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apoloadonisandnarcissus · 1 month ago

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"The Demon" by Mikhail Lermontov, and parallels with Sauron x Galadriel

This idea was pitched to me by @leto97, and now I can't get it out of my head. Because the parallels are, indeed, mindblowing. And to a degree that might suggest the show writers actually took inspiration from this to write Galadriel and Sauron’s story in “Rings of Power”. Can this poem offer some predictions for Season 3, or Season 4?

This poem, "The Demon", is by a Russian poet and is considered a masterpiece of European Romantic poetry, tells of a Demon who falls in love with — and attempts to seduce — a Georgian princess, Tamara. Can he be redeemed by love? Will Heaven even allow it?

Full text here, or here.

1. The Repentant Demon

The somber Demon [Sauron], banished from the heights, Soared aimlessly above the sinful earth, And memories of better days gone by Kept crowding countlessly before his eyes — Those days when he, secure in light’s abode, Shone radiant, a cherub free from stain; When incandescent comets, shooting past, Would pause and lovingly reciprocate His hailing smile of fond benevolence; Those days when, through the timeless mists of space, Desiring knowledge, he would keenly track Nomadic caravans of shining stars Strewn out by God across the dark expanse; Those days when he believed — when he still loved! Divine Creation’s fortunate first-born! [Mairon, the Maia of Aulë] He knew no spiteful enmity, no doubt, Nor was his mind yet menaced by the thought Of barren ages in an endless train… So much, so much was his, that all of it He hadn’t strength enough to recollect!

Long since expelled from Heaven, he now roamed The desert of this world, without repose; One age after another passed for him Just as the minutes pass for humankind: In an unending and unchanging stream. And in dominion o’er this paltry earth, He sowed great evil — but without delight. [corrupted by Melkor/Morgoth] For nowhere did this artistry of his Meet with resistance in the hearts of men — And he grew tired of evil’s tedium.

2. First Meeting with the Princess

A great and lofty house, a sprawling court, [the raft] Did grizzled old Gudal decree be built. Much toil and many tears did that house cost [shipwreck] The long-enduring slaves who raised its walls. From dawn, its shadow creeps across the slopes Of mountains ’round the rock whereon it looms; And in that rock a staircase has been hewn, Descending from a turret to the stream; And down those stairs — a glimmer, now and then — A figure hurries, in a cloak of white: It is the princess — young Tamara [Galadriel] — who Descends to the Aragvi with her pail. [ship to Valinor]

Indeed: the Demon saw her. In a flash Some agitation inexplicable Arose within him, not to be denied; The silent desolation of his soul Was filled now by a glad, salvific sound — And once again he knew the sanctity Of love, of all that’s good and beautiful! Long, long did he now linger to admireThe precious spectacle — and long-dead dreamsOf his past glory, like an endless chain.Of star strung after star strung after starProcessed before his eyes as he looked on. And, shackled by some great but unseen force, He grew acquainted with a newfound pain: For sentiment began to speak within Him — in his long-abandoned native tongue. Were all these signs but preludes of rebirth? [redemption] His menaced heart sought refuge in his mind, And scoured it for shrewd and sneering words — But no! Forgetting was forbidden him By God. Indeed, he wished not to forget!

Down at the river raging far below — Here every step was fraught with threat of death! Great cliffs loomed to the left — and, to the right, The fatal torrent roared, tempestuous. [tempest at sea] It had grown late. Upon the snowy peak The blush burned out. An evening mist arose... And so the caravan picked up its pace.

3. The Dead Groom [Husband]

But on this day a great feast is at hand; The zurna sounds as wine begins to flow. Soon old Gudal [Finarfin] will see his daughter wed; He bade the whole clan gather for the feast. There, on the roof, with carpets rich bespread, The young bride sits among her friends, and laughs; With carefree games and songs her wedding eve Goes by. And evening falls: from distant peaks The half-disc of the sun still spills its rays; The revelers, now clapping rhythmically, Burst out in song, and watch the lovely bride Take up her tambourine and start to dance. Behold, how with her hand so delicate She twirls the tambourine above her head — One moment fluttering just like a bird, The next she sinks, alights — and, looking round, Her moist eyes glimmer softly from beneath [...] This was the last time she would ever dance. She well imagined what the future held — Alas! — for Gudal’s heir and only child [Galadriel is Finarfin's only daughter, and only surviving child], For one as used to freedom as was she: The woeful station of a wife enslaved; A homeland, new and as of yet unknown, And equally unknown [Doriath, Middle-earth] — her husband’s kin [Celeborn, prince of Doriath] So, now and then, a surreptitious doubt Obscured the smiling features of her face; And yet her every movement, as she danced, Was so full of expression and of grace, Of effortless and sweet simplicitiy,

Galadriel: Celeborn was his name. We met in a glade of flowers. I was dancing and he saw me there. Theo: You were dancing? Galadriel: The war seemed so very far away then. When he went to it, I chided him. His armor didn't fit properly. I called him a silver clam. I never saw him again after that. Rings of Power, "The Eye", 1x07

4. Demon In Love

In drops of water glistening like pearls, Upon a body beautiful as hers! Nor has the hand of any mortal man Been blessed to dance across a lover’s brow And unbraid hair as sumptuous as this. No! Never, since the loss of paradise — [the light of the lost Two Trees of Valinor shines on Galadriel's hair] I swear it! — had a flower such as she Spread wide its petals ’neath the southern sun.

For lo, the Demon, clever in deceit, Did rile his fancy with a guileful dream, And in his mind, concealed by darkest night, His lips caressed the lips of his new bride.

“Cry not, dear child, cry not — you cry in vain! Your precious tears will not, like living dew, Fall vivifying on that voiceless corpse: Their water will but blur your brilliant gaze, Their fire will but burn your virgin cheeks! Your groom is far away; he will not see The grief you bear, nor will he know its worth; The fleshless gaze of his transfigured eyes Is now caressed by Heaven’s blessed light; His ears now hear the songs of Paradise… What are the trifling dreams of earthly life, The moans, the tears of some unhappy girl, To one who knows undying happiness? No, no, my dear! A mortal being’s death — My earthbound angel, please believe my words! — Could never, ever be deserving of A single moment of your precious grief! [Sauron sees Galadriel's grief, and asks for her forgiveness]

5. The Demon Reveals Itself

Tamara - Who are you? Oh, how dire the words you speak! Did heaven send you to me, or did hell? What do you want?… The Demon - How beautiful you are! Tamara - No, tell me who you are! Give answer, now..!

The Demon: I am the one whose voice you heard before Amidst the silence of the midnight hour — The one whose thoughts were whispered to your soul, And whose unending sadness you discerned. I am the one whose form you saw in dreams; I am the one whose very gaze kills hope; I am that wretched one whom no one loves; I am the scourge of all my earthbound slaves; I am the king of knowledge — freedom, too; The enemy of heaven, nature’s bane. And now, behold — I fall upon your feet, And bring to you — you, whom I so admire — A quiet prayer of neverending love, I bring to you the first pain I have felt, The first tears I have shed upon this earth. Oh! Hear me — only out of pity! — For You must know: you could, with but a tender word, Restore me unto heaven, unto good; And, in the sacred mantle of your love Once clothed, I would in love arise anew, A newborn angel, newly radiant. Oh! Only hear me out, I pray you, please! — I am your slave — And now declare my love! The moment when I first set eyes on you, I first began to secretly despise My immortality, my evil might; Despite myself, I first came to desire The incomplete and earthly joys of men; It pained me not to live the life you know — And how I dreaded life apart from you! Thus in my bloodless heart a sudden ray Of light has broken forth, to shine, to live — While all my sorrow, deep in that old wound, Keeps stirring, like a serpent long asleep. What is eternity, without you there? What good, the boundlessness of my domain? They’re nothing, save for empty, ringing words, A sprawling church — with no divinity! Tamara: Begone, O clever spirit! Leave me be, And speak no more! I cannot trust you, friend! O Lord, Creator, hear me!… What is this? I cannot pray!… My poor deluded mind Is by some deadly venom overcome! Your words would doom me to the fires of Hell, Your words are fire and poison, nothing more... [Sauron reveals himself to Galadriel]

6. The Demon Temptation (he asks the Princess to help him achieve redemption)

There is an ocean vast, ethereal, Where without rudders, without masts or sails, Drift effortlessly, through eternal mists, The graceful choirs of luminaries bright; Across the boundlessness of heaven’s fields Roam sinuous and sheep-like flocks of clouds Intangible, and leaving not a trace; The hour of parting, or reunion’s hour Means neither joy nor misery to them; For they no longing for the future know, Nor do they feel regret about the past. You too, my dear, need only think of them On days of harrowing adversity; Be too, like them, without a single care, Without concern for any earthly thing! [Sauron tempt Galadriel into joining him]

7. The Demon torments the Princess

As soon as night, its somber shroud outspread, Obscures the towering Caucasian peaks, And the entire world below, bewitched By some enchanted word, falls still, And nothing moves, save for some withered grass Stirred by the wind that steals along a cliff And soon inspires a bird that shelters there To spread its wings and flutter in the dark, [Galadriel is tormented by visions of Sauron, via Nenya]

For surely you have noticed: day by day I’m wilting, victim of some poison vile! A clever spirit surely torments me With some dark dream that I cannot resist; I’m lost, my end is near — take pity, please! [Tamara tells her kin she's being tormented by a "clever spirit" and needs to escape it = Galadriel tells the same to Elrond]

8. The Demon visits the Princess

While far below, beneath the vineyard vines, Insatiably imbibing heaven’s dew, A flower spreads its petals in the night — As soon, I tell you, as the golden moon Ascends the sky in silence o’er the peaks, To steal a loving glance at you, my dear... It’s then that I’ll come flying to your side, And linger with you till the morning star, And waft delightful dreams of purest gold Upon the silken lashes of your eyes...” [Sauron comes for Galadriel, at last, in Season 2]

And then the wondrous voice withdrew from her, And, word by word, its music died away; Now startled, she jumps up and looks around... A painful longing, inexpressible, Now seized her breast; and nothing, next to this, Was any sadness, fear, or ecstasy: Her every passion seethed within her heart; It was as if her soul had burst its chains, And flames were coursing through her every vein — [Sauron stabs Galadriel with Morgoth's crown]

And that same voice, so gloriously new, Seemed still to resonate from ear to ear. Near morning, at long last, a longed-for sleep Sank down and shut her weary, reddened eyes; But sleep too stirred her disconcerted thoughts With some uncannily prophetic dream: A visitor had come from far away, And, radiant with rays of unseen suns,

He stood there, gently bowed above her bed; He stood there — and his loving gaze beheld Her with such sadness, with such tenderness — And with, it seemed, compassion most profound. This was no angel sent there from on high; No guardian ordained for her by God; No halo spun from iridescent rays Adorned the locks that ringed that handsome face. Nor yet was this some awful fiend of Hell, Enduring torment for his many sins — No, no! He looked like lucid evening — Not night, not day — not dark, not light!

8. The Princess choses "death" to resist the Demon

Give up your child, bereft of sanity, To the most holy convent’s certain care, Wherein our Lord and Savior all sustains; Before His Face I’ll pour my every tear. No smiles, no joys are left me in this world… Like relics shrouded in serenity, May I too find the shelter of a cell — As of a tomb — long, long before my time…” [Galadriel jumps to her death to escape Sauron]

9. The Princess is sent to a Sanctuary by her kin, to protect her from the Demon

So, to a monastery far away [future Rivendell]Her kinfolk [Elves] sorrowfully sent the girl,And there in modest clothes, from sackcloth sewn, She humbly wrapped her ever youthful breast.

9. In spite of her prayers, the Demon's temptation and her desire for him still endure on her heart

But still, beneath her nun’s attire — just as It had beneath a dress of patterned gold — That same illicit, sinful fantasy Kept beating in her heart, unfadingly. Before the altar, in the candlelight; Amidst her solemn, sacred songs of praise;

Amidst her prayers, the same familiar voice Would oft assail her ears with tempting words. Along the gloomy temple’s mighty vault, A shape she seemed to know would sometimes glide, Without a noise, with no trace left behind, Through clouds of incense rising weightlessly. He shone there, silent, like a star, and lured Her, called to her... Where would he have her go?

What happens next in the poem? Hypothetical predictions for Season 3?

1. The Demon lingers around the sanctuary

In the poem, the Demon goes to the monastery to claim the princess. At first, he hesitates and does not dare to enter, and “violate their blessed sanctity”:

A shroud ethereal of evening mist In darkness clothes the sleeping Georgian hills. True to his custom, in the still of night, The Demon flew about the cloister walls. But for a long, long while he didn’t dare To violate their blessed sanctity. Indeed — if for a moment — he seemed poised To cast aside his merciless intent. There, lost in thought beside that lofty wall, He paced about — and where his footsteps fell, The leaves would tremble in the windless shade. Again he lifts his gaze: again he stares Into her window, where the lamp still shines: [the sun still shines?] Long has she waited, waited for someone! And then, amidst the all-embracing quiet, Some graceful fingers strum the chonguri, And suddenly a lovely song resounds; Its notes drift forth, and play without respite, As measuredly as tear falls after tear. So tender, so exquisite was the song That it might well have come here from on high, Composed in heaven for this sinful earth! How like an angel’s voice — an angel who Desired to see some long-lost friend below, And secretly descended from the clouds To sing to that dear friend of days gone by To lend some sweetness to their suffering... And thus love’s ache, love’s longing restlessness, First pierced the Demon’s heart — and, knowing now The fear that love entails, he wished to flee, To flee — and yet his wings refused to move! What miracle is this? A heavy tear Falls from his faded eyes — falls to the ground — And to this very day, outside that cell, Beneath that window, one can see a stone Burned straight through by a tear as hot as fire — By an infernal and inhuman tear!

2. The Demon's love for the Princess is too strong for him to stay away

Eventually, the Demon decides to enter the sanctuary, and confess his love for her:

He enters now — his heart prepared to love, His soul no longer shutting out the good, Believing that a long-awaited life — A new life — a new day — was now to dawn. The vague anxiety of boundless hope, The fear that lurks in mute uncertainty — These unfamiliar feelings filled his soul, These feelings known to all who have known love. Alas, they did but augur things to come!

3. The Demon fights a God's messenger to get to the Princess (and wins)

When the Demon enters the sanctuary, he discovers a "agent of God" is there, protecting the princess’s soul against him:

He enters, looks — and looming there, beholds God’s messenger, the guardian angel who Stood watch above that sinner beautiful, His brow bathed in a pure celestial light, His smile impassive, and his shining wings Protecting her from her soul’s enemy; And suddenly a ray of Heaven’s light Shone forth and smote the Demon’s unclean eyes; Where words of love might have caressed his ears, An onerous reproach now thundered forth: “O restless spirit, full of wickedness, Who called you here in midnight’s tranquil dark? There are none in this place who worship you; Nor has the breath of evil breeched these walls. Dare not transgress, dare not in sin draw near To one I hold in love and sanctity. I bid you speak: who summoned you?” To this, The evil spirit glowered in reply, His gaze now burning red with jealousy; And in his demon’s soul again was stirred That age-old poison — hatred of the good. “She’s mine!” he bellowed, with abysmal might. “Abandon her, for I have laid my claim — While you, her guardian, have come too late, And you are not to judge her, or judge me. Upon her heart, replete with sinful pride, I have already set my awful seal; There’s nothing sacred here for you to save; Here, I am master now; here I now love!” The Angel, overcome, with eyes downcast, Looked one last time upon the wretched girl, And slowly, beating high his shining wings, He rose, and plunged into a sea of light.

4. The Demon confesses his eternal love for the Princess

Coming out victorious of his fight against this “Angel of Light”, the Demon eventually gets to the princess, and confesses his eternal love for her:

Tamara - So why, why do you now profess your love? The Demon - Why do I love you, lovely girl? Alas, I do not know myself! I only know That, full of newfound life, from my vile brow I’ve finally removed my crown of thorns, And cast it — all that was — into the dust. My heaven and my hell are in your eyes; I love you with an otherworldly fire; I love you in a way you cannot love: With all the ecstasy, with all the force Of thoughts immortal, and immortal dreams. For since the world began, deep in my soul, Your captivating image was engraved; Long did that image drift, beyond my reach, Through the eternal ether’s wilderness; Long, long disquieting my every thought, The sweet name you now bear did sound to me; And in those days of bliss, in paradise, You were the only blessing that I lacked. Oh, if, poor girl, you could but understand What neverending anguish I have known! [...]

5. The Princess is conflicted: she loves the Demon but wants to be on God's side

The princess still resists the Demon, and accuses him for stealing her peace, and tormenting her, but she’s conflicted because she’s in love and wants the Demon in her heart:

Tamara - Hush, hush, someone might hear us! The Demon - We’re alone. Tamara - But God sees all! The Demon - He will not deign to look: He has eyes but for Heaven — not for earth! Tamara - And what of punishment? The fires of Hell? The Demon - What of them? You will share their flame with me! Tamara - Be who you may, my uninvited friend — You’ve robbed me of my peace forever... Yet — Poor sufferer! — I cannot help but hear Your tale of sorrow with a secret joy. But what awaits me if your feeling’s feigned? Or what if you, concealing some deceit... Have mercy, please! What love do I deserve? Of what good is my wretched soul to you? Could I mean any more to God above Than all the girls who did not draw your eye? Alas, they too are good, and beautiful, Their chaste sheets too, like those on this nun’s bed, Were never crumpled by a mortal hand... No! You must swear a sacred oath to me... You must tell me — for you can see my tears; You can discern this sinful woman’s dreams! How could you help but strike fear in my soul? But still — you understand, you know all things, And surely you will show me charity! So, swear to me... That, from this moment forth, You do renounce all things acquired in vice — Or can it really be that there remain No oaths or promises you will not break?

6. The Demons promises to abandon his evil pursuits, if he can have the Princess' soul, for them to be together

Then, the Demon makes the ultimate love confession, in which he swears to abandon all of his evil pursuits for her, and take her to heaven, where they can be together:

The Demon - I swear to you now — by creation’s dawn, I swear to you now — by its final day, I swear by evil’s base ignominy, And by the triumph of eternal truth, And by the bitter torment of defeat, And by the short-lived dream of victory; And by the hope of seeing you again, By separation menacing anew. I swear to you now by the spirit hosts, And by the fate of demons in my thrall, And by the swords of angels passionless — Those ever-watchful enemies of mine; I swear to you by Heaven and by Hell, By all that’s holy on this earth — by you: I swear to you now by your final glance, And by the first tear that you ever shed, And by the breath of your unspiteful lips, By every ringlet of your silken locks; I swear to you by bliss, by suffering — And more than all of this: I swear by love. I now renounce my lust for cold revenge; I now renounce my every prideful thought; From this day forth, false words of flattery I will not pour, like poison, in men’s ears; My inmost wish is to be reconciled With God. I want to love, I want to pray, I want now to believe — believe in good. With this repentful tear, I’ll wipe away — Upon a brow now worthy of your love — The ashen traces left by Heaven’s fire; And may this world, in placid ignorance, Live on, and prosper — I’ll not interfere! Believe me, lovely girl! I am the first To understand you, and to know your worth. In choosing you as my most sacred prize, I choose to lay my power at your feet. But for an instant of your gift of love, I offer you all of eternity. Have faith, Tamara, in my constancy, My greatness both in evil and in love — For I, the ether’s freedom-loving son, Will transport you to realms above the stars, And you will be the empress of the sky, My sole companion, and my only love; And there — without regret, without concern — You’ll soon regard this earth for what it is: A place where no true joy is to be found, Nor any beauty that is long of life; A place of naught but sin and sin’s reward; A place where only petty passion dwells, A place that’s home to no one capable Of hating — or of loving — without fear. Or do you truly not know what it is — The momentary love of humankind? The youthful agitation of the blood? But as the days race by, the blood grows cold! Do lovers long endure when forced apart? Who can resist the lure of novelty? Who can withstand the boredom, the fatigue Of indefatigable fantasy? No! Not for you, my love, are all these things! Nor yet has cruel Fate ordained for you To waste away in these repressive walls, A slave to others’ jealous crudity, Amidst the meager-spirited and cold, Amidst false friends and outright enemies, Amidst your anxious fears and fruitless hopes, Amidst your empty and oppressive toil! No! Woefully, behind these lofty walls, You’ll not live on, your passion’s flame snuffed out, Amidst orisons, equally removed From the divine and from humanity. No, no, my lovely creature: You were meant For an entirely different kind of life; A different sort of suffering awaits, As do the depths of other, unknown joys. Abandon all your previous desires, And leave this wretched world unto its fate — And in exchange, I’ll open up for you Proud knowledge’s unplumbable abyss; A host of spirits, bound to me in thrall, I’ll cast before your feet, to serve your whim; To you, my beautiful, my love, I’ll give Maidservants magical and light as air; And for your head, from off an eastern star I’ll wrest a brilliant crown of purest gold; I’ll rob some flowers of their midnight dew, And set them in that crown like precious pearls; I’ll steal some crimson from the setting sun, And wrap it tenderly about your waist; I’ll saturate the very air you breathe With breath of flowers fragrant and pristine; And every minute I’ll caress your ears With wondrous notes of otherworldly strings; I’ll raise exquisite mansions; you will dwell In halls from turquoise and from amber wrought; I’ll swim down to the bottom of the sea, I’ll soar beyond the heavens’ highest clouds; I’ll give you all, all that the earth can give — Just love me!..

7. The Demon kisses the Princess, and takes her soul

The Demon kisses the princess and she dies.

And with that, he dared to touch His lips, aflame with an infernal fire, To hers, which trembled as they met his kiss. Her pious supplications had been met By words filled with the power to seduce; A mighty gaze now looked into her eyes, And scorched her. In the darkness of the night, He shone forth, looming high above her now, A deadly blade — yet irresistible. Alas! The evil spirit did prevail! The deadly venom of the Demon’s kiss In but an instant pierced her fragile breast. A terrible and torment-laded cry Now rent the silence of that tranquil night. That cry held everything: both love and pain, Both accusation and one final plea, A last farewell, pronounced in hopelessness — A farewell to her still-young earthly life

8. The God's messenger returns to fight the Demon for the Princess' soul.

The Demon has the princess's soul, now. But the "Angel of Light" returns to fight him. And the princess, seeing the Demon's true form, is now terrified of him, and sides with her guardian angel, instead.

Amidst a blue, ethereal expanse A holy angel sent by God above Flew onward, borne aloft by wings of gold, And bearing, in his merciful embrace, A sinful soul far from the world below. And with his mild and blessed words of hope He drove away the soul’s remaining doubts, And with his tears of love he washed from it All trace of misdeed, and of suffering. And from afar, the songs of paradise Already reached their ears — when suddenly, Abruptly cutting off the path ahead, A hellish spirit rose from the abyss, As savage as a roaring whirlwind’s rage, Yet shining like a bolt of lightning bright — And proudly, in his mad audacity, He bellowed at the angel: “She is mine!” And, holding back its terror with a prayer, Tamara’s sinful but repentant soul Pressed close against its guardian angel’s chest — For its eternal future was at stake. Again the Demon loomed before her — but, Dear God, could she have recognized him now? For how malicious had his eyes become! And how corrupted by the deathly blight Of enmity that never, ever ends! And how sepulchral was the blast of cold That issued from that dead, unmoving face! “Begone, O somber spirit of despair!” God’s mighty angel thundered in response. “You were allowed to triumph for a time, But now the time has come for God to judge, And in His judgment He is merciful; The days of tribulation now are past; As from her earthly robe of sinful flesh, She has at last been freed from evil’s chains. Know this: long have we here awaited her! For hers was one of those souls so designed To live a life that lasts but for a flash, A life of torment unendurable, A life of unattainable delight: From finest ether the Creator wove The living fabric of these precious souls; They were not fashioned for the world below, For was the world below devised for them! This weary soul has paid a cruel price For all the doubts it harbored while on earth... Above all, though, it suffered, and it loved — And Heaven’s gates stand open now — for love!” And with forbidding eyes the angel looked Once more upon the Demon come to tempt, And, with a joyous wingbeat rising high, He plunged into the radiance of heaven. The vanquished Demon could do naught but curse His dreams long-cherished�� — his demented dreams! For once again he found himself alone — Alone, alone in all the universe — Without a hope — without a hope of love!

Could this, actually, play out in "Rings of Power"?

The answer is yes.

Sauron (in spiritual form or through visions, illusions or dreams) lingers around Rivendell (or Lindon), looming over Galadriel, calling for her (or something of that sort);

The Elves would somehow realize this; and Gandalf comes into the picture to help (he’s a “Angel of Light” and a “agent of God”, literally, as Maia of Manwë);

Eventually, Sauron arrives, in the flesh, to take the Three Elven rings of power and claim Galadriel as his;

He fights with Gandalf (the guardian over Galadriel), and wins;

He gets to Galadriel: he wants to take her to the Unseen world, where they can be together;

Galadriel succumbs to Sauron/darkness, at last, and he takes her spirit to the Unseen world, where she sees his true form (like Mirdania in 2x04), for the first time, and realises just how evil and corrupted he truly is (no chance of redemption);

Gandalf arrives to fight Sauron in the Unseen world (because he's also from that realm, and has the power to do this), and wins.

Galadriel realises her mistake, and terrified of Sauron's true form, sides with Gandalf/The Light.

By having Galadriel taken away from him, Sauron sinks into the depths of despair and suffering, and fully embraces pure evil as the new “Dark Lord” (forges the One ring?), and in Season 4, we would see him doing the most diabolical stuff yet, in Númenor (human sacrifices in worship of Morgoth to piss off the Valar).

#saurondriel #sauron x galadriel #galadriel x sauron #saurondriel speculation #saurondriel theory #saurondriel season 3 #haladriel

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sassenach77yle · 2 months ago

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||COUNTDOWN || SEASON 4 EPISODE 03 || THE FALSE BRIDE ||

#83daysofoutlander☆

We climbed a granite ledge, thick with moss and lichen, wet with the omnipresent flow of water, then followed the path of a descending freshet, brushing aside long grass that pulled at our legs, dodging the drooping branches of mountain laurel and the thick-leaved rhododendrons. Wonders sprang up by my feet, small orchids and brilliant fungi, trembling and shiny as jellies, shimmering red and black on fallen tree trunks. Dragonflies hung over the water, jewels immobile in the air, vanishing in mist. I felt dazed with abundance, ravished by beauty. Jamie’s face bore the dream-stunned look of a man who knows himself sleeping, but does not wish to wake. Paradoxically, the better I felt, the worse I felt, too; desperately happy—and desperately afraid. This was his place, and surely he felt it as well as I. In early afternoon we stopped to rest and drink from a small spring at the edge of a natural clearing. The ground beneath the maple trees was covered with a thick carpet of dark green leaves, among which I caught a sudden telltale flash of red. “Wild strawberries!” I said with delight. The berries were dark red and tiny, about the size of my thumb joint. By the standards of modern horticulture, they would have been too tart, nearly bitter, but eaten with a meal consisting of half-cooked cold bear meat and rock-hard corn dodgers, they were delicious—fresh explosions of flavor in my mouth; pinpricks of sweetness on my tongue. I gathered handfuls in my cloak, not caring for stains—what was a little strawberry juice among the stains of pine pitch, soot, leaf smudges and simple dirt? By the time I had finished, my fingers were sticky and pungent with juice, my stomach was comfortably full, and the inside of my mouth felt as though it had been sandpapered, from the tartly acid taste of the berries. Still, I couldn’t resist reaching for just one more. Jamie leaned his back against a sycamore, eyelids half lowered against the dazzle of afternoon sun. The little clearing held light like a cup, still and limpid.

“What d’ye think of this place, Sassenach?” he asked. “I think it’s beautiful. Don’t you?”

He nodded, looking down between the trees, where a gentle slope full of wild hay and timothy fell away and rose again in a line of willows that fringed the distant river. “I am thinking,” Jamie said, a little awkwardly. “There is the spring here in the wood. That meadow below—” He waved a hand toward the scrim of alders that screened the ridge from the grassy slope. “It would do for a few beasts at first, and then the land nearer the river might be cleared and put in crops. The rise of the land here is good for drainage. And here, see …” Caught by visions, he rose to his feet, pointing. I looked carefully; to me, the place seemed little different from any of the steep wooded slopes and grassy coves through which we had wandered for the last couple of days. But to Jamie, with his farmer’s eye, houses and stock pens and fields sprang up like fairy mushrooms in the shadows of the trees. Happiness was sticking out all over him, like porcupine quills. My heart felt like lead in my chest. “You’re thinking we might settle here, then? Take the Governor’s offer?” He looked at me, stopping abruptly in his speculations. “We might,” he said. “If—” He broke off and looked sideways at me. Sun-reddened as he was, I couldn’t tell whether he was flushed with sun or shyness.

“D’ye believe in signs at all, Sassenach?”

“What sorts of signs?” I asked guardedly. In answer, he bent, plucked a sprig from the ground, and dropped it into my hand—the dark green leaves like small round Chinese fans, a pure white flower on a slender stem, and on another a half-ripe berry, its shoulders pale with shade, blushing crimson at the tip.

“This. It’s ours, d’ye see?” he said. “Ours?” “The Frasers’, I mean,” he explained. One large, blunt finger gently prodded the berry. “Strawberries ha’ always been the emblem of the clan—it’s what the name meant, to start with, when a Monsieur Fréselière came across from France wi’ King William that was—and took hold of land in the Scottish mountains for his trouble.”

King William that was. William the Conqueror, that was. Perhaps not the oldest of the Highland clans, the Frasers had still a distinguished heritage. “Warriors from the start, were you?” “And farmers, too.” The doubt in his eyes was fading into a smile. I didn’t say what I was thinking, but I knew well enough that the thought must lie in his mind as well. There was no more of clan Fraser save scattered fragments, those who had survived by flight, by stratagem or luck. The clans had been smashed at Culloden, their chieftains slaughtered in battle or murdered by law. Yet here he stood, tall and straight in his plaid, the dark steel of a Highland dirk by his side. Warrior and farmer both. And if the soil beneath his feet was not that of Scotland, it was free air that he breathed—and a mountain wind that stirred his hair, lifting copper strands to the summer sun. I smiled up at him, fighting back my growing dismay.

“Fréselière, eh? Mr. Strawberry?

He grew them, did he, or was he only fond of eating them?” “Either or both,” he said dryly, “or it was maybe only that he was redheided, aye?” I laughed, and he hunkered down beside me, unpinning his plaid.

“It’s a rare plant,” he said, touching the sprig in my open hand. “Flowers, fruit and leaves all together at the one time. The white flowers are for honor, and red fruit for courage—and the green leaves are for constancy.”

My throat felt tight as I looked at him. “They got that one right,” I said. He caught my hand in his own, squeezing my fingers around the tiny stem.

“And the fruit is the shape of a heart,” he said softly, and bent to kiss me.

The tears were near the surface; at least I had a good excuse for the one that oozed free. He dabbed it away, then stood up and pulled his belt loose, letting the plaid fall in folds around his feet. Then he stripped off shirt and breeks and smiled down at me, naked. “There’s no one here,” he said. “No one but us.” I would have said this seemed no reason, but I felt what it was he meant. We had been for days surrounded by vastness and threat, the wilderness no farther away than the pale circle of our fire. Yet here, we were alone together, part and parcel of the place, with no need in broad daylight to hold the wilderness at bay. “In the old days, men would do this, to give fertility to the fields,” he said, giving me a hand to rise. “I don’t see any fields.” And wasn’t sure whether to hope I never would. Nonetheless, I skimmed off my buckskin shirt, and pulled loose the knot of my makeshift brassiere. He eyed me with appreciation. “Well, no doubt I shall have to cut down a few trees first, but that can wait, aye?”

We made a bed of plaid and cloaks, and lay down upon it naked, skin to skin among the yellow grasses and the scent of balsam and wild strawberries. We touched each other for what might have been a very long time or no time at all, together in the garden of earthly delight. I forced away the thoughts that had plagued me up the mountain, determined only to share his joy for as long as it lasted. I grasped him tight and he breathed in deep and pressed himself hard into my hand. “And what would Eden be without a serpent?” I murmured, fingers stroking. His eyes creased into blue triangles, so close I could see the black of his pupils. “And will ye eat wi’ me, then, mo chridhe? Of the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of Good and Evil?” I put out the tip of my tongue and drew it along his lower lip in answer. He shivered under my fingers, though the air was warm and sweet. “Je suis prest,” I said. “Monsieur Fréselière.” His head bent and his mouth fastened on my nipple, swollen as one of the tiny ripe berries. “Madame Fréselière,” he whispered back. “Je suis à votre service.” And then we shared the fruit and flowers, and the green leaves covering all.

16 THE FIRST LAW OF THERMODYNAMICS

#outlander #the frasers #outlanderedit #outlander starz #outlander series #outlander fanart #jamie fraser #samheughan #jamie and claire #jamie&claire #dr claire randall #claire fraser #claire beauchamp #caitrionabalfe #outlander book #outlander books #outlander season 4 #outlander 4x03

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meadowlarkx · 3 months ago

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sea stories

Ficlet for @sindarweek day 2: Folklore | AO3

They say that Elwing and her husband never returned to Middle-earth, but some know better. The first sea-bird sailors see once the ship is underway sometimes shimmers a little too brightly to be an ordinary skimmer. A sign of a good catch to come, a joyous return homewards. If they are lucky, she will greet them again when they seek the shore, white-winged harbinger of safe harbor. A Númenorean navigator once said he feared no voyage, however distant and deadly, for the same gull always met him without fail three days before land was sighted. With such a guide as Star-spray he could not waver. And of course the star sailed with him.

The fair folk know voices carry in water. Like a child, she laughs in the hidden valley’s falls, so like those for which she was named at her birth. Like a woman, she moans in the sea-caves of the Havens, sings and sobs in each tumbling wave. They hear her and feel a longing for far-off lands, for grey mists and birds’ shrieking, for love once lost thought never to be regained.

When storms blow in and cover the sky in the fishing villages, women weaving nets have heard her calling for her sons. She never finds them. But they temper their fear for their own babes, because children caught by the tide speak of being led home by such a voice, by a ray of pale light, by a hopping sandpiper.

On some summer nights without wind the sea lulls smooth as glass. Light bridges the dark water from the evening star’s ship to the grasses at the river’s mouth. You can see him alight then, despite the gods’ doom. She embraces him, cloaked in white feathers, a jewel at her throat and on his brow. At times she surges up from the reeds’ hidden nests; others, she floats down beside him like a wisp of cloud. On the banks of the undrowned world, they walk together. They meet there still.

#elwing #earendil #Eärendil #silmarillion #silm fic #silmarillion fic #my fic #sindarweek

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romerona · 5 months ago

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Stellar Veil

In which a star falls in Westeros.

Cregan Stark x reader????

Words 1.7k

The night draped Westeros in its customary shroud, stars flickering like cold diamonds against the dark tapestry of the sky. And yet, amidst this celestial dance, a singular brilliance unfolded—a comet, resplendent in its fiery tail, streaked boldly across the heavens.

In King's Landing, where ambition and conspiracy brewed as thick as the city's smog, the Red Keep stood sentinel against the cosmic display. Nobles and commoners alike were drawn to its battlements and gardens, their faces upturned in wonder and trepidation. The comet's golden glow suffused the city, casting shadows that danced across cobblestones and whispered secrets into the night.

Far to the west, where the Iron Islands gripped the tempestuous seas, sailors paused in their dance with the waves. From the deck of every longship, weathered faces turned skyward, witnessing the comet's passage mirrored in the restless waters below. Above them, the ancient castle of Pyke seemed to hold its breath, its jagged silhouette outlined against the blaze.

Across the tumultuous waters of the Narrow Sea, the comet's brilliance reflected off the prow of Braavosi merchant ships and the galleys of the Free Cities. Sailors, traders and slaves hardened by salt and sea, paused in their endless voyages to witness this divine occurrence.

In the Reach, where the verdant fields of Highgarden stretched beneath a canopy of stars, peasants and nobles alike paused. They gazed heavenward, their hearts filled with awe and mistrust, as tales danced upon their lips.

And in the North, where the night was as black as obsidian and the stars burned with an icy intensity, the comet blazed its final path. Its light pierced the veil of mist hanging over the haunted forest and the desolate lands beyond. There, amidst the sentinel trees and the solemn silence of the far North, the comet's radiance flared brightly before vanishing beyond the horizon.

South of the Wall, in the desolate expanse known as the Gift, the comet's descent shattered the silence of the frozen wilderness with fierce force. A blinding flash of light, brighter than the pale moon above, rent the night asunder. The ground trembled violently beneath the celestial impact, sending shockwaves rippling through the thick crust of snow that covered the ancient land.

As the earth ceased its violent tremors, silence descended upon the northern wilderness like a heavy cloak. The Night's Watch, vigilant guardians of the Wall and the realms of men, stood amidst the aftermath of the comet's impact, their faces etched with awe and apprehension.

Commander Ulric Rivers, a grizzled veteran of many winters, surveyed the scene with a mixture of curiosity and concern. His voice cut through the lingering echoes of the crash, commanding attention from the assembled rangers.

"Brothers," he intoned, his words carrying the weight of authority earned through years of service beyond the Wall. "Gather your gear. We must survey the impact site."

The rangers, seasoned men clad in black with weapons and fur-trimmed cloaks, exchanged glances of determination. Among them, Harald Snow, a knight of the Watch known for his keen eye and steady hand, stepped forward.

"Commander," Ser Harald spoke, his voice steady despite the tension that hung in the air, "We will go. We'll bring back word of what we find, true as steel."

Commander Ulric nodded in approval, his expression grim but resolute. "Go swiftly, and return with all haste. The hour is late."

With that, the rangers set forth, the horses steps crunch on the icy ground as they ventured towards the crater that marked the comet's violent descent. Behind them, the rest of the Night's Watch remained vigilant, their eyes trained upon the northern horizon where the comet's trail still lingered faintly in the night sky.

The rangers approached the crater cautiously, their breath visible in the frigid air as they navigated the transformed landscape. The snow around the impact site had melted into a steaming morass, revealing scorched earth and jagged fragments of rock still glowing faintly with residual heat. The air hummed with a strange, palpable energy, casting an otherworldly glow over the scene.

Ser Jaremy Woodbear, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, led the way with Harald Snow close behind. Their sharp eyes scanned their surroundings, taking in every detail with the precision of a seasoned watchman. Beside them, Alexio Stone, a stoic figure with weathered features and a keen intellect, knelt to examine a particularly large fragment of rock that jutted from the ground like a blackened tooth.

"Careful now," Harald Snow cautioned, his voice a low murmur that carried on the wind. "We don't know what this rock may hold. Keep your wits about you."

Ser Jaremy Woodbear, ever vigilant, was the first to notice the form inside the crater—a woman.

"Ser Harald, come, there's a woman..." Jaremy called out quietly, his voice carrying a note of awe and uncertainty.

Harald Snow hurried to his side, his eyes narrowing as he beheld the scene before him. Nestled amidst the charred remnants of the comet's impact lay a figure unlike any he had seen in his years ranging away from the Wall. A woman, an ethereal woman. Her skin seemed to shimmer with a faint glow, casting gentle reflections upon the jagged rocks that surrounded her.

"Gods be good," Harald muttered under his breath, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his sword. "What in the name of the Seven Kingdoms...?"

Alexio Stone slowly made his way down and knelt beside the woman, his weathered hands hovering uncertainly above her prone form. "She... she's glowing,"

The woman lay still, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm that seemed out of place amidst the chaos of the impact site. Her hair, a cascade that shimmered like moonlight, framed a face that could have graced the halls of the most illustrious castles in Westeros. Despite the harshness of her surroundings, an air of tranquility radiated from her presence, as if she were untouched by the violence that had torn through the night.

"She does not seem a threat. We'll take her back to Castle Black,” Harald decided finally, his gaze lingering upon the woman's enigmatic form. "Ser Jaremy, help me carry her."

With careful hands, the ranger lifted the unconscious woman from the heart of the crater, cradling her as gently as if she were made of glass. Her ethereal glow seemed to pulse faintly in response to the touch, but as they traveled, the ethereal glow that had surrounded her began to dim, fading like the dying embers of a once brilliant fire. Her radiant presence dwindled until she appeared as any ordinary woman, though her beauty still held a haunting quality that spoke of otherworldly origins.

Harald Snow glanced at her intermittently, his brow furrowed in contemplation. "Keep an eye on her," he instructed the rangers quietly, his voice carrying a rare note of uncertainty. "We know not what we carry."

The journey back to Castle Black was fraught with quiet tension, each step echoing with the weight of their extraordinary discovery. The woman remained unconscious, her features peaceful yet arcane as if she carried secrets woven into the very fabric of her being.

As the gates of Castle Black creaked open to admit the weary party, all eyes turned towards the mysterious woman cradled in the arms of Ser Jaremy Woodbear and his fellow rangers. The men of the Night's Watch gathered in hushed clusters, their faces etched with curiosity and apprehension as they beheld the ethereal beauty now brought within their walls. Commander Ulric Rivers stepped forward to greet them, his brow furrowed in stern inquiry. His gaze locked onto the woman.

"What is the meaning of this?" Ulric Rivers demanded, his voice cutting through the murmurs that had begun to ripple through the assembled ranks. His eyes narrowed with suspicion, though beneath the stern exterior, there flickered a hint of curiosity and perhaps even concern.

Harald Snow, unwavering in the face of his superior's scrutiny, stepped forward with measured resolve. "We found her at the site of the comet's impact," he explained evenly, his tone betraying none of the awe he felt at the mysterious woman's presence thought he hesitated to continue. "She… appeared to be glowing.”

The courtyard fell silent as the gravity of their discovery settled over the assembled brothers. Whispers filled the air, mingling with the chill wind that swept down from the Wall, most not believing, saying it was a wildling woman, others whispering about sorcery.

Ulric Rivers approached the woman with cautious steps, his gaze assessing her with a mixture of scepticism and a begrudging acknowledgement of the inexplicable. Her ethereal beauty was undeniable—a stark contrast to the rugged surroundings of the ancient stronghold. Her hair, a shade that shimmered iridescently in the torchlight, cascaded around her like a flowing waterfall of sapphire strands. It was a hue unlike any he had seen before.

Her attire was equally unusual—a gown of fine fabric that seemed to shift and shimmer with every movement, as if woven from threads spun by the stars themselves. Its design was intricate, with patterns that hinted at craftsmanship far beyond the skills known to the realms of Westeros.

Ulric Rivers frowned, his thoughts racing with speculation. "This is no wildling," he muttered under his breath, his voice a gruff murmur that carried a note of wonder. "Nor any woman of our lands."

Beside Ulric, Harald Snow exchanged a meaningful glance with Ser Jaremy Woodbear and Alexio Stone. They had seen many things in their years on the Wall, but none quite like this.

"Should we remove her gown?" Harald asked quietly, his voice tinged with uncertainty. That statement earn a hum of agreement from the men around them.

However, Ulric shook his head, his gaze still fixed on the woman. "No, leave her be for now, we'll keep her under watch until we have answers. Lord Stark will need to hear of this. Prepare quarters for her," he instructed, his tone firm despite the uncertainty that gnawed at the edges of his command. "And summon the Maester. We'll need his counsel."

With practiced efficiency, ser Jaremy Woodbear carried the woman to a chamber within Castle Black, where torchlight flickered against the ancient stone walls and cast long shadows across the floor. And above them, the stars continued their eternal dance, oblivious to the upheaval their celestial sibling had wrought upon the realm of men.

Part 2?????

A/N: The story is inspired by Stardust by Neil Gaiman.

I’m still unsure who is the main LI will be but Cregan is top 3.

And while it's an Xreader I will be describing the hair colour and eyes. But just that.

#the house of the dragon #the house of the dragon fanfic #winterfell #hotd imagines #Stardust #cregan x reader #house of the dragon x you #rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targeryen x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #jace targaryen x reader #team black #westeros

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elizabethsproctor · 5 months ago

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then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, by the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, “though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” i said, “art sure no craven,"

chapter iii

Davos Blackwood x Bracken OC Davos is the eldest son of Lord Samwell of House Blackwood and the scourge of all the knights and squires of House Bracken. Though he thinks himself a knight and concerned with duty and honor, he spends most of his free time with his own squires, tormenting all the Brackens that they happen upon. Celeste Feathers is the bastard daughter born of Amos Bracken and a Summer Isle whore. At the chance of a higher dowry for her daughter, the baby was sent to live with her father in the wet and windy Riverlands until a husband was chosen for her. Though the two had a chance encounter as children, they have only heard stories about each other in the meantime until one fateful day near the boundary line in the forest. wc: 5.3k/16.8k chapter: 3/?

tw: i dont proofread lmao

On the following night, Celeste approached the riverbank: Davos standing near a small boat, ready to be simply pushed into the river for the night's adventure. He offered her a set of oars when he saw her, encouraging her to share in their misgivings. She was used to rowing, but she had not thought that his interests were beyond bedding her. She smiled through the rowing, happy to feel the river water hitting her face and her gown.

"I came without my cloak," Celeste said eventually, surprised the boy had not made note of it himself. "To better conceal myself, but if we are far from the shore..." she said with a lack of surety. "I'm sure it matters not now."

“Aye,’ the young man responded. “The mist deepens as the river proceeds, but I appreciate the efforts.”

Celeste's brows furrowed, but she said nothing else. As the boy had said, mist began to rise above them and after a few minutes, it was so thick that they could not see very far beyond their oars. She continued to paddle once she saw that Davos seemed intent on his path.

"Is there somewhere you're taking us?"

Davos continued to paddle, his eyes scanning the mist that had enveloped them. He could barely see beyond the oars, and the air was thick and heavy.

Despite the lack of visibility, he had a destination in mind, a secluded spot he often visited when he wanted to be alone.

"Just a little further," he said, his voice low and steady. "We're almost there."

"A tavern, no doubt," the lady chuckled, continuing to row. She felt the weight of her damp hair on her back, the oars growing heavy in her hand, but she wouldn't complain.

He scanned the girl's face, looking to see if she was joking or suspected that he would, in fact, bring her to a tavern. He was not against the idea, and if she were less discernible, perhaps he would have covered her nicely and brought her a pint. Wishful thinking, he assumed, and continued to row.

"No beer for the hour,' he confirmed. "Besides. A pretty girl like you at the tap? I'd be fighting them off and spilling my drink. You'd oughta catch an elbow in the fray."

"I'd hold my own," Celeste campaigned with a smirk. "And I'd put a coin down for your spilled drink, if it please you."

Davos chuckled at her response, his eyes darting over her face. He could see the mischievous glint in her eye, and it only made his smile widen.

"Is that right?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "A worthy cause, no less... I would pay the pretty penny to see your skirt fly up when they knock you down, my fair lady. It is not what you think it is."

Celeste gave a wry laugh and nodded. "Most things are not," she said. She looked up at the full moon and back down at the boat, a small but fortified thing. She yawned in fatigue. Though she was excited to see Davos, she knew the night would be as long as it felt short, and they would, again, have to row down the current-filled river and trudge back to their domains to start the new day, and all sleep would be lost.

She began to row a bit slower, the moonlight gracing her face brilliantly. "What are your thoughts about our time together yesterday? Are you regretful?"

Davos began to row slower as Celeste offered less help. He had not expected the river to be so choppy, and he knew that it was a difficult passage for even a strong man, let alone a woman not used to the river.

He was slightly taken aback by her question; he was rarely moved to think critically of his actions or his motivations, but he had felt a stirring in his chest.

"I am not regretful, Celeste. I wish you were not who you were. That is the complication of the matter."

As they slowed, Celeste looked listlessly out onto the water, cringing slightly when she heard his response.

"The fighting serves no purpose. I have no true allegiance to the house-," he cut her off.

"Oh, but you do," he said, scathing irritation marking his words. "A better claim than most of the rest of the Bracken dogs. The lord's daughter, no less," Davos rolled his eyes. "I cannot decide whether no allegiance or fealty to the shorn and shaven hound is worse. You are a member of their house. A lady. If I was half the Blackwood I ought to be, I'd push you over the boat and rid Westeros of one more scourge."

"If you so desire," Celeste said, knowing he would not hurt her. He was full of emotions, some violent, some intimate but all passionate. Just a young man, she thought, so dissimilar to the knights of the stories she had read as a girl.

Davos paused and chuckled, shaking his head. "You're a cheeky wench, you know that?"

He reached out quickly, making the girl jump in her spot, a loud noise echoing out from the oars knocking against the boat. Davos took the oars from her, chuckling loudly at the fear he had caused before he winked at her and returned to his place, beginning to push the boat in a single, steady direction.

"There's no use in wasting a perfectly good cunt. Especially not one as tight as yours," he said as he rowed forward, having to come closer to the girl to over compensate as the only rower. Celeste looked down at him distastefully, unsure if she was meant to be offended or flattered.

She looked down at her hand, a throbbing sensation building, and saw blood rising from her finger in the moonlight.

"You broke the skin," Celeste began, glib.

Davos cut his eyes over at the girl, feeling a twinge of guilt. "I'll take care of it," he said as the boat hit a sandy bank. He threw his legs over the side quickly, helping the girl out before dragging it upon shore, the water lapping at his feet. Celeste could see that they had reached a keep on an isolated island, but beyond the walls, she could see the crown of a heart tree in the center. Her house worshiped the new gods, but she knew the island must be sacred to the Blackwoods. She turned quickly to advise against her presence, to ask to go somewhere else, even back to the boat, but Davos was right behind her when she turned. He took her hands into his.

She watched with wide eyes as he took her bleeding finger into his mouth, applying pressure on the scrape to stop the bleeding and sooth the ache. They stood together, the river lapping on the shore, for a moment before he took her finger from his mouth.

Davos moved forward and kissed her cheek, then the skin right before her ear. "I only meant to scare you. I'm sorry for the blood."

Celeste watched him as he took a few steps back, and she nodded, accepting that it was only an accident.

Davos nodded towards the keep, encouraging her to follow him. He pushed the doors open and before the godswood, there were beautifully carved benches and candle holders. He led her towards a place to sit, and there they sat, their shoulders touching slightly as they looked onto the massive tree in the center of the garden, the moon dancing over it.

"It is beautiful here," Celeste remarked.

Davos watched the girl from the corner of his eye, observing the wonder in her gaze as she looked at the ancient heart tree in the garden.

"They say this place is sacred to my family," he explained, his voice low. "This island has been here for centuries, long before the castle, long before my family. My ancestors built the keep here in honor of the tree. The heart tree, they call it."

He shifted his body towards her slightly, his shoulder now fully attached to her own. He could feel the heat radiating from her body, mingling with his own in the cold, damp air. He watched her expression cautiously, afraid that she might say something that would cause him offense.

"It is not my belief, as I'm sure you know," Celeste began, immediately shrinking when she heard Davos scoff.

"The seven devils you hold fealty to, but not your house?" Davos said, rolling his eyes defensively. "Something that actually exists?"

Celeste frowned and turned her head away from the boy, looking back at the heart tree, majestic and flowing slowly in the wind. "You will live longer if your blood only cools," she said with a sad smirk.

Poor boy, she thought. How she only wanted to kiss his cheeks and make him better, but she was a fool if she thought all their problems would be assuaged just because he had taken her virginity and buried his locks in the nape of her neck. The were still rivals, but possibly worse off now. They had both exposed their neck.

"The godswood," she called it confidently. "Is beautiful. It feels like a powerful place to me. I know it is important to you and your people."

Davos breathed in her words before sighing, his shoulders slumping slightly. He felt the anger leave his body as he stared at her face in the glow of the tree and let his head rest lightly on the wall of the keep. He knew she meant no disrespect, but her words had caused a small wave of irritation to bubble in his stomach.

"It is important," he said quietly. "Without the prayers to the old gods, our house would fall into ruin. Or so they say. I do think my sword would remedy the problem."

He reached out, gently taking her hand in his own, their fingers lacing together.

"Do you like to be with me, Celeste, or are you just lonely?"

Davos let the two sit in silence for only a beat. He continued: "I know the trees aren't much for amusement. Are you fine here with me," he said, sitting up and pressing his elbows onto his knees, turning so he could see the girl's face completely, his own shrouded in darkness.

"Yes," the girl choked out, taken aback by the boy's sudden forward nature. She was frozen in his gaze. She searched his eyes quickly before continuing: "I cannot fathom what would bring you to me thrice over. I'm--," she paused. "We have very little to offer each other. You may grant me secession from my solitude, but I have nothing that is of use to you."

Davos reached out and touched her cheek. "Do not lie," he chided softly, his fingers resting on her soft skin. "You are a good distraction," he began, a soft chuckle following. "A pretty face is no less useful than a horse or a blade or a keep."

He breathed out, running his thumb over her lips gently as his eyes darted over her face.

"Tell me how we're the same," he said, his voice low. "Name one thing."

Her ears perked up at the word 'distraction', but she could not ask a question before he continued, his thumb over her lips.

"The same," she mused, unable to pull her eyes away from the boy. Her heartbeat was aflutter. "I'm afraid we may both have dreams that are beyond our means."

His thumb continued to move softly over her lips. He watched the slight smirk that sat on the pink flesh of her mouth and felt the soft skin brush against him with each word she spoke. He breathed out slowly, feeling his heart pound slightly harder in his chest. He felt his face burn with a heat that he was not used to, and he quickly moved his hand away from her.

"What do you mean?" he said in a low voice

He swallowed, unsure of where to rest his hands then.

She felt alone quickly but not afraid. She attempted to avoid offending the boy, but she would debase herself as well, so what could be the problem. Celeste looked up at the moon. "You want to be a great knight, a dutiful lord, but you spend your days with your squires only multiplying your revelry. When your father passes, you will be young, and then who will guide you? Your equally hot-blooded knights? Into war?"

Celeste sighed and looked at him, a frown on her face revealing understanding rather than disappointment. "I oft think of what my life outside of this place would have been like, were I not looked down upon because of my sex, the color of my skin. I hoped, as a child, that my position would be elevated one day, but it seems I will always creep around the castle, in the shadows, like a mouse, until my father dies, and then I'm sure they will rid themselves of me. I am the lord's daughter, but I am no lady... it's as if the shoes you were given were much too big, and the ones bestowed upon me, much too small."

As the girl spoke, Davos felt his heart sink into his stomach. The words she spoke echoed the same thoughts that plagued him in the night. In the hours he would spend with his men, drinking away the fears and doubts that crept into his mind in the darkness.

Her soft, melancholic words cut through him like a knife. They were true, all of them. He cleared his throat, feeling it growing constricted from the emotions building inside.

"It's the same for all of us," he said quietly, his fingers tracing patterns on his palm nervously. "I hope to die in battle before I have to deny a starving mother the bread she needs to feed her child. There is no true glory this far from King's Landing. The squabbles are fair game, but to be lord of the river?" He scoffed, amused by something he had never dared to say out loud. "And now they speak of war," he shook his head.

"You are a morbid little raven. Brilliant and damned and wasted on Bracken soil..." Davos looked at the young woman for a second before straightening his back and leaning on the wall again beside her. They listened to the wind hitting the keep, though it was quiet around them.

"I'd raise you up. No one would make you feel less than worthy if you were my claim," he said, a righteous anger in the back of his throat. "You deserve much more. There would be a sword for all that spoke against you."

Celeste, again, was intrigued by his speaking. War? She had not heard of it herself, she'd only felt a shifting of the seasons. She thought to ask about this, as well, but he'd spoken again before she'd gotten the space to break the silence herself.

Suddenly, in his gruff tone, he said things so sweet that she felt her heart beating quickly in that still night. She looked over at the boy, still so shocked that only nights ago he had granted her few delicacies. It was true, of course, that Celeste had never known a man or even suffered the affection, the childhood pestering of a boy-aged crush. She had played with her brothers and some of the children of the servants, even lanced with a few in secret, but not much else. The attention, no matter how it vacillated, that she drew from Davos was like nectar to the flying insects. So sweet, so enticing, but painful to look upon. A pervasive buzzing in her ear.

To a degree, Celeste felt silly, as a girl, as a common-folk wench that believed a lord might be genuine, but she felt as though Davos had been honest with her. He must have, and even if he wasn't, what other option did she have to feel held? Feel the blood rush to her cheeks? They had already come so far, she thought, why let the fear succeed now?

"A dignified concubine of Lord Blackwood, aye?" Celeste giggled and shook her head. "I always thought of myself as a wife."

Davos felt the laugh that jumped from her throat like a spear through his heart. He watched the young woman giggle softly, the laugh only growing slightly as her cheeks turned a bright red.

"A wife?" he echoed quietly, unable to keep the smile from spreading on his face. "You?"

Davos let out a chuckle, the sound low and hushed to not travel too far in the night. His knee brushed against hers slightly in a gentle push.

"You would have to stop your late night adventures, the running amuck. The woods are no place for child rearing."

Celeste rolled her eyes and turned to the boy playfully. "They are perfect for child-making, you seem to think," she whispered, a sly smirk tugging on her lips.

Davos' eyes widened as she smirked at him, feeling a hot heat spread across his face and travel down his body in an instant. He smiled as well, foolishly, and gathered the girl up in his arms quickly, their faces just an inch apart.

"You are an insolent brat, but," he gave her a quick kiss on the lips and brandished a smile. "My favorite of them all."

Still holding her, her head reclining back on the keep, he thought for a second. "Your children will be courageous. Little warriors. They'll be like their mother."

Celeste smiled leisurely. "Say I stop the running amuck, and I return to my gowns. Next, you'll say I must bite my tongue or refuse to practice the sword with my nephews. Then what will you like of me, Lord Davos? I'll be just like all other maidens."

His face softened slightly as she mentioned giving up her free spirit. He knew that the world she wanted to live in was one where she could fight as well as any boy and laugh as much as any man. He also knew it was a fantasy, not meant to be.

Davos ran his fingers through her hair, pushing the locks behind her ear and studying her young face.

"Be as no other maiden," he said softly, assuring her. "I would like your tongue as much as I like it now. It would please me to see sons taught chivalry by the same woman they ought to honor. It would also please me very well to see you in a gown..." He paused and smiled. "It would please me the most to be the one to strip it from you... I would take nothing from you, Celeste."

Celeste blushed. "You weave a beautiful web, Davos. I did not think it was capable. Perhaps the weirwood trees do influence your people, or," she checked over their shoulders. "It's the late hour."

Celeste sighed, tightening her grip on Davos's arms. "You would have me as a wife? If our family's feud had not so long been waged and contested? You would honor me?"

As she tightened her grip on his arms, he held onto her tighter, his fingers tracing soft patterns over her skin. He breathed in the words she spoke and allowed himself to imagine what they would look like in another life.

"I fear I am actually in my bed, pushed down by fever, and this is some dream cast upon me from Harrenhal," he sighed. "Perhaps you are a witch. Do you spend your days crafting love potions to entice me?"

"I am no witch," Celeste said plainly.

"I fear no wife will serve me as you would. You've burned your home in my thoughts, sweetling. Has it occurred to you that you will never belong to me?" He said.

Celeste's face broke into a frown as she caressed Davos's hair. "You speak of nothing joyous. I am yours, sweet boy."

Their position, her fingers in his hair, the soft touches along his skin; it was torture to feel the gentle affection. But he was greedy and selfish, and he allowed himself to bask in her attention just a moment longer.

"You will always be mine. In every form," he breathed, his eyes closing slightly as he pressed his face against her palm. He breathed out softly, before looking up at her again with his brow furrowed. "You do not know the damage you've done."

Celeste watched the boy stand up quickly, running his fingers through his hair before he sighed beginning to head towards the entrance to the keep. She followed after him, almost missing her step after his long strides.

"What is the matter?" She called after him, but he was already beginning to push the boat back into the river.

"Say that I love you," he called out to her, the lapping of the river rather loud over his voice. "And I carry your burden, raise you up to stature and father your children. Say you make me a happy man, Celeste. What is that worth if both of our castles are burnt down in the fray, and my men whisper of me being a traitor for the rest of my rule? Do you think your father would let you go easily?"

Davos shook his head, pushing a set of oars into Celeste's arms. "Your people call us cannibals; they act as if we're no more than barbarians. Your father would be sending you to be ripped apart and eaten like a ham... you've gotten into my mind with your words. It's a fever that will not subside. A dream that I cannot follow. Please," he sighed in relief, begging.

"It is not enough for you, and it is not enough for me... why must you be of Bracken soot? You've made it harder than I intended."

Celeste threw her oars into the boat, looking at Davos with cruel eyes. She pushed him in the chest. "You came upon me, and then you came back, you coward. Had you not heard the whispers about me? The Bracken's wayward bastard that likes to play with boy's toys? You knew me, and still came upon me. Likely stalked me in the woods and pounced when you saw that I was vulnerable. You wanted me, Davos, so place this not on me. You're a knight, a man, a lord. Or is everything you've said to me pretense?"

The moment she pushed at his chest, Davos stopped for a second, his breath catching in his throat. He looked up at her, taken aback by her fierce and defensive stance. But, then he chuckled a little. The sound of amusement did not reach his eyes, though, and in fact, they darkened as she spoke.

He was quick to grab her by her arms, his hands holding on tightly enough that if she were any other woman, it would have been uncomfortable -- almost painful. He did not want to hurt her, of course, but he wanted her to listen.

"Say I take you as my wife, you daft child. You trade one inconvenience for another. We only have each other."

"We would have each other," Celeste yelled, frustrated. She had not thought that their marriage-talks were sincere, they were playing a game of make-believe, but suddenly it felt quite real, as if Davos had thought about it even momentarily.

"It would be the end of a thousand year war. So what if they call you 'traitor'. I would call you 'reconciliator'. It is a dream, Davos, but our history has been forged by visions, and dreams and men who were not afraid," she pulled herself from his grip.

"A dream," he breathed in response.

She was right, of course, she always was. He thought of the legends his father and grandfather had told him since he could talk; the myths of Garth Greenhand. He thought of the history of his house that was written down for all to see, and of the stories passed down from father to son in private and secret. How many boys must have dreamed the same dream?

'No matter,' he thought to himself, nodding at the girl to take her place in the boat. He turned his back on her and spoke.

"Your desire to no longer know loneliness is great enough to cause the bloodshed of thousands of men. You are not the woman you think yourself to be, Celeste."

Celeste stepped into the boat, feeling the boy roughly push it into the waves before he got into it as well.

"If you were in my station, you would feel very little loyalty yourself. My father is the only reason I've stayed, but he will die... eventually. He is the only Bracken man that might be swayed. My brothers are vicious creatures. War hungry."

Celeste thought for a few seconds, rowing the boat silently. "There may be another maiden you love one day, and there may be another knight to entice me, but there may never come another time to unite our houses, Davos. I've read the histories, listened in on counsel meetings. I will never be a soldier, but I have the ability to think. All my life they've tried to find a solution to the feud between our houses. I believe there may only be this one peaceful option. I won't be known for much else, but if I can help bring peace to these lands, maybe it wasn't all for naught."

He listened to her words, letting them sink in before eventually sighing out loudly, scrubbing at his face. Davos felt as if he was being pulled in two different directions, both of them too powerful for him not to resist. On one side there was his loyalty and on the other, there she was.

The Blackwood leaned back, staring up at the sky and the endless stars that littered the abyss above, glittering like diamonds.

He reached across the small space between them to pull her hand from the oar and into his lap, lacing his fingers with hers. The boat idled in the middle of the river, spinning softly.

"I knew not your wish to be a saint."

"It may go unfulfilled," Davos said, releasing her hands and returning to the oars.

Celeste stared at the boy in the icy night before shaking her head. "We should not see each other again. It will only become more painful from here."

Davos cut his eyes at the girl. Her words and actions so viscerally reenacting a child's fit. He was shocked that she had not gotten onto the floor of the boat and began to kick and cry.

He could not think of anything other than the thought of never seeing her again, or perhaps the thought of seeing her again. Would she marry a knight? Would she be left alone, an unmarried hen, stalking around the castle, unwanted and untouched?

Would they spend the rest of their lives professing their love for each other in secrecy, or would he slit her throat after years of listening to her droning on about her mistreatment at Bracken hands?

Temporarily, he wished he would have stuck to bedding women from his own land who could not read and could not argue, but had she not made him feel ten times more than he ever had in only days. And would she not spend the rest of their lives shaping him into a man, and would he not find pleasure in making her into a woman? Laughing as she contorted her face at dinner when faced with hosting all the lords and ladies?

He thought about her body-- thought about how he'd hold her through every new orgasm he'd grant her, and he smiled to himself when he remembered that she, herself, didn't completely know her body yet.

Celeste would be a fine wife, the only one he could tolerate, but he knew his father would have his head, if he so much as mentioned the Bracken girl as an option for betrothal, but, all things considered, if the Brackens were to offer a sizable amount of land and stock as the girl's dowry, as well as say, subservience to the Blackwood house during times of war... how could any studied lord say no?

It was a dream, as Celeste had said, but from the severity of her dark eyes, he knew he would have to do something or else he would not see her again.

They neared the place they had originated, the moon still shining brightly, though the night was still.

Davos cleared his throat. "I will talk to my father. If there is any peace to be had, we will root it out, but," he cleared his throat. "This itself may be the cause of more bloodshed. If it is what you want."

"If it is what I want," Celeste mocked snidely, rolling her eyes. "Do as you wish, Davos." As they hit the rocky shore, she stood from the boat quickly, walking to the direction of the Bracken hold.

"If the news is optimistic, you'll hear of it,' Davos called after her, causing Celeste to stop in her tracks. "If your father rejects the terms, you will hear of it,' he said, docking the boat and walking swiftly to catch up to her.

"If my father denies me, however, I will send word to you. In a fortnight,' he sighed and rung his hands. "If it is the latter of those options, I will see you once more. I swear it. By the old gods and the new,' he reached for her hand and squeezed it tightly. "It was not all pretense. You have vexed me. Don't depart in such haste."

"The hour is late, Davos,' Celeste said, the moon illuminating her gaze. Her mood was dampened, as was her hair, and the lateness of the hour had begun to weigh on her. She was tired. She considered that the two would never hold each other through the night or wake up cradling one another. Her heart sank.

"I'm afraid I asked for too much, when perchance it was best to hold on to what we had, but,' she bit her lip. "I am tired of dreams. I want real things."

Davos laughed and petted the girl's head, before scratching gently behind her ear. She scrunched her nose.

"I had not expected you to bite your tongue,' he said with a bittersweet smile before moving forward to kiss her. At first, barely, but then passionately, holding her waist and she clutched him around his neck. They kissed as if it were the first time, knowing that it may be the last.

"Will you remember this? The next time we see each other? Whenever that may be."

Celeste pulled away from the kiss, tears on the brim of her eyes. She blamed the flurry of emotions on the hour.

"If we are betrothed, there will be no need. There will be more to come. But if you are my enemy when next we cross paths, I will smile upon you, Davos... you will amount to so much," she caressed his hair before giving him a small kiss on the nose.

Davos felt his heart break at the sight of her tears, and he reached up to stroke her wet cheek gently with his thumb. He leaned in to rest his forehead against hers, taking in her scent and the feel of her skin against his. He closed his eyes, trying to hold this moment in his memory forever.

"There will be more to come," he repeated softly, holding her close to him.

tag list: @shifter-101 @greatdarkqueen

author note: just one more chapter to go, hopefully next week xx

#got #hotd #davos blackwood #benjicot blackwood #house of the dragon #game of thrones #benji blackwood #tasnc

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freesia-writes · 6 months ago

Text

Ch 6: Hikes and Hurts

~ Master List ~ Previous Chapter ~ WC: 3.2k

Hunter took a deep breath, pausing on the path as it wove its way across the cliffs of the island. Far below, the waves crashed against the shore, an ethereal mist rising to join the early morning fog that drifted equally across land and sea. A few fishing boats dotted the horizon, the creaking sounds of wood-hewn ships long lost in the distance and drowned out by the roar of the ocean. A river trickled down the cliffs, weaving its way down from the forest above and plummeting relentlessly toward the tumult below.

Quiet sounds of cows and fathiers grazing and milling about on the hills above reached his ears. The air was crisp, and the distinct chill of the change in seasons had required Hunter to adopt a layer more than usual. He cupped his hands in front of his mouth, blowing hot air against icy fingers as he idly sorted through the myriad of scents that he could discern. Salty water, fragrant evergreens, dewy grass… the musky smells of various creatures… the hint of smoke from well-stoked hearths in the village to the west.

He picked up something different suddenly – a soft, clean scent that he could only describe as floral linen. Chuckling dryly to himself and vowing to watch less trash holo with Omega, who had recently taken a liking to cheesy romantic adventure films, he turned from the vista point to scan the area. A large, hooded bundle was trundling toward the river, pausing here and there to bend over and inspect the ground before continuing on. When the bundle reached the river’s edge, which was a series of large, flat rocks full of pockets and spaces that gave the image of tide pools, it crouched all the way down and began picking around the shore. Curious and surprisingly defensive at someone else’s encroachment of this beautiful, peaceful space that he’d come to believe only he was privy to, Hunter tucked his hands into the pockets of his thick cloak and headed over to investigate.

He was certain the bundle was human, judging by the gait and build, but he wondered what had drawn one of the locals out so early and so far. They didn’t often venture into The Forest (aptly named, he mused) but rather contented themselves on the western side of the island where it was full of meadows, hills, and a sense of community. He was a few feet away when he came to a halt, his approach concealed by the roaring river.

“Looking for something?” he asked, raising his voice above the rushing water.

The squawk that came from the bundle made him question if it really was human, and with one clumsy motion, it toppled onto its side, arms and legs flailing everywhere on the way. Hunter startled in response, backing up a few steps and raising his hands in front of him as the bundle scrambled to right itself.

“Whoa, whoa… Sorry! You alright?”

“Hunter?!” came a gasp, a slightly squeaky lilt in a familiar husky voice. “What the–” The words dissolved into grumbles as sand and rocks were brushed off and the figure rose to its feet, turning to face him. Beneath the hood he could see the center of Lyra’s face, and he nearly laughed out loud in equal parts surprise and mockery for her entirely unmeasured reaction.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said carefully, lips pressed in a firm line. He didn’t trust himself to say anything else, instead taking in her appearance head to toe. She must have been wearing layer upon layer of clothing, all covered by some kind of head-to-toe suit that he imagined was to keep out the wind and rain. It created a comically shapeless result, with boots poking out the bottom and a hooded head that looked small compared to the rest. “What… uh… Whatcha doin?”

“You…” Lyra took a ragged breath, her arms lifting at her sides with the inflation of her lungs and lowering again as she blew it out in an attempt to calm down. “You scared the kark out of me,” she said, so quietly and conspiratorially that he almost couldn’t hear. He looked around, wondering if there were others nearby, but he hadn’t sensed anything. “I like to come out here on walks,” she continued, doing her best to speak normally but still sounding undeniably tight. “Neat stuff washes up on the banks, especially this time of year, and I thought I saw a piece of tumbled glass… before you robbed me of my dignity.”

Now Hunter did laugh, dipping his head in contrition before sneaking his eyes back up to hers, at least what little he could see beneath the thick layers. “I’m sorry… I guess I owe you a piece of… tumbled glass?”

“Yes, you do,” she answered pertly, shifting on her feet and wrapping her arms around herself. “What are you doing out here?”

“Taking the long way back from hunting.”

“Does the meat just walk itself to your shop?” she asked, tilting her head at his hands.

“Heh. I wish. Nothing today. Something’s a little off with the herds; I have no idea what.”

“Hmm. Well I’m sorry you came up empty-handed, although I imagine that’s just part of the job sometimes.”

“Yep.”

They stood awkwardly for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. The early morning sun was just beginning to peek over the tops of the mountains above, sending inquisitive beams through the boughs of the trees and beginning to chase the dense fog back toward the sea. Hunter returned his hands to his pockets, trying to think of the best thing to say to excuse himself back on his way.

“It might have something to do with the lunar festival?” Lyra offered, catching him off guard.

“What might?”

“The animals being weird…The moons are only full at the same time once a year, and some of the locals swear it affects everything on the island.”

“How?” was all he could muster, although he’d seen and heard of far stranger things in his travels across planets of virtually every size and setup.

“I have no idea,” she shrugged, gazing off toward the sea for a moment. “But,” she continued, leaning toward him with a slightly dramatic air, “Last year around this time, my bread loaf wouldn’t rise. So they might be onto something.”

He stared at her in response, unable to discern if this was deadpan, factual delivery, or some kind of attempt at wit. A small sigh from beneath the hood gave him a hint, and Lyra dropped her own head, mumbling something under her breath that even he couldn’t hear.

“What was that?” he asked, hoping it was something about having to be on her way.

“I said… Geez…” she paused, as though giving herself a hard time for her own delivery, “I said it’s hard to be funny under all these layers.”

“Yeah, what is all that for?” Hunter asked, trying to ignore his own wondering if her attempt at a joke would have been funny even without the excessive clothing. “You look like you’re ready to be rolled down a hill…”

Lyra laughed at that, a self-conscious little guffaw that was promptly followed by her hand covering the bundle’s face-hole. “Is that a regular pastime where you’re from?”

“Not in the slightest,” he answered, although the mental image of troopers wrapped in layers of blacks, being rolled down the curving domes of the Kaminoan buildings brought a little lightness to his heart… But then it was quickly replaced by his last view of Tipoca City – burning wreckage sinking to the bottom of the sea.

“Sorry…” Lyra said uncertainly, and Hunter realized his face had been more telling than he’d assumed. He looked back at her with a little shake of the head, brushing away a lifetime of memories.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” he began.

“Would rolling me down the hill make you feel better?” she asked, mouth pressed in a serious line. His eyebrows rose, as did the corner of his mouth, glancing from her to the cascading river that poured off the edge of the island cliffs into the sea below.

“Murder isn’t usually my first choice of pick-me-ups.”

“Ah, okay. That’s good,” she said solemnly, nodding slowly. “To answer your question…” she paused, giving him time to backtrack to what his question even was, “I like to bundle up when I come out in the early mornings because I’m always cold. And it’s really hard to leave my living room when the fire is going and there is some morning treat in the oven. But I also really like it out here. So this is how I stay warm.”

“You’re always cold? In a place like this?”

“I mean, not always… But pretty much always. Bad circulation, maybe.”

Another shared chuckle.

“Fair enough.”

The conversation meandered from there across a few topics of little importance, and Hunter was finding himself intrigued by the hints of depth beneath the relatively plain exterior. He’d become so used to the ever-changing cast of characters that he’d been subjected to throughout the war, each one seeming to be more bold and brash than the last, that it was almost off-putting to encounter someone so… simple? They wrapped up with some simple well-wishes and went their separate ways, leaving Hunter feeling simultaneously confused and comforted.

* * *

By @constant-brain-fog

“Whatcha got there, kid?” Hunter asked, falling into step beside Omega as they made their way down the hill from the school.

“Oh, it’s for you, actually!” she answered, passing a large package wrapped in twine into his hands. “And you’ve got to stop calling me kid, Hunter…”

“Right. Sorry,” he faltered, although he knew that she still liked it, beneath the inconsistent facade she’d grown since starting school. He sniffed the parcel and received a noseful of earthy vegetable scents. “Who’s this from?”

“Lyra.” Omega had a small smile on her face, casting a quick side glance at him before returning her gaze to the path. “She said she saw you hunting a few days ago, and she didn’t want you to go hungry.”

“Oh really…” he murmured, squinting narrowly as he shifted the package to rest beneath an arm. “Well isn’t that nice.”

“I thought so! No?” she asked, curious at the sarcasm dripping from his voice.

“When she saw me, it was an empty hunt day,” he said, the faintest of wry grins tugging at the corner of his mouth. “So this seems more like a little jab than a generous gift.”

“I don’t think she’s like that…” Omega observed, brow furrowing as she scrutinized him. “She seemed so warm when she said it…And she offered to help me with my internship applications because they’ve been stressing me out.”

“Well, either way… Let’s see what we can do with this for dinner tonight.”

The parcel contained an impressive variety of produce that Hunter assumed came from Lyra’s garden; some were familiar, some not. Brightly-colored root vegetables lay next to plump green and yellow things that looked as though they’d been plucked from vines, and nestled among them were little blue and red balls that, upon being sliced open, revealed juicy interiors with tiny seeds. With their limited repertoire of culinary skills, Hunter and Omega had decided that the best course of action would be to roast them all in a large sheet pan in the oven. After quite a bit of chopping, the tray was filled and the oven was set. But the amount of vegetables it took to fill the sheet pan had barely made a dent in the pile they’d been given, and Omega laughed as she scooped the leftovers into bags, wrapping them and putting them in the cooling chamber for later use. Wrecker was notably absent that evening, and Hunter made a tongue-in-cheek observation that they could have used the extra mouth.

As they waited for the timer to go off, they busied themselves in their own endeavors – Omega had spread her school supplies across the table and was engrossed in her datapad while Hunter tried to organize all of the receipts that had been printed at the butcher shop over the last few days. Tech was his unofficial accountant, keeping track of inventory, overhead, and margins required to keep the shop profitable, but his continual frustration with Hunter’s messy ways had resulted in multiple threats of resignation. So the receipts were to be “ordered chronologically and delivered in a timely fashion to minimize the redundant work and avoid wasting time”, and Hunter had complied, mostly to avoid having to do the rest of it himself.

He sensed Omega’s mood changing quite rapidly between the dinner prep and the time they sat down to eat, and as they dug into their steaks, now with vegetable side dishes that were quite beautiful with their array of colors, he could almost see a proverbial dark cloud hanging over her head. A wave of discomfort washed over him as he pondered the possible causes, realizing he was wildly out of his league. He didn’t even really know what he was to her anymore – some kind of protective figure at the very least, but as she’d settled into young adulthood, her maturing perspective combined with the fact that she’d lived nearly twice as long as he had created a bit of complexity in an already-unfamiliar scenario. But considering the slump of her shoulders and the way it tugged at his heart, Hunter knew he had to at least give it a shot.

“The vegetables are really good,” he ventured, stabbing one with his fork. “Good call on the seasoning.”

“Hmm,” was her only reply, pushing them around on her plate with enough dejection to make even a clanker feel compassion.

“You… uh… want to talk?”

“Not really.”

“Alright.”

More silence ensued, punctuated only by the sounds of eating, which were disproportionately amplified in the discomfort of the situation.

“What’s the next internship?” he tried again, hoping to spark her interest. She’d been thoroughly enjoying herself so far, with the occasional hiccup here and there, and had sounded excited about the rest of the year’s plans and opportunities.

“No idea,” she said, voice lower than usual. He frowned, tilting his head at her.

“Why not?” he asked, with as warm and gentle a tone as he could muster. He was really trying to do it right, whatever “it” was, and fought back the rising frustration at his own inadequacy in this realm.

“It’s all different. The next round is more competitive. You have to apply for the assignments you want, and they only take the top two students for each position. If you don’t get any of the ones you want, you’re just shoved somewhere, whether you’re interested in it or not.”

“Ah. That’s… tricky.”

“It’s kriffing stupid!” Omega blurted out, face hardening with thinly-veiled anger.

“Whoa, careful kiddo–” The thought was out before he could give it a second thought, and it apparently contained an unfortunate choice of words.

“You don’t get it!” she fumed, her lilting voice cracking with emotion. “The applications are stressful enough themselves, plus the lunar festival is coming up and everyone is telling me I need to have some kind of date for it, otherwise I’m total Bantha fodder, and it’s all just… unfair! I don’t know when everyone decided that I have to act or be or look a certain way, whether or not I want to, but it’s driving me crazy. And I bet that if I don’t play their little games, I’ll be stuck shadowing some dumb datapad programmer or something like that.”

Hunter was speechless, taken aback by the flood of information, most of which felt as though it were coming out of nowhere. She’d always seemed happy with her class, especially since it was made up of a handful of students who all knew each other and appeared to get along. When had it changed so drastically? He fumbled for something to say, trying to think strategically.

“I mean, datapad programming can be pretty handy…” he tried, cringing at the wave of emotion he felt from her in response.

“It’s okay, Hunter. You don’t have to try to make me feel better. You can’t understand this. It’s not what you were made for,” she snapped, picking up her plate and heading for her room, where she kicked the door closed behind her. He was shocked at her uncharacteristic vehemence.

An hour passed, leaving Hunter confused and alone as he finished his own plate, constantly warring with himself as to whether or not he should go after her. He cleaned up the kitchen, washing and drying everything by hand before putting it where it belonged. There was a flurry of emotions in his own mind as well: frustration at having apparently said the wrong thing, indignation at her seemingly disproportionate reactivity, and a deep, nagging, unsettling sense that perhaps she was right. He had been made for one purpose. How was he supposed to craft a life of his own outside of that?

As he made the final preparations to head to bed himself, he heard footsteps in Omega’s room, followed shortly by her door cracking open to reveal her small frame. She’d grown so much from when they’d first met, yet somehow still carried a sensitivity and fragility that the world had not yet robbed her of. At least, that was how he saw her. And now, deflated as she was, he only wanted to protect her now from the nuances of adolescent life, the way he had protected her from blaster bolts and tsunamis.

“I’m sorry,” she said, approaching from the hallway to where he stood in their small living room. “I didn’t mean what I said… That was awful…” The light scent of her tears matched up to the redness of her eyes, and he shook his head slowly.

“It’s fine. You’re not wrong–”

“Absolutely I’m wrong!” she exclaimed, drawing closer now. Her body language was odd, like a bird about to take flight, holding some kind of inexpressible tension as she continued. “You may have been created for war, but that’s not all of who you are, Hunter. I know you’re a clone, but you’re still human. And more unique than most.” Her voice was softer now, filled with a wistful nostalgia. “You always have been.”

“Well thanks, but–”

His words were cut off again by her sudden hug, arms wrapped firmly around him as she buried her face in his chest. She squeezed, heaving a great sigh as they stood there in silence, his own arms finding tentative support around her.

“I kind of miss just being a soldier,” she confessed, and Hunter’s mind began to run with a million responses about how she wasn’t a soldier, she’d done so much more than that, etc. But he quieted it for a moment, taking a deep breath of his own, and tried to understand what she was really attempting to convey. Her time as a “soldier” had been their years of post-Republic adventures, scraping by with odd jobs and never quite knowing where they would end up. But they’d always had each other, and their missions were usually fairly singular in focus. It was a whole new world to navigate not only the basics of safety and provision, but also future planning, social nuance, and other pressures that he couldn’t even begin to understand.

He hugged her tightly, silent in the shared sentiment. And in a way, he found himself missing it too.

Previous Chapter ~ Master List ~ Next Chapter

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dailyadventureprompts · 10 months ago

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Dungeon: Valor's Refute

Past a wall of mist and into the bleak morass of the shadowfell there is a dreary and foreboding isle inhabited by the spirits of those who could not relinquish their blades, so driven by persistence and duty that they could not even rest in death.

Their armoured shades wander the isle's endless halls or stand sentinel over its crumbling, hollow gates, obeying long forgotten oaths to nations and sovereigns they can no longer recall. Some others find a corner in which to collapse in torpor, while others crash through the cavernous ruins, exhausting themselves in battle after pyrrhic battle.

Valor's Refute is not a haven or a hell, it is a purgatory, a place of slow forgetting and inevitable dissolution.... or atleast it would be if over the ages a bunch of darkness dabbling gods and mages didn't independently arrive at the idea that a labyrinthine shadow world full of memory eroding mist could double as a great vault, just as its the ever vigilant and honourbound inhabitants make for incorruptible guards. And so dotted throughout the solemn halls of Valor's Refute are traps and puzzles intended to safeguard artifacts deemed too precious or dangerous to entrust to mortal or material hideaways.

Challenges & Complications

Suffused with the waters of the river Lethe, Valor's Refute is cloaked in a chilling mist that imparts those it touches with lethargy and forgetfulness. Effects are minor at first, but a party can easily take a wrong turn and end up fighting through a fogbank for what turns out to be hours or plunging into the icy water that saps them of a whole day's strength. These effects are best tracked through my attrition system, available HERE.

While exploring the evertwisting corridors, the party encounter the ghost of Ser Zagaver, a knight errant who died uncovering a terrible secret regarding a great evil working in the shadows of the campaign. Having been unable to warn anyone of the unseen danger, she needs the party to swear to carry on her message, and she's willing to force them at the edge of swordpoint. If the party renege on their deal, or get too distracted with ongoing matters, they can expect to be haunted by an enranged ghost-knight until they're steered back on course.

A voice stirs the dreams of those who sleep on the isle, compelling them to seek it out and teasing at their hearts' desire. This voice originates in one of the dungeon's deeper vaults, and belongs to a cursed item known as the "chalice of want". Once the weddingcup of a pair of prideful demigods who later betrayed eachother, it grants those that drink from it visions of how their ambitions may come to pass. Such tastes of future glory are addictive, to say nothing of how dangerous the foreknowledge it grants may be in the hands of the wrong entities.

Art 1

Art 2

#seeking knowledge #shadowfell #shadowfell dungeon #cursed item #undead #underworld #dread domain

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porphyriosao3 · 2 months ago

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Day 2 - Light

Thorin had never paid much mind to sunlight. He certainly wasn't like one of the deep-downers, where they started spewing and staggering in the sun. Unless things were very bright indeed he only had to squint a bit when outside. A childhood spent hunting and roaming made sure of that. Still, like all his kin, he wasn't that fond of the sun; it was too bright outside, the sky too high, the colors too gaudy for dwarves who were born of the grey stone and dark places in the mountain depths. In spite of all that... Thorin had to admit he had never been anywhere in his long life of traveling where the sunlight looked like it did in the Shire.

The Shire's version of sunlight seemed almost a thick, honeyish liquid; it oozed and pooled itself around everything it fell upon, giving a lustrous glow to even the most commonplace items and scenes. Despite the fair amount of time he had lived here by now it was always surprising. He would walk to work in the morning towards the smithy and the fog would rise from Hobbiton's gravel roads, the dew would shimmer on the absurdly lush grass to either side, and he would feel as though he were lost in some strange storyland. The sun would cause the hanging mists to shimmer golden, reminding him of his childhood as a tiny pebble in Erebor, transfixed by the sight of the great lamps hung behind the waterfall on the third deep glowing through the spray.

In the late afternoons he would close the forge and walk home. The Hill would be awash in rivers of sunlight, with each passing bee and butterfly limned lovingly with rich light against the absurdly bright palette of colors, and even the customary squint could not hide the beauty of the sun-kissed Shire. The giant pin-oak atop the Hill would shiver in the gentle breeze, its leaves rustling and seeming to flow like a green river in the light of the sun. The whole Hill seemed cloaked in gold.

The best light was ahead, though, when he came inside into the welcome dimness of the smial. He admired the sunlight; aesthetically, he had to admit it was beautiful, even though as a dwarf it wasn't made for his kind nor their tastes. Once he was out of the brightness of the day, though, he could see the real treasure. The light of the smile that waited for him here - that was truly blinding. His eyes took it in even as his heart had to squint at the brightness of it, even as his soul rejoiced. This was a treasure made only for him. Truly, the light of the Shire was like nowhere else.

#dwarrowtober #dwarrowtober 2024 #thorin oakenshield #bagginshield #shire #day 2

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nvthedasmode · 3 months ago

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The Dread Wolf's Grave

Notes:

Very short one-shot fic inspired by the quote; 'They asked "do you love her to death?" I said, "speak of her over my grave and watch how she brings me back to life.'

Lavellan's name is Harellan, 'Raven' is Varric's nickname for her.

One of Harellan's nervous habits is rolling coins over her knuckles.

Set sometime during early Veilguard, Solas presumed to be at the Lighthouse rather than in a separate prison.

First ever fic! I am not a writer! I am just a lil guy with a lot of feelings!

And I am so sorry I have no idea how to write Solas and Varric lol.

-----

To say that Varric was uncomfortable was an understatement. It was one thing to ask a dwarf to live on the surface, another thing entirely to ask him to make himself at home in the Fade. Unfortunately, he had little say in the matter. The Veilguard had settled themselves within a deep pocket of the Fade; a safe haven from the blighted elven gods now roaming Thedas, and thus far it had proven to be a wise choice.

Their new home was where he emerged from now, and the morning silence (save for Bellara’s excessive snoring) was a welcome indication that everyone was still fast asleep. Or, at least, everyone but the one elusive elf he was looking for. Once he was confident he had not woken anyone up with his heavy dwarven tread, Varric’s footsteps established a leisurely pace as he descended the stygian steps weaving from the gilded door of the Lighthouse to the shifting island below.

The Dread Wolf’s corner of the Fade expanded before him, shimmering masses of Fade-touched rock floating across the enchanted vista as unhindered wisps of magic soared above him like stars against Kirkwall’s night sky. It was brighter, warmer, but still as commanding as the area of the Fade the fear demon had ruled. Some of the silhouetted islands in the distance would have been large enough to cast a city the size of Starkhaven into complete shadow, and some dipped deeper than even the oldest of thaigs. Smaller rocks housed old and ruined walls, frescos of the fabled wolf glowing faintly from the veilfire sconces and causing him to appear equal parts treacherous and feeble.

The littlest cluster of rocks presented an assortment of ancient elven … trees, Varric assumed. Their metal base gave way to a spherical head that sprouted sharp, golden branches. They wove intricate shapes that moved to shelter a gleaming emerald centre, glinting like fire. This group veered closer to the island he now trudged along, glittering vines with blossoms as large as ponds wrapping themselves around the jagged surfaces and reaching out to grasp their neighbour - a complex walkway of mystic bridges that connected the islands, forming an imposing jungle that served as a shrine to what once was.

Far above him, when he thought to look, Varric could have sworn he could make out the slightest shape of an azure city, light refracting across the landscape as if it was pouring through a window in a Chantry cathedral. The sight was often cloaked in a calculated mist, as though his eyes were intruding on an intimate scene between two lovers - but every time he rubbed his eyes to see it clearer, it had vanished.

Varric had learned that the island he had called home for the past few weeks could shift its appearance depending on his old friend’s mood. While the Lighthouse remained the same, often the Veilguard would wake up to see their interim home had a different garden to explore, each one shaped from Solas’ lonely library of memories. Sometimes there would be luscious fields of green, emerald blades swaying to a song none but they could hear as perfectly round drops of dew dissolved into dazzling specs of light. Other times there were seemingly never-ending pathways; rivers of crystal gems creating a map upon the island, waterfalls replacing cities and curious wisps building toy castles from motes of magic. Once, when Varric awoke in the dead of night (or as close as one could get to that, in the Fade), he peered out his window to see Solas strolling Skyhold’s grounds, his tired eyes never leaving the figures of Cole and the Inquisitor as they helped to soothe a dying woman lying by the campfire, clutching a fatal wound. Had Solas reached out to them, Varric did not know, for he had quickly retreated back to his bed to allow his old friend his privacy.

Today, as Varric disembarked the steps, the soles of his worn boots met an impossibly soft sand that shifted gently beneath his weight. Something resembling seashells dotted the ground, their surface gleaming and moving in a way that made them look more like creatures than collectible souvenirs. Out of baseless paranoia more than respect, Varric carefully picked his way across the fabricated beach to the towering figure in the distance.

Solas stood at the end of the beach, the ripples of the ocean creeping along the sand to stop just shy of the tips of his feet, as though magic itself dare not disturb him. He stood tall, gazing across his domain with an expression befitting his name as the manufactured breeze lifted the ends of his coat. Hands clasped habitually behind his back, a single gold coin rolled lazily across his knuckles, causing tiny spurts of reflected light to shower across his long fingers. Any reasonable dwarf back under the surface might have mistook it for magic.

“Good morning, Varric,” came his familiar voice. He spoke in barely more than a murmur despite Varric still being numerous paces away, yet he heard it as though they were standing next to each other.

“And here I thought it was only Rook who had to listen to your voice inside their head, Chuckles,” Varric shouted back, scowling half-heartedly when he saw Solas’ shoulders betray a small laugh.

Solas patiently waited until Varric had made it to his side before speaking again, finally turning his gaze to his friend with a playful smirk on his lips. “Ir abelas, I did not want to deny you the pleasure.”

Varric let out an indignant snort. “I’m starting to understand why so many dwarves stay below the surface.”

“To avoid speaking with me?”

“Now, now, I didn’t say that.”

“You did not need to,” Solas responded curtly. Varric was glad to see the smile still lingering.

At least he hasn’t lost his sense of humour.

The two fell into a comfortable silence, the sound of the waves crashing a few hundred yards ahead of them filling the space. Had he let his mind tune out for a moment, it would not have been unlike the mornings they had spent waking up to the sounds of the Storm Coast - Solas casting a protective barrier over the campfire before the Inquisitor burst into tears at the idea of going a single moment without her tea; Cassandra cursing from the edge of camp as she tried and failed to prove she could in fact approach a nug without scaring it away; Lace and Varric placing bets on how many more days it could rain before they all lost their minds. He wasn’t sure which put his back up more; being surrounded by suffocating grey and rain, slipping on lethal cliffs that never seemed to dry - or being in the Fade.

It was Solas who broke the silence first, as if sensing Varric’s unease. “How are you adjusting?”

Varric shrugged, stalling as he measured his response. It wasn’t in the nature of their relationship to lie to one another (or so I thought, he corrected himself), but he wasn’t about to start tearing apart his friend’s home either.

“I can’t exactly say I’m keen to settle down and start a family here, but I’ll give it to you - it’s impressive.”

“Thank you,” Solas sighed heavily, his eyes focused on something in the distance. “Imagine what it would be like without the Veil.”

“Chuckles, not now.”

“So, when would you propose-”

“I came here to talk to Solas,” Varric said morosely, feeling a pang of regret as Solas’ shoulders stiffened. “Not the Dread Wolf. How about you humour me, just this once? Then I promise we’ll go back to the uncomfortable ‘Child of the Stone’ and ‘Ancient Elven God’ dynamic.”

Solas silently met his eyes then, and the coin in his hands stilled as white knuckles wrapped around it tightly. Just like the painted walls on the islands floating around them, Varric could see his were tall but crumbling. Exhaustion and pain had sunk their bloodied talons into his sharp features, but under the wolf there was still the man. A friend that desperately wanted to get out.

“I’ve never been good at this sort of stuff,” Varric muttered, turning his gaze back toward the ocean, “but you left a lot of people behind. Good people, that missed you.”

“I am not unaware of that, Varric,” Solas replied. Varric could hear the sharpness to the tone, a warning that he should drop the subject immediately.

They both knew he wouldn’t.

“I mean, even Buttercup seemed upset - although she tried her best not to show it. With you gone, Cassandra became her next target for pranks, and we both know pissing off the Seeker is a dangerous choice at best - lethal at worst. I mean, I’m speaking from experience here.”

A quick glance to his right told him Solas was also very pointedly staring out at the ocean again, doing his best to look the picture of disinterest, but the ironclad set of his jaw gave him away. It always had.

“And Ruffles! I thought she would never stop accidentally adding your frilly cakes to the Val Royeaux order list each month. Eventually, me and the Kid-”

“Did you come out here with the intent to torture me, Varric?” Solas snapped, his proud mask melting away to pained anger as he pressed his eyes closed. His nose scrunched as he breathed through it, the waves that stretched before them stuttering and turning a sickly green. “Do you see me as so many of my People do? Do you also think me a heartless monster with no feelings?”

Against his will, Varric’s mind recalled his friend’s broken sobs as she read Sutherland’s reports about the monstrous demon that had plagued Skyhold. Her heart’s deepest regrets ravaging the place they had once called home, the scars of his past forever embedded in the old Inquisition fortress.

“No,” he sighed. “I don’t think that at all, Chuckles.”

Another deep breath from Solas. The water slowly began to settle once more, melting back to a cool, pure cerulean that would have made the painters at Halamshiral turn crimson with embarrassment.

“Then what can I do for you?”

“Remember,” Varric said shortly.

Solas opened his eyes to peer at Varric with confusion, and he could see the purple storm deep within them threatening to pour out and engulf the island they now stood upon.

Silently, Varric nodded to Solas’ hands, still held tightly shut as though he were frightened of dropping whatever was in them. Solas slowly unfurled his fingers, the gold coin nestled innocently in his palm, small dents pressed into his pale skin from clasping it so desperately. The purple storm observed it silently, eyes barely blinking as they stared.

“I saw you playing with it,” Varric said gently, feeling his friend was more a terrified Halla than the dreaded wolf in that moment. “Raven used to do the same thing, when she was nervous. Ruffles had to pry it from her hand when we went to the Winter Palace.”

Solas continued staring at the coin, his expression unreadable. “She gave this to me on the way to the Temple of Mythal,” he said tentatively, as though testing out the words in his mouth. Varric supposed this was the first time he had allowed himself to speak of her in years. “She said she had no need for it any longer, since she had …”

“Since she had your hand to hold,” Varric finished for him. “She said it loud enough for the entire camp to hear.” The memory almost made him smile himself.

A ghost of a smile tried to lift the corners of Solas’ mouth, but it faltered before it even began.

“I remember.”

Varric did smile then. I knew you were still in there, Chuckles.

“Do you still love her?”

There was barely a heartbeat before Solas tore his eyes away from the coin, wrapping his fingers safely around it once more before straightening to his full height and turning to look along the endless sands.

Varric felt the Fade change before he saw it. The sands before them rippled and swirled, floating smoothly into the air to reveal the harsh black rock of the island below. A deep shadow lurked over the area, a stark contrast to the vivid, colourful sky behind it. The sands shifted and formed a familiar image; tall swaths of darkness encircling a small enclave while a suffocating green mist rolled along the floor, catching Varric’s ankles and sending small tendrils up his legs that dissipated as quickly as they appeared. Paltry red spirits skittered around nervously, as if they were constantly running toward - or away from - something.

This was the graveyard from the Fear demon’s lair. Or - more accurately, Varric supposed - Solas’ memory of it.

There was a slight adjustment, however. Only one, solitary gravestone sat in the enclave. The stone it was made from looked sick, brimming with fear and unspoken terrors, its aura almost oppressive.

Varric approached it wordlessly. The words upon it were the same and yet not as he remembered - the elegant, smug carvings of the fear demon were gone, replaced by hurried, almost infantile writing that looked as if it had been carved with a very sharp claw.

‘Solas,’ it read. ‘Dying alone.’

It was only then that Varric saw them. A spectral version of Solas - his friend, Solas - appeared slowly from the darkness, smiling as he offered a gloved hand to the second figure that manifested. Harellan met his smile with her own, eagerly gripping his hand and laughing as he twirled her into his arms. The scarlet spirits, appearing to be calmed by the two newcomers, turned to watch, sweeping closer to the radiant scene that seemed to consume the darkness around it. Varric could hear the faint sound of a band playing from - somewhere? Nowhere? The memory of his friends didn’t seem to care, nor did they notice him or the cruel grave at their feet. They danced and looked at no one but each other, and Varric was irrevocably certain that they would dance forever if the world would let them.

The lonely voice came from behind him then. It was so thick with immeasurable pain that Varric could not bring himself to turn around.

“Speak of her over my grave, Varric,” Solas murmured, “and watch how she brings me back to life."

#dragon age #solavellan hell #solas dragon age #varric tethras #fanfiction

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zablife · 1 year ago

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No Peace For You Ever

Requested by @runnning-outof-time for my 2K celebration An Evening at Arrow House.

Author's Note: A special ty to the amazing @shelbydelrey who helped me brainstorm this one!

Warnings: dark fic 💀, mention of the supernatural, suicide

Tommy sighed contentedly as he leaned back against the headboard of the bed, business papers in hand as you peacefully slumbered at his side. It was long past midnight, but his restless mind wouldn’t allow him sleep, not with thoughts of his family weighing on him.

As he lost himself within the jargon contained in the documents, he failed to notice the frigid breeze tinging the air or how the roaring fire had been reduced to smoldering ash. It wasn’t until you began to stir that he took note of a change in the room. Looking down at your shivering form, he asked, “What’s wrong, darling?”

“M so cold, Tommy,” you mumbled, half asleep and unable to find him in the large bed.

Discarding his glasses on the bedside table, he turned out the light and slid under the covers. “C’mere,” he said, pulling you into his bare chest, full of warmth and gentle reassurance he hadn’t gone. His strong arms wrapped around you and you instantly felt his body heat radiating over you as you snuggled closer. A lazy smile tugged at the corners of your mouth as you felt his lips graze the top of your head. “Get some rest. We’ve got a big day tomorrow,” he reminded you, thumb grazing your shoulder gently. You wanted to voice your concern about the housewarming party, but too tired to protest, you only nodded against him. “Good girl,” he murmured as sweet slumber welcomed you once more.

———————————————-

“Frances, tell Mr. Shelby I’m taking a walk,” you said as you gathered your coat and hat.

“Are you alright, ma’am? You didn’t eat any breakfast,” she asked, her kind blue eyes looking you over to be sure the stress of the last few weeks hadn’t made you overly anxious. She knew how much you wanted this evening’s party to be a success.

“I’ll have something later. I only need the fresh air now,” you said with a reassuring smile. You didn’t want her to know how your nerves were making your stomach churn into such a frenzy you felt you might be sick any moment. Was it your imagination or was Tommy retreating to his office more with every phone call from one of his disapproving relatives?

You had to stop the intrusive thoughts before they began so you set out toward the calming warmth of the morning sun, basking in the gentle heat upon your cheeks. You didn’t have any particular destination in mind when you set out from the house, passing the garage and the stables. You only knew you needed absolute quiet before the chaos of the evening began.

Soon you’d distanced yourself from anyone working near the house and the only sounds to be heard were the crows overhead and the distant rush of cool water from the river. As you inhaled a deep breath of fresh air, a frigid breeze stirred your hair and an unfamiliar scent came to you, something that shifted and changed as it swirled around you with the early morning fog. You began to sense you were not alone as you heard the snap of a twig from deep within the forest bordering your land. However, finding nothing but mist taunting your vision, you attempted to steady your breathing.

Pulling your cloak around your shoulders protectively, you turned to leave. The chill in the air was unmistakable as it had been last night. However, this time the source would become known as an unnatural presence stalked from beyond the brush in stealthy movements until a figure appeared just beyond your left shoulder.

“Y/n Shelby” a low voice called to you. Hands trembling at your throat, your head snapped from left to right, waiting for the person to show themselves. Soon a woman emerged from the dense fog, wild brunette hair flowing freely and fierce hazel eyes narrowing at you. You could only watch in speechless fright as she closed the space between you, leaning on a crooked walking stick.

“You have no clue who I am, do you?” she questioned, voice dripping with condescension. However, you’d placed her by now from the family photos in Tommy’s study. She’d lost weight, cheeks sunken and wrinkles etched into her pale skin, but the resemblance was unmistakable.

“You’re John’s widow, Esme,” you answered, trying not to let your fear show. You’d heard about her hatred of Tommy and the curse she’d placed on him before her hasty departure years ago.

“Don’t have to make it sound so harsh, love. I’m still a part of this family whether Tommy likes it or not,” she asserted firmly, a wild gleam in her eye.

You swallowed harshly with a nod of your head. “If you need me to arrange a meeting with Tommy…”

“I don’t want to see him,” she spat as she continued to stalk toward you.

You cocked your head, unsure of what else she might want. “Then is there something else?” you asked, feeling your breath coming hard and fast at the realization you were alone together and much further from the house than you would have liked.

Esme stopped suddenly, looking at you in distress as she made a mysterious confession, “There’s only one thing that could make it right.” She stared into the distance, a long silence stretching before you until she began speaking again, more to herself than you. “It’s been so long since I was back here living with John…”

You shook your head slowly, wanting to offer her comfort, but unsure how to right the wrongs of the past you’d only just become acquainted with yourself. “If you want to come to Arrow House, we’ll do everything we can to help you and the children,” you offered.

She spun around to face you, body tense and chest heaving. “Fuck you and your bloody mansion!” she spat at your feet, making you jump.

“Then why are you here?” you challenged her, your words coming out more forcefully than intended.

“Cos Thomas Shelby has lived in peace far too long. I warned him there’d be a price to pay,” she said, forcing her staff into the ground for emphasis with a look of devilment in her eye.

You began to back away, feeling her gaze rest upon you like that of a hungry wolf locked onto it’s prey. The long grass swept along the backs of your legs as another gust of wind blew and your nerve endings ignited sending shivers coursing down your spine. Your legs trembled in anticipation, the urge to flee growing by the second. You glanced back toward the path home knowing the attempt would be futile. Slow acceptance washed over you as you winced, “Are you here to kill me?” You felt your mouth go dry as you uttered the unthinkable, a knot forming in your stomach as you awaited an answer.

“I’m not armed,” she stated calmly, opening her jacket to prove it to you.

You felt the hammering in your chest subside as you inhaled a shaky breath, but you were still wary of her. There was something unsettling about her presence which told you she didn’t need weapons to do harm. “You won’t hurt Tommy either?” you asked, tears gathering in your eyes as the unspoken plea for your husband’s life hung in the air between you.

“If that’s what you want,” she said with a crooked smile, amusement evident in her tone. “Perhaps there is something you can do for me.”

“Yes, anything,” you said nodding vigorously. Closing your eyes in relief, head tipped up to the heavens in grateful prayer, you didn’t see her dip into the satchel at her waist and remove a few seeds. She scattered them at your feet with a chuckle, the jarring sound of her laughter bringing you back to reality.

As you inspected the small, brown shells at your feet, you furrowed your brow in confusion. Were they nuts? Seeds? You couldn’t be sure until they suddenly began to burrow into the ground with a speed that made you gasp. Roots formed before your very eyes, growing and twisting in gnarled patterns along the ground until they began to snake toward your toes. As in a nightmare, you found your feet growing heavy and uncooperative as a wayward root found it’s way up your leg, lacing elegantly back and forth like a snake until you were bound to the spot were you stood.

Esme stood back and watched you carefully, a look of satisfaction on her face as you began to feel a tightening in your chest. Your lungs felt as though they were being punctured by thorns and you began to cough. “What have you done?” you sputtered, feeling your body begin to shake. There was no answer as a violent fit overtook you, delicate petals spewing from your pink lips and falling to the ground. Your hands shot up to gather them, but you found jagged leaves in place of fingers, sprouts shooting from your fingertips. You wished to shout, but by now your voice had gone, only a rustling of leaves in it’s place as you stood trapped within the bark of a twisted blackthorn tree. A faint echo of the curse Esme had issued long ago whispered forth in the wind replacing your scream with her words, “No peace for you ever.”

————————

“Frances, where did Mrs. Shelby say she was going?” Tommy asked, looking down at his pocket watch. The hour had grown late and he was concerned you hadn’t returned for lunch.

“She said she was going for a walk, sir,” Frances replied. “She enjoys the path by the river.”

“Thank you,” Tommy replied, grabbing his coat and setting off to find you. However, his search that day would be fruitless and his agitation grew as his family arrived for dinner.

The moment Polly arrived he grasped her elbow, pulling his aunt into his office with harsh insistence. “It could only have been you. What have you done with her?” Tommy seethed.

Jerking her arm away, Polly’s brown eyes lit with fury to match her nephew’s. “What the bloody hell, Tommy!”

“Y/n, she went missing this afternoon,” he said, raking a hand through his hair and making his appearance even more untidy than before. Pacing like a caged animal, he shook his head. “Don’t try to deny it, Pol!” he pointed at her accusingly. “You warned me she wouldn’t last long in the family and I know what that means.”

Polly furrowed her brow in concern, eyes tracking Tommy’s impatient movement from one end of the room to the other. “Tommy, I’ll pretend you didn’t just accuse me of doing away with your wife. You obviously aren’t thinking clearly,” she stated, straightening her fur. She crossed to the bar to pour three fingers of whisky before handing it to him to calm his nerves.

She breathed a sigh of relief as she watched him pause long enough to gulp it down, hoping it might weigh him to the carpet for a moment as she reasoned with him. Using the low, soothing voice she reserved for moments of crisis she began, “Is it possible she’s left of her own accord. Gone back to France?”

Tommy's eyes glazed over as he allowed her words to penetrate his heart and just when he accepted the stab of betrayal, a sharp knock came upon the door. The noise pulled him from the depths of his despair, a hopeful look brightening his eyes as the stablehand held up Mrs. Shelby’s cloak. “We found this tangled in the blackthorn, Mr. Shelby.”

———————-

One year later…

Time and time again Tommy had returned to the tree where your belongings were found, praying for the first time in years that you might return. Despite his best efforts to learn if you’d been kidnapped or worse, there was no word from his men north or south and the lack of information was slowly driving him mad. His only consolation was found at the foot of the gnarled blackthorn tree where, for reasons unknown to him, he felt closer to you. However, he never allowed his family or staff to accompany him to the area he considered sacred ground. It had become far too personal.

On the anniversary of your disappearance, when a walk by the river failed to soothe him, Tommy began to loose all faith. He craved the softness of your touch, the sound of your laughter, the glimmer in your eye when he called your name. There hadn’t been enough time to savor it all before you’d gone and the thought he might never experience it again was ripping him apart. “I don’t know how much longer I can go on without you, Y/n,” he cried, dropping to his knees.

Looking up into the twisted branches, the snow-white blossoms overhead showered over him. The scent of the blooms surprised him as they smelled far sweeter than any he’d ever noticed before. In fact, it transported him to a happier time when he danced with you in Paris, holding you close to him and promising to love you forever. He whispered your name to the heavens and was rewarded with another sprinkling of flowers, a bittersweet smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Within the confines of your thorny prison, you watched over your beloved husband. Instinctively you moved toward him, but the roots planted long ago had burrowed deep into the earth, holding you captive so you could do nothing more than bear witness to his suffering.

As his shoulders slumped forward, his large hand dipped beneath his woolen coat and your terror grew as you spied what he had been reaching for. Tommy’s eyes shut tight as his arm snapped to attention at his temple, the muscle memory of a soldier called to action. A hushed prayer fell from his lips just audible over the babbling brook. “In the bleak midwinter…”

You would have gasped if you still remained human or shouted a desperate plea for your husband’s life, but now it became nothing more than a silent prayer for someone or something to stop him in time.

It was not to be. The crisp clear shot rang out into the air and you strained against your bonds in agony. Your efforts resulted in nothing more than a muffled rustling of leaves and an echo carried away on the wind, “No peace for you ever.”

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

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#Peaky Blinders fanfic #Peaky Blinders imagine #Tommy Shelby x you #Tommy Shelby x y/n #Tommy Shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby #Cillian Murphy #Esme Shelby #Esme Shelby Lee

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dawn-moths · 1 year ago

Text

"No Use Crying Over A Wolf"

Werewolf!Dabi x Female Reader

part 1 * part 2 * part 3

word count: 13,000+

(After surviving your first encounter with the notorious werewolf who lured you into the dark depths of the dense forest, you unexpectedly find yourself wanting to meet him again. But things are different now. He’s different now. And although you two come from completely different worlds, you can’t help but secretly wish there was a way you could be together. You’d certainly rather be involved with the dangerous wolfman than the overly persistent hunter who never seems to give up on vying for your attention and, eventually, if he has it his way, also your hand in marriage. Although, you soon might find both Dabi and yourself will be in danger, as the hunter seems to have caught your scent and followed the trail…)

disclaimer/content warning: 18+ content! minors dni! keigo/hawks plays a pretty big role in this chapter, your relationship with Dabi is more consensual this time, mentions of the church, reader is carried briefly, possessive Dabi, smut at the end, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, some brief aftercare.

*ao3 mirror*

***

Autumn seemed like an eternity ago, the cruel, bitter chill of winter seeping into your skin, your hair, your bones, every time you stepped out the door. But, as your mother always used to tell you when you began to worry about something, things will always change, just as the seasons do, coming and going with time and patience.

Before you knew it, the last of the snow and frost had melted away and the first buds of spring had started to sprout along the thin branches of the bare trees, the promise that change was indeed on its way.

Though, as much as you looked forward to warmer days, to leisure summers spent picking berries by the steady rush of the river, your mind had been unable to evade the crunchy leaves and fog of dawn that the fall had provided.

Because, what always cut through to light your way through those dark winter evenings were the brilliant blue eyes that had shone through the thick forest, the ones that seemed to glow iridescent as they’d tracked you through the mist.

You hadn’t seen the wolfman since that fateful day— the very same day you’d received the gift of your beautiful crimson cloak, which you usually wore on your way through town, drawing many an envious eye at the saturated, fur lined fabric— yet still he always found a way into your dreams, whether caught in a daze during the day or sleeping deeply at night.

You used to fear wolves. Hate them. But now, that had also changed.

Perhaps, you thought, it had been because you’d survived one, were maybe even confident that you could do it again. Or, the more likely explanation, it was because you’d grown rather fond of one wolf in particular, even if he was more man than monster most nights under the moon.

As you trudged up the hill towards your little cottage home atop the cliff, a wicker basket heavy where it was slung over the crook in your elbow, filled with fresh bread and vegetables from the village market, you replayed that night in your head for the hundredth time.

If you really concentrated, you could still feel his rough hands ghosting over you, taste the smoky flavor of his mouth on yours.

You used it to fall asleep most nights, sometimes your own hands wandering to try and replicate what he’d done, yet it never felt quite the same.

So, immersed in your daydream, you almost thought it was merely your imagination as the echoes of a distant howl faded into your serene, early spring soundscape. After a brief pause, you left your basket by the fence and took off running. Though it wasn’t away from the sound, like you’d been meticulously taught to do.

This time, it was towards it.

You felt a laugh bubbling up in your chest as you raced through the rows of pine, the edge of the forest bordering the small patch of valley that composed your backyard, growing giddy as the howl rang out a second time, closer now.

You used to become so afraid when you heard the distant echoes of a howl, knowing how dangerous and vicious the owner of the primal note could be. But this howl, as it rang out a third time, was laced with the smoky, teasing tones of the wolf you’d met before. It was a sound you couldn’t help but be drawn towards. You’d been hearing it in your dreams for weeks now. And Dabi knew you were coming to meet his call, beckoning you further down the winding paths of the dense woods, eager to see you again too.

The winters here were usually long, but this past winter had proved to be the longest and bitterest of them all. Not as much from the unrelenting weather and so much time forcibly spent inside, but more so from the intense loneliness that had come from knowing, when the snow piled up as high as the latticed windows, neither of you could trudge through the blizzard’s banks in hopes of meeting even if you’d wanted to.

As Dabi heard your quick little footsteps approaching, he had to force himself to suppress a smile, though you thought you caught a glimpse of those sharp, glinting canines as you broke through into the clearing that the secluded little spot hidden between the thicket provided.

Dabi stood there looking pleased with himself, as if he’d tricked you into crossing his path again, but you both knew it had been deliberate. You were just surprised that he dared venture this far from his territory, or rather, this close to yours— the territory of his enemies. He was practically in your backyard, your tiny cottage house still slightly visible in the distance through the thin, silvered gaps among the many tightly clustered trees.

He remained half concealed by the shadows cast down from the canopy, those cobalt eyes shining through the dark like two glittering sapphires before he stepped out and revealed himself to the light of day. And then, well…

Then you really were surprised.

Because the wolfman had shed the first half of his title, it seemed, the distinct ears and tail of the creature that cursed him seemingly absent this time around. Nothing left to remind you what he really was under the pale, scarred flesh of the human he had once consistently been.

“You— What happened?” you blurted out, the grin dropping from your face for a moment, concern and confusion taking its place only to be replaced by naive elation moments later. “What happened to your—? You look human now!”

But before you could get too excited, perhaps thinking that his curse had somehow been broken, Dabi stepped forward and bitterly informed you that he wasn’t cured.

“Full moon was a few nights ago,” he said, rolling his eyes a bit at your obliviousness. “Cycle starts over after a full transformation…” He reached forward, slow and steady this time, hoping you wouldn’t flinch away, and ran his fingers through the black, speckled fur on your cloak’s hood for a second before flicking his gaze to meet yours, cocking his head a bit, and asking, “Remember?”

You’d been so distracted by his sudden, casual proximity to you that it took a moment for what he’d told you about those afflicted with his condition to register, the realization then spreading across your face with a warm blush before fading into a sad, soft melancholy.

“Oh…” you muttered. “Right… Sorry, I—” Your sentence stopped short when you caught sight of his wrist. As he pulled it away from you, you noticed it was marked with several cuts and bruises. Fresh ones. Ones that looked like they hurt.

“What’s this?” you asked, taking his hand back in your own before he could try and hide the injury. “These are recent…” you noted, trying to examine the gashes closer, worry tugging cutely at your brow. “Did this happen on the last full moon? Did the hunters do this to you?”

Dabi let you handle him for a moment, caught off guard by your authentic concern. How often did he allow people to get close enough to touch him? And how rare it was that they’d be so gentle. But when you looked up at him with those big, troubled doe-eyes of yours, dappled sunlight catching on your long lashes and brightening your irises, he flinched out of your reach, pulling his injured wrist into his other hand.

“‘S nothing…” he lied, averting his gaze, feeling vulnerable under your attempted care. “Don’t worry about it.”

Stubbornly— and rather boldly— you reached forward and tugged his arm towards you again, revealing the wounds once more. Dabi swallowed, a slight scowl twitching on his brow, but he didn’t pull away that time. He didn’t dare, lest you never let him feel your touch again.

“Don’t tell me not to worry about it,” you lightly scolded him, gently turning his wrist to examine how the cuts wrapped all the way around, almost like he’d gotten his hand— or, perhaps, his front paw— caught up in some sharp, barbed razor wires. Traps that hunters had set in hopes of catching rabbits and other small forest creatures, no doubt. “This needs to be disinfected and wrapped. Stay here—” You let go of his wrist and were already turning back towards your house. Dabi fought the urge to reach out and grab onto you, not wanting you to leave so soon, even if it was temporarily and also for his own good. “We have some bandages at home. I’ll be right back!”

Dumbfounded as he watched you weave in and out between the gaps in the pines, Dabi’s protests had come to him a little too late. Not that you would’ve listened to them even if he’d remembered to speak. But he just couldn’t believe how much you seemed to care for him after what he’d done.

Because you didn’t even know his name yet. He didn’t know yours. And the last time you two had been in the same vicinity, he’d intended to do you more harm than good.

But, against his own wishes, he’d reluctantly grown his own fondness for you, the roots of the bittersweet plant entangled throughout every bone within him, the flower’s sating venom clouding his thoughts, oftentimes causing him to pace his territory in hopes of spotting a flash of vibrant red through the bleak streaks of grey and white that winter had painted over the woods. He would sniff the air, wishing he would catch a whiff of freshly baked bread and plump, ripe fruits or that distinct, delicately human smell of your skin.

Through the cold and the snow and the long, dark, lonely nights, Dabi could only dream of you, the feisty girl who traveled alone through the woods with a silver dagger and the fur of a killer frothed around her neck. He never imagined that you’d possibly be thinking of him over these last few months as well. But, as he lost sight of your flickering figure amidst the trees, as much as it tore him apart inside to accept the realization, it would probably be best if you two stopped seeing each other at all.

***

The first aid kit was tucked in between your grandmother’s cookbook and the cutting board. Once you’d procured some basic cloth bandages and a glass bottle half full of what you could only guess by the horrid, eye watering smell was pure alcohol, you doubled back towards the front door.

A thought crossed your mind then that it was a good thing neither of your parents were home. How would you explain taking such precious medical supplies? That you’d found an injured deer and wished to help it? If your father had been around, he would’ve just had you lead him to it so he could finish it off and drag it home where part of it would become dinner, the remains brought into town and sold for as many coins as they could fetch.

Unable to keep a beaming smile from lighting up your face, you supposed that you were feeling pretty lucky today. First you run into your favorite wolf and next you’re actually able to help him and make yourself a little useful so—

The moment you swung open the door to exit your home, you stopped short and froze, submerged in a shadow that stretched over the flat stones leading to the home’s front entrance and finding yourself face to face with someone you’d rather not see right that moment, or ever, for that matter.

“Hello,” Keigo Takami, the village’s most infamously charismatic hunter, greeted you with a charming smile. His blonde, wavy locks caught the afternoon sunlight like spun gold and he was bundled up in a tan jacket lined with fluffy cream colored fur— the result of several successful rabbit hunts in season’s past, no doubt. “I was hoping to find you at home. I thought I saw you in the market earlier…”

Your eyes went wide, and as Keigo undeniably noticed this, his smile dropped and the corner of his mouth pulled down into a slightly concerned frown. “I-I…” you stammered, former glee replaced with a nervous grin that spread crooked across your lips. You forced yourself to swallow down the fear, attempting to hide your alarm, lest you look suspicious and let him onto the type of trouble you’d chosen to associate yourself with. So, concealing the supplies under your cloak, you shakily lied, “I was just on my way out actually. Now isn’t really a good time…”

Keigo’s amber eyes seemed to flare with confusion before narrowing a bit, considering you with a skeptical stare. It was then that you saw him for what he really was, more hunter than human. It took every ounce of courage within you not to look away instantly.

Hawks.

That’s what most people called him.

They said he never missed a shot and always brought in the biggest haul of birds every hunt, providing the village with most of its poultry.

But it wasn’t just birds that he had a habit of hunting. It was people too— those the church deemed witches or demons. He was revered by the bishops and townsfolk alike for protecting the town, preventing monsters from lurking too close to the innocents residing behind the tall brick walls.

But you didn’t view him as a hero.

You saw him more as an executioner, for anyone accused was sentenced to be crucified and burned at the stake. He’d made sure of it, and even though he wasn’t necessarily the one striking the flint, he was still the one who helped drag the victims kicking and screaming all the way to the pyre at the center of town.

Even before encountering the wolfman and finding yourself a little more sympathetic towards those the church declared as evil, you hadn’t liked Keigo much. You hadn’t always been able to describe it, but there was just something about him you couldn’t quite read. It gave you a grave sense of unease and caused you to go out of your way to avoid him every chance you got. But, of course, the hunter had caught a glimpse of that red cloak billowing behind you as you’d weaved between the crowds in town and decided to pursue you.

The other women in town would call you foolish for evading his advances, whether they be a request to escort you home or a gift of fresh meat to take to your family for dinner, but you only saw his offerings as a strategy to get closer to his next target, the bait placed in the center of a trap.

Oftentimes, the words your father had used to warn you about traveling through the woods wearing such a bright color popped into your head.

Easier for hunters to spot, he’d said, and predators too.

You reckoned Keigo counted as both.

“Is everything alright?” he asked, eyes flicking down to where your fidgeting hands gripped the bandages and bottle under your cloak, that misleading grin finding its way back onto his deviously handsome face. “You seem…” he paused, considering you in a calculated, callous kind of way, “bothered by something.”

You cleared your throat, putting your hands behind your back and giving your most convincing sweet and innocent smile, even peppering in a cute little giggle for good measure before assuring him, “Oh, no, everything’s fine. It’s just— I really should get going. There’s plenty of errands to run before the sun goes down and I’ve barely even started.”

When Keigo’s expression softened, eyes flickering from cautious back to kind, you instantly knew that had been the wrong excuse to give. “Allow me to help you then,” he insisted, holding the door further open and moving out the way for you to step outside, gesturing with his free hand in the direction he assumed— and hoped— you would start down.

You passed by him, allowing him to close the front door shut behind you, and internally started to panic. Normally, when he caught you unexpectedly, it was somewhere in town. Similar to now, you tried to be polite, though denied him nonetheless.

The other young women would watch with jealousy and scorn as he perched against the wall and conversed with you, wishing to be in your place, knowing full well that the hunter lived a pretty comfortable life when he wasn’t surviving out in the woods. The moment you’d slip past his looming shadow and meekly apologize that you were running late for something, though never specify exactly what, hurrying out of town without looking back, their envy would turn to confusion, but the disdain would only grow as they watched him try to win you over time and time again despite your endless rejections.

As elusive as you could be, however, Keigo was just as stubborn. And now he practically had you cornered, coming all the way to your little house on the hill where he knew you couldn’t escape. Because where else would you go from here, besides back into town where he could follow you? Surely not into those dark, dangerous woods that bordered your backyard. What business could a sweet girl like you possibly have out there?

“What’cha hiding under there, chickadee?” Keigo teased with a chuckle, craning his neck as he came to walk beside you as you automatically headed around to where your meager livestock was kept, hoping that you’d think of a good enough lie in between now and then.

“Hiding?” you repeated, playing dumb. Luckily for you, you were pretty enough that some people might believe there wasn’t a whole lot going on in your head. You liked to use that to your advantage when the situation called for it. “Nothing. I’m not hiding anything…”

Keigo smirked, coming to a stop in front of you before you could reach the low gate of the goat pen, barring your path. “Show me your hands then,” he challenged, raising his eyebrows as his gaze narrowed, trying to act like he was simply toying with you.

But you knew that those playful sounding words were more order than suggestion.

You glanced behind him where the steepled roofs of the village poked over the jagged, pine-lined horizon. It was quite a trek from the town all the way up the hillside to your home. He must’ve spotted you during your grocery run and followed you home. You hated that he knew where you lived. Hated that he felt like he could come up here whenever he wanted.

“It’s just some medical supplies…” you sighed, holding both your hands out in front of you and showing him the bandages and the bottle, knowing you’d lost this battle. Then, hearing the baby goats beginning to bleat, thinking they were going to be fed again upon seeing you, you conjured up the perfect lie. “One of the goats got cut on a piece of wire that broke off the fence,” you explained. “It’s nothing serious. I just thought I’d see what I could do and—”

“Your fence is broken?” Keigo cut in, looking over his shoulder to try and spot the area in question, but you quickly pulled his attention back to you, not wanting your cover to be completely blown.

“Keigo, now isn’t really a good time,” you began again. “I—”

“Let me fix it for you,” he insisted, wearing that arrogant grin as he added on, “Wouldn’t want you and your family to lose your livestock again.”

It had been Keigo who’d oh so generously gifted your family the goats about three months back. Another desperate attempt to try win you over and prove himself worthy to your parents of earning your hand the day you’d finally agree to let him have it. And as he began to turn on his heel to open the gate, you took a frantic step forward, starting to say that you could handle it on your own, but this time what cut you off mid-sentence was a gasp from your own mouth.

You suddenly found yourself falling forward, tripping over the untied shoelace of your favorite brown boots. Though, it wasn’t the ground that your body found purchase on next, but the solid, warm strength of the persistent hunter, his arms bracing you against his broad chest as he tried to help you find your footing again.

And you were so close to him.

Closer than you ever wanted to be.

If the other young women in town could see you now, you were sure their hatred would flare so bright their eyes would turn red with loathing and anyone who witnessed it would report them as possessed.

“Careful there, dove,” Keigo simpered with another one of those irritatingly patronizing chuckles. And you, feeling even more awkward than before, quickly righted yourself and pulled away from his grasp, kneeling down to tie your pesky shoelace while mumbling something passive-aggressive under your breath.

“What was that?” Keigo asked, leaning over you a little further, his shadow engulfing you again from above.

As you stood, however, you flashed another one of those fake smiles you’d damn near perfected and said with your own brand of condescending coolness, “You know, my parents aren’t home at the moment. Don’t you think it’s a little unseemly for a young lady to be spending so much time alone with a man who’s not even courting her?”

That time, when Keigo’s expression changed from arrogance to embarrassment, you felt a sadistic little victory ignite within your chest.

Try talking your way around that, you thought with petty triumph, still smiling like the innocent little angel you pretended to be in moments like this.

“Y-you’re absolutely right…” stuttered Keigo, cool, calm, and collected facade cracking as he cleared his throat and tried to slide back into that smooth, casually charming air of his. “I apologize if I’ve offended you in any way. Though, if you ever find yourself in need of any assistance,” he adjusted his jacket over his shoulders, beginning to walk past you and towards the steep slope that would lead him back to the village, “please don’t hesitate to seek me out.”

With a final nod and a muttered farewell, you watched until Keigo’s silhouette disappeared down the hill. Once he was gone, you unclasped the gold facet on your cloak and left it hanging on the little wooden bench beside your back door, not wanting anyone to be able to spot you taking off back into the woods.

But as Dabi saw you running his way that time, he retreated.

He’d snuck up to keep an eye on you, feeling his heart twist in his chest as he viewed that haughty hunter strolling towards your front door, watched the two of you migrate around to the goat pen, witnessed the way you’d smiled so sweetly for him.

He’d felt a growl rumbling in his chest as you fell into Keigo’s arms, wishing for perhaps the first time since his turning that it were closer to a full moon so his teeth were a little sharper, that he had claws to rip the blonde’s throat out with.

Because, in his absence, you’d found someone else after all, hadn’t you?

Of course she has, he thought as he swiftly wove his way deeper into the maze of pines.

How could he ever fool himself into thinking a girl like you— a perfect, pretty little human— would ever end up with a wretched creature like him?

***

“Sorry it took so long…” you began to apologize as you reentered the clearing where you’d left Dabi, a little out of breath from your sudden sprint. “Ran into an unexpected visitor… God, he’s always—!” But your complaint was cut short as you looked up and realized the wolfman was gone, the rest of your fiery explanation turning to ash on your tongue.

Straightening your posture and slowly pacing the perimeter that the pine created, you wanted to quietly call out his name, but then it once again occurred to you that you didn’t know it.

You doubted he’d respond well to, “Here, boy,” even if he were still around to hear it.

So, a little puzzled but figuring he’d had a good reason for leaving, you placed the roll of bandages and vial of alcohol down by one of the trees’ exposed, mangled roots and headed back home, all the way cursing Keigo for interrupting you.

You didn’t know how long it would be until you saw the cerulean-eyed stranger again, but the next day when you returned to the clearing to retrieve the supplies you’d left, you found them gone.

***

The tavern was rather lively at this time of night, the sounds of rambunctious laughter and drunken arguments overlapping to score its own melody over the upbeat music being played from one corner where the village bard enthusiastically strummed his mandolin.

Amidst it all, Keigo sat at the bar, his head in one hand, fingers absentmindedly combing through his honey locks as he mulled things over, staring down at his warped reflection in the rippling amber liquid that filled his glass. The look on his face was one of strained concentration, as was to be expected when one could barely even hear themselves think in the tiny, overcrowded pub.

The hunter cradled the stein in his other hand, his drink barely touched, another sign he was caught in his own thoughts, wondering what he’d done that had made you hate him so much.

Then, from the other end of the counter, a fellow hunter called out a teasing, “Oh, cheer up, Hawks! And why don’t you finish your drink, while you’re at it! That is, unless you want me to finish it for you!” before bursting out in a fit of laughter, clearly already way past tipsy from the blatant blushing of his cheeks and slurring of his words.

Even though this bit of unwarranted commentary irked Keigo, he forced himself to snap out of his brooding for a moment and throw some playful banter back at his acquaintance, saying in the same cheerfully teasing manner, “I think you’ve had enough, don’cha think? What’s the missus gonna say when I show up at her door with you slung over my shoulder and barely conscious again, huh?”

His friend shouted something back, but Keigo couldn’t quite hear him that time. So, as he was known to do from time to time, especially after a plentiful hunt, Keigo slapped his hand down on the counter and called out, “Y’know what! Next round is on me!” He pointed to the drunk hunter who howled out with the chorus of cheers, and playfully warned with a quirk of one eyebrow, “But it better be your last one!”

After that, the ruckus only built as the barmaids served out full glasses to everyone in the rickety old establishment and the bard began to play another fast-paced, jolly tune. Keigo took the jovial, drunken distraction as his opportunity to slip out of the tavern in search of a quieter place to sort through his worries and woes.

The streets were nearly empty at this time of night, the cobblestones shimmering under the dim lanterns flickering inside their sconces, ground shiny and wet from the quick storm that had rolled in and passed through the valley earlier that evening.

Keigo’s boots tapped down the empty road, wandering aimlessly towards the old water well where he sometimes went to think before a hunt. But then, as another set of footsteps echoed from the opposite side of the street, the hunter stopped and stared into the adjacent alley, watching as an unfamiliar figure stepped out from the shadows and into the dim lamplight.

He squinted, unable to identify the lanky form through the faint glow cast down from the crescent moon, and when the figure stopped to stare back at him from across the street, Keigo felt dread fill his stomach like a flood.

It was the same feeling he got right before he fired off an arrow he knew wouldn’t bury itself in the hide of an elk or the wing of a duck mid-flight, his intuition turned razor sharp after years of studying patterns between good fortune and bad.

The stranger’s eyes flashed a vibrant blue, the kind of electric cobalt that cut through the night. Keigo shifted his gaze to what appeared to be a bag of some kind in the shadow’s hand, getting a feeling the man— if he was even human— was a thief, at the very least.

“Hey!” Keigo called, taking a step forward as he reached for the hooked, serrated knife used for skinning secured at his belt. The blue-eyed silhouette remained frozen on the other side of the street, staying as still as one of the holy statues standing in reverent prayer by the entrance of the church, both of them waiting for the other’s first move.

And then, Dabi took off running, Keigo giving chase.

They wove in and out of the market stalls, Dabi jumping over the counter of the butcher’s stall, Keigo following suit. They chased each other through the town, sprinting over the uneven cobblestones, past the looming cathedral, and closer to the edge of the high wall that surrounded the village.

Dabi let Keigo gain on him, waited until the last second, then darted into the next side alley.

When Keigo turned that corner, however, breathing hard and ready to strike, adrenaline coursing through his veins, he was horrified to discover the dead end vacant.

Cautiously, he ventured further down the narrow nook, thinking the thief had some kind of trick up his sleeve and was waiting for the right moment to attack and make his real escape, but after a few minutes, the hunter came to the conclusion that he was truly alone once again.

Confused and caught off guard, Keigo backed out of the alley with caution, slid his knife back into its sheath once he was sure the threat was gone, and headed home, forgoing his original plan of visiting the well, glancing over his shoulder here and there as if expecting to see that distinct flash of blue from the corner of his vision.

He may not have been too sure about who the culprit had been, but there was one thing Keigo knew without a doubt…

Whoever it was— whatever it was— they certainly weren’t human.

***

The following week, you found yourself back in town to replenish your pantry, marching reluctantly down the hill that morning, praying that you wouldn’t run into Keigo Takami again after that awkward encounter outside your house.

As you strolled the streets, your wicker basket already half full of loose spices stuffed into linen pouches tied up with twine and a couple of apples marbled red and yellow slightly rolling with every stride, you began to feel uneasy. It was almost like you could feel someone’s gaze tracking you, the growing panic of being followed a familiar and dreadful thing.

After paying the baker and tucking the loaf of fresh, warm bread into your basket, you glanced over your shoulder and scanned the moving crowd across the street, expecting to find a pair of golden eyes staring you down or catch a glimpse of that misleading smile that disguised itself as charm. But, with the hunter nowhere in your line of sight, your imagination began to fill in the blanks with other, more favorable possibilities.

You headed further into town, noticed the traffic of people growing thinner, and when you thought no one was looking, you turned down into a vacant alley.

As your steady pace began to slow, a mischievous smile crept across your lips. Because perhaps this familiar feeling of being followed could begin to carry a little more fondness than fear. Maybe it was your favorite wolf sneaking into town for a visit. He struck you as someone who’d take the risk.

But then, hearing footsteps tapping on the cobblestones behind you, rounding the corner into the alley, you turned. As soon as your gaze met gold, the eager grin dropped from your face.

“Keigo—” you nearly gasped, taking a few steps back as he approached closer. He looked troubled, brows furrowed and the corners of his mouth turning down as if he was about to become the bearer of bad news. “What’s wrong? Why are you following me?”

You tried to hide your nerves under a giggle, but the smile didn’t reach your eyes. The hunter mumbled something, said he needed to talk to you, and guided you further down into the alley where you wouldn’t be overheard.

“It’s not safe here,” Keigo began, his voice low and dangerous as he leaned over you, shadows cast over his face and making you more wary of him than you already were. “You need to get home. Stay out of town for a while.”

“Why…?” you dared to ask, the syllable quivering a bit as it left your mouth.

“Just trust me, alright,” he pressed, avoiding your question. “I’ll take care of it, but until then…” He glanced over his shoulder at the opposite end of the alley as if expecting to see the topic of his concern peering around the corner. He let out a sigh, raking his fingers worriedly through his tousled hair, and then wrangled a reassuring smile onto his tired looking face, even if just for your sake.

“I know you’re not very fond of me,” he stated, unable to suppress the sliver of disappointment that slipped through into his voice. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to protect you. So just go on home and don’t worry about anything, ok? I’m going to take care of it.”

Before you could try and fish for more answers, he was ushering you out of the alley, repetitively telling you to go home any time you attempted to open your mouth to protest.

Eventually, you gave up. Gave in. Headed out of the town and towards the hill that led to your home. You looked back once, seeing Keigo standing at the village’s arched wrought iron gates, watching you. Making sure you continued to obey. When you were at the top of the hill, you looked back again, feeling your stomach sink when he was still there, now merely a pin dot of tan and cream and gold. He could see you even from that far off too, your red cloak serving as a beacon to him.

You clutched your basket tighter in trembling hands and swallowed hard. Pulling the cloak further over your shoulders, you turned away, continuing the rest of the way home.

Even when you disappeared around the bend, the village no longer in sight as you peered over your shoulder, you could still feel it. Keigo was no doubt still standing there. Watching. Waiting. Counting the steps he predicted it would take you to reach your front door and get inside.

***

“Oh, you’re back!” your mother beamed, coming over to take the basket from your hands. It had grown heavier with each step up the hill with all the extra anxiety weighing you down. “How did it go?” she inquired cheerily, raising her eyebrows playfully. “Did you happen to run into that nice Keigo boy again?”

You tried to hide the fact that you were, for many reasons, shaken.

“Not this time,” you lied, a nervous grin tugging crookedly at your lips. As you headed towards your room, you said, “I’m quite tired, actually. I think I’ll lay down for a bit,” before your mother could pry any further.

Her good mood faded into gentle concern, replying with a slightly melancholy, “Oh… Alright then…” before leaving you be and beginning to prepare dinner.

As your door closed behind you, the urge to sneak out your window and go running into the woods suddenly became overwhelming.

Because all you wanted to do right now was find Dabi.

You wanted to warn him, just knowing he was somehow involved in all of this, as if he didn’t already know.

But you knew you couldn’t. Not now, anyway.

The next time you had a delivery to run, however, you’d plan to find him.

Until then, you just hoped he and Keigo didn’t cross paths.

***

Five painfully long days later, your next delivery was packed neatly into that old wicker basket and slung over your arm.

The afternoons were growing warmer lately, the sun hanging in the sky just a little bit longer. The buds on the trees were slowly beginning to bloom in tiny blossoms of pink and white and small patches of green were popping up among the faded landscape leftover from the winter’s frosty kiss.

As you’d headed down the path into the woods, you tried to remember where you’d first veered off through the fog last fall, scouring your surroundings for anything familiar, but it was no use.

All you could seem to recall from that fateful day was the flash of those glowing blue eyes that tracked you through the dark and the eerie, echoed humming of your mother’s melody. After that, it all became a jumble of panic and praying to make it out alive.

So you continued on to your grandmother’s house, greeted her with a grin when she opened the door, gave her the weekly update of your daily activities, and helped her make some delicious pumpkin soup before curling up by the fire and reading one of the old fairy tales she kept on a bookshelf while she worked on her knitting.

That’s about where the calmness of your night ended, your worries worming their way into your sleep and sending you into a restless state of tossing and turning, quick flashes of Keigo standing over the bloody corpse of a black wolf pierced with arrows cutting through your dreams on the few occasions you did manage to slip unconscious.

Needless to say, as the sun shone in through the latticed windows the following morning, you cursed the day, exhaustion weighing over you like a heavy quilt. But you knew you had to get up, redress, and head out by noon in order to make it back home before dark.

The sky overhead was painted with thin, wispy clouds, a nice breeze offering a gentle reprieve from the sun’s warm rays. You strolled the path absentmindedly, head hung a little low as you began to think maybe you wouldn’t discover a way to seek out your wolf on your own after all. But then, as if in reply to your despondent sigh as you lazily kicked a rock with the toe of your boot, you heard a rustling sound from nearby.

Instinctively, you perked up and drew your knife, hoping it was just another rabbit or a deer grazing on the freshly grown grass and not something more dangerous or deadly. The moment you saw that familiar shade of blue though, you relaxed your stance and let out a surprised giggle, your furrowed brow smoothing as an expression of relief spread across your face.

“It’s you!” You declared as Dabi stepped into better view through the thick greenery, trudging over tufts of wild fern.

“Who else would it be?” He flashed a smirk, teeth sharp and glinting, but in a way that was more mischievous charm than ill intention.

He looked the way he had when you’d first met, the ears and tail of a wolf plain as day, another full moon undeniably approaching.

“I was looking for you,” you explained excitedly, sliding your dagger back into its sheath and trotting over to meet him. You then shifted your gaze to his wrist, which had healed quite nicely since the last time you’d seen it. But then your cheer began to ebb as you remembered how he’d left you during your previous encounter, causing your worry to regrow anew, the thorny vines of the carnivorous plant scraping against your heart.

Because perhaps he wasn’t as excited to see you as you were to see him.

If he was, he sure was doing a good job of hiding it.

Inside though, Dabi was using every ounce of his willpower to restrain himself. He’d been hoping to run into you too, finally catching your scent as the breeze carried sweet honeysuckle and fresh bread through the sea of spruce and pine.

“I was worried about you,” you admitted, your tone dropping down to a darker octave. “Did something happen? I mean, did you run into the hunters? Kei— I mean, one of the hunters said he’d spotted something dangerous near the town and I was afraid they might’ve seen you and—”

You were talking a million miles a minute, question after question rolling off your tongue before Dabi could even choose one of them to answer.

“Hey— Hey!” He interrupted your rambling, grabbing you by the shoulders and giving you a slight shake. “Slow down—”

“Why did you go into town?” you blurted out, distressed eyes pleading with him. “Why would you take a risk like that?” You were near tears but tried to contain them, a frustrated scowl pinching on your brow. “He saw you! He saw you and now he—”

As your voice broke, you swallowed what remained of your sentence, knowing even one single syllable more would send you into a fit of sobbing.

Dabi’s pointed ears drooped back, a strained kind of concern lacing itself through his scarred face then. He could feel your shoulders trembling beneath his palms, so he cleared his throat, swallowed, and said, “Yeah, I went into the town. I needed food. My supplies were running low and—”

“Why?” you squeaked, shooting him a look of pressing anger, your tears finally welling enough to spill over, droplets rolling down your cheeks in shimmering pairs, the small patch of dappled afternoon sunlight that shone overhead making them glitter like diamonds. “Why didn’t you just ask me to bring some to you? Why would you risk your life like that?” You were becoming more upset by the second and Dabi didn’t know what to do.

He’d never had anyone show such concern for him before. And, while he’d been the cause of other’s tears before, it had never been like this.

“I could’ve been bringing you food every time I ran a delivery to my grandmother,” you told him, words garbled with your sorrow as you tried to wipe away your tears with the edge of your sleeve. “You could’ve just asked me— I was so worried— Just ask me next time—” Your hiccuping sobs were turning into sporadic little sniffles now, and after Dabi removed his hands from your shaking shoulders, he wondered why…

Why had he chosen to withdraw from you when what you probably needed most right now was his comfort, as unpracticed and awkward as it was?

He didn’t want to leave you to cry on your own. What he wanted was to reach out and pull you against his chest, run his long fingers through your soft hair and soothe you— in his own rough around the edges kind of way— as he promised he would never make you worry like that again.

“I’m sorry…” was all he could manage at the moment, averting his gaze from you and glaring down at the ground, frustrated with himself. “I just thought…”

As you drew in a sharp breath, pulling his attention back to your face, Dabi saw you looked more angry now than you did sad. Gravely serious, you warned, “You don’t understand. If Keigo decides he wants to hunt you, he’ll find you. Keigo will kill you. God, I— I thought maybe he already…”

That time, when your emotions overtook you and sent you into a new fit of tears, Dabi didn’t waste the chance. Moving towards you slowly, as if afraid he might spook you like a rabbit that went off running upon the first sign of a threat, Dabi put his arms around you and pulled you into an embrace. It was surprisingly gentle, at first, as if he was afraid you were far more delicate than he already thought you to be and if he held you too tightly you might break. But then, when you returned the gesture, clasping your trembling arms around him, he took that as permission to hug you a little tighter, your ear pressed to his warm chest to listen to his beating heart.

“It’s ok,” he muttered, the words vibrating faintly against the side of your head. His fluffy black tail curled around your back as if to shield you, cradle you, and then he said, “I’ve gone this long without getting caught. You don’t have to worry about me so much…”

Looking up at him, so much earnest concern woven within your gaze, bottom lip still quivering a little as you attempted to hold back another hiccuped sob, you eventually were able to clear your throat and clarify, “You don’t understand how persistent Keigo can be. Once he marks you as a target, he won’t stop until he has your head. He’ll hunt you down and kill you if it’s the last thing he does. That’s just who he is. Please… I just— I don’t want that to happen… Not to you, I—”

“Wait,” Dabi cut in, one brow quirked up in befuddlement, holding you at arms length now, big, rough hands still resting carefully on your shoulders. “So you mean you two aren’t…?” When you stared back at him equally confused, Dabi couldn’t help but crack a crooked, embarrassed grin. He wouldn’t admit he’d been wrong, at least not out loud, but right about now he was starting to feel a little guilty for brushing you off for so long under his own false pretenses.

Once you realized what his unfinished question had been alluding to, you quickly assured him, “Me and Kei— Oh, no. No, no, no, no. I mean, he looks out for me and helps my family sometimes but…” You could feel Dabi withdrawing more and more with every frantic word that left your mouth. Then you said, “He might have feelings for me but I— I don’t want to be with him. I want…” To be with you.

If only you could say those words out loud and truly mean them. But, the fact of the matter was, right now, you didn’t know what you wanted.

In a perfect world, one where you wouldn’t be crucified for having relations with a creature of the night, you probably would pursue whatever had been growing between the two of you without hesitation. But you knew what would become of you, and what would become of him, and maybe even your family too, if anyone, no matter how much you thought you could trust or confide in them, ever found out you and the wolfman had even met.

Dabi seemed to recognize this too— had recognized this a long time ago and had fought against it, then fell into acceptance of it, then gone back and forth between the two until he couldn’t tell one emotion or decision from the other. Even so, he began to remind you, “You know why we can’t…”

You shook your head, feeling the ever looming threat of tears prickling in the back of your nose once more. “I know…” you muttered, burying your face back into his chest. “I know but…” But you still couldn’t help but want it all the same.

“But, y’know…” he raised, some of that unbothered nonchalance bleeding back into his voice, the normalcy of that tone putting you a little more at ease. “At least until you find another human to be with,” he rolled his eyes upon the word as if it were a casual insult, “I’ll be here for you.”

You just wanted to stay like this with him forever, swaddled in his warmth and the scent of pine and campfire smoke. You wanted to live in his world of trees and moonlight rather than your own of cobblestone streets and the deep clanging of distant church bells. You wanted him to take you back to his cabin so you could study all his knick-knacks properly this time, so you could learn about each one and its significance to him.

You wanted to learn his name.

You wanted him to hold you again.

“I can tell my parents I stayed an extra night at my grandmother’s…” you shyly suggested, sounding half-apologetic as if feeling ashamed for suddenly imposing yourself on him. “We can go back to your place and…”

And he could put his hands on your body in all the ways you’d imagined and tried to replicate over all these long, bitter months you’d missed him. You could give yourself over to him completely willingly, forget that he was a wolf and pretend that he was an ordinary human just like you.

For a second, Dabi wasn’t sure what you were alluding to, not used to you being so bold. But, again, it had been a while since you two had last really seen each other. Who knows what ways you could’ve changed, ideas you could’ve come around to, in all that time apart.

And those deceivingly innocent doe-eyes of yours were already starting to drive him crazy, making his mind go to all kinds of dirty, shameless places about his fantasies, the ones he’d concocted during his own sleepless nights, having purposely stayed as far away from you as possible during the seasonal mating urges that accompanied his condition for only the most obvious of reasons.

“Yeah?” he asked, sounding deviously confident now, trying to keep his tail from wagging in excitement about what this opportunity meant. “Alright,” he nodded, keeping an arm slung possessively around you.

You were his special little human, after all. And if that golden haired hunter wanted to try and take you from him, well…

He’d just have to become the monster your kind was so keen on believing him to be.

***

The cabin was almost exactly as you remembered it, only now, without the haze of trepidation clouding your view, you noticed a lot more details than before. Like the small collection of smooth stones lined up in order from biggest to smallest on one of the shelves, the rocks probably worn from a life spent lounging in a riverbed. You could imagine Dabi pacing the edge of the flowing path, gazing down through the layers of ridges and ripples until he spotted the little piece of condensed earth and reached down into the icy waters to claim it.

There was also an array of what appeared to be little handmade dolls, six of them braided and woven from pieces of long, dry grass in varying sizes— a whole family. It reminded you of the curses that the church warned of witches leaving behind, only, seeing them here, all you could think of was a place, a people, that Dabi could’ve come from before he’d been forced to leave his old life behind.

But, above all else, what really stuck out to you as you scanned your gaze about the place was that it was a lot neater than your first visit. Dare you consider it actually organized. It made you wonder if he’d put a little extra effort into his house chores lately in preparations for a very special guest.

He’d never admit it to you, but Dabi had been preparing to convince you to come back here for a long time now. Nearly six entire months. Making his den nicer for your return had been deliberate, intentional, yet when you made a comment about it to compliment him he just gave a lazy half shrug and an unaffected, “Yeah, it’s whatever I guess…”

He stoked a small fire in the hearth, directing you to the warmest seat nearest to the flames, while he curled up on the beat up old sofa where you blushed to recall he’d taken your virginity, the place where the shared addiction the two of you had secretly harbored for each other all this time had began.

“I can’t believe no one’s found this place yet…” you absentmindedly muttered, leaning in closer to the crackling fire while you continued to look around, even taking the time to study the ceiling, tracing the hairline cracks that zig-zagged through the old foundation like fault lines.

Then, as if forgetting Dabi was even there, you nearly flinched when he chimed in to comment, “Who says they haven’t?”

The look in his eyes was pure, white hot malice. That one expression alone was enough to answer any unasked questions, like what happened to anyone who crossed paths with the cabin? Full moon or not, Dabi was more than capable of getting rid of any witnesses. But you didn’t want to think about that. Not now. Not when you were actually trying to forget your fear and enjoy your experience here this time around.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” you announced, standing from your chair and going to retrieve something from your basket. When you returned, you were hiding it from his view within cupped hands, wearing a smile as if barely able to contain your joy. “These are my favorite! My grandmother makes them this time of year and she sent me home with a ton of extra this time!”

In your hands you held out to him some type of small cinnamon cookies, their sugary swirl sparkling when near the firelight. Once Dabi had a couple in his palm, popping one into his mouth, and you’d retaken your seat to enjoy your share, you sighed to yourself and said, “I’m really gonna miss these some day…”

Your grandmother’s health had slowly been declining over the last few months, her heart and lungs and bones not as strong as they used to be. This past winter especially had done quite a number on her. It was an unavoidable fate you tried not to dwell on but…

“Guess you’ll just have to learn to make them,” Dabi commented, thoroughly enjoying the bite sized morsels but trying not to show just how much. When was the last time he indulged in real sugar? Even during his human years, it had been a rare commodity, his family having too many mouths to feed just for the sake of staying alive to worry about unnecessary expenses like sugar and sweets.

“Yeah, I guess…” you shrugged, not seeming too thrilled with the notion. Then you sighed, “It just wouldn’t be the same…”

When Dabi noticed your melancholy smile, he paused before finishing his final cookie, realizing he must’ve said something wrong. He leaned forward, reaching out one hand to place on your knee in hopes of it offering you some kind of apology, then retracted a bit to himself when he realized he couldn’t conjure any words of comfort.

God, he sucked at this. Even when he was trying to do the right thing, as few and far between as those occasions were, he just couldn’t seem to get it right. He cleared his throat softly, trying to swallow down the lingering insecurities, then said, “We all die someday. But not everyone gets to go as the person they started as…”

Not everyone gets to go surrounded by those they love, either.

And, when Dabi’s final day came to pass, who would be there to bury him? According to the church, demons weren’t buried, they were burned, reduced to blackened ash and then scattered around the village’s perimeter to ward off any other evil creatures that lurked nearby.

But they’d tried to tie Dabi to that pyre and ignite him once and failed. You doubted he’d ever give them the chance to do it again.

“I’m sorry they did this to you…” You nearly whispered, voice airy and broken as you cupped a soft palm to his scarred cheek, gently brushing your thumb over the remnants of the burns and feeling the warped skin glide unevenly beneath your touch. “I’m sorry you have to live out here all alone. That even by going into town they might…” You felt your sympathy for his circumstances swell, threatening to bring tears to your eyes again, so you cut your last sentence short and let the remainder of it linger.

“Stop that,” Dabi said, but there was a guilty kind of smile twitching at his lips. Taking your face in both his hands, he stared you in the eyes for a moment before pulling you close into his chest. He couldn’t hold your gaze for too long when you looked at him like that— like you liked him, like you might’ve actually loved him— with such a fragile tenderness filling your eyes, and for him of all people.

After pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, he kept his lips against your hair and murmured, voice raspy and raw, “There’s nothing you could’ve done.”

And even though that was true, whether you’d known him back then or not, it still hurt. It hurt knowing no one had done anything for him back then, that no one had even tried.

“I just wish they could’ve known you like I do. Like this,” you replied, words feather soft yet still splintered with small shards of resentment for the village you came from, the people who preached love and acceptance only to turn around and torch the first thing that they thought didn’t fit in. “If they did, maybe they’d change their minds about—”

“Just stop.” He was more direct that time, a barb of harshness spiking through his words. But when you looked up at him then, you saw the loneliness he tried so hard to hide shining through all that entrancing blue, shimmering like the dewdrops that blanketed the valleys like a veil of glittering lace upon the first light of dawn.

You began to protest, “But it’s not fair—”

“Fair, unfair…” Dabi cut in, his grip on you tightening a fraction. He shook his head, a minute little motion that barely shuddered through you. “What happened is long past any of that. They’ll always see me as a monster,” and so a monster he became. “I can’t control what happens under a full moon,” so killing a couple civilians would only be expected. “The next one’s only a few days away now…” So you should probably hide from him before he ended up convincing you he was a monster too.

But, no matter what he said, no matter what excuses or reasons he or anyone else gave as to why you should keep as much distance between him and yourself as possible, you’d never see him that way. As a monster. As evil. As what could very likely become your untimely end, either by his razor sharp claws and gnashing, pointed teeth, or by the church and their ominous, sacrificial pyre settled at the center of town, just waiting for the next witch to be tied to the cross and burned all in the name of something holy.

It was like this, when you were closest to him, that you feared you’d lose him forever. You realized you had no say whether he stayed or disappeared from your life. Someone like him did as he pleased. But, as hard as it would be to feel his absence again, you thought you might be able to live a little easier with the loss if only you knew just one thing about him.

It was the question that had haunted you ever since you two had first met.

“What’s your name?” you asked, hoping he’d actually oblige you this time. Things had gotten a little more personal as of late. Plus, you didn’t want to be wolfman and little rabbit to each other forever.

He looked at you as if seeing you for the first time, as if he’d finally found the answer to whatever unasked question always seemed to be lying in wait behind his eyes. He said, “You can call me Dabi.”

He had a real name, one from before he was turned, but he’d let that boy burn to ash in the fire along with his humanity. Having to leave his old life behind, he just thought it easier to abandon his old name too.

When he explained this to you, he expected you to press him on it. But you didn’t. You just assured him that, as long as that was the name he wanted you to call him by, it was good enough for you.

“Dabi…” You rolled the syllables around in your mouth, repeating his name a few times until the acquired taste became something sweet and you were beaming that bright, carefree smile at him again.

He cracked a small grin as well. He liked hearing you say his name and he wished he’d told you sooner. And then it occurred to him…

He didn’t know yours either.

So, after you told him and he practiced saying it with his own mouth a few times, the sound of it not as angelic and tender when spoken with his rough, raspy voice as you had the ability to make his name sound with yours, you both realized there was no going back. You were no longer strangers, no longer a stray girl wandering through the foggy woods and the devil come to tempt her.

It was the most intimate moment you two had ever shared. It felt like fresh air on an autumn day, like sinking into a hot bath after walking home in the cold. It felt like home. It felt like never letting go. It felt terrifying and elating all at once.

Eventually, you two even began to laugh together, just repeating each other’s names back and forth until a giggle rose up in your throat and Dabi caught the chuckle like it was contagious. There wasn’t a moment his touch broke from you, and once the frivolity of it all had died down, his hands began to roam, slowly wandering across your soft, warm skin until he had you straddling his lap, head lolled back as he left spit-shined bruises along the column of your throat, intoxicated by the stuttering rise and fall of your chest while you gasped and whined, now able to shape your lilting little mewls into the letters of his name.

“Dabi…” you whimpered, only spurring him on more, causing him to nip you a few times just to hear another one of those adorably delectable little sounds. He could’ve listened to you moan his name all night and never gotten tired of it. And, as your hands began to explore the untraversed plane of his pale, scarred skin, feeling his stomach flinch when your fingertips lightly ghosted over that part of him, little hands eager to reach lower, Dabi felt impatience swell from within him, something dark and hungry rearing its head from deep inside his chest.

“Off,” he growled, the long skirt of your dress bunching up in his rough hands, already attempting to strip you of the garment lest he rip it to shreds. He nearly forgot he had to unlace your corset before he could pull the flowing fabric, today a pale seafoam green with embroideries of white and gold at the hems, over your head and expose your fragile human body to him.

His mouth was already watering, the desire to devour you down to your core quickly becoming overwhelming as his hands made frantic and slightly rough work at pulling the laces of the hickory brown corset sinched in at your waist loose, both of you eager to have you rid of the confining thing.

The moment you became bare to him, he dove back in, his mouth seeking out yours while his hands kneaded at your breasts, your butt, your thighs, and as he continued to leave a trail of fervent kisses across your skin, down you cheek and neck to your collarbones and shoulder, you were wrapping your hands in the fabric of his shirt and trying to pull it over his head.

When you struggled with this particular task, Dabi let out another low, impatient growl, yanking it over his inky spikes and pointed ears and tossing it aside as if disgusted with it. When he looked down at you next, the carnality of the beast inside of him seemed to settle for a moment, his fleeting humanity flickering back to life behind his dilated cerulean gaze to something more tender.

Because you were giving him one of those sinfully sweet smiles, both hands reaching for him, openly beckoning him closer. His movements then slowed, lowering his lips to meet yours for a languid kiss rather than an urgent one that time. Because there was no need to rush now. You weren’t going anywhere. He could finally take his time with you.

Your little fingers were soon clumsily fumbling with the buckle of his belt, trying to undo it but unable to get a good enough grasp whenever he shifted on top of you.

“Off…” you whined, repeating his earlier wishes back to him, only yours came out as a pathetic little plea accompanied by an adorable pout.

Dabi chuckled, going to do as you asked but only getting halfway, the belt unbuckled but still threaded through the loops in his trousers when you sat back upright to place a trail of your own gentle kisses across his bare chest, following the line of his scars like they were a path to guide you. The sensation there wasn’t as heightened as the unharmed parts of his body, but still…

The fact that you weren’t scared of them, weren’t repulsed by the marred flesh, didn’t find the injuries ugly— quite the opposite, in fact, you found that those patches of his skin probably were in the most dire need of loving attention— made his heart stutter behind the cage of his ribs.

He was starting to accept that he wanted more of you than just your body— might have developed actual feelings for you— and that terrified him more than the hunters and the church and being alone for the rest of his life combined. Before he could become too anxious over it, he went back to the distraction of your flesh, one of his hands slipping between your legs and brushing up against where you were most sensitive and aching for him.

“Wait…” you hesitated, pulling back from him just far enough to look into his eyes, the electric blues glowing through the dim darkness that flooded the cabin now, as bright and alluring as the crackling fire beside you. For a moment, Dabi was afraid you’d changed your mind. But then you requested, “Can we go to your room this time? I-I want…”

Well, honestly, you just wanted to continue this on a bed.

Dabi seemed to understand, cracking a crooked smirk and running his palms slowly up and down the dip of your waist, an affirmative hum that sounded closer to a growl rumbling through his chest as he hoisted you up, pulling a slightly started gasp from you, before beginning to carry you up the creaky staircase to where he slept.

In the short time it took to go from the couch to the mess of blankets atop the old mattress that served as the wolf’s nest, you tucked your face into the crook of his neck and tried to memorize the scent of him. He smelled unlike anyone or anything else, and part of you wondered if that indescribable, otherworldly aroma had something to do with his curse. It was addicting, intoxicating, something about it making you feel safe and turned on with just a single whiff. It was more than just the undertones of the pines and that smoky campfire scent. There was something woven throughout the entire smell that could only be described as purely and uniquely him.

Lowering you onto the edge of the bed, after wrapping one of the patchwork quilts around your shoulders as a light shiver skittered across your skin, Dabi slowly let his cock spring free from the waistband of his trousers, letting out a muffled groan through clenched teeth at just how painfully hard he’d become. He then finished kicking off the rest of the garment before climbing atop the sunken mattress to rejoin you. He made sure you were comfortable, surrounded by enough blankets to keep you warm, and pulled the quilt over his back to create a cocoon around you, shrouding you in further darkness and warmth.

Up here, there was only the illuminated glow of a nearly full moon slipping through the gaps in the curtains to see by, the rustling of the newly budding leaves brushing together as the wind swept through the treetops, the distant hooting of an owl echoing beyond the dusty glass of the window panes.

Even in the dark, Dabi could see you just fine. It was, perhaps, one of the only perks of his curse, being able to view things clearly through the cover of night, his cobalt eyes blazing through the shadows.

Until your eyes took their time to adjust to the dark, all you could perceive was the gentle huffs of his breathing and the feeling of his hands gliding over your skin, stopping to knead at the softest parts of you he loved to touch the most.

When he reached your thighs, admiring their velvety plushness between his calloused fingers and palms, you felt your little hole flutter in anticipation, tummy flinching as more arousal pooled thick and warm in the pit of your stomach and began to leak out of you.

Dabi pressed a tender, open mouthed kiss to the underside of one breast, his mouth repeating the sentiment down your abdomen, to the soft raise of your lower belly, working his way down your thighs, your skin pebbled with gooseflesh as a sudden chill skittered up your spine despite the enveloping warmth.

“You gonna be a good girl for me?” he asked, hot breath fanning over your pussy, leaving a coolness in its wake that told you just how wet you’d truly become for him. “Hm?” he propositioned, the hum playfully lilting in his throat. You could tell he was smiling even without being able to see him clearly just yet, could hear the cruel amusement in his voice when he said, “Or are you gonna make me use force again?”

You tried to swallow down the whimper that was rising in your throat but ultimately lost that battle, your voice breaking on his name as if pleading for him to say it again, to say all the dirty things he wanted to do to you, whisper them in your ear until you were begging him to follow through and prove he wasn’t all talk.

You knew he wasn’t. He’d verified that much the first time around. But still. You wouldn’t mind if he gave you a little preview of what he had planned for you tonight. Although, as you already knew, his words could never compare to the act itself.

As his long tongue lolled out to tease at your swollen little clit, your back arched instantly, overly sensitive to the foreign sensation. And, god, it felt so fucking good. He ate you out like a man starved, not missing a single crease or fold of you, his obscene slurping sounds causing a new wave of heat to surge through your blood.

With his tongue spearing into your tight, fluttering little hole, moaning against you as he felt your cunt clench around the slick muscle, Dabi wrestled your thighs still when they desperately writhed beneath his hold. Every time his nose nudged against your tender bud, you felt yourself already teetering on that dangerous edge. Threading your fingers through his tousled hair, you grabbed a fistful of course ebony and gave a sharp tug, causing another groan to simmer in his chest, Dabi’s eyes rolling slightly as the sound vibrated against your pussy, sending another shockwave of pleasure shooting through you like electricity.

When he pressed his tongue flat and ran it roughly up the length of your soaked slit, you felt yourself tip over that edge.

“Dabi—!” you cried, legs trembling and your head thrown back, mouth hanging open with a silent scream.

Your first orgasm of the night came crashing over you like a wave colliding with a cliffside, unstoppable and almost violent until Dabi helped ease you through it, his face shining with his saliva and your slick when he pulled away, murmuring words of praise to you while his thumbs massaged gentle circles into your hips, tracing the dip of your waist back and forth with nonsensical patterns until your shuddering gasps smoothed over and your quivering figure came to rest.

Your eyes were closed but you were urging him towards you again, lightly grasping his arm to make sure he didn’t stray too far. Dabi used the back of one hand to wipe his mouth, though there was still a mess left surrounding it. He didn’t care. He kept absentmindedly darting his tongue out to catch another taste of you.

“That’s it…” he sighed, planting both hands firmly on your thighs again. “Knew you were my good girl… God… Just look at you…”

You only caught about half of what he’d said, your heart beat pounding in your ears as that saccharine, post-orgasm haze clouded your mind. You were too weak to resist when he spread your legs back apart, exhaling a shuddering breath in knowing that this night was still far from over. You’d just barely recovered from round one before Dabi’s fingers were already dipping back between your soaked folds, spreading around your lingering arousal, some of it already turned sticky on your skin, to stimulate your tender little bundle of nerves all over again.

“That’s it, baby…” Dabi cooed, taking his sweet time to stretch you open in preparation, first inserting one finger to test your tightness, then a second to begin gently scissoring inside of your pulsing pussy. Then, as if only to himself, he sighed, “God… You have no idea what you do to me…”

Because the first time, as good as it had been, had been conditional. It had been selfish. It had been a hunter luring in its prey. Now, the rabbit had willingly returned to the wolf’s den, running towards the sharp teeth and gleaming eyes and ignoring every instinct that told it to run away.

His cock was aching to be inside of you, velvety head blushed a deep pink as a bead of precum glistened like a pearl at the tip. Dabi guided it in his hand to glide between your silky folds, pulling a tiny, adorably started gasp from you when it caught on your drooling little hole.

“Please…” you were eventually begging him, tortured by his teasing ministrations, a thin veil of tears misting your lashline. “Please, Dabi, I need—” A short, broken cry clawed its way up your throat when he unexpectedly inserted a few inches inside of you with a quick, sharp thrust, the sweet sting of the stretch his cock carved out in you flooding you with adrenaline and arousal.

Dabi meant to shoot back with something sarcastic, being a little mean to you a habit he couldn’t seem to entirely abandon, but what came out was a strangled, “You— fuck— Y-you really want it that badly, huh? Greedy little— hng!— Greedy little thing, aren’t you?”

You both winced as he pushed in a little further, the way your cunt constricted so tightly around him nearly knocking the next breath from his lungs. You were so tight it almost hurt him to sink in deeper, both of you trying to catch your breath and adjust to the intensity of each other’s bodies.

Dabi shuddered, pointed wolf’s ears twitching amongst all his inky tufts of hair, ribs expanding and deflating with short, rapid, panting breaths. You were gripping his biceps for dear life, nails biting little crescent moons into his thin flesh when you felt him quivering from inside of you, letting out little sounds of pain that blurred into pleasure as he finally began to move again.

“Good… Good girl…” Dabi praised you once you’d relaxed enough to allow him to sink all the way in, wincing when you felt him brush against your sensitive cervix. It hurt less than the first time, but it was still uncomfortable. However, when Dabi began to massage little circles on your puffy clit, still a bit overstimulated from the first round, it helped to take your mind off the soreness growing inside of you.

As he worked you back up, his hips moved in tandem with the pressure he applied to your little hooded nub. “Mine—” he growled, biting down on his bottom lip hard in order to resist the urge to sink his teeth into the tender flesh between your neck and shoulder. “All— All mine—”

When he sensed you were getting close again, his thrusts became more erratic, losing all rhythm until his hips stuttered and stilled, letting out a strangled moan as he filled you to the brim with sticky ropes of his hot, thick cum. You were completely spent, feeling as if your consciousness was slowly drifting away from your body, mind lulling itself into a peaceful, sated state.

You both were caught in a bout of panting in the midst of the come down, bodies covered in a thin sheen of sweat and no longer needing all the quilts that encapsulated you. Dabi pulled out and rolled over to lay beside you, wrapping his arms around your shuddering body and pulling you closer into the heat that always seemed to be emanating from his being no matter the situation or the season. He kissed you on the temple and listened to your breathing slow as you began to doze off to sleep.

As he stared at the ceiling, he was incredulous as to how he’d gotten you back beneath him, in his own bed, willingly. Especially after so much time apart. Especially after how he’d treated you the first time you’d met.

Maybe being around you caused him to recall some of his humanity. The notion half comforted, half petrified him, and as he carefully rose from the mattress to retrieve something to clean you with, part of him resented the softness you brought out in him. It wouldn’t last. The moment you were gone from his territory he’d start shifting back into the monster he’d accepted himself to be and you’d go back to being his secret little fantasy, always feeling like a world away despite the fact he could find his way to your cottage home by scent alone.

“I just wish they could’ve known you like I do…”

He pulled the quilt back over your body once he was done tending to you, sitting up to watch you sleep for a few minutes as a thousand different realities flashed through his mind. Ones where he’d never been changed. Ones where he’d become a hunter who could get down on one knee and ask for your hand. Ones where your roles were reversed and ones where he turned you so you’d have no choice but to stay by his side like he’d once done before his maker had been reduced to the decoration around the collar of your cloak.

What the hell am I thinking, he sneered to himself, shaking his head with a quick twitch as if to throw the thought from his brain. He could never damn you to the kind of life he had, burden you with this curse that would never end.

He thought about taking you and going somewhere far away, just fleeing from these woods and going to a place where no one knew you, hiding away in a village that didn’t have a pyre looming at its center, if such a haven even existed.

No, he begrudgingly countered that option, surely that troublesome hunter would follow if you went missing, based on what you’d cautioned about his relentless determination.

However, if he were able to eliminate that threat, perhaps there could be a chance you two would be able to cover your tracks. The full moon was coming. It would be the perfect opportunity to get rid of Hawks. Dabi could already imagine the way his golden curls would look soaked in his own dark blood, turning his hair black under the cover of night as Dabi watched the light leave the hunter’s eyes.

For now though, that would have to wait.

In the meantime, as Dabi lay back beside you and tried to quiet his runaway mind, he began considering what he could scavenge up for your breakfast tomorrow morning.

***

Keigo was swift and soundless as he followed the tracks through the woods. Even in the dark, the brightness cast down by the moon blotted out under the thick canopy of pine, he could make out the pair of curious and distinct footprints that seemed to travel side by side.

One set of prints were heavy and dragged a little, gait appearing lazy at times. The other, however, was much more familiar. They were boots. Women’s boots, based on the size and stride pattern they followed. They strikingly reminded him of the ones you wore— your favorite ones— with the laces that always came untied without you noticing.

Which only meant one thing.

The notorious wolfman must’ve kidnapped you, stolen you in the night like a greedy thief swiping ripe fruit from a kiosk in the market.

Keigo remembered the flashing blue eyes of the silhouette he’d seen in town that night, the man who disappeared into the shadows like he’d been a part of them.

He’d counted his arrows and cleaned his favorite hunting knife that afternoon, intending to bring you back a portion of his most recent catch in hopes of further convincing you that he could provide for you, if only you’d accept the proposal he’d been ruminating on for who knows how long now. But, when he’d made the journey up to your cottage upon the cliff to drop by, planning on earning some favor with your parents so maybe they’d pester you about “that nice Keigo boy who’s always coming to check on you” again, only to be told you hadn’t returned home on time from running your most recent delivery to your grandmother’s house, your poor mother already starting to fear the worst, well…

How could he help himself? Of course Keigo went out looking for you.

And, Keigo figured, even if you weren’t his yet, there was still time to win you over. Perhaps saving your life from a vicious monster would finally be what it took to open your eyes to just how far he was willing to go to care for you.

So, as he continued his strategic trek through the winding woods, almost scoffing at how easy it was to follow the tracks, the perpetrator clearly not paying much attention to the damp weather that had given him away, Keigo made a vow.

He’d rid the village of its oldest myth, its most dangerous legend.

And he’d do whatever it took— kill whoever it took— to get you back alive.

***

(Sorry it took me an entire year to get part two out but here it is! I hope you enjoyed it! Perhaps there will be a part 3 to wrap it all up by next halloween lol. Anyway, until then, I hope you all have a wonderful day and take care of yourselves <3)

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blueraineshadows · 1 year ago

Text

Life Blood Part One

Vampire Garreth Weasley x F!MC

NSFW 🔞 vampire violence, adult themes

This week's Weasley Wednesday theme in the Garreth's Groupies Discord: Halloween 🎃

This is an AU world where Garreth is a vampire. Old, dangerous, and very beautiful. He stalks a lovely librarian who has a secret of her own.

The shadows had become his friend over the years, his shield and his comfort, a cloak to cover his footsteps and hide his truth. Cities had many shadows, dark corners, and sinister alleyways that provided fruitful hunting grounds, opportunities to stalk and watch for the next feed.

For there was always the ravenous hunger, the dark and desperate need to satiate the craving for blood.

His awakening to his dark form had been a terrible and agonising horror that had ripped apart everything he had known about himself. Once a soft and innocent boy, his nature had transformed into something harder, darker, and instinctive. To truly be at one with this transformation, it had taken many years and the guidance of the one who had turned him.

Time had stretched, days were mere nothingness, now a drop in the ocean in his immortal life. It been a long time since he had seen his sire, no longer in need of the guidance, able to glide softly through his days and take what he needed with the blink of an eye and stolen whispers.

The vampire thought he had forgotten the boy he had been.

His eyes glittered in the darkness, the shadows no barrier against his sharpened sight. The mossy green of his eyes darkened and flickered with red, the pupils widening into dark orbs of hunger as his nose delicately picked up a scent. He paused and pressed up against the old brick of a building, ears trained for the sound of approaching steps. The scent carried on the air, filtered through the wafts of trailing mists that drifted from the old river. It teased at his nose, the steady warmth of its pulse making his mouth water, and the familiar ache in his gums made him press his lips together in anticipation.

It was a male. His scent grew stronger as he made the turn into the narrow passageway, the hint of sweat and alcohol combined with that heady, bitter call of his life blood. His footsteps staggered a little, and he cleared his throat. Drunks were not ideal, and neither were the sick, but when opportunities wandered so freely into his path, the vampire was not going to waste it.

As the figure of the man came into view, the vampire licked his lips, eyes narrowing as the blood lust flared with delicious heat. He stepped out from his shadow, steps silent, his hand reaching out to connect with the drunk man's chest. The steady thump of a heart beneath his clothing seemed to clash against the vampire's palm, the life force of a delicate human body. It fascinated the vampire. He could no longer recall how that felt. He had forgotten that warmth and the desire to feel it tingled on his tongue.

The gentle glow of moonlight lit their faces, the drunk was flushed and grizzled, a working man if his ruggedness was anything to go by. The vampire, in comparison, was immaculate in a suit, skin pale and dusted with delicate freckles, his hair a shiny golden red, the waves framing his eerily handsome face. The vampire was the image of a cultured gentleman, soft and alluring, but the eyes told a different tale. His hunger made a mockery of that soft imagery, deep and insatiable, his age adding a depth of wisdom to his powerful allure.

"Wandering alone in the dark?" The vampire spoke softly, a hint of amusement underlying the colder edge to his tone. "Tut, tut, sir. Have you not heard? There is a predator on the loose."

The drunk swayed on the spot, squinting through the darkness with his mortal eyes, his hand coming up to try and push away the vampire's cold touch and failing.

"What? Get off me," he slurred. "Fool."

The vampire tilted his head, the movement slow and deliberate as his mouth turned upwards in a knowing smile. Oh, how beautiful was his smile.

"It is not I who is the fool."

In a movement that was more of a blur, the vampire grabbed the front of the drunk's coat and pressed him to the wall, ignoring the mutters of complaint as he dragged back the collar to reveal flesh, the flutter of a pulse a vivid thing, and he bit deep. Sharp teeth broke through the sweat laced skin with ease, and immediately, the warm blood began to pulse onto the vampire's tongue, his eyes rolling at the delicious sweetness that tingled through him. He sucked with a ravenous hunger, drawing deeply despite only feeding a short while ago.

It had only meant to be a taste. A little snack if you will. But all too soon, the drunk became limp in his strong grip, the ruddiness leaving his skin, his pallor becoming a deathly white.

The vampire lifted his head, blood shining on his lips, his teeth bared as he breathed deeply in satisfaction. One look at the drunk told him he was dead. His body drained, his heart left with nothing.

Once, the vampire would have been overcome with guilt, he may have even sobbed at his actions. But the years had conditioned him to bear these burdens easier. The guilt was there, but he stored it away. Needs must and all that.

However, the vampire was not completely without morals. He set the man down gently. He straightened his jacket and put a gentle hand to his cheek. Perhaps someone would miss him, grieve for him. The vampire hoped so. But these were not his problems.

As he stood, the vampire took one last look at the victim's face and stored it away. He always took a last look. Then, he returned to the shadows. There were a few more hours of night time to wait through before the dawn, and he needed to make a regular stop.

He needed to go and see her.

....*....

In the six months of lingering in the shadows of the city, it had been easy to memorise the many twists and turns, the busy streets and local hot spots. Without the need for sleep, he had the time, and he had been to so many cities in the world now that he was beginning to realise that they were similar in lots of ways.

There was the theatre district, a plentiful delight of a place, the nights always busy with a myriad of scents to tempt his hunger. Taking in a show amused him, and he would peruse the gathered audience and pick out the ones that tempted him. The arrogant man with Daddy's money burning a hole in his pocket was a favourite, or maybe the lonely woman with tragic eyes. He was always drawn to those. Once, he had wanted to soothe them, take away the sadness in their eyes, but the hunger always won out in the end, and he would feed with ravenous abandonment.

The docks were often a good spot for a stranger to draw a feed from, travellers far from home that would not be missed so quickly. It was best to avoid the more opulent parts of the city, as satisfying as it was to drain the life out of a stuffy politician, they were easily missed. The vampire only took these risks when he was feeling particularly reckless or angry with his lot. Luckily, these episodes were few and far between as time progressed.

When he had been a young creature of the night, he had frequented hospitals and jails, taking the lives of the sick and the unworthy. His sire had mocked him for his kindness and urged him to embrace the beauty of what he had become. The vampire had resented this sentiment, and while the blood of the sick was not satisfactory, the vampire took it and suffered the bitter taste in order to bear the burden of his sorrow. Again, the appetite he harboured always craved more, and his hunting grounds had expanded. Slowly, he had begun to embrace who he was.

One area of a city that drew creatures of the night was the taverns, or pubs, frequented by whores. These ladies of pleasure were also creatures of the night, used to slake the lust of others. It may not be a feed of the blood letting kind, but it eased a hunger of sorts.

The vampire recalled his first whore as he moved swiftly through the shadows across the city. She had been young and beautiful, eyes dark and tempting as she offered him her body. The tease in her gaze had turned to cold fear when realisation had struck. The horror she had felt in those last moments had weighed heavy on the vampire, even though the thrill of her sinful blood had warmed him wonderfully, his own body still flushed from the sins of their joined flesh.

He had never forgotten her eyes, and had stayed clear of feeding from whores unless the need was desperate. After all, like himself, they had not chosen their nightly lifestyle, it was their only option. The men who went to them were often foul and disgraceful. The vampire was not above waiting outside the doors and pouncing on their lust eased bodies, draining them dry and leaving them to rot. The soft heart in him rationalised it as a way of protecting those beautiful, sinful creatures, just as he wished someone had been able to protect him.

As he approached the corner of the street he wanted, the vampire paused in the shadow of the building, his gaze surveying the darkened street. He came every night now. It was like a ritual, and he needed to stick to it. The risk of being spotted and recognised made his assessment of her street imperative. He did not want to lose the option of returning.

Slowly, anticipation lingering in his limbs as he neared her home, the vampire was glad of his recent feed. He knew that once he saw her, his hunger would flare, and he must reign it in. Her scent was intoxicating. It took everything in him to keep a leash on his restraint. He wanted to devour her, taste her flesh, and feel the warmth of her life blood on his tongue.

She was alluring and captivating, she plagued his daydreams and he ached to know her. But he could not. How could he? She would run from him, and he would not blame her. One so ethereal in her beauty and innocence would baulk if a monster such as he approached her. No. He had taken to watching her from afar, content for the opportunity to lay his eyes upon her. For now. The last few nights had seen him taking risks. Dangerous risks. Just to get a little closer. It was her scent, you see. She was irresistible.

The first time he had seen her, he had been taken back to those long ago days when he had been a mere boy. A boy who had delighted in laughter and pranks, living each moment to its fullest and just being young. There had been a girl at his school who had brought warmth to his cheeks when he looked upon her, her pretty lips and merry eyes had made his heart pound and his hands ache to touch the softness of her skin. The crush had consumed him, filtered through his dreams, and filled his waking thoughts until there was only her.

Years after his turning, he had tracked her down, a woman grown now. He had stood at a distance, not wanting to frighten her. He looked the same as he had the day he was turned after all, he had not aged a day, and he could not risk her recognising him as she read a story to her child before bed. Lingering at the window of her marriage home, seeing the child she had made through her union with her husband, it had made his cold heart remember that ache.

It was soon after this that he realised he needed to let go of the boy he had been. He was gone. That life had moved on, much like the delight of his boyhood heart. The vampire had a new life now, and he needed to embrace it.

....*....

When the vampire slid over the railing of the little window balcony, he paused, the window opening was ajar, the delicate night breeze teasing at the curtain. He planted his feet with predatory softness, moving lithely towards the opening and peering through into the darkened room. Moonlight lit the window behind him, his shadow cast across the floor of the room, the gentle sounds of a sleeping human in his ears as he paused. He had never entered her room before, only watching her sleep through the glass of the window in his promise to himself to not get too close. But, tonight, the window was open, an opportunity that had been sent to tempt him. If only he could make that final step and enter the sanctity of her room, but without an invitation from her own lips, he was stranded.

The minutes passed, and he remained, sat at her window, his eyes never leaving her sleeping form. Her hair was spread across her pillow, her cheeks delicately flushed in her slumber, lips parted with a tempting softness that stirred an old ache in his chest. She was so like the girl from a time long passed, that if he squinted his eyes a bit, maybe she could even be her. But, of course, that was impossible. She was long since dead now, a life lived to old age, and her bones already turned to dust. She was a fragment of his memory now, stored along with countless others, at least until he had laid eyes upon the girl in the bed.

She worked at a nearby library. He had caught her scent when she had left under the cover of darkness and trailed her through the city with the intent of feeding on that delicious warmth. One look at her face, however, had made him pause, his hunger abating a little as he stared. It had stolen his breath, frozen his limbs, and he had been unable to follow through with the hunt. The next night, he had returned to the library, and once again, when she had taken the steps down to the city street, he had followed her. It had been a month now, and he had followed her for many nights, even risking entry to the library itself to witness her beauty under the lights. At night, he would watch her sleep, fascinated, hungry, and oh so very lonely.

The vampire had not moved whilst he sat and observed from her window. He had made no sound, and so, when she opened her eyes and stared right at him, it had been a shock. He did not flinch nor make a sound, but if his heart had been beating, it would have skipped at the sight of her gaze. With eyes locked across the moonlit room, the vampire raced through his options. She had seen him.

He could disappear, jump back from the window, and land on nimble feet to run down the street, never to return. But, the thought of never returning made a chasm yawn empty and dark in his gut. The other option would be to tempt her to the window and drain her, take her life while he held her in his arms, and then try to forget that she had ever existed. But, forever was a long time to try and forget one so beautiful, and he knew from previous experience how difficult and mournful that would be. Every girl with similar eyes would haunt him. Girls with that shade of hair would turn his head and make him yearn. He did not want to take her from this mortal realm.

She sat up, her hair cascading over her shoulder, the bed cover slipping down to reveal the flimsy bed attire she wore. A hunger of a different kind swept over the vampire, his tongue slipping out to coat his lips as he eyed the smoothness of exposed flesh in the moonlight. Her beauty was outstanding, and his eyes were ready to become drunk on the very sight of it.

"I know you watch me," she said quietly. "It is why I left the window open."

His breath whispered softly past his lips. "Why would you leave the window open for me?"

One shoulder lifted, and she tilted her head, fingers toying with the bed cover. "I'm not entirely sure, but I know that you are not what you seem."

Her eyes met his. Curiosity and an eagerness lit their depths. There was no fear, and it made him consider her intently.

"I have been doing some research ever since I saw your face. I think I know what you are," she continued.

"And yet, you are not afraid? You open your window to me willingly?"

She took a deep breath and slid from the bed, her night gown dropping to mid thigh, his eyes following the curve of her leg as she walked to a desk in the corner of the room. The moonlight shifted the material of her nightgown, drawing it in tempting lines against the curve of her hips. His hunger was a tightly leashed beast, and he tensed as she approached the window, her scent so close that he could almost taste it. In her hands, she held a file, slipping out a sheet of paper that was a copy of a newspaper article. She held it up to him.

Bodies found drained of blood, the theories bandied about and the gossip rife. It was a familiar tale across many cities and years, and it was why he had to be careful. It was why he moved on and took turns in the cities of the world in order to stay one step ahead.

He looked from the article to her, his expression one of calm as he raised an eyebrow. She hesitated and then pulled out more and more clippings, older and older, pages of notes that she had taken in her research until she slipped an old photograph from a battered sleeve. This time, her fingers trembled as she held it up, her eyes shining as she stared at him, the flicker of fear there behind the unshed tears.

"It's you. It has to be."

The vampire stared at the photograph, the image so old and faded now but undeniably him, his youthful face so sincere as he posed for his school book entry. The innocence of his youthful gaze was a memory as faded as the photograph, and yet it made him hurt in ways he had forgotten. Pain that he had buried deeply seized him, choked him, and he turned away, unable to stare at that lost boy any longer.

"Perhaps I merely look like him," he said. He tried to put a cold edge to his voice, but he failed. His sire would mock him, call him soft, tease him for not being a better vampire.

"If there is one thing I pride myself on, it is my research," she said. She looked down at the photograph, throat working as she ran a finger tip over his face. "This has to be you, Garreth."

This time, the vampire did startle, his hands gripping the edge of the window, his eyes opening wide. Rarely did he reveal his birth given name to anyone. It wasn't worth it. Either he wouldn't be around long enough to warrant revealing it, or the person was about to die, and it was pointless. A very select few knew the truth, and yet his name had been spoken through her perfect lips, and she held his photograph in her hands.

Their eyes met, something tense and wonderful wrapping around the moment. It was more intimate than he had any right to. His nightly ritual had gone from observing her to hearing his name on her lips, and he found he rather liked it.

"How...?" He swallowed and looked at the photo in her hands. So many questions. "How did you come by that photograph?"

Her gaze was soft, full of wonderous curiosity as she looked at him. "I have wondered many a time what your voice would sound like, and to hear you speak now..." She smiled, a blush staining her cheeks as her words dwindled.

"My grandmother had this photograph inside a file of notes and papers. I found it when my family was clearing out her things after she died. I kept the file a secret and realised she had been following the trail of a suspected vampire. Research continued on from her own mother. I have always believed in things that go bump in the night, and I knew I had to continue on. It is why I took the job at the library."

"Your grandmother?" Garreth frowned in thought, wondering why these women in her family would care to follow his trail. He tensed and stepped back suddenly, a thought so cold and unwelcome entering his mind. "You're hunters?"

Her lips parted, face aghast at his question. "No!" She protested. Her hand flew out, and she reached for his arm, her fingertips grazing the back of his hand as he pulled back further. A shocked gasp left her mouth, and she snatched her hand back, finger tips rubbing together.

"You're... You're so cold... I..."

There it was. There was the fear in her eyes now. Realisation was dawning of what he truly was, and she trembled. His still, undead heart appeared to plummet, hating to see the fear in her gaze now when before she had been so soft and curious. But, it was inevitable, was it not?

"This is why you should not leave your window open, my dear," he said softly. "There are monsters in this world, and you are far too lovely to be pulled into such horrors. You must forgive me for coming here, I should have known better."

He leapt onto the railing, crouching with feline ease, ready to launch himself to the ground, but he couldn't resist one last look back.

"Garreth, please, don't go," she begged. She clutched the photo in her hand, her eyes desperate. "Or, at least come back. I have things I want to show you, I have questions. I mean you no harm... Please?"

The sweet sting of regret tore at him, sad green eyes lingering on the way the moon lit her face. So beautiful. And then he was gone. He leapt from her balcony, landing with effortless ease and then running. He was nothing but a swift, fleeting shadow as his feet ghosted the pavement, running from her, running from himself.

....*....

His dwelling place was nothing fancy, nothing that one would call home. Without the need to sleep, he didn't really require a home as such. There was no need to find a suitable place to lay his head. However, he did require shelter from the daylight hours. Garreth had read many, many books over the years, tales of vampires who lay stiff in their coffins an amusing image he often pondered over. He had yet to witness such a thing, preferring to avoid the trappings surrounding death considering the ease with which he dealt it out.

No, for him, sanctuary from the sun could simply be a cosy barn and a book. Perhaps a day inside a museum, or even exploring caves and mysterious forests under the cover of trees. A thick cloak on particularly gloomy days was often sufficient and offered him the chance to observe the world in its waking hours. Or, he would simply take a room and relax.

Today, Garreth did something that he did only on rare occasions. He opened a small chest that he kept inside his travelling trunk, a selection of old world potions and oddities inside that he procured from alchemists on his travels. He had a keen interest in such things and had an old friend in Italy who had taught him the science. If he were to truly settle in a place, then alchemy was high on his list of pass times to dabble in.

The potion was golden in colour, the liquid a shimmering sparkle under the lamplight. As he drank it down, it felt like sunshine itself spreading through his body. It had been months since he had last walked under the sun, and today, he was going to take that risk. A fool's risk.

Walking the city free from the shadows put a pep in his step, he tipped his head to a few lovely ladies, his smile so charming, the sunlight lighting the dazzling green of his eyes. With such a charming aura, one could almost ignore the pallor of his frigid skin, the slight darkness under his eyes. The red glow of hunger was firmly under control whilst he was in the company of mortals, playing the role of a gentleman on a stroll with practised perfection as he strolled towards the city library.

Despite his swift exit last night, he apparently couldn't stay away from the girl who had spoken his name. The library loomed up before him, his feet taking the stairs in a skip, and then he was strolling through the doors as though he had every right to be here. The scent of old books and parchment welcomed him, along with the aroma of coffee from the little café inside. The unrelenting scents of life blood was always present, the temptation of it curling like smoke through his body, his instincts on high alert as he navigated study tables and settees, huge bookcases stretching up and up towards the arched ceilings.

Where to look for his night time angel?

He could tell himself as much as he liked that he was doing this because he was curious what other information she held in that file of hers. His empty heart could deny the flutter in his chest at the thought of speaking with her again, to seek out the chance to look into her eyes and have her look back. His lonely existence craved such little things, and having gone so long without it, now that he'd had a taste, the craving was almost as thick as his lust for blood.

He found her in the back of the library, seated at a desk with piles of books stacked around her, her head bent over a massive tome, face set in concentration as she perused the page. The soft glow of the table lamp lit her face, highlighting delicate curves and the light of her eyes.

He stood and admired, drinking in the sight of human warmth and softness, the steady throb of her pulse teasing at his ears. His hunger lingered, prowling at the edge of his consciousness, and he regretted not taking a feed before coming here. As much as he desperately craved her taste, he was loathe to harm her. She had entranced him, swept him along on a tide of foolishness, and he found he didn't require saving. He was all in. She had spoken his name, she knew who he was, and he did not fear it.

Perhaps he should. Perhaps he should move closer and lock gazes with her, summon the masterful trick of compulsion and wipe her memory of him, remove all traces, and take the file from her possession. It would be as though he never existed, and he could vanish into the night, move on to the next city, and put it down as just another memory, a mere moment in a century.

He took a step towards her, silent and sure, and she lifted her head. Their gazes locked, the moment stretching with the same warmth from the night before, and he smiled.

"Good morning," he said softly.

There would be no compulsion tricks today.

....*....

For as long as she could remember, she had been obsessed with ghostly tales and monsters that prowled the shadows. She had delved into the minds of authors who wrote of such things, absorbing their characters set in worlds that were far more fascinating than her own. She longed for the darkness and lore that surrounded these fabled creatures, wished there was truth to the myths.

Her mother had sighed and indulged her love by handing her the books she so greedily consumed over and over again. But, her mother had warned her not to read too much into such tales, encouraged her to dwell in the real world more than in fiction. But she didn't listen.

Instead, she had been drawn into the aura of her maternal grandmother, rushing to her home after school to sit and chat about these myths and legends. Her grandmother had a twinkle in her eye, a love for the unusual, and encouraged her to look deeper.

Not everything is as it seems, she would say, her eyes full of excitement. The moment that she loved the most was curling up and listening to the stories that her grandmother would weave about a young boy who had been turned into a vampire, forced to change into a monster and leave behind the girl he had loved. It was her favourite story, and she had heard it so many times, savouring every detail.

Those memories were precious, and when they had laid her grandmother to rest, she had made sure to say a blessing over her grave to keep the monsters at bay. Her grandmother believed, and therefore she believed, and that belief had carried her through to her meeting with Garreth.

When she had found the old file in her grandmother's belongings, she had hidden it from her mother, knowing that it would be burned or thrown out as nonsense. Sorting through the many pages of notes, the newspaper cuttings, and detailed research, she gasped aloud at the sight of the beautiful boy in the photograph.

Her favourite bedtime story whispered to her in the safety of her grandmother's love, was true. The vampire boy was real, Garreth was real, and now she had a face in a photograph to put to the name.

Her job at the library had come about through her passion for the written word and her thirst to know more. Research was her safe place and she delved ever deeper into the lore of the vampire, every night going to her bed with tired eyes, but always taking a look at that old photograph before going to sleep.

She had memorised Garreth's face, she saw it in her dreams, and realised that a desperate longing had begun to grow within her. If he was real, then he was in the world somewhere. A real-life vampire. She wanted to meet him.

Why her grandmother had this research, and why her great-grandmother had passed it on to her, she had no idea. Her grandmother's passing had been sudden, and she wondered if there was a story to tell behind it all. Perhaps she would never know.

So, when she had left the library one evening, tired and ready to get home, she had not been prepared for the glimpse of a familiar face. It had been brief, so quick that she had almost thought she had imagined it, but it had made her heart pound.

The features had been the same, every line and curve she had studied and memorised so engrained on her brain that she was sure it couldn't have been anyone else. And yet, once home, she had begun to doubt it. The serious voice of her mother echoing in her thoughts, telling her that she needed to get more sleep, she needed to take a break from obsessing over a boy who was probably, in reality, long dead.

Her dreams haunted her. His face would appear, but not as a sepia toned image anymore, but a very real person. A young man with piercing green eyes and freckled skin, waves of beautiful red hair that curled with such softness. It had to be Garreth.

She saw him again, stirring from a dream, blinking into the darkness and seeing a silhouette at her window. This one she did put down to being half asleep and conjuring him into life. But, she just couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching her.

In the corner of the library, a shape at the window, a blur on the street corner. Someone. Him. The vampire.

She took to laying awake, curled up beneath the blanket, waiting and watching. Sure enough, the shadow would appear outside the window. She would feign sleep, watching through lowered lids, and he came again and again. She left the library later and later, waiting for the darkness and strained to see and listen as she walked. Not every time, but many times, she caught glimpses.

Her passion and her stubbornness in refusing to give up on this vampire boy had paid off. The fear of the monster he could be didn't phase her. After all this time, she was ready to face whatever Garreth truly was. Her whole life had been leading up to that moment. She was certain of it.

And so, she left the window open. It was an invitation, a welcome. She wanted him to step from the shadows and come face to face with her. After years of longing for that something else, and months of staring at his photo. She wanted to finally see the truth.

He came, he arrived at the window, and this time, she chose bravery and she spoke to him.

....*....

Seeing the vampire in the familiar sanctuary of the library quickened her pulse, the soft lights reflected off his red hair, his pale skin flawless and dusted with freckles. Looking up at him from her seat at the table, her very breath was stolen at his beauty. It was like a magnet pulling her slowly from the real world into dreams as she found herself drowning in depths of green.

"Garreth," she said, softly. "What are you doing here?"

His smile was like a caress. "You expect me to stay away from a young lady who keeps a photograph of me in her bedroom?"

Her cheeks bloomed with sudden warmth, and she swallowed nervously, his charm working a tingling kind of magic that swept over her skin.

"I... I meant no harm," she said. Her hand gripped the edge of the table. Apparently, she was unable to look away from him. Was this some kind of vampire magic? She wasn't sure. There was some suggestion that they had the ability to perform tricks on their prey. The research notes she had being rather vague on the matter meant she couldn't be too sure. What an opportunity she had to find out the truth!

Garreth moved around the table and leant his hand against the top, bending over to look down at the book she was reading. The delicate scent of cologne reached her nose, and a more subtle scent, an alluring tease of clean male that pulled at something rather deep within her belly. Her breath hitched and she leant back a little, intimidated by the overwhelming closeness of him, not just as a vampire capable of draining the very life out of her, but as a man who was very beautiful and alluring.

"Last night, you said you had much more to show me," he said. He turned those green eyes on her again, his face so much closer now, and she could see the delicate strands of red that flecked the iris of his eyes. "I'm curious to find out what else you have hidden away."

Her lips parted as though to speak, but the words failed to leave her mouth. She was enraptured, staring at him as though there was nothing else in the world that mattered. She felt every throb of pulse, every rasp of breath into her starved lungs, and she was leaning forward, drawn in by invisible threads that pulled her ever closer. He held her gaze, his smile borderline wicked, and then he blinked, dropping his gaze from hers and standing up straight.

It was as though someone had clapped their hands in front of her eyes to snap her out of a daze. She blinked a few times and looked around as though she had forgotten where she was, and maybe she had. Her head felt fuzzy, confused, and when she looked back at Garreth, she wondered if she had imagined that strange connection.

His head tilted as he smiled down at her again. "For all your interest, you've never met anyone like me before have you."

She cleared her throat and shook her head. "No. You're the first. How did you know?"

"Your reactions," he smiled and flipped open a book on top of a pile. "A vampire is designed to lure in their victims. Everything, from their scent to their aura, it draws a person in, lures them closer for the inevitable bite. I had thought you might be better prepared for such things. I had expected you to try and stop me."

She gulped, hands flat on the table top. Her gaze flicked to his mouth. When he smiled at her, his teeth had seemed relatively normal, and no huge fangs descended like she had read about. She couldn't help but be curious. His revelation about luring a person in for the kill sent a shiver down her spine. So, it was true.

Is that what he had been doing just now? Tempting her closer... Did he want to bite her?

"Is it true about mind control, then?" She asked, clearing her throat. "Some of my research suggests that a vampire can manipulate the mind and meddle with memories."

He tilted his head slightly, eyes twinkling. "Maybe I have slipped into your mind already," he teased. He leaned over the table top, predatory and borderline irresistible. "Perhaps you already belong to me, and I can do whatever I wish with you."

Her eyes widened. Subtle fear began to make her tremble, and yet she was aroused, skin tingling and her pulse becoming a hot throb. Did that mean he really had invaded her head? She stared at him, curiosity mingling with anxiety.

He was a monster, after all. A very beautiful monster, but one all the same, capable of killing her in the blink of an eye.

"I haven't, by the way," he said softly. His gaze lingered on her mouth before trailing down to her neck. His voice dropped to a whisper. "But it's tempting. You are tempting."

She glanced nervously around them before speaking, her voice dropping to a whisper, her mouth dry. "Are you going to bite me?"

His smile was slow, devastating. "Only if you ask me nicely."

Her lips parted, and she realised with utter shock that the words were right there on the tip of her tongue. She blushed fiercely and clamped her mouth closed lest she speak them. Did she truly want him to bite her? What would it feel like to have his mouth on her throat? Her eyes dropped to his very lovely lips, and she shivered.

A low chuckle sounded in his throat, and he straightened, taking a deep breath and gazing towards the arched window across the room.

"There are many hours of daylight left. However, I am on a time limit. I can not linger for too long," he said. His captivating eyes returned to her, and she met them gladly. "I must take my leave. I could return to you under the cover of night unless you know of somewhere we can talk out of the burning rays of the sun."

Getting to her feet, she smoothed her skirt over her thighs and nodded. "Would you prefer to remain here at the library or go somewhere more private?"

She didn't think she would ever be tired of seeing his smile. He looked so terribly beautiful when he allowed his mouth to do so. Could she trust that smile? How many others had done so and regretted their decision? As mindful she should be of his nature, she could not help the wave of intense curiosity, her drive to delve deeper for answers. It was a balancing act of weighing up the foolishness of daring to dance with a devil, or the foolishness of potentially allowing a real vampire to escape her, taking with him all the knowledge that could fill the gaps in her research.

"I think somewhere more private is in order," he said.

She nodded, a flush of excitement making her tremble a little. A private meeting with a vampire. It was time to see if her choice would pay off. "Of course. Allow me to fetch my things and make my excuses."

....*....

Her home was very different in the daylight. The street bustled with life, the sunlight dappling through the trees, and life of such ordinary and mundane moments carried on around them as they arrived at the building entrance. Garreth observed the street, his heightened senses absorbing everything from scents and sounds to faces and shadows. The predator in him made these instinctive observations, ever mindful that he was not the only hunter.

Turning his focus back on the lovely young lady beside him, his eyes twinkled as she gazed up at him shyly. The delicate pink that bloomed on her cheeks as she dipped her gaze made his hunger claw with savage urgency. Her life blood warmed that soft skin, it called to him as they entered the cooler lobby of the building and took the stairs.

He had not come here to bite her, as tempting as that beautiful neck was. He had come to ease the curiosity she stirred within him. Not just because of her file on him, but because she had stirred up memories and emotions he had thought long since gone. His life as a boy had been brought back to the forefront with one sepia toned photograph and the allure of a beautiful smile.

Following her to her door, her scent drifting under his nose, he realised how vulnerable she really was. Back at the library, he had not intended to use mind control on her, and he hadn't meant to influence her at all, but the hunger had been strong and all consuming. He had called to her through his eyes and his scent, saw the way her pupils had widened in response. If he had so wished, he could have plucked her like a new spring flower and devoured her scent, taken what was so temptingly on offer, and she would have let him.

It was a measure of his self-control and years of honing his skills that he had chosen not to do so. His choice had led him here to where she was safe, and he was not sure if this was the better option. Here, he had her alone. Once she granted him permission to cross the threshold of her door, he could come and go as he pleased. She was inviting the devil into her home, and what if he chose to play?

Her key slid into the lock, and the door swung wide. She stepped through and turned to him, pausing as she looked down at where his feet remained in the hall. She gasped as her pretty eyes lifted to meet his.

"It's true! You can't come in uninvited."

Rather than be fearful, curious delight lit her face, and he marvelled at it. Bravery or foolishness, the girl was full of it. He bowed slightly, hands clasped at his back.

"Yes, it is true. I implore you to consider your next words carefully. Invite me in at your own risk."

Her chin lifted, a stubborn light gleaming in her eyes, but her fingers clutched at her bag with a tight grip. "You won't hurt me. You would have done it already. All those nights, you followed me or waited at my window. Not once have you tried to lay a finger on me."

"Perhaps I like the chase," he said softly.

Her pupils flared, and her throat worked. Such a delicate flutter of pulse, her blood rushing sweet and swift. He could smell the delicate edge of her fear, and yet the stubbornness remained. It stirred him in ways long forgotten, his loneliness reaching out with shadowed fingers towards the fire in her soul.

"Please, come in."

It was said with confidence and yet with softness. His lips twitched, and he bowed once more, his eyes never leaving hers. "You honour me, and I thank you for your invitation."

Slowly, he took a deliberate step forward, his boot crossing the threshold of her door. He was inside. She had welcomed him into her safety, and with a swift flick of his wrist, the door swung closed with a click.

As their eyes locked, the significance of the moment was not lost on him. He had all the power, the notion of it as comfortable and familiar as a good pair of shoes, easily slipped on and reliable. He could reach out and take her, put his mark on her, feed until his skin glowed with her warmth. It made his mouth water, his gums ached with the need to elongate his teeth and pierce sweet skin.

Her beauty called to him, but so did her words. He had questions, and she could give him those answers. He wanted to hear them, but most of all, he wanted to be near her. This was the closest he had ever been and how he longed to feel the pound of his own heart, for he knew that she would make it beat fast and true. His heart had not beat for years upon years, and this girl, this intriguing beauty, made him yearn for something that he had thought out of reach.

He stepped forward, a hand smoothing down the front of his very expensive suit jacket, his smile charming and warm.

"Now then, my dear. What wonderful things can you tell me about your research? I am all ears."

To be continued....

#garreth weasley x mc #garreth weasley #vampire garreth weasley #weasley wed #weasley wednesday #garreth's groupies #blueraineshadows

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