#there are so much details and movement and the way her robes move and it just looks SO. FUCKING. REAL.

[stardustinthesky]

Delenn, stay back!

[palioom]

a bond formed of love

summary: ecstatic about finally being married to the love of your life, Oberyn Martell, dread consumes you at the thought of consummating your marriage. will the horrible tales of first nights told to you become reality? or will they turn out to be elaborate lies?

pairing: oberyn martell x f!reader

word count: 11.1k

warnings: 18+ content; no use of y/n (but many, many nicknames); fluff & smut; first times; wedding night; oral (m & f receiving); unprotected p in v; multiple orgasms; body worship; oberyn being the most devoted husband ever

author's notes: this one goes out to @aurasjournal who not only inspired a huge part of this but also kept pushing me to make this as long as it is. thank you so much <3

part of "the viper and the sun"

• masterlist •

Happiness. It was all that she could feel, consuming her entirely, filling every last inch of her.  Almost euphoric in nature, laughing and smiling as she moved beside him - her love, her husband.

Husband.

The sole reason why she was so happy today, unable to tear her eyes away from him, no one around her mattering in this moment. Looking even more handsome than usual, as if that was even a possibility, his dark eyes crinkling at the corner when he laughed.

Oberyn Martell, her husband.

Finally she could call him that. The love of her life had finally become her husband, making her the happiest woman, the happiest wife, in the world.

Not that she hadn’t been happy before, back when he was simply courting her, when he had asked her to marry him. She had always been happy with him at her side - he made her laugh, he entertained her, he took her out for rides into the most beautiful corners around Sunspear.

Down to the shores, into the deserts.

But she had longed to be his by title, to wear a ring which showed she was his and he was hers. 

All hers.

Just dancing with him here, moving with one another, as if they were connected somehow. As if the Gods had bound a string around them so long ago, pulling it tighter and tighter as they moved towards each other on the wide floor, empty save for them. Tighter still, until they met, his hands finding her hips with a laugh, her hands resting on his broad chest, on the beautiful robe he wore for the occasion, a pale yellow, adorned with golden suns and many intricate details stitched with golden thread.

Their lips found another, pulling them even closer together, the string so tight around them that it expelled the air from her lungs, breathless from kissing and laughing and dancing all day. 

The exhaustion creeped in slowly but surely, replacing the rushed emotions of excitement and euphoria she had been feeling.

“We should retire soon, my sweet dove.” Oberyn said when he parted from her lips, wishing he could just keep kissing her as they spun around. Eyes bright, sparkling with something she had seen often before but could not always place. 

Mischief, perhaps. Desire. 

“I wish to be with you, alone.”

She understood what he meant, a sudden nervosity replacing some of the happiness inside of her, albeit not all of it. Nothing could take this wonderful feeling from her, slowing down in their movements, slowly circling one another.

But she did feel nervous, and had felt so for a long time. 

Because just as excited as she was about finally being alone with him, to be as close to him as was humanly possible, she was just as tense about it.

She knew about his past, about how often and liberally he had taken partners. The Dornish way, all while she had waited for her future husband, had waited even when she had fallen for Oberyn. When she knew she would never love anyone else but him.

Knowing deep down in her heart and deeper still, that this wasn’t just love but that he was the partner promised to her by the Gods.

Oberyn noticed the sudden change in her, saw the emotions on her face, one hand raising to cup her cheek. She could feel the cold of the ring on his thumb as it brushed over her cheekbone. His gaze intense but gentle, their movements coming to a halt.

“What has befallen you, my dove?” He asked, feeling the need to implore what seemed to cloud her mind, unable to stand the thought of her feeling bad on their wedding day. They had both waited far too long for this. “What bothers my beautiful wife?”

His wife.

Warmth spread through her at the words, smiling up at him and shaking her head. She did not want him to worry about her.

“I am just getting tired, my love.” She replied, voice as quiet as his. “Tired but thrilled. Let us go, I wish to have you to myself.”

Leaving the festivities was more difficult than she had imagined, nervousness still sitting deep inside of her as they made their rounds, saying their goodbyes to everyone who had come. Squeezing his warm hand tightly as they went, now walking along the corridors to their new chambers.

Their shared chambers.

It only filled her chest with more tension, knowing these chambers would be where she was to reside with him for the rest of their lives. 

What an odd thought, to leave her childhood rooms behind to find her life with Oberyn.

They did not speak as they walked, his touch doing all the talking through squeezing her hand, caressing the back of it with his thumb. His head turned to look at her with a smile so soft and loving that she could cry from joy, reciprocating it as they walked.

His smile always managed to ease her nerves, and she wished he could smile at her forever somehow. To capture it in a way that she could carry it with her, able to look at it when she was in a foul mood.

Perhaps she could ask the woman who had done their wedding portrait today if she could paint them again, and make a small copy of him for her to carry inside a locket of some sort.

So she could open it and look at his beautiful smile at all times.

She was so in thought, she didn’t notice that they had reached the huge double door, opening them while still holding her hand tightly in his, only reluctantly letting go of it once the doors had closed behind them.

Oberyn watched her take in the large room, their room. 

The big, four poster bed draped in the finest dark red and orange silks and linens, curtains hanging off of it which would shroud them in a sense of privacy. 

The doors leading to a spacious balcony, letting them look out into the sky from their bed. The cushions and chairs in one corner by the bookshelves and strewn throughout the room which was lit with various candles, a vanity at the other side, near the door that led to their private bath. 

Walls decorated with tapestry and rugs. It all felt intimate and warm and welcoming.

She would be happy to live here with him.

“I hope everything is to your liking, my love.” Oberyn said behind her, making her jump a little as she hadn’t heard him walking up to her. Silent like a viper. “I am sure you will give it your touch in due time.”

Her eyes found the telescope standing by the door to the balcony, the books in the shelves including thick volumes about topics she loved. 

All attentively picked by him.

The sweetest gift, his love apparent just by how he had asked the room to be decorated.

His fingers touched her waist when she nodded, her view suddenly blocked by his wide chest as he came to stand in front of her.

“I love it, Oberyn.” She said with a smile. Voice small, so unlike herself.

He smiled back, the gentlest, most loving smile, his hands wandering up her side, slowly and carefully, as if she could break if he was just any faster in his movements. Seeing her slight tremble, hearing it in her voice as she spoke, suddenly so quiet. 

She wasn’t quiet and timid usually, not afraid to give him a piece of her mind, so this worried him, cupping her cheek with one hand, her nervous eyes finding his. 

His eyes became questioning in turn, his thumb stroking along her cheekbone.

“What is ailing you, my dove?” Oberyn asked, so gently that it made her heart burst, making her feel bad suddenly. “Tell me, my sweet.”

The sigh that left her was heavy, loaded with a burden which hurt him to hear. She didn’t deserve to be burdened, no matter what it was, and he did not wish to see her upset, see her nervous and quiet. 

Deserving to be carefree and loud and happy. With him to carry her burdens for her.

“I- I am scared, my Viper.” She admitted, her hands coming to rest on his chest, her gaze casting down as she couldn’t bear looking at him, afraid of what emotion his face would display. “You know I have never… I am simply nervous.”

A compassionate smile curved his lips upward, leaning forward to kiss her forehead, lingering there for a few seconds before pulling back. 

The hand on her cheek came up to the crown in her hair, carefully untangling it before he placed it on a table next to them. It shimmered in the lights of the candles, the gold and the jewels embedded in it, all for her.

“You do not have to be scared, my sweet dove.” He said, his knuckles running over her cheek. Still gentle and careful, his new wife being the most precious thing in his life at this moment, besides the daughters he already had. “I will show you nothing but tenderness, there will not be anything done that you do not explicitly wish to happen.”

Chewing on her bottom lip, she tried to slow her heart, thrumming away in her chest. A tempest of emotions settled within her.

How had she gotten so lucky with him?

“I know, Oberyn. I know, but-” She took a deep breath, trembling. “I am still so scared. I have been told it hurts, it is uncomfortable and… I apologize, my love.”

His brows furrowed, two of his fingers moving under her chin, tilting it upwards. Making her look at him, he saw the fear etched into her features, his heart breaking at the sight.

No one had prepared her properly. She had been told nightmares and nothing more than that. It hurt him, seeing the love of his life so scared. Scared of him, of what he could do to her.

Things which were supposed to be joyous only but had been tainted and marred by the tales told to her.

“There is a possibility of it hurting, my dove. That is, if we rush things.” He said, his voice quiet, soothing. Like a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, keeping her safe. “Yet, I do not wish to rush things. We do not have to consummate our marriage tonight, not in the traditional sense.”

Now her brows furrowed in confusion, her fingers running over the embroidery of his robe, feeling the golden thread. She wasn’t sure if his words unnerved her more or soothed her.

What other way was there? He was to take her, to validate their marriage.

Just like everyone had told her a husband would on their first night together.

“What other way? Won’t our marriage be invalid if we do not-” She paused, swallowing hard as tears welled up in her eyes. The pressure of it, their marriage and being good for him, when he has had many partners before, it was terrifying. “If you do not take me?”

He smiled, loving and encouraging as always when he looked at her. Melting under her gaze, her tears tearing at him and his heart.

It was a special sort of pain, to see one's wife with tears in her eyes. A pain unlike any physical one he had ever endured.

“There are many ways to pleasure, and I will not take you if you are scared. This is as much about you as it is about me, my love.” Oberyn said, bowing his head to kiss away the few tears which were rolling down her cheeks, the saltiness of them a displeasure for him tonight. “I will wait until you are ready, and if it takes all eternity to do so.”

She took another shuddering breath. How was he so calm about this? Talking about waiting until all eternity while the guilt of being too scared to give herself to him weighed heavily on her.

Not even his lips on her wet cheeks could help soothe her in this moment.

“But, Oberyn- Isn’t it your right? Isn’t it a husband’s right?” She asked, her voice thick with tears. “To take his new wife, to consummate their marriage, willing or not?”

The smile faded from his face, his expression turning stern suddenly. Only terrifying her more, thinking she had misstepped, had angered him somehow.

She had never wanted to anger the Viper.

“My dove.” He spoke, his voice firm but not cruel, conveying an importance to what he was saying. “Fuck whatever you assume to be my right. I did not marry you to fuck you, my sweet dove. I married you because I love you and my only command as your husband is to banish these thoughts of old customs from your mind.”

Raising his brow, he looked at her, so scared and small in front of him, her bottom lip quivering.

“I am not a brute. If you are too scared tonight, then I will not force you. Nor any night hereafter.”

Her hand reached out to touch his cheek, feeling the scratch of his beard against her palm. So handsome, so sweet. Such a stark contrast to his reputation in the Seven Kingdoms, the Red Viper. Cruel, cunning.

“But- My Viper-”

Oberyn shushed her, gentle and quiet but not lacking in firmness.

“No, my dove.” His lips found her forehead again, hoping to convey his love and his understanding through the caress of his lips. Soft and tender. “If you allow me to, I wish to show you something different. To ease you into pleasure, to ease you into me.”

She hesitated, biting her bottom lip again, feeling his calming presence soothe her nerves. As he always did, so expertly taking away her worries as if they were nothing.

“What do you wish to show me?” Her voice was as quiet as his, still shaking as she spoke.

Oberyn smiled against her skin, finding the faintest sliver of amusement in her innocence. What a wonderful thing she was, his wife. So willing and devoted and in love with him, but entirely unknowing.

Any man of less honour than him would have taken advantage of her sweetness.

But not him.

His hand went from her chin to her waist, pulling her just a little bit closer to him while his lips stayed connected to her forehead.

“Do you trust me?”

She nodded, the reaction so fast as if it was innate, like there was no doubt about her answer. And she did, she trusted him with everything.

“With my life, Oberyn.”

His lips curved upward against her skin, his fingers curling into her side. 

What a lucky man he was, to have married a woman like her.

“Sit down on the bed for me, please.” He said, feeling her hesitation at his gentle words. 

Taking a moment to steel herself, she took another deep breath before walking away from him, just a little unsure in her footing.

Still, she made it over, sitting down on the edge of the huge bed just like he requested, the silks smooth under her hands. She watched how he followed her, slow, deliberate steps, feeling a tenseness in her abdomen at the sight of him. His gorgeous smile making the corners of his eyes crinkle, coming to stop right in front of her.

Instinctively she reached for his hand, just lightly holding onto it, needing reassurance, encouragement. The motion only made him smile more, squeezing her fingers as he slowly kneeled down in front of her.

He couldn’t hold back the chuckle which left him when he looked at her surprised face, shaking her head.

“What are you doing? You shouldn’t-” She stammered out, confused by his actions. What husband kneeled before his wife? On their wedding night no less. “Shouldn’t I be the one-”

Oberyn slowly shook his head, raising her hand to his lips, giving each knuckle a kiss, dark eyes fixed only on her. His unoccupied hand touched her clothed thigh, making her jump just a little, her eyes never leaving his. 

Like they were bound to him in some way.

“If I wish to kneel before my wife to show my devotion to her, then I shall do so.” He said, his voice calming her nerves, just like his lips did, turning her hand in his, kissing the tip of each finger. Each kiss lingering, an extension of his love for her. 

Moving to her palm, eyes staying fixed on hers as his lips pressed against it, his beard tickling her.

She enjoyed it, watching in awe how attentive he was, feeling warm at his touch.

Then, he leaned forward, capturing her lips with his own and she could feel the desire sleeping within him, holding back for her sake. She allowed herself to close her eyes and simply feel him, aware of his hand on her clothed thigh, the other intertwining their fingers, an anchor for her.

Carefully his lips wandered away from her mouth, kissing the corner of it, then peppering her jaw with fleeting touches, finally reaching her neck. 

The gasp that tumbled from the depths of her chest as he made contact with the sensitive flesh excited him, the sound something he wished to preserve forever.

“Oberyn.” She whimpered, shifting in her place when his tongue darted out to taste her, breathing in the scent of oranges which always lingered with her.

A smile graced his lips, enjoying that she was easing into his ministrations, perhaps even enjoying herself as he caressed her skin.

“Do I have permission to undress you?” Oberyn asked after several more moments, pulling back to look at her face, finding it flushed and her eyes still closed.

The nervousness which had faded a little under his touch came back suddenly, turning her stomach into knots. 

Undress her.

Seeing her naked, completely exposed. When he had been with so many others before her, would he even like what he saw?

She wasn’t self-conscious by any means, but in comparison to his life before her, she could not help but think about the possibilities. Being inexperienced in pleasure already weighed heavily on her shoulders, she didn’t wish to disappoint him in just about everything tonight.

He could see the emotions cross her face, her eyes spoke of all the uncertainty and fear that whirled inside of her at this moment when she opened them. 

And it broke his heart. 

His beautiful, stunning wife, chained up by the expectations which had been placed upon her shoulders by everyone but him.

There was nothing he expected from her, already knowing she was the most gorgeous woman he had ever laid his dark eyes upon, the most kind and loving wife. All he would ask of her was to stay loyal to him and to love him like he loved her, with all her heart and mind and soul. Like they were bound by fate.

Bound by an invisible string which had led them to one another.

She softly squeezed his hand, taking a deep breath before nodding. Forcing the smallest smile onto her lips, small compared to the one he gifted her in return.

The hand on her thigh moved up to her shoulder, brushing back the hair which had fallen over it, then letting his fingertips wander over the material of her gown. Soft silks, embroidered and beaded with hundreds of thousands of small stones.

Making her shimmer in the candlelight, like a million stars were strewn across her body.

Never losing her eyes when he brushed one strap off of her shoulder, watching for a reaction that she didn’t want this. There was no joy in this if she wasn’t willing.

He let it glide down her arm, not yet exposing her breasts to him, simply letting the swell of one appear in the periphery of his view. Soft skin, the whisper of a sigh leaving her when he leaned forward to kiss her exposed collarbone, to press his nose against the dip above it.

Still holding onto her hand, her fingers nervously flexing against his own as he moved on to the other side, slower this time.

The beat of her heart was visible, shaking the pretty material over where it sat, hoping he would be able to make it beat as wildly for another reason soon.

And as he carefully slid the material off her other shoulder too, she took a shuddering breath looking up at the ceiling. The cool air meeting her heated flesh, nipples perked.

Oberyn repeated his earlier motion, kissing the other side but this time moving down to press his lips against the valley in between her breasts. A low hum vibrated in her chest and he could feel the noise, kissing her again and again.

“You are so beautiful, my dove.” He said, looking up at her but seeing her gaze turned away. Unable to tell if it were simply her nerves or shame. “May I touch you?”

Silence befell them for a moment as she tried to calm herself. His words were encouraging, her heart soaring and the gentleness with which he treated her made her want to cry.

She could feel his lips on her still, like she had been branded by him, hot and searing. A good feeling, a welcome one.

Longing for his touch but still too afraid to speak, her skin yearning for his lips, for his fingers. Yearning for every inch of him, still wondering just what exactly he had in mind for tonight.

“Yes.” She breathed out, shaky and barely audible even in the dead silence.

Then his hands were on her, softly cupping her breasts, feeling the velvety skin of them. Admiring them, his thumbs brushing over the peaks, making her moan quietly. She tilted her head down, taking in the way he looked at her.

With a desire she had never seen in anyone before, mesmerized and needing, but not making her feel like an object for his desires.

He made her feel like art. Like a beautiful painting.

A slight pressure built in her abdomen as his thumbs rubbed over her nipples again and again, an unfamiliar feeling she blamed on his touch. It was pleasant, watching in awe as he bowed his head to take one stiff peak into his mouth. Hot and wet on her skin, her free hand twisting into his hair, a shaky gasp leaving her.

“Oh, Oberyn.” She moaned, concentrating on his tongue repeating the motion of his thumb, a deep groan of his vibrating against her. “It feels good, fantastic. You feel fantastic.”

He looked up at her, not stopping his ministrations but a twinkle appeared in his dark eyes. She rubbed her thighs together, a motion which didn’t go unnoticed by Oberyn, finally releasing her breast with a soft pop. Surging upwards to capture her lips in another kiss, fiery this time but reigning himself in as he felt himself move too fast.

“You’re feeling it, are you not?” He asked, parting from her and staring deep into her eyes. “Pleasure, my dove?”

“I’m not sure, Oberyn.” She replied, his kiss having left her a little breathless, her head reeling. “There is a pressure…”

A soft chuckle fell from his lips, a smile stretching his mustache wide over his lips, revealing his teeth. 

“Right here?” He touched her abdomen, right where the feeling appeared and she nodded. No one had ever thought to teach her a damn thing about herself. “Yes, my dove. Pleasure. Do I have permission to undress you further? I wish to give you more of this feeling.”

Her nod was eager this time, easing into his touch. It filled him with joy, pressing another kiss to her lips which made her giggle.

Oh, how he loved that sound.

“Lay down for me, my sweet.”

She did, their hands finally letting go of each other as she laid back, immediately finding his lips to be back on her sternum, kissing a path further down between her breasts, onto her stomach. Revealing more of her skin as he went.

Peeling the garment off of her like he would with a fruit, revealing the sweet flesh, tasting it, feeling it beneath his fingers.

Feeling her shaky breaths as he lingered over her stomach, her muscles twitching under the caress of his lips.

He lifted her hips, pulling the dress down the rest of the way, letting it fall to the floor. Exposing her entirely to him, his lips pressing against that spot on her lower belly where she felt the pressure building.

Her heart beat in her throat, fighting the urge to cover herself with her hands, knowing he would just move them away. His own hands smoothed along her naked thighs, watching her face as she looked at the ceiling, lips slightly parted.

“You were made in the Gods’ image, my love.” He whispered, letting his lips trail back up her body, feeling himself become drunk on her body, on her beauty. To think she had feared this, feared showing herself to him when she truly was the most beautiful being he had ever laid his eyes on. “No beauty compares to that of yours.”

She smiled, a sound the cross of a sob and a huff tumbling over her lips, overwhelmed by his love for her. Melting into his lips as they found hers yet again, like he couldn’t get enough of her, of the taste of wine and fruit on her tongue.

Suddenly she thought about him, still fully dressed. Shouldn’t she make him feel as good as this, too? Cover his body in kisses, worship him like he worshipped her?

She was curious to see him, wondered if he bore scars. How big they were, how deep. She wanted to see him, longed for it.

Her hands wandered to the hem of his robe, attempting to undress him but he stopped her. Gently taking her wrists in his large hands, he moved them away, shaking his head.

“My Viper-” She began in an attempt to explain before he shushed her again.

“Tonight is about you, my Princess.” Oberyn said, kissing the corner of her mouth. A small whimper escaped her, her lips chasing after his when he moved back again. “You and your pleasure only. I told you, I can wait until all eternity.”

He rested his forehead against hers for a moment, hoping to get her to understand just through his eyes that his words weren’t empty promises. As he breathed with her, one calming breath after the next, he hoped she understood that he would wait a lifetime and beyond for her to be fully ready. Her pleasure alone would be enough to sustain him until the sun had shared its last rays with the world, until the world grew cold and dark.

“I wish to touch more of you, my love.” Oberyn whispered into the silence, his hands moving to her hips. “Will you allow me to?”

She nodded, more firm than at the beginning, feeling a throbbing between her thighs, an unfamiliar wetness.

“Yes, my Viper.” A whisper just as quiet as his, her eyes full of desire, even if he could still see remnants of fear in them.

Oberyn brushed the bridge of his nose along hers, an intimate gesture which made her heart burst with love and joy. Hands coming up to cup his cheeks just for a moment before he slipped away again, down her body.

Calloused hands rested on her knees, his eyes on her face as she sat up slightly, leaning onto her elbows to watch him. She bit her bottom lip, his hands slowly opening her legs, gentle and sweet in his movements.

He kissed the inside of one knee when she was fully spread for him, once again resisting the urge to close them. His beard scratched along the sensitive skin, moving to the other knee as well.

It felt good, the way he kissed her skin, the way his beard felt on the sensitive flesh. How his hands smoothed over her thighs as he inched higher, lifting his head again.

One of his hands moved upwards, ghosting over her mound and feeling the coarse curls covering it, feeling the shiver that went up her spine at the featherlight touch. He watched as he gently spread her lips apart for him, glistening from the wetness that had gathered. 

His thumb just hovered over her clit, like he was unsure. All while she watched, holding her breath in anticipation of where he would touch her next, each touch better than the last.

“Have you ever touched yourself before?” Oberyn asked, eyes moving back up to hers. Knowing fully well that she would answer with a No. She was too responsive to his ministrations to have done so before. “Right here?”

His thumb pressed down, featherlight, like a ghost, drawing a choked gasp from her, her hips involuntarily rolling in response.

It was as if lightning had shot through her, setting her nerves ablaze at his touch. Her skin hot, she felt like she was burning up from the inside, the pressure in her abdomen only becoming worse.

“N-No.” She breathed out. Already longing for more of his touch. Needing more of that buzzing feeling it provided, pulsing faintly where his thumb rested.

His thumb swiped lower, gathering a little more wetness before ghosting over that little peak of nerves again. Carefully, trying not to overwhelm her with these new emotions, coaxing a low moan from her lungs.

It might just become his favourite sound, a sweet symphony sung only for him in this shared intimacy. Sweeter than the choirs which had sung at their marriage celebration which just now seemed so long ago already. Sweeter than the birds, than the bustle of the markets, than the rolling of the sea.

He lifted one of her legs over his shoulder, kissing the inside of it as he lazily rubbed his thumb over her, watching her reactions. Her eyes were dark with nothing but lust and curiosity, only fixed on his moving digit. She tried to hold back more sounds, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her heart still thrumming against it for reasons he liked now.

No longer out of fear but out of desire.

“How does it feel, my dove?” Oberyn whispered against her skin, pressing more wet kisses against it, the hand holding her leg caressing it while his thumb moved away from her clit. Instead, it traced her outer lips, which still made her hips jerk and roll but provided a more subdued sensation. “Tell me all, I wish to know what it feels like for you.”

Her eyes snapped up to his when his thumb moved away, a whiny noise of protest leaving her.

Desperation on her face.

“It feels good, Oberyn.” She whispered, the leg over his broad shoulder trying to coax him to continue. “You feel marvellous. My blood has been replaced by molten metal, I can feel it burning and throbbing.”

Oberyn smirked, lightly nipping at her skin. “Your cunt?”

Watching her discomfort at the word, he chuckled but saw her nod still.

The urge to taste her overcame him abruptly, the urge which had been his plan when she told him she was too scared to have him tonight. Knowing he could show her the heights of pleasure on the tip of his tongue, ease her into it entirely.

“My love, you said you would trust me with your life, did you not?” He asked, keeping his eyes locked onto hers. She nodded again, whispering a shaky Yes. “Please, lay back and close your eyes, I wish to surprise you.”

Her brows knitted together, having half a mind to do as he asked and not beg for more of his touch. Laying back down and closing her eyes, anticipation frightening her but trusting him in whatever he had planned.

It took a moment, a moment in which she heard him shift around, his tunic rustling, feeling him move.

And then, she felt it. Warm and wet against her, his beard scratching against her most intimate parts, her legs threatening to close at the foreign sensation but his broad hands keeping them open.

“Fu- Oh Gods, Oberyn!” She cried out, his tongue circling around her clit again and again, wet, slurping noises accompanying his motions. One of her hands threaded into his hair for purchase, not daring to open her eyes and look at him.

He hummed against her, fingers digging into the flesh of her thighs, eyes trained on her parted lips, face twisted in lust.

“Say it.” He commanded, finding it amusing that she did not fully give into her desires in favour of appearing proper. What was there to be proper about when he had his face buried inside her sopping cunt? “Say it, my dove.”

Her back arched, feeling him suck at the bundle of nerves which made her cry out once more.

“Fuck!” She moaned, liking how the word rolled off her tongue. “Oberyn, fuck! Oh, Gods.”

A smile crept over his lips, doubling down on his efforts, feeling her fingers tighten in his dark locks. Focusing entirely on her clit, eating her like a man starved all while he looked out for her body’s response.

She could feel something inside of her, the pressure mounting more and more as her whines and moans turned higher in pitch, his tongue driving her closer to something. And he could feel it, holding down her hips in order to lap at her, the obscene sounds in stark contrast to the gentleness with which he pressed against her.

Opening her eyes, she looked at him, the sight making her cunt clench. His head between her thighs, with a stare of lust and determination, his eyes dark and piercing. 

It was a beautiful image.

Maybe she should have this painted instead.

“Let go, my dove.” He whispered, his voice slightly muffled by her, feeling himself hard against his breeches but biting back his own desires for her. Just this was better than the Seven Heavens, he was sure of it. Nothing would be sweeter than this, to bring her to the brink of pleasure and push her over for the very first time. “Let it take you, let it wash over you and just allow yourself to feel me.”

She did. Her body tensing up and expelling all air from her lungs, the cries of his name broken on her tongue as she tried to make sense of the intense feeling surging through her. The pressure releasing, her legs snapped shut around his head again but this time he did not stop her. 

Oberyn wanted to see the full extent of her ecstasy, remember every sound, every little movement of her muscles beneath her skin as she shook.

Needed to memorize her expression as he brought her to completion.

He saw the tears in her eyes, overwhelmed by the feeling of him, of the rush inside of her.

She felt dizzy as it faded, as he slowed down his movements until he had fully helped her through it all, pressing gentle, wet kisses against her mound and lower belly, feeling how her deep breaths let it rise and fall.

“More, please, more.” She whispered into the silence after a few moments. Quiet and breathless, his ears perking up at the sound.

Intoxicated by the way his mouth had worked her to completion, by how good it had felt. There was an understanding in her now, for why he had sought out pleasure for all these years before they had found one another.

She never wanted this to end, craving more of him, more of their unity. 

“Ah, my wife is a greedy one, I see.” Oberyn chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I will give you more, my love. My wife shall have everything, I shall give you all you want for - gowns, jewellery, pleasure. I shall spoil you rotten.”

“You already do.” She moaned, his mouth back on her, hissing at the slight sting she felt. “Fuck, you do, Oberyn. You do!”

This time, his tongue wandered lower, and she threw her head back into the sheets at the feeling of his talented tongue licking around her pulsing, aching hole before he pushed inside. His nose bumped against her clit, the wet, vulgar sounds becoming louder. 

Lapping at her like a thirsty man would drink from an oasis in the desert. Like she was the life to sustain him, to keep him breathing.

He groaned against her in an unabashed fashion, letting his pleasure from this be known, mingling into the perfect symphony with her cries.

That sweet pleasure coursed through her, letting tears well up in her eyes as she tried to breathe, trying to form words in between her incoherent sounds.

Delirious and intoxicated.

“Oberyn, please! I’m-” She couldn’t finish her sentence, ecstasy stealing her breath away as he expertly pushed her over again, her hands pushing and pulling at his hair. Too much, too much and yet it was just right, riding wave after wave that crashed into her, washed over her.

Her hips bucked up against him, chasing his mouth as he pulled back, giving her some reprieve, hungrily kissing along her inner thigh with a groan.

“I knew you would enjoy this, my love.” He growled, nipping at her skin with his teeth and making her squeak. There was nothing more he wanted than to be buried inside of her right now, he couldn’t deny that. But he wouldn’t, instead planning to wear her out so thoroughly with his mouth that all of her worries would simply ease away. “My sweet, wonderful wife.”

So he kissed up her thigh to her knee, letting his lips wander over every inch of her, then venturing further over her calf. 

“I do, my Viper. I do.” She whispered, each kiss sending a jolt through her. Until now she couldn’t have fathomed anything to be so intense and all consuming as this. To make her feel like she was on a cloud, drifting away while her new husband worshipped her.

“I am not through with you yet. You will feel the heights of pleasure tonight, I have promised you as such.”

And before long, his mouth found her core again, coaxing another orgasm from her, her voice turning hoarse as she whispered his name over and over like he was one of the Gods. 

Maybe he was. 

With the way he moved about her body, his hands wandering and feeling while his tongue worked her up to another peak and another.

Holding true on his promises and leaving her spent when he finally decided that she had experienced enough bliss. The candles around them long burned down, shrouding them in darkness, illuminated by the faint moonlight.

Oberyn left her boneless on the bed, eyes closed and breathing hard, she drifted in and out of the comforts of sleep, faintly feeling his strong hands manoeuvre her under the covers.

“Oberyn…” She mumbled, hearing him shush her like he had done so often this night. The bed dipped beside her, his heavy form laying next to her body, pulling her close.

Still feeling like she was floating, embraced by his warmth, the happiness from earlier this night returning. His lips pressed against hers, so tender and gentle as if he hadn’t just taken her apart with only his tongue.

“Sleep, my dove. My sweet, wonderful and kind wife.” He whispered, kissing her forehead as she slowly drifted into slumber. Gratefulness and love sat deep inside her chest as she did. “There will be much more to discover. So much more.”

She woke before the sun had risen, her body aching in the most delicious ways as she moved. Oberyn’s arms still embraced her, turning around in his grasp to look at his peaceful form. 

Her husband. 

It still felt like a dream, too good to be true. Even though his strong arms around her body and his handsome face right in front of her reminded her that it was in fact real. She could still feel his hands on her body, etched into her skin like a mark. A mark she would be happy to wear until all eternity.

Her gentle fingers found the bridge of his nose, brushing over it, taking in his features. Thinking about the sight of him between her thighs, worshipping her.

How he had lapped at her, like a thirsty, starving man who had found his paradise between her legs, finally finding it after a seemingly endless journey. Drinking from her to sustain himself, taking as much as he was giving, making said paradise blossom.

She felt warm at the thought, her fingers wandering over his tanned cheek. Never had she seen him like this and she found it strange to see him without his smirk when in her presence. Always smiling, making her laugh.

Breathing in and out at a steady pace. This would be the face which would greet her until all eternity, she realized. The arms which would hold her every night, his warm, firm body pressed against hers, still clothed unlike hers. A welcome image, making her smile wider as she brushed some hair from his forehead.

“My Viper.” She whispered, leaning forward to kiss him, first on the tip of his nose, then his lips. Soft beneath hers, his beard tickling her skin.

Desire awoke in her again at the touch, the vivid feelings from last night at the forefront of her mind. His arms wrapped around her tighter, startling her as he tiredly kissed her back, awoken by her featherlight touch.

Caressing her, chuckling quietly when she drew back. His dark eyes were so beautiful, piercing even when laced with sleep. The most beautiful eyes she had ever seen, full of love and admiration for her.

“My dove, my sweet wife.” He sighed, one of his hands smoothing over her bare hip, moving to her bottom.

Squeezing it gently and making her gasp.

Fanning the flames within her, humming deeply at his ministrations. She thought about his mouth, how he had used it on her, wondering if she could do the same for him.

She wanted to, a strange eagerness to pleasure him overtaking her, her hand wandering to the opening in his robe, feeling his warm, bare chest beneath.

The thought of consummating their marriage seemed more acceptable at this moment, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to fully give into the idea just yet.

Oberyn saw the look in her eyes, recognizing it in an instant. How often he had seen this exact gaze in others, how often had it preceded the most wonderful sensations. Yet here, with her, it made him proud, made him more hungry than it ever had made him before.

Despite that, concern mixed into his excitement. She had been so scared last night, inexperienced and her head filled with terrible tales. The emotion in her eyes seemed real, but he couldn’t help but be worried.

“I wish to give back to you, Oberyn.” She whispered, her hand wandering lower, resting on his covered belly. The tips of their noses were touching, eyes locked onto another. “You made me feel the most incredible sensations, and I wish to pleasure you. Let me use my mouth like you used yours.”

His heart skipped a beat at her words, surprised by her sudden boldness. He had always known that her soul simply needed a gentle nudge to bloom and come alive. That the fierceness he saw in her every day extended into far more facettes of her being.

It was as if a new spirit had taken over her, leaving her more confident. 

“Please, Oberyn. I wish to give to you what you gave to me.” She whispered intently when he hesitated, still scared of the actual act itself, but more than willing to reciprocate his love and devotion the way he had shown it to her.

“My dove, this is about you, not me.” He whispered back, cupping her cheek in his large palm. Rough and calloused from years of training, years of fighting. “I cannot allow this in any good faith.”

“Please.”

The way she looked at him, so eager and determined. How could he say no? She wanted this, even if he wanted these glorious morning hours to be devoted to her only. Devoted to the beginning of their life together, the sun only starting to show the top of its face in the far distance of the horizon.

“Promise me that this wish is not borne out of any obligation you feel towards me.” Oberyn said, needing to rule out that the loving, kind spirit of her being drove her actions instead of her own desire. “This is borne from you, your own heart.”

She nodded, whispering a small Yes back in answer to his question. 

He sighed, kissing her forehead with an affirmative hum. Feeling the excitement grow within him, his cock twitching at the thought of her mouth.

What a wonderful wife he had.

But as he watched her naked body emerge from beneath the covers, his brows furrowed, seeing her move to the side of the bed, attempting to slide off of it.

Oberyn grabbed her wrist, stopping her in her tracks and she looked up at him, confused. Looking so beautiful, with the sun slowly painting the skies behind her a beautiful purple, driving away the darkness. Her hair tousled, shallow lines on her face from sleep.

“What are you doing, my dove?” He asked, sitting up.

Her brows knit together in confusion, mirroring his gaze.

“Getting on my knees, just like you did, Oberyn.” She answered, genuine about her intentions. Watching him shake his head, pulling her towards him.

“No.” He replied, looking at her intently. “I won’t allow you to. My wife will not kneel before me.”

“But, Oberyn-” Her attempt to argue was squashed by the look he gave her.

“I am to worship you, kneel before you on the floor to show you my devotion, to show you pleasure.” Oberyn said, looking at her kneeling on the bed in front of him. She seemed more demure again suddenly, more timid. But the lust still blazed in her eyes. “Far too many wives expect it to be their place, on the floor in front of their husbands. Not you. You will not kneel on the floor today, my dove.”

Her heart warmed at his words, smiling and leaning forward to kiss him, her hands wandering to the thin robe he still wore. His words touched her, so thoughtful of meanings she hadn’t even thought about yet.

She wanted to kneel before him, just as he had done the night before, but she cared deeply for his words.

Slowly she opened his robe as she kissed him, letting her hands wander over his toned chest, down to the soft swell of his stomach. Touching and exploring like he had, her lips mirroring the paths he had painted onto her not too long ago, kissing down his jaw, to that point which had felt so good on her, below his ear.

Revelling in the way his breath hitched when she ventured down further, kissing every inch of him.

In the way his hands threaded into her hair, moving it out of her gorgeous face to watch her.

“You are a fast learner, my dove.” He chuckled and she felt the vibrations ripple through him. A smile broke on her face, feeling encouraged by him, by the way he touched her, the way he loved her.

“I am, am I not?” She giggled, sitting back up when she had reached his navel, the patch of dark hair which travelled into his breeches. Sitting back on her legs, she admired him for a moment, his tan skin glowing in the faintest orange from the rising sun, his beautiful body on display for her, almost as naked as she was.

Littered with scars like she had thought him to be, both small and large in size, some deep and some shallow. Faint and bold, her finger tracing along some of them.

Looking like one of the Gods. Made in their image.

“You look beautiful, Oberyn.” She whispered, her hands wandering to the strings on his breeches, needing to see what lay beneath them. The outline of him was prominent, leaving little to the imagination. “May I?”

He smiled, leaning forward to gently capture her lips with his own. One of his hands smoothed up her arm, feeling her nerves well up again. Attempting to calm her.

“Of course, my dove.”

She smiled, rubbing the bridge of her nose along his just as he had done, her shaky fingers untying the string. Peeling back the dark fabric, she couldn’t hold back the gasp that left her lungs at the sight of him, springing free.

She had been right to be scared, to be nervous and while she felt a strange desire at the sight of his cock, angry and leaking, she couldn’t help but feel nervous all over again.

Oberyn just watched, slowly leaning back once more, her fingers trailing through the dark, coarse hair at the base. Just letting her explore on her own, hissing softly when she touched him, featherlight as if she was unsure.

Soft like velvet, throbbing and bouncing. The dark tip glistened with something. 

She ran her finger over the prominent vein at the underside, then drew back, deciding to take his trousers off entirely first. Needing him fully exposed like she was, she tugged them down his legs, revealing his toned thighs and calves, hardened from years of training.

Like the Gods.

Wrapping her hand around him, she looked up to his face, seeing the intense gaze of his as he watched her fingers before his dark eyes met her own. Upon seeing the uncertainty in her, Oberyn gave her an encouraging smile, her touch setting him on fire unlike anyone had ever done before.

“You’re doing well, love. Keep going.” He said, his heart fluttering at her smile, his legs opening a bit wider. “Just move your hand, if you wish.”

She nodded, doing as he said. Leaning down to take him in her mouth, she was stopped by his hand on her shoulder.

“You best lay down on your belly for that.” He suggested, his voice growing thinner. This woman would rob him of his last sanity and he hadn’t even felt her properly just yet. “It will be easier on your body and I will be able to see your face, my love.”

“Oh.” She replied, the simple sound making him chuckle. Shifting into position between his opened legs, feeling awkward as she did. He beckoned her closer, helping her so her arms were positioned over his hips, her elbows resting on the sheets.

So close to him, her hot breath fanning over his sensitive skin. The hunger clear in her eyes as his cock was right in front of her, still gripped by nervousness. 

Ducking her head, she pressed small kisses against his belly, then over his hip bones. Peering up at him through her lashes only to find him fixated on her, his hand coming up to gather her hair in a loose grip, just to get it out of the way. Watching how she teased him, his aching cock brushing along her cheek, trying to tame his hips which were squirming in anticipation.

Excruciatingly slow she moved back a little, lifting her head and taking him into one hand again. Oberyn’s breathing became heavier, seeing her lips descend and press against the head of his cock, like she was kissing it. Her tongue darted out, licking over the slit and grimacing a little at the taste of the pre-cum.

He couldn’t help the chuckle, warm and without malice, making her smile and giggle in return.

“Salty.” She remarked curiously, then resumed kissing him. Over and over, pressing her soft lips against the head, trailing them down the length of it. Just following what she thought was right, peering up at him now and then as if to ask for encouragement.

She moved so deliberately and gently that it looked like she was worshipping him. Worshipping his aching cock while laying in between his legs. Making his blood boil hotter than the sun, mesmerized by the sight of her.

“What a sight you are, my sweet dove.” He breathed out, fingers running along her scalp as she moved back up to the head. “My sweet wife. You are doing so well, simply keep kissing it.”

She felt warmth spread through her at the praise, the pressure in her abdomen returning. 

But this was about him.

“Does it feel good?” She whispered in between kisses, letting her tongue dart out again, giving the sensitive tip the tiniest lick.

“Divine.” He moaned, the sight of her too much. She looked beautiful, her contours slowly being bathed in orange hues as the sun rose higher. “You may take it into your wonderful mouth, my dove. If you wish.”

She nodded, doing as he said, opening her mouth just a little to take in the head, already feeling heavy on her tongue. Did she just move her tongue now as he had done with her? 

Or should she take more of him?

She decided on moving her tongue, licking at the head and experimentally sucking on it like he had on her clit, the deep groan that left him making her feel proud. Proud to be able to give back what he had shown her last night.

“By the old Gods and the new, nothing will feel more divine than this, my dove.” Oberyn moaned, his fingers twitching in her hair, clearly trying to hold back. Unwilling to scare her away, just letting her explore as she saw fit. “You feel wonderful, so wonderful. My cock on your tongue, what a sight.”

She took more of him, gently bobbing her head, knowing she was doing right when he kept making those wonderful sounds above her. Groaning and moaning with every movement, ecstasy overtaking his body.

Her own, private melody, her own song.

She wanted to hear more of it, becoming more eager, more assured with her movements, lifting her head to kiss it again, her hand spreading the saliva over what she couldn’t fit into her mouth, stroking him. Liking what she was doing, the heavy feeling of when he was in her mouth, her desire growing by the second but wanting to see what pleasure looked like for him. What his face would look like when he reached the heights that she had at the mercy of his mouth.

And as she continued, alternating between kissing him and bobbing her head on him, she didn’t feel scared or nervous anymore. She wanted him, needed him. Needed to know what his cock would feel like inside of her.

Needed to be one with him, beyond what they were doing right now. She was growing impatient, feeling so safe and so loved in his presence, here between his legs, that she did not want to wait much longer.

“My viper, I want you.” She breathed out when she lifted her head, her hand stilling for a moment. Pupils blown wide, a nearly ravenous expression on her face. “Please, Oberyn, my love.”

It took a moment for him to realize what she meant, finding it difficult to form a coherent thought with how close he was to his own peak, lost in the feeling of her lips around him.

“Are you sure, my sweet?” He asked, cupping her cheeks with both hands as she rose onto her hands and knees, her face close to his. “Do not feel pressured on my behalf-”

Slotting her lips against his, she cut him off, kissing him with such vigour he knew she was firm in her words. She moaned when he kissed her back, his hands on her body as he rose, moving her to lay down onto the silk bedding, never leaving her lips, staying connected to her.

Moving to her neck again as she laid below him, kissing and sucking at that sensitive spot below her ear.

“Oberyn, please.” She moaned, eyes half-lidded, squirming beneath his broad body. Hair splayed out like a halo around her head, tinged in orange sunlight. “Do not tease me, please.”

As he hovered above her, he took a moment to take her in. All of her, all his but not owned by him. Still as free as a bird for he would never cage her, make her submit, but this sight of her only for him to enjoy. The curves of her body, the way she breathed heavily, squirmed in anticipation and desperation.

All his. His wife.

Still unbelieving that this was reality, settling himself between her spread thighs. He was able to see her heart beat against her ribcage once more, just as he had wished to see it, pumping hard because of lust and not of anxiety.

His cock rested against her thigh, heavy and leaking and aching for her, aching to fully become one with her.

“Tell me you want this, my sweet.” He breathed, positioning himself so the head of him pushed against her aching hole. Ready to have him, inviting him in. “Tell me, my love. You want this, you want to become mine in body and heart and soul the way I want to become yours.”

She cupped his cheeks, eyes only on his as she nodded. Her heart swelling with every word that tumbled from his lips in the dawn, his handsome features lined by orange hues.

“Yes, Oberyn. I want this.” Her answer was a whisper but it did not lack in fervour. Smiling up at him, tears in her eyes, knowing what she was doing was right and that she was happy for this to be her life, with him by her side. “I wish to be yours, in body and heart and soul, connected to you until all eternity, until our hair turns grey and our bodies wither with the run of time.”

It was as if they held their very own, private wedding ceremony. Just the two of them to witness their words, to witness their love and passion and pleasure. 

“Until all that remains of us are two stars in the night sky, our names a whispered memory.” He said, kissing her, his hips slowly pressing forward.

It took her by surprise, her gasp swallowed by his mouth as he carefully pushed inside of her, a groan rumbling in his chest. 

A feeling like no other, feeling full as he stilled inside of her, his forehead resting against hers and breathing hard. The smallest laughter shared between them before their lips met again and again, his hands wandering all over her body, grabbing and pulling at every inch.

He could remain here forever, buried inside her, their lips meeting in a fiery passion, fuelled by their love for one another, the desire to feel, to be one.

Her embrace warm and welcoming, her arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him impossibly closer. She wished she could crawl inside of his skin, mentally cursing herself for having been so scared of this.

Mentally cursing everyone who had told her tales of pain and misery, of simply enduring the first night and every night thereafter. Not one had mentioned the intense love and desire, the feeling of needing another human more than she needed water to drink or air to breathe.

The feeling of completion, like she had found a piece of herself in him which made her feel whole. 

No. Like an addition to herself, an extension.

“Please.” She mumbled against his lips, her hands roaming over his back, feeling the muscles dance beneath his skin. “Oberyn.”

He understood, kissing her cheek when he moved his hips, pulling out of her almost entirely before sinking back in, and the sweet moan that left her was music to his ears.

Sweeter than any of the sounds he had pulled from her before, breathy and high-pitched. 

Looking magnificent in her ecstasy.

“My sweet dove.” He groaned, setting a slow rhythm, trying to hold himself back. Her mouth and hands had brought him close before and her sweet cunt made him feel dizzy, too close to the edge for his own liking. He needed to savour this, drag this out, for her and for himself. Wishing to remember this forever. “Tell me what you are feeling, tell me all.”

A sloppy kiss met the corner of his mouth, trailing to his jaw.

“Complete, full and complete and ecstatic.” She moaned against his skin, her nails digging into his back. Driving in and out of her repeatedly, brushing against spots inside of her that made her feel lightheaded, her toes curling. “I never want this to end.”

He chuckled, kissing her cheek.

“This is what the Seven Heavens must feel like.” Oberyn groaned, his thrusts falling out of rhythm, overwhelmed by her. Her tightness, her embrace, her warmth. “Here, buried in your sweet cunt lies paradise, just for us.”

Nodding, her lips found his again, so close once again.

Tears running down her temples, settling in her hair. Feeling nothing but him, the world ceasing to exist while entangled with him, becoming drunk off the pleasure.

Her peak reached her so suddenly, she couldn’t do much more than whimper against his mouth, her arms pulling him into her. Breathless, her body set ablaze.

The feelings so much more intense than before, feeling him shudder and then still against her through the haze in her mind. Their lips never stopping, her name tumbling from his and right into her mouth, as if he was praying to the Gods above.

Basking in the afterglow, he kissed her cheeks, her temples wet with tears, shushing her gently as she cried. Tears of joy, of happiness unlike no other.

He could not imagine himself with anyone else, everyone that had come before her paling in contrast.

The sun warmed their skin, the sky a bright orange, fading into pinks and purples at the very edges. Dipping everything it touched into its mesmerizing hues.

“I love you, Oberyn.” She whispered, so quietly that he almost didn’t hear. Stroking his cheek, tears still in her eyes, barely open from exhaustion, from bliss. “My sweet Viper, my husband.”

Oberyn smiled, slowly pulling out of her, already missing her warmth and tightness. He rolled them over to the side, carefully guiding her spent body. Admiring the beauty of her in the rays of the sun, casting beautiful shadows across her face, making her look like a fabled creature.

Glowing like the sun itself.

His Sun.

“And I love you, my Sun.” He whispered back, brushing some hair from her forehead. Seeing her brows knit together at the new name. “My wonderful wife.”

“My Sun?” She echoed his words, finding a warmth and safety in the name.

“You are my Sun, my sweet. The centre of my being, my warmth and my light.” He said, smiling gently, cupping her cheek. “Us Dornish worship our sun. She gives us food, she gives us life. A new day in her safety and guidance. She is sacred to us, without her, there would only be darkness and coldness.”

Her heart soared at his words, a sob leaving her, overwhelmed by his gentleness and his affection.

“You are my Sun now. Without you, my life would be dark.” He continued, brushing away her tears, filled with nothing but unbridled love for her in this moment. “And I am your Moon. Shining brightly only in your light, in your presence. Cold without your warmth, without your bright smile.”

She couldn’t find words to match his, everything she thought of seeming inconsequential.

But he was not done. His heart so full for her, as she laid in the light of the rising sun, embracing each other's spent bodies.

“Before you, my life was nothing but the chase for pleasure, to forget what I have lost.” Tears welling up in his eyes as well, a sight she had never seen before, raising a hand to wipe them away as they fell. Knowing somehow he was talking about Elia. “But now, with you by my side, there is no more need for such chases. All the pleasure of the world lies within you. In the warm heart beneath your ribs, your gentle kiss and sweet embrace. In this sweet cunt between your legs.”

She giggled between her sobs. Of course he couldn’t just not mention it.

But she felt sadness, her heart breaking at the thought of his dead sister. Of this sweet, loving man drowned in darkness and sorrow, trying to find something to take away the pain her death had caused.

He hadn’t talked of her much just yet, the memory too painful.

Hoping that he would now, after he had found a light to guide him out of the darkness.

“I wish to show you the world, to experience all the world has to offer us with you by my side. To give you all the children you wish for, tiny viperlings in the image of us.” More words which brought forth more tears. Ever the poet, ever spilling his aching heart. “All that will heal my broken heart. Healing it further as you have already begun to heal it, my Sun, unbeknownst to you. Every moment spent with my daughters, treating them like your own, giving them your love, all of that put another broken piece back into place.”

“Oh, Oberyn. My Viper, my Moon.” She whispered, wiping away more tears as her own continued to spill. Leaning up to kiss them from his cheeks, brushing her nose against his. “I do not have the words to explain what I feel for you. They feel inadequate to everything you have just said.”

Oberyn chuckled, moving to kiss her lips, those sweet, soft lips.

“There is no need, my Sun. Your touch and your smile are enough to let me know just what you’re thinking, what you are feeling. Let me worship you as you ought to be worshipped in this moment.”

Pressing their foreheads together as they lay in the glowing sun, tangled limbs and tangled souls warmed by it.

Just breathing, just feeling.

Connected in their very beings, basking in each other’s presence.

The love they felt was enough to sustain them for a hundred lifetimes.

The Viper and his Sun.

In a bond formed of love.

[blackjackkent]

Three billion other things I need to do today but this idea popped into my head (again - I've thought about it before) and decided to stay until I wrote it.

-----

"Ahhh, look, boss!" Karlach grins widely, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she trots along at Gortash's side. "What are those? Are they made of sugar?"

Gortash sighs, against his will turning to follow his bodyguard's eyeline. She's spotted a new merchant at the edge of the Wide, a brightly colored stall decorated in glimmering strands of magic and crepe. The cherub-cheeked gnome standing there does, indeed, seem to be selling some confection or other - artistically heaped piles of spun sugar in a variety of hues.

"It seems so," he says curtly, shrugging off Karlach's excitement.

This doesn't bother her. Gortash often seems immune to the wonders of the Gate and the vast variety of people and sights that crop up in every corner of the city. It's his one failing as a boss, but that's all right; Karlach can make up for both of them in enthusiasm.

"Aw, man," she says cheerfully. "I gotta give that a try." She continues her steady scan of the market around them, watching for any unexpected movement, any possible threat. But the Wide, as always, is merely a chaotic tapestry of perfectly normal people going about their lives. There's no danger here, not today.

Gortash comes to a halt outside one of the large buildings on the edge of the market square. No moveable stall, this, but one of the big permanent shops - a staid-looking facade of brick and polished wood with a sign over the door that reads "Hammond and Sons - Bespoke Garments."

"Wait here," he tells her briskly. "No customers come in before I'm done having a word with Daniel."

She grins crookedly. Having a word can mean a lot of things. Judging by Gortash's expression, in this case it means Daniel Hammond is about to be having a bad day. "What'd he do? Sew your seams too tight?"

"That is none of your concern," Gortash says sharply. "Suffice to say that Saer Hammond's trade is in far more than cloth goods, and that he has attempted to deal dishonestly with me."

"Ahhh..." Karlach nods. "Right, boss. I'll see you have your privacy." She flips him a jaunty salute and leans up against the fence that marks the edge of Hammond's property.

He disappears into the building, and she settles in to wait, absently fidgeting with the handle of the heavy axe strapped to her back. The way these things usually run, she'll likely be waiting at least an hour - which is fine by her. The Wide is one of her favorite places in the city, always moving and changing, and it's her job to watch it and take in every detail.

Couldn't be luckier, she thinks, scratching the back of her neck with a contented sigh. And hey, maybe on the way out, I'll see if I can buy one of those--

"Oof!" She grunts as a figure comes tumbling out of a nearby knot of people passing by and slams into her, dropping the pack he's carrying with a heavy thump.

The man stumbles backwards. "Ow. I-- so sorry," he mumbles sheepishly. "Someone knocked into me."

Karlach looks him over with idle curiosity; he doesn't seem hurt but doesn't quite meet her eyes. He's not exactly the usual clientele of the Wide - lithe and muscular, clothed in sober, form-fitting robes with an icon of the moon at the shoulder. Priestly type of some sort; Baldur's Gate has no shortage of nearby temples and monasteries.

"No problem," she says casually. "Gotta watch your feet around this place and no mistake. You all right?"

He clears his throat, straightening up. "A trifle lost," he says. "But otherwise yes."

She grins. "Don't get around here much, huh?" She can tell by the look in his eyes. He must be late thirties, but has the nervous attitude of a kid on his own in the city for the first time.

He smiles ruefully. "Is it so obvious?"

"Nah, only a little." A lot, really, but she's not gonna be a dick about it.

Karlach laughs softly to herself.

"Something I can help you find?" she asks. "If you were hoping for clothes, I'm afraid this place is closed right now." She jerks her head to indicate the shop she's guarding.

He clears his throat and fumbles for the pack that he dropped. "Ah, no - just trying to find my way out," he says mildly. "If you can point me in the direction of the northwest road, I'd be very grateful."

You can always tell 'south' by where the harbor is, or west if you're down in the Lower, she starts to explain eagerly- then stops herself. He doesn't care about all that, surely. Gortash has told her more than once that she needs to stop answering with fifty words when two will do. "Yeah - just up that way," she says, pointing past him. "Two rights'll put you on the main road; you can't miss it."

His expression brightens visibly with relief. "Ah... thank you so much," he says, hoisting the pack back over his shoulder. "Selune's grace follow you."

It's a blessing, clearly, but she isn't sure how to respond to it, so she just grins awkwardly. "Uh, yeah. You too, mate!"

He turns and walks away up the road, and she laughs softly to herself, watching the curious figure disappear back into the crowd. For all the things her childhood might have lacked, dirt-poor as they were, she certainly never lacked for experience that way; she's been running around every corner of the Gate practically since she could walk. Kind of funny, really, to remember that there are plenty of people that don't feel this city in their blood.

Hope he finds his way home and no trouble finds him. Doesn't seem like the sort that'd handle it very well.

[carelessflower]

consort 101

Alec dreaded his daily court-holding.

He knew his duty as consort, to look over and manage the royal harem. And what is a better way to do it than hearing the same people arguing over who had the best gold embroidered silk fan collections?

Alec took a sip of his tea, not missing the eyes that traced his every movement. Of course, many were convinced he had enchanted Magnus using a dark magic love spell. Magnus had laughed hearing that once. Then promptly demanded Alec to properly enchant him with his love spells this time. Alec's sore back the next morning did not help much with Alec's enthusiasm to deal with the harem. Many concubines were nice, but the one with the most to say always went out of their way to annoy Alec.

"Oh, your majesty. I haven't noticed how dowdy you look this morning." As if on cue, Jasper stood up and didn't even bother for a decent attempt of worry. "Please forgive me for my oversight." He was on his way to kneel, and it was obvious from the speed he didn't intend to go through it.

Alec smiled faintly. "That's alright. Please stand up. I appreciate your concern, but I am perfectly well."

"Really?" Jasper continued after returning to his seat, not caring at all about Alec's no desire to engage in whatever imaginary feud Jasper was having in his mind. "I thought- Well, you don't have to hide for our sake."

"Our king is a generous lover. Surely you understand that, your majesty. There's no need to be sad." Another concubine giggled.

"The consort will never. Jealousy is frowned upon in the harem. Your majesty knows it better than us."

"That's right."

"In fact, I'm sure the consort is happy for the king. The consort must be tiring himself out taking care of our majesty, and now he has someone to share that responsibility with him."

Voices laced venoms, the room hid the weapons underneath those smiles. Alec already knew the culprit for all of this. Victoria stood still, dress newly made and of the finest quality, all lace details and trim. Alec recognized the fabric. Magnus gifted it to her, and everyone in the palace was under no illusion how much her dressmakers went through for the gown to be a week-done affair.

He felt her staring at him, smugly proclaiming her win over Magnus's heart.

Usually, Alec would let this slide. Arguing with anyone who equated material gain to love was a waste of time, he would rather spend it to force Isabelle's stew not to poison every living creature in close proximity. But today, Alec was feeling a bit mischievous. And curious too. It was a unique combination.

Using the teacup to disguise his next move, he undid the first front lace on his robe, enough to reveal what was underneath. Magnus's marks were a stark reminder of what they were doing with the silk the night before, dotted on the pale column of Alec's throat, down to his collarbone.

"Concubine Johnson got it wrong. How can being with the king ever be tedious?" The chaos from the room erupted even more with his sentence.

"I thought the consort had fallen out of favor."

"How indecent! Showing off those things."

"The consort is so selfish, he's hoarding our majesty and bragging to us."

"Wait, haven't you been begging for that ruby pearl choker foreve-"

"Shut up!"

A range of emotions flashed and switched like rapid flames across many's faces. Alec hid the smirk to himself.

@dustandducks happy birthday lys you're absolutely talented and amazing legendary human being keep excelling always!!!!

[becausesomething]

Chapter 12 - In love

warning: nsfw, carnal sex, oral sex, squirt!ng, swearing

It was nice to wake up next to Eriss, she felt like a sleeping angel despite constantly moving, but you couldn't be upset against her cute, disheveled face. From the day we declared ourselves, I was forced to stay in bed for another three or four days, but she barely left my side and was constantly caressing me.

It was still early in the morning, but I needed to get out of that room and breathe some fresh air. I pick up the red coat from the side of the bed and drape it over my shoulders. Without a doubt, only having one arm made a lot of things difficult, but luckily for me, it was just a matter of creating a metal extension.

-Where are you going? Come back to bed. - fuck, I woke up Eriss.

-I can't go back to sleep, I need some fresh air.

-Stay, I no longer feel weak.

Before he could stop her, Eriss had already gotten up and went to put on a light blue robe with white flowers, leaving it open.

The night was pleasant, the sky was full of stars, and a cool breeze that smelled of heat made the candles swell. She leans on her chest, continuing to look out at the vast ocean.

-Why didn't you ever tell me that you also liked women?-Fear of judgment, of prejudice.

She turns around, hiding her face in my chest.

-I have a dark side Kid.

-We all have a princess. I would never judge you, you are free to be the woman you want to be

I lift his head and give him a kiss on the forehead. But she let out a mischievous smile and she couldn't wait any longer, she needed to feel those lips on mine.

....

She walked around the room, just in a long black t-shirt, her hair in a messy bun, and the choker she had given her.

-How long do you intend to stay in my room? I already told you that I feel much better, I don't need a babysitter.

-But what if for some reason one of the wounds opens and I'm not around? Or if you feel bad? Or are you fed up with me?

-Come here. I'm not fed up, I'm just reassuring you that I'm recovering well and you can stop constantly watching over me. Besides, it's getting difficult to resist you... - I take her by the hip and place her between my legs.

-I'm just worried and – I run my hand down your ass, passing over your thigh and getting closer to your intimacy – I'm not innocent, Kid.

She stops my hand and makes me lie down on the bed, placing herself on top of my lap. She looks me in the eyes and it was the first time I saw them shining with burning lust, she was becoming that excited tigress. Always careful with my injuries, she explores my torso and belly with her hands, seeming to memorize every detail. I give her a spank that makes her bite her lip and kiss me. Her small, delicate hands tangled in my hair, while our tongues battled to get to know each other better.

-Hit me, I want more. – she says that in a hoarse voice that makes my member start to throb just thinking about where that moment could come.

I increase the intensity of the spanking, while she unzips her pants and goes in search of my already hard member. Without wasting time, she begins a back and forth movement, sliding over me to get closer to him, while she doesn't look away from me. She runs her tongue over the head, while continuing with the same movement. When she felt me throb once again, she took me all in her mouth, making me let out a moan. Completely synchronized, her mouth wets me and her hands roam my length.

I grab her hair and pull her towards me, I had to save myself. She kisses me and helps me take off clothes that she was getting in the way of.

-I'll be on top, I don't want you to try too hard.

I still thought about stopping her, but the truth is that I wanted to appreciate that body, which was now mine. She runs down my member, damn how tight she was, but she was already so wet and warm. In less than a minute, she was quickly on top, almost jumping. I grab her breast and start playing with the nipple, making her moan and sigh. She pulls her head back, but I grab her hair and pull her towards me. I start to bite her neck and I see her body shrinking but then relaxing.

Damn, having only one arm hindered my plans, but I had to test my theory. I grab her breast and start to thrust deeper and faster, I let my hand slide down her body, digging my nails in, leaving marks.

-Crazy tigress, you're nothing innocent, right? – I pull her chin making her look at me. What I saw made me even more horny, that deep look bathed in pleasure and lust.

I bite her shoulder, leaving a mark. Still inside her, I turn her over and I'm on top. I run my nails over her body again and remove my member, making her snort. I approach her thighs and without mercy I begin to bite her, sinking my teeth in and finally giving her a light kiss. Her intimacy contracts and leaks even more. Without delay, I start licking every drop, she moans and grabs my hair. My tongue explores her, reading every twitch and movement, I find her hard clit and focus on it as I insert three fingers without fun.

-Fuck Kid, don't stop!

I quickly find the g-spot and begin a pulling movement while my tongue continues to play with the clitoris. I feel him getting even harder and I increase the intensity. She lets out a long moan and the bed starts to get completely wet.

That woman was going to be the death of me! How come I didn't realize sooner what was under my nose?I make her lick my fingers and I give her a kiss so she can taste it.-

On all fours, I want that ass stuck up for me.

With a naughty look and slowly she turns around. She was still able to tease me. I quickly thrust myself all the way inside her, thrusting harder and deeper. Her walls squeeze me tighter with each spank she receives. I scratch her back and pull her hair. I increase the pace until I am no longer able to contain myself. Our liquids mix, while she squeezes me even tighter.

She fits around my arm, avoiding my chest because of the injuries, and slides her fingers along the path that was free of bandages. I give him a kiss on the forehead.

-Eriss, were you ever some eccentric event in the underworld? – I feel her shrinking, avoiding looking at me. – You don't need to be afraid to answer.

-Yes, with Kimi. The truth is that my secret wasn't just her, but also my tendency to like reversing roles and the extreme nature of those parties

.I smile at her. I couldn't say I wasn't jealous of the woman who also belonged to her heart, but at that moment she was mine alone.

-I understand. Would you like to go with me next time? – Her eyes light up, once again, I feel her breathing stop for a few seconds while her heart beats even faster.

[lonelylonelyghost]

Watched 4 episodes of Fateful Love.

On the bright side - I really get why people were raving about the old-school feel of this drama. Pretty cool.

The guy from Snowfall is here, which is also great:

And these two are very cute:

But regarding the other things... Please, allow me to be a hater for a little bit.

Usually when I like a piece of media, I let it get away with a lot. But if I don't like it for whatever reason, then I tend to nitpick very small things that only builds up my dislike even more. I know that it's not objective at all, but the personal taste in art can never be so.

I understand that the aim of this cdrama is pure entertainment, just to watch our main heroes be badass and competent, wreck havoc and have a good ol' time. It's not claiming gritty historical realism (just look at the props and set design) (my eyes almost started bleeding when I first saw that dagger istg), it's a wish-fulfillment fantasy where people just wear vaguely historical gowns, and I'm as usual in my habit of overthinking.

FL thinks that this world is just her hallucination, so naturally she feels indifferent towards anyone and can behave however she pleases. And people surrounding her feel like caricatures, cardboard cutouts because they're not real, so logically I understand it.

But like, why should I care about anything then? The characters should make me invested in their fates at least a little bit, no? It's similar to the Double, where a highly competent couple achieve the highest level of badassery humanly possible, and I should like it, I really wanted to, but neither of the characters felt real, so after watching 20+ episodes I still ended up feeling absolutely nothing.

****

And I know that it sounds incredibly weird, but my biggest complain for this drama so far is that ML just doesn't walk like a person living in historical times would.

He walks like a contemporary person would in our real-life settings, only here instead of a business suit he's wearing royal robes. And there's a difference between a historical character acting relaxed in their robes, and a character that just doesn't know how to behave in those clothes. In the case of ML it's the latter, and it just looks wrong.

Usually I don't really pay attention to this kind of stuff, because it's just body movement, but now this small aspect is changed and it caught my eye instantly. I understand why FL moves the way she does - she's literally a transmigrator, but unless the Fourth Prince is also secretly from another time, it doesn't make sense.

ML is supposed to be a powerful and intimidating figure, a great general and a prince to boot. But to be seen as such while adorning a historical costume, you need to behave like that costume and setting are the most natural thing to you. But the way that ML's mannerisms are, it just feels like a bad cosplay.

Plus, when they show ML bowing to the emperor, they only show his knees, which is so strange? Was this just an... interesting editing choice or did the actor not want to bow down on screen?

There are more little details that ticked me off and I could pinpoint, but I'm lazy and I don't want to spend so much time on things that I don't like.

If you like this drama, then great! I wanted to like this too, but alas. The vibes are off...

[aroaessidhe]

Godkiller character descriptions for fanart.

Full entry (including spoilers) and database link in pinned post!

Kissen

The leg was finely made, a mixture of briddite and steel wrapped in leather, shifting plates that were light as bone . right leg

gold canine

26

sea-grey eyes

Kissen often drew looks: a reddish-headed Talician with a longsword, a cutlass, and a broken curse on her face.

Kissen reached inside her waxwool cloak, tracing her fingers over her pockets of relics and totems, tools and incense, the tricks of her trade.

The woman was sitting at a table wearing leather that looked hard enough to be used as armour and just low enough at the throat to show a tattoo at the top of her chest, a kind of loose spiral.  Her looks were Talician – pale and freckled, and her auburn hair cropped by her ears and bound in place with some rough-tossed braids and a leather band.

as she smiled the light shone on the pale outline of a scar like a spiderweb, woven from her left eye to her chin: a dead curse.

Her hands shone with scars as well, old burns that gnarled the skin. Elo noticed that she had freckles on her hands between the burns.

she drew the sword at her waist. The blade was dark: briddite again.

her horse: a mid-aged gelding

Without her cloak, she looked bigger somehow; her shoulders were broad and thick with muscle. But she stood a head and a half shorter than Elo; there was no way she could win in a fight.

drawing up her boot. Out of it she took a tired-looking foot-shaped piece of wood and clipped in the new leg. Then, she detached the cap from the leg with a clunk and slotted the cap onto her knee, binding it there with a thick leather strap around her thigh and two thin strips of cloth that went underneath and around the mechanics. The top of this cap had thinner leather straps that she threaded up her trousers and buckled to the leather girdle she wore above her hips. They fixed at an angle that allowed her to move her leg comfortably, but gave assurance that the cap wouldn’t fall off.

white scar on the woman’s face, or what the tattoos on her chest said. He had caught a glimpse of the spiral of ink that spread out above the top of the Talician woman’s cuirass, just below her throat, curled and loose. He had spent long enough in the army to know a swear word when he saw one, and this one said fuck you in Talic. / Kissen made her favourite gesture, curling her forefinger and thumb into a spiral like the one tattooed on her chest. Fuck you.

Kissen rubbed her chest over the sea-script as if it pained her. She also wore a leather pendant around her neck, which looked like some sort of vial.

She often wore her cuirass at night.

Her wild hair was pinned back beneath a band of plaits, and she was well dressed, not out of breath, her pack on her shoulder

She had made her leather armour so it would hold her breasts flat without restricting the movement of her arms too much

Yes, she looked every bit a woman of Talicia, with her wild hair and twists of braids, her broad shoulders, strong legs, and haughty nose.

----

Inara

Inara looked at the clothes in her hands. She was still wearing the leggings and skirts she had left home in, with her wool jacket and buttoned waistcoat. The pearly buttons, her mother had said, had come from one of her grandmother’s robes.

pale blue and grey of House Craier.

she had come out in a padded jacket and travelling cloak, with a kerchief over her hair

Lessa’s hands were dark gold-brown, while Inara was fairer, Lessa’s hair black and straight while Inara’s was brown and curled. She looked like her father, Lessa had said, though had never explained in more detail.

She had abandoned her skirts and was wearing only her leggings, trousers, shirt, waistcoat, and waxwool cloak. She had strung the bow with Skedi’s help, him growing to weigh it down, and bound the shortsword at her waist as Elo had shown her.

She was wearing Telle’s cotton trousers, rolled up almost half their length again, over her leggings and under her skirts. Her quilted jacket was in Legs’s saddlebags, but she wore her waistcoat with the special buttons. She had considered taking it off, putting it somewhere safe, but found she couldn’t

Skedi

the harelike face and antlers of the squirrel-sized god that poked its nose out of Inara’s cuff, his feathered wings tucked tightly against his back. Skedi looked like a cross between a hare, a deer, and a bird. In the barest moment, a knife was in the veiga’s hand. Skedi shrank to the size of a mouse and fled back up Inara’s sleeve as the blade sank into the wood of the table.

A hare’s face, but its eyes were yellow as a bird’s

----

Elo

dark, warm brown skin

He resisted the urge to touch his hair and make sure it was sitting well. It had grown out, its finely textured black coils needing more moisture and care than when he was a knight, his beard too; back then he had always been clean-shaven or wearing protective braids.

Elo went to his fireplace and reached beneath the mantel. There, his lion-headed pommel; he pulled down his sword.

For armour he wore only his bracers, with a leather doublet and jerkin over his shirt, but no more than that, and felt naked for it. Still, with the supplies for baking, and having shaved his beard and hair back to the skin, it felt like everything would be just fine.

a tall man with a longsword on his back.

Elo looked up and rubbed his hand over his shaved head with a half laugh

vambraces with buckles

his jacket and hood,

her eyes catching on something darker within the scar, on his shoulder. A tattoo, or an etching. No. God-script, like hers, but tangled, edged: wild-script, spreading out from a smaller, darker mark, about the size of a thumbnail. It looked like a fork in a road, the one that had been on the wooden board those knights outside Gefyr / She pushed him around and stared at his back. She hadn’t seen a curse like this before. It was simple, brutal, deeply ingrained. A curse like the one on her face was intended to disfigure, but when broken it had merely stained her skin white. Other curses were promises, like if such a fellow set foot on this land again, he’d be turned into a deer. That type of thing. This was a death curse: slow or fast, death would come in shadow on the road, in the shape of shadow. ‘It’s just going to keep growing,’ she said.

---

King Arren

He wasn’t in his state dress, but wearing sheepskin leggings, a lined twill cloak, and a rough shirt of brown hemp he must have stolen or bought from a labourer.

as always the sun rising behind him and a stag’s head beneath his foot. He had a proud-looking face in this etching, and curling light brown hair

The scar started just beneath Arren’s left shoulder. A deep rivet in his flesh where bone and lung had given way. There, his skin was tightly knitted and dark with smoke-script, the language of a god. Elo’s breath quickened, his mouth dry. It had been a long time since he had seen where the scar widened, the skin opening around a dark space, an impossible space. A thing that should not be, but a thing that had saved his friend’s life: in the darkness, the twigs began. A little nest, rounded with moss, cradling a flame where the king’s heart had once been. And the flame was dwindling.

---

Yatho

Yatho’s colours were kind enough, muted cornflower blue and lilac, and she had her black hair shaved short enough to show pretty leaf tattoos behind her ears.

Yatho’s arms were broad and muscled, filling out her shirt to its seams. It had been two months since Kissen had seen her adopted sister and was glad she was looking well, though her eyebrows were half-singed.

Yatho, pale, rumpled and grumpy, opened it, having clearly just shifted herself out of her bed and into her wheelchair, her mind still half in her filigree dreams.

---

Telle

The woman smiled at her. She was pretty, with dark eyes and fine brows that were scored by three straight scars that cut across her face, one leaving a deep cleft in her upper lip. This must be Telle.

[reddevil-xiv]

Playlist shuffle game: 1

Characters: Talia, with minor mention of Ice (@thedarknesssings) at the end. Content Warning: Murder. Song: In This Moment - The In-Between Continued from This Story.

Talia lifted an arm to wipe at her brow, staring down at the hole she’d dug. There was the box that contained her first tomestone, buried exactly where she had left it just a stones throw from the cabin she kept in the southern part of the Shroud. 

She knelt down to lift the box and then planted her feet and vaulted upwards, landing on the edge of the hole without much effort. So many little tips and tricks she’d picked up over the last few years. They’d give her a real advantage for this one. Hard to pinpoint a sniper that no one could see, after all. Even in broad daylight. 

She cracked open the box and tossed it to the side, opening the tombstone with a press of her thumb to the screen. It was the work of a moment to trace the messages to where they sat, waiting for her. Date, time, location, detailed description, identifying marks.

The information was committed to memory, before Talia turned and strode away from the cabin. The hole she left. She'd come bury the tomestone after if she didn't clean it up. She swore it to herself.

—————

Three bells later, Talia was dressed in her black leathers with her red mirrored glasses covering her mismatched eyes. She was perched up in the upper tiers of Limsa Lominsa. She’d slipped past the Yellowjackets and Maelstrom alike, perched herself up above Hawker’s Alley in the green cover of the buildings that overlooked either direction. Honestly, the dense foliage just made things easier for her. 

She had a clear line down into the alleyway, and a good view of those coming from the back ports nearer to Mealvaan’s Gate, and if she angled her rifle just right, she could see straight down the sight and to the edge of the harbor. 

She’d been laying there like this, prone on her belly for the last quarter of a bell. She didn’t figure she was actually going to have to wait that long for her target to show up, and sure enough, she was right. He swaggered amid a full quartet of bodyguards, conversing with what she assumed was another merchant. 

Their heads were down just enough that at this distance, even through the scope, she wasn’t entirely certain what they were talking about. Not that the conversation would last much longer anyway.

She let the scope of her rifle follow him, up past the Gate, and into the furthest end of the Alley, into the crowd of people. She counted his footsteps the minute he hit the end. Counted his even paces, and watched as the smile he wore spread. His business must be going well. And then she started counting down. 

Four; slide the bolt of the rifle, knock a cartridge into the chamber.

The noise was soft, the glide of her rifle smoothed by years of use and the anticipation of slow movement. Not that anyone in the alley could have heard her below, not with the hustle and bustle, not with wares being called for and people arguing and haggling over prices some twenty five fulm below her.

Three; press the stock more firmly against her shoulder and prepare for the recoil.

She continued to track her target through the alleyway as they moved from stall to stall. Watch the way he wove between his guards and the way he stepped. Heavy down on his left foot, as if it had been injured. 

Two; fit her finger over the trigger and take in a breath, stilling her body entirely.

He just needed to take one more step.

One; fire.

Her finger squeezed the trigger and a low and muffled thump was all that left her position as the shot sailed through the air over the couple hundred fulm between her and her target.

One moment her target was speaking with his bodyguard, and the next moment red was beginning to bloom from just over his heart, spreading across his fine light greenish robes like a blooming flower, staining the fabric dark with the last remnant pumps from his ruptured heart. 

Chaos erupted in the alleyway as someone screamed, and Yellowjackets came running from nearer to the aetheryte system. Bodyguards moved to cover the man who now lay dead on the ground, bodies spread across his too late while someone checked his vitals.

Talia eased further back into the brush, green shifting to practically part around her. Oh yes. She had so many more tricks now. She crouched there in the underbrush as she disassembled her rifle, broke it down into pieces and put it in the case that usually held it.

It snapped shut as she listened to orders being barked from below, as the Maelstrom came onto the scene. He was an influential merchant, after all, and he’d just been murdered.

She expected to feel threads of guilt, but instead she felt a quiet sense of satisfaction that hadn’t burned inside her in far, far too long. For a few seconds it burned bright in the center of her chest. She let it burn until it snuffed itself back out.

She was free of her perch not a few moments later, vaulting skyward in a way that only someone trained to jump could be, landing on the mid-decks of Bulwark Hall. Booted footfalls were silent as she strode away, heading for the edge of the city. Across one bridge and then another, before she was up over the edge near the Aftcastle, losing herself amid a crowd, just one more person with a musical instrument case slung up on her back.

The lower deck gates wouldn’t be safe, but she didn’t need to take those. It was easy to get lost in a crowd, but harder to mask her signature if she’d departed via aetheryte, so that was out of the question. She was never in Limsa today as far as anyone knew. Another five minutes, and she was free of the city, striding out into Lower La Noscea, not far from where she had left Reaper. She made certain she was on her secure line, before she lifted her linkpearl up to her ear, one leg swinging over the back of her bike to settle herself.

She waited for the line to click on before she started speaking.

“It’s done.” That voice was as frosty as it had been the first time she talked to him, and the masculine voice on the other end held a smile in its tone. 

“Good job, Devil. I’ll see you soon for payment.” There was a heartbeat where he thought perhaps the line had been cut already, before the Devil’s reply followed.

“See you then, Ice.”

And the line went dead.

[ghastlybin]

Hello there, could i suggest a witch hunt scenario taken place in a medieval setting? Maybe reader is witch hunting and finds Sua picking herbs in the woods and so they catch sua- or so they though until they fall into one of her trap which leaves them injured. As for some fluff i though maybe sua actually comes back for them and brings them back to care for them instead of letting them die and reader falls for the witch😱

Sorry if this is too much, feel free to take one details and ignore others if you want❤️ have a good day!

!!!!!!!! First off, thank you soooo much! I’m Sua biased so this makes me happy haha and I’m also a (practicing) modern witch, which makes me feel useful? Lmao, thank you so much again! Also, at first when I saw this request, I was half asleep and so I thought you were asking for a witch hunt with all of twice because I read the two words that stood out to me first- Anyways, on we go! I’m hoping this is what you envisioned haha :,) you also have a good day/night!!!

Pairing: Dreamcatcher Sua x Witch hunter! Reader (Gender neutral)

Word count: 1,253

Genre: Witch/ Witch hunt AU, Medieval time period, does this count as angst?, fluff, hurt/comfort fic?

TW: I mention an arm laceration/cut/wound but I don’t really describe it? Still adding this as a trigger.

Note: 1) I’m bad at medieval dialouge and descriptions but I did loads of research and I hope it’s not cringey :,) tried to sound fancy lmao 2) If you’d like a part 2, I can definitely work on that for you if you’d like! I’ll make sure there are more fluffy moments but alas, I shall stop typing so much. She is so fine. By the way, I’m not trying to portray Handong as rude!!! More of the “concerned friend” for obvious reasons yk?

-Divider is from pinterest btw-

To whomever it may concern,

I am writing to ask a favor of you, for I am troubled. I have happened upon one of those that you may call a witch. I fear she has put an evil curse on my family, and I shall not sit by and let this go forth. I seldom plead, but I must ask of thou to capture her. You will be generously compensated for your troubles.

Sincerest gratitude.

There she was. The witch. Her long, dark hair flowing in the wind along with the mahogany robe she had on as she stepped through the grass.

The basket she had been holding was already brimming with various herbs collected from around the forest- all of them had been separated into small, silk bags of various colors.

You held your dagger in hand, eyeing the witch. Her brisk but careful movements were almost astonishing. She picked another herb, setting the basket onto the grass beside her. She opened one of the bags- a green one, and carefully placed the herbs inside.

Now. You thought, inhaling a quick breath before you prepared to strike. Advancing through the grass and various plants and herbs, you readied the dagger and moved quicker on your feet before she returned to her feet.

One more step and you felt the ground crumble beneath you, a surprised and pained yelp leaving your lips once you had stopped falling and hit the bottom of a pit.

The dagger- your dagger, had left a deep laceration on your arm bleeding profusely. You attempted to pull yourself out of the pit the witch made, but the searing pain made it difficult.

Eventually- and painfully, you managed to climb out, gasping and seething in pain before it subsided, and the bleeding slowed down.

You held your left hand tightly against your right arm, over the laceration, stinging at first, but even that feeing had subsided after some time.

Aimlessly, you moved through the forest, more and more light-headed with each step before you had finally fallen forward, your eyes closing in defeat.

“Provide assistance or scamper off!” The witch in the mahogany robe exhorted, sparing a focused glance to her companion.

“Sua, you are assisting the enemy!” The witch in the emerald robe insisted, yet reluctantly assisted Sua in lifting your unconscious body onto the makeshift stretcher Sua had ushered back.

“The enemy? Handong! An eye for an eye is not what we do!” Sua wrapped a temporary gauze bandage around the laceration on your arm and proceeded to tuck a small blanket around you as the temperature had dropped in the area.

“They were to kill you! Look!” Handong exclaimed, holding up the bloodied dagger.

Sua ignored her companion’s argument, struggling to pull the stretcher by herself. Handong, still reluctant, assisted her in bring you back to their village.

Sua guided the stretcher you were on- And Handong, back to her cottage. Sua moved you onto an extra cot she had and left the room briefly to gather the necessary supplies to aid you in your healing.

“I’ll be off.” Handong released a sigh, inching towards the front door. “Do let me know if you require my assistance.”

“Do you mind bringing boiled water?” Sua called out, carrying a basket of various items succh as bandages, home-made antibiotic cream, luke-warm water, a couple of rags and sutures just in case your wound was deeper than it looked.

“Tea?”

“Tea.” Sua confirmed. She carefully unwrapped the bandage from your right arm whilst wetting one of the rags to clean your wound and the excess blood stained on your arm.

She even cleaned the blood you had on your left hand from when you must’ve tried to stop the bleeding yourself.

Sua studied the laceration for a moment, deciding it wasn’t deep enough to need sutures. She dabbed some of the antibiotic ointment onto the laceration.

You awoke with a jolt of that familiar stinging sensation. Sua paused her movements, averting her eyes to meet your confused gaze.

“Be still. Then I can send you on your way.”

Her voice was soothing to your ears, knowing she had a choice of just leaving you for dead.

“You saved me?” You enunciated, staring up at the ceiling of her cottage as she finished rubbing in the ointment and placing a square of gauze on top before wrapping a new, clean bandage around your arm.

“I was sent to kill you. A large sum was offered in exchange for your head.” You were in a state of disbelief, sitting upright and shifting to face her.

Sua placed the back of her hand against your forehead, her mouth curving into a small frown.

“You need rest.” She stood up, hearing the front door to her cottage opening. “I’ll put on some tea.”

“You’re a witch.” You spoke, almost challengingly but it had unintentionally came out in a more fascinated tone.

The corners of Sua’s mouth had curled into a smile, “of course. You can’t seriously think we are all bad.”

You watched her leave the room momentarily, leaving you with your thoughts. Looking down at the tightly wrapped bandage, you realized it hadn’t hurt as badly as it did before- Granted you were unconscious shortly before she came back for you.

Sua came back into the room, holding a small mug of steaming hot tea. She held it out towards you.

Giving the cup a hesitant look, you took it from her, eyeing her.

“What is it?”

“Licorice root tea. It’s said to aid in boosting your immune system.”

You blew the tea in an attempt to cool it down before taking a slow sip, feeling the hot tea down your throat.

Sua took this time to clean up the area a bit and even offered a change of clothes, to which you denied.

Once you finished the tea, you attempted to stand, only to fall back onto the cot as a wave of dizziness had rushed through you.

“Why don’t you rest? I will prepare a meal for your travels and a change of bandages for when you are ready.” Sua held her hands out as if she were prepared to catch you if you had fallen forward instead.

You agreed, although a bit apprehensive. Looking at her, you found yourself thinking about how beautiful she was. Is.

How beautiful she is.

And she had saved your life.

‘You can’t seriously think we are all bad.’

That sentence repeated itself as Sua had briefly left the room again after taking the empty mug back. You laid back onto the cot.

Sua entered the room again with a blanket, covering you from your feet to your shoulders with it.

“The temperature is dropping. I hope you find this warm enough.”

You felt strange- A nice type of strange. As if you wanted to stay with Sua and never return to the community that shunned the woman who saved your life, rather than let you succumb to an infection.

“I am… grateful.” You smiled, feeling your heart flutter when she returned the smile.

“Rest.”

When she left again, all you could think of was her. As if you had been bewitched.

But you were not complaining.

To whom it may concern.

I am writing to notify you that I have ceased to find this ‘witch’ that has cursed you, as she has been wrongly accused. I am hopeful this finds you alright and that you find the real culprit.

Best regards.

[zeenmrala]

By The Light Of The Second Moon

A Darth Maul x F/AFAB!Reader Fanfiction

chapter nine: life in the dark, it’s who you are

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CHAPTER SUMMARY: An experience, a disagreement, escapism and acceptance. RATING: Explicit. This work is strictly for those 18+ due to sexual content. MINORS, DO NOT INTERACT. WORD COUNT: 7.5k CONTENT/TRIGGER WARNINGS: This chapter is quite intense. Angst, anxiety concerning family, the loss of a parent/family member, arguing, shouting, Maul being mean, implied threat. Smut, breast play, fingering, male!receiving oral sex, PiV sex. CHAPTER SONGS: hardest of hearts, florence + the machine. buy the stars, marina. A/N: The wonderful @elledjarin created this work of art that once I saw, I just could not get out of my head - and so it inspired a paragraph of this chapter. Check out her art! She’s amazing!

Chapter 9 Life In The Dark, It’s Who You Are

The vision immediately roars to life, though you feel it before you see it. It bursts into existence by tugging on your veins, ripping through your nerves hard, and you know that it should hurt…but somehow it does not, and though it is dark, you can still see without seeing. It appears that wherever or whenever you are, nothing here is logical. You can feel the air of a long-ago evening cool your skin, the rain that pours from the sky drenches your hair, drips down your body. It is heavy and cold, and as you automatically try to gasp for breath, you find that you cannot use your lungs. Though you still somehow inhale the petrichor of the night, but without breathing. It does not make sense, but you absorb your surroundings, you drink them in greedily like a sponge without even trying. You then begin to hear things, mutterings, birdsong, the clamour of thunder, and then the recognisable sound of that starship. It is the one you heard before, from that day, exactly one galactic standard year ago. Even though you were never there, and that there is no possible way for you to remember it – you still vividly recall and identify it.

What? It is strange, because you somehow know that they are back, as they promised that they would be. But you do not know who they are. Puzzled, you try to spin around, though you lean on nothing, you have zero leverage, and your energy does not come from anywhere physical. But as you attempt to do so, your sight awakens and the vision swims to life in even more terrifying detail. There is suddenly so much light, and you can really see it. It is a hazy, blue shroud of glowing luminesce, and as it washes over you, you feel the brief sting of comfort. It has that familiar beaming hue of the second moon, you recognise, and it envelops you in a disjointed sense of safety. When your eyes adjust to it, you very clearly see a large spaceship and a tall man robed in brown.

He stands beside your Mother.

It is the first time you have seen her since she disappeared. It surprises you how much you have misremembered her, because at first you almost do not recognise her. But kriff, you think, she does look like you. You start to cry because you love her so much, but it isn’t a kind of love that you understand. You are suddenly overwhelmed by a painful, intense panic – you are dismayed at the sight of her with this man again.

Again? Before you can even begin to process your confusion, the image swirls and contorts, and you are then thrust into a room that looks like the surgery, except it is different. “What is- ” you begin say, though you are not able to vocalise the words, your lips try to move but nothing comes out. Any movement you make does not register with your body or the images around you, any noise you try to produce goes fully unheard. But you are still absorbing everything in your vicinity, the image of now two strangers – but strangers that you know – as they stand before you, your Mother listening intently as they speak. You cannot fathom their words, yet you can identify the meaning of the entire conversation. The vision fractures, like a crack snapping through a block of ice, and then there is a child, a broken promise, a frightening, all-consuming loss. Oh, there is pain – it is so lucid and pure, a woman is destroyed and she drowns in her grief. Your blood thunders to your ears, and the blanket of cold that is pulled tight beneath your skin melts into heat – but not a comforting kind of heat, not the warmth of a bed long slept in, not the relieving cinders of an open fire – but an angry heat. The fresh heat that pours from your body as you bleed to death, the fierce fury of an ancient, burning sun. The image bleeds around you again, and then through you. It penetrates into your bloodstream, buries itself into the marrow of your bones. The story it tells blasts its way through your veins in the same way that a meteor rips through the atmosphere, and you breathe it in and out without breathing, over and over again. As your heart pumps the dream-like image to each fibre of your being, as it digs into your brain like a desperate parasite, you try to scream. The hazy vision muffles everything, but you consume it in its entirety, not understanding anything, yet fully comprehending it all.

Beneath all of this chaos, there is one, stubborn word that is branded into every sense you possess. It haunts every cell of your being, every atom of the world around you, it snakes into the web of time that is your existence. It decays only to bloom again, in an everlasting cycle of life and death. Just one nonsensical word, a word that means absolutely nothing to you, but when you try to form it in your mouth, the taste is bitter and you want to violently spit it out. One word.

Jedi.

--

When you flutter open your eyes, you see him. For a perfect second, you feel nothing and you know nothing, except for the comforting sight of his unique silhouette. He is sat with his legs crossed, his back to you. He is shirtless, and perfectly still. You take in the toned muscles of his back, his stark crimson skin that is decorated so splendidly with the thick black lines of his tattoos. You look up at the perfect curve of his horns and the dark skin of his head that they so elegantly emerge from. Stars, the artistry of his physical form, the mystifying nature of his dark aura – him, in this moment, he is everything you can fathom, the only part of this life that you can truly understand. In this moment, he is simply everything.

That moment ends as you take a breath, and he stirs. As you breathe, your immediate thought is gratitude at being returned to the normality of your usual senses. You slowly sit up, and run your hands over your legs, feeling your physical form. You thank the Stars for the gravity that roots your body to the ground. You look around and you are not in your brother’s house, but back in Maul’s starship, on the cot you slept in together.

Stars and Planets, what just happened?

You feel his eyes then, as he stands up and turns around to look down on you, stoic as ever, arms behind his back. His expression does not change, and he gives no indication of what he could be thinking or what he is feeling. He says nothing.

Then it hits you, the weight of the truth. The understanding that you somehow gleaned from such a strange, out of body experience. How you now know, without fully seeing, that what happened to your Mother was indeed traumatic for your family. That what happened was more complex than you could have ever imagined, bigger than your own bones, that it goes far beyond your small planet and your tiny life here. That though she may be dead, she did not die here – she disappeared. She did not take your cousin, she did not do anything to hurt her. Whatever happened to your cousin, wherever she went – it was because of the robed man. The Jedi person, not your Mother. The relief of finally knowing that is astronomical.

But yet, there is something wrong. Something more.

Though she was not the one who did it, you know that she did have something to do with it. Something…You cannot seem to piece together the events, your brain simply cannot make sense of it. The way that you found out…

Well, that was the most ridiculous, terrifying experience of your life.

“Stars,” is all that you can say for a moment. Then, “Maul, why was that so - so jarring? Why was it – why was it like that?” You are slightly lost for words. “Why would you not just tell me what happened? Why did you need to…”

He sighs. “It is complicated,” he says. Then a bit colder, “you told me that you would not ask. That you would not talk about it.”

But when he senses the strength of the confusion that rakes your mind, when he sees that deep frown on your features, he sighs. Then he closes his eyes, and with clear reluctance he briefly explains.

“In simple terms, it is because they are the memories of your Father, from many years ago.”

He then pauses to gauge your reaction.

He went to see your Father. Your blood thaws into ice as you try to understand the implication of such a thing. Before you can react, he continues his explanation.

“I saw the memories that form the truth, and I essentially copied them from his mind. Then I passed them on to you. But you received them through me, and I received them from him, so they are slightly…tainted. A lot of clarity stripped away.”

There is silence for a few heartbeats.

“But the reality remains,” he adds softly.

“You went to see him. My Father.” He must have – he must have. To somehow take the memories from his head, then give them to you.

He says, “yes.”

“You…went into his head.”

He answers somewhat defensively. “I thought you wanted to know? To remember?”

“Of course I do.” You say it resolutely, then you touch your forehead, which throbs. “Of course I do,” you reiterate, softer. “But why did you need to…?”

“This is the raw truth. You saw what he saw. This way, you know it exactly as it happened. It is the least that yo – ” he swiftly cuts himself off.

He closes his eyes for a brief moment, then opens them again, glaring at you with his weighty gaze. You know him enough to understand that he will not finish his sentence now, that he will not speak again until you do. So you begin to ask the questions that are bleating incessantly in your mind, all of your questions that are so desperate to be answered.

“W-what did I see? Who was that person? I feel like I do understand it but also like I still know nothing.”

You groan, the heels of your hands now pressing into your eyes.

“How does everything make sense yet nothing is coherent? It is as though I have the full reality, the truth displayed as a wall of text in front of me. That it is finally right here for me to understand, but…it is in a foreign language, and no matter how I try to view it I just…can’t. It is so frustrating.”

You groan, standing up to be on the same level as him.

“And what in the Universe is a Jedi? I think I have heard that before…Again, I feel like I know what that is but also –”

“A Jedi is the reason for all of this.” He cuts you off, and there is a profound severity to each of his words. “A Jedi took your cousin as a child. Your Aunt was distraught, and your Mother, who could not stand the sight of her sister in such distress, wanted to find her daughter for her, to bring her back. So she left.” “And we never heard from her again,” you finish. You squeeze your eyes closed. Something clicks into place and yes, you know that that is true, you felt it from your Father’s memory. The robed man – men you correct yourself – there was another one in that image of the surgery – they are the Jedi. Jedi…

Something feels off, unfinished. “Is it all really that simple?”

He does not falter from his sternness. “How is any of that simple?” he asks. “You agreed to no words. Why are we still talking out loud about this?”

He stands there steely and firm, and there is a grimness to his distinctive features. It is as though this whole situation is displeasing to him, as if he cannot make sense of how you are reacting to this revelation, as if he is trying to figure you out himself.

“This is such madness,” you continue, ignoring him and speaking anyway. This is all so much. How could he expect you to not talk about this? “I know what happened. I know that what you just said is true but it is also not.”

You begin to pace.

“And now I just have more questions. I want to know why and how. Who are the Jedi? Why would they take my cousin? And why…why would these events need to be kept from me? What would stop my family from telling me this? Why can’t I know this?”

You wrap your arms around your own head – your brain feels like it is on fire, and now you have started talking, started asking, you cannot stop.

“There has to be more to it than just that. Why did I – I mean, why did my Father recognise the Jedi man? He had returned, he had been here before. I knew that it had been a year, exactly a year since he had last seen them. It was raining, I could see the light of our moon – of the second moon, I mean. Why would they come back? What could have possibly happened? And my Mother, she-”

He cuts you off again. “I believe it is this exact reason that they never told you anything.” He says, somewhat spitefully, “you are relentless.”

Stars. That rude, blunt and growingly consistent way of interrupting you is starting to get annoying. You look at him in disbelief. “Why do you say that like it is a bad thing?”

“Because maybe it is.”

You physically recoil in confusion, shaking your head. “Wait, what?”

“Why can’t you just accept it for what it is? I showed you the truth, is that not what you wanted? You need to stop talking.”

You are almost bewildered into silence. Almost. Instead, you lash out. You reply with a bite to your voice, reacting instinctively to the unfairness of what he is asking.

“Just accept it? Accept what, exactly? This is not the truth. Not the whole truth. I had a question, and as always you have only answered it with more questions. You want me to have the truth, and then you do not. I can know some things, but I cannot talk about them or ask anything of it. And then you expect me to just accept something that does not yet make sense.”

“But you know that she left to find your cousin after she was taken, that is the truth” he says.

“Yes, but there is something more to it than that –” you hesitate briefly, “do you really think me stupid enough to not realise that? Because you are certainly not stupid enough to miss it.”

He looks taken aback. “You know now that she is not the villain. You know that they are. You do not need to live in her shadow anymore. Is that not enough?”

“No? Of course not!” You stutter, in disbelief. “Do you not know me by now? Of course that is not enough.”

“But you are always so able to accept things. You...” he stops. “You trust me.”

“Yes, yes I do,” you confirm. “But you are making it much more difficult for me now. You have never told me why I cannot talk about these things. You do not explain. And it all mounts up, all my questions, all my worries and my ignorance. And it is just so much.”

You stop pacing with a dejected sigh, and all of your frustrations peak.

“Then you tease me with scraps of information, and it is like you are promising me more, but I know that you never intend to give me more. It is like you want two things that cannot possibly exist at the same time. You try to make me understand but you know that I will never be able to. You want me to know but I cannot know.”

He does not say anything, but he looks more and more cross with each moment that passes.

“Am I correct? Is that how it is? Because I never know if I am right. I always have to figure out everything on my own with the clues you leave me.”

“It is both – both. I do want you to know but you cannot know. They can exist at the same time.”

“No, that is not fair, they can’t. It cannot be both. I cannot be fed half-truths and be expected to believe something fully when there are pieces missing. You are only confusing me further.”

He sounds angry when he replies. “I found out what happened to your Mother, and I have shown you – and at great personal risk. How is that not clear to you? Why do you look so…perplexed by it?”

You stutter, “Great personal risk?  W-What does that even mean? It is like you speak in riddles. You expect me to know what you are saying with no context, because you never explain things properly and I swear, you talk utter nonsense half of the time.”

“You are the one that talks nonsense. Childish, naïve, ignorant drivel. I do not know why I even risked this. This is pointless,” he spits callously.

Childish, naïve, ignorant.

You start to feel the upset from the sting of such words. Your confusion utterly peaks – you are physically and emotionally stressed – you do not even know what time it is, what day it is. Your head burns. It all begins to become too much, nothing makes sense to you – the memory-vision, your reaction to it, and his reaction to you. Why in the galaxy is he acting like this?

“Maul, it might be easy for you to make sense of this situation…” you try to say, but find you cannot seem to properly voice it. “It is not that way for me. What I saw – what you showed me, I cannot fully grasp it. I can’t…I cannot seem to understand why it is so difficult for you to understand that I have questions. That I want to…you just –  you don’t understand.”

“No, pathetic, foolish girl – it is you who does not understand. You do not understand anything,” he says. “You know absolutely nothing."

“Yes,” you agree with him, though you are hurt by his name-calling, and vexed by this irascible side of him. “Yes, exactly, I don’t understand. That is the problem. I never do. And apparently, I never can.”

You sigh, the sheer enormity of what is happening, what has happened – it now crushes you. The weight of it threatens to squeeze reluctant tears from your eyes, though you blink them back stubbornly.

“I do not appreciate the way that you are speaking to me,” you quickly add, your voice meek and shaken. “We can disagree without you resorting to words you know will wound me.”

It is all suddenly so much. That Maul sought out your Father, looked into and stole from his mind. That somehow, he was able to allow you to experience your Father’s memories, in the most disconcerting and odd way. That he has become so furious so quickly. That he is being so short with you, his tongue brutal, so sharp. The cruel depth of his words, how they rattle your insecurities - they now settle uneasily in your chest.

He is cold and unmoving. His eyes find yours, and you stand for a while, just looking at each other. His fists are clenched at his sides, and though his frame is solid, he appears ready to pounce at any moment. It reminds you of the night he was watching you in the trees, perched up so high, so effortless. Like a predator in wait. Prepared. You watch the steady rise and fall of his chest, then your eyes glaze across his strong arms, down to his hands. You feel a pang in your chest, a sore, horrid ache – because you know how gentle his hands can be, what sweet things he can speak, how attentive his tongue has been to you. You can even feel the softness of his lips on yours, his gentle fingers caressing your skin, so familiar to you now. And yet – at the same time, that he was ever tender or tame towards you, it seems so unrecognisable in this moment, now that the viscousness of his words ring in your ears.

You bring your line of sight back to his face. His expression looks so pained, his yellow eyes so forlorn as he bores them into yours.

Stars.

In spite of his cruelty, even though you know he is purposefully trying to hurt you, that he is manipulating your insecurities again – you realise that all you want is to just hold him. Comfort him. All you want is to lace your fingers around his horns, and kiss his terrible, spiteful mouth.

You can only sigh. You refuse to look away from him as you speak.

“I do not know how it works, of course – but whatever you tried to put into my head, it did not translate well.”

His eyes cast towards to the floor, breaking your eye contact. You keep talking.

“How could you ever expect me to take kindly to such a thing in the first place? That vision, the memory - it was not only strange, but frightening. You did not warn me of the nature of it. You expect me to not be rattled by it? To not want to talk to you about it? And Maul, you went to see my Father without telling me – without even asking me first?”

You shake your head and close your eyes. You hear him groan, and when you return to looking at him, you are greeted by the sight of him flustered.  

“I just thought this would be,” he hesitates, “I thought this would be easier,” he admits.

“Easier? This is difficult for you?”

“Yes!” he shouts, raising his voice at you for the first time. Though he says it loudly, you do not flinch. There are a few moments of silence that follow his small outburst, and this kind of quiet, the kind that follows a loud noise – it is utterly deafening.

“Yes, this is difficult for me,” he eventually says, much calmer. Then he turns away from you.

Another pause.

“Okay,” you say, “okay.”

“I do not want to…” He groans. “I do not want to say anything else.”

“Why?”

“Because what I say always…it hurts you. It lingers and festers in your mind. I know it does.”

You pause. “And you do not want to hurt me?”

“Sometimes I do want to hurt you,” he confesses. “I do.”

You feel an uncomfortable, worrying dropping sensation in your stomach.

“But now? No,” he says, crestfallen. “No. No, I do not want to hurt you,” he concedes.

“Then why – why do you say such cruel things, seemingly out of nowhere? You are so quick to weaponise what you know pains me. You do it knowingly. Because you can see inside my head, you know how to strike true. Stars, it is like it is an instinct for you.”

He does not disagree with you.

And then you realise that you have just answered your own question. Why does he say such things? It is so obvious to you now. Malice is second nature to him. The pain in his eyes. His strange hesitation, the opposing sides of him, how you both misunderstand each other so frequently. This is who he is.

It suddenly makes you incredibly sad.

You return to the cot, and fold your body into yourself. You take a moment of quiet to try to process all of the revelations of the day, or night – or whatever timeframe it is or has been. You do not even know.

The next few minutes pass in total silence. Then you hear him move, and he settles beside you.

“We are clearly much too different,” you eventually say, quietly. You do not even mean to say it out loud – not that it matters, you try and reassure yourself. He can take whatever he wants from your head, whenever he wants. “For what?” he says, then softer, “what are you implying?”

You regret it almost immediately. Because you do not know. You have absolutely no idea, and that is the worst part. You do not know why you said it. You do not know what you are trying to suggest with it. And by the Planets, you do not want to find out. You are not ready to find out.

So you take a page from his book, and answer his question with one of your own, to derail the conversation.

“What you said, before you did whatever it was that you did to me. You said there was a reason we were brought together.”

“Yes,” he says. “I still believe that.”

You pull your arms away from your face to look at him. “I do not understand that either.”

“I want to explain, but –”

Now you cut him off. “This is beyond frustrating. You are beyond frustrating,” you say.

He only nods.

“Why would these Jedi people take my cousin?”

He sighs, and he suddenly looks incredibly overwhelmed. “I do not know.”

“What – that’s a lie.” You accuse him, and he does not deny it. “Why are you lying to me now?”

He shakes his head. “I wish you would stop asking questions.”

“I wish you would just answer them.”

You sit beside each other in silence for a moment.

“They came back,” he says. “What?”

“That other ship. The ship that you have always been so curious about and fond off…” he curses and huffs. “It was them. Jedi. Truthfully, I do not know the nature of their returning here. But considering how small a population there is here, how far into the outer rim your planet lies, I cannot imagine that it did not have anything to do with you and your family.”

“No one has come to the surgery, though,” you reply.

“Yes. I know.” Then he adds, “I made sure of that.”

What?

 “Maul, what does that mean?”

He groans your name and takes your shoulders in his hands, turning you towards him.

“Stop talking. Do not ask such questions.”

“W-Why? I am just replying to what you say!”

“Because I cannot tell you. I cannot. You are making this all so much more difficult that it needs to be.”

“Me? I am making it more difficult?” Stars, this conversation is impossible. He is impossible. “Why do you say things like that? You say things that are so loaded, then you just expect me to drop it? Why does everything feel so - so dangerous with you?”

“Lady…” “Who are you?” you ask quietly. “Really?”

“Stop,” he says.

“Why are you here?”

“Quiet,” he demands.

“Why are you involving yourself in my life like this?” “Silence...”

“How do you – how can you know what I am thinking?” He shakes his head. “Why are you here? Why do you…” You begin to softly cry.

His hands find their way to your face. “Enough,” he whispers. “Who are you?”

“Stop asking me these things.”

Everything feels as though it collapses in on itself. The weight of so much trauma, of so much pain, it finally caves in and crashes down on you in a chaotic, agonising turmoil – and you sob. Your family, your history, the dark implications of what happened, what is yet to happen, all that you understand and especially, all that you do not. Him. Him and his kindness, his hypocrisy, his mystery, his cruelty – how you care for him in spite of it, all of it. All of it hurts.

It all suddenly hurts so much.

“Why are you doing this to me?” you lament.

He whispers your name.

You cry and cry.

“I cannot stand to hear you anymore,” he pleads.

“Then stop me,” you say. “Silence me, please.”

So he does.

He kisses you. And it is so desperate, both protective and possessive, and you immediately lose yourself in the comforting familiarity of this feeling. You kiss him back messily, your cheeks still so wet with tears.

You whimper into his mouth. He pulls you on top of him, one of his hands fists your hair, his other is already pulling at your dress. He kisses you harder, and you melt into his lips, as you always do when he kisses you in this way. Everything else fades away, it all bleeds into nothingness – until it is only you and him left. Just the two of you, connected with such lust and pain and longing.

You seize him with your hands. They coast their way up to his head, your fingers between his horns. You moan at his strong, anchoring touch – and as he works to quickly free you from your clothing, you put your weight and the entirety of your anguish into his lips. You pour everything you feel into the frantic, all-consuming kiss. “Please,” you beg, sliding your tongue into his mouth. He groans as he tastes you, and then he finally pulls away your clothing, throwing it aside. Naked now, you press into his warm, solid chest. You lock your legs around his waist, your hips grind down on to him, your body yearns for him. You crave him in the way that you know him the best, the way that you both fit so perfectly together, the way that makes everything feel right again.

Your desire heightens, and your hands are now exploring his chest, his shoulders and arms. His hips buck up into you, the erratic nature of the movement evidence of his own longing. You rock your body downwards, and then you can feel him, you feel the firm press of the hardness of his cock – and you crave it, you crave it so badly that it hurts. His kiss slows, his tongue languid, lips now gentle against your own. Yet his arms are still solid around you, and he holds on to you in his strangely comforting, domineering way. In the way that makes you feel treasured, so very secure. Kriff – you now crave the rough harshness of his sex, but you also want the softness of his lips, you need the cruel sting of his words and the soft ache from his candid, surprising kindness.

Stars, you crave all of him. Every confusing, contrasting part of him.

He frees his lips from yours to trail his kisses down your face, your jaw and to your throat, grazing his tongue and his teeth over your skin. His mouth then moves lower, over your collar bone, your chest, until he finds your breasts. He is kissing and licking them, and you lean into the touch, enjoying it – but his hands are now lowering you to the cot beneath him. His mouth laps at your skin with gentle kisses, broken with the harsh prick of his teeth as he bites you over and over again. It feels so good, so right. Like everything has fallen back into place, and nothing else matters at all – nothing but the wet flick of his tongue and the electric sting of his teeth.

Soon he has spread your legs, and his fingers dip inside of you. Your entrance is already so slick for him, but with each movement you become wetter and wetter. He fucks you with his fingers, deeper and deeper each time, and you grind down onto him, needing that sweet intrusion to be drummed into you, over and over. You need more. You always need more. Sometimes it feels as though nothing will ever be enough.

“Wicked girl,” he mutters into the skin of your neck, and your whole body keens at the richness of his voice. Your being shudders beneath those two words, and they rekindle your lust, reawakening your desires once again. More, you think, I just need more.

Your hands graze down his chest to the waistline of his pants. You claw at them to free his cock from the material, needing to hold him, kiss him, take him. He growls, his fingers gently leaving your cunt, so that you can sit up and shower his chest in hot kisses.

You strip him naked. He is now on his knees, and you lower your mouth to him, lying stomach-down. You hold his strong hips in your hands, then slide them lower to his thighs. You take the shaft of his cock into your mouth, lapping your tongue at the tip, tasting the saltiness of his pre-cum. Then you take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks as you encourage the length of him further into your throat. Your head bobs up and down, and you moan needily around him. He curses, his hands holding on to the back of your head, his fingers tightening into your hair as you work him. You savour his taste, you relish in how taking him in this way feels so good, the way that you can feel him slowly unravelling, in how the strength of his grasp on you fluctuates with each movement that you make.

He surrenders to your mouth, and for a while he completely gives in, succumbing to your hot, wet throat. But then he opens his eyes, and when he looks down at you, he cannot stand it anymore, and he becomes entirely overcome with his own desires for you and your body. He just wants to take you in the way that he always does, in the way that he knows he can. And by the Force, he wants to fix all that he has broken. He wants to heal how he has wounded you with his twisted attempts of affection – he wants to, but it does not matter. Because he cannot. He does not know how he can make it right, as there is no way that he ever could. For it is impossible.

But – he does know how to make you feel good. So he will. And more selfishly, he needs you beneath him, he needs to see you writhe in desperation. Because he loves to watch you want him. It feels good for him too.

So he pulls you up and into his arms, and then gently lays you beneath him. He pushes his way back between your thighs. You hook your legs around his, encouraging him forward, arching your cunt up closer, needing him inside of you. You mewl and beg for him as he teases himself against your warmth, and as the tip of his cock presses into your entrance you cry out at the pleasure of it, and he groans a primal growl, and sheathes himself inside of you.

It is dizzying, and it is good, but the quickness of taking him so fully hurts at first, and you hiss, grasping tightly on to his arms.

He stops. “Are you okay?” He asks. He pulls back and out of you, and as you look up at him you catch a flash of concern in his eyes.

“Wait, don’t go. Please stay. Stay,” you affirm, and he pauses, doing as you say.

“Yes, yes I am okay,” you continue and he kisses the top of your head fondly. The softness of the gesture makes your heart flutter.

“You feel good, Maul,” you say. A soft giggle falls from your lips, “I am just slightly sore from before…”

He smirks and kisses your temple, “Mmm,” he hums. “Have you finally had your fill?”

“Oh no,” you say. “No-where near. Never.”

He mouths the word “wicked,” then takes your lips back in his. You shift, adjusting to the feel of his cock being inside of you again. He kisses you, over and over, his hands cradling your face, your neck, your shoulders. Then you are ready, and you ask him to fuck you. And so he does, he begins a sweet rhythm that rocks you into the familiar, blissful pleasure of his body. You coo soft moans of gratification, the rock of his hips and the heavenly depth of his cock inside of you a comforting melody. He is sighing his own silky moans into your ear, his mouth kissing at your lobe, his palms warm on your face.  

You do not know how long you are both wrapped up in each other like this. You do not know the time, or the day, or even where you are beyond the walls of his ship. But it does not matter. Because nothing else matters in this moment, nothing but him. The warm tickle of his breath, the huskiness of his groans, the featherlight touch of his fingers that trail down your chest, the firmness of him as he penetrates you over and over again. It is all so dreamy, so wonderful. You hold his head and bring his eyes to yours, searching them, to see if you can catch a glimpse of how he is feeling, to see what he is experiencing in them.

He smiles back at you, and it is such a delightful view, that you cannot help but beam at him. He appears utterly content, and seeing such a delicate expression on his harsh features spreads a warmth across your chest. He grabs your leg and hitches you forward, then you both groan as he slips himself in deeper, until he is in to the hilt. He catches your lips in a swift kiss, and then his pace quickens – and he begins to fuck you harder and faster. It is so good, and so intoxicating and consuming, that when you feel the hot caress of your orgasm engulf your nerves – Stars, it is so sudden and mind-blowing that you think you may pass out. Your walls clamp down onto his cock as you cum on him, and then his rhythm stutters, and he curses, groaning your name. “Oh, wicked girl,” he whines, “you are exquisite.” He fucks you through your climax, until each thrust becomes less controlled, each moan that falls from his lips is more and more frenzied. Then he groans a final, wild growl when he reaches his own peak - he cums inside of you, with your legs wound tightly around him, his strong arms embracing you, his lips on yours. He holds you steady in his arms until long after he has finished.

You both pant, and you can feel his hearts race wildly beneath his chest, and your own heart is beating so hard that you can almost hear it. He gently removes himself from you, then pulls you into him, wrapping his arms around you from behind. The warmth of his strong body behind you and the sound of his rapid breaths which gradually slow, combined with the sweet buzz of the aftershock of your climax – it makes you instantly relax. You feel so safe. After the turbulence of the memory-vision, after such a dramatic and emotional conversation, and after the physical satisfaction from your sex, you are already so exhausted. You feel the pull of sleep, and though you are reluctant to give in to it so soon, you do. You drift into dozing, until you eventually fall into a light sleep.

And you do not dream at all.

You do not really have time. Because soon he wakes you up, and says he has something to show you. Confused and your body weakened from the events of the past few hours, you allow him to pull you up and you dress yourself. He then drapes one of his robes across your shoulders, and you welcome the warmth of it. You also grin to yourself at the way it smells like him.

And now that you are both dressed – he takes your wrist in his hand and leads you out of the ship.

Stars and Planets.

You are immediately breathless and speechless – completely stunned at the sight before you.

The ship is not where it was when you last saw it. It has been moved, on to the top of something incredibly high – a mountain. You are on a mountain so far away from home that you have never even seen it before, not from your window, not from the trees. You are on your planet, but you are somewhere that you do not recognise. For the first time in years, you take in a view that you have never seen before. You look upon a landscape that you have not committed to memory, a landscape that you have never committed to paper.

You look down, and notice that you are above the clouds, above the rain and the storms. And then you look up, and you see it. The second moon, blue and brilliant, it shines unobscured in the sky, drenching the two of you in that cool, comforting light.

“Stars, where, where are we?” You ask, and he smirks, raising a finger to his lips.

“How long was I out? How long were we…”

He hushes you. “Don’t think about anything. Just look,” he says leading you to the edge of the cliff face that you stand upon.

“Woah,” you say apprehensively as you look down, your stomach flipping. “I haven’t ever been this high up before…” He then holds on to your arm tighter, and your lips tug into a smile.

Your eyes return to the sky. “And I have never seen the second moon so clearly.”

“Our moon,” he says, smirking at how you automatically cringe as he says it.

Your cheeks burn. “Oh. You noticed when I said that.”

“Of course,” he replies.

“This – this is beautiful. But the moon is up, so it has been more than a rotation since we left – I have been away too long, I need to go back, I need to…fix all of what has happened, I need to sort this out. Take me back.”

“Shhh,” he hushes you. “No. Not now. Not tonight.” “But I have to –”

“No. Stay with me.”

You shut your eyes. How can you deny him? And even more than that – how can you deny yourself? Deny yourself this view, deny yourself more of him. After everything that has happened, after all the confusion and the turmoil that burns inside of you – how can you deny yourself the brief and beautiful relief of such a glorious night?

So you nod, and he sits down. After a while, he looks up at you in curiosity as to why you haven’t joined him. But you are frozen, both stunned and terribly nervous at being so close to the edge of such a tall drop. He smirks, clearly amused at your reaction. He jumps back up to his feet, entirely effortless. He is seemingly unphased with being at such a height, just like he was in the trees. Lithe and graceful with his movements, no matter where he is. Like he is invincible.

He takes your hand and helps lower you down, and then you both sit with your legs over the edge. It takes a long stretch of minutes before you stop shaking from the frightening shock of being so high up and so close to the edge. But you eventually grow more comfortable, though you clasp on to Maul’s arm very tightly. You drink in the view, and it is so remarkable you are almost unable to breathe.

“I want to -” he begins, breaking the silence.

You hush him. “No,” you say. “Stop.” You take a long breath, and shake your head. “We said what we needed to say. It is done. Let us just move on. I am not going to think about anything else until the morning.”

And so you sit together for hours, on the edge of a mountain, looking out onto a planet that you believed you had grown tired of. How wrong you were about this place. As you look down on the thick sheets of cloud that glow a deep purple with streaks of lightening, as you catch sight of the large, wild oceans that frame the land, as you gaze across a vast, unending spread of beauty - you feel entirely stupid to have believed that you were sick of the sight of your home-world.

How naïve and ignorant indeed.

You feel him shift slightly as he senses your thoughts, senses the result of his cruel words, how they have lingered within you. How, deep down, they have haunted you since that very first conversation.

Because of who you are, they will always stay with you. Because of who he is, you know that he will speak them again and again and again.

You do not talk, but you squeeze his hand.

It’s who you are, you think. It’s just who you are.

--

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[faithofgods]

mini-series; khiita; 3/4. || [ show/n; purposefully reveal scars tattoos ] + [ you don’t have to hide them around me. the scars tattoos are just part of who you are. ] || prompts from here.

It starts slow.

Hours beyond midnight, raw moons bright where they hover solemnly above, a sober shadow cast over a peaceful night.

One leg slips beneath the surface first, the second joining as she steps further in, silk of her robes trailing in the water behind her, procession in jewel-toned violet.

A perfect circle, the pool around her, waist-deep and the water within lapping against the night-shrouded edges of its container, cloudy white as though it should scald her to be standing so stilly within.

She turns, hands mimicking the silk flames where they glide across the surface, color twisting through the water, aurora stretching beneath the shallow waves she creates. A hand is held out to you, equally offered and expectant, tenuous in the vulnerability that’s tied to it in this moment.

Marble-still, but lacking any of the coldness. Ethereal, spirit rising from a murky prison; beautiful, though you know it’s something she never wanted to be, a consequence of trying to fold to a form that was never intended for her.

Your foot moves forward as your eyes lock with hers, only there’s no dream to be lulled to this time, free will guiding you to her, your star in the night.

The smile that breaks across her face is small but radiant, consuming, opal under glittering moonlight when your hand reaches hers, drawn further in by her. Her lips brush your cheek, the corner of your mouth as she leans in.

The shock of the water, freezing where it claws around you, is little to the heat emanating from her simple touch, her lips, a scalding trail left behind. Felt only by you, visible only in your mind, but some part of you still desires to be marked far more permanently by her, would be willing to sink for it.

In a sense, you already have; specter lingering between boundaries, white moth searching for the thread of its own departure.

Your hand in hers, you’re pulled further into the water, a slow dragging through the heavy fog that clings to the surface of the pool. You’re led until you both stand in the very center, far from any shore that could reach you, shielded by the river of her. Parallel ships lost at sea, each the other’s anchor.

Her hand slides free as she takes a step back. You expect playful, twitch of her lips and eyes sparkling out at you, but her smile has dimmed, apprehension overtaking it.

Preparing herself for the worst.

She sheds her outer robe easily, what looked like light, flowing fabric sinking quickly to the bottom of the pool the moment she releases her hold on it. Her inner robe remains fixed in place, the sleeves of them sheer enough to peer beyond, to what lies beneath.

Her tattoos extend far beyond her hands, wrists, forearms, dark ink climbing the expanse of her arms, lines swirling up over her shoulders, disappearing under the more opaque parts of her robe. Impossible to make out the details of them and their intricacies this late into the night, surrounded as you are by nothing but twilight. Impossible, until they begin to shift.

Dancing down her arms, moving of their own accord, black staining the water you both stand in. Leaves and vines imprinting on the surface of it, rippling through by no motion of the pool, some invisible breeze tearing through them and distorting their form.

Impressions remain behind on her skin, white silhouettes lacking any of the finer details that have escaped to the water. They glow softly, both her markings and their copy, imitation, something ritualistic in the movement, the way they pulse against the crowded dark.

Time seems to slow. What was a start, a beginning, is now no end.

To say you understand clearly would be a lie; peering out through a shrouded veil, fumbling to isolate what it is that rings so familiar about this, but there’s something she’s asking you—that much you can recognize.

Waiting for you to react in some way, and you can see she wants to hide, pull away, return to the careful placidity that has served her well for so long, but you are both long past that. Heightened emotion, sense of significance, her chin raising when your attention shifts back to her.

You don’t get it, your head beginning to swim, pressure of whatever she’s done to the water, to the air, building and constricting tight around your lungs, but you don’t really need to.

Some extension of herself, that’s what this is. Some honest core that words wouldn’t be able to convey in a way either of you could make sense of, so she’s left to resort to this, open wound, bleeding edge, asking you if you see her, if you remember her.

A single hand is held out to her, offer, expectation, though yours lacks the same worry wound so tightly in her.

A single hand is held out to her, a simple gesture that carries too much, says too much, words caught frozen in your throat.

A single hand is held out to her, because you do, and this is the only way you know how to make her realize that.

[evilzoldyck]

Fiancée II

part I

The floral scent hanging in the humid air had become particularly nauseating, the mixed flower petals that complemented the oils poured into the bathwater had all sank before you while the water itself had turned lukewarm.

Looking down at your fingers, you noticed that your fingertips had pruned horrendously. Normally you wouldn’t take much of your time disengaging with reality but recently, there was something in your mind you couldn’t quite comprehend. Just a few hours ago you were subjected to your mother-in-law’s favourite pastime which was holding a tea ceremony by the garden. Except it had a special twist, for every crucial detail that you missed, a melting hot iron would be pressed against the palm of your hands.

You didn’t miss the slight turn on the corner of her lips, her hidden smile behind the paper fan every time the torched metal would melt onto your skin, reminding you that will never be worthy enough to be accepted by her. And for every time your skin healed, your scars disappeared, your blood stopped seeping from your skin, she will be the one to make sure to replace them. Asserting her position and making sure you knew who the true matriarch of the family is.

Living with in-laws was a truly dreadful ordeal.

However when a butler with hard lines etched onto his face interrupted the unfortunate event, his sunken eyes that held the deepest sympathies only gazed at yours. He came forward with an ill-bearing news of your mother’s recent passing.

You knew this day would come, but you hadn’t anticipated it to come so soon. Though you had the resources to finance her health with the best doctor money can buy, you knew there was nothing you could offer death for an ailment so monstrous. The more times that you visited her in the hospital, the more and more different she looked. 

You almost didn’t recognise her. She looked like a corpse, barely breathing through her tube encasing her mouth, her hair you used to comb religiously every night was mostly gone. You knew that she was barely alive.

The only times that you were allowed to visit her was once every full moon as the rest of your days were filled with torturous training all for the sake of building your strength. You were barely considered family to them and so your own Mother visiting you at the Zoldyck estate was unimaginable. Sometimes in the darkest hour of the night you could almost hear her hoarse whispers, blindly pleading repeatedly to the nurses for you, why her daughter was nowhere to be found.

She fought for your next visit, begging at death’s door to see you one last time but alas, death was cruelly fair and her time was rightfully due. And so the feeling when you completely missed her burial, when you were refused a visit to her grave to pay your respects, when you were forbidden to grieve for it was a sign of weakness. The feeling of such accumulated events…

What was it you were supposed to feel?

You knew your heart nor mind could never be so numb, you weren’t anything like the Zoldycks at all, so detached to even a sliver of morality and compassion. So then why didn’t the news of her death send you to your knees? Why couldn’t you feel anything? Could it be a temporary shock- perhaps that’s why your cheeks were dry.

Just when you were lost in your thoughts with a tight frown pursed upon your lips, your personal handmaiden politely intruded herself inside the bathroom, announcing the arrival of master Illumi from his recent mission abroad. You lifted your head from your trance as her soft voice ricocheted off the black marbled walls, a gentle reminder to you of exactly where you were before your mind took you someplace else.

Upon seeing her, she was diligently prepped with her arms open wide, holding your robe before you.

The strange family had rightfully encroached all rights that you previously held, your freedom, your dignity, pride, and even your last name; privacy was the least of your concern. Rising from the cold waters, you allowed her to tie the warm fabric around you. She was always so meticulous and gentle, as if the slightest movement of her gestures or the flicker of her gaze could potentially be taken as an affront.

There were ample times that you searched for at least some kind of warmth in this forlorn and dreary estate, some kind of companion to show a little humanity and compassion with. You should’ve known that pursuing friendship on this mountain was pointless. The myriad of maids and butlers that they have at their disposable offered no comfort to your despair as they were always sickeningly polite but never friendly, leaving a gaping hole in your chest to fend this loneliness for yourself.

At the threshold of the gargantuan door, Illumi stood impassively while one of the butlers of the estate came to lighten his load. He had come back rather early from his departure, the extensive tasks assigned to him was nothing he hadn’t done before and yet with so many undertakings he was obligated to finish he had forgone rest when it was deemed necessary, opting to continue on to the next job effective immediately. Perhaps it was his habit of having a tireless and dedicated focus during a mission or maybe it was just his overzealousness to see you again.

“Welcome back, master Illumi. I trust that you found our services to be adequate on your journey back.” Gotoh pleasantly bade a congenial welcome as he gracefully placed his right hand across his chest and bowed his head slightly before the eldest of Zoldyck’s son.

He simply hummed in reply not sparing another glance at the man for Illumi’s vacant stare was occupied, searching the premises based on his peripheral vision for any sign of you awaiting him without fail like you do every time he arrived back from his assignments. “And my wife?” he curtly inquired after seeing no sign of you.

Descending from the stairs, you face your personal demon with a pathetic palpitating heart. The robe that you adorned did little to cover the coldness of his gaze for the room froze every time he was near. Nevertheless a stretch of a satisfying smile formed across his lips as you made your way towards his arms. 

Embracing him always felt like the first time, your shoulders tensed every time his elongated thin fingers squeezed your sides as he enveloped you in a mockingly sweet embrace. If it bothered him, Illumi never spoke of it. The locks of his midnight hair brushed against your face as you placed a quivering kiss upon his cheek, uttering a small greeting for him. 

Just like clockwork he began to led you away from the foyer and into your shared quarters with his lithe hand burrowing itself into your waist. 

Though it felt like years had passed once your fate was intertwined with his, you could never get used to his presence. This saccharine coated reality could never delude you to construe this as something more meaningful than a means of escape from your financial poverty and his obligation on fulfilling his filial piety. The carefully rehearsed charade always played out the same where in the end of the night you would find yourself in a familiar predicament. 

Inside the cimmerian chamber dim flickering candle lights illuminated the tenebrous darkness around you. The satin beneath your naked skin easily shifted as Illumi handled you attentively from above. As he moved to discard of his clothes your eyes absentmindedly wandered to the same spot on the ceiling that you’ve gazed upon countless of times. However once you heard the gentle rustle of his garments join yours into the floor, your attempt to seperate your mind from your body ended in vain. 

Illumi hovered above you leaving a scant space between your lips. You wished you knew why he searched for your eyes every time he began to kiss you, taking a pensive moment for you to finally look at him, to be the centre of your attention. You didn’t know why he bothered taking his time with you for every night you spent with him you had only demonstrated compliance and obedience. Prolonging such affair was only counterproductive. 

You felt him dragging his nails softly into your skin as he brought his hands up slowly from your thighs to your neck, grasping the rhythmically beating point and finally placing a soft kiss. 

Closing your eyes you unconsciously balled the sheets beneath you with your fists. The kiss was timid and placid on your lips as his hair fell and entangle with the pool of your own. Illumi finally released after a few languishing moments and began to trace wistful kisses along your neck. 

You knew better as to why an apathetic assassin that left a trail of crimson behind him for equity would give you the time of day to leave obsequious pecks. 

Illumi was a man of pure objectivity, each action he took had an ulterior motive behind it for no lift of his finger went by without it having some kind of incentive for him in the end. And so his adoring kisses and unctuous attention did little to move your amoral perception of him. 

He only indulged in such idle debauchary for he believed it was what you enjoyed, hence allowing the intercourse to go smoothly and successfully with the benefit of your arousal. Illumi was especially persistent in his countless endeavours in carrying out his bloodline with you. The details surrounding the child were kept quite vague and undisclosed, the only emphasis now was centred around the health and condition of your mental and physical state. 

Perhaps that’s why Illumi always handled you selflessly, as if he missed you terribly every time he went away for his delegated tasks. His efforts to please you easily began to grow more apparent, especially under an auspicious moon. 

Suddenly his hand encapsulated your small shivering ones, making your breath hitch just slightly as he rose up to meet you once more. “You’re still shaking, what’s the matter?” 

Were you? You hadn’t noticed the state of your body for your mind was running wild with endless thoughts. Sensing the tension in the air you quickly placated his growing trepidation with a weak smile. “Forgive me, tonight is just particularly cold today, perhaps I’ve left the window open again.” Avoiding his ruminating gaze Illumi released a ghost of a sigh before nodding, indicating that he took your word for it despite you knowing deep down that he did not. 

“Shall we go by the fireplace?” He suggested innocuously. 

You, however, couldn’t prevent the heat from rising up to your face as you couldn’t even begin to fathom engaging in such activity beside a roaring fire. Not only that but you would be rid of the protective barrier of your sheets and most of all, the wavering waves of red would cast a glow onto his face, forcing you to glance up upon him and seeing more of what you’re already comfortable with. 

A prude is the word most women back in your town would describe you as, however you would staunchly argue to such claims when the eyes of death has its attention solely on you. 

“No,” you gripped onto his hands. “Here is just fine.” 

Illumi gathered you into his arms, pulling you upwards along with him as he pressed more kisses against your lips and slowly trailed them down to your chest. You hesitantly wrapped your hands around his shoulders, careful not to tip the centre of balance he had on you as you nearly straddled his lap. 

“Very well,” he murmured before flipping you back on the bed and making you land onto your front swiftly. “Then I shall hold you instead.” 

Encapsulating you wholly with your back pressed against his chest, he held onto your chest tightly against him with one arm as the other gripped your hips firmly, raising it up to meet his. His head burrowed itself into the crook of your neck to leave more discoloured marks, and just in time as you felt the stretch commence. 

You were nowa Zoldyck, as you often reminded yourself, nothing could contain you not even pain, not even death, not even love. 

Roughly a year had passed and the same moonlight shined through the darkness upon the mountain peak once again. The Zoldyck estate was in turmoil. Nurses ran frantically from across the halls carrying fresh pristine white towels only to have them drenched in blood in the next second. 

You knew what you signed up for the moment you stood before theTesting Gate, it was just simply your time to fulfil your end of the bargain.

The journey of your pregnancy was a stark contrast to the treatment you had been subjected to in your time here. Instead of poison laced meals to the verge of hospitalisation and endless hours of enhancing your strength endurance, you were finally given some form of a break. 

Those little mercies such as extra hours of sleep, the vitamins and protein back in your system and the permission to acquire rest when you needed it were like heaven to you. 

Your health along with your baby’s progress was greatly monitored, not a day goes by that your daily intensive checkup went by carelessly. 

Everyday you gazed down in front of the mirror and saw yourself grow progressively. The size of your belly began to expand with each passing time that came closer to the due date. Though despite the baby being attached to your very self you couldn’t feel a sense of attachment to it, the very kind your mother had for you. 

And so when you first heard him cry from your extraneous labour, you were stricken by a sudden powerful force. Months of him stirring inside you and it took you this long to realise the being inside you was alive. 

The obstetrician and the nurses all cheered and cooed at the successful delivery of your newborn baby, making excessive notes of how handsome he was. Their faces damped with their efforts to ensure the health of the mother and the baby was maintained paid off for the delivery was a success. 

The burden finally left their shoulders as one should feel when it was a Zoldyck’s turn to employ and entrust an imperative job such as this. 

Once the umbilical cord was cut, you were able look upon his face. Blood stained your hands and cheek as you held him close to your chest, his tiny hand already reaching out for your face, finally tempering his cries into charming babbling nonsense when he sensed that you were near. Everything about him reminded you of Illumi, his midnight hair that was twisted in tiny wisps, his complexion, his small but sharp features upon his face.

But those eyes, they were yours. 

The warmth of such gaze possessed you to crumble down before your son for it wasn’t until his arrival that your humanity was finally restored. Emotions flooded your senses to the point that you thought you couldn’t feel anything else but harrowing pain and guilt. Your separation from your only family, society, your own mother’s death, the excruciating pain that was inflicted upon you- you’ve felt it all. 

The mental fortitudes that you’ve built up over the accumulating years all came crashing down when you looked upon a face so innocent and pure. Something that was truly incapable of harnessing any  bloodshed as per the family designed of his future.

And after all this time you were carrying him like a pig to slaughter. Partaking in this corrupt pseudo-experiment to create the cold and hard perfect monster, subservient to the wills and orders of the family.

Just like his father. 

Suddenly, one of the nurses took him away from your embrace consequently making you panic at the thought of your son being alone without you. The feeling that compelled you to care for another was one that felt so familiar and yet so foreign, plucking an untouched chord in your heartstring that you’ve forgotten a long time ago. 

All your life you were living for someone else; when you lost your mother you were at a loss for your purpose was amiss, living as an empty hollow shell of a human being. Now that the birth of your child had come, an epiphany struck you like a blinding flash of lightening. 

He was your new profound purpose.

“Where are you taking him?” You gasped out, already reaching out towards the nurse who held him around a blanket. She briefly replied that she would be taking his measurements but her words of comfort fell on deaf ears for it did nothing to placate the fact that you were separated from your baby. 

“No, no- please! Give him back to me!” Now you were crawling across the maroon soaked sheets, wincing at the fact that you were still bleeding but still keeping a staunch arm out in front of you. 

Your frantic actions forced the nurses nearby to restrain you, holding you back onto the bed while urging advices to calm down. However their grip upon you nearly fell for you could see nothing but red in your eyes, there was no amount of force in this world that could withhold you from being without him. Your beseeches and tenacious struggle quickly came to a halt when you felt a sudden jolt of pain from your side. 

Looking down with your tear stricken face you saw that you were haphazardly injected with a strange transparent liquid to sedate you. Usually you could easily persevere over simple liquid anaesthetics that could even wipe out an entire five adult men but this dose was a new thing entirely, you’ve never been exposed to such a heavy medication that edged on it being lethal before.

However you knew that the fate of your son would be compromised if you stayed, if you didn’t fought for him. 

Consequently, the only necessary action you needed to take was to escape. Gathering your bearings from the Jenny that you’ve rightfully championed two summers ago, you’ve decided that the amount would guarantee him and you a stable future. 

That is why after two moons have passed when you’ve conjured enough strength to gather yourself from your deep sleep, right before Illumi was scheduled to come back to witness the scion of the house of Zoldyck, that you would take off when the moon was at its peak. 

There was no leaving it up to chance for there was no telling when you would see you son again. There was much conviction in your assumption that Illumi would haste his training program to become an elite assassin, just as the family intended from the start. 

The Zoldycks were unrivalled in their system of securing their property. A fortress that the brave or the foolish dared to try to penetrate, though their attempts would always end up in vain; along with bruises and a few broken bones if they were smart enough to retreat soon. However, they weren’t quite as adept at keeping someone in than they were at keeping everyone out. 

Glancing back the faint sight of the distant mountain on the horizon, you slowed your pace as you decided you’ve made satisfactory progress in distance. Looking around perilously and tuning your ears to the sound of even the faintest landing of the leaves in the autumn breeze, you relievedly deduced that you weren’t followed- well at least not yet.

Releasing small huffs from your over exertion of energy, you gazed down fondly  at the sight of your son bundled up in a large cloth in which you tied tightly onto your back. You relievedly let out a soft smile when you found out he was still sleeping soundly, gripping onto some of your loose hairs unconsciously. Setting him down inside a hollow tree you figured you could take a few minutes to decipher where True North lied. 

However, a sudden change in the atmosphere made your blood freeze. Staring out into the darkness, you fixed your sights in the direction of the energy with your fists clenched in anticipation. 

You felt him before you even saw him. Your heart dropped when you sensed whose aura emitted belonged to. 

Illumi came out of darkness with an air of calmness surrounding him. This sense of composure completely shifted yours, you knew he could easily overpower you for his nen abilities reigned supreme over yours, nonetheless you couldn’t allow a fight for freedom to go unchallenged, not when you were so close to the finish line. 

His ambiguity costed you valuable time to quickly devise a plan. Should you fight or should you flee? There was no telling he would kill you and steal your son away if you opposed him and yet given his nature, Illumi was quite capable of putting up a façade to front his murderous intent. 

When he came too close for comfort, you realised you could never outrun him with this distance, thus you had to strike before he could. Unsheathing a small dagger that you carried just in case you ran into some trouble, you cursed at yourself for carrying a short range weapon. 

Nevertheless you missed his shoulder by just the width of a hair. Illumi’s speed, though something to be marvelled at, was the only aspect that you worried most about. 

As if in slow motion you fell forwards and from the corner of your eyes, you saw him shift easily from your reach. Illumi began to extend his arm out to impede your efforts, however you caught sight of his advances and immediate retreated back. 

He blinked in mild surprise before exhaling a jaded sigh. “Fighting me is futile, you know very well that you cannot defy me in battle.” He stated matter-of-factly. “This victory brings me no satisfaction.” 

“Bring the child forth and end this foolishness now.”

“You monster,” you spat out the words like venom. “You’ll kill him.” 

Lashing out in anger you attempted another strike but narrowly missed again. Gritting your teeth in frustration you were so blinded by hatred that you failed to notice his hand reaching from your blind spot to restrain your dagger. 

Wrapping his long lithe fingers around your wrist Illumi gave a warning squeeze, enough to make a grown man fall to his knees. When you refused to yield, he gripped it into a blood cutting bind until you heard your bones shift and crack. You gasped out once your hold slackened as the dagger fell into the soft green grass below.

“No, I’ll make him stronger.” Illumi confidently promised. He just broke your wrist but oddly still, you couldn’t sense any intention of harm from him as you presumed. 

Your body went rigid when he uttered your name softly, pulling your weight into him almost comfortingly. “We’re still a family,” he spoke so lowly you thought you heard a sense of betrayal and hurt from his words. “I know it’s hard, but we only have each other.”

This imitation of kindness pulled you back into reality before you could cry into his chest and take you back to the mountain. Jerking from his touch disgustedly you began to prepare to lunge at him despite your broken hand. 

“You know very well that I will pursue you even to the ends of the earth.” 

You lurch out in a punch at his direction but Illumi hastily blocked your attacks. Dodging your strikes he only ever defends, hardly even trying to challenge you. An approach that was more pacifist as opposed to practical.

“I’ll stop at nothing to bring you both home, there is nothing you can protect him from. The boy will watch many deaths before him. He will know the true meaning of threats and violence, they will fall under mine. He will never know peace.” 

You almost cried when you heard him spoke of your son’s future in a manner that was so casually cruel. Forcing yourself to block his torturous lies and vitriolic taunts, you eyed for your weapon inconspicuously. 

Catching a glint from the blade of the dagger in the tall grass, you reached out to briskly seize it. Before you could even get close, Illumi kicked it swiftly to the point where it was no longer visible to you. Looking up at him with a gaze gaunt with pain and humiliation as he said your name once more.

“Listen to reason.”

In a fit of rage you blindly fought him with your moves only consisting of attacks and albeit not very coordinated for you could barely even see your hands in front of you. You could sense that Illumi willingly took some of your punches as he winced a little when one of your attacks coincidentally targeted his weak points. 

You hadn’t realised you were crying until he balanced you upright just as when you stumbled forwards due to your eyes stinging with blurry vision. Why had you expressed yourself at your weakest point in the midst of a fight? Were you really this weak? After such gruelling years of training did they amount to nothing when you couldn’t even compare to the man you willed yourself away to? 

You already lost before you even began. 

Locking a grip around his neck you managed to successfully pinned him to the ground floor. His eyes blankly looked up at your dishevelled state raw with pure emotions in contrast to his cool and composed self. It took you this long to register that he wasn’t fighting for your submission but for your sake. 

Illumi easily reverted to being the dominant position when he was about to receive a lethal strike from you. Pining both of your hands to the ground as he restrained your legs with his knees.

Illumi studied your trembling form underneath him, appearing like a feral cat caught in a cage, ready to lash out from any sudden actions even one out of kindness. 

“What can I do to get you to stay?” He persuaded exasperatedly, as if he was tired of you looking at him like he’s the enemy. Meanwhile, you glared at the ludicrous question. 

“I want a normal life for him. I want him to see the world, I want him to go to school, to make friends.” Your throat tightened when you brought him up. Proposing your wishes in vain knowing truly he could never fulfil what you desired. “You’ll have to kill me first before you could ever get to him.” 

“An unnecessary sacrifice.” He quickly corrected, as if such a thought had never crossed his mind.”How could I endanger the one I love most?” 

Your face twisted in detest at his hypocrisy. “What do you know about love?”

Illumi merely blinked at your question, in which the answer was one that he thought was already apparent 

“I love you.” 

And yet a thousand needles could never the change the way you feel for him. You only saw darkness within Illumi, death was the only thing drilled into his mind for his purpose was designed only for murder. 

But then why couldn’t you see any deception in his eyes? Why did he possess such sincerity when he declared his feelings for you. In the midst of constant exposure to inhumanity was it truly possible for hope and love to endure for Illumi?

At the cold realm on top of the mountain you have gazed at numerous celestial wonders of the universe, but none could compare to what you saw in his gaze. You recognised the fragments of humanity inside him and it was far more powerful than anything that you had ever witnessed before. 

To have seen compassion for another being in a state of infinite chaos, Illumi was truly a wonder.

“We can have that, you know,” Illumi gently said. “A house for our own far away from here, school, friends, whatever you want.” 

“But... not for him?” Your breath stopped when he nodded slowly, sympathising your disappointment at your speculation. 

“His siblings may lead the normal life you intended for them, but it’s critical that the eldest Zoldyck carry on the family’s name and status.” 

Like an echo through history, you really can’t stop the Zoldycks’ legacy. Nevertheless, the question still rang in your head alarmingly.

Could you do it? 

Doom your firstborn to save the others? 

After what you’ve been through was it the only logical choice?

“You can’t hurt him.”

Alas, the only natural rational course of action was to naturally comply. Illumi graced a genuine smile as he closed the distance between you and sealed the deal with a chaste kiss. 

“Never.” 

[startanewdream]

Can you do a jily fic with "just hold me"?

I will stop my drabble spam soon, I promise. Until then...

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Just hold me,” James whispers to her. When Lily bites her lip, hesitant, he smiles pleasantly. “I will guide you.”

She has no other choice and she knows it. If they take any more time to begin dancing, people will notice it and Lily really can’t deal with anyone’s look tonight.

So she heeds his words. She places a hand over his arm while offering him her other hand; he holds it with precision, strong but without letting her feel cloistered, and he puts his other hand on her back. Her breath catches with the move; she wears witch’s dress robes, with far more fabric than she’d consider acceptable for a dance, so she shouldn’t be able to feel James’ hand on her back, really.

But she swears she can feel its warmth, every pressure he puts in each finger as his hand guides through the dance floor.

Of course he can waltz well. She can just picture him as a child, being taught by his pureblooded mother about the wizarding customs, learning dutifully as it was expected from him. Lily remembers being annoyed by organizing this dance only because it represented another way of distinguishing the wizarding world from muggle world—the band that plays unfamiliar wizarding songs, the dress fashion, those outdated dance steps.

She hated it but as the Head Girl she had organized it—she and James, that’s it. It was announced with only a fortnight to fix everything, so in her rush to prepare it, Lily had overseen the fact that the Head Girl was supposed to share the first dance with the Head Boy.

She wonders if James also forgot it. She could ask him, but she thinks he forgot also; he would have said something before. They are friends after all.

But this question seems so inconsequential at the moment, with the way she stands so close to him, letting him guide her. His hands always betray the movement of his feet a split second before he moves; Lily finds that it's easy to react to it, to understand when he will spin her or when they will change direction. She only needs to surrender to him, to not think too much.

And it’s surprisingly easy to concentrate on James’ presence. Perhaps it’s his scent, that musky inebriating scent that she has felt before during their meetings but never this strong, this intoxicating. Perhaps it’s the warmth of his body, waves of heat that expand from his body to hers in this cold December night. Perhaps it’s the glint in his eyes as he stares at her; his lips are pressed into a quiet smile, unpretentious, expecting nothing, but his hazel eyes shine with the brightness of the sun.

Perhaps it’s just James and the way her heart beats faster than the rhythm of the song, than their pace.

Her gaze falls to his lips for a fraction of a second, but it’s enough. When her eyes meet his again, his eyes betray the slightest hint of hope as he takes in the sight of her face, admiring each detail.

She didn’t want anyone looking at her before; now she craves his gaze, feels herself drawn by it.

Her hand climbs his arm until she holds his neck; her other hand breaks from his—his hand falls to her waist at once—so she can intertwine her hands behind his neck. This shift brings them closer and a tiny part of Lily’s mind once more hates wizarding fashion; there is still too much fabric between them.

But this doesn’t seem important, not with the way his hand squeezes her waist to bring her even closer and Lily accepts it as she accepted every other movement he made during the dance. His eyes fall to her lips now and she wets them without thinking about it, just reacting to him. Just waiting. Just hoping.

He lowers his head—her heart explodes in a quick race towards a finish line that will never be reached—and then there is an explosion of applause around them.

The song has ended. As they stay still, looking at each other—sharing the knowledge of what almost happened—another song starts playing, more lively, people joining the dance floor excitedly. The Heads are not required to dance the second song.

Lily blinks, the magic of their moment gone. “Thanks for dancing with me,” she whispers, her voice unstable.

He smiles, but it’s more restrained now. “My pleasure, Evans.”

She doubts it was only his.

His hands move away from her and Lily suddenly hates it. “I don’t know this dance either,” she says hurriedly, ignoring how it doesn’t seem to involve any particular step, just people moving to the song. If James realizes it, he doesn’t say anything; he pauses, looking at her, trying to understand. “Would you hold me again?”

There is only hope in his eyes now.

“I’d love to, Evans.”

[the-last-kenobi]

I adore your qui gon and obi wan stuff so can we get a number 8 on the prompt list with obi wan and qui gon?

Absolutely!! I’m so glad you chose that one; I’ve loved every single prompt I’ve gotten but this one breaks the mold a little.

I hope this lives up to your expectations!

From this various prompts list.

_

When Qui-Gon Jinn set foot on the planet of Melida/Daan for the second time, he had a fixed set of expectations.

He expected to find the same war-torn, shattered homes and abused soil, the same decimated populations, the same stench of death. He expected to find the underground hideouts where the children hid from the wrath of their parents, and where the Melida plotted against the Daan and the Daan against the Melida. He expected to find a bruised and shame-faced former Jedi Padawan, ready to humble himself before the Council.

He expected to have to offer both comfort and stern reprimand to this child who, as much of a delight as he had once been, no longer deserved to be his apprentice.

And he did find some of that.

He also found fields of green grass, and abandoned fields of half-plucked vegetation and fruits.

A memorial garden.

A row of corpses covered neatly in cloths, lining the road, respectfully untouched.

Faded posters announcing committees and treaties and open elections, speeches and remembrance services.

A mural on a stone wall, somewhere between impressionist and abstract, of a line of children and adults, the children in the center. Towards the very middle, almost exactly so, was the image of a young boy with pale russet locks hanging an inch loose, and Qui-Gon paused, observing warily as if the image might come to life and attack him.

But it was only an image, and Obi-Wan Kenobi was only a wayward child.

And none of this is was going as anticipated.

The Jedi Master tried to recall what Yoda had told him before chivvying him out the door, but in truth he had not processed much of it aside from Obi-Wan’s name and the understanding that he had asked to be retrieved from Melida/Daan.

Why?

Clearly things had changed, immensely — and yet, in the background, the continued sound of bombs going off and weapons firing, and not a living being in sight.

Qui-Gon continued deeper into the core of the civilization, skirting the worst of the ruins but avoiding the main road in a passing effort to go unnoticed.

It did not last long.

“Master Jedi!” a voice hissed out suddenly, and Qui-Gon turned sharply to see a young man — maybe nineteen, at most — peering at him around the corner of the nearest building, pressed close to the wall. He gestured shortly and vanished.

Qui-Gon took a moment to cast out his senses. The Force bore no distinct warning, so he crossed the road quickly and ducked around the corner.

The young man was waiting for him. Up close it was clear that he was younger than he had appeared, perhaps seventeen, just emerging from the gangly limbs stage, and he was coated in dirt and grime — some of it oddly strategic, smeared across his cheekbones and the crown of his forehead, darkening and muting them. Dark hazel eyes considered Qui-Gon suspiciously.

“You were expecting me,” Qui-Gon stated.

The boy nodded. “I was. Obi-Wan said you would be arriving today, maybe tomorrow.”

A strange jolt ran through Qui-Gon. He had not said Obi-Wan’s name aloud himself, not since that day almost eight months before, and while he had heard other Jedi mention it, it was off-putting to hear this total stranger use it. So familiarly. Like he knew Kenobi well. Qui-Gon brushed the thoughts aside like so many cobwebs and spoke again: “Well, here I am. Where next?”

He did not say, ‘Where is Obi-Wan?’

For some reason, it would have felt like a confession.

The boy pressed his lips into a flat line, as if the Jedi had failed some sort of test. “…I’ll show you. Stick close to me and don’t do anything reckless. Stealth is our best ally right now. Only ally, really.”

Qui-Gon wondered what he was, then, since he was certainly not included in this mysterious “we.”

It was slightly insulting, and sharply painful, to be lectured on strategic maneuvers by what amounted to a child soldier.

Nevertheless, Qui-Gon followed him.

They wound their way through the settlement, bypassing craters where homes had stood and also far more intact buildings, still crisp and clean and bearing that unmistakable scent of newness.

These, more than any of the others, were painted with images of children and adults standing together, plastered with announcements, and more than one — many — almost all — featuring that flame-haired youth. More often than not he was framed closely by two others. Another boy, this one slightly taller and leaner with dark hair. And a girl, a little smaller, with bold waves and startling green eyes.

The boy with the dirty face turned his head to look at each of them, though he did not slow.

After what felt like a very long time, Qui-Gon found himself entering what seemed to be a cellar. It was dark and musty, but before he could question it, his guide went to a section of the wall and pushed, popping open a panel that sank away and slid to one side.

“This way,” he said unnecessarily.

In they went. It was a tunnel, low and long, and Qui-Gon had to stoop halfway just to move. The boy, several inches shorter, had less trouble.

A few minutes of breathless, blind stumbling later, and they reached a reinforced door.

The boy knocked slowly, then quickly; stopped, and then knocked rapidly again. “It’s me!” he called through the crevice. “He’s here.”

There was a grinding sound, and then the door swung open to reveal bright light. The boy slipped through without hesitation, but the Jedi Master was more wary, blinking and waiting for his eyes to adjust to the light before slowly entering the room, still bowed low from the tunnel.

When he rose, he was looking directly into the eyes of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

The boy had changed, and yet was exactly the same.

There was no other way to describe it.

He had certainly shot up an inch or so in height. His Jedi tunics were gone; he was wearing a stained white tunic of much poorer cloth and simpler cut, over a pair of patched brown trousers and sturdy boots. His robe was still the one he had worn when he had first arrived all those months ago, but he had sewn the sleeves so that they did not dangle over his wrists or hang wide and loose; instead they were drawn closer, but not so tight that they impeded his movement.

His hair seemed more coppery red than before as it hung loose and untidy, coming to slightly ragged ends halfway between his jawline and his shoulders. Some of the baby fat had melted away, driven off no doubt by stress and hunger and emotion, and his cheekbones stood out a little too much.

But it was his eyes that struck Qui-Gon.

They seemed exactly the same.

Pale blue-green, wide and friendly and innocent, sweet as they had been on the day they met.

Unbearably naive.

Those eyes flickered with shock for a moment, and then the boy stepped forward and offered out his hand. “Master Jinn,” he said.

Qui-Gon blinked. Perhaps if he waited a moment, Obi-Wan would remember that Jedi bowed? But the boy merely stared at him with his hand extended, and so Qui-Gon grasped it and shook briefly before letting go.

The boy did not seem particularly bothered. He turned to the rest of the room. “You’re all ready?”

“Yes,” came a chorus of voices.

Freed from the strangeness of Obi-Wan and his gaze, Qui-Gon looked around. There were several others present — all humans, all young, all grimy. Maybe a dozen or so in number. The room he was in was spacious, a little low-ceilinged and plain. It had the air of a bunker, with bright lights that aggravated the eyes and dull walls and functional furniture. Most notably, the enormous table in the center.

It was spread with maps, fliers, announcement posters, detailed blueprints for buildings and machinery, tidy sketches outlining strategies and countermeasures. Qui-Gon’s keen eyes caught words like ‘anti-terrorism,’ ‘knowledge is courage,’ ‘long-range missile launcher,’ and ‘riot activity.’ And, half-concealed under a map of Melida/Daan’s entire surface, a flat holo of three people. Obi-Wan. The dark-haired boy. The girl with green eyes.

“Master Jinn,” Obi-Wan’s voice broke into his observations.

They were all watching him with various degrees of mistrust.

Qui-Gon straightened his spine, and then forced himself to relax a little, trying to radiate comfort and honesty. Even without force sensitivity, they would be eased somewhat.

“Yes, I’m listening,” he assured them.

Kenobi exchanged a quick look with the boy who had guided him here, and the youth shrugged. “He was quick enough and he listened to what I said, but he’s like most adults. Thinking more in his head than paying attention, didn’t even ask my name.”

Qui-Gon started. He hadn’t, had he?

“I—” he began, but the youth cut him off with a dismissive gesture.

“You didn’t ask,” he said. “I’m not sharing now. I’m sure you’ll hear it eventually.”

Obi-Wan nodded as if this were perfectly reasonable. “Master Jinn, are you prepared to take all thirteen of us back to Coruscant?”

“What?” Qui-Gon demanded. He glanced around at the others, who looked even less impressed than before. He felt so unexpectedly out of his depth. What was this place? “I — no, I’m returning you to the Jedi, to the care of the High Council.”

“No,” Obi-Wan said placidly. “You’re not. I’m sure Master Yoda had his reasons for sending you—” the slightest emphasis on the word ‘you’—“but you are here to escort myself and the other twelve to the Core to appear before the Senate. That’s why you were assigned such a large ship. We’re going to make an appeal on behalf of Meldan.”

“Meldan?” Qui-Gon echoed.

“Our planet,” one of the others, a curly-haired, fierce-eyed woman of about twenty-two said. “Obi, are you sure about this? This isn’t at all what you said we could expect.”

“Master Jinn is an exception to many rules,” Obi-Wan told her; as he turned his head to look in her direction, he briefly seemed to change, the tension in his shoulders easing and his face alight with mischief. Then it was gone. He turned back to Qui-Gon, and beneath the veneer of professionalism could be glimpsed a strange aura of… something Qui-Gon couldn’t determine or define.

Their eyes met again, and silence fell for a moment.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan decided. “Yes, this will work. If any Jedi will help ensure you catch the attention of the Senate, it would be Master Jinn. Master Yoda also told me that Master Adi Gallia will be your official patron, which is good; she spends most of her time handling the political side of Jedi affairs.”

“Then we should go now,” said a small boy of no more than nine. “Let’s go!”

“Not just yet, Jocco,” Obi-Wan said soothingly, turning a gentle smile on the child. “We’re not quite ready. We’ll leave in about an hour.”

“Right,” Jocco said, nodding. “Okay.”

Obi-Wan smiled again. “All right, everyone. We have meals to eat and supplies to pack, so let’s keep together and keep organized. Sarai,” he nodded at the curly-haired woman, “and my friend,” a nod to the bitter-eyed nameless guide, “please bring Master Jinn up to speed. Master Jinn,” he added, glancing up from where the smallest children were flocking to his side and clinging to his hands, “I will see you in an hour.”

He left, surrounded by children both far younger and several years older than him, like adoring chicks following their mother, or maybe more like an honor guard. The contrast was both ludicrous and oddly touching.

“You listen to him,” Qui-Gon commented to his tight-lipped companions. “Even though he no longer carries the authority of a Jedi.”

“I haven’t seen any Jedi authority yet,” snapped back his unnamed guide. “Just three Jedi who came, two who left, and one who stayed.”

“It was not our mission to stay,” Qui-Gon replied calmly, tucking his hands inside his sleeves. “Though I can see what compelled him to.”

“Oh, can you?” said Sarai. She folded her arms tightly and assessed him, her lip curling. “I don’t think you see much past the end of your own nose.”

“Petty insults will get us nowhere,” he replied, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of said nose. “And it won’t help you when you speak for your people before the Senate.”

“Me?” an amused smile curled her lips. She looked as if all her suspicions had just been confirmed. “I won’t be speaking, not primarily anyways. I don’t have any governmental authority behind me, I’m just a secondary representative.”

“Same here,” said the young man.

“Governmental authority…? Then who is your speaker?” Qui-Gon asked, slightly bewildered.

“Are you blind?” said the young man. “Obi-Wan is the leader. Since the other two were assassinated, Obi-Wan is our only head of government.”

_

The next time Qui-Gon laid eyes on his former apprentice, it was mere minutes before their agreed departure time.

The children — Melida, Daan, none of them older than sixteen, aside from former Melida Sarai and former Daan who still refused to share his name — were all gathered next to a large reinforced bay door next to a small fleet of speeders.

Obi-Wan had one arm draped around the shoulders of a ten-year-old boy, murmuring instructions to him, and carrying the little toddler girl on his hip. She was playing with his hair contentedly, unbothered by the preparations going on around her.

If it had been strange to see Obi-Wan before, with his air of sameness-yet-differentness, it was doubly so now.

Knowing what he now knew.

Knowing that Obi-Wan Kenobi had accomplished what he had set out to do and reunited the Melida and the Daan with the help of a few middle-aged adults from both sides and the constant aid of his two companions, Cerasi and Nield. Knowing that he had been fairly elected alongside Cerasi and Nield as the Triumvers — the three Heads of State — of the newly named Meldan.

Knowing that they had been in the midst of Reconstruction both physical and emotional when a radical had betrayed them, murdering innocents gathered for discussions. How Cerasi had been murdered in her bed. How Nield had begun drumming up a military force, only to be assassinated — by a friend of the peace or a foe, who could say? How Obi-Wan had seen all his allies either killed or turn away, and had gathered all he could and retreated below ground, holding tight to his ideals and the legislative power that now backed him.

Knowing how he had continued to sow the seeds of freedom and diplomacy even as the people left above ground resorted again to violence. How he had nurtured genuine friendships among his people, even after having been betrayed.

And here he stood, not even fifteen, making children laugh and reassuring people older than him as he attempted to carry them to freedom and hope.

A government of war-veteran children, led by a former Jedi Padawan.

Qui-Gon watched as everyone was paired up, older teens with younger children, two to a speeder, until at last there was only one vehicle left and only himself and Kenobi still standing.

“I’m afraid I’ll be piloting,” the boy told him. “I’m familiar with the route.”

Qui-Gon swallowed away a bitter taste and merely nodded.

Obi-Wan swung himself up behind the controls, and Qui-Gon moved to sit behind him, and despite everything, despite knowing Obi-Wan’s history over the past eight months, despite being determined not to regard him as his Padawan ever again, it still felt wrong to sit behind. To let the child lead. To let the child sit behind the controls where any decent sniper would aim.

“Stick close and keep low!” Obi-Wan called out.

“Love you Obi!” the same tiny girl cried out from somewhere behind them on another speeder.

Qui-Gon didn’t know what he expected, if he expected anything at all in this strange parallel universe he had wandered into. Nevertheless, Obi-Wan turning his head to grin at the girl and calling back, “Love you too, Cler!” still surprised him.

And then they were off.

The children were clearly well trained, experienced. They seemed to know this back route by heart, undeterred by the semi-light of dusk, and keeping behind outcroppings of rock and trees as much as possible.

Obi-Wan glanced around periodically to check on the others, and every so often one of the others from the back of the parade would speed up to match his pace and give him the all-clear before falling back again.

The breathlessness of the moment settled somewhere in Qui-Gon’s chest. If he could put aside the emotional toll it was taking to sit behind his former student and see him not as a Jedi but as a war-tried planetary ruler, it was easier to be caught up in the rush. The fate of thousands depended on this race for freedom.

The former Jedi Master and Padawan maintained their lead, a slight gap between them and the others.

This served them all well when a blaster bolt came out of nowhere and struck Obi-Wan in his right shoulder, missing his chest only because he sensed it at the last second and twisted away.

There were screams from the smaller children; the older children reacted immediately, scattering their small fleet and engaging their weapons.

“There!” Qui-Gon cried, pointing to a ridge on their right where glimpses of people moving could be seen. His other hand was holding Obi-Wan upright.

“Are you all right to keep piloting?” he shouted.

“For a little while! Hold on, I have a plan!” Obi-Wan shouted back.

“Is it a good plan?”

“Hard to tell until I’ve done it!”

For a second it felt like it had been a year ago, or even better, both of them on the edge of adrenaline and serenity, grinning.

Qui-Gon ignited his lightsaber and deflected two more blaster shots, calling out warnings to the others within earshot.

A speeder went down.

A girl and boy were thrown several meters, crushing in the dust, clinging to one another as they rolled to a stop. On another speeder, Sarai yelled “Here!” and pulled up alongside Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon, while Jocco stood up from behind her and leapt.

Qui-Gon’s heart shot to his throat.

But as he extended a hand and caught the child with the Force, Obi-Wan was already doing the same thing, drawing Jocco safely onto their speeder. Sarai, meanwhile, swung her speeder back around and parked it in front of the fallen one, shielding the injured two from view. She stood up on the seat and raised a blaster in each hand, lips twisted in a snarl. “Over here you bastards!” she screamed. “Like shooting at children? Give it your best shot!”

“She’s insane,” said Qui-Gon.

“She’s my second in command!” Obi-Wan laughed. “Now get ready! You’re taking the wheel!”

“What?”

Qui-Gon turned his head just in time to see Obi-Wan launch himself off of the moving speeder with reckless grace, executing a Force-augmented leap to land neatly on the ridge. “Kenobi! What are you doing?” Qui-Gon bellowed.

The boy didn’t respond. He had a blaster in his good hand and dropped out of view, directly onto the heads of the people concealed behind the rocks. There were yells; red light flared as weapons went off in rapid succession. Sarai took advantage of the distraction and urged the other two onto her speeder. “Go!” she said.

As soon as they were off, one of the other speeders erupted from the tree-line and swooped in front of her, slowing down enough to allow her to jump aboard behind two smaller children. “Good job kiddos,” Qui-Gon heard her say. Then she looked up at him. “Come on, we have to go!”

“But—Obi-Wan—” he said helplessly.

As he did, Obi-Wan reappeared at the crest of the ridge, a smoking hole in his trouser leg and a bloody furrow over one eye. He looked directly at Qui-Gon and mouthed, ‘Go! Take the others and run, now!’

Then he was gone again.

A pained look crossed Sarai’s face, but she glanced at Jocco sitting on his lap and smoothed it away at once. “He knows what he’s doing,” she said. “Now come on!”

They sped off, trailing dust and a broken wreck, following in the wake of the other speeders far ahead of them.

In the distance, the ship gleamed in the low light, a beacon for them to follow.

The others were waiting for them when they arrived, arranged defensively around the ship, protecting their only mode of transportation. The nameless boy was standing front and center, an adapted blaster rifle in his arms, looking ready to kill anyone who got too near. Jocco ran straight to him.

Sarai helped the other two down and began loading everyone onto the ship, which opened at Qui-Gon’s command.

He and the boy with the rifle waited.

And waited.

The sun set in earnest, and darkness fell.

And still they waited.

“Can you make your appeal to the Senate without him?” Qui-Gon said suddenly.

The young man whipped his head around to look at him. “What?”

“Can you make your appeal without Obi-Wan?”

He sneered. “In his absence, legal responsibility falls to Sarai and me. But it’s not the same.”

“No, it’s not.” Qui-Gon agreed.

There was a brief silence.

“Can you pilot this starship?”

“What?”

Qui-Gon did not repeat himself this time, and the young man’s eyes widened, his grip on his rifle slackening. “You… you want to stay. You want to stay and search for him.”

“You need to leave,” said Qui-Gon quietly. “Can you pilot this starship?”

“My name’s Radan,” the young man said brusquely, extending a grimy hand. “And yeah, between me and Kieln we can figure it out pretty quickly.”

“Good,” said Qui-Gon shaking his hand firmly. “As soon as you exit your first hyperspace jump, contact Master Yoda, it’s all programmed into the system. Tell him what happened.”

He looked again to the shadowed horizon, to the dark smudge several kilometers distant that was the stone ridge where he had last seen Obi-Wan.

“Tell him,” he paused. “…Tell him I am going to stay with my Padawan.”

Radan paused halfway up the ramp, turning to look back, a look of concern crossing his young face. “Even if he’s never going back to the Jedi?” he asked.

Qui-Gon hesitated.

“I suppose we’ll have to wait and see, won’t we? Obi-Wan is capable of making his own decisions.”

Qui-Gon turned back towards the horizon, towards Obi-Wan.

“But I will not leave him again.”

_

[rumblelibrary]

The Diary of Doctor Laszlo Kreizler

Chapter 1

Synopsis: Alienist’s notes are private, sometimes gruesome, secrets of others and of himself.Those pages belongs to secrecy and decadence, have a glimpse to this world made of drafts, notes, accidents and reflections. Or maybe it is you the only person that should ever reach for it.

While you read this imagine Laszlo mostly at the end of his day, scraping the ideas and the thoughts, adjusting previous notes with additions, closing the day behind himself with a couple of sentences while sitting in his evening robe, a good glass of whiskey and his glasses bridged almost at the tip of his nose. Or maybe imagine yourself, you sneaky thing, reach for it from a far shelf.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: listen, this is the set of ideas and confessions of a man living in the 1890’s. Most of them will be outdated, rough, even deprecating in some analysis of the roles of men, women and social status, religion, etc.So be prepared, my point is to make Laszlo reflect upon those topics, but to be as faithful as I can to his time. Mention of death, mutilation, self harm and a minor depiction of a fight. Psychologically troubled young children ahead! Author’s note: I am a nerd for a good Victorian novel and a sexy Alienist.I have always been charmed by Laszlo’s mind and inner conflicts. So I took the chance and tried to have a run into that rollercoaster.  The story is placed between season 1 and season 2.

Diary belonging to Dr. Laszlo Kreizler.  This is a professional book of annotations over medical treatments of an alienist toward his patients. Do not disclose and send it back to the address if found: Kreizler’s Institute, xxxxxx, New York City (NY) L.K.

Samuel Griswold Goodrich, Illustrated Natural History of the Animal Kingdom (c1859). Contributed for digitization by University Library, University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign.

Schiller in his “Die Weltweisen” wrote: So long as philosophy keeps together the structure of the Universe so long does it maintain the world’s machinery by hunger and love. From the philosopher point of view sexual life takes a subordinate position in human’s life, from recent studies pushed by European philosophers, everything is about sexuality and its development. I like to think of the experience of being an alienist as the process of Queen Penelope that, while waiting for her husband Ulysses return, undoes her craftwork every night. I undo the fabulous constructs of people’s beliefs to go back to the rough sketch that stands at the beginning of their loss, their complex, their pain. Maybe that’s why working with children is so motivating and fascinating. They can be saved and yet, I am well aware, some of those sketches already traced in their young lives equal to scars that not even the most advanced theories could cure. But I can sooth them. I can prevent them the torment, the anguish, the recollection at night of those monsters. I feel like a poet would be a better alienist than a philosopher, but I have got no poetry nor philosophy in my veins, but the cold experience of the razor blade judgment of Life itself.

Today I observed a fight among the children at the Institute. Age range between 10 and 12. Boys. The fight was over the possession of a side of the playground, the territory of a pack  of youngsters formed under the name of Steven. Peculiar lad, coming from a military background finds comfort in replicating the schemes he lived in his family. He takes the role of the Father/Captain of the team and subjects children that come from a similar background story, but do not posses his same attitude to the command. All quiet on the front, until the space he declared is own spot got affected by the presence of others.  Intruders. I knowingly let the events unfold to see how Steven would react to his challenged authority. His reaction was, at first, worded, a sketch, a stage-play of an action he witnessed over and over, and he knew the part so well that some of the contending kids lowered their stance against him. Among considering to mildly intervene into this pyramid scheme of authority, another boy, Jan, calls himself on the role of the educator and hero of the masses and proceeds to unfold a wild and well assessed punch on the newly declared dictator face. Balance is established again. No need for me to arbitrate, once more the laws of nature seem to apply to children as in a state of nature.

Meet John Moore over lunch. His job at the newspaper is picking up, he is charmed by the spirits and the wits that he finds in his shared office with all the other writers. He mentions many, goes on and on over qualities and troubles, gossips and tendencies, and even little scandals here and there. To be aware of all those details gives me no interest, but to see a dear friend so invested clearly gives me something to pick up. To consider also the amount of details and the way he describes this or that member of the journal, I can do a small exercise of analysis. It is almost too easy because John is painfully genuine, even some of the kids at the institute would beat him hands down in a battle of lies. The more he likes somebody, the more he goes on about all the details and the characteristics, often letting aside the physical appearance. When he doesn’t like somebody he has a couple of adjectives for the wits and around four or five for the physical aspects that usually indulge on some repulsive idiosyncrasies.  John is a man that painfully fits in the storyline of The Picture of Dorian Gray: to him physical beauty is spiritual beauty and, of course, the other way around. This part of him surely intrigues me, makes me want to tease more from him. But, as a friend, it concerns me as John is way too prone to purposelessly decide that somebody with good eyes is also a good human being, which is a very romantic and admirably naive way of judging matters. I noticed some names that keep repeating in his narration. I dread that it is synonymous of a soon encounter from my side with the objects of his admiration. Fetiches, I dare to say, that I will have to annihilate before they sediment into his mind, perpetuating a narration that soon sees John being mislead by others.

Reserved: Tickets for the Eroica, Symphony n. 3 by Ludwig van Beethoven. Thursday evening.

Note on the show: the first movement lacked the pathos needed to begin with, I am not sure that the guest orchestra really managed to portray the wider emotional ground needed to withstand the whole representation. As the evening progressed there were some outstanding performances by the cellists. Still not approving the choice of reprising the early quick finale movement against the lengthy set of variations and fugue that we are used to in presence of the Eroica. Underwhelming the performance of the horn and oboe, vital in the comprehension of the genius of Beethoven. 

Niki is a new addition of the Institute, quite old for the standards. He is already 16, he will leave when summer ends to some expensive college his family meant him to stay. His parents expect me to make him “normal” in the time we are allowed together.  He is Austrian and I let him act it out like I don’t understand German for the first week of hist stay until today. I believe I hit his pride, which is good, in the moment I answered back to one of his sneaky comments. Now he knows. He is not safe from me, he doesn’t like it. The young man has a tendency to danger, risky tasks and edgy situations. In his mother’s own words “Niki is not afraid of anything”. The phrase didn’t raise any excitement in the father, rather some sort of painful acceptance that is role as the alpha male of the house is probably not only being challenged, but  already diminished, if not abolished. I have taken in consideration that Niki will break himself a bone or two in the process of the therapy, probably out of the spite of boredom or rebellion. It took him less than few days to turn himself into an outcast among the outcasts, which only drives me closer to analyse the complexity of his narcissistic wall of self defence. I gave him a physical challenge to lift a certain weight, he is a pretty skinny one, he didn’t like the challenge, but I am sure he will take it. He is a brainy guy, he hates to be questioned on unfamiliar ground. He won’t sleep at night thinking about it.  A challenge, in this first phase, can only bring me closer to the ease of his pains. To continue the observation.

It is a sad privilege of medicine, in particular the one I practice, to be able to witness the weaknesses of the human nature and the reverse side of life. Nevertheless, I oblige this same privilege of the study as life moves into shades of darkness. To be aware of it gives more solace to my soul than to be victim of patiently waiting for the inevitable unfolding of the events. To be able to understand more about psychology would bring more comfort and elevation to any human being, the times might not be there yet, but eventually something will move into the direction of a more wholesome approach.

Dinner meeting with Sara Howard, at the restaurant Jardin Des Cygnes, 7 pm sharp.  Do not expect to reach the dessert. Do not know if John will be participating due to undeniable tension among the two and the fatal despise of John over French cuisine.

The case that Sara unfolded tonight to my ears feels more and more like pulled out from some gothic book or from the mind of a Roman historian that needed to justify the godly origins of an Emperor. One killing, apparently random, a very constructed iconography over the body. Signs and insults, shapes and drawings. Is this a work of art? Does the killer wants his victim to be his Mona Lisa? His David? I am charmed and destabilised. If this was a murder like any other, then why to spend so much time into it? Based on the description the act of killing itself was quick: a sharp cut over the throat, almost like not wanting to ruin too much the surface to use as base for, what? I keep rerunning those symbols over and over as Sara described them to me, my mind is flooded with the designs of greek philosophers that needed to explain themselves why the sky is above our head and never collapses on us. Hilarious how, no matter the science advancement, in the mind of many the sky stands inevitably overt their shoulders, suffocates them, brings them to a death of the soul and not of the body. Is all this graphic charade indeed only a form to scream for attention?  To stress the eyes of an unaware viewer? It seems ridiculously elaborate, a scream for attention would be quick, it would be like guided by instinct, not reasoning, craftwork. Any man with a knife can paint in blood red the walls of a room and that’s asking for attention. That is the primal howl: look at me! I am here! But this one.  I don’t know yet.

Spent the early morning reading anew my copy of The Metamorphosis by Ovid. Didn’t touch it in a long time and I got bedazzled by the world of terrible sensuality, anger and selfishness of those gods and mortals. I think back at all the deviances and weaknesses of human kind and I try to relate it to all of those humanoid figures. Niki would be a minotaur, the lonesome son left in the labyrinth and his strive for success is his bull’s head. Or maybe a centaur, because of his wits and strategic thinking. I might keep up the process, maybe this is the way to understand my patients better, to understand the killer better. Must remember not to romanticise it. Greek gods were probably the first form of self indulging of a society that needed gods to be forgiving and allowing favours and punishments, but only in exchange of sacrifices. But the sacrifice never comes from the God’s will, but from the will of the man that perpetuates the act of killing. To sacrifice someone or something is the sadistic response to a lack of love deeply inherited in human mind that becomes neurotic. Is the killer giving the God of his own neurosis a body to feast upon? 

I talked with Jan this morning. The young boy is about 10, but he acts like a full grown adult. I could easily asses that’s the reason why he could challenge Steven in that fight. Two children mimicking adults situations they know too well. Jan is son of an industrial man, but he is also son of the dialectics of the industrial revolution. He sounds like he swallowed some of those books about working class rights and communism, probably pushed by a resentful surrounding (mother?uncle? the midwife?) over the social role of his father. As much as incredibly smart and lectured, Jan lost most of his early occasions in life by spending a considerable amount of time using his fists. The anger ever present in the young boy always surprises me, he seems to be holding a power, a strength of a full grown man in those tiny arms. Nevertheless, he is already the tallest of the group. He is surely an idealist, which makes him also tragically fragile. His strength mixed with his heart of gold can make him the best of the heroes or the worst of the villains. He apologised for the fight, he specified how he didn’t like the sound of Steven’s voice, more than the sound, the level of pitch.  I can’t stand somebody shouting orders, I just don’t listen anymore. He is so mature even about his own feelings, almost a gentleman in his chivalry toward the weaker children, honest with his open heart and resentful against any form of injustice.  I am not spared by his ways, he would come at me whenever he feels like I was being partial over some of the kids, his sense of justice blinds him and transform a perfectly balanced boy into a ranging animal.

Ordered book, to be delivered around tomorrow evening: Introduction à la méthode de Léonard de Vinci by Paul Valéry. Suddenly feeling myself as a gross ignorant in art themes. I always regarded myself aware of the artistic personalities and tendencies of present and past, but this new amount of perceptions over the human figure and the human body leads me to document myself more. I could ask John for advice, but he wouldn’t take things at matter that seriously. I can almost hear him say how I can make gruesome a pleasant topic such as art. I should probably wait to see the body to push any further aesthetic study, but I find myself not being able to stop. I reckon, I can allow myself a vice or two.

Today I saw the body of the killed man, courtesy of the Isaacson's. To be fair, I had underestimated it. In Sara’s descriptions, probably due to her more analytic mind, all the charm of the representation got lost in favour of a less cryptic and reasonable understanding of the act. Sara got what some alienists will call a masculine mind, which I don’t perfectly agree on. If I apply that same approach John would be a very feminine mind, all wrapped up in romanticising even the ugliest. I guess that dividing the world in “fragile and gentle” and “strong and powerful” is just easier to explain the fluctuation of something that doesn’t need a real name or a category like human inclinations on thoughts.  I got a feverish sense of patience by looking at the body. Each symbol traced with sapient slowness, dense of the time that the killer spent with the body. That is a work of hours, he had time and meaning. He had resources and was able to spend not less than the time he needed to reach, a vision? An ideal? A message? Is it the message meant to be understood? Am I supposed to unravel it or it is maybe just the way the killer communicates within himself? And if I do decifrate the code, will that bring me closer to him? Or to his next victim?

Reminder: ask John to replicate all the symbols on the bodies in the correct measure and order. It might be needed some hard convincing. Addition: scheduled meeting, his house, 3 pm.

It wasn’t a day like any other when I met you. Or maybe it was, and that’s why I got so struck by it and now I am here playing it over and over through what my memory clung on so desperately. In my own experience, life was often similar to swimming in a lake. Those rich, dense lakes in the north of (illegible cancelled word) were my father used to bring us during summer. I still feel the pull, the draw down toward the abyss. It ashamed me, in a way, the fear that such a simple feeling aroused in my young mind, unaware nevertheless, that such a feeling would follow me through all my existence. It was a prophecy and, like most of the prophecies, was a riddle. I cradle in my heart the charm of those days, the mindless happiness. The foolish feeling of freedom. Little I knew that freedom would be taken away from me that soon, that the body that used to navigate me over the dense waters, helping me to fight the haul toward the unknown, would become my own cage. That day. Today. The day where I met you, the day I was afloat.  The child gasping for air felt the wrench become a gentle push and now he is floating on his back over the scary waters of reality and malice. It gave me relief and it gave me terror, because since that very moment I knew that I would never be able to move on from the sight of you. From the feeling of your eyes lingering on me. From the smile you so easily shone upon me. From the whiff of imported perfume that hit me when you turned on side exploding that swan like neck. And nothing, not even my stern look, could dim that wave of hope that your sole presence washed over me. The abyss roars, calls me to a home of damnation and terror and curses my name and yet you repeated that hell-bound name of mine after me and I felt safe.

John told me so much about you, it feels like I have always known you.

The rope is gone from my neck, the guillotine won’t fall on me, I am spared, I am free.

I have read your latest article, I am thrilled to help with the case.

I am in disbelief.

Your voice.

Dr. Kreizler

How dare you? How dare you to come into my life, to appear, like a vision, mystical, in a way I despised at University when all those theology students talked about the divine. In this very moment I can’t recollect much of what you said, something about the case, about going with John at the obituary. It feels confusing, I feel overstimulated, my memory fails me, I am not sure anymore. I write these few lines and it is passed the hour of the witches and I wish, I demand, to never see you again, because life should never grant hope to a condemned man. 

[sunflowerdarlingx]

Show me what you like angel - RW (18+)

18+

Hello lovlies, I want to apologise for the lack of content, I’ve just not been in the right headspace. I’ve been working on this one for a while and finally found the motivation to finish it. Let me know what you think <3

Request: Can i request doing your first time with Ron and he's super stressed about it ?

Female Reader

Warnings: first time (talk of it hurting), fingering, a hand job, unprotected sex

MINORS DNI 

------------------------------- 

Ron sat at the bottom of y/n’s bed, left leg bouncing up and down while his hand lightly scratched at the right over his jeans. They had finally finished Hogwarts for their final year and the pair decided to spend the first two weeks of summer at y/n’s house since her parents were away. Y/n was currently in the bathroom, changing into something more ‘comfortable’ for the events that were to follow. Y/n and Ron had been together for about 5 months and had decided that tonight would be their first time. 

It may come as a surprise to hear that Ron is still very much a virgin. Yes, he had kissed girls but that was as far as it ever went. The pair had a conversation two weeks ago where they spoke in detail about their first time. They had both been ready for weeks but there was never a good time. 

Ron stood up and decided to light a few candles and charmed a few fairy lights to appear around the room. In his mind he replayed the conversations that he had with his older brother Fred. Last week, Ron found himself panicked about disappointing y/n, so he met Fred in Hogsmeade for some advice. Fred talked him through everything, particularly emphasising a need for foreplay and aftercare and also the need for communication. 

Ron had just finished adding a few more lights when he heard her door open. Y/n stood in the doorway, hands twirling her robe in her hands as she smiled shyly. Ron’s jaw dropped at the sight of her, she was breathtaking. A silky black robe was draped over her shoulders, a black bra pushed her tits up deliciously and black lacy underwear sat against her hips. 

“Bloody hell” he mumbled as his eyes lovingly gazed over her body, “You look hot” Ron blushed a deep red after he said that, “I..I mean you look, wow”. There were still no words to express just how perfect she looked. 

Y/n giggled, “not too bad yourself” she walked over to Ron and took his hands in hers, “do you really like it?” her beautiful eyes looked up to his, although she noticed his eyes looked darker than normal. 

“Love it” he pressed his lips to her forehead, “‘nd I love you” his crooked smile made her melt as he moved in for a proper kiss. 

“Love you too” y/n mumbled back, Ron’s lips felt dry against her soft ones but that was nothing new. Ron moved his hands to her waist and squeezed lightly, her arms wrapped around his shoulders and toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck. 

Rons tongue slipped past her lips as he moved one hand up to rest against her cheek, caressing it lovingly before pulling away. His hand enveloped hers and he guided her over to the bed. Pulling y/n into his lap, Ron wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her neck briefly before his lips met hers once more in a sloppy kiss. 

“Can we take our clothes off?” she mumbled against his lips as Rons hands moved from her waist to rest on her bum. 

“Do you want that?” his hands traced her hips, stomach, up to her face and caressed her cheeks “we will do whatever you’re comfortable doing angel” 

“Yes please” she smiled sweetly and shakily moved her hands to his shirt, fumbling with the little buttons. 

Ron placed a loving kiss on her head before kissing her cheek and then her nose, “stop it Ron” the girl giggled “I’m trying to concentrate”. A loving smile graced Rons features as he let out a laugh at his girlfriend. 

His hand caught both of hers while his other moved to her chin, tilting her head back slightly, “how about, I finish getting this off and you take off this pretty robe?” 

y/n nodded bashfully and slipped the robe off of her shoulders, eyes moving to trail down Ron's chest, admiring the constellation of freckles that added warmth to his pale chest. She watched the way his muscles flexed as he pushed the shirt behind him. 

His crooked smile made her melt as he leaned in to kiss her shoulder, “you look incredible angel”, y/n leaned in, her lips lightly brushing his as she thanked him. 

Ron closed the gap, tongue found its way into her mouth and he ran his hands up her back, goosebumps decorating her skin as his cold hands met her warm skin. “Take it off Ron” she panted as their lips disconnected. 

Rough hands made quick work of unhooking her bra, “I’m impressed” she teased as she let the bra drop into her lap, Ron picked up the lacey fabric and tossed it to the side. 

Flipping them over, Ron ran his hands up her stomach to her chest, toying slightly with her nipples. A small whine left y/n’s lips as she arched her back, Ron’s lips kissing down her chest. “Can I take these off angel?” his index finger lightly tracing under her lacy underwear. 

“Please” her hips bucked involuntarily as he ran his hands up her thighs. His fingers hooked around the soft material and lightly tugged them down her legs. Ron took in a sharp breath at the sight of her, he had never felt luckier. 

Y/n opened her legs shyly for him and Ron's eyes met hers, a smirk crossing his features as he tested the waters. He ran his index finger through her folds, her juices coating his fingers.

In all honesty, Ron wasn’t too sure what he should do next. Y/n wanted him closely and noticed his slightly furrowed brow. She nervously trailed her hand down her body, her hand lightly holding his. Ron smiled sweetly up at her, “S..show me what you like angel”. 

It was no secret that y/n had touched herself before, Ron was desperate to make her feel good so he figured now was a good time to ask her what she liked. 

Y/n helped him find her sensitive bundle of nerves, a light moan leaving her lips at the contact, “mhm just like that” her eyelids fluttered as she looked at Ron. After a moment she went to tell Ron that he could, well, finger her but instead a gasp left her lips. 

Rons finger teased her folds once again before he slipped a finger into her tight hole, he paused at her gasp “shit, sorry”. 

Y/n quickly wrapped her hand around his wrist before he tried to pull his hand away, “i..it’s okay, felt good” she blushed as his smirk once again took over his face. Ron fingered her slowly, adding in a second finger and testing the different movements. He curled his fingers slightly, earning him a moan from the girl below him so he repeated the actions, using his thumb to circle her clit. His confidence quickly growing.

Her walls fluttered and clenched around his fingers, “‘m close Ron, p..please don’t stop” her chest was rising and falling fast, her hands toying with her nipples as he finger fucked her. 

“Oh yeah? Cum on my fingers then angel, be a good girl”, y/n lost it at his words, his slight praise pushing her over the edge as her orgasm washed over her. Her eyes rolled back while mumbled “fucks” left her mouth as her hips bucked slightly.

Ron watched in awe as her orgasm washed over her, his trousers now extremely tight. “Bloody hell” he muttered as the girl in front of him opened her eyes, slowly calming down. He crawled back up the bed, positioning himself in between her legs, placing a soft kiss against her forehead.

“You’re so sexy” he mumbled as he placed a kiss to her lips, y/n smiled cheekily up at him before running her hands down his chest. She pushed Ron so he sat beside her and moved to straddle his waist. 

A groan emitted from the back of Ron's throat as her bare pussy rested on top of his clothed cock. Her hands wrapped around his shoulders, while his gripped at her bare arse. 

“Felt so good with your fingers inside me” she moaned slightly into his ear as she grinded her hips against his. Ron bit his lip, his head turning slightly as y/n trailed kisses down his neck. 

“How about we take these off?” y/n wrapped her fingers around his belt loops, “wanna return the favour” she kissed along his jaw to his lips. 

Ron nodded goofily and flipped them so he could stand to push them down his legs. His lips met hers again while her hand moved to wrap around his cock, quickly separating their kiss to lick across her hand before pumping his length as their kiss got more heated. 

He wasn't used to being touched by someone else, his release quickly approaching from the excitement of the situation. Ron pulled back from the kiss, his hand wrapping around hers to stop the movements. 

Y/n’s eyes widened “d..did I do something wrong?” her other hand came up to his cheek and softly traced the stubble. 

“Course you didn’t” he pecked her lips, “It’s just, I won’t last long if you keep doing that” he almost turned as red as his hair, feeling slightly embarrassed to admit that he was that close to cumming. 

y/n shook her head and leaned up to kiss him, “are you going to fuck me Ron?”. 

Her words shocked him, “do you want me to?”. She smiled cheekily up at him and nodded her head. 

Ron looked down at her naked body, her legs moving to wrap around his waist as he brought his hand up to his lips, spitting onto his hand before running it along his shaft. 

He lined himself up at her entrance, his other hand holding hers beside her forehead. “Are you sure?” his eyes looked deep into hers, searching for any change in emotion. 

“I’m sure Ron” her hand tugged him down to kiss her, “promise I’ll tell you if it’s too much”. 

He nodded his head before guiding his tip into her entrance. Ron was a lot bigger than y/n had anticipated but the stretch felt incredible. He eased his way in, constantly checking to see if she was okay. Once he bottomed out, he rested for a moment, allowing her to get used to the feeling of being so full. 

A small tear escaped her eyes but she made sure Ron stayed inside of her, she was loving how close they were. “You can move Ron” she placed a kiss to his neck as he slowly thrusted his hips into hers. 

“Bloody hell...so fucking tight” he groaned his head moved to rest inbetween her shoulder and neck, his lips sucking the delicate skin. 

“Mhmm, feels so good Ron, so big” she whined as she gripped at his hand, her other hand resting on his shoulder. 

The moment was slow…passionate...loving....perfect. 

Ron could feel her walls fluttering around his cock, just like around his fingers. He moved his hand from her waist, using his other arm to hold him up, his thumb moving to rub lazy circles on her clit. 

“Please don't stop Ron” y/n moaned over and over as her high got closer and closer. 

“Getting close angel, gonna cum” Ron groaned, his hips stuttering slightly. 

“C..cum inside me” y/n’s breathing was ragged as she reached her high, “I’m cumming” her high pitched moans pushed Ron over the edge, his cum painting her tight cunt. 

They lay there for a moment, Ron’s hands rubbing her waist comfortingly while he placed soft kisses to her neck, cheek and lips. 

“I love you so much” he placed his lips to hers soflyy before pulling out, 

“I love you too” y/n snuggled into his side as he wrapped his arms around her. 

“What about a bath? And then we can watch one of those movies you like?” Ron kissed her head before sitting up. 

“Sounds perfect” y/n moved to stand but her legs felt like jelly. 

Rons hands gripped her waist as a cocky smirk took over his features. “Guess i did a good job?” 

“I definitely can’t complain” she giggled lightly “now help me to the bathroom”. 

Ron moved to carry her to the bathroom, “oh and snacks, can we get snacks to babe?” he sat her on the counter as he started to fill the bath. 

“Yes Ronald” she laughed as he turned to playfully glare at him for calling him  by his proper name.

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