#the fallen sentries | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thebenjiblackwoodexpress · 3 months

Text

Love is like the rose thorn

𝔗𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔨𝔣𝔲𝔩 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔡𝔬𝔫’𝔱 𝔰𝔢𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔨𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔪𝔢 ℑ 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲, ℑ’𝔪 𝔰𝔬𝔯𝔯𝔶

Description: The last thing Y/N expected after quite literally falling down the rabbit hole was to wake up in a world where dragons and knights exist. Throw in an incorrigible but undeniably handsome boy called Benjicot Blackwood who won't stop following Y/N around and we have ourselves a regular ol' fairytale.

Disclaimer: Victoria here to interrupt my regularly scheduled Aeron Bracken content with a Benjicot oneshot. This doesn't have any connection with Elizabeth's masterpiece The Blackwood Knight but is an attempt to fulfill a request from @ithilwen-blackwood for a modern reader finding themselves in Westeros. I'm sorry it doesn't match the request exactly as the reader isn't a dragon rider in this.

Loosely based on Beauty & The Beast. There's now a companion Cinderella retelling for Aeron Bracken called Star Crossed

Warnings: swearing, threat of violence, female reader, world jumping reader, Frenemies to lovers vibes, lengthy (I got carried away whoops), Beauty & The Beast vibes.

Y/N woke with a jolt. Dazed, her eyes frantically tried to take in her surroundings. She was disturbed to find she was not in her own bed, but lying on the cold hard ground with ferns lightly tickling her face. She seemed to have fallen asleep in the middle of nowhere, not recognising any land marks, just the vast expanse of green fields, rocky paths and off in the distance the treeline of nearby woodland. She remembered she'd been hiking and come across a strange arch covered in interweaving vines and blood red roses so dark they were almost black. She had felt inexplicably drawn to the arch that seemed to crackle with magic. But she knew that was ridiculous, there was no such thing. And yet she found herself walking towards it as if pulled by some invisible force until she stepped through it...and was met with darkness.

Y/N was pulled back to the present by an intense feeling of panic. None of this made any sense. Nonetheless her survival instincts had kicked in and she knew she couldn't just linger out in the open, she had to find help. So she started forward, opting to avoid the eery treeline of the woods, hoping that she'd eventually come across some semblance of civilisation, even better someone who could help her make sense of what had happened to her.

Y/N felt like she'd been walking for hours, perhaps she had, her bones wearied with exertion. A shining ray of hope came in the form of a beautiful man sat atop a precarious pile of stones. He struck a princely figure, dressed in clothes that looked straight out of a medieval fair, a fake sword hanging from a belt at his hips. His soft brown hair, lanky limbs, and dimples gave him a boyish charm. But his broad shoulders were suggestive of a strong build and the small scar on his nose gave her the impression he'd once broken it, perhaps in a fight. Eyes suddenly snapping to hers, his features rearranged themselves into a cocky smirk and she suddenly felt quite strongly that the man in front of her was quietly dangerous.

Unfolding himself from his slouched position, almost that of a beleaguered sentry, he jauntily approached her. Although he did stay at a respectful distance of a few paces. "Good day my lady, I have not seen you around these parts before. And I admit I do not recognise the colours of your house. From where do you hail?" Y/N found herself scoffing at his roguish tone and bizarre speech pattern. "From where do I hail? Are you heading to an expo or something. What's with the cosplay and fake sword?" The man's handsome features pulled into a slight frown of confusion. It lasted a mere moment before his eyes were oncemore alight with a mischievous glimmer that Y/N found equal parts frightening and exciting.

"Do you jest my lady? I bear the sigil and colours of House Blackwood as is my prerogrative as Lord of Raventree Hall." He bowed his head to her, a hand to his heart. Y/n had to admire his commitment to his costume but it was starting to grate on her nerves that he seemed to talk in riddles when she was desperate for answers. "Right, sure you are. Could you please point me in the direction of the nearest town?" Y/n asked awkwardly, hoping to try her luck with someone not dressed like a knight. "You do not know where you are my lady?"

"Not exactly. Not at all if I'm being honest. I sort of just walked through an arch and woke up in a field and here I am. Where exactly is here?" The man's eyebrows shot up in surprise, and Y/N detected a trace of concern as his eyes appeared to soften. "You tell a strange tale my lady, and I should be pleased to assist you in any way I can. We are in the heart of the Riverlands, in Blackwood land." Y/N felt a fresh surge of panic rise up within her chest as she struggled to understand any of the unfamiliar words the man in front of her had just laced together. Had she somehow time travelled and that was the cause of their mutual confusion? Trying to maintain a semblance of calm she took a deepth breath through her nose. "Can you tell me what the year is?"

The man's lips turned up in an amused smile. "This close to the borders of Bracken land it depends who you ask. In the eyes of House Blackwood it is the first year of the reign of the true Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, the 129th year after Aegon the conqueror's conquest." Y/N let out a high pitched squeek, the panic that had settled uncomfortably in her stomach finally bubbling up to breaking point as she began to realise she may be farther from home than she'd first realised. The young man seemed positively alarmed at her outburst, his eyes widening as she started taking small steps away from him all the while trying to regulate her frantic breathing. His brow furrowing, he started to close the small distance between them, a placating hand outstretched as if he expected her to run from him.

"My lady, I can see that you are distressed. If I have done or said something to alarm you, I assure you it was not my intention." Y/N told herself to snap out of it. This was likely all some big misunderstanding. That or the stricken looking man in front of her was toying with her. The idea that he would do such a thing when she was so clearly lost, confused, and vulnerable incensed her. Glaring at him she wordlessly turned on her heels to walk away from him at break neck speed. Hearing footsteps she glanced behind her to see him following at a distance. "Are you following me?" "Yes" He said simply as if it was perfectly obvious that he should. "Brazen bastard" she mumbled, unfortunately not low enough for him to miss. A look of surprise as he registered her insult quickly shifted to one of bemusement before Y/N could even begin to worry about him reacting badly. "That may be, but I'd rather not see you walk into a den of savages. And that is the direction you're going in."

Y/n was quite frankly sick of his cryptic messages at this point. Stopping in her tracks to face him, the young man immediately halted, mirroring her movements. She fixed him with a stern glare. "I don't know what you're playing at but it isn't funny. I have no idea what you're talking about. And I'm not a lady so you can drop the act."

Turning so quickly she was sure her hair must have whipped him in the face she continued on the path she'd chosen. If he wanted to drop mysterious messages of foreboding without telling her anything concrete she'd just as well ignore him. That turned out to be difficult as he resumed following her wordlessly. Y/N broke the silence a while later. "Why are you still following me? I thought you said I was going the wrong way. Headed towards savages as you put it?" Seemingly delighted that she'd finally looked at him and was willingly speaking to him he shot her a dazzling smile that almost softened her resolve to be irritated with him. "To protect you of course. I am a knight and you are a lady in distress. The course you set is a dangerous one but if you choose to walk it then I shall walk it with you." His smile did not match the promise of life-threatening danger he was suggesting.

"I can take care of myself and since I can't understand half of what you're saying I'm not sure I really believe you." His smile growing wider, the young man took a couple of steps towards Y/N to close the distance between between them before gently taking her hand and planting a kiss to her knuckles. "I don't doubt it fair lady, you seem seem have a will of steel but I'd rather not risk your safety if its all the same to you." Momentarily at a loss for words at his actions, Y/N quickly quashed the traitorous fluttering of her heart and cleared her throat as she pulled her hands from his and attempted to put him down gently. "That's quite enough of that. Look, I appreciate your concern... " she stopped realising she didn't know his name and looked up at him questioning. "Benjicot Blackwood. Might I Iearn the name of the fair lady in return?" Ignoring his question, Y/N went on "but there's really no need to worry. I'll be just fine on my own."

Once again Y/N turned from him and continued to walk towards whatever mythical danger the man had portended. When she didn't hear his footfalls following her immediately a smile of self-satisfaction ghosted onto her face before she realised she was almost dissapointed. That was until she heard them at a farther distance this time. Glancing behind her but this time not stopping she shouted back to him. "Are you still following me" He had to shout too for her to hear him though there was mirth in his tone "yes my lady, you still seem dead set on barrelling head first into danger. And you have not yet given me your name" he responded playfully. Y/N groaned audibly "Why can't you go bother some other poor girl and leave me alone?" Y/N fumed to hear him laugh. "Because then, fair one, I might actually have to bother, as you say, ladies who like my company. And where would be the fun in that when I have you to shout at me?"

Y/n gaped at him in disbelief, this man could not be serious. Shaking her head at him, she decided to just go back to ignoring him. Perhaps he'd get bored of following her or, if she was really lucky, fall into a ditch. They walked a little while longer before an arm suddenly shot out around her waist, the young man having hastened his steps to step in front of her. "A step further and we're in Bracken territory. I beseech you to turn back with me. I will take you to my halls and we can discuss your predicament further." Y/N felt a growing sense of fear at Benjicot's seriousness.

Perhaps she'd been too quick to write his warnings off. No sooner had she thought this than she heard approaching footsteps and spotted four other men dressed just like him, except for the golden colour of their cloaks where his was a deep red. She didn't like the angry looks on their faces and was ashamed to find herself cowering slightly. Taking in her fright the young man shot around and positioned himself more fully in front of her, arm lightly outstretched behind him as if to shield her.

"Get back from the border Blackwood, you're in breech of the assize."

"Fuck the assize. This is Blackwood land and you know it." Y/N didn't have a clue what the two men were arguing about as insults flew back and forth, but her ears perked up as the man closest to her red knight levied the next one at her. "Take her with you. Is she fucking stupid, or is she so bold to think she can waltz around wherever she likes? Typical Blackwood bitch." The Lord of Raventree as he'd called himself earlier snarled out a reply, stepping forward to shove the golden Knight harshly in the chest. "You craven bastard. You dare insult a lady under my protection?" Y/N should have been panicking at the impending threat of violence, but her anger at the man's insults, so blatantly laced with misogyny, rose up so fiercely that she heard her own voice among the din before she could stop it. "Don't you dare call me a bitch. Do you kiss your mother with that mouth? I don't know anything about an assize or why you're so obsessed with rocks and not crossing them but you can't just go around calling people names. Have some respect."

Seemingly stunned into silence, perhaps not expecting her to challenge him so brazenly, the golden Knight just stared at her in stony silence for a few moments before ignoring her entirely and turning back to her red knight. "Control your woman Blackwood." Through gritted teeth, Benjicot bit back "Speak another word about the lady and there will be violence." The golden Knight drew his sword, pointing directly at her red knight's chest. Ok, so not a fake sword then. Surprising her by laughing tauntingly, Benjicot walked right up to the tip of the sword. "You wouldn't dare." Y/N told herself she shouldn't find his passionate defence of her attractive, but in the current circumstances she felt she could be forgiven for being irrational. "Come on, just leave it" one of the other golden knights piped up. After a tense few moments the golden cloaked man lowered his sword and and stalked away, followed by his friends.

Shoulders tense, her defender did not turn his back to the knights until they were out of sight before turning around to look at her, eyes immediately softening from the aggressive glare he'd just been fronting. "Are you alright my lady? I had hoped to avoid such an interaction." Y/N flip flopped between finding his evident concern sweet and being irritated that he seemed to think this was her fault for not listening to him. "You think I'm to blame then? You're the one who kept dropping veiled hints about my impending doom and refusing to clarify what you meant!" Y/N could not for the life of her understand why the infuriating man in front of her was smiling at her. "Why are you smiling at me? Do you enjoy fighting with me?" "You mistake me my lady. I am merely gratified to know that you are well enough to shout at me. I was concerned that you would be shaken and frightened."

When Y/N didn't respond, mouth opening and closing trying to find a response, Benjicot assumed that she must be in some state of shock after all. "Please allow me to take you to Raventree. It would go against my conscience to leave a lady wandering about the riverlands alone when you seem so confused." With that he held his arm out for her to take, an antiquated gesture that seemed to confirm to Y/N she was really not in kansas anymore. Weighing her options, she considered that Benjicot Blackwood had teased her and followed her, but he had not harmed her and had in fact protected her when he could have walked away. Making her decision, she lightly placed her arm on his. "My name is Y/N." Benjicot grinned at her as if she had given him a star rather than her name, placing his other hand atop hers as it rested on his arm and began directing them in the opposite direction "a beautiful name for a beautiful lady." Blushing fiercely with embarrassment, Y/N squeeked out a "Thank you."

Benjicot must have been chasing Y/N around the Riverlands for quite some time, as it took them at least an hour to reach the impressive fortress he called Raventree Hall.

Once she'd gotten over the initial shock of realising she had in fact jumped from her world into another, Y/N actually found herself settling in to life in Westeros. It had taken some convincing for Benjicot to believe her story and stop assuming she was mildly insane, but he had all the while insisted she stay with him in Raventree Hall, gifting her with her own room and beautiful gowns in the colours of House Blackwood. She'd only had her hiking gear on when she was unceremoniously plucked from her world into his, and she sought to avoid similar looks of curiosity to the one he'd shot her when they first met. Y/N grew to love Raventree and the people who lived there.

Benjicot had practically forced his friendship open her and as incorrigible and cocky as he could be, encouraging a healthy back and forth banter between them at all times, she could not be anything but grateful for it. Each day he would show her something new, always hoping to amuse her, whether it be a new room to explore in his ancestral halls, a book he thought she might like, or the rose garden tucked away in the grounds, which had become her favourite haunt.

The roses reminded Y/N of Beauty and the Beast, her favourite fairytale from back home which Benjicot had made her tell at least a hundred times, listening just as attentively, a hand cupping his chin and eyes never leaving hers each time. She supposed that her own situation did somewhat resemble her favourite tale, down to her very own castle and beast. Benjicot had always been a gentleman with her, but she had heard the stories of Bloody Ben whispered by his servants and seen first hand his willingness to resort to violence to protect her when they first met.

More often than not it was Benjicot, or Benji as he seemed to insist only she call him, who came to her, always seeking out her opinions. But today it was Y/N seeking him out. She'd been growing more and more homesick of late and wanted to be with the one person she felt could truly understand, eventually finding him in the armoury, wielding his sword in different formations. Hoping to sneak up on him, and having taken fencing lessons herself back in her own world, she quietly tiptoed over to the swords. Grabbing the lightest one she could she walked soundlessly back over to him before he suddenly turned and clashed his sword against hers. "Sorry Y/N but you should know that I'd recognise your footfalls anywhere and you're not as quiet as you think."

"Rude" she huffed back, sliding her sword down his and shoving him away from her. He grinned at the challenge. "You didn't mention you'd handled a sword before." "Only a little."

He parried a fresh blow from her, easily blocking the next.

"I can see that" He teased, earning a snarl from her though it did not have any true aggression behind it. He continued to block her blows, but seemed reluctant to attack and she used this reticence against him to lunge and place her sword close enough to his neck to refute any delusions he had about her lack of skill. But he was prepared for this and swung his sword upwards to block her again, before taking hold of her waist and spinning her around, her back hitting his chest. His sword hand wove around around her shoulders, as he kept the blade at a distance from her body, while Benji gently trailed his other hand down the side of her bodice, his touch feather light and searing all at once. He leant down to whisper in her ear "You left yourself open here when you lunged."

Y/N had always found Benjicot attractive, even when he teased and irritated her, but she'd tried to quash any romantic feelings for him so as not to ruin their friendship. But his closeness to her now, her body pressed against his, was intoxicating and she struggled to think coherently. Suddenly releasing her, Benjicot smiled widely and bowed. "I shall see you later my lady, I am off to attend to my duties." Throwing his sword carelessly over his shoulder, he turned and exited the armoury, leaving Y/N to stew over the unwelcome feelings their impromptu sword fight had brought to the fore.

Later that night, Y/n could not help the wave of sadness that threatened to crush her under the weight of it from sending her into a spiral of homesickness. Soft sniffles and sobs echoed about the room as she tried to square the new life she now loved with her feelings of guilt over leaving her family behind. The rattling of her bedroom door knob sent her flying from her bed in alarm as she quickly grabbed a small blade form the wooden desk and hurried to conceal herself behind the door. As the intruder entered she wildly swung around to jab the point of her dagger into their ribcage. The intruder stiffened and she looked up to se that it was just Benji, whose brow was quirked up in amusement. How could he act so nonchalant about her nearly spearing him like a fish?

"What's so funny? I nearly gutted you!"

"With a letter opener?" She looked down to find that what she'd thought was a dagger was indeed just a letter opener, not likely to do much damage. She forced out a laugh that ended up sounding much more like a sob, and Benji's face immediately fell once he took in her tearstained appearance fully. Y/N couldn't bear his look of concern, certain it would just make her cry harder and so she broke the silence. "What brings you to my room at this time of night anyway to give me the opportunity to spear you in the first place?" She'd hoped to diffuse the tension and make him laugh but his expression remained just as serious, eyes filled with worry. "I heard you crying."

"Oh." He had come to check that she was OK. His gentle concern for her sent forth a fresh wave of tears and when Benji opened his arms to her she immediately fell into them, her forehead hitting his chest as his hand came up to stroke her hair in a comforting gesture. "What ails you my lady. Whatever you need I will see it done."

His kindness only made her crying worse and he kissed her sweetly on the crown of her head, rubbing soothing circles along her spine. "I miss my family and my home." Benji stiffened as if he were expecting a blow but he let her continue. "And mostly I feel guilty that I'm not sure I even want to go home. Truthfully I love Raventree and your friendship has meant everything to me."

Benji took hold of Y/N's elbows and lightly pushed her away from his chest so he could look into her eyes. "It gladdens my heart to hear that you feel this way about my home. I should like you to consider it your home too. You will always have a place here with me." Kissing her forehead tenderly, he held Y/N's head against his heart again as if she were made of glass or something truly precious to him he was scared to break. Little did she know how true this was.

Weeks later, Y/N found that her homesickness had begun to dissipate to a dull ache. But her feelings for Benji had grown and spread like the vines of the rose bushes she loved so much, wild and uncontainable. It was difficult to even be in his presence without wanting him to touch her and hold her as he had the night he'd found her crying.

Sitting with her in what he'd come to refer to as her rose garden, he kept shooting furtive glances at her as she read from a tome on his house history. "Why are you staring at me?" "I'm not?" "Try that again without the question mark"

Benjicot surprised her, shifting in his spot next to her to turn to her fully, their knees touching, before taking both of her hands in his. "I have not been able to look away from you for more than a few moments ever since I first laid eyes on you. I must admit that I am desperately in love with you and wondered if, by some chance of fate, you might feel the same way?"

Y/N's jaw fell open in shock. " You love me?"

He squeezed her hands "most ardently."

Her mind spinning, she threw caution to the wind and flung her arms around Benji's shoulders to kiss him. He reacted instantly, pulling her as close towards him as possible until she was in his lap, his hands grasping at her hips to pull her closer still as if he couldn't believe she was real.

Breaking the kiss for oxygen, Benji began to trail a line of kisses down Y/N's neck, leaving her breathless, one hand pressing her back closer to him. "I wish you to be my wife, to become the Lady of Raventree Hall and House Blackwood."

Butterflies erupted in her stomach.

"Future Lady Blackwood am I?"

"Should you permit it, I will protect you, cherish you, and love you for the remainder of my days or for as long as you will allow. I humbly offer myself to you as your husband, with all the love I possess for you."

"And what if I disagree with you and challenge you. What if we argue constantly?"

"We do not argue my love, you scold me and I listen" He shot back with a playful grin.

"And if I decide to change all the tapestries pink?"

Benji sighed, tilting his head to her eye level so she could read the sincerity in his eyes.

"I want all of you, including your thoughts and opinions. They're what made me fall in love with you. I want you to share them with me even if they challenge mine, especially then, even when I hold you in my arms. As to the tapestries, I'm rather partial to my house colours but I would try to bear the change if it would please you."

Y/N giggled at that before planting a tender kiss to his lips. "Then I consent to be be your wife and Lady. You can't take it back though. You're stuck with me now."

Benji pressed their foreheads together, cupping the sides of her face to brush her lips with his. "And how grateful I am for it." He spoke against them before pressing his lips to hers in a kiss he hoped expressed his undying devotion to his lady.

A face I'd go to war for. The title is based on the line 'love is like the wild rose-briar' from an Emily Bronte poem I love called Love and Friendship.

#house of the dragon #house of the dragon x reader #benjicot blackwood #davos blackwood #benjicot blackwood x reader #house blackwood #benjicot blackwood oneshot #benjicot blackwood imagine

286 notes · View notes

kiss-me-cill-me · 9 months

Text

It's Always the Quiet Ones

Pairing: Emmett x Reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Summary: After spending a few days holed up with a rugged stranger, you finally can't take the tension anymore. Things get a little more complicated when he walks in on you.

Warnings: Smut, masturbation (f), Emmett walking in on you, quiet sex, biting, begging, one fleeting thought about breeding, some fluff, light angst

A/N: Emmett was honestly the start of my whole descent into Cillian Murphy madness, so I'm really searching for my people with this one lol. He's my sad, scraggly boyfriend and I love him <3

***Please read the warnings before continuing. Minors DNI***

It’s strangely beautiful, in an overgrown way. Vines hang off of the chain-link fence as you push carefully through the jagged gap, just big enough for a person to pass through. The long grass reaches well above your ankles, and plants seem to spill out from the negative space of every structure littering the lawn.

The air has a cool, muted hue; it looks like rain later. Eyeing the building in front of you, you decide to stop here for the night.

One step, and then a pause. Something feather-light brushes against your ankle. You look down to see a tripwire, and back away slowly in the direction you came. Interesting. It has been a long time since you’ve seen anyone else alive out here. Though the owner of the tripwire could be long gone.

You take a second look at your surroundings, this time scanning for any sign of a human presence. It’s quiet, but of course, everywhere is quiet now. Delicately stepping over the tripwire, you continue on your path toward the large building. Its looming, brick facade is featureless except for long stalks of ivy tumbling from broken windows, and as you advance you can’t help but feel that the building is watching. The sensation of eyes on you is made even more unnerving in the silence.

You pick your way across the lawn, careful to avoid shards of broken glass and open bear traps. This abandoned factory is quite the fortress, if anyone actually lives here. You reach the end of the grass, and step through a huge, weathered green door, left open on probably-ancient and squeaky hinges. The air here smells of cobwebs and must.

Inside, dripping water echoes faintly, somewhere from deeper inside the building. It’s cold by the open door, and it doesn’t get any warmer as you walk down the hallway, still keeping a careful eye out for anything waiting to meet you.

You turn a corner, and there he is, unexpected. Unexpected to you at least; the man in front of you seems quite prepared as he levels the sights of his rifle.

Instinctively, your hands fly up. The man’s face is covered, except for his eyes, which look to be the only part of him that’s still alive. Even his handling of the gun seems driven by muscle memory, as if he’s a sentry with no programming beyond, simply: “Defend.” You don’t breathe as he looks you over; relaxes a bit as he realizes you’re a lone woman, unarmed except for the hunting knife at your belt. He doesn’t look friendly, exactly - it’s hard to when you’re pointing a rifle in someone’s face. But he also doesn’t look like he really wants to hurt you. More that he just wishes you weren’t here in the first place.

As a show of good faith, you point to your knife, and then to the floor. You nod at him, questioning. He nods back. Slowly, you lower your hands to your belt and unclip the knife. The faintest click of steel against concrete is audible as you lower it to the ground. Straightening, you point to the man across from you; his gun.

Now you.

Just as slowly, the man lowers his weapon to his side. You point at your knife on the floor, expectantly.

Go on…

He’s reluctant, but after a moment of tense silence, his gun joins your knife on the ground.

You smile; hope that you look thankful and not threatening, like he’s just fallen squarely into a trap you’ve set for him.

Thank you, you mouth.

Beneath the bandana that covers his mouth and the hat that shadows his face, the man’s expression is impossible to read. His eyes, piercing blue even as they regard you more casually, move over your whole body once again. Checking you for weapons, though you don’t have anything else on you. When he’s done, you take a gentle step toward him.

Stop.

The man’s right hand flies out in front of him, fingers splayed. You freeze in your tracks. Desperately, you want to tell him that you mean no harm. You just want a place to stay for the night. There’s a cold fear soaking in the corners of his body; you can feel it all the way from here. You hold out your own hands, palms forward, telling him to stay calm. Nobody's going to get hurt. Keeping one hand in front of you, you reach around to your back pocket, intending to pull out the pad of paper you keep on you for the rare occasions you need it to communicate with someone.

Suddenly, your back is against the wall. There’s a strong hand clamped around your wrist; an arm pressed flat against your chest, restraining you. And the man’s face is inches away from your own, his eyes wild with panic.

The dust settles around you, and the echo of your body being slammed on the bricks fades away. You drop what’s in your hand and nudge your head to point at the pad and pencil, showing him. The man’s eyes roll into the back of his head when he realizes - maybe exasperation at you, or maybe frustration at himself for reacting so recklessly. He starts to move away from you-

Click.

A familiar sound comes from just outside the factory door. It’s one of them.

Shit.

The man mutters something, barely audible through the bandana, and then he’s running. Deeper and deeper into the building, his hand in a vice grip around your wrist, pulling you along after him. You feel like a mess of awkward limbs and flapping skirts as you try to keep up. The thing behind you is in the building now, crashing carelessly through the hallways in its pursuit. Your weapons are both forgotten - not that they would be any more useful here than they are back on the ground where you left them.

Ahead, the man has let go of your wrist and is now running at a dead sprint, trusting you to either keep up or be killed. He clearly has somewhere he’s going. You blindly follow him, out of any other options and brain too high on adrenaline to think about where he’s taking you. The hallway has opened out into a room, and now you’re weaving through huge pipes and tanks. Your lungs are about to explode. You can’t keep up with-

Suddenly, the man veers sharply to the left and smoothly jumps into a metal structure. Just like that, he’s gone. Nothing to do but follow. You breathe deep and hold it to stop from screaming as you jump in after him.

Dust. It’s in your throat and your eyes as you fall into whatever is piled at the bottom of the drop. You need to cough, but you fight hard not to. Before you can get your bearings, you’re yanked to your feet and thrust in a direction that seems random, until you reach the lip of the metal tank. The man all but throws you inside even as he’s climbing in after you, and then the heavy metal door is shut and the only sound is of two people breathing.

He tears off his hat and bandana. You watch, mesmerized, as the man’s chest rises and falls, struggling to push enough air into his lungs. Then, he utters the first word you’ve heard him say clearly.

“Fuck.”

The man’s name is Emmett. This you learn as you sit, huddled together but separate, in his makeshift bunker.

You also learn that he doesn’t want you here.

“Please.”

Your voice feels tight and painful; jagged around the edges from disuse. It catches sharply in your throat.

“No,” he replies.

The timer on his watch goes off, and Emmett opens the door. His chest is still heaving.

You both step out, listening carefully for any noise above you. The creature, thankfully, seems to have moved on. Emmett stands a little straighter as he turns to face you.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t stay here.” His voice is a whisper, and has the same rusty, unused quality as your own.

“I just need a place for one night.”

You beg with your eyes, and Emmett turns away. He won’t allow himself to be swayed by you.

Later, when it’s - almost- sure to be safe, the two of you go together to collect your discarded weapons. The sky outside has turned an awful gray, and sheets of rain pound into the earth. The sound is louder than anything you’ve heard in months, and the wind howls from all directions.

Emmett sighs heavily, though he makes no sound. He looks up, seeming to question who would have the audacity to do this, and then turns to you.

One. Night. he mouths, holding up a finger for emphasis.

He looks at you seriously, and you nod seriously in return. You follow him back down to the lower level, and settle in on opposite sides of the room.

One night, of course, turns into two, and then three. It’s nice to have company. Even Emmett seems to soften a little as the days go on. He doesn’t mention anything about you leaving after that first night, and you take care not to prompt him to. Emmett teaches you how to hide in the huge metal tank; explains the timer and watches you try it with your own alarm a few times to make sure you can do so safely. You busy yourself with mending a few things - broken backpack straps and holes in his old sweaters. He thanks you softly as you hand them back to him.

You catch Emmett looking at you a few times, barely getting a glimpse of the strange expression on his face before he turns away. You catch yourself looking at him too. It’s been so long since you’ve seen another person, but even if it hadn’t been, there’s something magnetic about him. His eyes are like spots of fresh ice against his weathered face.

“I have something,” you say, over the meager dinner you’re sharing.

You go to your backpack and rustle around, moving slow so as not to make any noise. Finally, you pull out a bottle, its dark glass glowing faintly in the dim light.

“Cream soda,” you whisper, with all the thrill of a child showing off an ill-gotten prize from her mother’s cupboard.

The bottle hisses as you open it, and you both perk up, quickly alert for any sound of a threat above you. Safe. You pass the bottle to Emmett, offering him the first sip. It’s simple, but a rare treasure in this broken world.

“What’s the special occasion?” he asks, the barest hint of a smile drifting over his lips.

You watch as his mouth wraps around the bottle's opening, and as he gingerly tips it back to drink. He takes two quick swallows, his throat bobbing twice, then hands the bottle over to you. You take it, fingertips brushing against his for just a moment, and take a quick swig before you can think for too long about how his lips were just touching the rim.

“It’s just nice to have a treat sometimes,” you reply, shrugging.

You hand the bottle back and Emmett takes it by the neck, letting the edge of his hand linger against yours for several seconds. You make no move to pull away.

“It is,” he agrees. “Been a long time since I’ve had anything sweet.”

In the very back of your mind, you wonder if he’s still talking about the soda. No - stop that. You don’t need to go ruining the good thing you have going.

You had asked Emmett, on the morning of the second day, if he was alone. He’d paused for a moment before answering.

“Yes… Well, I mean… Yes.”

You'd decided not to prod any further.

Now, as you look down at your hand ghosting against his, you notice again his wedding band, firmly wrapped around his finger. It's hard not to notice, and it's even harder to ignore the dozens of sketches that litter the room, pinned and draped on every surface. All of them show the same young boy. He could be a son, or a nephew, or just some random kid that something terrible happened to - you haven't wanted to ask. Everyone is beyond traumatized in this new world, and far be it from you to question whatever brings anyone comfort. Suddenly feeling guilty, you let go of the bottle and look away as Emmett takes another sip.

"Hey," he whispers. Your head snaps back up to look at him. "I have something too."

Emmett puts the soda down between you, methodically clears the table, and pulls out a very weathered deck of cards.

"You ever play Gin Rummy?"

The next morning, Emmett is up early. You stay in your sleeping bag, pretending that you haven't woken up yet, and watch him pull on his hat and boots. He slips on a pair of heavy leather gloves. You stir, "waking up," and Emmett walks over to you.

"Gonna go check the traps," he explains, kneeling down. "I'll be back."

You're struck by the way the moment feels almost domestic; as if he's promising you he'll be home for supper. Your eyes trail over him lazily, taking in the firm shape of his bare arms and the way his hands are abruptly covered by the work gloves. The thought of him roughly grabbing you by the waist flashes through your mind; the material rubbing your skin as his fingers sink into your sides. You swallow heavily; blink a few times.

"You should wear a jacket," you whisper.

Emmett has already started to walk off, but he turns around and smirks at your words. For a moment, it seems like he's about to say something. But it passes, and then he continues in the direction he was headed, grabbing his jacket off the back of a chair.

Once Emmett is gone, you have the place to yourself. Scant sunlight filters through the opening in the ceiling, giving you just enough light to read by. You pull out a well-worn book from your backpack, and settle into the chair Emmett's jacket was on to read it.

Quickly, the words start to swim on the page; falling forgotten into the margins. You can't get your mind off the image of Emmett leaving, blue eyes barely visible under the brim of his hat as he looked back over his shoulder. Had there been a teasing look to them, or was that just you imagining things again? Your mind flashes to an image of Emmett giving you his jacket, wrapping it around you, tight and safe. Pulling you close to him, and-

Okay, time to be honest. Emmett has been driving you crazy the past few days. And not in a bad way, but in an "imagining him tangled between your legs" kind of way. You know you shouldn't think like that. Your relationship with him is undefined and shaky at best; you shouldn't go risking it. But it's getting harder and harder to stop yourself from reaching out and snaking your fingers through his hair; against the tattoo peeking out from under his sleeve; sliding them down past his belt and-

Stop.

You practically have to bite your lip as you beg yourself. You listen for a moment to the silence. Emmett should be gone long enough. And under three feet of solid concrete, you feel safe to relax a little. You desperately need to let out some frustration.

But still, it feels too open out here. Too exposed. Even if you are alone, you just want some more privacy.

Your eyes drift to the steel bunker.

Okay, you can be quick. You have your watch and can time it and be careful. With how horny you are, this shouldn't take long at all. And in the worst case scenario, Emmett will be back soon and can let you out if you get stuck. This is a perfect idea.

You climb inside, set your watch, and close the door. Keeping your head by the entrance in case you need to rush the exit, you don't waste any time getting started.

You touch yourself, shocked at how wet you are already. Might as well take advantage of the sound-proof tank. You hiss as you slide a finger between your folds, finally not bothering to keep quiet.

"Oh, fuck, Emmett."

You desperately wish these were his fingers instead of your own. You plunge two inside yourself immediately; revel in the delicious sting. Legs squeezing together, trapping your own hand, rutting up against your palm. You imagine him hovering over you, blue eyes staring into yours as he watches you fall apart.

"Oh, fuck!"

Above your head, the door swings open. You freeze, hand still plunged sinfully down the front of your pants and hips bucking halfway off the steel floor. Next to you, your watch alarm beeps, calling more attention to your shame.

You look up, and suddenly Emmett staring back at you isn't a fantasy anymore.

"I'm… uh," you stammer in a hissed whisper, searching for any words. But the power of speech has left you. It seems to have left Emmett as well.

His mouth is practically hanging open, and after a moment of shocked panic, he quickly tears his eyes away.

Taking the opportunity, you sit up and try to arrange yourself - although it's impossible to look presentable after you've just been caught fucking your own fingers to the thought of the man standing in front of you.

"I'm sorry," Emmett whispers, frantic. He’s pacing; tears off his work gloves and throws them to the ground. Tosses his hat onto a table and runs a hand through his hair. "I thought something happened, and I wanted… well I didn't think - not that it's anything to be ashamed of. Everyone has urges."

"Do you?"

The sound of your voice shocks even you, despite the low volume you're speaking at. Your legs are dangling out the open door of the bunker, and you watch as Emmett stops in his tracks.

“What?” he whispers.

“Everyone has urges,” you echo, placing your feet on the floor. “Do you?”

“I don’t know what you…”

You stand up, taking a bold step toward him. Emmett takes a half step back. His eyes are blown wide, fear and confusion, as you take another step. This time he stays.

You place a hand on Emmett’s chest. It’s crazy, but you can feel his heart pounding; the heavy rise and fall of his breath.

You’re only inches apart. One more step and your body would be pressed flush against his, just like you’ve been thinking of these past few days. From this distance, you can hear the shakiness in his breathing.

“Tell me to stop.”

It’s a dare; a challenge; a bald-faced lie. You look up at him, pleading with your eyes for him to stay quiet. To not stop you. To keep going.

“Tell me to stop.”

You’re on your tiptoes now, lips hovering right in front of his. Emmett swallows hard, and you can feel it reverberate through his whole chest. Looking you right in the eyes, he shakes his head.

No.

Emmett pulls you the rest of the distance. His lips scrape against yours, parting so you can slip your tongue inside. Your lungs have left your body, leaving a hollow space in your chest, making it impossible for you to breathe. You feel lightheaded. But oh, the way he’s biting at your lips; tangling a hand in your hair and pressing against you like you can stop him from drowning. His leg is between your thighs and you practically melt on it. Emmett has to hold you to keep you from falling to the floor.

Gently, he eases you down. You’re desperate, pulling at him, trying to bring him to you faster. Your legs open to wrap around his waist. God, you’ve needed this.

Emmett is scrambling to take off his jacket, and even though it only takes a few seconds, it is an eternity. To exist without his body pressed against yours. You hastily unbutton your pants, and Emmett tears them the rest of the way down.

There’s a pause, and you look up at him. Emmett is transfixed, but seems to quickly snap out of it when he notices you - embarrassed. You lean up on your elbows, but Emmett stops you, putting a gentle hand on your shoulder. He brings a finger to his lips; fixes you with a gaze that shows he’s serious.

Be quiet.

You throw your head back and close your eyes. If you look at him for another second, you’re not going to be able to stop yourself from moaning. Even with the simplest gestures, he drives you crazy. You feel Emmett straddle you; reach his hand down between your legs.

Oh, fuck.

His fingers are even better than you’d imagined. Two seconds in and he has you gasping for breath. If you were wet before, you’re positively dripping now. You dare to crack open your eyes. Emmett’s face is stoic with concentration, and you can’t believe how incredibly turned on it makes you. He bites his lip slightly, and you think you might pass out. Looking was a mistake, but you can’t tear your eyes off him.

After teasing your entrance for a moment, Emmett slips a finger inside you. There’s that weightless feeling again; it’s like being drunk. You could ride his fingers until you forget your own name, and you already feel the coil tightening inside you.

Desperate, you scramble for something to hold onto. There’s nothing on the stone floor. Emmett is your only lifeline, and you grab at the hem of his shirt, pulling him to lean down over you. He kisses you. Rough and sloppy and frantic. You let out the smallest whimper into his mouth as you cum, hard, clamping your legs around his fingers.

Panting. You’re actually panting as he pulls out of you, instantly missing the way his fingers curled up inside of you. You’re still holding onto his t-shirt for dear life, and he gently removes your hand. You can’t see straight, but there’s the unmistakable sound of a belt buckle being undone, and a zipper loosening. When you look up again, Emmett is hovering over you, his body planted between your legs.

He puts a hand on your waist to steady you, and you feel him line up with your entrance. It takes everything not to scream as he slides into you.

The stretch is intoxicating. You haven’t even recovered from your orgasm, but just the sight of him pausing after he’s plunged into you, needing to collect himself, breathing hard. It’s enough to make you ache.

“Please, Emmett.”

The fingers on your waist tighten, digging into your side. For a second, you worry you’ve upset him, but then he looks up at you, eyes blazing with lust. He looks like a man about to lose himself, and you smile as you move your hands up to his chest, gripping at his collar to pull him close as you whisper again.

“Please.”

Emmett is pounding into you, careful at first to stay quiet, but getting sloppier every second. He can’t pull out all the way for fear of slapping too loudly against your thighs, but the result is an incredible friction that has you soaring. You don’t think you’ve ever been fucked this good. You grab at his shoulders, his neck, and Emmett lets you. When the pleasure has you tear open your eyes, you catch him watching you again. Enjoying the way you fall apart on his cock. It makes you clench around him even harder, and you catch the faintest whisper of a curse fall out of his lips as he leans forward, dropping his head to the crook of your neck.

“Fuck, Emmett.”

You whisper in his ear, breath brushing the strands of hair that fall around his face. Emmett brings his own lips right to the side of your cheek; his words tickle as he continues to fuck you.

“You know, you have a dirty mouth,” he tells you. “And here I thought you knew how to stay quiet.”

You whimper, and a hand is slapped over your mouth, the side of it slotting just under your teeth. Your heart pounds as Emmett leans in to whisper to you again, devilishly.

“Bite down if you need to.”

Fuck, he’s going to be the death of you.

Emmett is grunting, softly, as he fucks into you just a little bit faster. The sound of him coming undone is enough to make you squeeze your eyes shut and bite down onto his hand, muffling the sound of your cries as you orgasm.

If he’s hurt, he doesn’t show it. Emmett continues to rut into you as you bite the side of his hand, trying desperately to stay as quiet as you can. You want him to hold you down, breed you, spill everything into you with no care for the consequences. Emmett pulls his hand away and plants it on the ground, trying to balance himself.

“Where do you want me to cum?”

His words are breathless; you love hearing him like this. You bask in them, arching your back against the floor, not answering.

“Where do you want me to- Fuck!”

Emmett pulls out of you, trying and failing at the last second to cup a hand around himself. Cum gets everywhere, dripping from his fingers to the floor, coating the insides of your legs. He looks down at himself for a moment; shakes off his hand before wiping it on his pants, still halfway on in his rush to be inside you.

“Now you decide to be quiet, huh?”

He’s leaning over you again, whispering teasingly in your ear. He pinches your waist and kisses your cheek before pulling away, showing you the mischief in his eyes.

Somewhere above you, there’s a crash followed by a loud screech. Maybe you weren’t as quiet as you’d thought.

“Shit.” Emmett yanks his pants up and pulls you both to your feet. The sounds of something getting closer are clearly audible. You should be scared, but instead you’re excited.

“Let’s go.”

You tug at Emmett’s wrist as you lead him toward the bunker. Two minutes and thirty seconds - that’s how long you have before the timer goes off. You tumble, pulling him in after you. The door closes behind you with a soft thud.

You want to hear him scream.

#emmett x reader #emmett a quiet place x reader #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut #emmett a quiet place 2 #emmett a quiet place #emmett smut #emmett a quiet place smut #LemmyFics

736 notes · View notes

ross-hollander · 1 month

Text

I went down to...

...the hell for 'mech pilots, once. You get there walking down the lonely, beaten dirt trail, in the fog-shrouded forest, approaching a lookout post where the sentry sits. Uniform of an army you have never seen, viscera spilling out where his flesh rots through. He waves you in, tells you which hangar you have a slot at.

Just past the entrance is the first hangar, Limbo. For those who never did more than they needed to, never looked out for anyone except themselves, never repaid good with bad- or, in fact, with anything at all. They sit there in rows after rows, silent in their niches while technicians without eyes clamber over them. Sometimes, they say, the repairs are completed, and they wave the pilot on out of the hangar, back up the trail.

To the left is Lust, for the magpies, the looters. The ones who craved the metal that had been flesh and bone to others. There they are torn from their cockpits, hearts plucked out by those eyeless technicians, replaced with minute metal homonculi: piloted themselves in murderous clashes until flesh-shreds are all that remain.

To the right is Gluttony, for the over-prepared, the hoarders, the ammunition hogs. Their 'mechs stand beneath a flimsy stone ridge as an endless artillery barrage rains down on them. The terror of the instant death- in spite of all their armor, in spite of all they took for themselves -is constant.

When you walk past Lust you go to Greed, for the spray-and-prayers, for the overkillers sowing cities with missiles and stray shots. Here wait the fallen angels, colossal, purely alien 'mechs of ever-sweltering black metal, and the pilots toil heaving batteries and missiles and armor panels, all of crushing weight, to repair them. Some lie fallen under the burdens they were lugging, never able to arise.

When you walk past Gluttony you go to Wrath, for the cockpit stompers, the ones who shoot down ejecting enemies. They are chained in their seats, ejects disabled, glass barred over, and their reactors cook them in their own can as they howl and sizzle. They go deaf from the radios that share every damned soul's screams with every other.

When you walk past Limbo you go to Heresy, for the metal-breakers, the engine strainers, the ones who slaved their 'mechs to the extreme. Here they lie on tables, those eyeless technicians disassembling them, removing piece by piece and replacing it with metal, from digits to nerves to brain, until all that remains is mute, unmoving alloy.

When you walk past Heresy you go to Fraud, for the abusers of the flag of truce, the false colors or feigned surrenders. Although you can never walk past Fraud; their 'mechs stagger forwards, down that misty dirt road, until metal rusts, until servos give out, until limbs drop off, until they finally collapse, staring, stagnant, mindless, imprisoned in their cockpit, watching the rest of the damned keep heaving themselves on.

No person ever goes to the last hangar. The last hangar is not for the pilots, you see. The last hangar is for Treason. The frozen control systems. The faulty radar that failed to pick up an incoming strike. The eject that refused to work when it was most needed. The last hangar- or so I am told -is where metal goes to pay for its sins, and it is no sight for mortal eyes.

#mechposting #battletech #mechwarrior #microfiction #mech #mecha #dantes inferno #rh.txt

122 notes · View notes

roseodelle · 3 months

Text

Arcane Pt2 - Eris Vanserra x Unnamed OC

Eris’s best kept secret is infiltrated.

No use of y/n

WC: 1326

Warnings: Angst, Violence

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

The forest is charred. Their wards are broken, and the glamours have fallen. The cottage is in shambles. Once a beautiful home for them both, smoke now drifts upward from the rubble. Trampled are the flowers and vegetable garden she’d tended to dearly for so many years. The smell makes him sick to his stomach, and he falls to his knees. There’s nothing left.

His chest heaves, his hands gripping and pulling at his short red hair. Tears begin to fall from his face as reality sets in and the sobs begin. It’d happened so quickly. In his quarters of the Forest House one moment, standing above his beheaded brothers the next. Beron will be after him; he knows. He’ll send the hounds and guards before he himself comes to smite him down. He has minutes, if that. He’d killed his brothers. He’d have killed his father, too, if he didn’t know better. But while Eris was strong, Beron was stronger.

Her body... her body lay ahead of him in the destruction of their home. What will Beron do to her, even in death, he wonders? He won’t find out. He will not let Beron desecrate her further. She deserves dignity in her death, and he will give it to her. His love. His grace. His empathy and compassion. His brilliance. His mate. He failed her. How didn’t he know? Why didn’t he feel the intrusion on the ward? Why didn’t he feel her through the bond? Why didn’t she call for him? Why leave her side of the bond closed to him, even near death? Why shield him from his failure, from her pain and fear?

Rising from the scorched earth, he takes an unsteady step forward. His right foot lands on a shard of stained glass that once belonged to the beautiful front door. She’d been so proud to have found it. A great discovery: a decrepit old wooden door with a stained glass window. His chest tightens again. He wasn’t here. He wasn’t here. With uneven steps, he walks through the rubble. The sitting room was once such a beautiful space. They’d spent so many hours and so many years together in that room. Once lively shades of green and orange are now a burnt charcoal gray. The kitchen was the same. Only the innermost walls of the home still stand as he makes his way down the hall.

He needs to find her. He dreads finding her. He tries again to tug on that string, that bright orange thread, tying them together. Nothing. He feels nothing. Minutes, he reminds himself. He has minutes until the sentries come. Before Beron comes with vengeance.

Their bedroom lay just a few steps ahead. The door was broken, leaning sideways on it’s hinges. The smell is stronger here. Putrid death mixes with the remaining scent of his life. Only faint hints of jasmine and sage rise above the remnants of an angry, relentless flame. The scent of his brother was a bitter aftertaste. He marches on.

Their bed was left unmade. The lxurious golden sham is now a horrid black. Down pillows burned to a crisp. Intricate woodwork smolders, and her scent is stronger here, but he still can’t see her. He passes their bed and her vanity. Flower pots and dirt litter the floor, and the burgundy rug he found on a trip to Adriatta is torn into shreds. She’d put up a fight. Good girl. His chest heaves, vomit rises in his throat, and he shakes his head, steadying himself again. He needs to get her out and take her somewhere Beron cannot find her. Where he cannot do her more harm. Where she can rest.

He finds her in the closet. She’s curled inward on herself, her beautiful dress bloody and torn. Her back is still, and the familiar rise and fall of her breath are nonexistent. She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone. He’s shaking again, tears burning his cheeks. Unsteady hands reach toward her burned body. The skin of her back was blistered and damaged beyond repair. There’s so much blood. From her face to her chest, her arms, and her legs. She’s covered in cuts and burns. His sobs become stronger and louder as he reaches for her. She’s not breathing.

“My love.” He brokenly whispers, begs, and pleads with her as he pulls her destroyed body into his arms. He turns her face toward him. Unmarred by the fire of his brother. Her eyes remain closed, the stillness of her chest breaking his soul into pieces. He rests his cheek on hers, his tears making their home on her skin.

“My love, please. Please wake up.” He chokes back a sob, running his hand along her arm and along her spine in an effort to wake her, but he knows. He knows she’s gone.

“Please. Come back to me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He’ll die here, he decides. How could he take his place as High Lord without her by his side? Let Beron strike him down. Let his father's fire end his life as he holds his mate in his arms. He’d die with her. He leans down, pressing a chaste kiss to her cold lips, and he closes his eyes. Let him die here.

Two hundred years. Two hundred years of safety. Serenity. Peace. Over. All over. His heavy sobs shake his shoulders and shake the still body in his arms, and as he holds her tighter, he still runs his hands over her arm and back. His hand finally rests on her wrist, checking for a pulse he knows he won’t find.

“I’m so sorry, my love. I’m so sorry.” He repeats until the words run together in an incomprehensible mumble, his fingers digging too tightly into her wrist, hoping to feel something he knows he will not. He wasn’t here. He didn’t protect her. For two hundred years, he’d kept her safe. It wasn’t enough. He had failed her.

His breath stalls in his throat, eyes widening in shock. Denial floods through him as he tugs again at the bond that remains silent, but he felt it. It was so faint, so faint, but it was there. Her pulse.

“My love, my love, please.” He straightens, pulling her tighter to his chest and forcing her face toward his once again. Her beautiful eyes remain closed, but he feels it again. It's so faint, but it’s there. She lives.

His demeanor shifts, his mask falling into place as he assesses the situation anew. She’s mortally wounded. She will not live, not unless she receives help he cannot give her. Cannot provide for her. Not with Beron’s sentries so close behind him. Minutes, he reminds himself. He has but a few minutes with her before they come for him. Before Beron comes from her. Seconds, he amends, another faint pulse coming through much later than the last.

He’s on the border of three courts. He has two options. He can beg for sanctuary in the Summer court. Tarquin is known to be just and kind. But Beron will follow. Beron will follow him across Prythian. Tarquin would not be able to provide the safety or care she requires. Nor Kalias in the Winter Court, who would likely attempt to freeze Eris on sight.

There is only one true option, he realizes. The Night Court sees Eris as the ruthless, conniving killer he made sure he was known as, but his mate was not like him. Not like the mask he wore. The mask he perfected over two hundred years to protect her. Tensions between Eris and the court were harsh on both sides, but it may be the only place Beron will not follow.

It’s the only option, he knows. And as another weak pulse graces his fingertips and the rustle of leaves alerts him to the first sentry sent for him, he knows what he must do.

#eris acotar #eris masterlist #eris fanfic #eris vanserra #eris x reader #acotar fandom #acotar series #acotar #fanfic #series #my fic #eris fic rec #fic rec #eris angst #angst #sad eris

114 notes · View notes

writers-potion · 7 months

Text

It is a well-known fact that there are seven levels in Hell. Similarly, apocalyptic accounts of heaven range from one heaven to ten, but most agree on seven.

As fantasy writers, this is great news. Let's dive.

First Heaven

The physical world. It is ruled by Gabriel, and is home to all the angels connected with the natural phenomena of the universe.

In ancient Mesopotamian religion, the first dome of heaven was made of jasper and was the home of the stars.

Second Heaven

Ruled by Raphael.

It is the home of sinner who are waiting for Judgement Day.

Some of the fallen angels are held her as well. Kinda like the field of asphodel, which make this one sound more like pre-hell, but whatever.

Mesopotamians believed the middle domes (2nd-6th) were made of saggilmut stone and home of lgigi, mythological beings living in heaven.

Third Heaven

Ruled by Baradiel. The southern half of this heaven contains the Garden of Eden and the Tree of Life. 300 angels of light stands sentry.

The Northern half of the third heaven contains hell. Not surprisingly, some fallen angels are held here.

Like the seven layers of Hell, the seven domes of Heaven seem to be a more extended version of typical one-story Heaven and therefore houses more creatures beyond angels.

Fourth Heaven

Ruled by Michael. It contains the Holy Temple and the Altar of God.

Mesopotamians equated the seven domes of Heaven surrounding the flat earth with celestial bodies.

The first dome would be Mercury, the second Venus, the third Mars, and so on.

Ordinary mortals wouldn't go go heaven because the heavens were the abode of gods alone.

Fifth Heaven

Ruled by Zadkiel. In ancient Mesopotamia, each visible celestial body was equated with a god.

The planet Venus was believed to be Inanna, the goddess of love, sex an war (would they ever stop being a trio?).

The sun was her brother Utu, the god of justice and the moon was their father Nanna.

Sixth Heaven

Ruled by Zebul at night and Sabath by day. All celestial records are kept here, and choirs of angels endlessly study them.

After a person (a mere mortal) dies, his/her soul would go to Kur which is a dark shadowy underworld located deep below the surface of the earth. Seems like the Mesopotamian gods were hellbent on getting some personal space in the sky …

Seventh Heaven

Archangel Cassiel rules this realm.

The Seraphim, Cherumbim and Thrones live here.

In ancient Mesopotamia (where the seven-heaven theory originated), the last and highest dome of the heavens was made of luludanitu stone and was personified as An, the god of he sky.

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

139 notes · View notes

bright-side20 · 8 months

Text

The Truth-Teller/Hofas Spoilers

It seems like people are hung up on Enalius possessing the TT in order to serve the Illyrian plot for Azriel, but in fact, that's selective reading. Let's see what is written in the books.

My sword blazed with light. That dagger shone with darkness. Both of them are crafted of the same black metal. Iridium, right?" She jerked her chin to Azriel, to the dagger at his side. "Ore from a fallen meteorite?" Azriel's silence was confirmation enough.

=Both blades are made from the same material of a fallen meteorite.

My father had never shown himself to be giving-long had he kept Gwydion and never once offered it to my mother. The dagger that had belonged to his dear friend, slain during the war, hung at his side, unused. But not for long.

Theia extended her hands toward the water, the offered blades. And on phantom wings, sword and dagger soared for her. Sum- moned to her hands. Starlight flared from Theia as she snatched the sword and knife out of the air, the blades glowing with their own starlight.

My mother returned that day with only Pelias and my father's blades. As she had helped Make them, they answered to the call in her blood. To her very power.

Conclusion: The Starsword and the Truth-Teller were both created in the same manner, crafted by Fionn and Theia. Fionn likely gifted the Truth-Teller to his best friend Enalius during the great war when Illyrians fought against the daglan to prevent them from reaching the Cauldron atop Ramiel. After Enalius's death, Fionn simply took his blade back.

_Azriel's secret lineage:

My mother eventually trusted only Helena and myself to seek the truth. She knew we could be of great use to her, because we bore the shadows as well as starlight.

=The blades simply represent both powers of the Dusk Court people: light and shadows.

We spent a month hidden in the enemy's stronghold, no more than shadows ourselves.

Doesn't that remind you of this :

ACOMAF:

“Like the daemati,” Rhys said to me, “shadowsingers are rare—coveted by courts and territories across the world for their stealth and predisposition to hear and feel things others can’t.”

=Daemati (mind reading) and Shadowsinger abilities are simply the powers of the Dusk Court/Avallen people, which is why they are rare, especially in Prythian.

_Foreshadowing from HOFAS :

Azriel, without Rhysand to translate, watched in silence. Bryce could have sworn shadows wreathed him, like Ruhn's, yet... wilder. The way Cormac's had been.

The male now held the Starsword at the ready, Truth-Teller gripped in his other hand.He must have had some sort of Starborn blood in him, then-a distant ancestor, maybe. Or maybe his possession of the knife somehow allowed him to also bear the Starsword.

That's a very obvious foreshadowing. It would explain why Azriel is so different from other Illyrians, why he can winnow, why Illyrians couldn't understand the origin of his Shadowsinger gift, and why it was merely assumed that he learned the language of shadows during his imprisonment.

_Az confirming that his shadows are magical:

His brows rose.... The shadows are made of magic, just very condensed.

_Where did Azriel find the Truth-Teller:

No one knows what became of Theia and General Pelias," I told countless generations. "They betrayed King Fionn, and Gwydion was for- ever lost, his dagger with it." I lied with every breath.

Silene made people believe that the dagger was also lost.

I made sure he knew that the buried weapon he'd need against the Asteri was down here.

While she told her son that the dagger is buried in the prison, therefore, Azriel found the Truth-Teller in the prison.

ACOMAF:

Azriel :"I'll go. The Prison sentries know me-what I am." 👀

So, tell me, what is more interesting: learning about Azriel's obvious Illyrian side, given that his father is an Illyrian, or discovering his secret lineage? Keep in mind that we know nothing about his mother. How did he manage to find the Truth-Teller? Why was he extremely possessive of it, yet decided to give it to Elain? This includes the famous scene that antis spent years trying to downplay, the scene in the coloring book, and on the ACOWAR cover.

_Can Azriel get access to the Truth-Teller's magic :

Can your dagger kill the unkillable, too?" "It's called Truth-Teller," he said in that soft voice, like shadows given sound. "And no, it cannot."Bryce arched a brow. "So does it tell the truth?" A hint of a smile, more chilling than the frigid air around them. "It gets people to do so."

This shows that he probably doesn't know the full potential of the dagger and that he used it for torturing people.

Vesperus took another step, steadier now, and smiled past Bryce. At Azriel, at Truth-Teller. "You don't know how to use it,do you?" Azriel pointed the dagger toward the advancing Asteri. "Pretty sure this end's the one that'll go through your gut." Vesperus chuckled, her dark hair swaying with each inching step closer. "Typical of your kind. You want to play with our weap- ons, but have no concept of their true abilities."

I think that Azriel is like Ruhn; he can wield the Starsword and the Truth-Teller. However, he cannot get access to their full power.

_Bryce using the Starsword and the Truth-Teller to kill Vesperus :

Bryce threw her power into the Starsword, light ripping through the black blade, willing it to tear this fucking monster apart- She willed it into Truth-Teller, and shadows flowed.

Elain :

Elain stepped out of a shadow behind him, and rammed Truth-Teller to the hilt through the back of the king’s neck as she snarled in his ear, “Don’t you touch my sister.”

=The shadows were the Truth-Teller's magic; it had answered to Elain's will and magic, killing the King of Hybern. Y'all Keep in mind that Elain is the first female to wield and use the Truth-Teller since Silene.

I want to add

_If there is someone who would be a descendant of Enalius, it's Cassian, and it's already foreshadowed:

ACOWAR :

Nesta listened to the low-level Illyrian soldiers whispering about how Cassian had thrown that spear, how he’d cut down soldiers like stalks of wheat, how he’d fought like Enalius—their most ancient warrior-god and the first of the Illyrians. It had been a while, it seemed, since they had seen Cassian in open battle. Since they’d realized that he’d been young in the War, and now … the looks they gave Cassian as he passed … they were the same as those the High Lords had given Rhys upon seeing his power. Like them, and yet Other.

ACOSF:

At twenty-one, he’d still been drinking and brawling and fucking, unconcerned with anything and anybody except his ambition to be the most skilled of Illyrian warriors since Enalius himself.

Enalius being the Illyrians leader and Fionn's bestie / Cassian is the Illyrians general and Rhys's bestie. 🤷🏻‍♀️

#hofas spoilers #azriel shadowsinger #pro elain #pro elriel #elain archeron #acotar thoughts #cassian acotar #azriel acotar #elriel supremacy

170 notes · View notes

sad-scarred-sassy · 7 months

Text

In an alternate universe where Elain met Lucien before becoming fae

(an Elucien daydream)

“I would like to show you my estate, Lady Elain” The young Lord Graysen said and brought back her attention to the present moment. “I heard you like nature, would you like me to escort you?”

Elain took a little moment to ponder on what he was saying, her gloved hands resting on his forearm, his face open and waiting for her response, even if through the glimmer in his eye she could tell he already knew she would say yes to him. The man courting her was used to women bending themselves for his affections, constantly trying to make him like them, be the ones holding the key to his affection. And the gods knew she used to also feel that way, like she was special when she was the one those eyes were fixated upon. Lately, she realized, it did not matter as much as it did before.

Elain nodded and smiled as he guided her through the lands on his estate, she was not going to miss the opportunity either way. It was true, she did love nature and she did not have an abundance of opportunities to wander around places like these in her day to day life.

“These lands are very close to the wall, but worry not, they are very safe thanks to our sentries patrolling night and day” Graysen proudly announced. She glanced towards the thick folliage of the woods next to them. So inviting.

“Is it the same for those woods?” She asked pointing to the forest curiously.

“Yes, if we don’t stray too far from the manor, they’re as safe as can be” He said matter-of-factly. “Would you like to see?”

Elain nodded immediately and with a slight bow he directed her through one of the paths into the green thick forest.

Elain wondered if she should take his word for it as they walked further and further into the blooming nature, but any lingering reservations she may have was replaced with the allure of the mystical beauty of the woods, making her question what more exotic things could be found at the other side of the wall he had mentioned. A little nudge she felt in her chest made her curious about the things that her sister Feyre had once spoken about to Nesta, wonder if perhaps she hadn’t yet seen true beauty at this side of the world.

“Have you ever seen a fae?” That curiosity led her to ask her companion, his face incredulous for a moment and a bit irritated too.

“I- No” He said, a bit upset at admitting it. She knew that his family was very much against faeries, raising their heirs to become hunters, building their homes to protect themselves from the magical beings. She could tell that admitting he had never seen and naturally never fought one was a bit embarrassing to him, but she didn’t comment on it.

She had never really formed a strong opinion on the fae. Yes, she was raised to fear them, but after Feyre had come back from beyond the wall and had told them of the incredible things she had seen, and how she had even fallen in love with one of them, her mind could never stop wandering towards that. It was probably silly, and she doubted she would ever see anything related to the other side in her lifetime. But Elain still held her eyes ahead, as if she could see through the forest, to what was beyond it.

“If I ever get to see one, I doubt it will be a long encounter, my whole life I’ve trained to slay them. I hope I get the opportunity one day” Graysen continued and Elain simply nodded. He was brave, she thought.

They were walking by a blackberry bush when suddenly one of the Lord’s sentries atop a brown mare appeared from the forest folliage

“Pardon milord, but- we need your assistance, there has been an incident in the north border” He said, one more sentry appearing at his side, pulling an extra horse with him.

“What is it?” He asked.

“It-“ The guard glanced at Elain for a second. “We have found something you might want to see” He ended with a sense of importance.

Graysen nodded at the sentry and then looked at Elain. “Will you be fine going back to the manor from here?” He glanced at the manor, clearly visible from the place where they were standing.

“Yes, don’t concern yourself” Elain half smiled, not completely certain about how to feel. He let go of her hand and she awkwardly fumbled with her gloves as she watched him quickly near the extra horse. With a swift move he climbed into the saddle and directed his gaze to Elain.

“I’ll see you back at the manor, Lady Elain” He said and with a quick bow of the head he was gone, engulfed by the foliage of the forest surrounding her.

Elain watched him go for a moment, suddenly realizing how strange it was for her to be so… alone. The forest around her was very much alive, though. Birds chirping and wind singing through the leaves, the light breaking through the canopy by the lovely midday sun. It was a shame that the exploring had been cut short, Elain had just started enjoying herself, she pondered, fingers running softly through the leafs of a jasmine vine.

She glanced towards the manor. It was probably the wise choice to just go back and wait for Graysen to be done with whatever it was he needed to do.

It was the wise choice.

But something Elain could not really explain made her take a small step back into the woods. Just a little wandering wouldn’t hurt anyone, would it?

She told herself it was the feeling of finally being unrestricted that guided her further and further into the lovely woods. She didn’t know why it made her heart so happy, her limbs so free, she was suddenly smiling to herself, laughing even as she discovered a magnificent owl sleeping not far away on top of an oak tree branch, giggling as she skipped through leaves, passing by wildflowers and vines and apple trees. Even if a bit pathetic, she felt free and alive and somewhere down the line she lost her gloves and both her shoes were now hanging on her fingers, her stockings now the only barrier between her and the warm forest soil at her feet.

That was until she suddenly stepped onto something hard but soft and before she knew what was happening, she was stumbling face first down onto the ground.

“Ow” She groaned as the pain hit her ankle and she tried to gather herself. What in the world had made her fall-

She saw him then. She almost shrieked as her eyes took the sight all at once. Red hair, the most vibrant and rich crimson color she had ever seen, an enormous body, sprawled right beneath her as she sat on hands and knees. Directly in front of her: tan skin, with a few freckles speckled on his chiseled cheeks, a long brutal scar down the side of an otherwise perfectly handsome face, breaking through one of his thick dark eyebrows. Long lashes resting softly on his high cheekbones. And the ears, the slightly curved pointy ears pierced and sporting the most exquisite jewels she had ever seen. Elain gathered it all in seconds, and instinct made her jump and retreat away until her back painfully met the trunk of a tree.

Her heartbeat was pounding on her chest, the adrenaline preventing her of thinking straight.

A fae. A fae was lying right in front of her. She had stepped on… him. She had landed right on top of him too. Her hand pressed to her mouth.

She should run. She should already be running as fast as she could in the opposite direction.

She stared at him once more. He was looking so peacefully unconscious she suddenly wondered if he was even alive. She studied him warily. Why wasn’t she running again?

Gathering her strength she stood onto her two feet and wincing at herself, peered a look closer to him. She had never seen a fae before, curiosity taking the best of her as she took another step closer.

It hit her then that he was magnificent, something completely out of her world. Every inch of him designed for a much more exquisite realm, as much as deadly as he was beautiful.

Common sense urged her to leave him, to run. But something deep inside her commanded her to stay, to inspect. For some god forsaken reason she was not as scared as she should have been when she reached softly and placed two fingers on his throat, just to find warmth and a rhythmic pulse underneath her fingertips. She looked down on his body. Even while hidden under the most exquisite clothes she had seen, she could tell the… male was ripped with muscles, strong forearms leading to big wide hands adorned with golden rings. The steady breathing marked by the rising and falling of his strong chest. Her eyes wandered a bit before coming back up to his face and to her utter shock, finding him staring right back at her with a pair of mismatched eyes.

Elain almost yelped as she was suddenly being thrown on her back, one of those broad hands instantly on her mouth holding any sound she might make, his whole enormous otherworldly body encasing her and making it impossible to leave.

“I won’t hurt you” The male said just as she was going to start screaming nonetheless. “Don’t make a sound” He said, his handsome face inches from hers as she heard dogs barking and coming straight towards them.

The hunting hounds.

“Mmm!” She said, trying to warn him that they would end up being their food in no time.

“Don’t” He murmured. “They won’t sense us”

She looked at him with an incredulous look, her eyes about to pop out of their sockets at how wide they were as he just waited for the hounds to come.

And they did. The enormous dogs barked and passed right by without a second glance. How was that even possible?

Before she could move she heard the sentries going after them. They were following a trace, Graysen with them. They rushed through the forest and then disappeared. The male on top of her just stared ahead, waiting for them all to leave, his hand still unmovable on her mouth as he counted the seconds, while she looked at his long strong neck in front of her. He finally looked down at her again,

“Can I trust that you won’t scream bloody murder if I move my hand?” He asked. Elain nodded once, eyes locked into his mismatched gaze, one eye of russet, one of gold. It was the most enchanting thing she had ever seen and she felt ashamed at the thought.

He nodded as well, hand falling from her face as she gaped at him.

“My apologies, lady” He muttered, still atop her. “I couldn’t let them find me you see.” He slowly got himself off her smaller frame, he pulled himself to sit on his knees, extending a hand to her to help her sit up, she realized.

Warily, she took it, the act of sliding her hand through his warm calloused palm a lot more exhilarating than she had predicted it to be. He helped her up with no effort whatsoever until she was sitting straight facing his impossibly beautiful face. She could not stop wondering how such a being could possibly exist, let alone be talking to her in this moment.

“I’m Lucien” He suddenly said, something about her intense gaze apparently making him lower his gaze for a mere second and run his hand through his molten red hair. Lucien, even his name was new to her ears.

“You’re fae” She said, and that earned her a lopsided smile from him.

“I am” He said, his white smile bright as he displayed his pointy canines to her. Elain couldn’t help but to gape again. “And you’re human I see” He pointed out.

“Well- obviously. You’re in the wrong side of the wall, you know?” Something about his smile made it easy to talk to him and she surprised herself at her boldness. Again, shouldn’t she be running away from him?

“I am aware” He said as his smile turned into a sly smirk.

Elain arched an eyebrow at that, but he only assessed her further, his intense eyes going from her eyes, to her mouth and neck, the disarray of her dress and her muddy stocking clad feet on display. Her cheeks flushed as his gaze stayed there.

“Were you running from someone?” He asked slowly.

“No” She said, his eyes traveling just a little up towards her ankles, as if he could see her little injury from the fall. “I was just wandering through the forest” She said.

“Well, I owe you one, because if it wasn’t for you I might not have awoken in time for that” He said, pointing towards the way the dogs and the sentries and Graysen had gone through.

How had she awoken him?

She was still pondering on that when he said. “I can heal that, if you’d like, it wouldn’t take long” He gestured to her sore ankle, one she didn’t realize she had been softly rubbing. She was hesitant when he added. “Please, as a repayment for… helping me”

She glanced at her ankle, it was sore and… something inside her was still curious, peeking its ears at this new stranger, so different from anything she had ever encountered.

“Will it hurt?” She asked, tilting her head faintly at him.

“Not in the slightest” He put his hand on his heart. “I give you my word”

She pressed her lips slightly as she pondered before slowly nodding her approval. He approached carefully and Elain wondered if she had made the right call as he glanced at her for permission to touch her ankle, pausing until she dipped her chin softly into a nod.

Her stocking was loose on that side, and as he softly took her foot into his big palm, he realized it had come loose from its suspenders, so he simply began pulling at the fabric, making her blush even more furiously when seeing him strip her foot bare.

“Where does it hurt exactly?” He murmured when the clothing item was discarded.

“I thought you could see it” She said with an inhale. Something about a stranger touching her bare foot was finally hitting the mark as scandalous, but she couldn’t get herself to make him stop as his fingers brushed her skin softly, in a way that made her wonder if his intentions were exactly as selfless as he had expressed.

“Clever” He said with a slightly wicked smile. “I did… sense your ankle was hurt, but I can’t see exactly where” He explained as she wondered how that could even be possible. “Is it here?” He pressed on the top of her foot. She shook her head slightly as his eyes found hers again. “Here?” He moved his long fingers towards the side of her ankle and she shook her head again.

“The inner side” She said with a breathy voice that she could barely recognize as her own.

He nodded as his hand moved to where she directed him. The pain concentrating there as he moved her ankle slightly and she flinched.

“It’s not every day that I get awoken by a beautiful lady in the middle of a forest, you know?” He said as little sparks of light began spreading around her ankle as he worked. Elain was in awe as she stared at his magic, almost enough to make her miss the way he called her beautiful.

She hid her blush. “And it’s not every day that I stumble upon a sleeping fae in the middle of a forest too”

He gave her a roguish smile. “Ah, I do have a habit of sleeping around” He teased and she smiled a bit at his sass, right as the last of the pain got swept away, but he still did not put down her foot.

“What were you doing here?” She was compelled to ask as he looked into her eyes.

“I was dropped here by- …it doesn’t matter” He set down her foot at last. “They wanted me to end up ripped to shreds by those hounds just for funsies you see”

“Why?” She asked in horror.

He just shrugged. “They love to play with their enemies and I fell right into their grasp” He said, for a moment he looked around, then back at her. “You shouldn’t be around here… especially alone”

“I lost track of where I was going” She didn’t even know if she could go back through the same path she had taken without ending up even more stranded into the forest. He studied her quietly. She couldn’t understand why she didn’t feel scared of him, even for one moment, when his whole body screamed at how much of a warrior he had probably been forged to be, his muscles rippling through his clothes with every move.

“Were you having fun?” He asked her with a slight smile.

“I was” She admitted. A smile creeping into her mouth too.

“Is that an unusual thing for you?”

She bit her lip, wondering if she should be opening up to this stranger here in the middle of the woods. “I’m not used to feeling… unrestricted” She surprised herself by saying.

“That’s a shame, milady” He gathered himself to stand, and Elain could do little more than gape at how tall he was, more so than what she had expected. He extended a hand towards her again, and when she took it, a small frown crept on his brows as he stared at her small hand in his and pulled her to her feet, not a trace of pain as she stood. When he looked up at her face again, catching her gaze with predatory swiftness, he smirked at her once more. “In my humble experience, there is no greater fun than a female unrestricted” He said and she shifted on her feet as a blush crept onto her cheeks. Scandalous, that’s what this was.

“Are all fae this shameless?”

“Are all humans this curious?”

She realized her hand was still in his when he said it, and she nimbly pulled it away, his broad palm remaining open as it had been. She couldn’t understand what had gotten into her, and why she did not have the mental capacity to look away from his intent gaze.

“As much as I’d love to stay and aid in your adventures” He mused and Elain averted her eyes. “I gotta go, as you probably do too” He said and she looked back at him, his body straightening to take a step away from her. Something deep, so deep inside of her urged her to stop him for a moment longer, and before she knew it she was talking.

“Lucien-“ She said, and his head whipped towards her again, as if hearing his name from her lips startled him for some reason. “Will we ever meet again?”

Something flashed through his eyes as he contemplated her question.

“What’s your name, lovely forest nymph?” He asked her with a sly grin.

“Elain” She said, and again he started, as if something finally clicked. “Elain Archeron”

“Elain-“ He repeated. “You are Feyre’s sister”

“You know my sister?” She tilted her head, taking a small step closer to him. “How is she faring?”

“I’m her friend. She’s well-“ He said, his eyes averting her face for a second. “I’ll send her your greetings-“

“No- I” She said too quickly. “Can this stay between the two of us?”

He looked at her long and hard. His mismatched eyes enthralling her, the strands of his hair falling to frame his handsome face. Elain realized her neck was almost bent in half to maintain their eye contact from where she stood in front of him.

He finally bowed his head just slightly. “Of course, Lady Elain” He said. “And to answer your question” To her bewilderment he brought one of his knuckles and brushed them on her chin in the faintest motion, making her heart start beating hard and fast. “I hope we do” He said at last, his eyes falling from her eyes to her lips and back again. Elain felt herself gulp for air. In that moment she felt her body be transported in a blink of an eye, and before she knew it the beautiful male was gone.

She shook her head and noticed the blackberry bush near the entrance of the forest, she could see the manor from where she stood, as if he had brought her exactly to where she had been before, and then left as quickly as he had appeared.

The faint whisper of his touch still remained on her chin, the smell of him still lingered on her nostrils. And Elain could not understand for the life of her why she could not shake the feeling that she would always be looking for him. Somehow she knew he felt the same. And a faint voice in the back of her mind told her that they would someday meet again.

#elucien short fic #elucien fanfiction #elucien #pro elucien #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #elain x escapism #i want elain to be swayed by a roguish fae #human!au #i may do a second part and keep running with this

116 notes · View notes

weirdmarioenemies · 9 months

Text

Name: Spring Vault Debut: Super Mario Galaxy

Oh boy, a vault! A spring vault! A vault full of goodies and treasures, perhaps? Only one way to find out! Come on, Spring Vault, you have nothing to hide! Open up, and let us inside!

Uh oh, lasers? Those goodies and treasures aren't good or treasured! Nevermind, Spring Vault. You can keep your goodies to yourself. I don't want them and neither does Mario.

This is Spring Vault, from Super Mario Galaxy! I didn't know they were called that, but as it turns out, the wiki didn't until pretty recently either, so I'm not alone. Spring Vaults are a stationary enemy that attack Mario by shooting circular laser beams from a safe distance!

Which raises my first question: are "circular laser beams" even something that can exist? Does light work that way? I wouldn't know! That sounds like a physics question and I know next to nothing about physics because I'm bad at math. I got my degree in Applied Weird Mario Enemies Studies at Wet-Dry World's Wet n' Wild Wuniversity.

If you can hop over Spring Vault's possibly impossible circular laser beams, then you can jump on Spring Vault to reveal the real treasure: Spring! Jump on Spring Vault with the spring revealed, and you can get some impressive vertical, bringing Jump Man to heights never before thought to be possible...

Don't worry too much about breaking the Funny Robot though. If you leave it undisturbed for long enough, it'll fix itself by Recalibrating Its Spring Senors or some other vaguely technological-sounding mumbo jumbo. I don't know anything about computers either! I'm writing this post on a stone tablet!

If you're familiar with your Weird Mario Enemies, you may note that Spring Vault looks similar to the Topmen from the same game, especially the Spring Topman, which loses out on its laser functionality to let you enjoy Springing on the go! But just as the Topman is a whole family of enemies, Spring Vault has a bit of a family of its own, which I'll cover beneath the cut!

First up, we have the Sentry Garage, which is probably the closest relative of the Spring Vault. Sentry Garages are a similarly stationary enemy that can be jumped on to reveal the spring within, but instead of shooting out lasers, they shoot Topminis! I'd make another joke about the miracle of childbirth, but the name suggests these are just a Topmini storage unit...

Sentry Garage looks like a pretty stylish place to keep your Topminis, but if a plumber comes by and spins them into next Thursday, don't say I didn't warn you!

Sadly, Sentry Garage is about as interesting as the Spring Vault family gets, because the rest of these are more "obstacle" than enemy. Like Ring Beamer, for example! No eyes or anything. Just a bunch of spikes. But sea urchins have no eyes and a bunch of spikes, and they're awesome, so maybe we should extend the same love to Ring Beamer. Make it feel loved. Make it feel like part of a family.

It's not trying to make you feel like part of a family though! Lasers? Spikes? Everything Ring Beamer does is a pretty clear indicator to Stay Away!

Up next we have the Ball Beamers, but you can call them Banjo and Kazooie, because they have Nuts and Bolts! Like the Ring Beamer, these are more obstacle than enemy, but unlike Ring Beamer, they don't have spikes or anything. This makes them safe for Mario to stand on, but it also means you can't compare them to sea urchins as much. You win some, you lose some.

They're still not completely safe though, because you know. Circular laser beams.

The thing is, whether they're an Enemy or Obstacle, Nintendo must have really fallen in love with the Ring Beamer family, because they've kept making new variants in subsequent 3D Mario games! Meet Ring Burner, introduced in Super Mario 3D World! Rather than lasers, this one shoots fire, but otherwise it has the same basic attack patterns.

Or at least it can have the same attack patterns, because some Ring Burners shoot fire in squares instead! Haven't you heard? It's hip to be square! This feels like it goes against the name, but oh well. Like Ball Beamer, these ones are safe to stand on, and they won't fire while you stand on it. Are they scared? Does Ring Beamer have feelings? Is that skull marking its actual face?

That being said, by the time Super Mario Odyssey came out, "fire" and "being safe to stand on" were out of fashion again, because Pulse Beam brought back the lasers and spikes! Or rather, laser and spike. Pulse Beam thinks having more than one spike is excessive.

Pulse Beam also values its personal space, and as long as you don't disturb it, it won't disturb you. Pulse Beams will only start shooting lasers when hit by Cappy, so leave them be, and they'll leave you be! That being said, their lasers can clear out other small enemies, so it might be good to activate them if you're getting overwhelmed...

But be careful! Pulse Beams tend to activate other Pulse Beams, so once one goes off, you'll probably have to deal with a few. Time your jumps well, and you should be A-OK.

But hold on, what if I were to tell you that the Ring Beamer family wasn't restricted to the Mario franchise...?

Happy Tunky Tuesday, because thinking so much about circular laser beams you gotta hop over reminded me of the Wave Breaker from Splatoon 3! This special weapon uses basically the same attack pattern, releasing circular shockwaves you need to jump over to avoid getting damaged, and since this is a competitive shooter, getting hit by the Wave Breaker also puts a target on your back, letting everyone on the enemy team know your exact location! Imagine, getting doxxed by a cup and ball toy. Those Splatoons have it rough.

Clearly the Splatoon 3 developers fell in love with this mechanic, because it shows up even in other game modes, with DJ Octavio's boss fight, the Amped Octostamp, and the Big Shot from Salmon Run using the exact same shockwave mechanics. The sheer scope of Ring Burner's influence can not be understated!

It's weird that talking about a Funny Spring Laser Enemy from Super Mario Galaxy eventually led me to talking about a different franchise in a different genre, but it's apparent Nintendo has fallen in love with this sort of obstacle. Gosh, Nintendo, if you love Circular Laser Beams You Need To Jump Over so much, why don't you marry them?

...I can be Spring Vault/Ring Beamer/Ring Burner/Wave Breaker/the rest's bridesmaid if they need one! I promise!

#spring vault #super mario galaxy #mario #mario enemies #mod hooligon

200 notes · View notes

genshin-impact-updates · 1 year

Text

Happy Birthday, Candace!

Isn't the night sky beautiful in the desert? As I keep watch, the stars are always above, keeping me company.

Come to think of it, there's a legend passed down in the desert about a star and a night sentry.

The legend says that once, a star couldn't handle the loneliness up in the sky, and flew down to the sentry. It said, "Let me keep you company through the long night..."

Oh, but the little star has fallen asleep. Sleep now, little one, I will stay here and protect your dreams until the first rays of dawn brighten the night.

Thanks to yu-ri for the fantastic artwork!

#genshin impact #genshin impact updates #official #genshin impact news #official art #birthday art #genshin impact candace #the night sky may be beautiful but she's even more beautiful!!!!

565 notes · View notes

slytherhys · 4 months

Note

Hello, fellow Elriel!

This is your Elriel Month fic exchange announcement. Remember to not post this Ask until the days of your prompt (feel free to post your fic directly to this ask).

Gifting: @rahjasmine

Prompt: Hold Tight and Don't Make a Sound

Tropes: Fluff, Angst, Hurt/comfort, HEA, smut

Send @elriel-month an ask if you have any questions. Can’t wait to read it! 🦇🌹

This is my Elriel Month gift for the lovely @rahjasmine and I really hope it's to your liking! 🦇🌹 I did my best to include all the tropes you requested (because why not!) with a side of plot (mainly inspired by a few Elriel Theories).

Hope I met your expectations. Happy Elriel Month, love ❤

To Have & Forget

A/N: I’m a complete sucker for Hunt calling Bryce sweetheart throughout HOEAB so I’m making that Azriel’s pet name for Elain because if SJM recycles plotlines, why can’t we recycle pet names!

TW: Swearing, Explicit Sexual Content, Blood and Injury

Word count: 3.8k | You can also read this on AO3!

The first thing Elain noticed when she came to her senses was the sound of flying.

She could feel the wind, cool and brisk on her face, just as she could feel the warmth of something, someone holding her in their arms. Her mind felt like mush, tired and wrung-out, and she could barely bring herself to open up her eyes and take notice of where she actually was.

That is, until the memories of tonight flashed through her mind, making her entire body lock. She felt the comforting squeeze of the arms around her, but Elain was beyond logic. All she could think about was the empty clearing in the middle of the woods, so still it wasn’t natural; the sticky, oily feeling of being watched; the foul scent of sulphur and salt and rot overcoming her senses as she reached for the trunk of the tree, looking for the onyx box they had been sent to retrieve.

All she could think about was how she had ignored it all – how they had been easy prey because Elain had been too distracted to wonder why she couldn’t feel the heady sense of Koschei’s magic, why the tingling in her arms seemed to be spreading through her body.

When Elain finally realised they had fallen right into a trap, it was already too late. She barely had time to turn around and cry out in warning – eyes wide as she watched an arrow move straight in Azriel’s direction – she was falling to the ground, eyes milky white and unseeing.

Sweet, sweet Elain¸its oily voice had grasped her mind, sending a hot slice of pain down her spine¸ You can’t protect him for me. She had whimpered, even as her lips remained shut. I’ll find him when the time comes, sweet, sweet-

“Elain,” Her eyes snapped up at the sound of her name on his lips. Azriel was looking down at her with a frown of concern across his features. “Hold tight,” He rasped, panting slightly. “We’re nearly there.”

She didn’t ask where there was. She supposed it didn’t really matter if it meant they’d be safe.

Elain wasn’t entirely sure how they had managed to get out. How Azriel had evaded an arrow he had not seen, how he had survived an attack from what had been at least ten sentries, when he had been staring at her, dread clear on his face.

She wasn’t entirely sure how she had survived either. She had heard the footsteps, she had heard snickering and vile jokes even through the daze of her visions. She had raged at the knowledge that she was going to die at the hands of her own incompetence. That she had failed, yet again, to understand what her visions meant – that the onyx box they had promised she’d find was a deception sent by someone else.

And Azriel – Azriel, who had seen her, who had never doubted her, her powers – would die too. Just like Rhysand had warned her about.

And yet, there she was: in the arms of the Shadowsinger as he landed softly on the ground. She looked up at him, dazed and confused as she tried to make sense of what had happened. Azriel, however, betrayed nothing. He just stared back at her, an inkling of concern still lingering in his eyes. He seemed reluctant to let her go, slowly setting her on the ground before clearing his throat.

“I’ll get us a room.” He rasped and before Elain could answer, he was turning away and walking inside a lovely stone cottage – an inn, she noticed with a frown. How Azriel knew of its existence was beyond her, but Elain couldn’t bring herself to care. She simply followed him, aware of his curious glances as they walked inside.

On any other day, Elain would’ve gasped and fussed over how incredibly charming the inn was, but feeling entirely too drained, she barely paid attention to anything at all. Not the paintings that seemed to move whenever no one was looking, not the elderly fae watching her with a curious expression from beyond the counter, and certainly not to what exactly Azriel was saying. She didn’t care for the curious stares from the patrons of the inn, she didn’t care for the fact her hands had been scrapped raw, pebbles indented to her scarred skin from when she fell to the floor.

You can’t hide him from me, sweet Elain. I have waited too long.

“Elain?”

She blinked, clearing the fog away as she took a step towards Azriel, who was standing in the middle of the room, looking at her like he was waiting for her to break apart. She looked around, not having realised she had already followed him into the room they’d be staying in. The modest bed, the wooden dresser and a small bathroom that would serve them just fine for the night. She didn’t ask if she was sleeping anywhere else – she assumed Azriel was as fond of the idea of spending the night separated as Elain was. Which is to say, not fond at all.

She eyed him, taking him in for what felt like the first time tonight and gasped.

There was a vicious tear on the shoulder of his Illyrian leathers and blood dripped down his arm.

An ugly, open wound and he had carried her for miles and miles until they were safe enough to land.

Without thinking, Elain moved, entering the bathroom without a glance back. Azriel said nothing, simply watching her with a frown as she grabbed every cloth she managed to find, looking for something, anything she could use to clean the wound. She ended up just filling a small bucket she found by the bathtub with cold water.

“Sit on the bed, please.” She rasped, her throat still raw from screaming. Azriel raised an eyebrow, though she could see he was paler than before. She set down the bowl by the bed, glancing at Azriel.

“I’m fine, Elain.” He reassured her, looking everything but fine.

She stepped closer, poking his chest. “Sit.” A poke to the chest. “On.” Another one. “The.” Another one. “Bed.” She said, shoving him softly.

“I’m fine,” He grunted. She tutted, pushing him until he was sitting on the bed, wincing at the brisk movement. Elain gave him a pointed look which Azriel promptly ignored, closing his eyes, and throwing his head back as he waited for her to start.

Elain tried not to take notice of his powerful neck, his strong jaw, and his plush lips. She focused instead on the cloth in her hands, flinching as cold water covered her hand. Then, as gently as she could manage, she patted the wound, pulling the fabric away to rinse it and start again.

She had repeated the process at least four times when Azriel spoke again, startling her. “What did you see?” He asked softly, as if not certain it was okay to ask such a thing.

Elain eyed him cautiously. She had to talk about it – she knew she did. She had put his life at risk because of it – she owed him that much. Still, every word tasted like poison ivy on her tongue. “It was him.” She murmured, still cleaning his wound even as his muscles tensed at her words as if he knew the name that was about to leave her lips. “It was Koschei.”

Azriel’s head snapped towards her, eyes unsettled as he tried to make sense of her words. Elain simply dropped the bloody cloth, reaching for a clean, dry towel and tearing it apart until only strips of it remained.

He was silent for a moment before saying, “It was a trap.” Elain nodded once, unable to meet his eyes. She began wrapping his shoulder with the strips of towel instead. “He knew we were coming.”

Elain flinched. “The vision I had in Velaris, about the box…” She shook her head, a pit forming inside her stomach as she finally admitted what had been running through her mind for the past hours. “He managed to trick me. He corrupted my own mind enough that I believed it was my own power doing it.” She whispered, eyes pinned on the makeshift wound wrappings covering the upper half of his arm. “It was my fault.” She felt her shoulders drop with the weight of her admission.

“What did he tell you, Elain?” Azriel asked softly and it was only then Elain realised he was reaching for her; gently cradling her face with his beautiful hand. Her face crumpled as cold dread filled her veins all over again. Because she did not want to think about it. She did not want to accept it.

Still, Elain looked into Azriel’s hazel eyes for the first time since they’d arrived at this tiny room. “He’s looking for you.” She whispered, yet the words felt just as biting as they had when Koschei had first hissed them inside her mind.

Azriel swallowed dry, nodding as if he had been expecting that. “Was that it?”

“I’m not sure-”

“You can tell me, sweetheart.” He assured, and Elain nearly burst into tears at his gentle tone. That he was comforting her when he was the one being threatened spoke of character.

“He says he’s been waiting for too long, that you can’t hide from him.” Her voice trembled. She leaned her face further into his touch, feeling like a coward for not being able to offer the same comfort he was giving her. “That I c-can’t save you.” Azriel went still, eyes locked on her face. But Elain wasn’t done – with a new sense of courage, she squared her shoulders, brown eyes never flickering away from as she promised, “There isn’t a thing that would stop me from saving you.” She frowned. “No matter how dreadful I am with a dagger.”

“You can handle daggers just fine, sweetheart.” He teased, but Elain only frowned further, unable to joke when things felt suddenly so grave.

“We need to leave the Continent, Az.” She turned around, escaping his touch as she took in her surroundings. The unlocked door, the unprotected window…By the Cauldron, they were only on the second floor and Mother knew what those bandits were capable of. If they had followed them.

“Elain,” He urged again, pulling her by her hand until she was standing between his open legs. “Elain, sweetheart, look at me.”

Elain stopped, panting as she turned to look at him, despair spreading through her chest until she could hardly breathe.

“We’re safe here.” He promised. “No one’s getting to me tonight.” Elain flinched slightly at the word tonight, and it was all she could do not to throw her arms around his shoulders, kissing him until they could both forget what had happened. Whatever awaited them out there. “We’ll leave for Velaris at dawn. We’ll tell Rhys and Feyre what happened and take it from there. Everything will be okay,” He pulled her closer, staring into her eyes with unshakable certainty. “We’ll be okay.”

Elain couldn’t escape his gaze, enthralled by the intensity hidden in those hazel eyes. She hadn’t even realised how close to him she had gotten. How all she could smell was him, all she could see and feel was him. His hands gently resting on her hips, his long legs trapping her between them, his breath caressing her mouth. Suddenly Elain’s heart was racing for an entirely different reason.

Memories from the night of Solstice flashed through her mind, alarms blaring inside her mind as she thought of doing something very silly like kissing the Spymaster. After that fated night, they had gone months without talking. Azriel had made himself scarce, keeping busy with all sorts of missions away from Velaris, and Elain… Elain had buried herself in work, in training with Nuala and Cerridwen, in being there for her younger sister as she recovered from a traumatic pregnancy. All thoughts of Azriel, of that necklace, of almost-kisses, had been promptly pushed aside, kept in a box, and hidden from view. Now, as she stared at him, her heart racing inside her chest, she wondered if maybe tonight – just tonight – they could have this.

She parted her lips, and his eyes dropped to them.

“We’ll be okay.” He whispered again, and Elain suspected they were no longer talking about Koschei.

Elain took a shaky breath. “Az.” She pleaded. Because she couldn’t handle the bite of his rejection again. Because she would shatter into a million pieces if he didn’t kiss her, claim her, and show her he was truly there; alive and safe.

“Sweetheart, we shouldn’t-” He started, even as his lips came closer to hers.

“We’ll pretend.” She interrupted him gently, her own hands reaching for his soft hair. “For one night, we’ll pretend we should. We’ll pretend there is nothing in this world but us.” She tried, feeling raw where she stood. “We’ll just pretend.” She murmured as if it were truly that simple. As if they could just get lost in each other and consequences be damned. Forget about her murky visions and her damaged mind. About the threat to his life.

She felt like she had stopped breathing as she waited for him to say something – do something.

But then Azriel was cradling her face yet again, pulling her into his arms and kissing her so fervently, so thoroughly Elain’s knees buckled. Azriel inhaled shakily, grabbing at the back of her knees until she was straddling his hips and the feeling of him, hard and ready under her, made her head spin. His every move spoke of urgency, of a thirst to feel her. There was no softness, only pure, desperate need.

“Yes,” She said, her own desire an inferno burning inside of her, flaring everywhere their skin touched.

His scarred hands reached for the hem of her grey dress, swiftly pulling it over her head until she was in nothing more than her bra and panties. Azriel groaned at the sight of the blue lace, reaching for her chest with an expression on his face akin to reverence. Elain dropped her head back, shivering as his rough hands teased her sensitive nipples over the lace.

Azriel leaned forward, inhaling the scent of her bare neck, licking, and tasting her. Elain moaned, hips rolling bucking against his lap.

“You need to be quiet, sweetheart,” He mumbled, eyes never leaving hers even as he slowly pushed the bra straps down her arms. “Or I won’t give you what you need.”

Elain nodded franticly, biting her lip as she watched him drop his head and wrap his lips around her now bare nipple. She tried to obey – she truly, truly did – but the feeling of his talented tongue teasing her sensitive skin made her delirious, crying out loud enough that the sound echoed through the empty room.

Azriel squeezed her hips in warning, his hands keeping their path as they traced her curves reverently, each movement speaking of the crazed, rushed need to have her in his arms.

He wrapped a scarred hand around her jaw, pulling her down until he was kissing her, moaning into her mouth just as Elain felt his other hand reach for her covered centre. She gasped, her legs shaking as his fingers swiped at her.

“You’re dripping for me,” He groaned, nimble fingers circling her cunt in a tantalising rhythm that had Elain panting, her own hands exploring his body until she was wrapping her hand around his clothed cock. She stroked him once, twice, three times until Azriel was cursing under his breath, bucking his hips as Elain rushed to free him.

“Azriel, please.” She whimpered against his lips. The feeling of his throbbing, naked member on her hand sent a shot of adrenaline down her body and for a second it was as if Elain had stopped feeling her own body. There was only her hand wrapped around his cock, his fingers teasing the entrance of her soaked cunt.

“Fuck.” He muttered, lips swollen and red. Elain whimpered in agreement, head dropping to his shoulder as he thrust one thick finger inside of her.

“Feels so good.” She managed to say, eyes closed as he set a punishing pace that had her rolling her hips, fucking herself on his finger. Pressure built around the base of her spin, her walls fluttering around his finger. Elain only had the time to bite into his shoulders as she felt herself fall over the edge, clamping around his finger as her hands reached for his body. She needed to feel his body pressed against hers, needed to be as close to him as possible.

“I need to fuck you,” Azriel said with a pained groan. “Now, sweetheart. Please.” He moaned and Elain, still a bit dazed from her own orgasm, was all too happy to oblige.

She held on to him, raising slightly to her knees as she reached for his hard, aching member again, pressing it against her entrance. They both groaned at the feel of it, eyes locked as they took in the enormity of what they were about to do. Elain didn’t give them time to regret any of it – she simply slid down, moaning as the feel of him stretched her, filled her until she was panting, ready to burst.

Elain had been with other men, but none of them compared. Nothing had ever felt like this. She was pure need and raw desire, a primal longing ringing through her as she felt like clinging to him.

Azriel cursed, stilling her hips as he stared at her with hooded eyes. “You can’t make a sound, sweetheart.” He warned her again, reminding Elain they were in a dingy inn in the middle of nowhere, thin walls and precarious locks the only thing keeping them protected from wandering eyes. Elain could care less, but a zing of arousal went down her spine at the thought of obeying the male under her, of being good to him.

When Elain was about ready to come apart around his cock, Azriel finally reached for the globes of her ass, squeezing them and manhandling Elain until she was moving again. She could feel every ridge, every throb of his cock as she rode him, making them both moan into their kiss.

“Elain,” Azriel panted, spreading his knees and thrusting from under her, one of his hands reaching for her jaw as he kept her right where he wanted her.

She was riding him, yet she was completely at his mercy, unable to do anything but take every thrust of his cock, the bite of his hand grabbing her ass, the gentle way he was holding her jaw so he could taste her lips as he fucked her.

The breath in her lungs grew scarcer and her eyes started to flutter as she felt the familiar tell-tale of an orgasm. Az moaned.

“Fuck, you’re gonna come for me?” He rasped, eyes blown wide as she took her in. The way he was staring at her made warmth spread through her entire body. She felt one scarred hand circle her clit, soft enough that it nearly drove her mad. “Let me feel you come around my cock, sweetheart.”

“Azriel, I’m-”

“Come for me, Elain.” He ordered, and her name on his lips was enough to send her straight over the edge. Elain shattered around him, her legs shaking as pleasure rushed through her body, numbing her limbs. Before she could cry out, Azriel was kissing her, his tongue seeking hers. “Shit.” He muttered, his hips shuttering as he thrust into her, seeking his own pleasure.

“Come inside me, Az.” Elain muttered dozily. “I want you to fill me with your cum.”

He wrapped his arms around her body, pulling her into him as he came inside her with a moan. “Fuck, Elain.” He thrust into her clumsily, emptying his seed into her.

She fell against him, head on his shoulder as she tried to catch her breath. She closed her eyes, feeling Azriel’s ragged breathing under her, his arms still wrapped around her.

“Elain,” He said her name softly, and something inside her seemed to settle at last – even as fear tied her stomach in knots.

How foolish of her to think they could just pretend. How foolish of her to think one night would ever be enough.

She pulled away, her eyes meeting his in the darkened room. Elain swallowed dry, her heartbeat so loud she could barely hear her own whisper. “Do you regret it?”

Azriel’s expression was uncharacteristically open – enough so that Elain could read the confusion, the disbelief that came across his features for a brief moment. She shut down the tiny voice that told her she ought to feel elated he felt comfortable enough to show her his emotions, but all she could focus on was the fear seizing her chest, telling her that to him, one night had been more than enough.

Azriel watched her closely, seeing all that. Understanding her, like he always did.

So, with Elain still straddling his hips, he reached for her and kissed her. Slowly, reverently. Elain felt her breath catch, her mind clear as his tongue sought hers. She brought her hands to his jaw, begging him for more, crazed with the realisation of how much she had longed for him. Azriel, however, kept his lazy pace. Tasting her like they had all the time in the world.

He pulled away, his eyes clear and intent as they locked on hers, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “The only thing I regret is that you think this will be a one-time thing, sweetheart.” He rasped, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Elain chuckled softly, even as a shiver ran down her spine at the sinful promise ringing in those words. She wanted to hold him in her arms, to ravish him again and again, until dawn came, and they had to leave the Continent behind. But she knew this moment to be too fragile, too raw for there to be space for anything but the truth that floated between them. That there wasn’t a world where they could keep apart from each other any longer.

So, Elain let his promise settle down deep inside of her, an answering smile rising on her lips.

And later that night, when he had already fallen asleep in her arms, his head lying on her chest as she played with his hair, she let her own truth settle deep inside of her.

Now that he was finally hers, there was nothing – no one – that would be taking Azriel away from her. No pesky mating bonds, no prying High Lords. And certainly no manipulative, mad, ancient Gods - no matter how powerful they were.

She would make sure of it.

#elriel #elrielmonth2024 #elriel month 2024 #pro elriel #elain archeron #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #acotar #my writing #to have & forget

64 notes · View notes

acourtofmenandthirst · 2 years

Text

Show Them

Tamlin x Reader. If you don’t like it, don’t read it :) I feel like after all of the events of books 2-5, he’s learned how and why he was wrong, and he’s been kicked a lot while he was down. It’s about time for him to redeem himself and find love too ok?? So here is my rendition of the start of his redemption arc.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of death, trauma

Word Count: 8.7K

You huffed a sigh, wiping your hands at the hem of your thin dress, ridding yourself of the flecks of mud and dry blood. With a squint, you picked at your palm, trying to pull the thick wooden splinter from your skin. Fourth one in an hour, you rolled your eyes to yourself, glaring at the pile of wood and debris - what previously held the roof over your head.

You eyed the deep scratches embossed in the wood, the ones that no doubt belonged to the Naga that roamed the nearby forest. They’d looted and torn your house to the ground, much like your neighbor’s home and the shops in the town. After the High Lord had disappeared years ago, the hierarchy had fallen - there were no more sentries to guard the village, to threaten the Bogge and keep the wraiths at bay.

Not that you had many belongings, but you needed to find as much food as you could. You dug around for scraps of food, money, jewelry - anything of value that you could trade for shelter. But fuck, you came up with nothing. Your house was nothing but a pile of dust, all your belongings gone with it. And it was getting dark, the sun almost completely disappearing behind mountains in the distance.

You’d have to beg your neighbors for sanctuary, even if just for the evening. They were no doubt already locking up their homes and arming themselves with all the blades and spears they could find. Deciding you would return in the morning to continue, you turned away from the pile of remains - only for your eye to catch on a glimmer in the woods.

The shadows had already long fallen over the forest, the black of night seeping in from the treeline before you. You were met with a pair of eyes, glowing and bright green, the golden sunset mirrored in the glossy shine.

Your breath hitched in your throat, your heart stilling in your veins. There were many creatures that roamed the Spring woodlands, many more creeping in on the territory now that it lacked a High Lord. The water wraiths from the Summer Court encroached in the waters; after hearing that their neighboring sisters no longer paid the Tithe, they swam over in droves. Some were shifters, moving onto the unprotected lands to mark for themselves, others were sirens, with shimmering eyes that promised the brightest future, so beautiful that they lured the young Spring males to the coast, robbing and drowning them for pleasure.

But these eyes were different, a deep emerald, slanted inwards and narrowed - canine, feral. Studying its prey, waiting for attack. You’d heard rumors of the Autumn Court hounds, the ones Beron and his sons roamed around with. How they could track Fae down between courts, tear their throats out without even revealing themselves - some were rumored to have two heads. But you watched those shining green eyes until the beast turned away, tucking itself back between the trees and disappearing into the darkness.

___________________________

You were back on the street at the break of dawn, graciously thanking the family that housed you for the night, offering to bring them anything valuable you could find from home’s wreckage. You kicked at the dry sticks and stones on the dirt road leading to your little plot of land, cursing at the fallen trees and dying brush.

It seemed the Spring Court curse wouldn’t be lifted any time soon. You’d worn a godsdamned mask for years - a doe: the most innocent animal of Spring, silent and small in a court full of sly foxes and brash wolves. The supposed cursebreaker returned to your court only to tear it apart from the inside out, playing spy for the Night Court the whole time. The Autumn Court emissary had left and your High Lord had disappeared - no heir or kin left behind. He abandoned you all and took his power with him.

Some said he left and sought refuge in the Summer Court - that only Tarquin would be kind enough - naive enough - to offer him solace. Others thought he died, that Feyre killed him and there was nobody else to take the powers of the High Lord. You weren’t sure you believed either of those rumors. Nobody was brave enough to tread to Tamlin’s manor and find out for themselves; only the Mother knew what creatures resided there, Fae or otherwise.

The pile of wood and stone remained untouched overnight, you had to drag yourself over to your old land. It wasn’t worth anything, nothing was anymore. It felt barbaric, almost: digging through the mud and destroyed earth for something to barter with. It seemed that your court had been through nothing but devastation since you’d been alive. You were only just a hundred years old when the land was cursed by Amarantha - spent years in a mask followed by a stint under the mountain. When the curse was lifted, the Spring Court lasted about as long as the celebrations. As soon as life turned back to normal - whatever that truly was - the Night Court infiltration was exposed, Pyrthian was brought to war, and your home was destroyed.

You groaned, both of your hands wrapped around a heavy log of wood, surely it was the heaviest in the pile. You groaned, gritting your teeth as you tried (and failed) to move it. Your hands slipped, dry bark breaking off the wood beam, causing you to slip and fall backwards right on your ass. You cursed, denouncing the Mother. Perfect start to the fucking day, you’d thought. A whole day of failure awaits.

“Do you need a hand?”

Your head snapped up, nearly giving you whiplash as you turned to the side. You narrowed your eyes, the tall male standing just in front of where the sun was rising, shadow cast over his front. But you made out his light hair, glowing in the bright light, a halo cast around his head. His shoulders were so broad, his white shirt tight around his arms but loose around his waist, the fabric shifting as the wind blew past. He held a hand out to you, palm raised.

Your gaze dropped to his waiting hand, which you gladly took. His skin was rough, calluses around his palms and over his fingers. He pulled you to your feet, almost too easily, and had you balancing over the pile of bricks and shingles. “Thanks,” you mumbled, releasing his hand and brushing the dirt off the bottom of your dress. No use - there were days old mud stains all over it already.

“Is this your home?” His eyes surveyed the debris you both stood over, face still shadowed from the sun.

You rolled your eyes. “It was,” you’d scoffed, propping your hands on your hips. The male frowned, his shoulders hunched a bit. You cocked a brow at him, at the rainy evergreen smell that cascaded off of him. His blond hair was unkempt, sun-frayed and tangled at the ends. You took a step closer, onto the large wooden beam that had just bested you.

“Sorry,” he murmured, cheeks tinged pink, chin tilted downwards. Ashamed.

You nodded, standing taller, walking across the wood so you were positioned on the other side of him. The male turned with you, not allowing his back to face you. He mirrored you, perhaps in self defense, as you looked like you were the one scouting your prey. His features became sharper as he faced the sunrise, shadows looming over his face now washed away.

Those emerald green eyes watched you carefully, narrowed, just like those from the forest. His sharp brows furrowed as he watched you assess him, as you put together the pieces rather quickly.

“What would you be sorry for?” You questioned the High Lord. “Did you knock down my house?”

Tamlin didn’t respond, just stood in front of you, those light eyelashes caressing the tops of his high cheekbones as he blinked at you. His jaw clenched, tongue ran over the back of his sharp teeth as he mulled over something to say, only to come up short.

You took his lack of response as an answer in the negative. “Then you have nothing to apologize for.”

“I didn’t stop them,” he replied, voice hoarse. It was as though he hadn’t spoken in years, as if he’d spent far too long roaming the forest in his wolf form. His body was wracked with shame, remorse, and anguish. He didn’t feel the pain when he was outside his Fae form - he didn’t have to bear the anguish of witnessing what happened to his court while he disappeared into the brush.

You nodded in agreement. And while you spent these past hundred years angry, just so frustrated at what had become of your life, you couldn’t find yourself to be upset with him.

Your home had been destroyed, your family gone, everything from the life you once had stripped away entirely. But what could you do? The past had already come and gone, there was nothing you could do to change it.

The male before you felt the opposite, though. His mind was reeling with the resurgence of the memories from the past century. The masks, his friend and former lover gone - ran away to the Night Court, to the male that had murdered his family - under the mountain, the war, the Cauldron.

Gods, all of it was his fault.

His court was destroyed, but it wasn’t the war, it wasn’t the other High Lords infringing on his territory. No, it was all him. It was the lack of his presence in his court that destroyed it from the inside out. And looking at your face, the dirt smudged over your brow, your cheeks splotched from spending days in the sun without shelter, he’d wanted nothing more than to tuck his tail between his legs and disappear back into the woods.

But you were too captivating, your gaze leveled him completely. You didn’t tear into him, didn’t yell at him, didn’t hit him, not the way he knew so many others wanted to. He didn’t know how to help you, how to apologize for abandoning his court. He didn’t have any money to give you, no doubt he assumed the Spring Court estate had been robbed and looted. He wasn’t sure what valuables were even left anyway, after passing on money and jewels to the Archeron family.

“I’d like to help you…” Tamlin trailed off, the words lost. His eyes roamed over the fallen house the two of you stood on. “Rebuild.” His green eyes flitted back up to you, to the doubt and surprise laced over your features. You swallowed, shoulders shrugged in indifference. Gods, you probably hated him. Wanted nothing to do with him. “If you’ll let me.”

“I’m not sure what there is to rebuild,” you replied, kicking at some stone with your dirty boot. “I’m just looking for...” What were you looking for? “Anything.”

Tamlin nodded in understanding. He wasn’t quite sure what he was expecting to come back to, didn’t know what he would stumble upon after he’d returned to his home court. While he was no stranger to being alone, to feeling like an outcast, utterly unworthy of his position in life, he’d never been able to relate to his old friend Lucien so much. While the Vanserra had been banished from his home court, Tamlin felt like the Spring subjects would band together and exile him from his own court, too.

But the male stood still, nothing but the wind blowing his tousled hair around his sharp jaw. He was surely waiting for you, for your permission to return to his life in Spring - a new life, perhaps: a chance to rebuild your home and his life. He needed to earn his place as the High Lord, hell - he needed to learn what it meant to be a leader, to earn the trust of the Spring citizens.

“Well, help me move this, then,” you said simply, gesturing to the dark wood.

You’d quickly come to realize the male just had pent up anger, stress that may have been best relieved by throwing stone and brick around. He was quiet, not speaking unless you’d ask him a question or give him direction to move some debris. Tamlin watched you carefully, just as he had the other night, eyes glossy and pointed, observing how carefully you tended to anything that may have once had value to you. But you hadn’t made much progress, finding just scraps of clothing, a broken necklace, or some rotten food.

“I was in love once, too,” you stated out of nowhere. You kept digging through the pile of broken furniture and wood, head tilted downwards, eyes focused on the task at hand.

Tamlin’s ears perked up and he straightened, wiping his hands on his trousers to remove some of the mud that had caked his palms. He wiped at his brow, the sweat that had built up over the past few hours. He wasn’t sure what to say, you gave him nothing to work off of, offering nothing but confusion for the poor male.

You looked up at him only for a moment, plopping down on your ass with a sigh, resting your aching legs. “It can make you do some fucked up things.”

He almost laughed, would have, if it didn’t burn his throat on the way up. “Even more fucked up things once you’re out of it.”

The sound that pushed past your lips sounded like absolute heaven. It was the only salvation the male needed after years spent growling at beasts in the woods. The giggle that erupted from you - the pure surprise at the High Lord’s comment - it made his heart stop.

But he couldn’t help the deep stabbing feeling through his gut. Guilt. He shouldn’t be enjoying the sweet sound of your laughter, the shine of the sun in your hair, your pretty smile. He shouldn’t enjoy life anymore, not after what he did to yours - to everyones. It was why he shut himself out, far in the thick Spring forest, away from all salvation, any shred of comfort he might have been able to find. After Feyre had left, after Rhysand returned to twist the knife in his once stone chest, there had been no point, no return at High Lord once everything had crumbled.

“Well, Tamlin,” you sighed - the first time hearing his name on your lips. He quite liked the sound of it, but promised not to get used to it. “I think it’s about time we fix some of those fuck ups.”

He rolled his eyes, kicking a heavy log from the top of the pile. “And how do you suppose I do that?”

You huffed another breathy laugh, raising your head and squinting up at him, the sun risen nearly fully in the sky. “You do nothing,” you replied simply, propping your elbows on your knees. “We are going into town.” You opened your palm, that broken gold necklace

And Tamlin felt like folding himself in half and kneeling over that damn pile of rocks. The necklace you’d worked for hours to find ready to trade at the town center. He was absolutely sick. His mind flashed back to the days of the Tithe - how he sat atop his throne, gold jeweled crown atop his head, waiting rather impatiently for the Spring Court subjects to pay their dues. In a court where he did next to nothing to save them - after fifty years of looking for a way out of Amarantha’s plan - they still owed him.

Tamlin had a lot of regrets.

He didn’t know how to act, how to rule a court. Didn’t know how to save his people, how to make up for the lost years.

There was a lot to make up for - he knew it better than anyone.

He just didn’t know how.

You watched his mind reel, how his sharp green eyes fell to the pile of wooden scraps beneath his boots. His dark blond brows knitted together, lips pressed in a firm line, jaw clenched. His chest moved up and down with every breath he took, each one he forced in his lungs. The golden strands of his hair moved around his pointed ears, dancing over his shoulders in the wind.

“I don’t think I can,” he replied, voice just above a whisper.

You pushed yourself to your feet and reached out for him, for the tanned skin of his forearm. You held your fingers around his wrist, the touch shocking the male out of his daze. His breath caught, his mouth and throat suddenly ran dry. “You have to come back. You need to return to us.”

He tried to force himself to swallow, to will his voice to work and reply. To us. He was the only one who could fix what he’d fucked up. He didn’t know exactly how, but you were right. It would start with the return of the High Lord, with the promise of forgiveness from his subjects. He’d have to beg for forgiveness, pray that they would grant him amnesty.

He nodded though, which was all he could muster the strength for. He let you keep hold of his wrist - he didn’t even know how long it had been since another Fae had touched him - and guide him off the pile of debris, not missing how your boots skidded along the loose bricks. He reached out with his other hand to steady you, a firm hand on your hip as you stumbled to a halt, managing to remain upright.

By the Cauldron, you felt good. Warm, delicate, you smelled like the gardens after a fresh rain. He dropped his hand just as quickly, before his mind really fell into the gutter. Perhaps the years of solitude had finally gotten to him, he thought. He had officially gone mad. So he stayed composed, letting you drop his wrist from your hand - not without a backward glance at him.

“We’ll see what we can get,” you continued, beginning to walk towards the center of the town. You lived far enough on the outskirts that not many others passed by, none alerted to the fact their High Lord had returned. “The blacksmiths will probably be the only ones who will trade for it. Nobody really has use for gold anymore.”

He noted the drop in your voice, the bleakness that laced your tone. Tamlin walked only a half step behind you, yet he towered over you, his chest cleared above your head, shadow fully engulfing you. “How is the food supply?”

You knew it felt foreign for him, especially to ask now after years of his disappearance into the woods. But you could tell he was trying, gathering his bearings and reassessing the court - where he needed to start first. “Not great, honestly. There are only a few who have enough weapons to hunt in the woods.”

Tamlin knew all too well what lurked in the woods. They would be lucky if they could catch deer or rabbit, let alone an elk or mare. “I’ll see what I can manage to catch tonight,” he replied grimly, lips pressing into a frown. Under the moon was the best time to hunt, where there were surely no endangered Fae out, when the large beasts went to roam the woods, using the cover of night to avoid the hunters. The only thing that would be able to catch them lurked just behind you: a wolf.

You eyed the clouds that began to roll in overhead, dimming the sun’s bright light. “That would help,” you replied, hoping the words of encouragement would ease his mind, but not sound too desperate that they scared the male.

You walked the rest of the way in silence, peaceful albeit awkward. Tamlin’s fingers twitched at his sides - it was almost as though he barely remembered how to walk as a Fae male. You knew those green eyes that watched you from the forest were his. The second you saw the High Lord that morning, you realized you’d stared into his wolfish eyes - hungry and chilling, sad and remorseful.

His gaze shifted from left to right constantly, walking through the clutter of buildings and broken wood. Half the buildings had been looted, some torn down entirely. Fae gathered around stands and what was left of the remaining shops. He felt their eyes burning into him, heard the murmuring ringing in his ears. Some were confused, others outright scared, but none approached him.

You took Tamlin to the dim stone building, the only light pouring in from the window and cracks in the walls - no faelights or candles in sight. “He and his wife have the baked goods - there aren’t many other iron pans left in the town, he’s got the bulk of them.” Your eyes flitted around the shop, at the pile of iron ingots stacked on one of the tables. “I could never manage enough to get one, to bake my own bread over the fire.” You shot Talmin a sharp look, then eyed the shop owner across the room. “Good morning, Oleander,” you greeted the old male, hunched over a table lined with gleaming metal knives.

The hairs on the High Lord’s neck stood, a chill running down his spine at the sight of the swords hanging on the wall, the bows and arrows piled in the corner. “(Y/N),” he replied gruffly. “What brings you in?”

You turned back to Talmin, getting eyes on the male to ensure he was still in toe. “I was wondering what you might give me for this gold.” You held the necklace out to him, the cracked pendant and broken chain gleaming in your dirty palm.

“Ah,” he breathed, grabbing the necklace with his own filthy hand. “Given the condition, I’m afraid I can only give you…” He squinted at the old pendant, what seemed to be a depiction of the Mother with flowers braided throughout her hair. Tamlin’s mother once had a similar one. “Last week’s bread.”

“Old bread?” Tamlin couldn’t help but scoff, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

The blacksmith’s eyes show up toward him, as if his eyes and ears deceived him. Oleander, clearly half blind, squinted at the High Lord. “Do you have an issue with my pricing?” He questioned Tamlin - who was certainly not used to the bite back from his subjects. “I think I’m being more than fair to the female.” He looked Tamlin up and down.

“Fair?” Tamlin barked a laugh. “You own all of the weapons and food in the town and you’re telling me what’s fair?” He didn’t miss the sight of you backing up, right out of the corner of his eye. You inched towards the door, palms facing outwardly behind you, feeling as soon as your backside touched the door jam. Oleander stood, broad and burly, inching forward toward the both of you. By then, the shop had dimmed, dark clouds rolling over outside. The Fae had gathered around to watch, to see the High Lord for the first time in nearly decades.

“Oh,” he laughed, standing, grabbing one of the polished knives. He raised his voice and stepped closer to Tamlin, cornering him out the door in the same direction you were fleeing. “The High Lord has returned to preach on decorum.” Tamlin dropped his hands to his sides, unclenched fists, not looking to start the physical fight, but prepared to defend himself. He could surely take the old male on easily, even if he had been armed with half the swords in his collection. “After years of abandonment, of leaving his people to suffer at the hands of the beasts, he’s come to exhort fairness and righteousness.”

The Fae outside watched as you and Tamlin joined them outside the shop, many of their interests piqued at the sight of the golden haired male.

“He’s back?”

“I thought he had died…” “He would be better off that way.”

“Never thought I’d live the day I would rather see Beron than him.”

“Shut up, he’s returned to help.” “No way - he’s just going to start the Tithe again.”

There were giggles amongst the murmuring crowd, laughing surely at the old Fae male that had the High Lord backing out of his shop. There were no words he could say to ease the crowd, to change their minds, to earn their trust. He wanted nothing more than to shift back into a wolf and hide away in the forest alone.

“We didn’t come to make trouble, Oleander,” you spoke up calmly, empty hands raised in surrender. “He’s come to make peace.”

He rolled his eyes, amongst another burst of whispering from the gathered crowd. “Peace,” he spat. “That’s what we all used to know before he abandoned us and left us for dead.”

Tamlin’s jaw set, anger flashed through his eyes. There were some agreements exchanged by the other Fae. There were very few who sought to give their High Lord a second chance.

Fuck, second or third? Or fourth chance? Tamlin couldn’t count.

“We’re leaving, okay?” You inched closer to him, right until your shoulder pressed up against his bicep. “But please - ” you turned to face the crowd, what Tamlin could only assume were your friends, others you could consider almost family. “Please, just keep an open mind. If you’d been shunned, abandoned in the woods, you’d want us to accept you back.” There were a few nods, but many blank stares as you began walking away from the town, back towards the forest clearing. “No more hatred. We’ve had decades of spite, of shame.” Before you turned on your heel, before you grabbed Tamlin’s forearm to pull him away with you, you added: “Let us find peace again. Together: united as one court.”

Fuck, Tamlin thought. You’d spoken all of the things he should have said. He wondered if you’d practiced that little speech, if one day you secretly hoped he’d come back so you could preach that very surmon.

Tamlin pushed that thought far down in the depth of his mind.

But perhaps Oleander had a point. Perhaps they would all be better off taking care of themselves without the rule of an artificial High Lord. They surely managed to come this far. It wasn’t like Tamlin would be able to protect the town himself - he’d have to rebuild armies before infrastructure, to guard the town from the forest before they could sift through the remains of the down.

You’d dragged him along nonetheless, guiding him anywhere but the town. It was back toward your home - what remained of it, anyway. But the sky was grey by then, dark clouds shielding you both from the once bright sun. The soft crackle of thunder reverberated from the Summer Coast. “I’m - ” you cut yourself off with a sigh, dropping his arm, but continuing on your trek. “I’m not sure where we can get shelter for the evening. I don’t think anyone will let us stay for the storm.”

You were surely not on your way to make any amends, though. You just kept walking back towards your little plot of land, not that there was anywhere for you two to take cover until the rain washed away.

Tamlin kept his eyes trained in front of him, not daring to spare a look at your shining eyes as he spoke. “Follow me.”

So you did. You almost didn’t recognize it, afterall, it had been almost a century since you’d walked that path. Nature had reclaimed most of it, the trail completely gone. Tamlin’s long legs stepped over vines and fallen logs, and he held your hand for balance as you followed in his footsteps - he’d even lifted you through particularly muddy patches, simply lifting you up and placing you down before him like you weighed nothing.

The walk to his manor would have taken a mere half hour on horseback, perhaps just over an hour had the path remained. But it would take a few for the two of you to find your way back to the Spring Court Estate in the condition of the forest. Especially as the rain started to fall, the heavy droplets hard against your skin as they fell from the sky.

You walked for what felt like the whole first half in silence. Nothing but the sound of Tamlin slicing thick leaves and branches, clearing what he could from the once barren path. You listened to the rain, to your own ragged breath as you struggled to keep up with the male.

You watched his golden hair darken as it became damp with rain. His white linen shirt clung to his back and arms, you’d noted the ridges carved deep into his body as his muscles flexed, working around the forest that overtook the path. He slowed once the two of you stumbled upon a clearer area, falling into step beside you.

You could feel the tension radiating from him, his fists were clenched at his side, the hairs on his arms stood up. He wasn’t used to wondering the woods as a Fae, hell - he hadn’t been in Fae form in years. Those woods felt all too familiar to him out of his wolf form, reminded him of all the times he’d fucked up in that very spot. He needed to distract himself, clear away the memories of his friend Lucien, his once lover, his newfound family.

“I was in love once,” he said, voice gruff, muffled from the sound of the rain falling against the wide leaves. He repeated your sentiment from earlier - an acknowledgement of his past, perhaps even an apology. “But I’m pretty sure she was fucking my emissary.”

You’d nearly choked.

“That’s - uh - ” Gods, what do you say to that?

He shrugged. “My feelings for her weren’t fake,” he continued, nonchalantly, as though he’d had nothing but time to come to terms with what had transpired. You supposed he did, though, and were sure that was the only thing on his mind. “I just didn’t know how to act.”

“We don’t have to talk about it,” you replied, crossing your arms over your chest, trying to keep what little body heat you had, as the cold water sent shivers down your spine.

He shrugged. “Someone ought to hear the truth - ” Tamlin paused, only for a moment, as his green eyes narrowed in on the estate before you both. Trees covered the once stony walls, vines and thick ivy woven up all the windows and over the balconies. “You seem to be the only one who will listen.”

“I don’t not believe you, Tamlin.” You let him lead the rest of the way, pushing past the thick brush that guarded you from the estate as you neared the large castle. “Sometimes people aren’t who you think they are.”

At that, Tamlin dipped his head, turning to the side only slightly, just enough for him to catch a glimpse of your solemn expression. The rain had dripped down your face, over the curve of your nose and over your cheeks. He admired the way they clumped on your eyelashes, how you didn’t have a care in the world all covered in rain - perhaps you had more important concerns. Much too worried about where you’d sleep that night, where you next meal would come from, if you’d have shelter from the beasts, than to worry about his sob story.

But you caught his gaze from the corner of your eye, where you’d found those bright emerald eyes washing over your form. Shadows cascaded down his straight nose, his eyelashes nearly touching his cheekbones. You’d wondered if it was the wolf in him that gave him those long eyelashes and thick hair, his sharp teeth and chiseled jaw. He carried himself like a High Lord, shoulders back and chest puffed out - perhaps the closer he got to his home, the more normal he felt. It was a routine, the same path he’d often walked with his friends: Lucien, Bron, Alis, Hart, those that worked for him yes, but also the only ones he could consider truly his family.

Tamlin used the small knife he had to cut though the thick vines over the stairs. He’d moved each of the fallen logs, twice as heavy because they were waterlogged, and cleared the pathway to the front doors. He wanted to create a wide opening, should you decide in the middle of the night that you’d want to escape - run away from him, from the court. He didn’t want you to feel like a prisoner - he scoffed to himself, he apparently had a knack for that.

He’d opened the door for you, watching as you gathered the hem of your soaked skirts and your muddy boots squished against the stone steps. You nodded in thanks, unable to move your eyes away from the entryway. The ceiling was fully glass, and despite the rain and clouds, cast a looming light onto the marble walls and floors. The rain echoed in the walls, the fat droplets hitting the roof hard. The heavy curtains and canvases on the walls had been ripped to shreds, rock and stone cracked and scattered along the hallways. The grand staircase was broken, missing a few steps, the railing half gone.

You wondered what war went on here, while Tamlin tried to forget exactly that.

He hadn’t been to his home in years. But he knew what would be left to salvage, the rooms he’d lost the energy to tear completely apart. So Tamlin followed you in, guiding you down one of the corridors. “We should be able to find some blankets and clothes this way,” he said, voice just above a whisper. It was so deep that it vibrated in your bones, sending shivers down your freezing spine.

He’d stirred you through the wide halls, pulling you away with a firm hand on your hip when you’d tried to move toward the great dining room. His hand was hot on your waist, right at the curve of your back as he pulled you one step closer to him. “Not that way.” His eyes were fixed on the mahogany doors, hiding whatever may lie beyond. While he was almost certain he’d left you with the idea there may be Naga or wolves or some other beasts beyond those walls, he didn’t want to correct you with the truth. The gross truth that that’s where he left the elk Rhysand brought him so long ago, no doubt rotted away and disintegrated into the table - that, or it would have been swept away by some creature, perhaps for food or simply to play with its carcass. Either way, he didn’t want to find out.

There were holes in the roof, in the floors above, that leaked through the halls. You stepped around the puddles, dodging the stream of rain that fell from the ceiling. Tamlin pushed open one of the many doors in the long hallway, a dark bedroom on the other side. “It’s not my room, don’t worry.”

You turned up to face him. He looked weary, uneasy being back in this estate. “I wasn’t worried, Tamlin.”

He released a breath, his chest visibly falling at your words. He followed you in, closing the door to shut out the cold that the rain had brought to Spring. He’d brought you to one of the guest rooms, never had been occupied by a member of his court. It went untouched during Tamlin’s rage, there had been no evidence of life to destroy. He’d managed to rummage around and quickly find some candles, digging through drawers and closets to find a dry book of matches.

While Tamlin lit the room, you were drawn to the soft couch in the corner, pulling every blanket and piece of cloth you could find. Gods, it had been so long since you had a good night’s rest, since you sat on a plush sofa and had the softest blankets around you. But you had to wait. Your dress was soaked, you’d been dragging water and mud behind you that whole time. “Do you have any…” you trailed off with a sigh, assuming the male didn’t have any spare dresses lying around.

You actually would be more concerned if he did.

“There may be something,” he replied, picking up on your predicament. He sifted through the armoire again, the flickering candles aiding his search. He’d come up with some clothes, a few linen pants and loose shirts. He held everything out to you, a pile of clean fabric.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d worn clean clothes. Tamlin noted how your eyes widened, like you’d hit the jackpot, like you’d never seen pajamas before - clean clothes. He cursed himself once again for cursing his people, for abandoning them and forcing them to live in destroyed homes and a looted town.

You pulled a handful of clothes from his offering, your wet skin crying out for warmth. “There’s a bathing chamber that way.” He nodded to the door far off in the corner. “Doubt there’s any water but…” he trailed off with a shrug.

“Thank you,” you replied, legs practically begging to take you to the bathroom and change into the pajamas. So you’d scurried away, grabbing a candle to light your way into the bath chamber. The mirror was cracked, covered in dust. But you quickly shucked off your wet dress, grabbing the shirt from the pile and wiped yourself dry, wringing out your hair in the fabric. You pulled on the next shirt, the huge cotton long-sleeve that fell halfway down your thighs. No doubt it had been designed for the High Lord, perhaps even his emissary. But you’d take what you could get, throwing on another shirt for warmth, then the linen pants. You fisted the waist, pulling one of the strings from your dress bodice to tie the pants snugly around your waist.

Through the dirty mirror, you made out the dark circles under your eyes, your tired eyes and wild hair. You suppressed a sigh, too tired to care one bit. So you returned to the drawing room, finding the High Lord in a fresh set of clothes as well.

He was trying to busy himself, sifting through the pile of blankets you’d managed to create, even adding a few more to your pile. He didn’t want to be rude, to fall onto the soft couch or bed without first making sure you were taken care of.

His heart stopped when he turned, seeing you swimming in the Spring Court clothing, even just those too-large pajamas. You looked so relieved, so comfortable and, honestly, ready to pass out for the evening. So he cleared his throat: “You can have the bed.” It was all he said, added a head nod towards the other end of the room, where the mattress was, nothing but some sheets atop it. “I was going to give you these.” He gestured to his pile of blankets. All the soft looking ones in one pile, the thin scratchy material separated behind him.

“We can share the bed, no?” You made your way toward him and grabbed an armful of the blankets he’d folded. “We could both use the nice bed, I’m sure. I imagine it’s been longer for you than me.”

Tamlin cocked a brow, watched as you trudged over to the bed, dumping everything atop it. “I’ve managed just fine.”

You glanced over your shoulder at the male. “Bring those other ones,” you called out, ignoring her words. “We’ll probably need them if this rain doesn’t let up.”

Tamlin shook his head to himself but did as told, not in the mood to argue with the female, especially not the beautiful one wearing his clothes. So he brought over the rest of the blankets, even the scratchy ones, and helped you make the bed. It was haphazard, sure, some of them not big enough to cover the whole bed, a patchwork of covers, some yours, some his, then the ones stitching you together down the middle.

You climbed in immediately.

The sigh you let loose from your lips almost had Tamlin on his knees before you. Your back cracked when you laid down, plush mattress cushioning your spine in a way you hadn’t felt in a long while. You slept on the hard wooden planks of your neighbor’s floor since your house had been torn down, freezing and stiff. You hadn’t remembered the last time you’d had a full nights rest.

The same went for the male beside you. He’d been holed up in some cave on the Spring-Autumn border, where the wind whistled past and the cold seeped through the rock into his bone. His thick golden fur only did so much to protect him from the chill. He was surprised he hadn’t gotten himself killed out there, and he didn’t even want to think about everything he himself had killed in those past years.

“What made you come back?” Your soft voice pulled him out of his thoughts, he blinked a few times before pulling the covers back and joining you on the opposite end. He was careful to leave space, to not encroach. His palms caught on the scratchy fabric of the blanket he’d laid on his half, calluses hard and broken, left from his many years of tearing apart flesh with his paws.

“I was tired of being a coward,” he replied humbly. “I ran away from everything that happened. Pretended like it never happened and shut myself away.” He ran a hair through his half-dried hair, fingers getting tangled at the ends.

“You were alone?” It was a cross between a question and a statement, he wasn’t sure which you were going for - probably the former.

“I’ve been alone my whole life. Everyone I come across either leaves or tries to kill me.”

He felt you turn, shift on your side to gaze at him with what little light remained of the candle. Tamlin kept his eyes trained on the covers above him, unable to face the pity that probably laced your features. “Did they try to kill you?” Your voice shook, afraid to even ask the question, terrified of the response.

He offered you a half shrug. “They left…willingly,” he’d added, mulling over the words in his head. “Though I suppose I not-so-willingly let them. I don’t know how to keep friends, it seems.”

“I suppose that’s better than the other option.”

Them killing him. “Better when it’s not your own family, too.” It was no secret the previous High Lord had a knack for starting wars, for sending his sons to fight his battles for him. Tamlin had a reputation far before his powers even matured - his brothers’ even more so. But what you didn’t know was that they were ready to kill him the instant he matured into a stronger male. He wasn’t glad they were dead, but he was glad he was safe - even if only for a little while. He had found few friends before the curse, a lover afterwards, even. But just like his father and brothers, he could not show love, no matter how hard he willed it, he kept fucking up.

That’s what it felt like, at least. He supposed he was the jester of the Spring Court in the end. The friends he’d had and the lies they told him: you never made me feel like a prisoner - her voice rang in his head. Soon they were gone, twisting the opposite tale to the male that murdered his family. Nothing could be forgiven in Prythian, no reconciliation to be made between courts. There was no coping, no help from his friends, no one to confide in. So he did the only thing he knew how: shut himself out. Just like he had his former lover, keeping her safe in that very estate.

He kept every Fae who remained in Spring safe from himself, even if that meant casting himself into the woods.

You shifted only a bit, but close enough that you reached over and tucked your soft blanket around his shoulders, over his chest that had nearly gone cold from the rain and chill outside. You were close enough that Tamlin could pick up on your flowery scent, that he noted the small hint of honey and cherry blossom lingering along your skin.

It had been so long since he’d touched another Fae, since he felt someone care for him. He couldn’t help it - his head fell onto your shoulder, right where the crook of your neck met your collarbone, a perfect fit for the crownless male. “And how have you fared, Tamlin? Now that you are a free male?”

Free.

Free from what? From his duties as a High Lord, surely he’d abandoned them years ago, letting the Naga and the beasts of the Spring Court take over the sacred land. Free from Amarantha’s glamor, the shackles she’d chained him with under the mountain? Free from the binds she kept on his mind, the nightmares - memories - he relived each evening?

He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be free from it.

He didn’t know how to cope. Not when the only people he’s ever cared about left. Not when his best friend left him when he clearly needed the most help, not when his lover left to wed his mortal enemy, then bare his child. But he apologized to her, for all the trauma he must have caused, locking her away, fearful of who else from Prythian would come to spite him by taking away the female he loved, by he saving her mate.

He cursed himself. Surely, someone ought to have a happy ending. Might as well have been her.

He was upset, in fact. When it all came down to it, everything was traced back to his anger. He was blind to his own emotion, it’s what caused him to act without thinking - a strategy he’d never seemed to master, not like the other High Lords. It ended up causing him his newfound family, his Court, it got the Archeron sisters caught and thrown into the Cauldron, it spurred the war. He was a failure, he’d lost the Spring Court and his pride alongside it. He’d been played like that godsdamned fiddle.

And Tamlin let himself lie in that dark cave night after night, rotting in a lifetime of regret.

He could only shake his head, nose rubbing against your skin that poked out from the loose collar of your - his - shirt. “I swear I will rebuild the Court, (Y/N),” he whispered, breath warm on your skin. His lips just barely touched your skin as he spoke. “I promise it, I’ll run the beasts out and fix the mess I’ve made. Even if nobody believes me, if they’ve lost all faith in me.”

Your hand fell downwards over the blanket you’d placed over him, fell down the soft fabric over his chest. “Actions, not words.” He tilted his head up, and those deep green eyes met yours instantly. His gaze washed over your face, over the sheer determination and strength, but in utter admiration as you spoke. “Show them.”

You lifted your hand, fingers twitching in hesitancy, but your mind worked too fast. You brushed your hand over his cheekbone, over the strong jaw and tanned skin. He nearly shivered, nearly broke out in a godsdamned sob.

Tamlin was fighting to keep his emotions intact, to stop himself from absolutely crumbling apart in the safety of your arms. He slowly shifted upright, sitting beside you, back against the headboard just as you sat. You never moved your hand, save for your thumb running over his cheek, tracing where the light stubble had grown in over his jaw and cheek.

His own hand fell to your hip, safely above the covers. But the added weight of him caused the shift, the simple weight of his large hand on you sparked something inside of you.

So you leaned in.

You didn’t know what it was. If it was the fact you’d hadn’t been held in years, the fact you laid in bed together, cold from the rain and nearly out of candles. If it was the fact that he’d opened up for what probably was the first time ever, the male with the worst reputation - his ill temper, his tendency to fight, how godsdamned beastly was - laid out and vulnerable in your arms.

Your lips met his softly, a firm enough kiss where you felt equally matched, as if he, too, was waiting for you to do it; but soft enough that he would pull back if you did, that he would restrain himself from going further, should you realize you’ve made a mistake.

You did the opposite, though, barely breaking away for breath, parting your lips just enough to gasp for air before pushing against him once more. Your hand raked through his long hair, so Tamlin had no choice but to do the same. His fingertips wove through your own hair as his hand rose from your hip to cradle your jaw, tilting your head to the side.

He tasted sweet, not what you were expecting from the male whose scent lingered with the sultry forest and fresh morning dew. He was gentile, too. His tongue moving only to trace your bottom lip, nothing more. Your lips moved over each other in sync, breathing in tandem and letting those soft sighs escape between the two of you.

You pulled him closer, winding your other arm around his neck as you laid back, sliding further onto the bed where he had to drop a hand beside you to hold himself up. But he kissed you anyway, like you were the last breath of life for that dying male.

Perhaps you were giving him life, that spark he needed to reignite the male inside of him who he once was.

Your hand trailed down his chest as he continued deepening the kiss, lips moving quickly over yours, growing hungrier, more desperate. You fisted at his loose shirt, not even bothering to untie it, just slipped your hand underneath from the bottom where it hung so loosely from his body. His abdomen shivered under your touch, your fingertips tracing the hard rigid muscle. Tamlin sighed against your mouth, trying (and failing) to suppress the groan that built up in the back of his throat.

So he’d pulled away, the sound of your lips parting from his loud and wet, a sound he’d practically forgotten about over the past decades spent alone. His forehead dropped against yours and you felt the tickle of his hair against your cheek. “I can’t - I’ve already caused too much destruction. I’ll hurt you.”

It didn’t feel real - he had to stop himself, break free of the dream he was surely living in. Another female, not only giving him the time of day, but who cared for him without even knowing him. He huffed a loose laugh, and muttered to himself: “I’m going mad.”

His lips were still far too close to yours. They barely touched as you spoke. “Take it out on me.” You tilted your jaw up, just barely high enough to capture his lips with yours. “I can take it, Tamlin.”

He shivered, I’ve heard that before. “I don’t want you to have to.”

You peered up at him where he gazed down adoringly at you, from underneath those long light eyelashes of his. He’d bent down for one more kiss, all his passion put behind that one last time of your lips pressed together.

He only pulled away when he ran out of air.

He slotted down beside you, his arm curled under your shoulders, the other crossed above the blankets, the piles of soft and scratchy ones, and fell over your bodies to rest on your hip. You fell asleep with your face buried in his chest and your arm flung around him, dreaming of the promise tomorrow held.

#tamlin #tamlin acotar #tamlin x reader #tamlin x you #tamlin/reader #tamlin/you #tamlin fanfic #tamlin oneshot #tamlin one shot #tamlin imagine

609 notes · View notes

azrielsbxtch · 1 year

Text

Feysand Oneshot

𝗙𝗲𝘆𝘀𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗺𝘆 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁🥰

𝗜 𝘄𝗿𝗼𝘁𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗮 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗲 𝗮𝗴𝗼 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗜 𝗰𝗮𝗻’𝘁 𝗿𝗲𝗺𝗲𝗺𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝗶𝗳 𝗜’𝘃𝗲 𝗽𝗼𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗶𝘁 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗼𝗿 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗶𝘁 𝗶𝘀. 𝗜𝘁’𝘀 𝘀𝗲𝘁 𝗮𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗔𝗖𝗢𝗦𝗙 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗼𝗳 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀𝗲 𝗺𝘆 𝗯𝗮𝗯𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝗚𝘄𝘆𝗻𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗹 & 𝗡𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗮𝗻 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗺𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝗮𝗻 𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲….

Two weeks after Feyre gives birth….

The curtains swayed slightly as a gentle breeze flew into Rhysand and Feyre’s room. He’d left the windows open at her request right before she fell asleep on her sketch pad. Even while on strict bedrest she refused to stay away from painting. Today he and Nyx were her subjects. He held their baby as she sketched smiling softly to herself. Until she fell asleep still drowsy from the drugs Madja had administered.

It’d been two weeks since she’d almost died. Since Rhys had almost lost her and their son. No matter how long he lived Rhys would never forget the complete and desolate despair he’d felt in those moments. The horrible feeling of helplessness. How even being the most powerful high lord in history could not help him save his wife and son.

If it wasn’t for Nesta….His heart clenched painfully as he thought about what might have happened. He would never stop being grateful for Nesta. Ever.

“Stop frowning. You’ll get wrinkles and then I would have to trade you in for a younger model”

Rhys looked up to see Feyre awake.

“Why are you sitting over there?” she asked.

Because he couldn’t get comfortable. No matter how hard he tried. His instincts,his powers were always on alert. Always watching. He hadn’t slept for two weeks but Feyre didn’t know that. He carefully kept that part of his mind locked away. She would worry and that was the last thing she needed. No. He would stay awake and watch over their family.

Rhys felt like at any moment she would slip away. Nyx would slip away. And there would be nothing he could do about it.

“Rhys?”

“Yes Darling?”

“Come to bed.”

“Let me get Nyx first”

After Feyre had fallen asleep,Mor had come to get the baby to lay him down for a nap. Even though the River House was impenetrable considering Rhys had warded it like a fortress,he still couldn’t breathe properly until both Feyre and his son were in front of him.

He knew Nyx was in the nursery. Their minds were already connected. He could see Nyx’s dreams and random thoughts. Their son was a deamati too. And right now,Rhys could see Nyx looking up at Mor as she giggled and played with him.

“Nyx is fine. Mor is with him. He’ll fall asleep in no time”

“But-“

“Come to bed Rhys” she said leaving no room for argument.

He stoop up from the chair and went to her. She wrapped her arms around him and placed his head on her chest lightly stroking his hair. He entertwined their legs together under the blankets.

I know you haven’t been sleeping ‘ she said into his mind.

I sleep. When you’re asleep.’

Don’t lie to me’

He sighed and looked up at her with those violet eyes. Feyre could literally see stars in them.

“I’m sorry” he said quietly.

He nuzzled deeper into her as she continued stroking his hair. Her strokes turned slower,more gentle..

“I know what you’re doing” he mumbled as his eyes started feeling heavy.

Ten minutes later he was asleep. Feyre kissed his head and held him tighter.

——————————————————————————————

A soft knock woke him up.

The bed was empty.

Where was Feyre? Nyx?

“Feyre?” he called out.

“I’m here” she said poking her head out of their closet.

He mentally checked in with Nyx who was dreaming of…a river filled with milk? He must be hungry. Rhys smiled and shared the image with Feyre who laughed out loud.

“I’ll tell Mor to bring him back”

The knock sounded on the door again. Rhys stood up to open it and a sentry stood outside.

She bowed her head and said “I’m sorry to disturb my Lord. The High Lord of Day has arrived”

“Thank you Lia. I’ll be right there”

He closed the door and turned to Feyre. She was wearing one his sweaters as she climbed back into bed. He should’ve have brought comfortable clothes closer to her so she wouldn’t need to stand up.

“I can get my own clothes Rhys. Stop treating me like an invalid” she said shaking her head at him.

He was about to reply when Mor barged in holding Nyx.

“Helion is here” Mor announced. “And this little angel is about put his lungs to good use unless you feed him”

Feyre reached out to collect him and Mor placed him gently in her hands. She sat by her as she fed him stroking Feyre’s hair lovingly. Feyre looked up to see Rhys still standing…watching them.

“Helion is waiting” she said gently.

He nodded. Then walked over to kiss her and Nyx before turning to leave.

——————————————————————————————

He found his friend in the private library with Azriel,Cassian,Nesta and Gwyn? She never came to the River House. He knew because Nesta and Azriel had invited her many times but she always declined.

“And how old is he?” she was saying to Helion.

“Thousand of years old”

“Oh my goodness” she said in awe. Azriel stood behind her shaking his head.

Cassian noticed Rhys standing by the door and walked over to him.

“How’s Feyre”

“She’s…getting better”

Cassian nodded.

“What’s going on here?“ Rhys asked.

Cassian chuckled before saying “Az finally got Gwyn to agree to come here when he told her Helion was arriving with his Pegasus.”

That made sense. Gwyn had an almost obsessive fascination with the magical creatures. He was sure Helion was happy to meet someone who cared about the creatures as much as he did.

“Maellan is by the River. You can see him if you wish”

“I’ll take you” Az said gently taking her hand.

“Thank you so much” she said to Helion.

She turned and was startled to see Rhys at the door. Gwyn bowed and Rhys said “Hello Gywn”

“Hello. Congratulations on the birth of your son. I hope he and the High Lady are doing well”

“They are. Thank you” he said smiling warmly.

She blushed before Azriel dragged her away throwing a warning glance at Rhys. Rhys heard something like

“he needs to keep those smiles to himself” in Azriel’s mind as the shadowsinger walked away.

Helion went to Rhys and hugged him. “Congratulations my friend. I’m so happy for you”

“Thank you Helion”

“How is Feyre and the babe?”

“They’re doing well.”

Helion observed him closely. “You don’t like to leave them”

“Not if I can help it”

Helion nodded. They turned to walk out of the library and headed to the gardens to talk further.

——————————————————————————————

After Helion left,Rhys went back to his room and found Cassian and Nesta with Feyre and Nyx who was in Nesta’s arms. The baby kept staring at Nesta and giggling. Nesta was cooing to him in a baby voice. Cassian stood next to her watching them.

He climbed into bed with Feyre and threw an arm around her shoulder.

“Everything alright?” she asked

He nodded then said,“Helion informed me that Kallias,Thesan and Tarquin would all love to formally meet the baby. They asked Helion to meet with me and inquire if that was feasible”

“Is it going to be a ceremony of some sort?” Feyre asked

“No” Rhys replied gently. “I think our friends want to meet our son”

“Oh…Alright then”

“Are you sure? If you’re not feeling up to it-“

“I’m fine Rhys. I promise”

Rhys nodded and bent down to lightly kiss her.

Cassian covered Nyx’s eyes “Honestly Rhys there is a baby in here”

Rhys flipped him off.

Nesta gently placed Nyx in his cradle before dragging Cassian out to give the new parents some privacy.

Some minutes later,Nyx fell asleep and an image flashed into Rhys and Feyre’s mind as their son started dreaming. Tears sprung into Rhysand’s eyes as he saw what Nyx was dreaming about.

A swirling cosmos of stars and light. And right in it’s center…his face and Feyre’s shone brightly with love.

The center of their son’s universe.

Just as he was theirs.

223 notes · View notes

ant1quarian · 2 months

Text

Imagine being some eldritchian anomaly (the classic "monster under your bed" sorta thing) and you simp like all hell for Sans and one day he's like

"damn. wish i didn't have to work my sentry job today." and 'miraculously' papyrus comments cheerfully on how he's been at his post all day and how proud he is

when sans was . never there

( it was you )

and the favours start out small but slowly and progressively get more and more until he finally meets you one day and you're. kinda just a guy taller than he is, with slightly-too-sharp teeth, slightly-too-long ears, and slightly-too-slitted pupils with irises that seem to glow faintly

heheheh . spite anomaly fallen for the silly skelle guy and hopelessly devoted

#mmm could write.#some form of story about this actually #Anti's rambles #undertale fandom #sans x reader #utmv #anomaly

41 notes · View notes

littlemissmanga · 1 year

Note

So for those writing prompts,,, maybe a tech x reader just because all of these scream tech to me? But obviously if you take this prompt, no pressure to include all of them!!

someone's hair ending up getting caught in the other's glasses/jewelry

maybe one is awkward enough to the point where they're like "what the hell do i do with my hands?!"

that panic beforehand while trying to figure out if they're really leaning in for a kiss or not.

Hello friend! You're absolutely right, all three do fit together really well. It took a little reorganizing to get them to line up in a reasonable way, but I think I got it in the end :)

I hope you enjoy! (And thank you for helping me get out of my writer's block!!)

First Kiss Prompts

A Little Awkward Never Killed Nobody

Pairing: Tech x gn: Reader (Note: Reader has hair long enough to get snagged on Tech's goggles, but that is the only note re: their appearance)

Warnings: Nothing but good ol' first kiss awkwardness.

W/C: 1,596

Dividers by @saradika

Masterlist / Join my taglist

It wasn’t your first choice of hiding spot. Then again, if you had the choice at all, you wouldn’t have taken this latest mission from Cid. But wishful thinking didn’t change the fact that you were stuck in what had to be the smallest closet in the galaxy. Barely large enough to fit one average-sized humanoid comfortably, the space in question struggled to contain both you and Tech.

You were pressed firmly against his front, unable to move from the way you awkwardly landed on him when he first pulled you in, desperate to escape notice from the Empire’s sentries. But in the heavy moments since, all you could think about was the awkward angle of your arms, trapped between your chest and his, resting on his chestplate.

Well, no, that wasn’t quite true. There was one other thought, one observation you were struggling not to analyze too heavily — his own hands were holding your waist and lower back. And rather firmly considering you were no longer at risk of losing your balance. And hells if it wasn’t more delicious and indulgent than you had imagined.

And that was the problem. Imagining in the safety of your own bunk, after the others had fallen asleep, was one thing. Imagining what could come next when you were actually in Tech’s arms, when you may be deluded enough to finally act on your barely contained crush was pushing dangerously close to the line you’ve drawn for yourself.

You were unwilling to risk your friendship with him just to pursue a crush. And even if you were … you wouldn’t risk it in a storage closet in an Imperial facility.

So the moment you heard the footsteps outside fade away, you turned to open the door, only to be pulled back, Tech’s hands tightening their hold on you.

“Not yet.” His whisper was barely audible, though he didn’t really give you a choice whether to comply. “They could double back. We should wait to be sure.”

You give a small nod, your chin brushing against the hard plastoid of his armor, your arms still awkwardly framing your head. In all your daydreaming, you never pictured such an awkward situation. What the hell do I do with my hands?

You tried adjusting as subtly as you could, not wanting to draw attention. But there was only so much you could do in the limited space without bumping into and brushing against Tech.

His hold tightened again. “Please don’t move,” he said, the hiss in his whisper betraying more tension than before.

Stilling instantly, you breathed a small, “Sorry.”

A shake of his head brushed off your apology. He opened his mouth, but when Tech looked down at you, whatever he was going to say faded away. Instead, he just looked at you with an intensity you only saw him give the most challenging puzzles, his stare unfiltered by his helmet, which rested just by your feet.

His hand drifted higher, moving slow and firm from your lower back to settle just between your shoulder blades before pressing against you and pushing you even closer to him. You couldn’t stop the way your lips parted in response, sucking in as much air as possible after the gesture robbed you of yours.

All the while, your eyes never left his.

His gaze was heavy, and now you knew that the weight of every thought you left unsaid was only part of the equation. Tech was never one to lose his words. And yet here he was, his lips parting and resealing over and over as his eyes combed over your face.

Slowly, so painfully slowly you weren’t sure if he was really moving at first, Tech leaned down. Each inch he took speeding the frantic pace of your heart, still unsure and unwilling to believe this was happening. There’s only one reason your mind could conceive that would have Tech invading your personal space even more than situationally necessary.

But doubt still plagued you. This was Tech — unshakable, measured, straightforward and so damn intelligent he bordered on ineffable. All traits you loved about him but that made believing he could be doing something as frivolous and unexpected as kiss you, especially right now, even harder.

You were at a precipice, and your body was crumbling under the weight of the unknown. Heart racing, clammy palms sticking against his armor. All your focus was on Tech’s face … and on trying to even your ragged breaths.

Finally, Tech moved close enough to rest against you. And it was as if a switch had flipped. The press of his forehead against yours grounded you, and you indulged in the warmth of his breath against your face.

“My apologies. I —”

As much as you loved the low scrape of Tech’s voice as he struggled to form his own words, you cut him off with the press of your finger against his mouth, knowing if you didn’t act now, you may not get the courage later.

Any thought of the sentries, of the mission, heck of the others at all, vacated your mind. You leaned forward even more, lifting up to the tips of your toes, broadcasting your intentions as loudly as you could in the quiet. A shiver ran through you as you saw Tech’s eyes widen and darken.

His lips were almost on yours, so close you could practically taste him. You shut your eyes, body almost vibrating in anticipation …

… before the static crackle of your comm made you jump and bump your head uncomfortably against Tech’s.

“Sentries have been recalled to the northern entrance. Rendezvous to the south, 1.5 klicks.” Hunter’s voice comes through sharp as the order to retreat, and it’s like a wave of cold water to your system.

And as the heat left your body, anxiety was at the ready to slip into place, heavy as a stone in your stomach.

You lifted your arm to rub at the sore spot on your temple, grateful for the excuse to focus on something other than Tech, other than your current situation made more awkward by your advances.

It was only then you noticed a few strands of hair are sticking out, taught and pointing straight ahead … at a rivet in Tech’s goggles.

Oh no.

Before you manage to say anything, Tech moved to grab his helmet off the floor, instantly lighting up the sore spit and pulling you with him.

“Stop – AH! – Stop moving, Tech. I think I’m stuck,” you whispered louder than you intended, desperately grabbing at him to pull him back up.

“Stuck? I do not see …”

It was then he realized your hand pressed against your head, desperately trying to create some slack on your hair. “Ah, yes. Now I see.”

“I can untangle it. Just give me a sec,” you insisted, reaching up to peel your hair out of the metal when Tech stopped you.

“Here. It’ll be more efficient this way.” And as if it were the most natural thing, he handed you his goggles.

You felt them in your palm, warm from proximity to his skin. Your inner voice of reason was screaming that you don’t have the time … but you didn’t listen, unable to stop yourself from taking in the sight of Tech’s face unencumbered by his ever-present goggles.

“Problem?” he asked, raising a brow at you before flicking his gaze to your palm and back again.

“N-No, no problem.” Hastily, you tugged at the strands, not caring if they broke where they were snagged. Once free, you carefully pulled the remnants out and offered the goggles back to their owner. “Just … never thought I’d see you without these.”

You could feel your face heating up, even more so once Tech’s vision was restored, worried he could see. Whatever confidence you found a bit ago was gone, as was the intimate moment. Probably for the best. So, you turned to make your way out of the closet, set on getting to that rendezvous point without further embarrassment … only to be stopped yet again by Tech’s hand around you.

“And?”

You furrowed your brows in confusion, which deepened when Tech moved even closer.

“What do you think of the sight?”

Two heartbeats. That was how long it took you to decide, to seize the moment he was offering. Your hands slid up, over his shoulders to pull yourself more surely against him, biting your lip slightly as you felt him respond in kind, his hand moving up to gently cup the back of your head. He pulled you to him but stopped just shy of your goal.

You surged forward, closing the space definitively and sighing at the delightful press of his lips against yours. His arms tightened around you almost instantly, and Tech deepened the kiss without hesitation or restraint as his tongue danced along yours and stole your breath.

Much too soon for your liking, he pulled back. “I am afraid we are rather out of time for our present activities.” If you didn’t have your chest pressed to his, you’d never have known how labored his breathing was. The knowledge sunk deep, warming you from your core and spurring you on.

Tilting your chin, you gained just enough room to speak against his mouth. “Don’t apologize. You can make up for the interruption later.”

A shiver ran through you at the feel of Tech’s smile against your own. And for what you believe was the very first time, he didn’t answer you in words.

Taglist: @wings-and-beskar @starrylothcat @sev-on-kamino @wolffegirlsunite @secondaryrealm @idontgetanysleep @freesia-writes @multi-fan-dom-madness @dystopicjumpsuit @sinfulsalutations @sunshinesdaydream @clonemedickix @wizardofrozz @dreamie411

Click here to join the taglist!

#tbb tech x reader #tbb tech fluff #tech x reader #tbb fanfic #the bad batch fanfic

144 notes · View notes