#the sovereign looks and feels shallow | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pursuitseternal · 1 year ago

Text

“Master me:” the Sub!Ascended Astarion x F!Reader fic of your nsfw dreams, update to “The Rogue You Were”

Ascended Astarion x F!Reader | E | 5.1 K of Sub!Vampire Lord

Summary: It’s all yours, the power, the wealth. But your Vampire Lord wishes to give you something he’s never given willingly before… his submission.

CW: NSFW, Dom/Sub Dynamics, soft!dom for his trauma healing, ThroneSex ™️, body worship, oral s3x, orgasm denial, orgasm control, “only come when you’re told,” begging, pleading, whimpering Astarion, praise kink…

Read here if you prefer AO3

For @marimosalad and @anaisbaillon

Continue and accept the gift of his submission…

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

He has summoned you, his lady, his bride, his beloved. The right hand and consort to the Vampire Lord. Of course, you didn’t come right away when the servant knocked on your door. He had been attending business all day. So many deals and promises and threats and examples to be made, he’s been attending from his throne all day. Yes. He held his court from his magnificent chair, staring down from his mighty gilded seat of power, glaring with vermillion eyes at anyone who entered the presence of the Ascendant Lord.

Now he calls for you, after hours behind closed doors. You give it… a little time. Not so much as to try his patience, but enough that you don’t go running into his arms in front of all of Baldur’s Gate. A delicate balance, one you can excuse by flouncing your dress, changing the jewels around your neck. You settled on something dark and sheer and elegant, nearly see-through in places, enough to catch the eye and make the mouth water.

Make his mouth water. That’s all you cared for anyway.

Leaving your chambers, you sweep through the halls, every servant, every guest, or Patriar, or merchant in your palace stops to bow and curtesy. Careful not to disrespect you. For you are his.

You arrive at last to the large, thick doors to his great hall. You can feel his eyes on you before you even turn the corner and breach the room. Astarion sits, reclined. Bored. Distant. But the moment you sweep into his presence, he claps his hands.

Silence falls on the crowd. “Leave,” he hisses quietly. It slices through the din. People retreat in an instant. They cleave around you, separating around where you stand just inside the grand chamber, distances away from your lover, enthroned, and yet you can almost feel his breath on your skin. Even from here.

It takes but a moment for you to finally be alone. His eyes rake over you, his back reclining in his throne, his knee crossed over his leg. But his gaze is only on you. He crooks a finger at you as the doors close, pushed by his magic and sealed by his power.

It is just him now. And he wants you to come… closer.

You obey, feeling more than seeing as his smirk curls his lips and skews his brows. One step, then another, you climb the dais. Then, you stop. Waiting. Eyes locked into one another, his breathing is rapid and shallow. And you furrow, sensing something swirling beneath that cold exterior. You see it then, a slight tweak at the corner of his eyes, a clench of his jaw. And then he lets out a muffled, half-swallowed sob.

“Everything, my love, it’s all ours. Sovereigns of Baldur’s Gate. King and queen in all but name…” his chest shakes. His eyes, wide and wet, look up at you. “It feels… wonderful… horrible… I- I don’t know…”

Without another thought, you hurry to his side, wrapping your arms around his head, cradling him into your breast. His tears are wet on your chest. You can almost feel it, that facade of his power and callous attitude crumbling in your arms. He takes a breath, inhaling your scent, his arms clutching hard around your waist.

“I thought you wouldn’t come, when you were late. For a moment… I thought you had…” he swallows the rest of his fears.

“I would never leave you,” you whisper, warming your words with all the feeling in your heart, running your hand through those silken, silver, unruly curls.

“I… I want to give you something, my love,” he steadies his voice, pulling back from your embrace, arms tugging you into his lap.

“Name it, and I will gladly accept, Astarion,” you smile, gently, settling yourself on the spread of his thighs.

“I want…” he swallows again, his face so close to yours. Haunted, troubled. Something is gnawing at him. “I want to give you everything…”

“You already have,” you smile sweetly, palming his cheek.

“No,” he shakes his head, “I don’t mean…” he clears his throat, eyes scanning the room around you as the shadows begin to lengthen, the colors of sunset pouring in through the arched and vaulted windows. “I… we have won. I have power; influence, riches, comfort…” his brow arches a bit rakishly, “…love. I have everything that Cazador deprived me of for centuries. More than he ever did. I am the most powerful vampire in the realms.”

You pause. Waiting. Watching those eyes flickering with the embers of his power. His voice rings with his pride, those traces of shattered confidence evaporated. But then he looks square in your eyes again.

And all that pride and power disappear.

“And I want you to have me submit to you, my love,” he breathed, his voice hissing between his teeth. As if he is in pain. In agony. “I want to give you my submission.”

“Submit to me?” you drop your hand from his face, letting it rest on his chest.

“You are the one thing that grounds me, you know, that pulls me back from becoming a… the very thing I once feared. I want… I want to give you… everything,” he leans in to place a shaking, hesitant kiss on your lips, “I want to grant you even this favor, darling.”

“If you wish,” you reply, tapping your hand on his heaving chest. “I do not require it of you.”

“I know,” he smiles so, so slightly, “that’s why I can give it to you. That's why I can… trust you.”

Your breath catches. The need in his eyes bores into you. He’s waiting. Waiting for you. For your command. “Very well, if it would please you.”

“Greatly, but you’ll have to be harsher than that to make me submit.” He flashes his teeth, a bit of that wicked, cheeky flare you know and love in him.

“I don’t want to be too harsh, I don’t want to hurt you…” you bite your lip, careful how you mention your worry. You can almost hear the ghosts of Cazador’s voice from… you shudder to remember.

He purses his lips, thinking. “Don’t call me boy, or belittle me, don’t starve me, just be the decent person I know and love, and I’m sure this will be pleasurable for both of us…”

You nod, gently. “Then kneel,” you whisper. Sweetly. Too sweetly. He raises a brow at your tone.

“No,” he pushes, that irascible smirk teasing and twitching the corner of his mouth.

You fight the foolish grin that your mouth aches to show. But you keep yourself stern. Commanding. “On… your… knees… Astarion,” you order, warmth in your voice even as you bite at your words.

He moves you by your waist, reverently sliding you off his lap to make his way to the steps of the dais.

“Too far, my love,” you chuckle, savoring his quick little turn as you settle yourself in his throne. “There…” you give a sigh for affect, nestling yourself in the gilded confines of this chair, running your fingers over the gold filigree arms. “Kneel at my feet, lover, and take that doublet off while you’re at it. It’s far too expensive to be ruined by the things I am about to have you do….”

Oh, how he obeys. Shivering and shuddering in delight. A coy, contented smile on his face as he slinks off the heavy- embroidered jacket to leave in a pile on his floor.

Slowly, he sinks to his knees at the top of the dais, close to you. So close, you can see his nostrils flare with every breath, you can watch the muscles of his bare chest clenching as he sits back on his heels. He places his palms on his thighs, one on each, eyes looking right into yours.

Waiting. And eager.

You smile, ready to lavish him with praise. “What a good darling,” you purr. “Quite the sight, the most powerful vampire in all the realms… kneeling before me. It can make a consort quite heated…” you fan your face. “Perhaps I need to remove some of these trappings,” you pluck the black fabric between your fingers. Slowly, you slink the hem of your dress higher. Higher. His crimson eyes darting to watch your unfolding display.

“Might I be of… assistance?” He offers, honeyed tone even as he remains perfectly still.

A laugh leaks from your throat. “You may, only, don’t touch my skin just yet, Astarion. Soon you can, but not… now…”

You watch him rise slowly, licking his lips as you lean forward in the throne. His hands are slow, reverent as they catch up your hair to part it over one shoulder. The lacings at the back of your dress bared for him to attend. It’s deliberate, filled with care, his long fingers deftly pulling the bindings out, lace by lace. His touch is heavy, making certain you feel his every ministration through the fabric of your dress. His hands skate lower, ghosting over the silk to your waist, bunching the fabric to reveal your skin, to expose your shoulders and arms.

You turn your head to look at him, rising to your feet. “Finish the job, my love,” you order, keeping that edge to your voice. Hand raising to his cheek, you caress him, softly, slowly, running your hand down the column of his neck to press on his shoulder. He smiles at your touch, slinking back to his knees… looking up into your face as his hands ruck your skirts in his fists. Pulling, shimmying your skirts to reveal the bare pale flesh of your belly, your thighs.

You step from the puddle of fabric at your feet, closing right into the distance between you where he kneels. Your hands bury in his hair, pressing his eager face into your embrace. His lips caress you, sucking and licking into the soft center of your stomach. His voice hums low, reverberating into your flesh. “Such a reward for so little,” he whispers against your skin, “you can push me harder than that, darling…”

“Really…?” You purr, canting a brow, mischief rising within you. “You just be sure, my love to say when it is too much.”

“Like too much sugar in my tea, I’ll say when, I promise,” he chuckles, slow and languorous, his face creeping lower and lower until his tongue barely laps between your folds. His breath stirring in the soft curls of your mound.

“Then, darling, you can touch,” you step away, seating yourself back in his throne. The velvet lining cushions your bare skin, the metal cold and shocking to the touch. But you recline, the same posture he had assumed at your arrival. “Come and give me your worship, my love,” you toss at him, hearing his steps slowly round on you. His eyes glow with hunger, his teeth glinting as he smiles. He laughs, eyeing you as your thighs part for him to give you more.

His hands rest upon the tops of your legs, settled on his heels before your seat.

“Tch, tch,” you tut at him, brushing his palms from your skin. “Your tongue alone, darling,” you smirk, watching your command making him fairly salivate. “Since you insist on using it, it seems,” you feign disgust, wiping the trails of his saliva from your belly.

He laughs, lowering his kisses to where your hand just touched. “Yes, my love,” he clasps his hands behind his back, glancing up with eyes of red fire, making certain you saw his obedience. “It would be my… pleasure,” he growls, nose pressing into where you ache. You gasp, the demanding dart of his tongue between your folds sending an instant curl of heat in your belly. Attentive, aggressive, he growls into your thighs, and you watch the muscles of his forearms clenching behind his back.

With every lick, he pushes hard, struggling to get just where he wants.

“Something the matter?” you coo, sliding your hips closer to the edge of the chair.

“You could be helpful and master me, you know darling? Give me a little to gain a lot…”

Your hand slips between your legs, fingers spreading yourself wide after a few caresses of your own fingers deep into your channel. You hear his breathing heavy in his chest, watching every muscle in his body wind tight like a spring.

A predator who would love nothing more than to pounce and devour you to his satisfaction. But you pat him on the head, throwing one leg over the cool metal arm of the seat.

“Better?” you dare, your answer is nothing more than his tongue diving with all his hunger deep into your channel, lapping and circling your clit, fangs catching the edges of your folds. You feel it creeping up with each pass and swirl of his tongue. So close, that wave of heat. You can hear his voice rasping, breath heavy as he works inside you. “Touch me,” you order. “Do it, Astarion.”

Released, his hands are on you, everywhere all at once. His fingers claw into your sides, tugging your hips closer. You slide on the velvet aimed right for his hungry, devouring mouth. Long, strong, his fingers delve hard and fast into you as he sucks on your clit. He groans to feel you tighten on his hand, to feel your juices flowing, your back arching and hips bucking on the seat of his throne.

Your hands fist into his hair, pushing him away as he insists on lapping you through the very last wave of your orgasm. He trails his drenched tongue to the delicate inside of your thigh, tracing a circle over the spot he loves most. “Just a bite, darling? May I have some reward?”

“Just a bite,” you pant, still easing down from the writhing muscles, warmth releasing through you.

His fangs pierce your thigh, a moment of pain, quickly masked as he slips his fingers into you again, crooking and stroking your channel.

“That’s enough I think, for now,” you hum, gripping gently into his hair to lift his face. “I said a bite and just a bite it will be.”

He bares his teeth at you, the points of his fangs barely dipped in red. “Darling…” he pushes, voice barely more than a growl.

“Just for now…” you softly stroke his cheek, running the pad of your thumb over his trembling lower lip as he sneers. “Just until you make me come again…”

His lips sneer wider, twisting into a barely contained feral smirk. “As you wish,” he croons, “may I use all the… tools at hand?” His eyes glance down his own body, his hips shoving against the bottom of the chair.

You tilt your head, feigning consideration. “Not yet,” you sigh. “But you may kiss me, my love.”

The last thing you see before he pounces on you is that smirk that makes your heart rap against your ribs and sucks your breath from your lungs at its beauty. His knee shoves in beside you, his lips dancing and plying yours. The tip of his tongue darts between your lips, salt and tang from your blood, your cum, a heady concoction as he tangles it with yours.

One hand claws into your neck, trapping you, pinning you to his ravenous mouth.

Those fingers conjure magic inside you. Twisting and thrusting, sweeping through every ridge inside you just the way you like. It’s a dance, the darting of tongue timed in perfect rhythm with the pumping of his fingers and the scoring of his thumb on your clit. His humming, growling into your mouth. “Oh, so wet and tight, if only I could feel that same release…”

You smile into his kiss, your hand grazing lightly against the cool, clenching muscles of his chest. Stroking, scratching your nails down to the edge of his trousers, you barely brush over where his erection stretches against the straining fabric. Those hips buck into your palm, making you press against as much of his length as you can hold. He grinds into you, his breath heavier than ever, you can almost feel his cock hardening, tightening, his every movement chasing his own release. You ease your fingers away, stroking just a single finger over the edge of his waistband, feeling the soft skin of his seeping head bursting out the top.

“Me first, darling,” you breathe between his fangs. “Then, you’ll have to choose…” you graze your hand down your neck, “…feed…” You grab that bulging cock, gripping it between your thumb and finger to run hard over. He grunts, fingers stilling inside you at the delicious, painful pleasure, “…or fuck, my love.”

“But first,” he hums, fingers renewed as he lightly tugs you clit, “you come.” It isn’t an observation. It’s an order. He pinches you, hand gripped into your neck, holding you fast as you do rip in two, rent apart to shatter in his hand.

You gasp, panting, trying to strain and arch as you writhe in exquisite bliss. His hand stays you, pressing you to his shoulder, savoring the way you clutch your hands around his side, letting you shudder and clench until you are still at last. His breath rattles in your ear, for as relaxed and limp as you feel, his body writhes with his fervent need, bound and cramping with his unsated hunger. “Is it… my turn?” he hisses, teeth already scraping your neck, hands pawing your hair back to reveal that pale flesh he craves.

“Say please,” you give a single laugh, one you swallow the instant you feel his hands raking up your body, palming your breasts and plucking your straining nipples.

He swirls his tongue, bringing your breast into his mouth, one hard suck makes you instantly flush and writhing again. “Please,” he purrs around your nipple. Fire floods your veins, his lips and hands kneading you, molding you as he waits for your command.

All you can do is clutch your hands into those locks, cradling him softly, moaning your assent. “Yes, my good, good darling, yes.” You tilt your head again, waiting for his fangs to mark you, to claim his well-earned reward.

But the second you feel his low-throated chuckle on the top of your breast, you gasp, your breath burning in your lungs. Fangs slice into the sensitive softness, his fingers plucking and twirling your nipples even as he feeds from the blood that runs down into the valley of your chest.

He laps at you, greedily, famished, growling with little noises as he drinks from you, his consort. His love.

But you feel that power begin to shift, that possessive edge crawling under his skin with every suck of his lips and every clasp of his fingers around the fullness he caresses.

“Enough,” you whimper, hands pushing at the broadness of his shoulders. He resists, another long suck on your breast, licking at the blood that bathes it. “Don’t be greedy,” you hiss, finally getting him to raise his face from your skin, his eyes glowing, insufferable and provoking as he licks his bloodied lips with a smile.

“Yes… my treasure,” he fights to reply, struggling to find that restraint. You can see him gritting his teeth, concentrating on moving his body off of yours. His eyes spark, barely bridled power almost tickling your skin, but he manages to stand before you. Before where you sit, naked on his throne. He lets the sight fill him, his chest rising and falling as he breathes in your scent.

“You’re so good,” you purr, slowly rising to your feet, feeling that surge of desire, of power swirling under his skin, as you stand just an inch away from him. “And if you stay good, I might even let you free this…” You clutch at his erection, palming it with a twisted smirk. Savoring the grunt he makes as you run that grip over his confined length. “Yes, that’s it, my sweet, sweet lover…” You stand on the tips of your toes, craning to whisper right in his ear. “How badly do you want to come, my love?”

“More than anything,” he growls, turning his face sharply towards you. “I’d give anything for you…”

“Anything is a lot, you know…” You smile, running your hand over his cock until you feel him shiver under your touch. That’s when the thrill hits you, the control, the power he has given you. It’s… intoxicating, that restraint he gives only for you. That trust he shares only in you. The weight of that responsibility sobers you for a moment, and you break, reaching for his neck encircled in your arms, pulling him down into your lips for a kiss. “And I’d give anything for you too,” you breathe into your hungry mouth.

“Not getting soft on me, are you?” he growls into your mouth, hips bucking into your waist. But the slight softness in his eyes makes your heart thrill, a look of total affection. Of love, swirling behind that veil of domineering power.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, not when you’re as hard as you are, my love,” you purr arching against his body. He’s rigid, careful. Watching your every little movement as he breathes heavily under your touch. You stroke him, that soft fabric of his breeches straining at the seams to be released. Fingers slowly draw the laces out, one by one, your nails dragging sharply over his skin, as inch by inch, you let out that straining cock. As inch by inch, he grows harder, more ravenous, under your featherlight, scoring touch. You finally let him out, making him shuffle off the rest of his clothing until he’s nothing but skin and fangs and a ravenous smirk before you.

“Sit,” you grip him by his arms, spinning his frame as you shove him into his own throne. His eyes flicker in delighted surprise, shifting his body in anticipation for yours to join him.

“Yes, darling,” he croons, giving his ass a clench that makes his cock twitch and pulse. And you can’t look away. You want this, so badly, your entire body trembles for him inside you, that heady concoction of your lust for him and his unwavering trust in you goes right to your head, and to your loins.

You calculate your every move, every sway of your hips, the way you let your hands caress your curves, tracing your fingers into your folds. And you savor that way he licks his lips, his eyes glossy with his need, his hands clenched into the arms of his throne. “You’re trying so hard to be good,” you purr, tossing your hair down your back, crossing to slowly straddle him. You wrap your hands around his length, so hard, pale marble beneath your fingers. You give it a slow stroke, his lips twitching as he gives a groan of pleasure. “You deserve some pleasure for all you’ve done for me,” you lean against his chest, catching his lips in a shallow kiss. “But you’ll have to ask me nicely before you come… darling.”

Astarion whimpers, his lips baring his fangs as you raise your folds above that seeping head of his. Letting your slick just barely graze over him. “Please,” he groans, a swiveling thrust of his hips into you, one you avoid as he tries to sheath into your wetness.

“Not yet,” you tutt, teasing that blunted tip over your clit as you moan, eyes shutting as you make yourself the perfect picture of reckless abandon. A swivel of your hips, a nibble of your lip, as you tear his cock between your thighs. So silken and so hard, you groan with each sweep of him you make down your seam, each tantilizingly shallow dip you give of it into the clenching walls of your channel.

“Darling,” he groans, thrusting up into you, claiming just a little more traction into your cunt, “please… can’t I at least touch you?”

His eyes are wide, hands still clutching at the golden filigree of his throne. You can see every muscle in his neck taught and straining, balancing on the edge of his submission and his overwhelming need to fuck you.

“You may,” you moan, cupping his cheek, “but remember… you only come when I say… darling…”

His brows tweak, pained, but his hands rake up your arms, ghosting over your shoulders to cup your breasts. Even where your blood is drying yet.

You moan, the little teasing of his fingers making your honey drip even more over his shaft. It’s too much for you. So you sink onto that stiff and pulsing member. He bites his lip, clawing his fingers into your flesh, eyes half-lidded as he gives a muffled groan. His breathing is harsh. Unsteady. And you flash him a devious smile, just sitting on his lap, letting your belly stretch to fit that long length of his. “Shhh,” you wipe the sweat that’s formed on his pale brow, “wouldn’t want to have anything this sweet end so quickly.”

“Of course,” he pants. “Not when it’s so deliciously painful…” his brows furrow in agony.

“Oh, the pleasure will be…” you sigh heavily, “far greater than the pain…” his lips smirk as he hears his own words thrown back at him in your lustful voice. “Once I let you have that pleasure, of course…”

His hands tingle, featherlight as they skate up and and down your sides, he softly holds your arms, bringing them to his neck. Reverent, gentle, despite the inferno that rages behind his eyes. He places a kiss against your arm as you brace yourself on his shoulders. “Take your time, my treasure,” he groans as you treat him to a canting of your hips on his lap, “just don’t forget about me…”

“Never,” you groan, not at the way he fills you, but at how his arms wrap snugly around your waist. As if he can’t bring you any closer to him. You move, grinding up and down on him, riding that length as you look him square in the eyes. At how they glow, how they brim with unshed tears, so dilated and dark with his desire for you. At how the sweat begins to drip down his brows, his thin creases at the corners of his eyes deepening their grooves as he twists his face in relief. In the anticipation of his building pleasure.

But he barely blinks, that intensity boring into your soul. You bite your lips, riding the ridges of his cock through you, every sense of your body uniting with his as he gives you his everything. You can almost feel his ascended heart in his chest beating in yours.

Your fingers lock at the base of his neck, clawing into the silver tangles of his hair, even as it dampens with his sweat. You grind on him, keeping your pace agonizingly slow, his poor, neglected cock so hard and so thick, you know he’s not going to last long after what you’ve put him through.

But that only makes you smile harder, your breathing heavy between your grinning, slack lips.

“Hngf,” he groans as you give an extra hard slap of your cunt on him. “Please, my love,” he pants, nearly drooling with his unquenched lust. “You’ve had some fun…”

“Oh, just a little more,” you moan, “you wouldn’t deny me a little more fun, would you, my love?” You give a breathless laugh, reaching your hand around beneath you to grip those smooth, tight balls of his in your palm.

You feel him twitching inside you, his manhood in your palm so hard and tight. Ready to burst. After all, he has been good.

You look at his face, strained and red and sweating. You watch the way he can’t control his mouth, his tongue darting haphazardly over his teeth to lick his lips. His hips beneath you buck at random, hitching out of rhythm with how you ride his shaft. He has never been more handsome, your pleasure wave cresting at the mere sight of his unraveling.

“Please, please darling,” he’s panting, hand gripping so hard on your hips as you gyrate, you know he’s drawn blood. “You’re so good, so tight and wet. Please, let me come…”

You say nothing for a moment, letting your ears fill with the wet slap of your cunt on him. He begs you again, louder, his groans hurtling you into your own climax. You writhe. “Yes, darling,” you moan arching away from his chest. “Yes you may.”

His eyes go wide with your release, the centers so wide, so feral and unbridled. He shifts his ass to the edge, legs braced on the floor. Bouncing you, spearing you. Just that wild, growling, snapping desire is enough to shove you into orgasm. Every muscle grips around him deep inside you. You scream, pleasure tearing through you, but he doesn’t ease his pace.

No you’ve released him from his binds, set him free to fuck until he’s done. So you ride, you jounce, as he begins to hitch his pace. Arms clutch around your body, trapping you, supporting you as your own frame threatens to go limp in the aftershocks of your orgasm.

Astarion careens into you. “Thank you,” he moans, over and over again. His breathing rasps, fast and hot in your ear. Deafening you. Overstimulating you, making your neck and spine twitch as he slams into you over again. With one last grunt, the loudest of all, he fills you, the heat of his cum spurting and slipping out from your folds. “Thank you, darling…” he rests his head on your shoulder, an edge within him easing, slipping away.

Dissipating.

Dulling.

And then you feel him breathe. You can feel his heart beating into you as he holds you so tight.

Nothing but his absolute love, his submission, a pulsing rhythm between you. “That was…” he sighs, his breath cascading down your front.

“Delicious?” you offer, stroking your fingers through the damp curls of his silver hair.

He looks up slowly, eyes soft, that same subtle smile that you would see from before, the one that would play around his lips when it was just you two in those fleeting moments on the road. Those moments that made you both who you were. Just you and your rogue. “Precisely,” he purrs, catching your lips delicately in a kiss. “So delicious, I’m sure I’ll need another sampling…”

His kiss turns on the edge of a knife, consuming, tearing. All fangs and tongue in your mouth.

“Tut, tut,” you press your hands against his chest. “If you insist, then at least let me take you somewhere more.. comfortable. Somewhere I might spread you out… tie you up, for once.”

“Oh, darling,” he pouts his swollen lips with a langurous lick, “how could I say no?”

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

Thank you for the reblogs, likes, kudos, and comments 🥰. You are truly all darlings!

My Master List for more Astarion naughtiness

686 notes · View notes

ostricx · 9 months ago

Text

RITES OF SYSTERYA - PAUL X READER X FEYD

SINOPSYS:

In the realm of Thalassa, where the matriarchal order dictates tradition and honor, where war is the law, the next Empress is thrust into a tumultuous journey of love and duty. Tasked with the ancient rite of seeking a spouse beyond her planet's borders, she finds herself entangled in a complex web of affection and allegiance. As she navigates the treacherous waters of romance, torn between Paul, scion of a prestigious lineage, and Feyd, a formidable warrior, she grapples with the delicate balance between personal desire and social expectation. Duty, love and lust.

Warning: violence, blood, gore, romance, posterior smut, +18.

The characters are aged up to 18, Paul, and 20, Feyd. You are a 18 year old, too.

Prologue

Look past what lies before your eyes and you shall see the truth.

Duty serves humans well, keeping the animalistic instincts at bay, on a leash, for humans are not as evolved as they think they are. You knew that, you knew the importance of duty for your planet, for your sisters, for yourself...

Yet, the need to surrender was running deep into your core, calling you away from everything you know. Who are you to disrespect traditions? To see yourself above the duties that your mother and sisters had and are going to have to fulfill? Are you so selfish that you saw yourself as better than them? Above the needs of your family? Have you always been that shallow? That selfish?

Looking into the guts of the time kept you humble, YOU ARE NO ONE, but a small piece on an ocean of possibilities. A shadow of the past and a small peek in the future, something that doesn't exist and never will.

So, you walked, head high, the metal of your armor tickling at every step, it has never been so heavy, like a thousand of pounds attached to your body. Yet, you walked with grace, not as the warrior you are, but as the Filha you should be from now on. The War is the future, the present is filled with another kind of duty.

Not even a glance at the surroundings, you couldn't turn your head, look at the red ocean below, the waves hitting the palace's walls, you could feel it tremble, or was it you? It didn't matter either way.

Duty comes first, humanity comes first. Your mother will die, than you, and your sisters , and your daughter and her daughter. What lives is your name, your legacy, your culture. You are nothing.

Your sisters, all sat on the floor, stoic like a stone, following every step you took with their own eyes. Not even they can defeat time, no amount of training is enough to win over time, over death.

The Empress of the Systerya Matria, Zephyra Synara, stood up on her orlop, looking down at you. Piercing red eyes, staring into your soul. And you couldn't help but to think "Not even Her can defeat time, can overlook traditions, not even Her ignored duty", and, yet, you wanted to, you craved to run away, to live careless, to ignore what life wishes for you.

- Bow before your Empress.

You did as she said, not even a thought, the act is natural as breathing. When the Matriarca commands, you shall obey, for you're not different from your sisters. You are all the same, came from the same seed, will go to the same land.

One knee on the floor, on the other, your head sited. Taking your sword from its sheath, you extended your arms and offered Her your weapon. Never looking up. What is yours, is Hers, nothing less, nothing more.

- My life is yours, the Sovereign Matriarch of us all, and I shall fulfill my duty with honor and intelligence, for that is the reason of my existence. Please, bless my travel for it shall be long and full of dangers.

You couldn't look up, but you knew they were all looking at you, taking on every movement your body made, voluntary or not. They were judging you, judging your surrender to the traditions, judging how trustworthy you really are. So, you focused your mind into the bloody waves bellow, into the wind hitting your hair through the open hall, into the familiarity of the Urutaus singing in the sky, their laments so familiar to your ears. Fear is the mindkiller, breath in, breath out, when there's no fear, only you remain, an open mind for clear thoughts.

Duty calls you and you know its importance, so, why are you scared? Breath in, breathe out.

Then, you felt a hand pushing your head higher, the Empress locked Her eyes with yours, impossible to decifer. Regal in every bone. Breath in, breathe out.

- I bless your journey, my kid. As each one of us, you shall be successful and bring glory to our sisterhood.

She offered her hand and pushed you up for an embrace. All of the sudden, hundreds of voices started to yell "Glory to Systerya! Glory to the Matriarch! Glory to our Filha!", chanting together, blessing you, promising: duty brings glory. It's your time to shower us with your glory.

"Glory to our Filha! Glory to our Filha!"

The Empress freed you from the embrace, you didn't register when it happened, but there she was, holding your own sword at the top of your head.

- My voice is the voice of the One Above All, my words, are Hers, touching my skin, is touch Her sacred body.

The tip of the sword drew blood from your head, the red tinted your temples, your nose, your mouth. You tasted your own blood, it entered your mouth as you kept it open, regenerating what was lost.

- We bless your journey, Filha, for that's your purpose.

When the sword was offered back to you, the metal facing your core, you took it, drawing blood from your hands.

It was done. Now, you are no longer a Systeriarian or a Thalassian, you are no one until you give them what they want. For everyone out of the Empire, you are the heir of Systerya, a honarable daughter and the best warrior an army could ask, but for your sisters, for your Empress, you are nothing. You worth nothing from now on, not until you fufill your sacred duty.

"Glory to our Filha! Glory! Glory! Glory!"

Don't look around, don't look back, don't look down. Always to what lies in front of you.

Glory! Glory! Glory...

I don't want to write a character devoid of life, I want something the fits the Dune universe, that has substance to it.

#dune x reader #dune #dune part 2 #feyd rautha x reader #feyd x reader #paul atreides x reader #paul x reader

26 notes · View notes

slifarianhawk · 5 months ago

Text

Chapter 7: Shallow Roots (Normal P.O.V.)

I was wandering around a forest. It felt strange, almost unnaturally natural for me to be here. The small chirps of these weird, long red beaked birds surrounded me. The trees were massive. The forest dim and wet.

I walked what seemed aimlessly, but then in the center of the forest laid a small table covered with meats and plants. I felt my stomach growl. How long had it been since I had eaten?

I walked up to the table and sat down. There was a bowl of what I assumed to be zaytun peaches. I had only seen pictures of them in catalogs in the Kamisato main house. Sitting down, I hesitantly grabbed one and took a bite. It was much more sweet and tangy than I'd thought.

"They're good, right?" The deep female voice from my dreams said from behind me, "They were my favorite snack when this forest was my home."

I quickly turned my head and saw a lovely woman with deep black and forest green hair strode into the clearing. She was wearing relatively revealing clothing that was clearly meant for desert travel. But beyond her beauty, one thing stood out. Her eyes were glowing a harsh yellow.

"Yes, the peaches are delicious. Are they yours? If so, I deeply apologize for taking one without permission." I said, staring back at the juicy fruit.

"Fear not little one, I'm not mad I placed them out for this meeting. I must say your hair is as gorgeous as your father's." She said, reaching out her nails dragging through my hair

"You knew my father?" I asked curiously as my eyes carefully followed the woman.

Sitting at the other side of the table, she grabbed a peach, "I knew him and his family. They were a horrible set of humans bent on stealing the dendro dragons' power and bending her to their will. Your father was the only one who saw what monsters his family were."

"That's awful, hmm, what's this?" I said suddenly, feeling something cold and heavy form in my pocket.

I reached down and grabbed the sensation in my pocket. It was a sphere of some sorts. When I brought it up above the table, a confused look appeared on my face.

"More facts to show that you are your father's child," she said chipper in tone, but her eyes seethed, "He also had a hydro vision. The gods saw his thirst for justice for the dendro sovereign."

"Justice, huh? Ironic given what happened to him." I said, turning my head away.

"Apep felt his demise through the plants in that awful place. The dendro Dragon, who had decided to give humanity one more chance thanks to your father, wept that day. Its hatred towards humanity grew to insatiable bloodlust at that point and hid itself amongst the sands of the desert." The lady said, 'You have yet to ask me my name, little one."

"It felt irrelevant. After all, I'm not even awake, am I?" I said, looking straight ahead, staring the woman dead in her glowing eyes, "Isn't that right, mother?"

"When did you figure it out?" She asked, her voice unchanging.

"The moment I entered this place, the dendro energy pulsating through this dream, rather this sub plane of consciousness. It's yours, correct?" I asked, biting into my peach.

"You could tell that. So you are more closely entwined with our element. I believe you know exactly who I am, daughter." Her form and forest started to blow away into sand, "Seek me out, child. You will learn your place in this world."

I felt like I was swept away by a gale in the desert, the sting of the sands etched onto my body. Things were spinning, and I felt this bright light surge from behind my eyes. Then, the nausea set in.

I opened my eyes and jolted up. Quickly, I scanned the room I was in. The dim lights and the brass walls, the shitty creaky bed, I was in Meropide. A white sheet draped over my body.

I grabbed my stomach and bent over my bed. Thankfully, someone left a bucket next to me. Feeling the waves of nausea crash through my body, I hurriedly grabbed the bucket.

The next few moments were painful as I felt the mixture of bile and blood leave my lips. The smell made my stomach curl up tighter than it already was. There is no reminiscent taste of the sweet peach I had eaten in my dream moments ago.

After the storm of aliment passed, I noticed I wasn't in the infirmary. Rather, I was in my assigned dorm on a seemingly plastic tarp on my bed. There was no one next to me or in the room.

I saw that his grace had set the crate of items from Baizhu on the table in the center of the room. Wriothesley... his face flashed through my mind. Panic and sorrow filled his face when I last saw him. I made him promise me we'd have tea again.

I chuckled. Tea sounded so good at the moment. I wondered if he had an Inazumian ginger blend. Liyue had multiple good ginger blends, but they could never top Inazumas subtle numbing sensation.

I stood up shakily, but still I stood. Leaning on the wall, I slowly walked out of my cell. I had most of my weight against the cold metal. I felt the scratchy bandages against my skin as I walked.

"I'll need to thank Sigewinne for patching me up." I mumbled as I made it to the main causeway. The only people around were gaurdes. It was probably late.

I kept my head down and walked to the lift to take me to the main floor. I stumbled out of the lift as another wave of nauseating cramps hit. I let out a soft groan as I tried to hold back the building vomit.

"WHO'S THERE!?!" I heard a familiar voice shout near the cafeteria.

I crumpled to my knees from the force of the bile ejecting from my throat. I heard a few sets of metal soles running towards me. I curled in on myself as I heard a gasp and something shatter on the metal floor.

"YOU TWO GO FETCH HIS GRACE AND SIGEWINNE! OH ARCHONS SILVA!" The familiar voice shouted and ran over to me.

"Hey Sam... ugh damn what did I eat, right?" I chuckled, looking up at Sam, who wore a surprised expression.

"How is this even possible? How are you even walking around? Hell screw that question, how are you even alive?" Sam asked, helping me sit against the wall.

"You think that bastard renard could do lasting damage? Ha, I took worse injuries as a kid..." I coughed, and multiple bones cracked at once, "oof, that was pleasant."

I looked into Sam's eyes. They moved as if they were quickly examining my body, and then tears started to feel up. He was crying. Why?

"Hey, what's wrong? Geez, you're acting like someone died." I let out a weezing laugh.

"That's because someone did." Another familiar but much huskier voice said, "You, to be precise, Ms. Silva."

I felt a smile grace my lips, "Wriothesley, I was just coming to see you. I did make you promise, right? And how could I have died? I'm still breathing and moving about, right? Not to mention, i was promised tea right, your grace."

I saw what appeared to be relief in his grace's eyes, but the tone that was in his voice was one of almost abject horror. The relief quickly left as a stern look presented itself. He stared into my eyes as if trying to figure out some puzzle.

"Sir, you should bring her to your office. I'll have maintenance clean up this vomit." Sam said as Wriothesley nodded.

"Come on, Silva. I bet you're starving after all you've been comatose for about a week and a half." Sam said, pulling me up and helping me drape my arm over Wriothesley's neck.

"Not to mention dead for the past three hours." His grace said as we started towards the oh so comforting massive doors of his office.

Once we entered the office, I heard soft sobbing. It was definitely feminine and quiet. The gentle tone only reminded me of one person, Sigewinne.

"Come on, upsie daisy." Wriothesley lightly chuckled when we arrived at the stairs.

I felt my lips curl upwards, "Yes, Wriothesley."

We slowly made it up the stairs. When we reached the top, I saw Sigewinne and Monsieur Nuevillette sitting on the worn-out old sofa. She was definitely crying.

"Hey Sigewinne, I found a patient that needs to be looked at." Wriothesley said kinda bluntly.

"Your grace, I don't think I can currently." She choked out as the Iudex rubbed her back.

"Please, Ms. Sigewinne, I haven't stopped throwing up since I woke up." I said, and as soon as I spoke, both her and Nuevillette's head shot up.

I hardly noticed the Iudex's reaction. My eyes were drawn to Sigewinne and how her streaming eyes widened at the sight of me. It was barely a second later when she ran over and hugged me.

"How! I check your pluses and breathing like four times! We did cpr for about fifteen minutes!" She cried, holding me.

"I'm sorry, I worried you so much, Sigewinne." I bent down to fully hug her.

When I bent down, loud crunching and snapping noises came from my back. Sigewinne looked horrified. I felt no pain, but I could tell she wanted to look at my back. She quickly ran behind me. When she lifted my shirt, there was a substantial thud on the floor.

"Why were you covered in branches?" She asked.

"You discovered something, didn't you, Ms. Silva." Monsieur Nuevillette asked, walking over towards me.

"I saw her... my mother. I think she's a Dendro Elemental." I said, noticing a hydro vision on a chain on the coffee table, "That's my vision, right?"

"Yes, it is, but how did you see your mother? You've been in a coma since I saved you." Wriothesley said, picking up the vision.

"Higher up elementals can sometimes produce sub planes of existence, your grace," Nuevillette said, his strange eyes staring straight into mine, "Please hand Ms. Silva her vision."

Wriothesley simply nodded and walked over to me. His expression was grim, but as he approached, it softened greatly. He extended his hand and set the vision in my palm.

"You said you believe your mother was a dendro elemental. Ms. Silva, you weren't being completely honest with us. Were you?" Monsieur Nuevillette said.

I lowered my head and bit my lip, "No sir, she didn't even fully confirm her identity. I just knew by the way she spoke about her and my dad's past in a third-person perspective."

"Wriothesley, Sigewinne, why don't you both go grab some food for yourselves and Ms. Silva. I need to have a private word with her." Nuevillette said, standing in front of Wriothesley's desk, his hands clasped tight on his cane.

They nodded and made their way down the stairs. I could tell by the energy permeated throughout the air that wasn't a suggestion. Rather, it was an order.

Once the doors slammed shut, the Iudex motioned for me to sit on the couch. The pressure this man was exuding was terrifying. It was different from the kind facade he wore. It was similar to hers, to the being I just saw in that dream. I sat as he began to speak.

"Tell me, Silva. You only just found out your mother is the dendro sovereign, correct?" He asks, turning to face me his lilac eye standing out.

"Yes, sir, at least that's what I'm lead to believe. The only name she mentioned was Apep and how that Apep felt when my father passed." I hung my head.

"What did she tell you to do? Dragons are fickle, and Apep has a very strong distaste for humanity." Nuevillette said, turning a kettle on.

"Seek me out, child. You will learn your place in this world." I spoke, repeating my mother's words, "I'm not even sure if I could at this time. That person who stabbed me on the road is still out there."

"It is quite off-putting, to be in the same room as a sovereign progeny. I'm remiss with myself for not telling that you were sooner." He said, sitting next to me.

"Please, Monsieur, to be fair from what I've read on dragons in general, they are quite territorial. I'm glad that you haven't acted that way. You are like my mother, right? The hydro energy in the air is comparable to my dream with her." I said, burying my face into my hands.

"Yes, little hatchling. You're correct, but unlike Apep, I have a genuine love for humanity." He ran his thumb over the gem in his cane, "I must apologize, I feel that if I had shown up sooner the day you were injured."

I simply put my hand up, "If you had, I probably wouldn't have met Apep or gained my vision. It's obvious Celestia has plans for me, even if it's spiting her. I feel like I have somewhere I belong. Even when I was in Liyue, I felt I was on the outside. Yet here in an underwater prison, just waking up from being apparently dead. I feel more at home than ever."

My mind raced to Wriothesley and Sigewinne. Then Sam popped his head in my thoughts. I looked up, and Nuevillette had a smile that was reminiscent of Zhongli. I wonder if they were told, Zhongli and Baizhu.

"You have planted your roots here, young hatchling. While they barely have scratched the surface, I've seen the impact your short time here has had. The way Sigewinne tried so hard to bring you back." Nuevillette looked deep in thought.

"Monsieur, I want to stay in Fontaine when I'm released. Do you believe that's possible?" I asked as the door opened.

"I'll see what I can do to help you find somewhere. After all, I do believe you were born on your parents' herb farm, and that makes you a Fontainian." He said, "but let's discuss those matters later. You need some form of nutrition. Hopefully, Wosley was awake, and they didn't just pull to random dishes from the fridge."

"What kind of man do you think I am Nuevillette? I wouldn't give someone who just returned from the dead some suspicious food. Wosley was actually doing prep. He was more than happy to whip something special for Silva." Wriothesley said, setting a meal box in front of me.

As if on cue, my stomach let out a loud growl. I blushed and opened the box. The smell was heavenly. When I gazed down, I noticed there was a glistening broth that was extremely clear with a nest of herbs on top.

"Seeing as you haven't eaten in over a week, I told Wosley to make you something easy for you to digest." Sigewinne said, sipping one of her infamous milkshakes.

I grabbed the spoon that was next to the box and slowly took a sip of the soup. I felt my stress melt away as the herbs danced on my tongue. The consúme was a delicious and delicate texture.

Wriothesley poured the water in the kettle into various tea cups he had lined up, grabbing an extra one from the cupboard. I could tell he was trying to hide his glance at me. Maybe he felt guilty for what happened to me.

"Silva, what type of tea would you like?" His grace asked.

"Ginger tea," I chuckled, "Inazumian, if possible."

"Would you look at that? I have exactly enough left for us all to have some." He said, pulling down a jar with four bags.

After about thirty minutes my food was gone and everyone had finished their tea. Nuevillette had left stating he had a full day tomorrow. Sigewinne finished checking my body. Once she was satisfied, she said for me to get some rest that the doctor they had contacted for my coma should arrive tomorrow.

At that, she told Wriothesley to bring me to my room. He nodded, and she left.

The walk to my dorm was quiet. Wriothesley wore a sullen face. Once we arrived, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me into an embrace.

He smelled of bergamot and a pine beach. His suit was a course texture, but the feeling was pleasant against my skin. I heard it. His heart was beating strong and on rhythm.

"Thank you, Silva." He said, pulling me closer for a brief second.

"For what your grace?" I asked as his bandaged hands loosen their grip.

"For allowing me to keep my promise. Please try and sleep. You don't have to worry about anything. I had the ones that hurt you kept in a separate portion of Meropide. They won't be able to hurt you." Wriothesley said as he leaned close.

"I said I keep my promises, right? I hold the people I make promises to the same standard." I mutter as I feel my face heat up.

At this distance, I noticed all the small scars along his face and collar. It only solidified my thoughts on how gorgeous and handsome he was. The way his icy eyes looked so ironicly warm in this moment was causing fluttering in places that hadn't since been mine and Ayato's small romance in my teen years.

"Sleep well, Silva. I'll have Sigewinne or Sam bring you breakfast. I need you to get your strength back. I'm not teaching you to fight in your condition." He chuckled as he walked away.

I lay in the bed on the wall opposite my own bed. I didn't think laying down in the bed I was dead in, not even six hours. I felt my eye slowly sink closed. Wriothesley's scent lingering on my clothes very lightly. It made my face ease up as I drifted to sleep.

#wriothesley x oc #wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #genshin impact fanfics #genshin x reader #genshin impact #romance

10 notes · View notes

yeehaw-in-magic-space · 1 month ago

Text

Session 6a: Part 2/5

The last place the Cloaked Figure showed Chuck and Dolly was the road out of town. On either side of the path, there were several shallow graves. Some of them had pitchforks or bayonets over them to prevent anything from leaping out of its grave, others had old cowbells rigged to string to signal if anything did manage to rise from death. The Cloaked Figure told them that most of the towns on this planet were suffering from a crop blight that combined with King Barley’s obsessive hoarding of resources to cause mass death. That’s where the spirits were coming from, but it was also just leaving a tragic trail of bodies.

At this point, the Cloaked Figure directed them to the road itself: on the other side of the makeshift cemetery was a relatively safe path that would lead them back to Barley’s mansion in just a few days. They could steal a ship and slip away without anyone noticing. Chuck and Doly could tell that they were being tested. They explained that not only did they already have a plan that they hoped to carry out once they reunited with the other half of their traveling party, but after seeing the state of this town they had no desire to leave it to rot in King Barley’s hands. The Cloaked figure smiled, and said that she’d be happy to help them carry out their plan if they did a small favor for her. Lodging came free, but they would have her full abilities at their disposal in exchange for helping her with her final task in town.

Chuck seemed surprisingly open minded to the idea, but asked what the favor would be. Dolly was more curious than she was afraid in that moment and waited to hear more information. The Figure explained that she intended to trap the largest collection of ghosts from this town and take them with her when she went off-world. She wouldn’t say what she intended to do with them, only that they were better off in her hands than wandering free. Dolly attempted to gain insight on the woman’s plan and detected uncertainty in her features: either she worried her plan wouldn’t work, or she wasn’t sure exactly what the fate of the spirits would be.

Chuck and Dolly inquired about the incident on the train. The Cloaked Figure explained that she had come to this world and seen that it was ravaged by specters when she decided to take action. She asked the people of various towns if she could borrow a small collection of spirits, then brought them to fight off Barley’s outlaws and the Sovereign Cavalry so she could steal some food that would to deliver to the townsfolk. When Dolly got the sense that she was telling the truth, the two of them readily agreed to aid the Cloaked Figure in her task.

The Cloaked Figure was in good spirits after they accepted her proposal and invited them to eat with her. She guided them to an abandoned shack on the edge of town where she had set up a pair of bedrolls, some candles, and had begun cooking a meager pot of soup. The soup was mostly water with an old potato and the remainder of whatever was in yesterday’s soup for flavor. Dolly was hesitant to accept the meal due to the fact that it looked terrible, but the Cloaked Figure warned her she wasn’t going to get a better meal anywhere else in town. Dolly reluctantly began to eat as Chuck was finishing slurping his portion up through his proboscis.

Dolly made a small comment to Chuck about the flavor, at which point Chuck revealed that he tastes much differently than she does. It wasn’t just taste, but also scent and feeling that factored into how he experienced food. He strained his psionic abilities to share the sensation with her, at which point she started compelling Chuck to eat random things so she could experience them as well. This included pieces of the cheap hat her company had provided her with.

The Cloaked Figure watched the two of them curiously, but the display seemed to bring her guard down as well. She had planned to invite them to stay the night, but she was short a bedroll. Chuck responded to this by walking to the edge of the room, pulling the jacket tab that made all his clothing fall away, and nestling inside of the pile of clothing while watching the entrance. Dolly took the other bedroll, and the three of them drifted off to sleep.

Dolly had disturbing dreams: she imagined people she had seen die and twisted visages of people she had once known and had the taste of blood and bile in her mouth as if these visages were consuming her, and she in turn was consuming them. She bolted upright early in the morning. The Cloaked Figure was already gone, but Chuck hadn’t changed positions the entire night. She asked Chuck if he had slept or had any interesting dreams, and he explained that he also experienced sleep differently. He didn’t really dream, and only part of his brain needed to focus on sleep while the rest kept watch. Dolly took in yet another piece of interesting information about her traveling companion, but chose to keep her dreams to herself.

#dungeons & dragons #dungeons and dragons #d&d #d&d 5e #ttrpg #tabletop rpgs #tabletop roleplaying #tabletop gaming #space western #space fantasy #fantasy horror #storytelling #writing #creative writing #yeehaw in magic space

4 notes · View notes

melodic-haze · 6 months ago

Note

Here is a question to get your brain pumping and ready to start yapping for the day. What characters do you like, or even love, that you feel aren't talked about in the community or with friends as much as they should be? Or to put it simply, underrated.

Mine are Kujou Sara and Natasha. Sara having the prettiest design in GI imo, and I'm willing to lose a limb in a heartbeat if it meant getting healed by Natasha.

As always, have a great day, and if it's already not going so well, hope it gets better.

-🍎

You're so sweet I'm tired as hell from today though I just got out of work 😭😭 but thank you :3 I HOPE YOU HAD A NICE DAY TOO

Anyway onto the ACTUAL ask!!! Mmmmmmm I could be SUPER biased with one of these but I actually have a handful: Yae Miko, Kokomi, and Lisa. I don't have any from HSR bc I'm not really involved in the fandom, but those three are my DEFINITES in Genshin, ESPECIALLY Kokomi. I'll explain utc bc this is SO FUCKING LONG (laughed) but do keep in mind that like I haven't played Genshin in a while, haven't kept up with the events minus some spoilers I glanced upon

Unless I've been a blind bat the entire time, you no longer really see Kokomi being discussed en masse. Before she actually APPEARED in game, you had that huge debate going on about whether she was going to end up being the hydro sovereign and that she was going to be this morally-grey strategic leader who believed that the end justified the means. I could have expected too much, but really? No, considering all the shit Hoyo could pull (literally look at Fontaine and their constant loredrops), they could've done SO much better. I think the issue was that Inazuma was so atrociously written, as much as it IS my favourite region, and that unfortunately Mexican waved over to the characters themselves too

She seemed RELEVANT to the lore, with her constellation and the whole thing with Enkanomiya. But her importance was so quickly pushed aside by possibly the worst character butchering I've ever seen for all the buildup they did, and now any other theory relating to her being less than human's been axed bc of Fontaine (all the love to the nation and Neuvi I suppose but I'm really salty about this) and the constant push that she's just a normal human being. Maybe I'm wrong, maybe Hoyo's just pushing the "Kokomi is normal and plain" agenda really hard to surprise us all later and ai wouldn't put it past them but rn? She's essentially faded and forgotten for the most part, being brushed aside as a girl who got pushed to be a leader and is going all Atlas complex (which isn't a bad thing btw, it's just the fact that they hyped her up as the Shogun's most formidable opponent only for it to fall flat) and it's. REALLY sad for me considering how she was actually my MAIN reason why I kept playing for a while

Onto Yae Miko, who faces the same issue that Kokomi does in the sense that due to said atrocious writing, she suffered for it. I think I picked her not only bc of how ofc Inazuma's basically being swept under the rug beyond the events they do bc it was THAT fucking bad, but also due to the Constant Fucking Discussions of character misinterpretation and her queercoding

Thank you twt for all the threads made about Yae Miko's depth in character, but Inazuma itself is fading into obscurity to the point that all the stuff you really see being talked about her is how manipulative she is and how she uses people cuz idk she's evil ig. Do? People? Not know? What 'morally grey' is? Or what 'priorities' are? Maybe she's talked about more than the other two that I've picked, but she isn't talked about in a flattering light for the most part!!!!!! Which is such a shame bc Miko's characterisation is so beautifully complex (at least to me) and all of that's just thrown aside for the sake of "haha flirty evil femme fatale" when there's so much more you could say about her that doesn't describe her as evil and shallow

Lastly is Lisa!!!! My og lesbian!!!!!!! My og loml!!!!!!!!! Who doesn't get talked about a lot unless someone's out ranting about how Lisa was being a creep lol. GOD I have such a gripe against her issue

I get that Mond's also basically fading to obscurity, not bc of bad writing but rather bc of how it was the first ever region you get. Though even when I say that, I do remember seeing someone complain about how Mond sucks bc of exactly that, which......that's the point. One of the complaints wuwa got (sorry wuwa) was the Constant Stream Of Infodumping basically two seconds after you boot up the game. Mond is sparse and simple bc it eased you into the game gently instead of throwing you into hell in the get-go. Unfortunately, it's exactly bc of that that Mond's, again, fading into obscurity too

So this part applies to the other Mond characters too, though the reason why I chose Lisa was bc of the whole debate of whether she's weird or not due to her penchant for flirting with the Traveller. Ofc everyone has their own objective opinion on the matter, and being uncomfortable with her lines is perfectly okay!! This isn't me saying those who feel uncomfy are the ones who are weird or anything, this is me saying that Lisa is so much more beyond what you see initially. She was the Akademiya's genius before she left, got a Vision by just 'what if'ing it one day, has to be lazy or else she can so easily destroy a wide area just cuz idk her feelings went overdrive or something!!!!! Not to mention the whole "she might die soon" thing 🫠🫠🫠

Ofc I also chose these chrs bc like. I LOVE them with my whole heart and would happily kiss them when given the chance, but my opinions run DEEEEPER than just "they're silly to me". Just saying, they should be talked about SO much more than they are rn, as much as I get that we've more than moved on from the regions they're in. Who knowd, maybe Hoyo will actually idk propose to me or smth by making them all relevant the moment I come back on, but I'm not really hopeful atm

#hazy segments!#anon fandom: 🍎!#can you tell how mad i am about kokomi

2 notes · View notes

waltwhitmansbeard · 2 years ago

Note

mfl Vaxleth + understanding each other without words perhaps?

read what came before this.

turned my water into wine #12

For the sovereign's birthday, it seems all of the Ashari Nation gathers in Zephrah at once. There are hundreds of guests, nobles and diplomats and dignitaries and anyone with the money or connections to secure an invitation to celebrate the occasion. There is still a war going on, of course, so security is heightened, and as a result Vax has been plucked from his usual position, five feet behind the princess, to instead stand in the shadows of the ballroom stage upon which half an orchestra plays so that he may keep constant vigilance over the sea of well-dressed revelers.

(He is, of course, still a man with a mission, and more often than not, his eyes are on her, where she is, who is speaking to her. When a hand comes from nowhere to grip her elbow, his own flies to his dagger, until he realizes oh, it is only Master Gilmore, whispering what is sure to be some ridiculous comment in her ear designed to make her laugh. Still, he watches closely. He always watches closely.)

Observing a party is far more tedious than participating in one. Vax watches these rich, titled people slip further and further into their cups, their movements and words becoming sloppy, but he supposes that in a time of war, even the most privileged must take the opportunity to let loose. It makes keeping a weathered eye out more difficult, though, as the once small groups of interlocutors coalesce into a much larger mass.

After several hours, he realizes he hasn't laid eyes on her in some time, so he scans the crowd, gaze skipping from head to head until he spies a burst of red hair adorned with a crown of gold and roses. She is pressed against the wall of stained glass windows, spine straight in the way he has learned conveys discomfort. She is gripping the stem of a goblet for dear life, and he can see from here the shallow rise and fall of her chest as she breathes too quickly. She never did care for crowds.

She must sense his stare, because her eyes flick up to meet his. They are wide, even from this distance. He tilts his head in a clear question—Are you alright?—and she merely presses back harder against the glass.

His instinct is to go to her, moth to a flame, but this is his post for the evening, and he cannot abandon it. He looks about again for who might help, and mercifully, Lord Percival is just to the left of the stage, chatting with some noble in Terran dress that Vax has never seen before. He leans down to murmur as quietly as he can, given the music, "Lord Percival, a word?"

Lord Percival looks up at him, surprised, but must see something of concern in his eyes. He excuses himself from the noble and approaches. "Vax'ildan? Is something the matter?"

"The princess seems..." He chooses his words carefully. "...as if she could use some fresh air." He nods in the direction of the windows. "Perhaps a friend could help her out?"

He doesn't need to spell it out, thank the gods. Lord Percival nods once. "Of course. Thank you, Vax'ildan." For the briefest moment, Vax gets the impression that Lord Percival would like to say something else, but then he is gone, melted into the crowd. Vax resumes his post, and just a few moments later, Lord Percival reappears on the other side of the room, just at the princess's side. He says something to her, and Vax watches her stiff posture sag in relief. Her goblet is abandoned on a nearby table, and Lord Percival escorts her out of the ballroom onto the terrace on the other side of the stained glass windows.

Vax cannot see them out there, not with so many flickering candles bringing the ballroom into near daylight, so he continues to watch, eyes darting to the exit every minute or so. Finally, after what feels to be ages but was surely only ten minutes, the two return, and the princess's entire demeanor is changed. Vax was right; the fresh air took the edge off of her anxiety, and she seems far more relaxed, an easy smile on her face now. From all the way across the ballroom, she meets his eye, and though he knows it shouldn't, his breath catches in his throat. She nods her thanks to him, and he gives the smallest bow in return, not eager to draw any attention to himself. She and Lord Percival then return to the crowd to mingle, and Vax is left to his watching once more.

#critcal role #critical role fic #cr fic #vaxleth #vaxleth fic #vaxleth au #vox machina #vox machina fic #vox machina au #tlovm #tlovm fic #my fair lady #my fic #turned my water into wine

30 notes · View notes

daybreakrising · 10 months ago

Text

Beisht has, in her long years, become very good at listening. So much can be gleaned not just from the words someone chooses, but the manner in which they are spoken. Her sovereign's heart is true, that much is clear to her now. He has not forgotten the wrongs wrought upon their kin, has not cast aside the resentment for the Heavens in the face of his new role in this world. That is enough for her.

She sheds the remainder of her human disguise like a second skin, exhales a breath of relief as she is freed from the confines of the mortal form. Humanoid she remains, but her presence shifts, expands, and relaxes. Dragons were never meant to be caged in primitive forms, and even in this bipedal body she longs for the freedom of her true vessel.

"That's the thing about humans," she utters, exhaling a sigh that is equal parts knowing and pitying, "they will never stop needing someone to guide them. Be careful not to trap yourself into that which has no end." There is an edge of warning to her words, but it is blunted by the softness of her tone - not unlike the gentle concern of a friend.

Her gaze falls to the hand now revealed before her, and her lips curve into a smile. I'll show you mine; you show me yours. It is no wonder he keeps them covered, she muses, looking upon that blueish tint. The people of Fontaine have long debated the origins of their Chief Justice - she could only imagine the talk, were they to see what lay beneath those fine gloves.

In a move that is, perhaps, a little too bold, she takes that hand between both of her own. She can feel the dragon beneath, feels his power call to hers. There is a temptation there, a brief impulse to use her empath abilities, to dig deeper and to learn more, but she resists. For now.

"Stubborn indeed." She agrees, pointed teeth flashing in a quick, easy grin. "You and I are fine examples, are we not?" She dances back, lets his hand fall from hers. "How long has it been, hydro dragon, since you last took solace in the depths? Or do you resist the pull of the ocean, resign yourself to watching only from your windows, to paddling in the shallows?"

There is a challenge in her gaze, now. "Circumstance may have trapped you in this form, but I hope you have not allowed yourself to be tamed."

Neuvillette opens his mouth to protest - and closes it almost instantly, well aware that there is nothing to protest against. One does not so easily undo centuries of pent-up resentment, of unspoken grief towards the Heavens and their creations; even as accustomed to them as he a grown, even after four centuries of feeling his own heart shift and weep for those children (for this is what they are: children, abandoned and orphaned)... an old instinct remains. A distance, perhaps, that is not meant to fade. And yet... she had left them in his care, when she had returned his authority to its rightful owner, had she not?

By proclaiming them innocent, he had, by the same verdict, accepted to be the guide she could no longer be.

Draconic gaze returns to Beisht, she who seems to understand his plight and dilemma better than he does himself (what have the past few centuries been like for her, he wonders -- how come her own wrath had subdued, replaced by this amused and melancholy fondness he thinks he detects in her voice, her eyes?). He sighs.

"I do not know." He admits, curious eyes detailing the familiar glowing mark that materialises upon her brow, the very same he has boldly embroidered upon the palms of his gloves like a silent provocation to the blind heavens. "The same thing I have been doing for the past four hundred years, I assume. They have just experienced a rebirth of their own, the Archon they sought to for comfort and stability departed... I believe I can understand their confusion." Had he not been in a similar situation, over a thousand years prior? "You and I both know what it means, to err without direction. I shall continue to embody the justice they aspire to, until they no longer need me to uphold this position."

A moment of hesitation, and the Iudex, slowly, pulls at the fingers of one of his gloves, ridding his hand of the fabric to reveal hand too pale, tinted with with what would be a familiar blue-ish glow only to one like Beisht. He had been reborn in human form, but the dragon living beneath always seems ready to burst at the seams of what he once considered a grotesque costume and a cage. "My time as Fontaine's Iudex was only ever meant to be a temporary stop in my long existence. I have not forgotten our kin, Lady Beisht. Centuries or millenia may come to pass, but our kind possesses a stubborn memory, as you very well know."

#apocryphis #muse; beisht (genpact)#source; g.enshin #v; the kingdom of the sea is ours to reign (main)#;beisht & neuvi tbt #( i'm so sorry neuvi. she's a menace )

13 notes · View notes

lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 2 years ago

Note

For black butler mind make a general hc of the two Indian guys ( who's name always difficult to pronounce but fun to try ) falling in love with a distant cousin of Ciel

I feel like back then it is so easy to just claim you were somebody's relative

Like just make up some loose reason as to why you were considered family

And no one could really disprove it

Anyway your coming to your cousin’s vacation home for an event

Here you’ll meet Soma and Agni thinking nothing of it

Soma

Is immediately infatuated as he gets easily attached

Maybe you’ll touch his arm while passing

or even expressing an interest in him

He’s obsessed

instructing Agni to find out where you live

How long you’re staying with Ciel

“(Y/n)! I have an important question. Would you marry me?”

Once he’s aware of his feelings he acts like the bratty prince he is

He’ll ask you nicely all the time

Outside your window

Inside your house

constantly following you asking and asking

Eventually he will stop asking

And one day you’ll wake up on a boat and him happily exclaiming

“We’re going to my home to get married!!”

He really is a delusional yandere

even when you kick and scream he’ll simply ask Agni to help you calm down

“You’ve been so fussy lately…maybe you're hungry! Agni!”

Agni

So dutiful to his master his sovereign

That is until you come along

He isn’t as shallow quick as his master to fall

You’ll strike him as simply another beautiful person fated to cross his path

Until everything reminds him of you

The way that tea is poured…(Y/n)’s lips blowing on it before handing it to him.

The corset that British lady is wearing…(Y/n) wouldn’t wear that but they’d look divine if they did

The top hat Sebastion has on…(Y/n) would have playfully swiped it

That mustache on that fellow…would have made (Y/n) pout

“By the Gods!!! They plague my every thought!!”

He’s so confused by this feeling that he will most certainly seek advice or accept it when offered

If he goes to Sebastian as a fellow khamadran, maybe he would be helpful

“I don’t know what has come over me? Perhaps they are a demon sent to torture me for all of my wrongs!”

The actual demon butler would chuckle and assure him that's not the case

“Mayhaps you find them attractive, as I know it the symptoms you described support the idea: that you are in love.”

While I can see Sebastian reporting this discovery to Ciel it depends on how he takes it

If Ciel is cool with such a powerful human dedicating himself to you than he’ll find no resistance on his end

But I doubt it considering Ciel knows his extreme devotion would trump whatever he has for you

On the otherhand if Soma should realize his attraction he’ll surprisingly help

“You do so much for me now I can help you!”

Because he’s only ever going to do anything to obtain you at Soma’s command

He will worriedly take his master’s delusional advice

So when you wake up in Soma’s palace shackled in extravagant chains

Agni will bashfully stand to the side while his master proudly welcomes you to your new home

“Welcome (Y/n)! This will be your permanent home after your union!”

“U-union?”

“To me, (Y/n) I’ve fallen quite deeply for you and would be more than honored if someone of your high caliber would give me your hand.”

#yandere x reader #yandere x you #yanderexrea #lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yandere kuroshitsuji #yandere black butler #yandere soma #yandere agni #yandere headcannon #yandere headcanons

266 notes · View notes

vasiktomis · 3 years ago

Text

WIP Day

Tagged by: @honeysides, @redreart and @shallow-gravy thank u darlins!

Tagging: @turbo-virgins, @writerofblocks, @johnnycranes, @scungilliwoman, @cobb-vanthss, @strafethesesinners, @chyrstis, @florbelles, and @adelaidedrubman, and feel free to tag me if you haven’t been!

Below the cut for Arcane nonsense of Silco and Vida. I am hereby throwing everyone in the deep end without context. ❤️

“In return for my services — and my silence — I want in.”

“There it is. Ever the opportunist.” Silco rolled his eyes. “So, without even knowing the investment, you want a cut?”

“You’re yet to assure me it wouldn’t be worth it.” Vida reminded him.

“For the sake of humouring you — what services would you offer?”

“In the short term? Surveillance topside. I hear you’re looking for someone.”

“I have Marcus for that.”

“And with someone else handling part of his workload, he might actually be able to be worth his cut. I, meanwhile, come free.”

Silco considered that with a purse of his lips. “And in the long term?”

“Pending both our success, your operation would be granted free movement through Bilgewater’s ports. Given the nature of your product, as well as tightened security around the Hexgates, I expect remaining off the books would be valuable to you. This would be in exchange for our uninterrupted usage of your waters as trade routes inland.”

“Pending success.”

“Think of it as an investment.” Vida explained. “The future governance of Bilgewater would like to extend a friendly hand to our coastal neighbours, and that wouldn’t exclude Zaun, should it achieve independence. We would be the first region to recognise you as a sovereign nation, and given Runaterra’s economic dependence on our little port as a whole, it wouldn’t be difficult for other regions to see merit in following suit. Your establishment as a self-governing body would be accelerated, and you would be able to enjoy the luxury of less…opportunists.”

The corner of Silco’s mouth ticked. “You’d invade us if I refused you.”

“Oh, Silco. You wound me.” The woman dramatised a hand to her heart. “But there’s only so much land you can occupy as an island nation. If the vulnerable budding nation of Zaun were to falter, Bilgewater would be obliged to step in for the sake of the global economy.”

“I refuse.”

Vida smiled pleasantly, though not before the muscles in her face flashed a single degree more sharply. A predator denied the meal it deemed itself deserving of. ”You refuse.”

“Why would I invest in hypotheticals? Until you actually assume power in your godforsaken city, your threats fall flat.” Silco said, crossing one leg over the other, comfortably leaning back in his seat. “I’ll take your surveillance offer — no charge, as promised — and you’ll be allowed to live. As for future arrangements, we have none. Make no mistake, Leviathan, the moment I have what I want, your usefulness will have run its course, and your welcome will expire.”

“And what of my potential to let slip that the root of all of Piltover’s problems was taking up residence in this building?” Vida’s smile had grown curious.

“Dandtra, your bid was too generous from the start.” Silco sighed, more concerned with cutting a new cigar than looking at her. “Free surveillance? Grand promises? You know what that tells me?”

“That I’m a generous woman, and a bloody good friend.”

“You’re a liar is what you are.” Silco shot back with just a little too much poison. “But you want something I have, and judging by your…overzealous offers, it’s valuable enough to you that taking it from me is a degree kinder than taking it from someone else. It’s in your best interest to be in my good graces, and I, for one, will ‘enjoy the luxury’ of denying you.”

Vida’s head inclined at that. She studied him for a moment. “Spare yourself the words, Silco. Just say you have a grudge.”

“Admittedly, the grovelling is nice.” The man shrugged a disaffected shoulder, flicking at his lighter and drawing in a mouthful of smoke. “My answer won’t change. Not unless you can offer me something tangible.”

He exhaled, punctuating the end of their conversation with a glance in Sevika’s direction. Vida’s following look at least marked that she could take a hint. “Until then, do try not to die on your way out of my city, and enjoy your stay topside. You did always covet the place, after all.”

Vida brushed out the creases in her trousers as she rose to a stand, stalking her way back to the door.

Then, she paused.

On instinct, Sevika stepped forward. A reminder to obey.

“I ought to thank you, by the way.” Vida muttered.

“Hm?” Silco refused to look at her, still, languishing in the futility of her visit.

“For keeping my daughter alive. I’m looking forward to reconnecting with her.”

That caught his attention; a sharp turn of his head and a particularly dangerous snarl on his face, whipping around just in time to catch Vida training a grin on Sevika.

“It’s so nice to be home.”

#wip tag #NEITHER of them are her parents but they’re still battling for the right to be ok

24 notes · View notes

txemrn · 3 years ago

Text

Book: Queen B

Word count: 1000 (+/-)

Prompts Used: baby batter; rod; pubic hair;fun bags; interruption by friends/professor

Music Inspo: "Goodbye Horses" by Q Lazzarus

Warning: NSFW; this is fairly cringe (even for me!); mentions of human captivity, sociopathic behavior; language

AN: Happy Queen B Book 2 Release Day! I can't think of a better way to celebrate today AND Week 3 of @smut-tember than by sharing this monstrosity of garbage! This is a strange rewrite of that infamous chapter 9 (with some extra characters lol). As always, characters and some of the plot belong to our friends at Pixelberry! This chapter is straight-up inspired by one of my favorite movies. 🐑

------aaaaaaaaaaaa

Watching an anxious Carter pace a hole in the rug, Zoey bounces her knee incessantly while Taylor chews on her perfectly manicured thumb nail. This wasn’t like Bea. She hadn’t been back to their immaculate dorm room at Belvoire in almost three days. Her clothes were still perfectly hung in the closet; none of her new fancy bags were misplaced. Unfortunately, her cell phone went straight to voicemail. Terrified that something bad happened, Zoey decided to pull out the big guns.

Hearing a stern knock, Carter opens the front door. “Good evening, Professor Kingsley.” He bounds into the living quarters, a pensive look on his face. He gives a nod to Zoey before leaning against the doorway.

“Have we called her parents?” he questions as he pushes up his glasses, rubbing the inner corners of his eyes.

“Yes, sir,” replies Carter, “they’re at a Corn-Shuckers convention with no cell service.”

“Damnit!” the college instructor begins to pace. “And the last time you saw her was…?”

“Almost three days ago,” Taylor tearfully answers, her voice quivering. “She was coming back here to take a nap before the Zeta’s Annual Wet Sweatpants Contest and now she-she’s--” she breaks down crying, “-missing!” she wails.

“Wait--wait--wait--” Professor Kingsley holds a hand up, placing a hand on his hip. “Did anyone see her walk into the residence hall?” The three students perk up, their eyes widening. The professor continues, “Maybe one of the staffers saw her. Have you asked the RA?”

------

Hovering over a steaming hot plate of boiling noodles, Benji Knoll toggles through his music, clicking on his favorite Q Lazzarus song. As he hums the familiar tune, he shuffles to his mirror to admire a picture he took in the girls’ public bathroom of none other than the woman who held his heart, his delicate petunia, his bleating little lamb, his one and only honey Bea.

He removes his retainer and glasses. Opening up a deep wooden drawer, he pulls out a mannequin head with his latest sewing creation on top: a blonde wig made entirely from Bea’s pubic hair. He gently pets it, feeling the wiriness between his fingers. He brings it to his nose, inhaling deeply of it’s natural essence. Feeling his rod twitch, he looks back into the mirror, carefully placing the head piece over his skull.

He reaches back into the deep drawer, pulling out a purple perfume bottle. Beas perfume. Gently squeezing the atomizer, he spritzes the skeezy smell of cotton candy mixed with chlamydia. As droplets rain down on his face, he smiles in euphoric delight.

He reaches back into his drawer, and pulls out a red lacy bra. As his fingers trace across the intricate stitching, he begins to pant hungrily, knowing that this fabric once grazed her bare naked body. As his heart begins to race, he rips off his hoodie, and hooks on the bra. His eyes roll back in ecstasy as he squeezes the empty cups, pretending Bea’s fun bags were bouncing inside of them.

As his humble chode strengthens, he grabs a ChapStick once used by Bea. He begins to smear it across his lips, swirling the cherry flavor around and around until his cock erects to it’s full three-inch potential. As he continues to put on the lip balm, he starts to sway his hips to the music, turning his attention to the mirror.

“Would you fuck me?” he growls at his reflection. “I’d fuck me. I’d fuck me hard.” With one more swipe of the gloss, his voice darkens. “I’d fuck me so hard.”

Suddenly, a timer chimes; his noodles are ready. He brings the hot pasta with him into his darkened closet. From his pocket, he pulls out matches, igniting them to light candles.

He makes haste, meticulously applying the spaghetti to his most recent creation, his adoration station, a relic of his undying passion for Bea Hughes. As the spaghetti takes form, Benji falls to his knees. His breath hitches in his chest in sovereign awe. The homage to his mincemeat pie, to his precious Creamsicle, to his fuzzy wuzzy bear was complete, taking the mold, the very liking to Bea’s appearance.

"She--she's complete," he chokes out, his eyes smoldering with desire. He wants to take it right then and there, but that's not enough for Benji.

He crawls over to a giant pit in the ground that he created for this exact moment. The dorm, more specifically his room, was built on top of an old, dried-up well. It was shallow enough for someone to fall in without getting too terribly hurt. But, they wouldn't be able to get out on their own.

Benji looks over the side. "Bea baby? My little kumquat--?"

A female figure begins to rustle at the bottom of the pit, groaning in pain.

"Bea? Wake up," he singsongs, "I have something to show you."

------

Professor Kingsley, Zoey, Carter and Taylor make their way downstairs to the head resident advisor's quarters where they proceed to bang on his front door. No answer.

"He's not here," states Taylor.

Zoey scrunches her face. "That weirdo is always here."

Carter presses his ear to the door. "She's right! I hear music! And--" he listens closely, "-- someone's screaming--"

"Bea?" Taylor yelps.

Professor Kingsley knocks again, this time ramming his shoulder into the door. Hearing the wood give under strength, he tackles the door again, only this time, it busts open.

They pour into the room, searching for Bea. They hear strange, noises coming from the closet. Giving each other one last nervous glance, Carter opens the door.

"Oh dear God," gasps Zoey as Taylor quickly shields her eyes. Carter stifles a laugh while the professor gives a disgusted, yet curiously look.

There was Benji, finally getting what he always wanted. Well, sorta. With sweat pouring down his brow and fueled by his captives shrieks for help, he thrusts one last time into the licorice mouth of his beloved Bea shrine before spilling his baby batter all over her mashed-potato face.

******

@ao719 , @bebepac @burnsoslow @charlotteg234 @chemist-ana @dcbbw @kat-tia801 @socalwriterbee @neotericthemis

#smut-tember #smut-tember 2021 #smut-tember week 3 #queen b #choices queen b #benji knoll

23 notes · View notes

stingslikeabee · 2 years ago

Text

Although Melissa lacked the empirical experience of many of the scholars responsible for compiling information on Daigo in the past, even a novice to these interactions could see something had shifted in how he behaved. The way that the dragon's face changed was the key element - but his decided march towards the offered chair and the agitated display of whatever emotions he was feeling were... Quite possibly a lead.

The beast in human shape sounded on the edge - but it was an entirely different tone from the contempt that poured out of the creature when she had tried to appeal to his vanity and pride by rectifying past records. Daigo had almost looked (and sounded) bored, as if speaking to someone (or something) beneath his station and hardly worth his time. Now, however...

It was very hard for the queen to try and stand her ground - but luckily Melissa managed to cling to the idea that something was working. Her words, the proposal - there was a promise of interest to the beast, otherwise he would have burned the trespassing invader to the ground already. That train of thought kept the queen grounded, as well as her duty to the people who expected their ruler to govern and provide for them wisely (although her sanity was surely in check by most of the court's advisers right then).

This close, he was no man - it was impossible to believe him to belong to mankind, but at the same time there was something viscerally relatable in his reactions. That was it, wasn't it? By sheer luck (and backed by the extensive investigation of their ancient scrolls), Melissa had managed to find something that Daigo didn't have and couldn't potentially claim by himself.

Company.

"A partner, my lord. I imagine that you are aware of how humans engage in long-term relationships for several different purposes? One of them is merely companionship; the need to talk to another and be heard; to see and be seen," her eyes didn't leave the dragon's face - the monarch was unsure if that was due to his magical abilities or because he was just so uniquely entrancing. There was a palpable danger to him - a single act and he could either transform or easily mangle her more fragile figure.

What kept pushing Melissa forward was the fact that, so far, she remained in one piece.

"In human terms, I am proposing the equivalent of a marriage - I am offering a place beside at the throne, including the devotion and loyalty of those born under Solarian rule to their sovereign. I do not dispute the notion you are feared, my lord - but have you never thought about the opposite?" the queen paused, a tongue darting out to dry her lips because it felt so impossible dry and hot near Daigo - as if she had been traipsing at the border of a volcano, the regal dress unsuitable for the climate, "I am loved by my people because I look after them. Were you to protect them instead of attacking, why wouldn't you come to be admired and worshipped instead?"

The sound of her heartbeat, the shallow breathing, the force with which Melissa gripped at the chair herself; the woman found herself hyper-aware of everything surrounding the two of them, the tension growing to be something quite tangible. Had she crossed a line (after so many) with Daigo?

Well, at least, if she was to perish at his hands... The monarch was sure she had done everything in her power; and, considering the remarkable look of the beast looming over Melissa, taunting and threatening her claims... It would be an unique way to go, which represented a strange form of consolation to the queen.

★. ―

The queen's opening statements did little to impress the dragon. Solaris' concerns meant nothing to him ― what did it matter if one more kingdom fell in the history of man ?? It happened all of the time : humans built empires ; sent them to war with another and subsequently ruined both ; watched their creation burn ; and proceeded to repeat the process immediately.

At the mention of a bargain, Daigo perked up slightly. The disinterested look in his brilliant eyes faded, replaced with curiosity. As far as he was aware, Solaris possessed nothing more of value to give ( aside from the sacrifice of its queen, as he teased moments ago, which would be an empty gesture to the beast ). Daigo grinned, imagination alight with the many ways Melissa may try to offer her death or imprisonment in exchange for peace. It wouldn't influence his decision, but he was intrigued about how she might word it.

The finishing piece to her proposal, thusly, caught the dragon entirely off - guard. His toothy smile slipped away, and confusion bloomed in its place. Daigo leaned forward slowly, head canted to the side. Curled fists settled onto his thighs as he stared at the queen, brows knitted together. He opened his mouth, allowing his forked tongue to sample the air.

There were no enchantments about her that he could smell, taste, or see. Across his lair, hundreds of invisible eyes turned to the royal, scrutinizing her ; a curious hum, just barely audible to human ears, filled the space. The entirety of this world was studying Melissa desperately, looking for a magical device or finely - made spell the dragon might have missed ( unlikely ) that would give her a hint of his dissatisfaction with life.

― because that had to be it. Daigo never shared that his mystical and physical wealth was not enough with any other, and he didn't believe a mere human would be capable of puzzling it out. The dragon bristled at the realization that, while Melissa spoke, her promise of adoration and company must have sparked some hope in his features. Otherwise, he wouldn't have this irritating want stirring in his chest now, brought to life at the possibility of what she said.

Daigo finally hissed, long and low, from the back of his throat. He waved a hand, dismissing the magic that guarded his lair. The dragon stood and approached the chair that the queen sat in. His swift, decisive movements gave her little time to prepare ; without warning, Daigo closed the distance between them totally. Coarse palms landed on the arms of her chair, capturing her in its confines, whilst his torso bent down in order to put their heads at a similar level. Daigo's amethyst half - halo moved easily with his brow, glimmering hunks of flawless stone partially encircling his visage. Purple scales flashed in the light, fixed around the base of his neck. It seemed as if they doubled in quantity since the beginning of their conversation. Patches of them crawled up the sides of his throat, where they hadn't been prior.

"You are suggesting," Daigo said, voice soft in volume but every bit as wicked, "that you would make me king ?? of what ― humans who have feared me since I settled here ?? lands I have rid of cattle and herdsmen alike ?? a stifling palace with no treasure left to give ??" The dragon laughed, a growl - like and harsh sound. His head tilted again, refreshing the angle he saw the queen from.

"I have no interest in your kingdom, Your Majesty," the ancient grumbled. " . . . but, as I said : you amuse me. So, tell me, Queen Melissa ― where do you play into this offer ?? What does it mean to have a queen, beyond a ruined territory ??"

( thankfully, she couldn't see it. how being this close, how having her look at him . . . oh, that horrible, primitive emotion in the center of his being was all but strangling him. )

#dojimakaichou #v: Yakuza ; dragon king AU #t: an unexpected bargain #ty for giving a hint Daigo #we are going to roll with that #and hope we don't get eaten

10 notes · View notes

lordoftermites · 4 years ago

Text

The Fox & the Thornbush | Part 3

Pairing: Roiben x Kaye Rating: M for violence and bleedy bits Summary: This is it. The Undersea Attack. Maybe eventually I'll go back and do more with it but. This took... a lot to write and honestly I can't even write a summary for it. I'm sorry in advance.

part 1. // part 2.

Faerie is a deadly place, he had told her once.

Kaye hadn’t believed him then—or, more despairingly, she had believed him, and was just far too willful to listen.

Even after the coronation in Elfhame, when Balekin had slaughtered near to every member of the royal family in a coup to usurp the throne, Kaye had persisted. She left her coffee shop, her dreams, abandoned her life in the light of the mortal world to live with him in the damp darkness of the Palace of Termites.

For her sake, Roiben had tried to convince himself that it would be a good change. That it was true—he had grown weary of having to steal away like some thief in the night to see her so sparingly, only to come back to a cold bed under a cold hill, alone.

After a while he began to believe that, perhaps, now that Kaye was at his side, within his reach at all times, that the frigid ache in his chest would abate—that he could finally be content.

Perhaps faeries couldn’t speak a lie with their own mouths, but Roiben had been telling himself untruths for longer than he could remember.

Kaye rolls over onto her side, burrowing farther beneath the coverlet. Her wild hair splays in lush, green tangles over the pillow. She sleeps soundly, verdant lips parted, once in a while letting out a small sigh here or near-inaudible word there. Roiben watches her from his place on the bed—their bed, he reminds himself—as though if he were to look away, she might very well disappear with one of those sighs.

He’s been awake for hours now, ripped from yet another nightmare, his chest heaving, his stomach threatening to upend the acrid bile in the back of his throat, while morbid death stares burned behind his eyes. They were the spectres of his sins, reminding him the blood on his hands has not, and shall not, wash away.

At least, this time, there had been no screaming.

A lock of deep green hair lies across Kaye’s face. It flutters slightly when she exhales, only to fall back against her lips. Her nose crinkles in her sleep, disturbed and perhaps dreaming of something else. Roiben reaches to brush it away but stops himself short, his fingers hovering mid-air. He ought to let her just sleep, he knows.

Yet, before he can convince himself not to, he’s leaning down, brushing the hair back with his mouth instead.

Kaye stirs and makes a light, disgruntled noise, until she seems to realize what’s happening. Then she’s lazily kissing him back, pressing her lips against his, parting just enough for him to sweep her mouth. One of her hands comes up to rest on the nape of his neck, her long fingers tangling in the hair there. Roiben sighs against her lips at the feeling; it’s light and comforting, warming that chill in his bones she alone has ever been able touch.

As often as he scorns himself for giving in to her decision to stay here permanently with him in Faerie, it’s selfish moments like this that he wouldn’t have her anywhere else. He can face the demons waiting in his nightmares—so long as she’s with him.

“Well, good morning to you, too,” Kaye says drowsily, black eyes fluttering up to his, lidded with sleep and something else. Roiben hovers over her, grinning. “What was that for? I mean, not that I mind or anything.”

He shakes his head, still unused to the lightness of his newly-cropped hair. “A compulsion, I suppose,” he answers, and lowers himself again to bury his face in the crook of her neck, breathing deep the scents of moss and clover. He can’t quite bring himself to admit aloud that it was more to solidify her presence—to give himself physical reassurance that she isn’t part of a cruel trick his mind so often played on him.

Kaye strokes the back of his head gently, as if she already knows, as if perhaps she too needs the reminder that neither of them are made of phantoms and longing. Roiben kisses the column of her green neck, an arm curling under her, pulling her closer and yet still not close enough. She tilts her head with a soft hum of encouragement. “Whatever it is, I could get used to waking up like this.”

Her hands slide over his shoulders, down his bare arms, along his spine. Roiben shivers and shifts his weight, caging her body beneath him. His mouth drifts along the line of her clavicle to the base of her throat. One of his hands slips under the coverlet to the silklike flesh of her thigh, drawing it up to bracket his hip, while his lips brush against the flushed swell of her chest. Kaye’s hushed sighs as he arches against her spark a flame behind his navel, galvanizing him into urgent desire.

What he wouldn’t do to just simply stay here with her forever, to revel in her touch, her warmth, her love. Let the crowns decay. Let the duties and the demands and the courts crumble to nothing; let him be only a knight and a man again, to be content. Unburdened.

As if the fates decided he needed reminding of his reality, a light rapping at the door to his chambers breaks through their intimate solace.

Roiben ignores it at first, tells himself whatever it is will go away. Surely a herald, one of his knights, or even his chamberlain can handle it—not every small thing ought to be a king's concern, especially not when his council members are already far more inclined to do his duty for him. He doesn't cease his kisses, and instead channels into them the denial of obligations and the desires of his soul. His fingers grip Kaye's thigh tighter in desperation, attempting to tether himself to her and this moment alone. Leave us, his mind pleads. Find another doorway to darken.

But the knocking comes again, this time carrying a touch more confidence and urgency.

Suddenly furious, unfulfilled, and ultimately defeated, Roiben growls against Kaye's skin before pushing himself up. She watches him with heady eyes, seeming just as exasperated at the interruption as he. Her hand lingers on his arm. "Just tell them to fuck off," she suggests, though it's half-hearted. She knows as well as he does that it's very seldom anything he can simply wave or wish away.

"If we're fortunate," he sighs, bending down to give her one last kiss and then forcing himself to rise from the bed, "it will be nothing but our breakfast.” In a moment, he’s crossed the room and wrenched the heavy door open. Ruddles himself is there, hand raised as though he had just been about to give another, less-timid knock; he lowers the hand, and himself before Roiben, bowing low enough that his nose might brush the floor if given another half inch.

“My King,” the hob greets in his usual rasp before straightening. He seems to realize his king’s half-naked appearance and forced even breathing, but carries on. “I apologize for the disturbance at such an early hour, but I assumed you would want to be informed we’ve had a messenger come and go without our receiving him.”

Propping an arm against the door, Roiben barely suppresses a roll of his eyes. “It is not an uncommon thing for a courier to go missed.“ He knows his tone is clipped, but he doesn’t bother to correct it. “Why does this time require my chamberlain coming to my private rooms, when clearly whatever message left was not of enough import to be received in the first place?”

That seems to bristle the hob, who takes a rather deliberate, offended breath through his sharply-pointed nose. “Because, the message was left while the entire hill slept,” Ruddles answers gruffly. His brows are furrowed as if there really is something to be worried about, and his sovereign is, as usual, too unconcerned. “No one saw the messenger arrive, nor did they witness his departure.”

It’s Roiben’s turn to frown. That couldn’t be right: since the rebuilding of the Palace of Termites, they had sentries posted through dawn and dusk, and as many guards patrolling the hill. Surely someone ought to have seen this phantom envoy. Foreboding gnaws at his gut; he doesn’t like mystery, and he likes even less when that mystery involves his playing the part of the ignorant fool.

“What was this message? Did you bring it with you?”

Ruddles shakes his tawny head and wrings his hands. “It was a parcel, a large one, addressed to the Lord of the Court of Termites. We left it where it was found—” he pauses, the troubled expression on his face doing nothing to quell the rising uneasiness Roiben feels—”in the throne room… more pointedly, on your throne.”

A deliberate act, and a bold one. The thought of it sets Roiben’s teeth on edge. “I see,” he says, scrubbing a hand over his jaw, deliberating.

From behind him, Kaye yawns. Roiben turns back to look at her, where she’s stretching and rubbing the sleep from her eyes, green hair falling over her shoulders. Just the sight of her, wrapped in his spider silk coverlet and little else, makes him ache with longing. It takes everything he can muster not to bolt the door in Ruddles' face.

She squints at him, as if attempting to focus her vision or read his thoughts, tilts her head in a question. Roiben tries a casual smile and holds up a finger, before turning back to his chamberlain. “Gather Dulcamara and Ellebere,” he instructs. “See if either of them know anything. I’ll meet the three of you in the throne room presently, and we’ll see just exactly what gift our shadow messenger has left us.”

The hob gives a shallow bow and backs away before turning on his heel and setting back off through the corridor. When Roiben closes the heavy wooden door, he leans against it momentarily, breathing a long sigh that does nothing to relieve any of the pressure in his chest.

How exhausted he is of intrigues and suspicions, of forging treaties that seem as stable as a thread stretched above a candle flame. Roiben himself feels like that thread—fraying at both ends while trying to hold his kingdom between his teeth, at any moment about to burn up with the burden of it all.

Take this from me, he had once thought, after his coronation as the Unseelie ruler. I do not want to be your king.

Now, he had two crowns, each heavy as a boulder on their own. Together, they are a mountain, and may very well crush him beneath their weight.

“What was that about?” Kaye’s voice calls from the bed. Roiben moves from the door and crosses the room to sit beside her. When he goes to kiss her cheek, he takes a selfish moment to breathe in the smell of her again, something to take with him. “I’m not entirely sure,” he replies, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I expect nothing but trouble, as usual. But I won’t be gone a moment—” he leans in again, grazing his lips against her neck with a promise—”and when I return, we can forget them all again.”

Before he can lose himself, Roiben pushes off of the bed. He pulls on a fresh set of clothing—a simple black tunic with trousers to match, and a pair of boots. From the chair beside his bed, he takes up his curved sword and straps it to his waist. Its weight is one he is used to, cold and secure at his hip.

With an apologetic glance back at Kaye, who shoos him with a small wave before shuffling back under the coverlet, he slips through the door.

Dulcamara is perched on the dais when he arrives in the throne room, clad in her beetle-black armor, polishing a dagger while her pink glare remains fixed on the throne. She stands when Roiben enters, however, and gives him a small bow of her head; as reverent a gesture as he likes, if he must be revered at all. “The hob is off searching for Ellebere,” she tells him in her gravel-scraping voice. “Must we wait for our curiosities to be sated?” Her head bobs in the direction of the throne.

As proficient a knight as Dulcamara is, her impatience often wills out, even when it comes to the one she serves.

Roiben shakes his head with a snort. “I suppose it isn’t a requirement,” he admits, stepping up onto the dais. “Though I doubt Ruddles will be much pleased when we solve the mystery without him.” Even so, eyeing the parcel, Roiben finds himself every bit as curious as he is wary.

As Ruddles said, what’s been placed on his throne is no small thing: it covers nearly half the seat itself, dome-shaped and wrapped in a cloth of deep blue velvet, tied together at the top with golden string. It certainly looks like a gift. Yet, as Roiben reaches out to take the small slip of folded parchment resting beside it, his title addressed in a dark blue flourish across the front, an icy dread seeps into his bones. When he opens the letter, he has to clutch the arm of the throne as the dais pitches up to meet him.

From behind him, Dulcamara’s voice seems distant, distorted. “What does it say?” Without turning, Roiben holds the note out to her, suddenly finding it difficult to swallow—or tear his gaze from the parcel. His hand trembles as he reaches to undo the string, to look upon what he already knows lies inside the elaborate wrapping.

“‘Let us see how easily you unwind the wire of your own cage’,” Dulcamara reads. “What sort of riddle—”

“It is no riddle.” He's clenching his jaw hard enough to hurt. His hand goes to grip the blade at his hip. “It is a threat.”

Unwrapped and glinting in the candlelight, just as he remembers, is the gilded birdcage that once held his friend and subject, Lutie-Loo—the very one he freed her from in Balekin’s office less than a year ago. Roiben had made a fool of the would-be king then, promising fealty when he’d already sworn to Prince Dain. Now it would seem his trickery is finally being repaid.

“Dulcamara,” Roiben starts, whirling around, “we need—”

An eruption of sound outside the throne room cuts off whatever order might have given. Before either of them have time to move, Ellebere barrels into the hall, sword in one hand, the other covering his side. Blood and dirt streak his pale face, only adding to the intensity of his frantic expression. “The Undersea,” the knight stammers, “they’re here. They’ve been here.”

Ruddles’ words echo dully in Roiben’s mind. No one saw the messenger arrive, nor did anyone witness his departure.

As Ellebere clambers up onto the dais, Roiben is reminded with a turning in his stomach of the last time he saw the knight in such a state, when Silarial made her move on the court. They had nearly been destroyed because of his underestimating and overconfidence. Has he once again brought ruin to his people? To…

“Kaye.”

The brugh swirls around him. His breath is trapped in his lungs.

As a swarm of bodies pours into the hall, the sharp clashing of metal against metal resounding through the hollow hill, Roiben can see none of it; only Kaye’s face, bloodied and lifeless.

Dead, because of him.

Something solid shoves into him, nearly knocking him to the ground before his legs catch him. Jolted back to the present, he jerks his head up just as Dulcamara brings her blade down in an arc across the front of an advancing selkie; the faerie crumples at her feet, black blood spilling onto the already gore-stained floor of the dais. It had gotten that close, and Roiben hadn’t even seen it. Dulcamara whips around to look at him, pink glare ablaze. Before she can scold him, he shakes his head and grips the sword he can’t remember drawing.

“I have to get to Kaye,” he shouts above the skirmish, already retreating down the other side of the dais, cutting through another Undersea soldier as it hurtles toward him. He is already charging down the hall before she can protest or follow, fear propelling his steps and his blade.

The battle seems to be more focused on the throne room, thankfully; Roiben is stalled only once, by a selkie warrior wielding a longsword of shark bone. Though he takes a slash to the thigh, the other faerie is not nearly as fortunate. He falls to his knees, clutching the gaping hole in his chest when Roiben withdraws his blade.

Biting through the searing pain in his leg, Roiben pushes on, repeating silent pleas that he not be too late.

As he comes to the door of his chambers, a fresh wave of glacial panic seizes him; the door has been thrown wide open and is hanging from the hinges. From the other side he can hear crashing, breaking. A struggle, and then a scream.

Kaye is screaming.

Roiben never feels himself move. He sees nothing but the flash of his sword, slicing through the gray-blue neck of an Undersea knight; hears nothing but his own cry of wild rage, his own deafening heartbeat in his ears. In less than breath, both Kaye and her attacker lie on the floor in a pool of mingling black and crimson.

It has happened, yet Roiben cannot shake the fog of unreality that strangles his breathing, weakens his legs, clouds his vision. His sword falls from his hand, and he collapses to his knees beside Kaye. He stares down in horror at the deep red gash from her throat to her sternum. Someone is sobbing. Blood streams from the wound—too much. There is too much blood.

He pulls her into his lap, holds her gently, covers what he can with a trembling hand. Dark, ruby warmth spills through his fingers and over his wrist. “Kaye,” he chokes, reaching to touch her cheek. His fingers are wet with blood and he has to brace against the sick twisting of his stomach.

Her black eyes are wild and unfocused, but she finds him. Grasps his arm desperately, gasping. She opens her mouth to speak, the beginning of his name on her ashen lips, but it comes out a fearful, small sound, and she doesn’t finish. Roiben strokes her hair and hushes her softly, bringing a kiss to her cool, damp forehead. When he pulls back, the unhinged terror in her eyes burrows like a dagger into his heart. “It’s...“

It’s going to be alright, he tries to tell her. The words will not form.

He cannot force back the sob at realizing why he can't say it. It could be a lie, and Kaye might die right here, in his room. In his arms. Dead before their life together had barely begun. Dead because he hadn't been fast enough. Because he had allowed it—because he had caused it.

Roiben can console himself no more than he can console her.

Faerie is a deadly place, he had told her once.

40 notes · View notes

apothecarinomicon · 3 years ago

Text

Spring week 4, part 2

We found the guy staggering down the creek. We heard him before we saw him—he was wading through knee-deep water, half hunched over and groaning in pain. As he got closer, I was able to make out that he wasn’t human but crocodilian, and dressed for fishing. His pants had torn away below the knees, and I could make out bright green vines with vermillion buds snaking up his legs. He was bleeding where they burrowed into his hide. He looked up at us with glassy eyes and weakly called for help, reaching out with both hands.

Automatically I moved to support him but Calder held me back. He told me he recognized the vines as marshbloom, a particularly nasty plant native to Blastfire Bog. An opportunistic parasite, it latched onto any skin that came into contact with it and fed on its host, growing until they were entirely overtaken and drained of their minerals. Once the marshbloom had fed all it could, the buds would open and spread their spores to find new hosts.

This guy already looked to have been wandering for a couple of days; we didn’t have much time—probably only about another 24 hours. I told Calder to watch after him and make sure he didn’t wander off. Since Calder didn’t technically have skin, we agreed he might be able to physically restrain the afflicted man as a last resort. Meanwhile, I raced back to the cottage to scour my predecessor’s notes.

I found that her overall knowledge of the bog and its flora were spotty at best, but she did have an entry on the marshbloom. Her notes said that it should be treated like any other virulent parasite, but with extra focus on healing the skin. With the entry wounds closed, she noted, the portions of the plant inside the host’s body would be unable to photosynthesize and would simply die, and the portions outside would lose the necessary minerals and fall away.

With a little more research, I knew what I had to get. I dumped out the remaining breadcrumbs from my pack, had Ailean hop up on my shoulder, and set out for Hero’s Hollow.

────⊱⁜⊰────

I told the guards at the entrance that I was foraging and expected to be inside for less than an hour. Then I headed in, map in hand, to find some liquid fire.

It’s not quite lava, this substance (lava is molten rock and this is more akin to superheated magic), but it is quite hot. You need special gloves to handle it. It won’t burn you, but it will certainly feel as if it had. It’s great for clearing parasites if you can get it down—like a flash fire fever. I found it fairly easily, flowing right out of the wall (turns out Hero’s Hollow has a lot of natural deposits), and collected it with little issue. It was as I was headed back out, however, that I heard heavy, clanking footsteps sprinting towards me accompanied by a “what ho!”

I turned and looked to find a suit of armor approaching me fast. The visor was flipped up, showing that the helmet was clearly empty. “I, the Baron, challenge you to a duel, brigand!” The voice sounded more like a jester’s than a knight’s—or a baron’s, for that matter. I backed away and tried to tell this Baron that I really didn’t have the time (or the equipment or the skill) for a fight, but as I said so my back bumped up against the wall. The suit of armor ignored what I’d said, unsheathed its sword (the thin kind with a point, rather than the kind with two sharp sides), took on a cartoonish stance, and cried “en garde!”

I stayed very still for a good long while, and so did the armor. Every few seconds it shouted something like “you shan’t best me, scoundrel!” or “your scourge ends here!” Its accent was all rolled ‘r’s and rapidly fluctuating pitch. After about three minutes of this I finally went to try and just walk away, and the suit of armor immediately lunged forward and skewered my thigh.

I cried out, more out of shock than anything. It was a relatively shallow wound (I wrote “skewered” but it was more like “scraped”), but the sudden movement and prick of pain surprised me. The Baron, for its part, seemed delighted. It immediately turned and began to skip away, occasionally clicking its heels in the air and crying “tee-ha! Tee-hee! I, the Baron, have bested thee!” It disappeared around a bend in the corridor, but I could still hear it for a long while after as I bandaged my wound.

What a blighting nuisance. I supposed though, as I limped out of the dungeon, that it could easily have been a lot worse.

────⊱⁜⊰────

I headed back to Glimmerwood Grove next, to look for wild roses. The hip seeds promote skin health, and I thought they theoretically should be fairly abundant. But, as is my luck, they proved to be frustratingly elusive. I was already pretty annoyed when I ran into Kendre.

Kendre was a satyr, and (as they volunteered immediately upon seeing me) a druid who lived in the forest. Their arms were wiry, the rest of their human torso obscured by what appeared to be a grass-stained burlap sack with arm and neck holes cut out. The fur on their goat legs matched their russet hair. They wore complex jewelry, with earrings and necklaces and adornments to their curled horns all connected by small chains to form one large piece.

I asked how long they’d been living in Glimmerwood and they said just about their entire adult life. They mentioned a shack deep in the heart of the grove where they lived and gardened and kept to themselves. They said they didn’t normally forage this close to town but they were looking for something elusive.

I asked them if they had seen wild roses around and they thought for a moment before saying that roses had been an unusually rare sight this year. They apologized, and offered instead the location of a different plant: the coffee cap. Though unrelated to the bean (it’s actually a mushroom), it does contain about the same amount of caffeine and releases it into the body quicker when consumed. When added to a potion, its only real effect is to sharpen the patient’s senses—not useful for the task at hand. Still, I thanked them and followed their directions to find some—it’s always better to have more and more varied reagents on hand, just in case.

Kendre was the second denizen of Glimmerwood Grove I’d met who seemed to have no connection to the human society in Greenmoor or High Rannoc at large. As I plucked a mushroom and put it in my bag, I wondered if there were any more.

────⊱⁜⊰────

I didn’t have to wonder for long. After retrieving the coffee cap I headed back towards the path. I took a right that should have led me straight back onto it, but instead I found myself in a beautiful (if dilapidated) courtyard. I must have been caught in some kind of dimensional fold, as I surely would have noticed the high, ornate walls that now surrounded me had they been present before.

The walls themselves were ornate but clearly weathered, dotted with tall thin windows and covered with hanging moss and climbing vines. The floor was made of smooth bricks that must have once been an intense shade of lapis or ultramarine, but that had faded to a (still gorgeous) azure. They were cut and laid in a pattern that was symmetrical but irregular. It took a good bit of staring for me to realize it depicted the phases of the moon, running from right to left across the space’s center. At the corners of the courtyard were raised plant beds that may have once been carefully maintained, but now grew wild. Each had a great tree at the center. Three of them had a least one side that had cracked or buckled, allowing dirt to spill out and their tree’s great roots to spread less impeded. The fourth one, the one in the far left corner, held a smaller tree, mostly obscured by—to my surprise and delight—wild rose bushes!

I began to hurry towards them before the sound of a clearing throat stopped me. I had completely overlooked what was clearly meant to be the courtyard’s central feature: along the far wall was a great, ornate throne. It gleamed golden in the light, its high back intricately molded with dozens of humanoid figures in myriad combinations and contexts—probably recounting the plot of some long-forgotten myth. Seated on the throne, still regal and imposing despite being dwarfed by it, was a man. As I approached him I realized he was much taller than me, or for that matter any human. His skin was extremely pale, his form rake thin, his hair a nearly-white blond. He was dressed in a garb unfamiliar to me, though the dense ornamental fur of his cloak and the rich purple of his tunic and pants communicated his status anyway. He regarded me cooly with orange eyes as I took in the sight. Finally, I noticed his long, pointed ears and it clicked: this prince was an elf.

Belatedly I dropped to one knee and bowed my head. I hoped that was the correct gesture of respect for elven royalty; it had been many years since I took politesse classes in primary school, and I’d never had much use for what I learned from them before.

He chuckled and told me to rise. His voice, though a fairly high tenor, had a commanding sense of depth. He told me it had been far too long since he’d had a visitor, and I should feel welcome to stay as long as I like. I asked for his name, and he raised an eyebrow before telling me I could not have it, but that I could refer to him as His Majesty, the Crown Prince of Sovereign Go’ed-Wigg. I quickly apologized for my careless wording, and told him he could call me ‘F.’ Given the Crown Prince’s care with his own name I figured care of my own was in order. I decided to let it be ambiguous whether this was an initial, a random pseudonymous letter, or if I had chosen “Eff” as a name.

I asked the Crown Prince (as I decided to think of him because that full title was simply too much) if I might have one of his roses, so that I could heal a patient. He thought for a moment then said I could on two conditions: I had to give him a gift in return, and I had to listen to a story. I told him that my patient’s time was limited, but that so long as the story was of a reasonable length (I believe I specified no more than fifteen minutes), and so long as I myself got to choose my gift to him I would be happy to agree to those terms. His expression was unreadable enough that I couldn’t determine whether I’d wiggled my way out of some trick or not, but he conceded my conditions.

As the gift, I gave him the coffee cap I’d just obtained, and explained its uses. He told me he had heard of coffee caps before, but seemed satisfied with the gift anyway. He said with my limitation we wouldn’t have time for the full story, but he’d tell me the first part anyway. I can’t recount the Crown Prince’s exact wording—he spoke for a long time—but I’ll summarize as best I can.

Once (he told me), there were three queens. A queen of spades, who ruled over those things on the earth, a queen of diamonds, who ruled over those things below it, and a queen of clubs, who ruled over those things above. The queen of spades and diamonds neither one had a king, but each had one knight. The queen of clubs had no knight, though she did have a king—but he was perpetually absent.

The realm of the queen of spades was verdant and teeming with life, both plant and animal. The queen of clubs’ domain was bright and open and free, always fresh and always changing. The queen of diamonds, on the other hand, ruled a territory rich with minerals, precious metals, and gems, which all things that lived would eventually join as they decomposed and returned to their base materials.

The queen of diamonds, though, was uncaring of these gifts. She surveyed her realm and saw rot, slimy worms and scuttling insects, and tons and tons of dirt piled so much upon itself that there was barely room for plants or animals at all. She looked over the queendom of spades and the queendom of clubs, and all the light and life and variety and air they had, and she grew jealous. She resolved to take the other queens’ territories for herself.

The queen of diamonds knew that going to war immediately would be foolish. Her two rivals (the queen of spades especially) had dozens of subjects in fighting shape, and she had next to none. So, she worked on expanding her population. She promoted immigration, emphasizing the riches to be found in her domain. With her (previously unmentioned) magical powers, she engineered those denizens she already had over the course of generations into stronger, smarter, better fighters. She was raising an army.

What the queen of diamonds didn’t know was that her knight and the knight of spades were in love. They kept their affair hidden from their respective queens for obvious reasons, but met in secret regularly. Wishing to limit the chance that they might have to meet in battle personally, the knight of diamonds told the knight of spades what the queen was doing.

The knight of spades took this information to his own queen, who thankfully didn’t probe too deeply into how he’d learned it. Instead, she immediately set about raising an army of her own, and passed the information on to the queen of clubs personally.

The queen of clubs, then, faced a rather pressing issue: like the queen of diamonds, she did not have enough subjects in fighting shape to raise an army. Unlike her counterpart, however, she did not have several generations’ notice with which to rectify that weakness—nor did she even have a knight of her own.

So, after obtaining permission from her new ally, she searched far and wide in the domain of the queen of spades to find a champion, one who could inspire their peers to fight their hardest, with the knowledge to select the generals and lieutenants and foot soldiers who would be able to defend her queendom.

And find one she did. The champion was such an effective leader, so adept at rallying people to follow her with true deep-seated conviction for the cause, that she would come to be known as the queen of hearts.

It was at this point that the Crown Prince stopped and gestured to the rose bush. I realized that I’d become so thoroughly engrossed in his story that I’d lost track of time, and I was thankful I’d thought to set a time limit. He sensed this too, and as I went to pluck a rose hip he asked if I was enjoying the story. I asked him in turn where he’d learned it. He said that he was the only one in the world who knew it. I asked if he meant he’d made it up, and he didn’t respond.

Instead, he said I’d have to come back later to hear more of it. I told him I didn’t even know how I’d gotten here in the first place, much less how I’d return, but he insisted that I’d find my way. As I left the courtyard, he turned his attention back to the mushroom I’d given him, turning it over and over in his hands.

────⊱⁜⊰────

I was just about set to head back to Calder’s stream when I realized something all of a sudden: I couldn’t touch my patient, which meant I wouldn’t be able to force him to swallow the potion—he’d have to do it voluntarily, without spitting it out or spilling any. Liquid fire, one of my major ingredients, was notoriously both very hot and very spicy, making it difficult to stomach. I would need something to cover the taste. I remembered that I had the candy rock back at the cottage, but I was honestly closer to Moonbreaker Mountain. So, I decided to just run over and find some on my own.

I took a path I hadn’t been on before. About halfway up the mountain, I came across Mòrag McKinney, knelt at a shrine. It took her a long time to notice me, but when she did she smiled and bade me sit down next to her. She told me this was a shrine to Cernunnos, the antlered god of nature, hunters, druidry, fertility, and warriors. She said those going on journeys often placed offerings at it hoping for his favor. I asked if she was going on a journey and she said no, she’d just started coming here recently. Something about it called her.

She traced little circles in the dirt with her finger as she told me about Cernunnos, his ability to call animals to him, how wild-growing plants were considered his bounty. I had heard of Cernunnos before, even if I hadn’t studied him closely, but I let her speak. When she was finished, I apologized and told her I was on a deadline. I asked her where I might find the candy rocks. She seemed disappointed to see me go, but directed me a little ways up the path. I hurried off and found a large cluster easily. The rocks (crystals, really) were extremely brittle—I could break off a good-sized chunk with my hand. Once I’d done so, I hurried back to Calder’s river.

────⊱⁜⊰────

Here is how I made the potion:

First, I crushed the rose hip seeds with my travel mortar and pestle.

Then, I collected some water (Calder was kind enough to let me borrow a bit of his)

Then, I combined it with the seed powder, liquid fire, and candy rock.

Finally, I shook it until it was all combined.

I decided to call the potion Bog’s Bane—a fitting enough name, as it ended up looking like orange mud. My crocodilian patient was staring vaguely off into the distance, so I gave the potion to Calder so he could help get it down. Once he’d finished it, the patient gasped and his eyes unclouded. Already the visible vines crawling up his legs were withering, their yellow buds falling off. I told him he ought to go see Dr. Ardor-Knox in town, and to tell them that he was seriously drained of vitamins and likely anemic. I didn’t know if the doctor had the requisite knowledge of crocodilian physiology to treat him, but I figured sending patients their way might help smooth things over with them. The crocodilian was still a bit out of it but seemed to understand well enough. He paid me for the potion and stumbled off in the direction of Greenmoor.

When he was gone, I turned to Calder to apologize that my work had cut our picnic short. He said to think nothing of it—the man would have stumbled into his creek anyway, so it was good that someone who knew how to treat him was present when he did. Nevertheless, I asked if we could have a do-over soon, and he said he’d like that.

It was far too late by that point for anything further to happen (though if it’s not wishful thinking there was certainly some tension), so I resigned myself to trudging back home. Now that I’ve recounted the day's events, I’m going straight to bed. Here’s hoping that tomorrow isn’t quite so hectic.

⇦●〇●⇨

7 notes · View notes