, unmoving. Azriel strode forward, reaching out to you, but before he could, you pivoted to face him. "Come, I would like you to meet someone", you muttered, stepping onward.

Azriel heeded suit. Eyes darting all around the place. "How well do you know the Illyrian history?", you questioned. Azriel shrugged his shoulders. "Well, it depends on...", but he didn't get to finish the sentence before you spoke again, "While Rhysand's father ruled, not all camps belonged to him. Most lords had rights to...", "Have their laws, run their camps without high lord interference", Azriel finished, earning a nod from you.

"Ever heard of Lord Filick?", you rounded the corner swiftly, making no sound as you moved. "North camps?", Azriel questioned. If he was being honest, the political aspect of the camps was misty and unclear at that time. No direct laws were made. It was rather brutal. Power was the thing that ran them. That made men hungry. To operate a camp meant having a spot next to the high lord at the council.

You reached for the wooden door, pushing against it. "Shouldn't we knock?", Azriel called out, yet you didn't look back. The spymaster quickly had to remind himself that this all wasn't real. At least not at present. "He had a wife and a daughter", you muttered right as a tall female strolled through the back door. Her beauty seemed unmatched. It was like nothing Azriel had seen before.

"I don't understand...", Azriel breathed out right as the same door you two just walked through opened and a girl ran towards the female. Cries filled the room, but that was not the thing that had captured Azriel's attention. "The wings, they...", the spymaster muttered, stepping forward as if to get a better look. "Feathered. She was from the day court. One of Helion's angels", you said as if it were nothing. The most basic knowledge anyone could possess, Azriel was about to question it, but the sound of the girl weeping stopped him.

"They said that it's our fault... that...", the girl sobbed in what Azriel presumed was her mother's embrace. "Will they hurt us?", she muttered, yet the female only smiled down at her. "No, papa will never let anything happen to any of us". Azriel's breath hitched once again when he finally saw the girl's face. She looked awfully like you. The only difference was the dark Illyrian hair and the golden eyes. She resembled Zofie more. Only some features were more tailored to you.

"That, unfortunately, didn't last long", you mumbled, snapping your fingers, and the same house was filled with Illyrian soldiers pushing stuff over and shouting filthy insults. Azriel reached for his daggers. The instinct to protect growing stronger. But it all moved too quickly. Two males had the female pinned against the wall. One swift movement and the sound of breaking bones were the only audible sounds.

"What the fuck is this?", Azriel called out, his hand reaching for your shoulder, but the image changed once more. Azriel stumbled slightly as you brought him to that same strange cube. Just this time, Azriel could tell that it was a cell. An outside cell. That same girl sat curled up at the corner of it. People were walking by, laughing. Some even stopped to thread flowers through the bars. Azriel let out a growl. "Why is no one helping her?", his fingers moved to wrap around the metal bars, but they slipped right through them.

"She wasn't just an Illyrian. She was more like you; she had special powers", you stepped ahead, kneeling in front of the girl. Her shivering frame, flinching, "Back then, they thought it was a curse, an anomaly. Illyrian blood had to be clean, so...", you stood up, backing away, "Purified it had to be". Azriel shook his head, "What do you mean? Y/N, what is all of this?".

But the vision pivoted once more. The whole camp was gathered in a circle. People were shouting. Azriel scowled, trying to look for you. Sobs filled the place. Everyone parted as two males dragged the tied-up girl up the wooden altar. "No", Azriel breathed, but this time, as he tried to move, the bodies were blocking his way. Every inch he gained, someone would push him right back.

"Please, papa", the girl sobbed, trashing in the males' arms, but no one seemed to listen; no one seemed to hear her. "What a generous man, Lord Filick is," a loud male voice boomed. "He brought his daughter here so we could finally show you all that the only way we can rid our females of this cruel fate", he said, stepping towards the girl, grasping her chin between his fingers, "Is by leaving them wingless".

Azriel tore the bodies to the sides as he stepped forward. He had to get to her. Had to. Her eyes. Her being itself spoke to him. Called him. "No, please", the girl wept, right as the males pulled heated blades out of the fire. "Papa, tell them; tell them it's not true", she sobbed. Azriel let out a roar as he tore through the never-ending mass. But with one sharp thrust, the main boning of her wings was broken in two.

The place went static for a moment. As if all the air got sucked out. As if it had all frozen in time. And then a scream like no other shattered the silence. More powerful than the last notes of the siren's song as they drag the last bits of the sailors' souls out of their bodies. It was all followed by an eruption of light that drowned out the whole place. Azriel dipped quickly, shielding his eyes. He wasn't sure how long it had lasted. He wasn't sure of anything as the ringing continued in his ears, but he still glimpsed up. Up at the altar, his knees bucked.

There was no girl. No girl that Azriel saw beforhand. In the girl's place, kneeled you. Skin as pale as the snow, and hair is the shade of the cracked ice itself. Blood was dripping from every possible part of you. Eyes. Ears. Nose. Lips. Fingertips. Your body swayed before it hit the altar. You met the same fate as the endless sea of fallen bodies around you. Like the shattered windows. Broken roofs. Azriel wanted to crawl to you, but he couldn't bring himself to move. Couldn't climb the stairs.

"Show me how Rhys found you. Show me what he saw", he said, hoping that you could hear him. "No", you breathed out, and Azriel felt your palm on his shoulders. He reached for your wrists, dragging them towards his chest. "Show me", he said through gritted teeth.

A quiet sob fell from your lips, and within a blink of an eye, Azriel was right in front of your broken body. The snow had covered most of it, yet not even the snowflakes could hide the sea of red that drowned the place. Azriel heard the flapping of the wings first. Then there was the sound of boots hitting the fresh snow. Then curses. And then Rhysand was right on the opposite side of him. Big, purple eyes looking down at the broken girl. "Mother above", he breathed, his veins growing dark as he moved to touch her, drinking in her pain. "Help, I need help", Rhysand shouted out before he moved to brush away the snow, fingers reaching for the pulse points. "Hey, hey", the future high lord called out. "I'm Rhysand; I've got you; no one will hurt you-," but the image blurred quickly. Azriel tried to grasp the words that Rhys spoke, but it was for nothing. The cold wind nibbled at his skin once more. His vision cleared, and the same gloomy sky returned.

Azriel let out a labored breath, briskly moving on to his feat. "Y/N", he breathed out. He had to see you. Had to touch you. Had to feel your heartbeat. He looked around the run-down camp. His senses found your swaying body instantly. There was blood running down your nose. Tears were staining your cheeks. Azriel moved faster than the wind. His strong arms wrapped around your body. Your head lulled back, and Azriel carefully guided it toward his chest. "I've got you, my love", Azriel breathed, his lips pressing against your forehead. He gave the place a final look. Cursing it in all the ways he could, before he winnowed away.

The darkness that pulled you under wasn't comfortable. Cold and sticky. Suffocating and claustrophobic. And then the screaming began. Like it always did, you found yourself jerking upwards, grasping around yourself. A cold sweat dripping down your face. "You're okay", a voice from beside you called, making you jump once more as you turned your head to the side. Azriel had his arms up, making sure you could see that they were empty. "It's okay; you're safe. We're at my place", the spymaster said softly. But you didn't care as you moved forward, getting yourself free of the sheets. Not caring much that you probably looked like a manic as you crawled towards him. Hands grasping for his chest and then neck as you hugged him, your heart beating heavily.

Azriel met you halfway, arms and wings caging you instantly. "I'm so sorry", you muttered time after time, your eyes filling up with tears. "What are you sorry for, my love? You've done nothing wrong", Azriel carefully ran his hand through your hair, twirling the very ends between his fingers. The image of your black hair flashing in front of his eyes. The deep golden eyes. Yet, no matter how much he thought about it, how he hated the change at first. How angry he was that these features had been taken away from you. Azriel couldn't seem to imagine you any different than what you looked like now.

"I didn't want to think of it... I didn't want to go back", you said through the tears that Azriel no longer mangled to keep at bay. "I don't hate you for keeping this to yourself. I only hate the people who put you through it", Azriel said softly, pulling you even closer. "When I saw how you reacted after you saw Zofie's back, I...", another hiccup pierced your chest, and your hand came up to cover your mouth. Azriel's heart ached at the sight of it. Of you choosing to keep this from him for his own good.

All the doubt. The dips in trust. Withdrawals from him. All of it suddenly made sense. You were scared. Given up by a man who was meant to protect you. A man who did not deserve to be called your father. What father would do that to his child? His father did... Azriel shook his head, pushing all of those thoughts away as he slowly swayed you from side to side. "I'd handle hell itself for you, love. I'll bargain with the devil if it means that you would never have to go through anything like that again", he said firmly. You pulled back slightly. "Don't say such things", you breathed, shaking your head.

But Azriel shook his in return, reaching for your hand and placing it upon his chest. "My heart was frozen over before I met you", he muttered. "Now I finally got my warmth back and I'm more than ready to fight for it", "Oh, Azriel...", you closed your eyes as yet another wave of tears came rushing down your cheeks. "Look at me", Azriel spoke softly, tilting your head ever so slightly before brushing both of his thumbs beneath your eyes. "You'll never have to feel scared and unseen ever again; do you hear me?", the spymaster spoke in his soldier-like tone.

Azriel reached for both of your palms, pulling them both to his lips before kissing each of them. A light frown creased his brows. "Why are there still wounds on your palms?", he asked, looking at your hands worriedly. You lowered your gaze. All you wanted was to pull your hands back, but you didn't have it in you to lie anymore. "I'm scared to summon my magic, so this is my excuse". Azriel said nothing for a moment before you felt him carefully cupping your hands. "Do it now; I'll be with you", he muttered. "No, Azriel, I can't... It's...", you breathed out quickly, big eyes looking up at him. "I'm not rushing you, but I know that you can do it, and I think that you should", he said softly, searching your eyes. You blinked up at him a couple of times. Taking a deep breath before you fisted your palms, trying to pull that magic from deep within, feeling it fighting against your reach. That's when you felt Azriel's face right by your neck, his breath tickling your skin. His warmth surrounded your whole body. He slowly unclenched your palms, smiling at the smooth skin that greeted him.

"That's my girl", he muttered, brushing his lips against your cheek. "Now summon your light, love. Show me how you shine", Azriel sensed how tense your body got at the mention of it, so he quickly moved his hands up and down your arms, "I'll meet you right in the middle with my darkness", Azriel smiled down at you after gently brushing his lips over your shoulder, and no matter the pain deep within you, you found yourself smiling back.

"Who suggested you go up to the camps?", Rhys asked, fingers clasped right in front of him. "Well, Padme was the one who created the troops", you breathed out. The meeting was long overdue. The boys had been working for days over this. And you knew that Rhys counted himself responsible for what had happened. As he always did. "She stepped up right after I got taken under the mountain?", the high lord asked. Much had changed when Amarantha came about. There wasn't a part of Velaris that didn't feel it. You nodded. "The priest died suddenly. She was the only one willing to take his seat", you said in return, feeling Azriel's hand running up and down your back softly. Not that it was hard for him to touch you considering that you were sitting on his lap, even if there was a separate chair just for you.

"Tell me that you all are thinking what I'm thinking", Cassian breathed, pushing away from the wall. Rhys shook his head. "What are we thinking?", you asked softly, turning from Cassian to Azriel, who looked like he was ready to slaughter a whole village. "The books looked legit; there was not a single thing that raised suspicions", Rhys said through gritted teeth as he pointed at Azriel. The two no doubt decided to keep some part of the conversation to themselves.

"How is your and Padme's relationship like?", Cassian brought your attention back from the two males having a staring competition. "It's okay... She just... Well, there are rules", you muttered. "Bullshit", Azriel breathed, "Love, be honest with us". Azriel didn't want to push you, but it was his family that was concerned. "Axel told me that she's not happy because you kept them", Azriel muttered, making a breath hitch in your throat. You had never talked about it with anyone. This was your burden to bear. "This has nothing to do with this", you said, shaking your head, but Azriel didn't back away. "You got upset after I dropped you off at the sanctuary. What did she say to you?", and here it was, right in the bull's eye. Your eyes glassed over. Nails digging into your palms. You felt Azriel from within you, soothing and tugging at the golden thread that bonded you.

"This is not an interrogation, Y/N", Rhys said softly, "We want you and the kids safe, and right now, anyone who has ever wished you anything bad should fall under our radar". You met the high lord's eyes over the table. A man who was close to a brother. "She does want to take the kids away from me, and...", you took a deep breath in. Knowing that your next words will sway the whole room, "She called me a sacrifice lamb and that Azriel won't get to save...", but before you could finish, Azriel stood up, making you stumble as you found your footing. "Azriel...", you muttered, trying to reach for him, but he didn't spare you a second glance as he winnowed, Rhys following suit. "No", you breathed out. "Take me to him", you said, turning to Cassian, clinging to his arms. The male-only gave you an apologetic look. "Rhys will take care of him", he said softly. "Come on, let me walk you to the kids", Cassian offered you his hand, "They were painting in Feyre's gallery".

You had watched them paint. Watched Nesta chase Cassian down the corridor with a paint bucket in her hands. Watched Nyx ask Zofie to sit on the chair so he could try and paint her. You took cup after cup of tea from Feyre's hands, but nothing soothed you. Nothing felt right. The worry never died. Don't do anything stupid, please. You muttered into the bond. Please, Azriel, just come back this one time. You felt it echo. Silence. Nothing. Until a light tug from the other side, a light cares reached out for you. Ask Cassian to take you all to my place.

The smell of Azriel that lingered in his place soothed the ache in your chest. The kids looked at the place from the side of you. Curious eyes were soaking up every little detail. "Oh, wow, knives,", Axel breathed instantly, stepping to the big shelf full of weapons, but you swiftly caught him by his shoulder. "Not really baby-proof, is it?", Cassian chuckled from beside you. You shot him a smile, but it was Axel who crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at Cassian. "I ain't no baby; Az taught me how to fight with wooden swords". Cassian raised his hands defensively and said, "Shaking in my boots, an oh great soldier, don't come for an old man like me".

You felt Zofie tugging at your skirt, no doubt sensing the shift in energy around the place. "Will he be here tonight so we could all sleep together?", she rubbed her eyes, her head resting on your shoulder. "Azriel had to go somewhere with the high lord, but he will come; you won't sleep alone, darling", you brushed your hand through her hair, swaying her slightly. "I'll help you settle in", Cassian offered, and you were about to say no, but he beat you to it, "Azriel will sit me down on a wooden beam, so please".

You were glad that the spymaster's floor was covered in books, giving the kids quite an energy-consuming activity as they not only flipped through them but also organized them into piles that mostly made sense to them. You only hoped that this wouldn't cause more work for Azriel. After the second pile was completed, Zofie crawled onto your lap as sleep finally took over her tiny body, which looked even smaller now that she was wearing one of Azriel's shirts. Axel followed suit, defeated by pile number five, and dozed off on the rug, not even bothering to reach for a pillow.

And here you found yourself, thinking how much everything had changed. The moment Rhys showed up with an unconscious spymaster, you had no idea where fate would take you two. And now you cannot imagine how your life could go on without him. How the kids would go on without him. You didn't want to go on without him. Not after letting him into the deepest parts of yourself. And in the quiet living room, you let yourself wonder about how you both could watch Axel and Zofie grow up. Maybe, just maybe, you could find yourself again.

Azriel didn't listen to Rhys's demand to come back to the lake house first. He knew the conversation would have to follow suit, but it sure wasn't going to happen tonight. And if his high lord wanted to pick a fight with a man who was in desperate need of going back to his woman and kids, he sure was going to meet a monster he had never met before. Another thought struck Azriel. Never had he come back to his apartment and felt so much calmness and joy. Sure, he was pissed that Cassian hadn't demanded that you rest in bed, but the sight of you three sprawled out on his fluffy carpet was a sight Azriel could get used to. He softly pulled at the bond, not wanting to wake you up with a jolt. Too many demons had been let loose in the past couple of days.

"Azriel", you muttered softly, and the spymaster smiled at you lovingly, caressing your cheek. "Let me take her", Azriel carefully moved his hands around Zofie's frame, scooping her up in his arms. The girl stirred, her big golden eyes looking up at him. Azriel ran the tip of his finger over her nose and brows, trying to soothe her back into slumber. "Azzy", the girl murmured, grasping for him blindly. "I'm with you, little star", he said, rocking her gently as he walked towards his mattress. Zofie let out an unsatisfied sigh at the loss of a contract with Azriel once he lowered her onto the plush sheets, tiny fingers grasping at his hands. "I'll be right back; I need to carry Ax here", he breathed out, letting her lighten her grip on her own. In no way did he have the strength to pull his hand away from her by force.

"Cool knives", a sleepy voice sounded from the doorway. Axel stood there, his eyes barely open, with you right behind him, guiding the boy towards the sheets. "Thanks, bud. We can look through them tomorrow", Azriel quickly reached over to tassel the boy's hair, earning a lazy smile. "Does that sound good?", the spymaster quickly asked. Axel nodded, a satisfied sigh leaving his lips as you pulled the blanket over his body. Leaning in to kiss the boy's forehead.

Azriel watched the scene in front of him for a heartbeat. If anyone had told the scared boy in the dark, windowless cell that one day he would be happy, that his heart would be filled with nothing but love. That he would get a chance to create a family, he would never have believed it. But now, looking down at two tiny children slumbering in his bed while you sat on the other side of the bed, Azriel felt so thankful that he didn't give up back then. That he pulled through. And suddenly, the heartache felt worth it. All his mistakes seemed worth it because they led him to you.

"Come here", Azriel gently guided you towards his side of the bed, "I haven't had a chance to properly hold you yet". You reached to cup his cheek, teary eyes looking up at him. His girl. His mate. Azriel never wanted to see you cry again unless it were happy tears. "Tell me you didn't do something silly", you rested your palms against his chest, looking up at him. "Well, I was on my way to burning the place down, maybe...", "Azriel", you gasped, pulling back, but the spymaster only held onto you tighter. "I didn't; Rhys talked me out of it", Azriel breathed, but not without adding, "For now". You let out a gasp, hitting his chest playfully, earning a breathy chuckle from the shadowsinger.

"You can't do careless stuff like that; you have children now", you muttered, your eyes darting toward the bed. Azriel's eyes followed suit, "I do, don't I?" Pride filled his chest at the thought of stepping into a fatherly role for these two. Of having his family. His little world. One he had dreamed of. Begged for. Had even come to terms with never having one.

"You know", Azriel turned back to you, brushing some of the hair away from your face. "One night in the cell, after a beating my father gave me, I crawled towards the crack in the wall, my only window to the outside world", your hands gripped Azriel's leathers tighter. Heart aching at his words. The spymaster brushed his palm over your cheek, and you instantly leaned into his touch as you looked up at him, only to find Azriel's eyes glassy as well. "A light breeze hit my face. I haven't felt the touch of wind for years at that point", Azriel bit the inside of his cheek, trying to keep his tears at bay for just a bit longer. Just until he pulled these words from the depths of his heart, "So familiar that touch felt, and I knew even back then that one day my mate was going to be as pretty as the wind. Like the wind that called for me that night", the least part felt breathy, and Azriel's voice cracked ever so slightly. All doubts and fears died out. You two had chosen to stand completely bare in front of one another. Deepest wounds on the show. Pain hidden away for centuries was been bleeding out. But neither of you backed away from one another. The uglier it got, the stronger you held one another. "I'll never stop calling out for you", you muttered, stepping on your tippy toes so you could wrap your arms around Azriel's neck. "I want to try this with you. I want to see what being yours looks like", you breathed out right by Azriel's lips. The spymaster pulled you closer to him by your hips like he always did, "Then I'm more than willing to give you my forever".

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Taglist: @naturakaashi @hoemadegrace @just-m-2 @thereadinggremlin @i-am-a-lost-girl16

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel imagine #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel acotar x reader #azriel acotar imagine #azriel acotar #azriel x oc #acotar x reader #acotar x you #acotar imagine

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mydadleft471 · 5 months ago

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A Jester Indeed

Summary: You've heard tales of Messmer the Impaler from other Tarnished. They say he's a monster, that his flame will burn through your armor to the bone, and that he is not to be trifled with. So what happens when you, a not-so-serious individual, fight the Impaler and show him mercy?

Spoilers for Elden Ring and Shadow of the Erdtree. Some warnings of violence, fighting, blood, and a stupid Tarnished.

This was a request from anonymous! They requested, "Messmer with a Tarnished reader who chose to spare him at the end of their battle, and she frequently comes by to annoy him." This was so fun, thanks anon! I wasn't sure how to incorporate the Tarnished coming back to annoy him, so I just made her a little shit whenever possible lmao. Hope you like it!

As always, thank you for reading, liking, reblogging, and commenting! I've gotten back into writing because of everyone's continued love and support and I can't begin to thank you guys enough! <3

You were so in over your head.

Traveling to the Land of Shadow was an ordeal all by itself. As you carved your path of carnage throughout the Lands Between, you’d killed many. It did not matter what they were; if they didn’t want to talk it out, you knew there was only one way it would end. No matter how many times you died, which had to be in the hundreds by now, you would come back and try again. Victory had always tasted so sweet.

As did the amount of runes some bosses dropped.

Seeking out the Lord of Blood was certainly a task, but you had also found the husk of Miquella, Malenia’s twin brother forever cursed to be a child. Disgust must’ve been obvious on your features as Mohg appeared out of a pool of blood and referred to Miquella as dearest. You had a feeling you wouldn’t mind ending the Lord of Blood.

You did mind, however, the amount of bloodflame he threw at you. His trident could kill you in one hit if you weren’t careful, and it did, many times. Eventually though, he fell just like the rest. After you lit the site of Grace near Miquella’s cocoon and sat down, you noticed someone standing a few feet in front of you. They were donned in gold and black armor with an ornately embroidered white cloak. Carefully, you rose, ready to fight if necessary.

She introduced herself as Needle Knight Leda, in service to Miquella the Kind. She told you that if you wished to travel to the Land of Shadow, all you needed to do was touch the withered arm dangling lifelessly outside of the cocoon. Noticing your hesitation to follow someone you had just met, she tells you of her compatriots that would offer you assistance when you arrived.

You were never one to shy away from challenge and adventure, so you rested your hand upon the cold, much larger one. In an instant, your vision went white and suddenly you stood in an unfamiliar place. It almost reminded you of where you first woke up after crossing the fog, but it was more foreboding. You shrugged off the feeling of anxiety and started up the hill in front of you.

After stepping out into the open and seeing the vast landscape before you, you knew you had to explore every inch of this place. You would discover why this place was hidden, and you would almost certainly fight challengers tougher than you could imagine. The thought alone sent shivers of anticipation down your spine. With Torrent by your side, you embarked on your journey throughout the Land of Shadow.

That anticipation that had once set your soul ablaze was now fear coursing through your veins. After weeks of fighting, you had reached the Shadow Keep, home of Messmer the Impaler, who was another of Queen Marika’s children. Messmer’s guards and knights were no joke, and you had met your demise at their hands more times than you could count. But you had persisted and cut your way through his numbers, and here you were: in front of an imposing and cold metal door that would certainly lead to your number of deaths reaching the thousands.

Everything you had heard about Messmer was terrifying. You were unsure if you would actually best him. Many other Tarnished you’d met along your travels spoke of his flame, scorching and unnatural, searing them down to the bone before they were impaled on Messmer’s spear.

You tried to keep your spirits high. You had fought and beat Radahn, once known as the mightiest demigod of the Shattering. You’d killed Mohg. You even killed Miquella’s sister, Malenia, the Goddess of Rot.

So why were you standing here shaking like it was your first encounter with combat?

You sighed and knew you’d have to will yourself to open the door in front of you. Throwing caution to the wind and ignoring your nerves begging you to turn back, you pushed the heavy metal door open and stood in the doorway. You flinched and closed your eyes, expecting your death to be immediate. But you were fine.

Taking a few tentative steps into the room, you realized that it was almost entirely dark. A few candles sputtered weakly along the floor, but that was it. Perhaps the Impaler was out?

Your hopeful thoughts quickly died as the room lit up. Hundreds of candles sparked to life within mere seconds. You drew your weapon and looked around the room, your heart beating wildly against your ribcage.

“Mongrel intruder.”

A low, stern voice echoed throughout the room, sending shivers down your spine. Looking towards the center of the room, you shrieked when you saw a red snake hovering in front of you. It wasn’t poised to strike however, so you, although a stupid idea, reached out to pat its head.

“Thou’rt Tarnished, it seemeth.”

The snake began to slink away from your outstretched hand. You saw a large towering figure sat on a throne in the very back of the room.

Messmer the Impaler.

“I am, yes. Why does that matter?” Your voice shakes and comes out weak.

He stands up, seemingly ignoring you. You realize how he towers over you.

“Mother, wouldst thou truly lordship sanction in one so bereft of light?” He does not sound amused.

“I don’t want to fight you. ” You realize that might not seem convincing with your sword drawn.

“Yet… my purpose standeth unchanged.” He saunters towards you.

You really shouldn’t be here.

“Those stripped of the Grace of Gold shall all meet death. In the embrace of Messmer’s flame.” From his hand, fire erupts and swirls, but it’s unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. It’s darker, a deep crimson with black tendrils dancing around like snakes. It’s beautiful, yet horrifying.

“But I can see sites of Grace! There’s one right outside your door!” You plead with him, your voice unnaturally high with fear. He pauses for a second, mulling over your words. Then his brow hardens and his gleaming gold eye narrows.

“The Tarnished, graceless and stricken, is also a liar, it seemeth.”

You were stupid and brave, but a liar? That crossed a line.

With his words as your only warning, he leaps into the air, creating an inferno of raging fire. He slams down next to you and you barely have time to roll out of the way. The explosion clouds your vision, and you don’t catch him hurtling towards you. His spear rams through your stomach as if you weren’t wearing armor, and you scream. Your hands grasp the handle where it impales you and it’s sticky with blood. Your blood.

Messmer comes closer as you fall to the floor. You have to admit, he’s quite handsome, even with your blurred vision. You don’t think telling him that would spare you.

“I don’t want to fight.” Your voice comes out weak and you spit out blood on the floor next to you. You’re beginning to fade.

His eye glows a blinding gold as he stands above you. He seethes with disgust.

“Then thou shalt run. Thine wishes are an impossibility. But rest assured, Tarnished,” he spits the word like an insult, and brings his face closer to yours. “The Impaler will see to it that thy fate never cometh to fruition. Thou shalt perish here, as many times as necessary.”

With those words, you fade away and return to the site of Grace outside his door. You lay there in stunned silence for a few seconds before you dare to sit up. Looking towards the fog wall in front of you, you question yourself. Could you really defeat Messmer? He’s made his intentions crystal clear and you know that each time you face him, it will end in your painful death.

No, you say to yourself. You take a few deep breaths and make a conscious effort to not give into the fear he instilled in you. That’s what he wants. He wants you to be afraid to face him, to give him the upper hand. But you won’t do that. Sure, he’s a demigod that’s launched an endless crusade on an entire race of people and has a curse that’s gotten him shunned from his Mother’s good graces, but you’re really good at fighting. And you’re persistent as hell.

Standing, you draw your weapon once more and walk through the fog wall.

He’s returned to his throne, and once he sees you, he grips his spear and stands.

“I warned thee, Tarnished. All thou wilt gain here is an acute understanding of agony.”

“I’m not afraid of you. I’ve faced demigods before and won. I’ve died countless times and came back. This fight won’t be any different.”

He is taken aback by your confidence, but he quickly regains his composure. His face hardens and he leaps into the air once again, flame encompassing his form.

“So be it.”

You dodge his inferno and sidestep him as he rushes at you. You have a feeling he uses his fire to disorient you and shroud himself. You would be wise to keep the distance between you two as close as possible.

“A spear is a horrible weapon for close combat!” You holler at him and see his eye narrow. You’ve successfully pissed him off.

He ignites his spear and soars through the air, then rushes at you with multiple jabs, and you successfully dodge all but one of his attacks. He slams down into the ground next to you, and right as you reach for your flask, a myriad of spears burst from the ground and quickly end you. As your vision fades, you see him above you once more, looking down at you with something you could almost call pity.

You re-enter his arena with little time between your attempts. Though he manages to best you over ten times, you are growing more certain in his attack patterns, and you can seamlessly dodge and punish most of his moves. On your 16th try, you’ve managed to only get hit twice throughout the fight so far, and you still have 9 remaining charges in your flask. You know he’s beginning to worry from the way his attacks grow more and more desperate. He stops charging deliberate moves and instead swings wildly at you in an attempt to kill you instantly.

After side-stepping his barrage and rolling through his summoned spears, you quickly deliver a swipe that cuts his stomach and sends him to his knees. You breathe out heavily and watch his every move with your sword at the ready in front of you.

“Bested, by a meek Tarnished…” His voice radiates with pain and humiliation. He looks at you, his eye dimmer than usual.

“Give up. I don’t want to kill you.” You hope he doesn’t push you to deal a final blow.

He weakly stands up, using his spear to hold him upright. He turns away, facing a giant statue of Marika holding a baby. How did you not notice that before?

“O Mother, forgive me.” You narrow your eyes and ready yourself for whatever he’s about to throw at you.

He reaches towards his eye that shines a brilliant gold as his long claws near it. In horror, you realize he is about to tear out his eye. Throwing your sword to the ground in an act of desperation, you fling yourself forward and catch his hand. Your weight makes him shift uneasily on his feet and you find yourself staring into the same eye he was about to pluck out.

He glances between your hands around his and your worried expression. He cannot understand why you would stop him. “Let go, Tarnished. I would give thee a fight to ne’er forget.”

You shake your head, clutching onto his hand tighter and trying your best to pull his arm down. “I’m not going to let you tear out your own eye! Are you crazy?”

“Thou hast me at thy mercy. Strike me down or release me.”

“I’ve told you before; I’m not going to kill you.”

His eye narrows and he releases his spear. It thuds onto the ground and the sound reverberates throughout the entire chamber. His other hand wraps around your neck, and he lifts you like you weigh nothing. You do not release his hand as you struggle to breathe.

“Thou’rt foolish and weak. Thy grace is false, thy blade is dull, and it seems thy mind is shattered.” He squeezes harder and you notice black spots in your vision. He peers into your eyes for the Grace you claim to have, and he sees flecks of gold dancing in your irises.

Hesitantly, he loosens his grip enough for you to breathe, but not enough to allow you your freedom. As expected, you heave in heavy gulps of air and cough. He wonders what Mother sees in you, a mere Tarnished, too weak to kill him but not strong enough to delay their inevitable demise at his hand.

“Thank you…” You mutter. You’re still clutching his hand.

“Why didst thou hesitate with thy blade?”

You give a tired and sputtering laugh. “Maybe I’m tired of killing.”

“Nonsense. Reveal the truth.”

“Will you at least put me down?”

He grits his teeth and slowly releases you. He expects you to immediately pick up your weapon and strike back, but you simply reach for one of your flasks.

You notice him watching you with caution. “May I?” You gesture to your flask.

“Fine.”

Unexpectedly, you close the gap between the two of you and unscrew the cork from the bottle. You then hand it over to him without a second thought.

He doesn’t move, too shocked by your sudden offer. This would heal him, and if he so chooses, he could kill you again with all his strength returned to him.

“I do not require that.”

You huff and roll your eyes. “Would you please just indulge me? I think you owe me after how many times you killed me, don’t you think?”

Wordlessly, he reaches down and takes your flask. Tipping it back, the liquid warms him as it travels down his throat. He instantly feels better and the wounds you inflicted on him earlier dissipate. When he looks down again, he sees you smiling. He hands the flask back to you and you replace the cork, then store it away in a pouch on your belt.

“There, all better.”

“A duller foe I have never met.”

“And yet, here we are. So, what’s next? Are you going to talk with me, or do you feel like you need to kill me again?” You gesture at his spear still on the ground.

“Why wouldst thou grant me mercy?” His face pinches in confusion.

“Because you don’t deserve to die.” You answer.

“Dost thou consider themselves judge, jury, and executioner?”

“No, but I know enough to understand that you’ve been shunned and cast out by Queen Marika, just like me.”

A Tarnished who speaks ill of his mother? He had yet to wrap his head around that.

“Speak plainly.”

“Okay. I know your mother made you go on an endless crusade in her name against the Hornsent for whatever they did to her. She’s done the same with Godfrey in the Lands Between. The Mountaintops of the Giants, once a land covered in fire, now lay cold with bodies and snow as their only inhabitants. Now, she wants me to fight my way through her remaining children to claim their Great Runes so I can have the burden of becoming Elden Lord.”

“Mother chose-” he begins.

“She cast you out because of your curse.” You interrupt him and his eye blazes out of fury.

“How dare thee!” He bends down to pick up his spear. You hold up your hands and make no move to grab your weapon.

“I understand your pain. I’m cursed to die over and over again until I fulfill her wishes. She doesn’t care for me.” You keep your voice even.

“Thou will never understand my pain nor my curse.”

“Maybe not, but I understand how it feels to be cast out and sequestered without honor or glory.”

Why was he talking to you? He should’ve ended you the moment you gave him your flask. He should’ve killed you 20 times over by now.

But he hesitates.

“Tarnished. Thou hast granted me mercy. Thy reasoning I shall never understand. But thy words ring true and hold merit.”

“Does that mean you’ll stop killing me?”

“It means I shall consider ceasing hostilities towards you. Thy safety is not yet guaranteed.”

You groan. These demigods are always so complicated. “Then what do I have to do to get you to trust me?”

“Thou wilt tell me everything.”

You blink at him. “Okay. We could’ve avoided my painful demise many times over if you had just said that earlier.”

The grip on his spear tightens. “I shall make the memory a reality if thou dost not hold thy tongue.”

He’s met with silence. Perhaps you had finally learned when you were to speak. Or maybe you were just thinking of another clever quip that would make him doubt his decision to spare you.

The hilt of his spear hits the ground and he stands taller. His voice echoes around the room. “Thou wilt stay here, within the Keep, so that I may have eyes on thee at all hours of the day. Thou shalt be safe and comfortable in exchange for your knowledge.”

“You’re going to keep me prisoner?”

“Wouldst thou prefer a grave to a bed?”

“Fair point. We have a deal.”

You hold out your hand and he stares at you in bewilderment. He narrows his eye.

“What?”

You gesture to your hand. “It’s a deal. We’re supposed to shake hands to make it official.”

“I shalt not touch one so depraved.” He looks disgusted at the mention of touching you.

“Shake my hand or get used to killing me. Your choice, my Lord.”

“Thou wouldst jest, even now? When death stands before thee?”

“Can you just shake my hand?”

“...Fine.”

He reaches out and grasps your hand loosely, and you shake his hand. His skin is surprisingly soft. Just as you are about to say something, he pulls away.

“Come. Thy quarters are just down the stairs.”

“Good. I’m exhausted.”

“As am I,” he replies.

You follow him. “But I gave you my flask. You should feel fine.”

“Thou misunderstood. I am exhausted of thy prattling tongue.”

You scoff, which earns you a small smile from him. You are steeped in an uncomfortable silence as he leads you to your chambers. You walk down a long hallway lined with ornate paintings and trinkets. This is somewhere you had not been while you were fighting your way up to Messmer. You wonder if he knows how many of his men you had dispatched. Considering he granted you some semblance of mercy, you think he has yet to find out.

He stops at a large wooden door. Twisting the knob, the hinges creak like they haven’t been opened in a century. The room is full of dust and stagnant air, but is otherwise beautiful and luxurious.

“I shall have servants clean thy room, of course, but this is where thou shalt stay.”

“It’s pretty. I don’t think I’ve ever stayed somewhere so nice.”

“For once, thy countenance is agreeable.”

“Well, for once, you’re being nice to me.”

His eye twitches in annoyance. “Was I not nice when I spared thee of another woeful death?”

“Seeing as I stopped you from plucking out your own eye, we’ll call it even.”

He felt like he was dealing with a petulant child whenever you opened your mouth to speak. Even threatening you with your demise just spurred you on.

“I shalt leave thee to thy quarters before my headache worsens.”

As he walks away, you call out to him. “Just admit that you haven’t had anyone so entertaining and interesting in your Keep, it’s okay!”

“Yes, my Keep hath never held a jester such as thee.” He replies over his shoulder, not caring if you heard him.

Smiling to yourself, you think that, yes, he does need a jester.

He’s much more handsome when he smiles.

#messmer the impaler #messmer x reader #messmer x tarnished #messmer the impaler x reader #elden ring x reader #elden ring messmer #i love tarnished being a little shit #an icon #where's my silly little hat messmer

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ghostpebble · 2 days ago

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SONIC MOVIE 3 SPOILERS AND RANT BELOW :)

SOBBING. SOBBING. SOBBING. WATCHED IT YESTERDAY AND I WAS CRYING THE WHOLE MOVIE BECAUSE THEY USED IT. THEY USED LIVE AND LEARN. AND NOT JUST ONCE. A MOTIF. THEY GAVE SHADOW A LIVE AND LEARN MOTIF. I AM EXTREMELY INDESCRIBABLY HAPPY. LET'S FUCKING GO

PLUS: EGGMAN'S MOTIF!!! IT WAS HERE!! THEY USED IT!! AND IT WAS ORCHESTRAL. BEAUTIFUL.

SONIC'S ESCAPE FROM THE CITY PLAYED, TOO, BUT NOT AS CONSISTENTLY. BUT ALSO, WHOEVER WROTE IN HAVING SONIC SAY "FOLLOW ME" UH HUH. I SAW YOU. YOU DID THAT ON PURPOSE AND I LOVED IT

I WANT THE DONUT LORD SWEATER. THAT NEEDS TO BE MERCH. I DONT CARE HOW MUCH IT IS. IF SOMEONE MAKES IT DM ME I WANT ONE THANK YOU

SPEAKING OF DONUT LORD. I KNEW THEY WOULDN'T KILL HIM OUTRIGHT BUT OH MY GOD WAS I CONFLICTED. BECAUSE ON ONE HAND, OH MY GOD. SHADOW JUST BROKE LIKE ALL OF TOM'S RIBS. NO PLEASE NO. BUT ON THE OTHER HAND... OH MY GOD. YES. THIS WILL BE PERFECT FOR SONIC AND SHADOW'S PARALLEL.

AGAIN, SPEAKING OF: PARALLELS, SPECIFICALLY THE TIME HOPS IN SHADOW'S MEMORIES OF MARIA. BRUTAL. CRIED THE WHOLE TIME. THAT RECORD PLAYER ONE REALLY GOT ME. GOD DAMN. PLUS, THE PARALLELS FROM TOM'S HEART TALK THE ENTIRE MOVIE AND ESPECIALLY THE MOON SCENE. CRYING. I KNEW IT THE WHOLE TIME BUT STILL. CRYING.

ALSO, OPEN YOUR HEART. SPEAK WITH YOUR HEART. WE'RE WINNING

DAMN: WHY DID EGGMAN GET TO SAY DAMN BUT NOT SHADOW

AND ALSO, NO FAKER! THERE WAS THE CONVO ABOUT WHY DO YOU LOOK LIKE ME, BUT NO FAKER :(( MAYBE NEXT TIME

I MIGHT BE REMEMBERING WRONG, IT MIGHTVE BEEN FROM THE KNUCKLES SERIES I WATCHED BEFORE, BUT OH MY GOD. THE WACHOWSKI KIDS' BEDS. KNUCKLES AND SONIC IN THEIR CARS ARE CUTE, BUT OH MY GOD TAILS AND HIS AIRPLANE.

OSSIE!! MORE OSSIE!! LOVE OSSIE. THANK YOU

CHAO GARDEN! AGENT STONE BEING A BADASS CONSISTENTLY. I LOVED AGENT STONE THIS WHOLE MOVIE. HE REALLY GOT A LOT OF DEVELOPMENT. LOVE HIM. ALSO A LITTLE SAD SONIC DIDN'T END UP WEARING A SPEED OR DARK CHAO MASK TO LOOK LIKE HIMSELF OR SHADOW, MISSED POTENTIAL :( STILL FUNNY

WALTERS' DEATH WAS UNEXPECTED TO ME NGL, JUST BECAUSE IT WAS SO ABRUPT. LIKE... OKAY. I GUESS. COOL. MAN'S DEAD.

THE MARIA BEING PULLED BY SHADOW ON SKATES. EVERYTHING MARIA. EVEN WITHOUT THE ILLNESS, THAT WAS THE PERFECT MARIA AND SHADOW DUO. YES

TBH, I LIKED THE GERALD AND IVO DUO. IT WAS SILLY. THEY WERE THE COMEDY IN AN OTHERWISE VERY HEAVY MOVIE STILL SOMEWHAT AIMED AT KIDS. SOME THINGS HAD ME LAUGHING BECAUSE IT WAS SO WRONG, LIKE THE SPANKING AND HOW GERALD JUST GOT ZAPPED LIKE A FLY IN AN ELECTRIC SWATTER. ALSO, EASY TO EXPLAIN GERALD'S AGE, HE KEPT LICKING SHADOW'S QUILL, WHICH IS LIKELY WHAT KEPT HIM ALIVE SO LONG. SO YEAH. I DIDNT THINK IT WAS BAD, MAYBE A LITTLE WEIRD, BUT THATS THE ROBOTNIK FAMILY'S THING

SHADOW'S "BOO." ENOUGH SAID

DID SHADOW REALLY HAVE TO SLAM SONIC'S FACE INTO THE GLASS LIKE THAT LMAO

ALSO SHADOW KICKED TAILS!!! THE STREAK CONTINUES

IT IS NOT LOST ON ME THAT SONIC'S POV BEGINS AT HIS B-EARTH-DAY PARTY. FUN REFERENCE TO GENERATIONS

LIVE AND LEARN. STILL HAPPY. JUST WANTED TO SAY IT AGAIN. THE WHOLE DOUBLE SUPER SCENE AND THEIR OWN FIGHT AND THE FIGHT AGAINST THE BOTS. EVERYTHING. PERFECTION. SOBBED. THE SUN RISE AND LOVE STILL EXISTING EVEN AFTER THE SOURCE IS GONE LIKE THE LIGHT. STILL SOBBING

THE WAY THEY HAD ROBOTNIK LEFT ON THE STATION LEAVES ME TO BELIEVE THEY LEFT IT OPEN ENDED ON IF HE LIVED SO THAT JIM CARREY HAD THE OPTION TO COME BACK, AND THATS FINE BY ME :)

PISSED ON THE MOON AND THE BROADCAST?? AND IT WAS A BROADCAST FOR STONE SPECIFICALLY??? WE ARE SO FUCKING BACK

SHADOW'S INHIBITORS. YES. HIM FALLING TO EARTH, ALTHOUGH DIFFERENT FROM THE GAME. YES. YES. YES.

1ST POST CREDIT OF METAL SONIC AND THE MISS AMY ROSE. HELL YEAH. IM SO HYPED. METAL LOOKS ABSOLUTELY AMAZING AND AMY IS SO CUTE. WONDERING HOW THAT'LL LEAD INTO THE NEXT MOVIE THOUGH?? WHO KNOWS

2ND POST CREDIT WITH PARALLELS?? WITH SHADOW LANDING ON EARTH IN A FIELD ALL ALONE FOR A SECOND TIME, THIS TIME MAYBE AMNESIAC AND HAVING TO ADJUST TO EARTH AGAIN?? OH MY GOD?? I WAS SO HAPPY THEY DIDN'T END UP JUST KILLING HIM OFF, ALTHOUGH IT WOULDVE BEEN REALLY GOOD. IF HE HAD DIED THOUGH, HE PROBABLY WOULDVE GOTTEN A LAST WORD IN TO MARIA ANYWAY, BUT STILL GLAD HE'S IN IT TO WIN IT

PLUS SHADOW SPIN OFF SERIES!! AND NEXT MOVIE IN 2027. THANK YOU KEANU FOR MAKING OUR FIRST MOVIE DREAMS COME TRUE, THANK YOU SONIC MOVIE TEAM, THANK YOU ALL CAST

THIS WAS MY TED TALK THANK YOU FOR READING

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brain-rot-central · 9 months ago

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Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal, Ch. 4

A/N: Confrontation time. Here we go, y'all. I'm tagging this as borderline non-con for the ending. It steps into some murky territory that some may feel uncomfortable with. But hey, we're dealing with AA, after all. I'll also be linking a post reference within the text here; please click the link when you see it! It'll help you visualize a certain part. 🌝 Thank you all for the support thus far! I hope you enjoy reading ❤️

Rating: Explicit Word count: 7.7k Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Female Tav (named) Warnings: 18+, non-con (somewhat; literally touches the border of it), absolutely dubcon, mentions of pregnancy, mention of virginity loss, loss of innocence, manipulative behaviors, toxic relationship, discussions of death and murder, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, PiV sex, PiV sex while pregnant, blood drinking, mother-fuckin' vampire sex boiiiiiiiiii (sorry these tags are way too serious and I am not)

Summary: Tav arrives at the Crimson Palace, poised for a confrontation with Astarion. A delicate dance ensues.

♥ Previous Chapter ♥ Next Chapter ♥ Link to Ao3

It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust as she enters, but once they do, the sight before her nearly robs her of all speech and reason.

Illuminated by candelabras, Tav gasps in awe at the renovations to the interior of the manor. The once drab and outdated decor has been ripped out, heart and soul, and replaced with… white. So much white.

White walls, white marble flooring with golden accents, tall white marble columns. A generous crystal chandelier hangs from the ceiling, Tav looking up. Her vision comes down to settle on the plush red carpet lining the foyer, stretching through the hall and into the ballroom. The reflection of the candlelight shimmers along the marble floors. A sunset on the water… Tav notes offhandedly to herself.

A commemoration to their moment of triumph over the Absolute.

They all stood atop the dock watching the sun set over the horizon, sunlight glinting off the sea. The moment the tadpole vanished, Astarion became free. Truly and completely free.

A life regained, a future unwritten.

Reborn anew.

As she continues to drink in the new additions to the palace, Tav sees a figure approach from the corner of her eye. She turns her head to observe an older human woman making her way down the carpet, a smile set upon her slightly wrinkled face.

“Good evening, young miss,” the woman greets with a short bow. “Have you come to ask for an audience with Lord Ancunín?”

Tav remains silent for a moment as she quickly gives the woman a glance over. Gray hair with a time-worn face, albeit one that still shows the beauty she once beheld. She wears a simple long black dress with long sleeves, a white apron tied around her waist. Her shoes are black with a big metal buckle adorning the top of each. “I beg pardon for my current appearance,” the woman offers, giving the apron a quick pat down. “It isn’t often we have visitors this time in the evening.”

“No…” Tav begins, voice trailing off as she regroups her thoughts. “Not an audience, no. I’m…” Her chest thumps as she ponders their relationship. “...A friend of Astarion's. Is he home?”

“The young Master is in, yes; though I'm afraid he's currently occupied.” As if sensing Tav’s disappointment, the woman questions, “May I ask who you are?”

Tav nods her head respectfully. “I'm Tav.” The woman quirks a questioning brow. “Tavaria,” she adds quickly. “I was a traveling companion to Astarion over a year ago.”

And much more…

A spark shoots across the woman's vision and Tav recoils backward, readying herself.

“Ah!” the woman exclaims joyfully, “Lady Tavaria!” The woman bows earnestly. “Lord Ancunín extends his warmest greetings to you. Welcome to the Crimson Palace.”

With a smile, Tav softens her stance. She bows in return. “Thank you. It's… definitely different than before,” she comments while looking around the room.

“Ah, yes,” the woman agrees, “Master Astarion has renovated the manor to his distinct liking after the untimely passing of its prior occupant.”

“I see,” Tav states with a laugh. “This is all… very Astarion.” Elegant and refined.

All for show.

Continuing her observation of the room, a painting hanging on the middle wall catches Tav's eyes. She walks toward the painting, stopping just in front of it.

It's a black and white piece, looking to have been drawn in charcoal, depicting a man and woman sharing an intimate embrace. Both are naked, the woman's face obscured by her pose as she bows her back while offering her throat to the man. His head rests within her neck, his long black hair flowing down his back. The accompanying piece focuses solely on the man. The lustful look demonstrated in the man's half-lidded eyes as he looks up from the woman's throat has Tav shaking where she stands.

She's seen that look before. Not unlike how Astarion has looked at her.

The servant woman smiles, still standing in the same spot, clasping her hands together. “You must be exhausted, dearie,” she says, cutting through the silence. “Shall I direct you to your chambers?”

Tav blinks rapidly and turns her head to the woman. “I’m sorry, but did you say ‘my chambers?’” She shakes her head with a short laugh. “I don't live here.”

“But of course, my lady,” offers the servant. “Master Astarion has asked that we offer it as an option should you ever visit the manor.” She nods her head with another beatific smile. “There is no obligation. It is simply a kind gesture.” She bows, courteously, “My apologies for any offense I may have given, Lady Tavaria.”

Tav nods briefly, turning away from the woman as her mind races. He made me a bloody bedroom? She lifts her head and once again finds the picture on the wall. A chill travels up her neck as she locks eyes with the intense gaze of the man in the painting. Her breath hitches.

“Do you know when Astarion will be available?” Tav asks hurriedly, looking toward the woman.

The servant shakes her head. “I'm afraid I do not, though I can set you up in the study while you wait?” Smiling again, the woman walks across the room to a set of double doors on the far right. She opens them wide and gestures to Tav, welcoming her to enter.

Clutching her satchel, Tav walks through the threshold and into the office. It's rather standard when compared to the rest of the manor; dark green carpeting and wood panel walls. Multiple bookcases that are carved into the walls, holding a plethora of tomes. A couple glass display cases are near the large window on the far side of the room. The evening sunlight pours in from the wide window and onto the chaise lounge adjacent to it; a relaxing spot for one who wishes to bask in the sun.

The solid, dark wooden desk across from the double doors has a number of loose papers strewn about the top. An ornate wooden chair sits behind the desk, purple velvet upholstery with golden Damask patterns lining the back and seat. Two simple royal blue armchairs sit before the desk, signaling the office’s likely use for business gatherings.

“Please, make yourself at home,” the older woman says from behind as she enters the room. She walks over to the desk and gathers the documents into a single pile. “Would you care for something to drink, my lady? I'd be happy to bring you something after informing Lord Ancunín of your presence.”

Tav turns her head in acknowledgement of the older woman. “I'm quite well, thank you.” She furrows her brow. “Though, I didn't catch your name before.”

The woman freezes momentarily before bringing her hands to her cheeks. “Oh, my goodness!” she exclaims in embarrassment, bringing her hands to her cheeks. “Where are my manners today?” She quickly bows. “Magdalena, my lady. A true pleasure to make your acquaintance. My sincerest apologies.”

“It’s quite alright, Magdalena. No harm done,” Tav says with a calming wave of her hand. She walks toward the grand window and turns to face the older woman again. “Thank you for your hospitality thus far. I’ll settle myself in.”

With a nod of her head, Magdalena begins to exit the study. “Of course, Lady Tavaria. I’ll inform Master Astarion of your presence at once.” The doors close behind her with a soft click, and suddenly, Tav is alone.

She removes the satchel from around her chest, depositing the bag onto the chaise lounge. Her hat and scarf are next to join as she shakes out her hair. Tav tries to look through the frosted glass window without success. The opacity is too intense to make out anything more than muddled blobs. Turning around, she begins to walk the perimeter of the room, stopping in front of a large glass display case with a large book resting within. The cover of the book is adorned with skin, stitched into the pattern of a screaming face. An amethyst jewel sits within the face’s open mouth. Tav recalls the long nights and early mornings Astarion spent reasoning with this book until finally uncovering its secrets.

The Necromancy of Thay.

Of course he kept it.

She continues on, noting each small trinket that sits within the shelves of the grand bookcases. Slipping her hands behind her back, Tav peers over the wooden desk and observes the pile of documents on top. She pops her head up to briefly scan the room. Satisfied that she has clear advantage, she takes a hand to swipe over the letters.

There are various invitations to grand balls in distant kingdoms, letters of gratitude from high nobles, bills of sale… Tav’s eyes widen as she spots a familiar name amongst the many signatures.

With deepest admiration, Araj Oblodra

Tav reaches over and picks up the letter off the desk, holding it steady with both hands as she skims through the contents. From what she gathers, it sounds as if Araj has learned of Astarion’s new circumstances. She’s highly apologetic for her past behavior and would very much like an opportunity to show her sincerest gratitude. The letter goes on further to imply that they take the chance to get to know one another better, and perhaps they can even become allies.

Tav scoffs as she places the piece of paper back down on the desk.

She resumes her roaming when she settles on a small jewelry case on the top left of the desk. Walking around the edge, Tav fixates on the case, a startled gasp slips past her lips as she recognizes the jewelry within.

Resting atop a red velvet cushion lay a golden ring with a turquoise stone in its center. One half of a matching set of rings she had found during their journey through the Shadow-Cursed Lands. Tav was in possession of both rings for quite some time, going back and forth with herself about whether giving him one half would be too much.

She’d grown to like him; really-really like him, but she’d no idea if he felt the same. It wasn’t until the night of Astarion’s confession that Tav made her decision. Feeling the tension within his body as she wrapped her arms around his waist, yet fighting through his hesitation to return her embrace. It was enough to convince her that he truly did want to give them a try.

She presented the ring to him the following morning as they packed up camp.

“...A bit soon for a proposal, no?” quips Astarion, expression smug.

Tav stands before him. A ring with a golden aura lays within the palm of her hand, held out in silent offer. “N-no!” she stammers, the ghost of a blush tinting her cheeks. She averts her gaze as she says, “It's an enchanted ring.”

Astarion raises an eyebrow in question. “I can see that quite clearly, dear. But what does it do?”

Turning to look at him under her eyes, Tav replies shyly, “...It allows me to cast a special protection spell on you.” Her cheeks burn hot, her skin beginning to prickle.

His eyes darken as he leans forward. “Oh,” Astarion teases, voice velvet, “you wish to be my Knight?” He begins to move into her, hovering his lips just above hers. “You want to save a poor, innocent maiden such as I,” he coos. “Is that it, darling?”

They spent the majority of the following night rutting feverishly against one another, sharing a mutual need to scrub their underclothes in the river the morning after. From that point forward, each wore their respective ring around the fourth finger of the left hand.

Commotion outside the office brings Tav back to the present. She hears the voice of a woman, though not of the servant from earlier. Tav sneaks closer toward the doors, placing her ear to the wood to hopefully catch some of the conversation.

Still muffled, she thinks with a scowl. Drawing a deep breath in, Tav makes a quick split decision and grabs hold of the doorknob, twisting it gently. She feels the lock unlatch and pulls the door open just enough to allow for a small sliver of visibility. Tav strains against the door as she tries to find a better angle.

A tall elven woman with long blonde hair stands in the foyer exchanging words with Magdalena. Dressed in professional attire, she hands the maid a business card as they exchange pleasantries. Tav catches the woman's head beginning to turn toward the direction of the office and Tav quickly steps out of sight, holding her breath, heart flying within her chest. A few moments pass without incident before Tav slowly inches toward the crack in the door. She finds Magdalena bowing as the elf takes her leave of the manor.

There isn't much time to ponder who this mysterious woman is – the sound of footsteps marching along marble flooring fills the air.

“Good evening, Master,” greets Magdalena, kneeling in a curtsy.

“Good evening, my dear.” A man's voice, deep and smooth. Perfectly poised. Her stomach lurches; she knows that voice.

Tav holds her breath as talk continues just beyond the door. She quickly scans the room to determine which is closer – the blue armchair sitting before the desk, or the chaise lounge near the window.

As the man's footsteps draw closer to the door Tav bolts for the armchair, sitting promptly. She adjusts herself to appear as if she's been waiting patiently for his arrival all this time.

“Odd that the door is already open,” Tav hears the man comment from just beyond the door.

Shit.

A flash of embarrassing heat crawls up her neck. Magdalena mutters something to Astarion under her breath, but it's too quiet for Tav to make out. The doors suddenly swing open and Tav remains still, trying desperately to settle the overactive current that is her nerves.

She smells him first before she sees him – the signature scent of rosemary, bergamot and brandy encompassing the quaint office. “Thank you, Magdalena. Now, please, carry on,” he says smoothly.

Tav hears the man begin to approach from behind, placing the palms of his hands atop her shoulders. “I’m sure you've done a fine job at making our Lady feel welcome, hmm?” He squeezes her shoulders, Tav flinching beneath his grasp.

Tav tries desperately to resist the urge to look at him. When she closes her eyes she envisions the sharpness of his jaw behind her mind's eye, coupled with the smell of his cologne that’s currently assaulting her senses – she simply cannot look at him. If she does, she's going to fall.

She'll forget about the murders. Forget how angry she is that he dared come to her in a state of blood-crazed lust. That she carries a child he knows nothing about, that he can never know anything about.

If she looks at his face, so perfectly sculpted by the Gods themselves, she's going to forget every reason as to why she should stay far, far away from this man. Longing for nothing more than to fall into his arms for the rest of eternity.

“Y-yes,” Tav replies, nervously. “You've been ever so kind, Magdalena. Thank you.” Finally, she turns, eyes meeting with the servant woman. Tav feels the pale elf's searing gaze upon her skin as she deliberately looks past him, the hands on her shoulders relaxing.

“Wonderful,” he sings with a wave of his hand. “Now leave us, Magdalena.” He walks around Tav, coming to lean against the lip of the office desk. “The Lady and I have much to discuss,” he purrs, leaning over as he places a hand upon her jaw. Slowly he tilts her face upright, staring directly into her eyes. “Isn't that right, love?”

Within an instant, she feels faint. An unsettling warmth begins to spread. “Yes, Astarion,” Tav murmurs softly as his fingers slip down her neck. Her eyes flutter closed as the hand inevitably falls free of her. Astarion slowly leans back and upright, a hint of a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. He breaks eye contact to focus on Magdalena.

The servant woman bows, closing the doors behind her with an audible ‘thud’ as she takes her leave. The room is silent then. Tav’s heart pounds in her ears as she stares beyond Astarion again, focusing on the ring box at the corner of the desk. She only realizes how rapidly she's breathing as the sound reaches her ears.

“Are you alright, dear?” Astarion’s smooth voice cuts through. “You look as though you've seen a ghost.”

Raising her head, Tav meets his eyes. He stands before her, concern written across his features. For a split second, Tav sees him – the dashing rogue she fell in love with.

The way Astarion is knitting his brow, wide glassy eyes studying her. It's all very much like him.

“I’m fine,” she forces out, swallowing hard.

“Did Magdalena offend you?” Astarion asks urgently.

Tav shakes her head. “No, she truly has been pleasant.”

He leans over her again. Astarion drags a finger delicately up the side of her cheek. “Then why do you cry?”

Immediately Tav raises a hand to her opposite cheek. Moisture coats her fingertips as she finds a stray tear rolling down her cheek. She’s unsure when or why she’s begun to weep, wiping the tear away with the back of her hand. Tav pulls herself out of Astarion’s touch with a slight groan.

“I-I’m fine, really,” she insists. “I… came to see you.”

The vampire's expression softens as he tilts his head. “I haven't come to you in some time,” Astarion says, walking toward a carafe of wine sitting atop a metal cart near the window. “I apologize for that.” He speaks over his shoulder, pouring the wine out into a glass. He gestures with the carafe briefly to Tav; she shakes her head. “Although, I can't say I anticipated you showing up here.” Placing the carafe back down on the cart, Astarion turns, lips pulling into a smirk as he brings the wine glass to his lips. “Is it true then, what they say? Has absence made your heart grow fonder?”

Tav stands and turns to Astarion, giving him a full glance over. He wears a simple white dress shirt, the top few buttons undone revealing glimpses of his sculpted chest. His trousers are something she’s unfamiliar with – a type of woven cotton in a particular vertical design, and dyed blue. Indigo blue. He's wearing a black belt, threaded into loops within the pants around his hips. Tav imagines there's a fastener under the belt buckle, but also something else to help secure the garment. Something metal running down the front seam of the pants. Her eyes finish their course down his legs to find a simple pair of polished black loafers.

“...I'll take that as a yes,” Astarion comments with a quirk of his brow. He returns from across the room to once again take his place leaning against the desk in front of Tav, setting the wine glass down.

“N-no,” Tav blurts out, “I mean yes, but…” She feels the warmth of embarrassment crawl up her neck, nipping along her skin as it floods her face.

A hand rises to move her hair gently aside. Astarion leans forward and dips his head into the crook of her neck, planting chaste kisses along the tender flesh. “I missed you,” he whispers into her skin. Hot puffs of breath spread over her neck and Tav shudders. Almost instinctively, she raises her head to allow Astarion better access to her throat; her eyes flutter closed. His hand in her hair winds around the back of her head, gently guiding Tav’s head further to the side before falling to her hip.

Tav gasps as Astarion pulls their bodies flush against one another. His arousal has yet to awaken, though she can still feel the outline of him against her core. She groans as he rolls her hips into her again and again; slow, languid thrusts that have bolts of pleasure shooting up from between her thighs and spreading like wildfire through her body.

“Astarion…” Tav protests weakly, raising a hand to cover Astarion's on her hip. “I didn't come here for this.”

He purrs into her throat, gently nipping and teasing the skin around her scars with blunted teeth. “Oh, no? Are you sure?” Astarion pulls her into him again while imitating a piercing bite into her neck.

She moans, louder than she means to, finally feeling the rigidness of his cock firmly against her sex. Her head falls against his shoulder as he continues rolling his hips against her, hardly noticing Astarion moving his hand from her hip to her lower back. A spark of panic zaps through her addled mind as she realizes where this is heading.

“Y-yes, I'm sure,” she insists, somehow managing to pull herself out of Astarion's embrace. The room spins around her as she turns to face him. “There's something I wanted to discuss with you,” she says breathlessly, vision finally starting to clear.

His expression falls, replaced by smug dissatisfaction. “You came halfway across the city… just to talk?” asks Astarion, narrowing his eyes.

Tav nods her head in agreement. “Yes, it's something rather important.”

Astarion groans low in his throat, grabbing the glass of wine off the desk and walking toward the office window. He brings the crimson liquid to his lips and takes a strong sip. “You could have sent a damned pigeon, if that's all you wanted,” he snides over his shoulder.

“Not about this.” Tav feels her throat run dry as she speaks. Her lust has settled for now, replaced by the live wire of anticipation.

“About what?” Astarion growls defensively. He spins around, entire body leaning into his words. Like an animal being cornered.

Tav flinches reflexively. It’s rare that Astarion ever raises his voice to her, even during disagreements. She swallows, hardening her resolve. “Don’t use that tone with me.”

Astarion hisses through clenched teeth, taking another long drink from his wine glass. His face softens. “I'm sorry, love, but I'm having a very rough time ascertaining what could ever be so important that you felt the need to bring yourself here,” he gestures wildly to the floor below him, “to me, just to talk?”

She doesn't respond.

The tension eases from his form as he studies Tav, clearly shaken by his display. He sucks his teeth in defeat. “Oh, for the love of Shar’s cunt, fine,” he groans. “If you're going to look at me like that, then fine, I'll bite.” He comes to rest on the chaise lounge near the window, knees spread wide, his forearms resting over the tops of his thighs. “So, what can I do for you, my friend?”

Tav winces, looking down at her hands as she fidgets her fingers. He's being heavily sarcastic, though at least it's an invitation to continue. “...There was an article recently in the Gazette,” she begins, voice quivering. “That spoke of a murder within the sewers.”

Astarion scoffs. “Unsurprising for those cesspits, but do carry on.”

Her eyes shift momentarily to his face before falling back to the floor. “It's reported that there were five victims in total. Three had their throats slashed, while the other two…” her voice trails off as her throat tightens. Tav tries to swallow, but nothing goes down. Panic rises within her, adrenaline building.

“The other two what, dear?” Astarion's voice is dark, firm. He stands from his place on the lounge, walking slowly over to Tav. He stands before her, brows pulled together, his eyes cast down upon her face. A hand comes up to lift her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Tell me,” he demands.

She gasps, Tav finally saying with some hesitation, “They had fang marks… embedded in their throats. Resembling the scars I bear.” She blinks. “The ones you gave me,” she adds, quietly.

His eyes darken with malice as his face contorts. His grip on her chin tightens, forcibly lifting her head to the side to observe her branding. Astarion pulls in a full breath as he looks over her neck, mouth dropping open in an exasperated exhale.

“...Do you know anything about this?” Tav chokes out, eyelashes fluttering rapidly.

“And why would I know anything about that, hmm?” Astarion lowers his head into the crook of her neck, panting heavily against her skin. Tav shakes from their proximity. He then drags his lips up the side of her face, resting them against her ear. “I'm not the only monster lurking in the shadows,” he whispers.

The hand on her chin falls to her hip, guiding her gently toward the lip of the desk. “I know how you think of me, darling.” Tav sucks in a sharp breath as her backside bumps into the wood. “That I’m the big bad wolf coming to steal you away in the night.” Astarion buries his nose within her hair, inhaling deeply as he pulls their bodies flush together again.

“A-answer the question, Astarion,” Tav insists, her head beginning to cloud.

“Oh, but wouldn't you rather hear what I miss most about you, Tavaria?” he growls into her ear. “What memories play incessantly again and again in my mind?” Astarion grinds himself against her center again, coaxing a suggestive moan out of Tav. Her arms rise to encircle his neck, her resolve beginning to shatter.

“A-Astarion,” Tav whines desperately. “D-don’t…”

He drops his head to rest their foreheads together, lips practically touching. “I miss how you’d writhe in my lap as I'd drink from you,” Astarion confesses. He pulls at her bottom lip, suckling the flesh between his. “The way you flutter around my cock when you fall off the edge for me.” He kisses her more thoroughly this time, groaning softly into her mouth as Tav’s jaw slackens. “But, do you know what I miss above all else?” suggests Astarion, pulling back. He dips his head again into the nape of her neck, a hand rising to gently hold the opposite side of her face.

Tav grasps at the linen of his dress shirt, bunching the fabric within the palms of her hands. She's now rocking her hips in rhythm with his, a smoldering fire now roaring to life deep within her belly. Her body calls for him, and Tav wonders briefly if he can hear it.

The crazed beating of her heart? The lone song it sings only for him? The proof of their union that grows within?

“Your blood,” Astarion speaks against her skin. Suddenly he places his mouth over her scars and sucks voraciously, like a man starved. Tav moans, buckling at the knees momentarily. She grabs at his hair, threading her fingers deep against their roots for leverage. “Gods, there's nothing quite like the vintage of your blood,” he continues as he unlatches from her throat. The delicacy of her skin has given way to a mauve bloom; he smiles as he pulls away.

She shakes beneath him. If it weren't for the desk behind her, Tav would certainly collapse. He's trying to seduce her. Fuck her into submission – make her crave him so that she's more pliable, in whichever way he desires. These are his classic manipulation tactics, not unlike their humble beginnings.

“I know w-what you're doing, Astarion,” Tav says. “Don’t toy with me.”

He laughs – a quick condescending sound breaking free from his lips. “Oh, darling, you've been toying with me for months now. I'm very aware,” Astarion says with a smirk. He cranes his head. “Our dance is always the same – we fight, we kiss, and then I make the sweetest love to you as you weave your fingers between the very threading of my soul, ripping my heart free of my chest,” he adds with a sneer, pounding a fist over his heart.

Astarion pauses for a brief moment to stare at her. He pulls in a quick breath and his face softens. “And I let you, every time.” Tav gasps as the hand holding her face slides to her chin, fingers tracing the outline of her lips. “But you?” he continues, gesturing to a shelf on the wall behind them with a nod of his head, “You keep yours high on a shelf, completely out of reach. No matter how I clamor for it.”

Astarion releases her, hands entirely off her being as he steps back. “I lay myself bare for you every time. But you refuse to see it. Refuse to see me, beyond the glitz and glamor.” He knits his brow again, and Tav swears she sees a hint of moisture gather at the edges of his eyes. “Yet, I say nothing, because this is the only way you allow me to have you. And I’d rather have some of you than nothing at all.”

Silence blankets them both.

Has she been unfair to him? Cruel? Has she so sorely misjudged who he’s become? Tav shifts her gaze down to the floor as the questions mount. Maybe he isn’t this grand demon she’s characterized him to be. His talk of power and control after the ritual – perhaps it was a rush of emotions? The first taste of freedom after so many years of indentured servitude? He seems more settled now, not in so much of a rush to bend the entire city to his will.

Perhaps… she was wrong?

“So, may we skip straight to the finale?” says Astarion, distracting her from her thoughts, “Because I’m not quite sure how much more of this I can take.”

Her mouth hangs open, too stunned to speak. Tav looks up; she meets his eyes.

Maniacal laughter as he bathes in a glowing red aura of 7000 souls extinguished.

His face when the ritual was complete. The way he roared. How he laughed.

No, she's not wrong for mistrusting him. He's worse than a devil themselves.

They stare into one another's eyes, the tension swirling about the room thickening. Tav blinks; he still hasn't answered her question.

“You still haven't answered my question, Astarion.”

She stands firm.

He scoffs, turning his head toward the grand window. Astarion runs a hand over his face; he bites the top of a finger. “No,” he answers sternly, dropping the hand from his mouth. “I don't take particular interest in what happens within the bowels of this city.” He glances down at the fingernails of his closed fist, rubbing them across the front of his shirt. “My days of being a sewer rat are long gone, my dear.”

Tav winces. She's not entirely yet convinced. “Are you sure?”

Slowly, Astarion returns his attention to her. “Yes,” he growls low in this throat, “I am sure.” He tilts his head to the side as he lifts his brow. “Satisfied?”

Briefly she narrows her eyes, studying his face. Something about this… she's seen it before. He's pulled his face into an all-too-perfect expression. Not a muscle out of place.

“Yes, thank you,” she answers. Tav watches his liar’s mask slide off, replaced by a smug expression. He’s truly convinced he has her fooled.

How could she have ever loved such a horrid creature?

“Excellent,” Astarion hums as he clasps his hands. “Shall we return to more pressing matters?” His hands raise to caress the soft edges of her hips. He drops his face to her forehead, planting a soft, lingering kiss. Gently he rocks them together again.

He's turning this into his playground. His bargaining chip.

Sex. Lies. Manipulation.

He falls back on them every time. Seals every deal with the proposition of ‘a little death;’ wielding his body like a finely sharpened tool. In her case, if she doesn't play her cards carefully, Tav could very well be staring face to face with actual death.

“Of course,” she sings to him. “I wouldn't be truthful if I said I hadn't been thinking of this.” She smiles softly to him, in just the way she knows he likes – a smile that reaches her eyes. It's her turn to start dealing her hand.

And just as expected, Astarion folds.

Hands reach behind her knees, Astarion lifting her up and onto the top of the desk. Their kiss is hurried as he slots himself between her splayed thighs, his tongue entwining itself around hers. Astarion's hands travel up again, one landing on her waist while the other palms at a clothed breast. Tav arches her back, pushing her chest into his touch. She sighs as he continues massaging the tender mound, mewling into his mouth as he pulls teasingly at her nipple. Breaking the kiss, she rests her forehead against the bridge of his nose. Her chest heaves as she tries to regain her breath.

Astarion releases her breast and slides his hand up to push the strap of her dress off her shoulder. “Lay down,” he commands with a whisper. Tav hesitates at first, but then moves slowly. She gently lays back onto the surface of the desk; the wood is cold against her exposed skin, sending a chill through her. Astarion leans forward, planting open-mouthed kisses to her neck and the newly exposed area of her shoulder. He travels down, suckling softly at the swell of her breast. She writhes beneath his touch as his hair tickles her chest.

“Ai armiel telere maenen hir,” says Astarion, kissing down the expanse of her abdomen. Tav grasps at silver locks, threading her fingers through Astarion’s hair as he begins hiking up her dress.

“You’ve said that to me before,” she pants heavily while stealing a look between her legs. An involuntary twitch ripples through her as he kisses the inside of her thigh. Tav feels him smirk into her skin.

“And still you’ve yet to seek out its meaning,” comes his prompt response. Astarion hooks his fingers into the hem of her undergarments, Tav lifting her hips enough for him to slide the fabric down her legs. They hang off one ankle as he resumes lavishing attention to her.

She arches off the desk as he kisses her mound, dipping his head momentarily to swipe his tongue teasingly up her slit. “W-uh, what d-does it mean?” she questions in a moan.

Astarion hums as he kneels before her spread legs. “You'll just have to find out for yourself,” he teases. Holding her legs open, he runs the flat of his tongue up her center, stopping to lavish her sensitive bud. He wraps his lips around her clit, suckling gently as he brings a hand to her entrance.

“What are you-” Tav exclaims, clearly panicked. Two of his fingers prod over her entrance, Astarion lightly teasing the tips in and out. Their eyes connect and he finally breaches forward, his eyes now rolling back into his skull as he continues lapping at her cunt. He curls his fingers, jerking his hand back and forth to pass over the intimate spot within. Tav’s vision begins to fill with searing white heat, her body writhing under him. He's bringing her closer and closer to release, and fast. More quickly than ever before.

“Gods, you taste even better than I remember,” he moans softly, adding fuel to the ever-mounting fire within her belly. Astarion kisses her opposite thigh, continuing the assault with his fingers. “Thiramen,” he says softly, sensing her proximity to the precipice.

The fucking Elvish. He surely hasn't forgotten the effect it has on her.

“D-don’t… not fair…” Tav whines, looking down between her legs as she runs her hands through Astarion's hair. Her thighs quake, the coil in her lower belly winding tighter and tighter as it threatens to snap.

Astarion meets her gaze, tongue once again passing over her swollen clit. “Thiramen eath’she,” he says. “Let shan nesh tel’quiet, thiramen...”

Astarion curls his finger with just the right amount of finesse and suddenly Tav’s body ceases. She cries out, loud and wanton, her release spilling into the palm of his hand. Astarion smirks and continues passing his fingers over her spot, coaxing her through the intensity of her pleasure. Tav pulls her knees together and finally rolls away from his touch, too overstimulated to take any more. Her chest heaves as aftershocks of her release rock through her.

The vampire smiles as he stands up, wiping his face with the back of his hand. He begins undoing the buttons of his dress shirt, shrugging it off his shoulders. Opening her legs again, he leans over her. Tav’s face is flushed red, her eyes still closed as her mouth hangs open. He makes a quick mental note of her current state to call upon for later use. “So beautiful,” Astarion comments, snaking a hand down to the button of his trousers. With the deftness expected of a skilled rogue, he pops open the button and loosens the fastener.

Tav finally comes to, opening her eyes to meet his gaze. “Astarion…” she breathes, raking her nails over his bare chest. Looking between their bodies, she follows his hand as he reaches within the waistband of his underclothes, pulling them down his thighs. His cock springs free and Tav gasps. Pre-fluid gathers at the tip of him and her eyes flutter upward to meet his again, feeling heat rise to her cheeks.

“I'll stop, if you want,” Astarion whispers through kiss-swollen lips. Guiding his length to rest against her sex, he groans softly, resting his head against her forehead. Involuntarily twitches of his hips have his shaft sliding deliciously through her arousal. Both pull in a sharp breath when the head of his cock catches at her entrance, Tav’s body arching off the desk at the sensation.

Shaky hands rise to hold either side of his face, and Tav notices for the first time that evening how warm it is. A soft blush sits high on his face, across the tops of his cheeks. Astarion turns his head into her palm, planting gentle kisses. Any reservations begin to melt away at the gesture. “No,” she breathes, “it's fine. I want this.” Tav runs her thumb back and forth over his cheek. “Even if only for a little while.”

He nods, completely silent, then guides himself along her core. Her hands tangle within moonlit locks as he breeches her entrance. Her sudden pleasured moan is swallowed in a kiss, Astarion groaning out is own into her mouth as his length slips deeper, deeper, until he hits her end. Tav tastes the remnants of her release on his tongue; a bitter sweetness that tickles the back of her throat. An involuntary clenching of her walls around his cock as his tip kisses the end of her tunnel has Astarion moaning again, breaking their kiss. He buries his head within the crook of her neck, resting there for a brief moment as he bottoms out.

They lay still, Tav pressing a heated cheek to the side of his face. Inhaling deeply, she crosses her legs over the small of his back and pulls him impossibly closer. Astarion adjusts the angle of his hips and she gasps as the head of his cock pushes against her cervix again, slightly arching into his embrace. Gently he begins to rock his hips – short, teasing thrusts to test her readiness. He lavishes attention to her neck with languid kisses, suckling at the delicate skin.

This is… passionate. Intimate, Tav realizes. The words he cannot say aloud, that he's too afraid to say aloud, he'll express through this.

This is her Astarion. The man she fell in love with over a year ago. Here, like this, is him. Tav turns her face to plant reassuring kisses against his temple. “You can move, Astarion,” she tells him.

He doesn't lift his face, but she feels how he breathes against her skin. A hand comes up to thread within her hair, the other landing on her hip. He’s silent as he begins to move – pulling out before slowly plunging back in. They stay like this for a bit, Astarion rocking his hips into her core with added fevor. He glides smoothly as her arousal grows, Tav falling easily into their shared rhythm.

“Tav?”

She opens her eyes, unaware of having closed them. “Mmm?” she groans softly, mouth falling open in a silent gasp as he adjusts his angle.

“Do you trust me?”

It takes a moment, but she’s sure she hears a sort of sternness in his voice. Tav peels her head back to meet his eyes. They're wild – dark crimson pools that threaten to swallow her whole. Astarion breathes heavily through his nose, eyes cast down as he awaits an answer.

She opens her mouth to speak but the words catch in her throat. With a wandering eye she finds the ring laying next to her on the corner of the desk. Light gleams on the gold band, reflecting off the glass of encasement.

He kept the ring, she argues to herself. He kept his half of the rings.

Were he so terrible, would he have done that?

“I do,” Tav answers nervously, blinking rapidly.

“May I ask a favor?”

Astarion stills his movements. He holds himself up by his elbows, but not before guiding Tav to lay flat on the surface of the desk. She nods her head slowly as she looks up to him, inviting him to continue.

In an instant, her stomach twists.

He smiles.

“It's been so long since I've supped of you, darling,” Astarion says, voice smooth as velvet. “Would you be ever so kind to grant me another taste?”

A chill runs up her spine. The room is cold, suddenly so very cold. She's ripped violently from the benevolent illusion of the moment, finding herself face to face with the very creature of tales long past.

The innocent maidens.

They always come for the innocent maidens.

She was nowhere near innocent – not for many years. But a maiden? Yes, of this she was sure.

She never did tell Astarion, but he was her first as much as she was his. Her mind may have still been fractured, but somehow she had certainty of that one fact. The moment he breached her maidenhead was the beginning of everything. Bit by bit he carved out pieces of her. Took them, stole them for himself. More and more she gave, all in an effort to appease his ever-growing lust for power and control.

Astarion is, and was, a rolling thunderstorm – lightning fit to strike for no reason other than he can.

And now he's asking, again, for more.

An overwhelming urge to cry is building within her, but she won't. She chose this. To be here, with him. Like this. The consequences of her actions playing out in real time.

Her stomach twists again and she winces in pain. She understands his craving for blood well. The pregnancy has been kicking up old feelings; she believed them to be settled after the rejection of her Father. Can she really deny him his hunger?

Tav lifts her face to meet his gaze. Astarion is looking down at her with a blank expression. He silently awaits her answer.

“...D-do not turn me, Astarion,” comes her shaky response.

A deep rumble travels up his chest as he twists his face into a foreboding smile. “Of course not, my love,” he purrs, like a cat that finally got the cream. His hand twists within Tav’s hair, guiding her head upward to expose the long column of her throat. His eyes find her scars again and he sucks in a sharp breath, involuntarily jerking his hips into her core. Astarion’s arousal has flagged, though the promise of her blood has him twitching back to life.

Tav groans as she feels him swell within her, hooking her legs back around the small of his waist. Tears threaten at the corners of her eyes as she feels his gaze upon her. “Be gentle, please,” she pleads. Trembling hands rise to hold his shoulders as he moves into position, his mouth hovering above her neck.

Astarion peppers the underside of her jaw with kisses as he trails down her neck. “I would never dream of being anything but,” he speaks into her skin. He swipes his tongue over her mark, his mark, enclosing his mouth over the spot and suckling lightly. “You'll barely feel a thing.”

She could stop this. She should stop this. But instead, she lies in wait, bracing herself for the icy sting of his fangs piercing her flesh. Tav feels the points of his teeth press into her neck; she screws her eyes shut as they sink in, hands flying to the top of his head. She groans, gripping handfuls of silver hair.

He's right – the pain is only momentary, replaced by a familiar, comforting warmth. Astarion sucks in earnest, mouthfuls of her blood rushing down his throat. With his cock fully replenished, Astarion resumes a steady rhythm, thrusting in time with each pull of blood into his mouth. He groans against her skin.

He desires this, he desires me, Tav reassures herself. The edges of her vision are beginning to darken; a telltale sign that she's reaching her limit. “Astarion,” she says meekly, trying to alert him of her condition.

Yet, he continues to drink.

She pants against his forehead as she tries desperately to break free of his hold. Her strength is quickly fading, more of her vision fading with each pull of her blood into his mouth. Still his thrusts continue; a numbness starts to spread from her core throughout her limbs.

“Astarion…” Tav calls again, voice barely above a whisper.

The ceiling is the last thing she sees before she closes her eyes. Even behind her closed lids the room spins. One hand slips from the top of Astarion's head and onto the table, followed shortly by the other.

As she slips closer and closer into unconsciousness, Tav makes peace with the fact that she chose this. She knew this was a possibility. She knew he desired this, and she gave it to him. Willing.

He outplayed her.

A single thought races across her mind before she fades, of the artwork in the foyer.

The vampire bites the woman he desires.

Finally, Tav succumbs to the dark.

Astarion continues to drink.

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A/N: PHEW. Well. The art I referenced above I believe is a scene from a manga called "Blood Sucker," but I couldn't find an actual panel depicting the image above, even with reverse image searching. If anyone can find the actual reference, please feel free to inform me and I'll adjust the link. Translations for the Elvish are as followed: Ai armiel telere maenen hir - "You hold my heart forever" Thiramen - "I love you/my love" when referring to soulmates Thiramen eath’she - "I love you forever," again, in the context of soulmates Let shan nesh tel’quiet, thiramen - "Let go for me, my love," Sources are here & here

Hope you had fun reading!!

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