#village of objects perhaps.....

[cellclothism]

wiait i need to postt theae

[meringuejellyfish]

the music for the colgera battle is quite delightful (wow i just need to say i like it. goodness) its a shame i couldnt really properly hear it while actually playing on account of having to sit right next to a loud ac but listening to it fully the other day was nice. took me a few weeks but i can appreciate it now - and listen ... im a simple guy, the rito village theme being incorporated into a section of it is just wow :-( ....... big leitmotif fan. walking into zoras domain is going to kill me

[llamagoddessofficial]

hello llama

i have been thinking and headcanoning about vampire bad sanses lately, so i was curious if you have any thoughts about or interest in vampires of the nightmare and crew variety? (人 •͈ᴗ•͈)

"do i have interest in vampires", he asks

ok, i will share my extensive vampire brainrot. but in return..... you have to write that vampire fic.... oooOOooO look into my eyes you know you want to write it ooOoOooo 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

I very much like the idea of Nightmare's castle being Castlevania-style. Lots of spooky architecture, lots of ancient magical passages that haven't been seen in centuries.

Horror can be summed up in one word. Bloodlust. There's a constant hunger inside him he can't ever seem to fill, driving him almost to the point of madness. He is more beast than man. When he smells or tastes blood, he loses control of himself, becoming little more than a starving wild animal - his capability for slaughter is limited only by his appetite. So unless Nightmare requires it, he generally abstains from blood. He doesn't like losing himself so entirely.

Something about you makes him forget his hunger. Is it your voice? Your scent? He has no idea, but oh, it feels good to feel whole. When you're around it's as if he'll never be hungry again... he follows you like a dog, grinning intensely every time you look at him. This is one hound that can't be shaken.

Despite his 'condition', he finds a lot of solace in cooking. Nothing will give him the same drug-like rush as blood but human food is nonetheless warm and filling and distracts him momentarily from the emptiness. He enjoys the process of making it, too, doing something with his hands. Let him cook for you, please? Watching you eat brings him vicarious joy.

Dust's backstory is one of legend. Something resembling a story can be spun from the loose whispers. A vampire invaded his peaceful isolated village hundreds of years ago, intending to turn the helpless populace into enslaved vampires. Dust, the first to be bitten, turned and slaughtered them all himself - and despite being a vampire for barely a week, the equivalent of a stumbling newborn, he killed the centuries-old invading vampire in single combat.

No one's quite sure why he's joined Nightmare. Perhaps Nightmare was keen to take this uniquely violent creature under his wing, and Dust just didn't really care where the wind took him. Or perhaps he has some other motive, hidden beneath that silent face. Who knows.

... Dust might be quiet, but it's obvious he's fixated on you. Which is a big deal. This is a creature who hasn't mustered a second thought for anything but blood for decades; but somehow, you've excited him. He's very clearly interested in you, silently watching your every move, listening intently to every word you say. Too bad he's not much for conversation.

Killer's backstory, on the other hand, is shrouded entirely in mystery. No one knows where he came from, who he is, or what he's done. He simply appeared one day - right within the coveted inner circle of Nightmare himself. He's the Night King's most trusted weapon, and the closest thing he has to a friend.

Killer seems very clear about what he wants. He thinks you're adorable, and he says you'd make such a pretty vampire. He talks (at length) about how much he wants to bite you, and how if it were up to him you'd already be one of them. A lot of his flirting involves calling you things like sweet treat and honeyblood. However... despite all the taunting, all the talk of seeing you as food, Killer is the one in the castle who treats you with the most respect. The others seem to see you as an object, a cute toy, something to squish and own. Killer talks to you like you're a real person. You can't help but like him for it.

Nightmare's inferiority complex has driven him to declare himself the king of the vampires. No one contests - Nightmare is royalty by blood, and vampires place a lot of emphasis on blood. But even if he wasn't, Nightmare frequently murders those who won't bend the knee. Plenty of powerful vampires have fallen embarrassingly fast at his hand.

... Nightmare's goal is to make you agree to be his spouse. A pretty little human partner would be excellent for his image. It would not only demonstrate his incredible self control as such an ancient vampire (not to mention his control over his warriors), but it would also show that his power is so great he doesn't need to strike a political marriage with another powerful vampire. It might also convince some of the pesky rebellious human groups to settle down.

His pride means that he won't force you. Not yet, at least. He likes to think he can seduce you. He's a royal vampire, after all, and you're just a simple human - isn't it only a matter of time?

... But it seems like, as time goes on... he's the one falling.

[empty-fantasies]

Lament

In which Capitano realizes that he is simply a fool in love

Character(s) Included: Capitano

Knight AU, Knight!Capitano and Royal!Reader, slight fluff to angst, possible one-sided love/unrequited love, hurt and only slight comfort (if you squint really closely)

Regal, elegant, refined. It is almost comical to the knight who has witnessed all your clumsy moments behind closed doors.

Gone were the times of youthful adventures and endless mischief. From sneaking into the nearby village and avoiding supplementary lessons to facing the reprimanding of exasperated tutors, Capitano and you were inseparable since the day the king assigned the former as your personal guard.

To be honest, it was quite the feat to have Capitano even entertaining the idea of skirting duties. A young boy then, temptation was easier when you spun a tale of needing to run errands and that it was more training to prepare him for the many dangers you’ll both face in your later years. Yes, that’s how it would always go. You, with a cunning tongue, taking advantage of that growing need to uphold justice and to become the epitome of a true knight was a rather common sight then. Something that also turned into a small prickly thorn as Capitano and you matured. And, the only memories in which Capitano knew more than to be disciplined and how to simply be nothing more than a young boy indulging in childish curiosities.

Fleeting days of joy have ended for both you and Capitano have grown into your respective roles upon coming of age. A poised royal diligent in their studies, committing to their promise for prosperity and wielding their intellect for sake of security. And Capitano, an honorable and just man who became your most trusted knight—unyielding against the daring few who swore to harm the crown and the astute voice you needed when guidance of others was nothing more than false reverence. That is what you and Capitano were. A royal and a knight—bound by the strings of fate and duty to your roles.

Still, Capitano was but a man. And a man he was, coming to the realization that his heart too can yearn for another.

It’s in the way that the feather quill swiftly glides across the parchment in front of you that day. Jet black ink sealing away your future that had long been decided before either of you could comprehend it as a possibility. For duty and for honor, he would have said in moments of doubt and hesitation. It is but a necessary move to protect all those that you cherish ever so much.

And yet, it’s the almost inaudible sigh that has him second guessing himself. Then again, perhaps it is no longer impossible to pretend that he isn’t a fool for believing that fate would give him one small chance. How could he do such a thing when his throat was constricting? Every objection to this arrangement died like a candle reaching the end of its wick. Every letter received and sent was another dagger to his armored heart. Fury, frustration, guilt; a well of emotions dragged him down to the depths below.

The fateful day eventually reared its ugly head around the corner. All preparations were finished ahead of time and it was Capitano who was selected to escort you to be received by the neighboring kingdom so that the ceremony can finally commence. It made perfect sense for why Capitano was chosen. Having been there through thick and thin, growing into the fine knight that he is as you an empathetic and respected ruler, encouraging you that what you are doing is only right despite his clenched fists. Constantly reassuring you that you are more than prepared even though he was not ready to accept a cruel reality.

It made perfect sense. To everyone but Capitano as he stood at the gate, silently toying with the idea of asking you to run away with him. With each step forward, the regret became more suffocating. So much so that all Capitano could focus on was the increasing distance between you and him. Armor too heavy, throat too parched, mind far too distracted. How long would he have to endure this?

“This is Capitano. Knight Commander and my most trusted guard,” your voiced echoed.

Capitano remained silent, regarding the soon-to-be-king with respect that was expected of him. The man was loyal through and through to the sword wedged in his heart he so readily handed over and all he could do was peer up at the wielder at the end—you—who he swore to when he bent the knee that fateful day.

He could only nod in the end, bowing his head and biting his tongue to save the remnants of his heart. He was but a sword at the end of the day. Hardened and shaped to cast aside what distracts him. Merely a knight commander who so happened to have grown up alongside you and has been the shoulder you weeped on in times of need. An extension of the crown and soon-to-be the other man who would stand by your side once the marriage takes place. It was selfish of him to think that he’d escape his role so easily with just a few words. He knew it from the day he walked into that long corridor alongside the former commander, all but naive to the image he had to uphold. He was a knight commander. A swordsman who so happened to have the right tact to earn his spot and acknowledgement from the crown.

Nothing more, nothing less.

[litnerdwrites]

Rhys being the 'most powerful hl' ultimately hinders the story. If SJM wanted the nc to be underdogs, it should've been the smallest, most unstable court.

Historically, objectively bad or unmoral people can sometimes be the best rulers while objectively good or moral people can be terrible rulers. Take advantage of this.

Make Rhysand need to wear the mask of the cruel, ruthless high lord in order to prevent the CON and Illyria from rebelling. Make both of those places have a certain amount of political and militaristic power over him that would explain why he can't just force them to do as he pleases.

Have the NC be the court with the highest crime rates, and poverty rates and Rhysand be considered a ruthless ruler. One who 'lets' amren out on the prowl to steal wealth (preferably from greedy rich nobles) but they don't know that it's redistributed into running the NC, and looking after the people.

Have Mor actually help woman but drinking and visiting the con or other cities under the guise going there to flex her power and act tyranicle, but secretly leave money, medical supplies, tickets to boats/carriages, etc. Or even instructions to their library where sa survivors heal (maybe not in the how, but somewhere else, hidden or warded).

Have Azriel and Cassian push the limits of the Illyrians, not enough to incite war, but to keep them in line. If men clip wings, have Azriel either assassinate them or Cassian publicly punish or beat them but not reveal the reason why, so it comes off as tyranny.

Make them act like villains for a damn reason, and actually accomplish things in the process, even if it's small. Perhaps even have the land itself be dying (like the dusk court centuries ago), making food harder to come by too.

Maybe even have the concept of Velaris be a legend, of the Night Court's former glory, but in the current story, be a shell of itself. This would give the so-called court of dreams something to dream about and work towards.

Have the previous rulers of the nc be objectively moral people, that were bad at ruling and created the unstable political climate Rhysand needs to navigate, while Feyre gives him new perspective. Have Elain and Nesta come in later, and help teach Feyre about politics based on what they knew from their mortal lives. Give them dreams and aspirations of their own.

Give each of the Archeron Sisters something in the NC that would cement it as their home, if that's what you want to do. Have Feyre speak with the Illyrian women, teach them to hunt, learn of their issues, etc. Have her repair her relationship with Nesta over helping them, with Nesta using the training of her childhood to help the Illyrian women overthrow the corrupt lords that insist on treating them as lesser than.

Give Feyre and Nesta a chance to learn about each other, their childhood, how neglected Feyre felt and how abused Nesta was, before coming together to reach a common goal. Then, Nesta could become a diplomat that helped the nc repair their foreign relations, giving her the chance to travel that she always wanted.

Make the humans have innovative methods of agriculture, given they don't have magic. Have Elain want to help the people of downtrodden villages and towns, teaching them about those innovative methods, to help rejuvenate the land. Still let her have trauma, but let them have their own reasons to want to stay in the nc or not stay in the nc.

Making Rhysand 'the most powerful hl' doesn't make him unique or interesting. It makes it too easy to wonder why he won't do something when he sits in a seat of power and privilege, to do it. So, take away that power. Give him something to earn. Give the entire IC a dream/vision for what the NC could be and work to it, throughout the books, instead of handing it to them on a silver platter. Make them work for it.

[solxamber]

WOAH CAN I REQUEST LILIA X AN NPC THAT HE GROWS ATTRACTED TO (romantic) AND THOUGHT SOME USE OF MAGIC THEY GET TO HIS WORLD?! AND THEY GET TOGETHER? PLEASE

Lilia Vanrouge x NPC! Reader

thank you for the request, I hope you like it <3

Lilia Vanrouge is an old fae who has seen many things in his long life. He has fought in wars, ruled lands, and babysat a dragon prince. Yet nothing could have prepared him for the strange obsession that takes over him the moment he picks up a copy of the hottest new game in Twisted Wonderland: "Kingdoms & Chaos: Celestial Knight's Quest."

It starts innocently enough. A little late-night entertainment to pass the time while Silver is napping (read: fainted from exhaustion), Malleus is out being mysterious, and Sebek is… well, Sebek-ing somewhere.

But then you appear.

As the Commander of the Celestial Knights—an NPC of all things—you steal Lilia’s heart without even trying. Not only are you charming and competent, but you also manage to dish out some fantastic one-liners as you lead the virtual army across the battlefield with a grace that’s almost unmatched.

"Ah, what a lovely evening," Lilia hums, as the glow of his screen reflects off his ever-youthful face. “So peaceful, so quiet… Oh look, an army of marauding orcs attacking the village!” he says gleefully, mashing buttons with expert skill.

Then you arrive on the screen. Your character, standing tall, sword drawn, voice commanding: “We shall protect this land at all costs!”

Lilia gasps softly. He’s heard you say this line a dozen times, but for some reason, tonight it hits different. You’re so determined… so strong… and that armor—why, it looks splendid on you!

“How intriguing” he muses to himself with a teasing grin. “If only you were real, darling Commander. I’d have such fun seeing how well you could lead in the real world… Imagine, conquering lands by my side…”

Suddenly, an idea forms in Lilia’s mischievous brain.

Never one to back down from a challenge (even if it’s entirely self-imposed and objectively absurd), Lilia decides to play around with some light magical experimentation. After all, what could possibly go wrong with trying to summon a fictional character into reality?

"Just a harmless spell," Lilia assures himself as he draws up a complicated sigil on the floor of his room. He’s chanting in ancient fae tongue, eyes gleaming with excitement.

For a brief moment, nothing happens.

Lilia huffs. “How disappointing… Perhaps I’ve—"

POOF!

Before him stands… you. Armor and all.

You blink in confusion. One moment, you were standing on the battleground, barking orders at your troops in a rather intense cutscene. The next moment, you find yourself standing in what appears to be someone’s bedroom, staring at a very smug-looking man with fangs.

“Where am I? What is this place?!” You exclaim, grabbing for your sword instinctively.

Lilia claps his hands together, delight shining in his eyes. “Welcome to my world, darling! Oh, I knew that spell would work eventually. You’re even more dazzling in person!”

You gape at him. “What… how did I—what kind of magic is this?!”

“Oh, just a little something I whipped up,” he says nonchalantly. “It’s all very simple, really. Though, now that you’re here, I suppose I should give you a tour of the place! Maybe a drink? A lovely stroll under the moonlight?”

You eye him suspiciously. “You… summoned me? But I’m just a—”

“NPC?” Lilia interrupts with a smirk. “Not anymore! You’re free to do as you wish here. Consider yourself the main character now, hm?”

You lower your sword slightly, starting to process what just happened. This man is utterly insane…

And yet, there’s something oddly intriguing about his carefree attitude. And he’s undeniably… attractive?

Adjusting to life outside of a game isn’t easy. For one thing, you have to deal with all these strange, non-player characters called “people,” who seem to have minds of their own. You no longer have the comfort of pre-determined dialogue options either, which is quite jarring.

The most bizarre thing, though, is that Lilia keeps flirting with you.

At first, you try to ignore it, chalking it up to the fact that he’s just messing with you. But it’s hard to ignore when he leans in close to you with a teasing smile every time you so much as yawn.

“Tired, Commander?” Lilia whispers in your ear one evening, his breath tickling your skin. “You should rest… After all, we wouldn’t want you collapsing in battle.”

Your cheeks flush red as you stammer out a response. “I-I’m not tired! And there’s no battle! This isn’t the game!”

He chuckles, clearly enjoying how flustered you’ve become. “But of course! How silly of me. Though, you should know… you’ve already won this battle.”

“What battle?!”

“The battle for my heart,” Lilia says smoothly, winking at you.

Your face burns hotter, and you try to hide behind a pillow. “What kind of nonsense are you even talking about?!”

Lilia just grins and pats your head fondly. “You’ll understand soon enough, my dear Commander.”

Days turn into weeks, and while you initially found Lilia’s antics annoying, you start to realize that he genuinely cares for you. He’s always looking out for you, guiding you through this strange new world with a patience you never expected from someone so chaotic.

One night, while you’re sitting outside under the stars, you find yourself staring at him longer than usual. He’s so carefree and confident, yet there’s a softness to him when he talks to you.

And that’s when it hits you.

*Oh no… I’m falling for him.*

Lilia notices your staring and smirks. “What’s this? Are you finally seeing my charm, darling Commander?”

You groan and cover your face. “Why must you always be so insufferably smug?”

“I can’t help it if I’m irresistible,” Lilia teases, leaning in closer. “Tell me, do I make your heart race?”

You try to deny it, but you know it’s true. Your heart is racing, and it’s all because of him.

Finally, after a long pause, you sigh in defeat. “Alright, fine… maybe you do make my heart race a little.”

Lilia’s eyes widen slightly in surprise before a genuine smile crosses his lips. “Is that so? Well then, I suppose I should reward you for your honesty.”

Before you can respond, Lilia leans in and presses his lips to yours in a soft, sweet kiss. It’s nothing grand or dramatic—just simple and sincere.

When he pulls away, you’re left breathless, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Well,” you mumble, still dazed. “I suppose this means I’ve won.”

Lilia chuckles softly, his forehead resting against yours. “Perhaps… But you’re not the only one who’s victorious tonight, darling.”

Masterlist

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Fantasy World Building

BEST PRACTICES

Don’t Go Overboard

You don’t have to define every single element of the world to create a vibrant one.

Make Sense Scientifically

Suspension of disbelief can suspend only so far.

It’s important that the elements in your world are at least theoretically possible.

Verify the scientific possibility before you add it to your world.

Research answers to your scientific, geographic, and cultural questions when worldbuilding.

Draw Your Own Map

Even if you don’t show it to your readers, your map can help you figure out what’s what. Use your map to build a vision for where the characters are going throughout the story.

This is helpful in epic adventures where the landscape may change.

A relationship map can help you see clear relationships between characters.

Alternatively, you can develop a map that shows the characters or objects and their magical abilities.

WORLDBUILDING ELEMENTS

Time

Many fantasies take place in the past because of our collective bias against magical elements in the present or the future.

If you could compare the era of your story to one on earth, when would it be? In the present? In the past? In the future?

Perhaps your story is tied to an actual historical event, such as The Chronicles of Narnia.

If you choose to allude to a historical event, this will partially dictate how you describe the world.

Location

What is the setting of your world?

Does it take place in a parallel universe?

Is it on another earth-like planet?

Does it occur in another dimension?

Population

Who lives in your world?

Are they humans, aliens, animals, insects, hybrids, monsters?

What is their population?

Where do they live?

Do they live in small villages or large cities?

Do they live in houses? Tents? Communes?

Society

How does your collective population relate to each other?

What is the basis for society?

Is there a class system? Who is rich? Who is poor?

How do they relate to each other?

Can one go from poor to rich and vice versa?

What is the family structure? Are couples married?

Are they monogamous? Polygamous?

Do they have children?

How many children do they typically have?

What are people’s values? What is sacred?

What is universally accepted as right and wrong?

How do they deal with old age?

What are the gender roles?

History

History is important for your protagonist’s backstory.

So take time to develop the history of your world.

You can go as far back as the beginning of time, or as recently as a few hundred years.

There should be a series of cause and effect that creates the world in which your story shows.

What is the history of your fantasy world?

What created the current circumstances of the story?

What is the catalyst for change?

Create a timeline of key events to document how historical events led to current circumstances.

Laws and Government

What are the relevant laws in your universe that the characters must obey?

What is the political environment?

Who are the controlling parties and why?

Is there a struggle for independence? Is there growing dissent?

Very important: how does magic affect these laws?

Magic

Every fantasy contains some element of magic.

That’s what sets fantasy apart from any other literary genre.

Because magic is so central to your fantasy story, you must consider it when building your world.

Magic, just by its very nature, will shape your characters and direct their actions. So, with that in mind:

What type of magic will you include in your story?

Are there wizards? Genies?

Is it mental magic?

Science-based magic, like time-travel?

Or supernatural, like superheroes?

Who has it? Is magic only available to a select few?

If so, how do they get it?

Is magic banned? Is it revered?

What are the rules of magic in your world?

You have to create rules that make sense, based on what you know of the society and its rules.

And, just as important as creating the rules of magic are following those rules.

Daily Life

What do people do to pass the time?

What do they eat? Drink?

Do they exercise?

What type of clothing do they wear?

Does clothing reflect their values or their social class?

How are they educated? What do they learn in school and why?

Sentiment

How do your characters feel about the world in which they live?

What do people agree with? How do they differ?

Religion

The prevailing religion of the society at large will affect your characters’ actions.

Are they monotheistic? Polytheistic? Atheistic?

What is their folklore?

What do they believe? What do they value?

Physical Attributes

What does the world look like in a physical sense?

What are the natural resources?

What type of plants grows there? What type of animals?

What is the atmosphere?

How does the world smell?

What does the night’s sky look like? Is there night?

What is the climate?

Source ⚜ More: Writing Worksheets & Templates ⚜ 100 Sensory Words Writing References: Plot ⚜ Character ⚜ Worldbuilding

[loaksky]

— 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦 [𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘯𝘰 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦]

the lowdown — the one where neteyam is too blinded by duty to realize what he has right in front of him. 

the who — neteyam x fem omatikaya!reader

the word count  — 5.6k (this isn't even a drabble anymore).

the tags & warnings — language, more emotional constipation, mentions of blood & injury, childhood friends(?)2l, unrequited love, angst w a semi-happy / openish ending.

the notes  — based off of this request & this one ! let’s pretend the trees of souls didn’t get burned down in the first movie :) 

masterlist

You were an odd thing, curious, maybe a little strange, but like learning anything, everyone had grown accustomed to your weird little habits. Everyone except for Neteyam, the clan leader’s son. And the weird habit in question was poorly-expressed words of adoration that seemed to meld into unconventional confessions as you got older. 

It started when you two were eight, perhaps nine. The two of you were in a village elder’s tent, learning the best ways to debone fish to prepare for meals when she’d ducked out for a moment and left the two of you in a cloud of uncomfortable silence. 

Neteyam’s fingers were nimble, swift, while you lagged behind, eyes fluttering to the way he seemed to grasp the elder’s instruction with more ease than you. 

“We should always be together,” you’d said absently, still fiddling with the same fish while Neteyam moved onto the next. “I will be useless to our family without you.” 

Neteyam’s spine had gone rigid, gaze wide as he side-eyed you from his seat. 

“Huh?” He’d clearly been caught off guard, ministrations on the catch frozen as his eyebrows furrowed. 

“When we are married,” you’d said, holding the bone structure of your first fish triumphantly.

“Married?” he parroted shrilly, fully turning to face you. 

You looked up from your task, nodding like it was the most common of knowledge.

“Yes, Neteyam,” you affirmed, chuffing a small laugh. “In the future, when we are married.” 

Neteyam wouldn’t have been so off put had the comment been a one time thing, but they were frequent, spoken both in the quiet of much-dreaded time alone with you and hushed whispers in the midst of the other villagers your age. 

It wasn’t any help that his parents seemed to always set the two of you up in many endeavors over the course of your adolescence. And he’d tried, tried so hard to shake you over the years, but you were glued to his hip. 

You look handsome today, you’d say often, regardless. Training is paying off, whispered in his ear as your fingertips smoothe over the skin of his biceps. I hope the little ones grow to be as mighty as you are, spoken after sessions in the archery circle. The comments are all fleeting, mentioned in passing like a casual word, but they make Neteyam warm, make his cheeks heat when he searches your face for any betrayal of emotion. 

But all he’s met with is an expression that borders smug, one that makes him wonder why, out of all of the boys growing into fine young men over the course of your adolescence, had you picked him to be the object of your affections. 

Try as he might, to be short-tempered, callous, you were always there. He sought the attention of other women, tried to put as many bodies between the two of you, but you were relentless, smiled gently when you’d catch his wandering hands against the skin of another, would turn a blind eye when his lips brushed too intimately over eager ears.

At first he figured that maybe it was because he was the first boy you’d encountered and it’d just been the way the cards were dealt. At times he thought you were messing with him, a long-running joke between you and some unknown entities to fuck around with his feelings. His current theory, however, is one that he sits more confidently on when he begins observing you. 

You spend an awful amount of time not only tailing him, but tailing his family, pestering Kiri and Lo’ak about god knows what, spending many afternoons schmoozing with his parents, seeking guidance from Mo’at. 

He comes to the conclusion, after some time, that you’re trying to solidify your place within his family, trying to secure your role next to him as the future leader of the clan. This much is confirmed when his parents bring up the sore topic of you one night once everyone has turned in after the evening meal. 

“The time for your selection feast is arriving,” Neytiri says hesitantly, like she’s treading on thin ice. 

Neteyam has an inkling where this conversation will go when Jake shifts to sit next to his partner, the perfect picture of what a love that transcends all should look like. But he doesn’t know love, just knows preparing for his future and what ruling the clan will look like. 

“Yeah,” Neteyam agrees. 

“Do you have someone in mind?” Jake prods, busying himself by toying with his songchord. 

To his dismay, you briefly eclipse his mind, the annoyingly beautiful girl he’d grown up with but, even a decade later, still can’t seem to get a good read on.

“No,” he answers slowly. 

His parents seem to chew on this for a moment, glancing at each other momentarily before Neytiri draws in a deep breath and focuses her attention on her oldest son all over again. 

“Well…your father and I believe that perhaps ________ could be a good choice.”

It’s like a bomb detonates, but the aftershocks are only seen in the way Neteyam’s lips purse and his brows furrow. 

He’s not one to go against his parents, but he’ll be damned if he has to spend forever with you. 

“No,” he repeats, but with time with vindication. 

Jake looks stunned, back straightening as he takes his son in with wary eyes.

“No?” 

“No,” Neteyam reiterates. “I would rather spend my life alone than spend it with her.” 

“Neteyam,” Neytiri sighs. 

“I’m sorry, Mom, I won’t,” he says firmly, swallowing down the lump in his throat as he glances between both of his parents, hoping, wishing that maybe they’ll see that this isn’t a good idea.

“Maitan, you don’t understand,” Neytiri says softly. “When you and ________ were born, Ewya gave us a sign.”

Neteyam’s blood runs cold. 

“So this has already been decided?” he asks, voice eerily steady. 

“Not necessarily,” Jake interjects. “We didn’t want you two to feel like you were being forced to be together so we hoped that encouraging you both to spend time together would allow something to develop…” 

“But they haven’t, so now it’s a not-so-silent push,” he says shortly. 

His parents share another look and he feels annoyance beginning to form in his gut. 

“We wouldn’t say that there aren’t any feelings there,” Neytiri says. 

Neteyam breathes a humorless laugh as he shakes his head in disbelief.

“I don’t feel anything for her,” he says with finality. “Nothing about a union with her piques my interest. We’ve been in close proximity since birth but my heart feels more for the trees in the forest than it ever will for ________.” 

Jake squeezes his eyes shut. 

“Have you thought about giving her a chance?” he pushes. “She’s a lovely girl, really likes you.” 

That draws another huff of humorless laughter from Neteyam. 

“The only thing she’s interested in is status and being tsahik,” Neteyam scoffs. “There is nothing there.” 

Neytiri opens her mouth to say something, but Neteyam has mustered up as polite an excuse as he can as he stands to his feet and bows his head to his parents. 

When he ducks from the tent, he doesn’t expect to see you lingering outside of the exit.

His face morphs as the quiet words leave your lips. 

“You doubt my affections for you.” It’s a statement and a question wrapped in one, but you’re resigned, like always, and Neteyam can’t seem to grasp what you’re trying to get at clinging to him, to whatever this dynamic is. 

“What’s this game you’re playing?” he accuses, eyes narrowed. 

“What game?” you ask, gaze unfaltering as you stare up at him with those round golden eyes. 

He lets out a frustrated sigh. 

“Our entire lives, from being kids to now, you’ve toyed with me,” he says fiercely. “With this idea of us. Why? I’ve given you no reasons to be fond of me, yet you’re always here, there, everywhere.” 

“I have much to be fond of,” is your simple answer and Neteyam could groan in frustration. 

“Like what? Being the olo’eyktan’s son? Holding the future of this clan in my hands?” he asks sharply. 

“I would love you, circumstances withstanding,” you respond. “You don’t have to be afraid.” 

Love. 

What an odd concept, weird. One that Neteyam can’t seem to wrap his mind around when it comes to you. Doesn’t think he ever will. 

“Afraid of what?” he bites. 

“Of loving me back,” you say. 

He grimaces like the very thought disgusts him, like you’re an aversion he desperately wants to rid of. And perhaps you are, you realize, seeing years of pent up frustration and anger culminating into one big wound ready to rupture. 

“You think I love you?” he asks incredulously. 

He doesn’t miss the way you shrink, blinking quickly. 

“If you gave us a chance, maybe,” you whisper.

It sounds like the conversation with his parents all over again and realization seems to shutter across his features as he looks down at you. 

“How long have you known?” 

“Known what?” you ask quietly. 

“How long have you known that they’re trying to force us to be together?” he asks. 

You’re silent for a moment before muttering something under your breath. 

“What?” he snaps.

“They aren’t forcing us,” you clear your throat. “Not me, at least.” 

He scoffs. 

“Of course,” he mocks. “Because it only matters what you want out of this. Not that for the last decade I’ve been trying to get you to back off, trying to get you to understand that I don’t want this. I don’t want us, and if it means forfeiting my responsibilities, then so be it.” 

It’s a lofty statement, one that seals the last nail on your coffin. 

You’d loved Neteyam for as long as you can remember, have probably liked him for longer. When your parents told you early on that Eywa had given both of your families a sign that you and Neteyam were meant for one another, you’d embraced the idea wholeheartedly. Loved the idea of loving him even through moments when he’d try to drive a wedge between the two of you. 

Give him time, your parents had said to you. Jake and Neytiri want his feelings to develop naturally. 

And you waited. God, you waited, for so long. Waited for him to come around, to realize the things he did to you. Perhaps you had been too presumptuous, thinking that he’d be able to read you behind such a stoic facade, afraid that if you revealed too much of your wanting, you’d turn him off from the idea of being with you. 

But as you stand here before him, small under such a burning gaze, you realize that it’d been wishful thinking. Choosing him meant nothing if he didn’t choose you back. 

“I see…” you trail off quietly.

“Do you?” he asks, tone facetious. 

You nod once, unable to meet his gaze. Unable to see that his expression twitches the tiniest amount when he clocks the way your body seems to deflate.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I do.” 

His following days are quiet, filled with personal duties and commitments to the clan. He’d expected you to sleep off the night’s confrontation, he certainly had, a twinge of guilt searing his gut.

But you’re good at hiding, good at masking your feelings, good at disappearing. It doesn’t bother him at the beginning, figuring that you need your space, but then it’s a dull ache that ebbs into a grating gnaw as his every other thought flits to you and what you could be doing now that you’ve settled such a wide distance between himself and his family. 

“You are injured a lot more these days,” Mo’at observes, slathering the viscous mixture over a cut between his shoulder blades. 

He remains silent, doesn’t know how to admit that he’d been far more reckless these past few days in the hopes that he’d run into you in his grandmother’s quarters. A silent yearn to feel your skilled fingers work over his wounds, tender as you try to pry your way into his heart. 

Mo’at had been the one you spent the most time with, diligently training in the chance that Neteyam would finally see you, would make you his. But right now, you’re nowhere to be found and all he’s rewarded with is his grandmother’s rough hands and inquisitive gaze.

“She made this salve,” Mo’at says, filling the silence with idle talk. “Found a recipe that speeds healing and softens the skin.” 

“Did she?” Neteyam responds absently, imagining you picking and pruning the herbs yourself, frame languid as you move through the brush. 

“Said she didn’t want her lover to have such tough skin.” 

There’s laughter in his grandmother’s voice, but he can’t find it in himself to see the humor in the situation. Not when he’s beginning to see that maybe he’s not just another rung in the ladder for you, that duty is the most miniscule drop in your bucket.  

“Where’s ________?” he asks after a moment, hissing through his teeth when his grandmother’s fingers prod the wound. 

“Taking a break from her studies to assist Ama with the children,” she answers, and he misses the knowing look in her eyes. She pats his shoulder when she’s done patching him up. “She’s a fine young woman, Neteyam. Many of the villagers do not turn a blind eye to that fact. If she is not the one that your heart desires, give her the opportunity to align with one that does.” 

It makes something ugly, green, roil in the pit of his stomach at the idea of you being the subject of houndish eyes. You’re too reserved, too sweet, too devoted to be anyone else’s. 

And the thought floors him, makes the knot growing obnoxiously in his throat choke the air from his lungs. 

“Yeah,” he agrees in a whisper. 

And he knows that his grandmother is right. Knows that he shouldn’t be asking about you, doesn’t have the right to hold you hostage if the union is something that truly unsettles him. But the thought of letting go of whatever the two of you have is surprisingly indigestible. 

Neteyam is frustrated, thoroughly disoriented now that all he can think of is you. He’d tried everything under the sun to shake you, to get you to throw your cards in first, but now that you have, it’s like you tug on a string tethered to his hellish heart. 

He stands to his feet and turns to face Mo’at, giving a respectful nod before exiting the tent. 

It’s wrong, he knows it, seeking you out after burning every bridge between the two of you, but he can’t help it. Can’t help but enter the clearing in the forest carved through with a stream that the little ones play in. 

You’re exactly where his grandmother had said you were, sitting near the edge of the bubbling waters with Ama, a girl a few years your senior. The children are giggling, laughing as they splash each other, splash you. The expression on your face falters a little, stern as you adjust the netting strapped to your chest. 

The air is trapped in his lungs as he realizes. Sees the little head that peeks from the top of the fabric, ear pressed to your heart as you cover the baby’s head from the children’s gleeful laughter. 

“That’s not very nice,” you say gently. “Your little sister is trying to sleep.” 

Your voice makes the hairs on the back of his neck prick, a soft rasp that’s haunted him for the last few sleepless nights. It’s odd, seeing you in this light, relaxed from your lack of duties. You’re in your element like this, smiling and coddling the children of the clan as they climb over you and poke and prod. 

“Teyam!” One of them clocks him before he can retreat and his spine is going stiff, stomach turning when he sees the way your expression melts. 

“Hi,” he greets simply, unable to form anything more solid in the fears that he’ll spook you. 

The kids start emerging from the stream one by one, surrounding him as he takes a few tentative steps into the clearing. 

“Neteyam,” Ama greets cordially, eyes flitting between the two of you as you busy yourself with the little one strapped to your chest. 

Neteyam, on the other hand, can’t keep his eyes off of you. He’s silently pleading with Eywa, with whatever other force lies out of reach that you’ll just look at him. But you’re locked up tighter than a vault, obviously still reeling from the confrontation all those days ago. 

He hums your name, gentle like a prayer. Your eyes are hesitant, watching the snoozing baby in your arms before glancing at the remaining children in the stream before finally meeting his longing gaze. 

“Can we talk?” he asks you, flashing one of the curious kids a brief smile when they tug on the hem of his loincloth. 

Your response is far more blunt than he’d expected, taken aback when you murmur a firm, “No.”

He supposes that he deserves that, has earned the warmth that eclipses over his cheeks as the children watch the exchange with inquisitive eyes. And the way you stand to your feet to wrangle the village’s little ones is merited, telling them that playtime is over. 

But as Ama helps you gather their things, sensing the obvious tension between you and the olo’eyktan’s son, he realizes that he can’t just let this go. He won’t. Not without making things right, without telling you that loving you isn’t the hard part, it could never be. 

But agency is something his parents have withheld from him his entire life, molded him into being the perfect son that bends to the clan’s every beck and call. Loving you was just another thing to add to the list of things he did for everyone else’s sake but his own.

He sees now, though, sees that loving you, being in love with you isn’t a difficult feat. Not when he’s been given the smallest glance into what having a future could be like with you. Especially not when he’s learned so many things about you in the moments where you’re a fleeting plume of smoke that surrounds and chokes him all the same. 

He calls your name again, firm this time around. There’s a stutter in your step, he sees the way your shoulders draw taut with a labored sigh. 

You murmur something to Ama, undoing the ties to the netting that carries the dozing infant. Neteyam watches as you shush the kids, reminding them to be good to their tsmuke on their journey through the forest. 

Your fingers are gentle as you tie the last knot, brushing Ama’s shoulders lightly as you tell her you’ll catch up with her shortly. 

When they’re out of earshot, clambering back into the village circle, you turn on your heel, standing on the opposite side of the embankment. The glittering waters gurgle between the two of you as you wait patiently for Neteyam to muster his courage. 

“About our union,” he starts. “I–” 

“I’ve told my parents to forgo the preparations,” you say softly, seemingly unbothered as you pay more attention to the blades of grass that tickle your ankles. 

Neteyam’s spine stiffens.

“Why would you…” 

“You don’t want this,” you repeat his words from the fall out. “You don’t want us. We’ll both be unhappy.” 

It makes his heart squeeze. 

“You would be so unhappy in our union?” he scoffs, like he’s cracked the code. 

He doesn’t expect the humorless laugh that spills past your lips, obviously laden with tears when he focuses hard enough. 

“Of course I would, Neteyam,” you say fiercely, quietly. “I have spent so much of my life being so disgustingly in love with you when all you’ve wanted was me gone. Do you really think I’d let myself suffer at the expense of someone who would rather be alone than be forced to spend time with the likes of me.” 

You make it sound horrible. And perhaps it was, being so taken by someone who’s life mission was to sever every carefully stitched tie.

He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to tell you that he’s coming to terms with the fact that maybe he’s been gravely mistaken this entire time. 

“So have your freedom,” you say chillingly. “I surrender.” 

He’s closing the distance between the two of you, splashing through the shallow river to root you to place, fingers wrapped tightly around your elbow. 

You snatch away from his grasp, turning so sharply, he stumbles back. The pad of your finger pokes harshly into his chest, tear-filled eyes brimming as your gaze searches his face. 

“Don’t be heartless,” you hiss. “If there is one thing I will ask of you it is to leave me alone.” 

The distance between the two of you widens as you pluck your bow and quiver nearby and rush off into the brush, leaving Neteyam in the quieting clearing to allow the weight of your words sink to his bones. 

He doesn’t know how long he stands there, watching the same spot you’d disappeared past, but the forest is beginning to glow and he should be home soon. 

The entire encounter puts him on edge as he climbs through the foliage, moving over fallen logs and blooming flora. His muscles are taut, shoulders tight as he maps the long route back home.

It’s only when a sudden crack in the distance sounds that he becomes aware of how still the forest seems around him, like there are eyes and ears watching his every move. 

A look in the sky reveals a darkening swathe of midnight, leaves gleaming from outstretched branches. As he surveys his surroundings, his ears prick, picking up the most minute of sounds, rhythmic against the dense grass. 

His hand is on his dagger in an instant, eyes wild as he holds his breath. The pulse is nearing, almost insignificant against the backdrop of nature’s call, but something isn’t right and it makes nausea stir in his stomach. 

He blinks once, twice, before something closes over his mouth and a body seems to fuse against his back. 

“It’s me.” Your voice is ragged, hushed against the shell of his ear, and he nearly melts, fingers loosening from around the hilt of his knife. 

“I–” 

“Don’t speak,” you warn. “They are near.” 

He tenses again as you move your bodies behind a curtain of green, off the trodden path. 

“There are five of them,” you whisper and he shivers something fierce. “Two down, three on foot.” 

After years of training from his father, he knows who they are. 

“How did you…why do you–” 

“You didn’t return to the village,” you hiss. 

His heart skips a beat, thrumming because even if you’d been angry at him, you’d noticed his absence. Had gone looking for him, even. He turns to face you, wants to tell you that he’d do anything to make things right, but he realizes that now’s not a good time. 

You’re pale, gravely so, a feral look in your eyes as you grasp at your left side. 

Blood. You’re bleeding. 

“What the fuck?” 

“Stop,” you breathe shakily. “Not now.” 

“________, you’re wounded!” he protests. 

You slap a hand over his mouth, golden eyes widening as you press closer to him. 

He takes the opportunity to peer over your shoulder in pursuit of an exit wound and sighs when he finds the skin still intact. 

“You’re hurt,” he tries again, grabbing the wrist clutching your side. 

You shake your head vehemently. 

“Stop it, Neteyam,” you plead hoarsely. “We need to get rid of them before they find the village.” 

You’re right, he realizes, swallowing down the lump in his throat as he notes the tremble of your lip and the furrow between your brows. 

“Okay,” he swallows, nodding hesitantly. “Okay.” 

“Near the Tree of Souls,” you tell him, knees shaky as you draw an arrow and load your bow. 

You creep forward slowly, willowy frame shielding Neteyam as you move through the forest. 

He barely notices, only sees it when you pause a moment too long, body twitching as the bow quivers in your loosening grasp. 

“________?” Neteyam’s voice is testing, closing the berth. 

Your bow lowers, fingers brushing over the wound once again. When you assess the wetness of the pads of your fingers, Neteyam’s able to get a good look at the damage. 

His eyes widen, grabbing your shoulders tightly when he sees that your eyes are drooping. 

“Wait,” he says sharply. “Don’t—”

Your bloody hand brushes his chin. 

“Make sure…make sure they are…” 

“She must rest.” 

“It will only be for a moment.” 

The words slur together, distant and muddy as your eyes flicker open to assess your surroundings. 

“Maite, you are awake.” Your mother kneels next to you, expression a picture of harrowing concern. “Oh, Eywa, I’m glad you are awake.” 

It returns in waves, like the ebb and flow of water dousing you. The enemy, in bodies like your own, ruthless to creatures both gentle and roaring. Clothed like humans with gear so imposing, you nearly shrunk with such a small bow and only enough arrows to make each shot count. 

You’d taken out two of them with shaky hands before their hailing bullets pierced the trunks of trees and left gaping holes in the leaves. One had landed, lodged its way right above the left side of your pelvis. 

It aches as you sit up, seeing the aftermath of what must have been a grisly extraction. 

“Stop, stop,” your mother says quickly, hands on your shoulders to guide you back. “You will disturb Mo’at’s work.” 

“There are more of them,” you rush. “They are–” 

“Shh, my child,” she coaxes. “They are gone.” 

It had been a horrific sight, seeing Neteyam carrying you back to the village, limp and listless, covered in the blood of multiple parties with a nearly animalistic look in his eye. 

“Where is Neteyam?” you whisper, lashes wet. 

The look on your mother’s face softens with pity, knowing, as she sees it written all over your face. 

She’d known it before and she’d known it after you approached her and your father with the request to call off the union. 

I don’t love him, you’d said, unable to meet their eyes as you confessed. Eywa’s made a mistake with us. I want to be with someone that I love.

You’d been embarrassed, wanted to save face. You didn’t want them to know that the only man you’d ever known from adolescence to young adulthood hadn’t wanted a thing to do with you. 

“I’m here.” 

Neteyam’s entering the tent with your father hot on his heels, obviously defying his wishes to leave you be. 

His forearm is wrapped in medicinal leaves, tied off with thin vine. A cut slices his brow bone, the wound still red and raw. 

“I told you–” 

Your mother shoots your father a contemptuous look before turning to you to smooth some of the hair away from your face. 

“Eywa makes no mistakes, Maite,” she whispers, gaze pleading. 

She’s on her feet, crossing the tent to meet Neteyam half way. With a comforting squeeze to his shoulder, she pushes your protesting father through the hide and suddenly the air is shrouded in silence save for your labored breathing and the weight of the eldest Sully’s gaze. 

“I thought I lost you,” Neteyam says, the tiniest inflection of trembling pricking your ears. 

You blink, watching as he stands at the end of the mat. He’s fidgeting but his eyes are searing, shaking with tears as he stares at you unblinking—like you’ll disappear between the shutter of his heavy eyelids. 

You don’t know what to say, the lump lodged in your throat far too thick for you to form coherent words around. 

Neteyam continues for the both of you. 

“I thought that I wouldn’t…that I…” 

You watch as he crumbles. 

“Wouldn’t what?” you finally ask, voice dry. 

“I thought that I wouldn’t be able to give us a chance.” 

Your jaw tenses, breaking eye contact first as you shake your head in defeat. 

“There isn’t an us,” you sigh shakily. “Said so yourself.” 

“Oh, come on,” Neteyam scoffs, voice thick with tears. “Don’t do that.” 

“Do what?” you argue, clutching your injured side as it pulses with every beat of your thundering heart. 

“Don’t—don’t give up on me yet,” he whispers. “Please.” 

Your expression crumples and his face falls as you knuckle your tears away angrily. 

“You’re cruel, Neteyam. So so cruel,” you murmur. “I am ashamed that you have my heart.” 

The words are spoken with a quiet vindication that makes Neteyam feel like his nerve endings are fraying. A singular tear arcs over the swell of your cheek and an ache roots in his gut. 

“Don’t say that,” he says, throat bobbing as he swallows the emotion threatening to bubble over. “I–” 

“Neteyam.” Your father’s voice is stern, the flap of the tent flipping as he reenters. 

Neteyam bites the inside of his lip as he spares you one last glance and your resolve dissipates when the broad expanse of his back faces you. 

You’d expected Neteyam taking his leave to be some semblance of closure for the two of you, as clean of a break as you could come to terms with now that any precarious ties that bound the two of you were severed. But you hadn’t anticipated the singular ember inside of Neteyam fanning to be engulfing and all-consuming. 

“I know you’re there,” you say simply, plucking the petals and leaves from the flora to tuck into the small pouch strung across your chest. 

He’d been following you all afternoon, lingering a safe distance away, but his eyes haven’t left your healing frame and what had initially been confusion began to bleed into annoyance. 

“Pay me no mind,” he says simply, emerging from the brush with a bow and quiver.

It’s been over a week since the sky people had infiltrated your corner of the forest and Neteyam hasn’t let you leave his sight once.

From the morning eclipse to the evening’s, Neteyam’s doted on you; shearing chunks of fruit, grinding down your herbs for your treatments, rewrapping your wound under Mo’at’s careful supervision. 

You’d asked him to give you a moment of peace in the forest alone, but it wasn’t long before you scented him, heard his labored breathing as he tried to keep up with you. 

You heed his word, stonewalling his presence like he’s nothing but another leaf stretching from the trees. And for a while, a long stretch of silence surrounds the two of you as you venture deeper and deeper into the forest. 

But before you know it, each one of your steps is exchanged like for like, his looming and muscular frame eclipsing you like a shadow as you try to ignore the fact that he’s drawing nearer. 

You turn on your heel to face him just as he settles a pace away, eyes clear and golden. 

“What?” you snip, taking a step back. 

He takes a step forward. 

“You should not overexert yourself,” he replies simply. 

“And what happened to paying you no mind?” 

His fingers brush your sore wound and your gaze flits to the way his fingertips ghost over the dressing wrapped around the expanse of your lower abdomen. 

The grin he gives you has many layers. You immediately decipher something sly, coy, as he searches your face. 

“I’ve changed my mind,” he says quietly. “I want you to pay me all the mind.” 

Your expression is dry, eyes rolling as you step away from him. You’re swatting his palm away and shaking your head like a final warning. 

“You don’t get to flirt with me after all this time,” you say, blanketing the semi-tense air with a cover of finality. “And you shouldn’t. There is no longer an obligation for us to be within vicinity of each other.” 

You sound so cold, like you hadn’t spent the past decade pining after him in your own weird way. Like you hadn’t turned a blind eye when he found comfort in hopeful women despite wearing your heart on your oddly-stitched sleeve. Hadn’t been so willing to spend forever with him.

“You cannot dictate the turn of my heart,” Neteyam argues. 

The look you give him could instill fear in even the most intimidating predators. 

“You’d go to great lengths to quell a guilty conscience?” you ask. “Do not forget that forever is a long time. If nothing about our union piques your interest now, do not count on anything in the future.” 

You’re feeling for buttons to push, tender spots that will make him let up, but Neteyam isn’t easily swayed. He doesn’t know if he loves you now, but the last few weeks make certain that he will. He isn’t ashamed to admit that he’s falling fast and hard.  

“You’re not gonna get rid of me that easily, yawne.” 

The nickname makes you freeze, makes your eyes narrow as you glare up at the future olo’eyktan. 

“Don’t be insufferable, Neteyam.” 

“Duties be damned, I’ll spend every remaining moment doing right by you,” he says, fingers threading through yours so that he can bring your knuckles to his lips. 

Your heart wavers and he sees the way the curtain falls, eyes a fraction softer. 

He grins, tugging you closer. Moves your hair over your shoulder then skims his fingers along the sharpness of your jaw. 

It draws a shiver from you as you shift nervously, gaze fluttering from his eyes to the plush of his mouth. 

“Stop,” you whisper meekly. “We–”

“You’re mine, you hear me?” His voice is raw, edge melting away. “Union or no union. It’s always going to be you and me.” 

neng © 2023

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[aceandurmom]

Thinking about...

Orochimaru

“Lord Orochimaru?”

Peaking into the room you searched for the man,

“Sir?”

There was an echo of an object hitting the floor. Throwing caution to the wind, you pushed open the door. Rushing in, you tried to find the source of the sound. Nothing out of place was in his room, so you leaned your head against the door listening for any hint that you might be in the right place.

Gently tapping the door, you announced your presence once again. Just in case the young lord hadn’t heard you before. 

“Lord Orochimaru, is everything okay?”

An aggravated huff sounded behind the door. The Sannin panted behind the closed latch. 

“Is…is there anything I could do to help?”

Humming, Orochimaru pondered your request. 

“Enter. I need assistance with something.”

The door unlocked, slowly propping open. Seeing this as his explicit permission, you opened the door further. 

Slowly stepping in, you closed the door behind you. Turning, you faced him. Bowing your head in respect, you tilted your head in question. 

The sight in front of you was not one you expected. 

Bare, Orochimaru was underneath the shower head, water falling against his pale skin. His arms were held against the wall, pants escaping his parted lips in pain. Orochimaru wished the old bastard was still alive, even if only he could prolong his death longer. The pain he was enduring now was excruciating, not able to contain himself. 

-

He had brought you back from the Leaf Village during the Chunin Exams. Constantly by your side as soon as he saw you. You were one of the ninjas in charge of discovering his abandoned bases and scavenging for his notes. Any research or test subjects were to be brought back to the Hokage himself. The Third was definitely not your favorite of the quartet. He was a drunken pervert, one who never took care of the Foruth’s child like he promised. You were close enough to his executives to have known about the promise and it had left a rotten taste in your mouth. Since then, you had been going through Orochimaru’s belongings and sabotaging the others. Even if only to make his job harder. 

Whatever you found you hid away from sight, stashing them so that you could study them later. 

After days of skimming through his research, you found yourself enchanted by his notes. He was a mastermind in every way. His tactics may have been brutal, but the results spoke for themselves. 

You grew to admire him. 

And then he found you, stashed away in the base under the Hokage Summit. You had been searching for a missing notebook out of the collection you had acquired. 

He had appeared so abruptly, his chakra clouding your senses the moment he entered the room. He had made no move to conceal himself, not expecting someone to be there in the first place. He was only there to pick through the remaining research he had abandoned. Too distracted to notice the lone chakra source lingering in the halls.Noticing you, he had made to dispose of your body. Only to find you hungrily sifting through one of his old bookshelves. He noticed that many were displaced or gone, and the way you seemed so guilty had told him all he needed to know. 

So, without thinking through all of the possibilities, Orochimaru scooped you into his arms. In shock, you gaped at the man you had been told was a danger your entire life. He was holding you so sweetly, a questioning look lingering. 

“And what do we have here? An admirer perhaps?”

His voice melodic and saccharine.

Stuttering, you attempted to reason with him.

“I-uhm! I’ve been going through your work! I adore your research and all the studies you’ve completed! Even if your methods seem cruel to some people, none of them realize the extent of your work, or the results you’ve managed to accumulate!”

Eyes shining, you ranted about his work. 

“There is so much I wish to ask and learn from you!”

Orochimaru looked down at you, a smug smile stretching ear to ear. One of his hands came up to your face, flinching, you tried to protect yourself from harm. Instead, you were met with him fingering a strand of hair behind your ear. Cupping your face, the snake studied your features. 

“You wish to learn from me, to stay by my side, hm?”

You nodded frantically, eager to work for or with him. 

“Then you will be coming with me.”

-

You had learned that the man had managed to kill the Third. A feat you praised him for once you saw him again. You threw yourself at him, wrapping him in your arms and shouting in glee. The snake had been surprised, not expecting the thrill in response to his deeds. At the very least he had been ready for some screaming or hitting. 

The fact you had met him with such happiness…

Orochimaru was delighted. 

Which was why you managed to get away with as much as you did. He allowed you to do as you wished, as long as you informed him beforehand. 

–

He had allowed you to come in during his time of weakness. Eager for any kind of relief or help you wanted to offer. Not paying any attention to the blood pooling in the floor.

Seeing Lord Orochimaru in such a state wasn’t ideal, but you wanted to help him anyway you could. 

His head gestured for you to come closer. 

“Come. I need assistance with washing my hair.”

“Of course!”

You had gone to step near him, hands reaching out to wet his hair. The snake’s hand grabbed your wrist, stopping you. Confused, you were going to question him. Only for the Sannin to answer instead.

“Who’s ever heard of showering with your clothes on? Strip. Join me.”

He had made it sound so obvious, as if you were the one in the wrong to even think about only assisting. You didn’t want to overstep, to cross the boundary between associates and something else. But it seemed as if the man could care less about such trivial details.

You did as told. Clothes peeling away from your skin, graciously allowing Orochimaru the honor of admiring you. 

Fully bare, you steppin in the low shower, water soaking you as soon as you placed your foot in. What you weren’t expecting was the crimson red building up there. But it didn’t look as if he was bothered by it..so you ignored it as well. 

Orochimaru tried to contain himself. Shivering under the water, trying to appear calm. But your delicate skin accidentally pressing against his body was almost too much to handle. Pouring shampoo into your palm, you lathered the soap before combing through his hair. It was long, softer than you thought it was going to be. Too caught up in the surprise of the silkiness of it, you missed the way the Sannin was beginning to shake harder. 

Finished playing with his hair, you admonished yourself for getting distracted. 

You washed the shampoo from Orochimaru’s hair. Making sure every sud was gone before deeming him finished. Stepping away, you made to exit so that he could finish in peace. 

He stopped you from doing so, speaking to you since he could not move his arms as he wished.

“So quick to leave. You haven’t even spoken to me.”

He teased. 

“Sir-!”

You stayed.

Not possessing the ability to deny him.

[kaynanarie]

Eyes of Gold (Part 13)

(A WukongxReader story inspired by Beauty and the Beast and Lutung Kasarung.) (First) (Prev)

            Quiet. Warm. Serene. Another peaceful day on the Mountain of Fruit and Flowers. You sat under a peach tree, enjoying the sweet scent of florals and the kiss of sunshine on your skin. It was the perfect place to relax and sort yourself out.

           Thoughts, feelings, wants, and doubts had been whirling through your head for days now. And at the center of it all was Shihou. Wonderful, kind Shihou. With soft fur that smelled of peaches and mountain stone. Strong arms that held you close and kept you safe. A cheeky smile and chittery laugh that brightened your day and cheered any mood. And warm, golden eyes that captured your heart with their unspoken devotion.

           It was unexpected, you didn’t even know when it truly started, but there was no denying the most obvious fact now. You had fallen in love with Shihou.

           Maybe it was impossible not to. You lived for the moments his tail would curl around your wrist as he led you somewhere. In the comfort and protection he offered in each and every hug. Watching his handsome face as he spoke of his home and people, brilliant eyes shining with his infectious enthusiasm. More than once, you dreamed of brushing your hands through his fur, feeling his solid form press against you, and touching your lips to his to find out how he tasted.

            You shook your head, cheeks burning at the scandalous thoughts. Being close to Shihou only fanned your desires higher, fueled by every lingering touch and fond glance. It was getting harder to hide your reactions, face constantly flushed and heart fluttering every time you were together. If Shihou’s questioning stares and smug grins were anything to go by, you weren’t doing a very good job.

           It was embarrassing to be so shy over something so easily remedied but other worries plagued you with doubt and halted any confessions.

           As affectionate as Shihou was, you could only guess the depth of his true feelings. He was your protector, your peach friend, but beyond that? What if you mistook normal demon behavior for romantic interest? Maybe he could never see himself with a human? Perhaps another already held his heart far from your clumsy reach? Understandable but heartbreaking, all the same.

           Then there was the question of the King. While Sun Wukong had been nothing but kind and welcoming to you, his tolerance of humans was still vague. He’d upheld his promise, even declaring himself protector of your village, and your gratitude was immeasurable. But if he objected, or found insult in your pursuit of his guard, any goodwill between you and the Monkey King would be shattered. And worse, Shihou might also face punishment for your mistake; something you couldn’t bear to put him through.

           Your thoughts twisted and tangled themselves together until your head ached but no true answer relieved you of your woes. The mountain had slowly become your home and a small, hopeful part of you wanted to share it with Shihou. But fears of his refusal or banishment from the King himself kept your secrets buried and left your heart wanting.

           As you sat, sighing and contemplating, something soft brushed your cheek. Then something else touched your shoulder. Tiny flowers in pure whites and blushing pinks were floating down, covering you in delicate petals and flowery fragrance. A quiet chuckle gave away the culprit before you even glanced up.

           Shihou had suddenly appeared, perching nimbly in the tree as he dropped flowers down like a mischievous cloud. “Hey, Peaches!” he greeted with a cheeky grin. “What you doing out here?”

           “Just thinking,” you said simply, biting back the wave of emotions threatening to spill out. Just seeing him, hearing his voice, was a balm and a thorn all in one.

           “About what?” When you didn’t answer, Shihou let himself fall backwards, hanging upside down from the branch so his frowning face hovered just in front of yours. “Everything okay?”

            “Everything’s fine.” You booped his nose, giggling when he followed your finger with crossed eyes. “How was your day?”

           Shihou scowled. “Boring. Long meetings, patrol schedules, a lot of guard complaints. I’m glad it’s over.” His face softened, eyes shining fondly when they met yours. “I missed you.”

           “I missed you, too.” It was painfully honest and you were determined to enjoy whatever time or affection he was willing to share. “So, what do you have planned now that you’re free of responsibilities?” you teased, picking away the loose flowers still clinging to his fur.

            “Well…” Shihou mused, casually swinging back and forth by his tail. “I was thinking of taking you up to the waterfall. We can enjoy the view, have some dinner, maybe go for a swim. Or,” He paused, throwing a challenging smirk your way. “You can test how brave you are.”

           You raised a skeptical brow. “How so?”

            “The waterfall is pretty famous,” he explained with a shrug. “It’s the same one Sun Wukong jumped through to become King. Lots of monkeys try it to prove their courage; most just end up going for a swim but it’s all in good fun.”

            “You think I can jump through a waterfall?” A surprised giggle bubbled out of you at the suggestion. The impromptu swim sounded like the more likely outcome. “I’ll pass on that challenge, thank you.”

           Shihou’s adorable pout nearly swayed you. “Aw, come on! What if I jump with you?”

           “Won’t that be cheating?”

           “You can’t cheat if there aren’t any rules,” he countered.

            “And if I make it, will I impress Sun Wukong enough to earn my own crown?” you asked, tapping your chin in playful thought.

            Smiling softly, Shihou reached forward to caress a gentle hand against your cheek. “I think you’re impressive enough just the way you are.”

           His sweet words and tender touch caught you off guard, fluttering your heart and nearly melting you on the spot. Turning away, you consider his challenge while hiding your blush from his hopeful stare. “Why don’t we go enjoy the view and I’ll think about doing your little waterfall jump?”

           Shihou’s excitement was like sunshine itself. “Perfect! Then it’s a d–”

           “Hello! Is someone there!?”

            A sudden shout startled you both, echoing from just beyond the trees. In the span of a second, Shihou had dropped down and shoved you behind him. He stood tall and tense, fur bristling and tail lashing as he scanned the forest with narrowed eyes.

           “Who’s there? Show yourself!” he ordered, voice carrying a startling weight of authority. As if on cue, two humans stumbled from out of the bushes and collapsed to the ground.

           “Please! We need help!”

           You peeked around Shihou’s protective shield and recognized the groveling men. “Wait, you’re the farmers from the village!”

            “We are,” one of them nodded. “Elder Gran sent us.”

           “What’s happened?” Shihou asked sternly. “Did the demons return?”

           The other farmer shook his head. “No, a deep freeze fell on our village two nights ago.”

           A chilling dread washed over you at the news. “Is everyone alright?”

           “We’ve kept warm so far but the lake is frozen solid. Food is already running low and now we can’t catch any fish. We came to beg the Monkey King for assistance.”

            Both men bowed on their knees, nearly shaking from their tears. “Please help us.”

           “We have to do something,” you said, pondering the dire situation. “If we pick more fruit, it can help the village for a bit but I’m not sure what to do about the lake.” You turned to Shihou with pleading eyes. “Is there anything Sun Wukong can do?”

           Shihou frowned in thought. “Maybe. You take some fruit back to your village for the time being. I’ll bring word to the mountain see what can be done.”

           “Thank you, Shihou!” You threw your arms around him, nearly giggling at his surprised chirrup, before pulling back with a smile. As much as he tried to stay composed, the red of his face and the bashful flick of his tail gave him away.

           “I’ll see you soon,” Shihou said with a parting wave. “Stay safe.” One moment he was there; the next, vanished like the wind into the endless green of the forest.

           The instant he was gone, you turned to the two men still on the ground. “Alright, get up, you two. We have some fruit to pick and I’m not carrying it down the mountain by myself.”

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

~🍑 Peach Friends 🍑~

@joyfulllittlething @iluxurycruisedthatship @drspecialhell @moondrop39-dovewing70 @happycarp @chibifox88 @rutabaga-menace @resident-cryptid

(If you would like to join the tag list, let me know!)

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

Hello Peach Friends! Happy Lunar New Year and Imbolc/St. Brigid's Day! The last week has been crazy busy but I come bearing gifts of Shihou emotions and plot points to come. Thank you so much to everyone enjoying the story so far. Every comment, like, and reblog means the world to me and I am beyond grateful for your support!

You can also find this story on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60643669

[swordgrace]

Okay I know you've already written "vampire eating out reader who's 'on the rag'" (to quote Paul) BUT... Can we have one with Astarion? 😩

𖣊 pairing — astarion x fem!human!reader.

FORMAT: drabble — requested.

WORD COUNT: 3.5K.

WARNINGS: SMUT! (mdni), period sex, bloodplay, blood drinking, oral sex (f!receiving), cunnilingus, praise kink, hair pulling, fingering (f!receiving), dirty talk, semi-public sex, risk of getting caught, unspoken feelings, astarion gives mad head (I don’t make the rules)

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Well, here we are, back to my vampire obsession. I’m so addicted to Baldur’s Gate right now that it’s insane. I had so much fun writing this! This is also my first time writing for Astarion, so feedback is definitely appreciated! I’m hoping to write so much more of him! Thank you all for the support! ❤️

A distant, whistling breeze swept across the tall strands of sungrass, rustling against the threadbare canvas of your tent. It was shoddy lodging at best — certainly not a paradise. Gale and Astarion could afford such luxurious accommodations, but you were left to your own devices. You even envied Lae’zel’s tent, and it wasn’t much better than yours.

Crackling waves of dulled pain continued to ripple throughout the pit of your stomach, a familiar tightening and seizing of muscles that left you restless. Sometimes, humanity could be a horrible thing — you were a slave to your own basic bodily functions.

Shadowheart had bluntly broached the subject of menstruation with you earlier in the day — offered you rags to keep yourself clean. It was embarrassing, admittedly — you wanted to try and keep it all discreet.

Being underprepared for this scenario left you flustered and embarrassed, but you were thankful for her assistance, wariness aside.

Your newfound band of parasite-toting compatriots were becoming the closest thing to family that you had, but there were some you trusted more than others. You often regarded Shadowheart with a healthy dose of skepticism, but she’d been helpful enough.

Glittering rays of silvery moonlight struck through the worn spots on your tent, pooling across your form as you tossed yet again, hands folding together atop your stomach. The dying embers of the campfire dissipated out of existence — the world was dormant.

Sleep eluded you, replaced by the toils of your monthly blood moon that frustrated you to no end.

Halsin was generous enough to concoct an herbal poultice that was supposed to help, but one swig of the earthen liquid, and you were spitting it right back out into the dirt. Much to your dismay, you would be left to endure your cycle in its raw state, no remedies.

The gentle ambiance of swaying grass and the buzz of nature at dusk served as your atmosphere, accompanied by your deep breaths and occasional stifled groans. You rolled over, form awkwardly contorted on your side in an attempt to find some relief.

Your evening clothes were made of thistledown and spidersilk, far more comfortable than the linen-sewn rags you’d been trekking in for the last few weeks. It was all courtesy of a fashionable Drow you’d met in a village in the Underdark.

Your gaze fixated on the low, dimmed glow of a flickering lantern situated in your quarters, sitting soundly alongside your backpack. Orange light danced within the colorful glass, producing minuscule refractions that became a worthwhile distraction.

A fluttering of cloth tore your attention away from the luminous object, and you directed your gaze toward the agape flap of your tent.

Two glittering rubies peered down at you, sanguine hues dancing with a peculiar sheen amongst a canvas of smooth, marblesque flesh. The black ties of his silken nightshirt were left unkept, sleeves pulled toward the crooks of his pale elbows.

Astarion’s vampirism was something you’d become intimately acquainted with.

Perhaps it wasn’t your brightest move, letting him feed from you — but you had no qualms or regrets. Beneath the facade of allure and arrogance, Astarion wasn’t all bad. In the many moments you’d shared of allowing him to drink, you’d learned more, little by little.

“Astarion,” You exhaled, wondering why he’d come to you at this particular hour. He’d fed not long ago — from a nearby stag, and not you. He was ethereal beneath the moonlight, all lean and akin to a statue, living perfection as he lingered within the entryway of your tent. “Is everything alright?”

A sardonic huff escaped him, followed by a familiar tilt of his head, ivory curls swaying with his movements. “I could ask you the very same, darling.” He mused. “It seems that you cannot sleep.”

You swallowed the lump within your throat, sitting up enough within your bedroll to face him fully. “No,” You didn’t want to shower Astarion with the grisly details of your womanly cycle. It was of little importance. “Halsin’s awful concoction left a bad taste in my mouth.”

Astarion hummed, senses attuned to you — truthfully, he could smell you from across the camp.

That familiar siren’s song of blood echoed his name — your blood, above all. He wasn’t above lecherous thoughts, especially when it came to the likes of you. His solution to your little problem was unorthodox — Astarion wondered if you would be open to it.

“Was it that mess of an elixir that left you restless, or perhaps something else?” The pale Elf inquired, noticing the little flickers of realization settling into your features. “I have quite the keen sense of smell, you know. Your predicament is rather obvious.”

As your lips fell apart, Astarion chuckled — it was a rich sound, deep from within the confines of his chest. Embarrassment rippled through you, spreading like a wildfire throughout your body. Tendrils of heat crept along the back of your neck.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” You mumbled, chewing at the inside of your cheek. “Is it bothering you?” You hadn’t considered that your blood might’ve had an adverse effect on the vampire spawn, but he dismissed your concerns with a simple wave.

Astarion stepped inside, dropping the burlap flap as it fluttered back into place. His flesh was a beautiful shade, encapsulated by the flickering glow of lantern light as he stood before you. “No,” He clicked his tongue. “I do have a solution to your predicament — with my own assistance, of course.”

Confusion settled into your countenance — Astarion wasn’t necessarily shocked by this, either. You were a delicate little human, a sweet, pious creature that he intended to ravish when opportunity presented itself — such as now.

He drank in your innocence, feeding from your piety as if it were your lifeblood. It was easy to charm you, let you slip into his intricately-spun web of seduction, but in reality, he found himself becoming soft on you.

What a horrid thing — soft on you.

Yet, Astarion couldn’t help himself. Your presence was soothing, providing a warmth that even enveloped his own icy heart. You never asked him for anything — you never used him. He wanted you all the more for it, desired to keep you for himself.

“How could you help me with this?” You questioned, assuming that he had some remedy for you that countered Halsin’s. Anything would do — you were becoming desperate for a solution.

Something shifted in Astarion’s eyes — his gaze became hooded, glazed with some indiscernible notion that caused your stomach to swirl with uncertainty. Your breath hitched within your throat when his cold digits swept across your cheek.

“In a way that I know best,” He crooned, thumb gingerly sweeping along the curve of your jawline. “You would lay back and let me taste you.” Astarion’s suggestion struck you as unorthodox and crude — and you nearly gasped at the insinuation of his words.

“You don’t mean it.” You countered, shivering beneath the icy bite of his embrace. Your flesh felt like scorched earth, blistering with a fever that you couldn’t sweat out — and your remedy, your cure — he stood before you like an ethereal god.

Astarion chuckled, head canting to one side. “I do, darling,” He uttered, voice dropping to a delicious octave that seemed to curl around you like a vice, spreading to parts of you that you never thought possible. “It would be mutually beneficial, I assure you.”

A guttural whimper of sheer want coalesced within the depths of your throat, goosebumps dancing across your spine as you contemplated. It felt so intimate — if you were to go through with it, the lines of your relationship with Astarion would be blurred completely.

The desire for relief and for him outweighed logic, and you exhaled, eyes silently pleading with him for his touch. Astarion was enticed — admittedly, he wanted to taste you, bloodied or not.

“If you are worried about the mess, you needn’t trouble yourself, my sweet.” Astarion mused, pearlescent fangs glinting in the low light. “I will take care of you.” Something about his tone made you shudder, wanting nothing more than to give yourself to him — every fiber, every piece.

His growing fondness for you was becoming increasingly difficult to suppress. He hungered for your blood and he yearned for you — a naive human that he initially cared little for. Now, he was enthralled, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

“I’ll let you,” You whispered, voice barely above a shrewd whisper as you watched his expression blossom into one of sheer desire. Those crimson hues raked over you, devouring you without action, leaving you a mess, surrendering to him willingly. “Please.”

“How kind of you,” Astarion hummed, sinking onto his knees as his palm spread across the swell of your hip. “I wonder if you taste just as sweet as you look.” His honeyed purr dripped with a warm reassurance, all wrought with want as he eased you down onto your back.

A fire burned within your belly, demanding to be extinguished as you settled down onto the many layers of a tough leather bedroll and feathered blanket. Astarion loomed like a hungering predator as he slipped between your legs, throat hoarse with the sting of thirst.

His cold hands pried at your silken nightshirt, gingerly lifting the fabric towards your chest as it bunched up just beneath your breasts. A wave of cool, brusque night air licked across your stomach, but the sudden presence of Astarion’s lips made you tense up.

He made sure to touch you — caress your supple frame wherever he could. Despite his one-track mind, Astarion wanted to make you feel good. Those practiced digits of his slipped across your ribcage, dragging down toward your abdomen.

“I’ve dreamed of this, coveted this,” He murmured into your flesh, kissing his way toward your weeping cunt. Nimble digits caressed their way to the waistband of your undergarments, tugging them down and away from your body. “Your sweet flesh, your body beneath mine, crying my name from your lips.”

None of this felt real — your head was spinning, mind deliriously dizzy with a newfound desire. You couldn’t discern if his confession was genuine or simply a ploy to subdue you. Truthfully, you didn’t care either way.

Astarion hummed again, nose brushing along the supple skin of your thigh. “Astarion,” You mewled, unable to keep from saying his name. “I—I …” You babbled, savoring the sensation of his mouth on your skin.

You felt his body quiver with a gentle chuckle as he inhaled a gust of your intoxicating scent. It was your distinct perfume intermingled with that of blood — the twang of coppery menses that he intended on consuming.

Even when prone between your thighs, Astarion exuded a rather domineering aura, icy lips peppering a string of kisses against your inner thigh. He wanted nothing more than to bite — indulge himself in your sanguine ichor. The scent between your legs invited him in, instead.

As crimson wept from your core, the vampiric Elf moved forward, skilled tongue languidly dragging across your aching cunt. He shivered when your cruor fell upon his mouth, a taste of your blood that he so desired.

His palms settled themselves atop your plush hips, hooking underneath your legs. He pressed into your flesh, gripping you tightly as he held you firmly in-place. Astarion could feel the visceral, unrestrained way in which your body reacted to him, twitching and shuddering, thighs flexing.

“How delicious,” Astarion purred, voice dropping to a sultry octave. It stroked every recess of your mind, setting your nerves ablaze, making your stomach churn with a wave of butterflies. “My sweetest pet.” He uttered, licking at any drop of scarlet.

Flushed and flustered, arousal pooled between your legs, intermingled with that of your menses. One of your hands haplessly fisted the feather blanket, the other roaming towards that crown of ivory curls. A low, bemused growl tore past his throat when you gripped his tresses.

If anything, it simply encouraged Astarion, whose greed knew no boundaries. He eagerly lapped at your cunt, tongue tracing across your slit. You felt the little twang of relief that he offered, and you were beyond grateful. You felt the desire to reciprocate — if he let you.

It became increasingly difficult to stifle your pleasured mewls and moans, back beginning to arch slightly off of your bedroll. His continued string of lascivious praise and salacious comments made your flesh turn hot, begging for a release of any kind.

The dull burn within his throat was quelled, soothed by your cruor. Astarion was eager, delighting in your pretty noises and the way your body gave into him. He greedily lapped at the sticky menses trickling from your core, lips twitching into a smirk.

His crown of ivory curls felt like Githyanki silk beneath your fingertips, and for a moment, you peered down — you needed to sate your curiosity.

The mere sight of Astarion, coiled and poised like a lithe predator, wedged between your thighs sent you reeling. He could detect your beseeching gaze, and without pause, those vermilion hues flickered to hold your stare.

Instinctively, your body shivered, goosebumps cascading down the length of your spine. You watched in silent reverence as the broad flat of Astarion’s tongue lapped at your cunt, showering your clit in newfound affection. A stray curl fell across his temples — he was beautiful.

A strangled gasp escaped you, and you fell flat once more, fingers seizing up within his tresses. Astarion’s form rumbled with subtle laughter as he keened forward, mouth suckling on that sensitive clutch of nerves. Your reaction was well worth it.

“Astarion,” You cried, thighs rattling like leaves upon a swaying tree. You wanted to thank him over and over again for this — the tight waves of aching pain had subsided. “Gods, I — Feels so good.” A pleasured moan tore past your lips once more.

A sliver of you feared waking the others, potentially alerting the camp to your nightly accolades. You didn’t want to allow your worry to fester, hips rocking forward when his tongue embraced your cunt once more.

One hand traveled from the curve of your hip to the apex of your thighs, two fingers stroking over your weeping entrance. You gasped, soothed by Astarion’s soft laughter as he lifted his head slightly. “So sensitive.” He purred, lips stained in a glistening layer of crimson. He kissed the inside of your knee.

Heat rolled through you in pleasant waves as pangs of ecstasy gripped you. Seeing Astarion’s bloodied mouth made you shiver, only wanting him to continue, bring you to climax. He sank two digits into your cunt, tongue dutifully returning to lap at your clit.

If you were to perish now, you’d die happy and within the throes of your own ecstasy — with a pale, Elvish deity between your thighs.

You’d wanted him for some time, and to finally drown yourself in his affections — it almost didn’t feel real. The practiced, needy lap of his tongue brought you back to reality, making your hips lurch forward once more. Those digits of his gently pistoned in and out of your cunt, ensuring a level of softness.

Rivulets of your menses coated his fingers, much to his delight. Astarion was relentless, driven in his quest to simultaneously feed and soothe your blood moon pains. His perfectly-timed movements of his fingers worked in-tandem with his mouth, tongue flicking from your clit to your weeping core.

A white-hot pleasure blistered through you, beginning to mount into your encroaching release. Your climax was close, stomach swirling with molten heat, body feeling as if it could simply float away.

“A—Astarion,” You whimpered, desperate to get rid of your nightshirt. The coolness of dusk could not alleviate the pure heat you felt now. A shrill cry left your lips when he withdrew his fingers, simply exchanging them for his tongue as he dragged you closer. “Astarion!”

His name felt like an incantation upon your tongue — it was a sultry, desperate plea for him. The Elf thoroughly reveled in your innocuous cries, wanting to hear you chant his name like a prayer. It felt so genuine, affection intermingled with desire.

Astarion’s gaze lingered on you, chest heaving, flesh glistening with a sheen of perspiration, countenance contorted into sheer ecstasy. There was something rapturous in his eyes — you couldn’t see it, but it was certainly present.

A low hum of approval escaped him when you absentmindedly tugged on his curls again, and he rewarded you with a barrage of his tongue. It was a greedy assault on your cunt as the vampire spawn drank from the source, inhaling a gust of your scent.

“Such a pretty voice, darling,” Astarion uttered, and you soared underneath his reverent praise. You were prepared to burst, body tensing, like a blossom unfurling within the sunlight. “You taste delightful.” He knew what it would do to you — he reveled in it.

You shivered, feeling his nose brush along your thigh as he kissed at the skin there, teeth teasing and grazing along your sensitive flesh. He returned to your core once more, lapping at your oozing cunt with glee — and that seemed to be enough for you.

Everything seemed to spin in circles, head fuzzy and body sinking into sheer bliss. Pleasure washed over you in hot, visceral waves as you were brought to your climax, hips tilting upward as you came.

The coil within your stomach snapped, muscles relaxed — the uncomfortable pain had subsided. Even if the relief would be fleeting, you were beyond grateful to Astarion for assisting you. You came to, flushed and flustered, sitting up enough to see Astarion finishing up.

He emerged from between your legs, tongue languidly lashing across his pearlescent fangs and lips. Speckles of crimson were splattered across his chin, but you nearly collapsed at the sight of him sucking on his fingers.

Whatever mess you made, Astarion had cleaned it all away — he never spilled a drop. “That, ah …” What did you say? “Thank you for doing this, Astarion. I don’t know what else to say.” You confessed.

Astarion chuckled, head canting to one side. “Speechless, are we? It certainly wouldn’t be the first time that I’ve left someone in such a state.” He crooned, and before he could move to stand, you reached for his arm, coaxing him back.

“Don’t ever feel obligated to do this,” You mumbled, somewhat embarrassed at the sight of your cruor on his chin. Sheepishly, you swiped it away with your thumb — but he caught it. “I feel like I didn’t do anything in return.”

Instead, the pale Elf held your wrist, ruby hues drinking you in, picking you apart. Astarion remained hushed for a moment as he considered his words, lips quirking into an abnormally tender smirk. “You did return the favor, darling. Your blood is tribute enough.”

Your breath hitched within your throat, but you didn’t protest, gaze subtly absorbing his porcelain features. He was gorgeous — you often felt inferior in his presence, shadowed by his timeless beauty. You smiled at him, fingers reaching to squeeze at his hand. The gesture was unexpected for him, but he made no comment.

“Thank you. I do feel better,” You cleared your throat, chewing at the inside of your cheek. “Did you mean what you said, about coveting me and dreaming about this?” For your own peace of mind, you wanted to know where you stood with Astarion.

He should’ve known that you’d ask.

Astarion hummed, neglecting to disclose the truth about how he felt towards you. Part of him was fearful of the implications, of what it could mean — he felt unworthy of you and your piety. “Of course,” He uttered, voice dropping into a more alluring octave. “I would not mind indulging in this again.”

Part of you deflated — intimacy wasn’t the only thing you wanted from Astarion. You wanted his heart. It gave you something to think on, but for now, you were simply content to enjoy his company, lewd or otherwise.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You murmured, visibly sheepish as you glanced back towards your bedroll. “I should try and sleep, I think.” You nearly asked if he wanted to stay with you, but fear and insecurity gripped you in that moment.

“I should hope that your rest is much more productive.” Astarion smirked, pressing a feather-light kiss against your knuckles before rising to his feet. Sharing your bed didn’t seem prudent — for him, it would only make his feelings for you worse.

A soft laugh bubbled forth from your lips before you pulled your clothes back into place, descending onto the feathered blanket. “Goodnight, Astarion.” You exhaled, watching him as he slipped towards the burlap flap of your shoddy tent.

“Rest well, my sweet.” Astarion hummed, and like a shadow, he disappeared into the star-speckled gloom of the night.

[cellclothism]

bringing back my obsession with square canvases ......

[infamous-light]

You Belong to Me Ch. 5

Alcina Dimitrescu x F! Reader

Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4

AO3: You Belong to Me

Summary: Lady Dimitrescu's obsession knows no bounds as she becomes increasingly possessive over you. Will you succumb to her dark embrace, or find a way to break free before it's too late?

Word Count: 2.5K

Warnings: Yandere, possessive/obsessive behavior

Grogginess clouded your senses as you gradually came to.

The world around you seemed hazy and unfocused, with shadows dancing at the edges of your vision. Every attempt to concentrate or bring clarity to your thoughts was met with a heavy fog that refused to lift, making it difficult to know where you were or how you got there.

You became acutely aware of the dryness in your mouth, each breath feeling like sandpaper against your parched throat. The inside of your cheeks felt rough and sticky, as if covered with a film of grit. Your tongue lay like a foreign object in your mouth, swollen and sluggish, coated in a bitter residue that you couldn't identify. It tasted like a combination of metal and something medicinal, a flavor that made you want to scrape your tongue against your teeth to remove it.

When you attempted to shift your position, you discovered that your limbs weren't being responsive. It was as if your body had forgotten how to obey your commands, each movement slow and half-hearted. Your muscles ached with a deep, persistent fatigue, and a strange tingling sensation spread from your fingers to your toes, like tiny pinpricks dancing just beneath your skin.

As you lay there, a faint awareness began to seep into your mind. The surroundings, though still blurred and indistinct, began to register as unfamiliar. The bed beneath you was far too grand, its dimensions larger and its surface plusher than what you were used to. You could feel the mattress giving way just enough to cradle your body comfortably. The sheets caressed your skin with an unfamiliar softness, a level of luxury that hinted at high quality and expense. Silk, you guessed, or perhaps some other exotic fabric that you had only read about. Above you, the ceiling stretched high into the air, adorned with golden filigree that caught the dim light from the nearby flickering candle.

Turning your head slightly, you caught sight of the heavy drapes framing the windows. The fabric was rich and velvety, its deep red color absorbing the faint light that filtered through. They were only partially drawn, allowing a sliver of the outside world to be visible. Through the gap, you could see the night sky, the moon casting a pale glow over the village.

And that's when reality struck you.

The room, the bed, the view of the village, and the high ceiling all combined into a sudden, shocking realization that sent a jolt through your body.

You were in Lady Dimitrescu’s bedchambers.

Why were you here?

You wracked your brain, trying to piece together the events that led to your current predicament but nothing would come forth. You needed to get out of here.

Summoning every ounce of strength, you attempted to push yourself up from the bed. Each muscle in your body protested, sending jolts of pain through your already exhausted frame. Your arms trembled as you forced them to lift your weight, and a sharp, stinging sensation shot through your back and shoulders. Just then, a tall figure materialized beside the bed. Lady Dimitrescu’s expression was unreadable as she gently but firmly pressed you back down onto the mattress.

“You should stay in bed.” Her tone was soothing, yet it held an edge that made it clear she expected to be obeyed.

Her gaze locked onto yours, piercing and intense, holding you captive. Then, a faint, almost predatory smile played on her lips, sending a shiver through you.

“You're not ready to be up just yet.”

Desperately, you tried to remember what happened, but your mind was a hazy mess. Each thought was slow to form and quick to dissipate like smoke in the wind. You knew something was wrong, that this weakness and disorientation wasn’t normal. Your head throbbed with the effort of trying to recall.

There.

Clinging to that fleeting moment of clarity, you concentrated on the last clear memory you had. It was like grasping at shadows, but gradually, the scene started to sharpen. You recalled sitting at a dining table, a drink in your hand. The memory was vivid for a moment – the cool glass in your grip, the clink of crystal as you took a sip, bright golden eyes meeting yours from across the table – and then it faded into darkness.

The image of those eyes lingered, a focal point in the swirling confusion of your thoughts, drawing you back to that pivotal moment.

“You...drugged me.” You managed to whisper, your voice barely audible and cracking with the effort.

Lady Dimitrescu's smile broadened, offering no immediate confirmation or denial.

With a grace and tenderness that belied her massive stature, she reached out to adjust the blanket draped over you. It was an unexpectedly nurturing gesture, one that contrasted sharply with her cruel nature.

“Why?” The question slipped from your lips, your voice barely more than a quiver in the silence.

You searched her eyes for answers, for any hint of her intentions, but found only a disconcerting calmness.

Lady Dimitrescu's gaze remained fixed on you, her smile unwavering and enigmatic as her left hand rested against the side of your face. The touch of her palm on your cheek was both soothing and chilling. The coolness of her skin was a stark contrast to the feverish warmth of your own.

“All in good time. For now, you should rest.” She said lowly.

You wanted to protest, to demand answers, however, your body refused to cooperate, the strength draining from your limbs as if sapped by an unseen force. The words died in your throat, replaced by a deep, consuming fatigue. Your eyelids grew heavier with each passing second, the room around you blurring into a comforting darkness. The effort to keep them open became a losing battle, the allure of sleep too strong to resist.

The drug's effects were unrelenting, pulling you under and you could do nothing but succumb to its relentless call.

***

The warmth of the sunlight streaming in through the tall windows roused you from a fitful sleep.

You blinked against the bright light, momentarily disoriented as your surroundings came into focus. As your awareness sharpened, you realized that something – or someone – was wrapped around you. The warmth against your back, the steady rise and fall of another's breath. It all pointed to one startling conclusion: you were enveloped in Lady Dimitrescu's arms. Her form was curled protectively around you, her body molded to yours in an intimate embrace.

Instinctively, you tried to wriggle free, your heart racing as adrenaline coursed through your veins. The sensation of her strong, unyielding arms holding you in place sent a jolt of panic through your system. You floundered, your movements frantic and desperate, but the attempt to break away only seemed to tighten her grip, her arms constricting around you with surprising strength.

“Please,” your voice was so weak. “L-Let go.”

Lady Dimitrescu stirred behind you, her presence shifting as she awoke more fully.

“Hush, darling, there's no need to fuss.” She murmured, her voice still thick with sleep but carrying a commanding tone that brooked no argument.

Her words did little to calm you. You struggled again but her grip was too strong, her fingers like iron bands around your arms. The sheer power she possessed was frightening, and the more you fought, the more futile your efforts seemed. It was as if she were effortlessly restraining a child. Lady Dimitrescu chuckled softly, the sound resonating deep within her chest and sending a vibration through your back.

“Shhh, pet,” she crooned, “You must learn to relax. If you don’t stop squirming, I won’t release you.”

Her words sent a shiver down your spine.

The situation felt surreal, like a bizarre dream from which you couldn't wake. Yet, the heat from her body pressed against yours and the firmness of her grip were undeniably real. Resignation crept in, and you stopped struggling, your muscles tensing as you braced yourself for whatever was to come.

“That's better,” Lady Dimitrescu purred, her voice taking on a saccharine sweetness that made your skin crawl. “See? It's not so bad, is it?”

The gentle brush of her lips against your earlobe and the warmth of her breath against your neck was unnerving. It felt invasive, a forced intimacy that left you feeling exposed and vulnerable.

“Now, let's enjoy the morning, shall we?”

***

Lady Dimitrescu sat regally in front of her vanity.

She was already dressed in her signature white dress, the fabric cascading around her like a waterfall of silk. She picked up her lipstick, a small tube of deep red, and applied the rich color to her lips with practiced precision. The crimson hue stood in stark contrast to her alabaster skin, highlighting her sharp, aristocratic features.

As she deftly traced the curves of her lips, perfecting the application, she caught movement from her bed in the reflection of her vanity mirror. Her eyes, sharp and observant, landed on you through the glass, and a small, amused smirk appeared on her lips.

“You’re awake, I see.” She commented casually.

She capped the lipstick and set it down on the vanity with a delicate touch. In one graceful motion, she rose from her seat, her dress flowing around her as she approached the side of the bed where you lay.

You gazed up at her hazily, blinking slowly as you tried to focus, your mind still foggy from sleep. Lady Dimitrescu made a cooing noise as she stared down at you, a sound that was both soothing and slightly mocking. She reached out and brushed your hair away from your forehead, her touch gentle.

“Don’t you look adorable like this.” She remarked.

There was a gleam in her eyes, a spark of satisfaction that suggested she enjoyed seeing you like this – helpless and at her mercy. The corners of her lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smile before her expression changed into something inscrutable.

You couldn’t help but tremble as her gloved fingers moved from your forehead and traced down the curve of your jawline. Her touch was cool and calculated, sending goosebumps across your flesh. Her eyes scanned your face with an intensity that made your skin prickle. It felt as though she was dissecting every detail, analyzing and cataloging each feature.

She straightened up once more, her towering form casting a long shadow over you.

“I will have the staff prepare breakfast for you,” Lady Dimitrescu said tenderly. “I’ll be back shortly.”

With that, she turned and walked out of the bedroom.

The space suddenly felt colder and emptier.

All you could do was lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to recall more of your memories but the fog in your mind made it hard to grasp even the simplest of thoughts. Your brain felt like it was submerged in a thick, oppressive mist, where every attempt to form a coherent idea slipped away into the murk. It made everything that much harder and disjointed. You couldn’t remain like this. The longer you stayed motionless, the more the sense of urgency grew. You didn't want to stay in bed any longer; the idea of being confined felt suffocating, as if the bed itself was a trap holding you in a vice grip.

You forced your muscles to move, straining your arms and legs. The simple act of lifting an arm required immense concentration and willpower, each muscle fiber protesting the command. It felt like moving through thick syrup, every motion slow and difficult. The sheets clung to your body, adding to the resistance.

The moment you hit the floor, a sharp pain shot through your body. The initial impact left you momentarily breathless, and you gasped as the air was knocked out from your lungs. You lay there for a moment, gathering your strength, the chill seeping into your bones, before beginning to crawl across the hardwood floor.

Each movement was a challenge. Your arms felt like lead, barely able to support your weight, and your legs dragged uselessly behind you. The texture of the floor was unforgiving, pressing into your flesh, and you could feel the subtle grains and imperfections against your forearms. Every inch forward was a monumental effort, and your breath came in ragged gasps. Your lungs burned with the exertion, and sweat dripped down your face, stinging your eyes and blurring your vision.

The bedroom seemed to stretch endlessly before you.

Minutes felt like hours as you inched your way across the room, your body trembling with exhaustion. The cold, hard floor seemed to drain the last remnants of your strength with each painful shuffle forward. The door ahead seemed to taunt you, never getting any closer no matter how hard you tried. Just then, the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the hallway, growing louder with each passing second. Panic flared up within you, but you were too tired to quicken your pace.

The door swung open and Lady Dimitrescu stepped inside. Her presence filled the doorway as she towered above you. She looked down at you with a mixture of disappointment and irritation, her lips curling into a frown. Her eyes, cold and piercing, bore into yours, making you feel even smaller and more insignificant.

“I should’ve expected this pathetic escape attempt.” She bit out with each word.

You felt a wave of helplessness wash over you, the fight draining from your limbs in an instant. With a resigned sigh of your own, you let your head rest on the floor, too exhausted to protest further.

Lady Dimitrescu walked over to you in a slow, deliberate stride. The sound of her heels clicking against the floor echoed throughout her bedchambers. Her shadow fell over you as she crouched down, scooping you up into her arms. The weight of her embrace was surprisingly gentle yet firm, cradling you as if you were something precious and delicate. As she carried you across the bedroom, you couldn't help but feel small and fragile in her grasp. Once Lady Dimitrescu reached the bedside, she laid you back on the mattress carefully, ensuring you were comfortable before letting go. She arranged the blankets around you with care, smoothing the covers with her hands. Her touch lingered slightly, as if reluctant to break the connection.

“I want you to stay in bed.” Lady Dimitrescu said firmly.

Frustration and exhaustion took over as tears began to well up in your eyes. God, you hated how vulnerable you were at this moment, the raw emotions bubbling to the surface despite your best efforts to contain them. Your vision blurred, and you tried to blink the tears away, but they only flowed more freely down your cheeks.

Lady Dimitrescu’s gaze softened slightly, her usually steely demeanor giving way to a moment of unexpected tenderness. She reached out, her hand large yet gentle, and wiped your tears away with her thumb.

“There’s no need to cry, darling,” she said, her voice low and reassuring. “Just rest.”

Her touch was oddly comforting, despite the circumstances that brought you here. Leaning in, she kissed your forehead, her lips cool against your clammy skin. The soft brush of her lips stirred a bittersweet ache within you, a mix of comfort and disdain.

You sobbed.

[pseudoartistpostsstuff]

Alright alright- Bear with me here. Could I perhaps ask for a Yandere LU Chain, where Reader is like HUGE adventurer. Kinda like Wild in his game, exploring everywhere and stuff. But one day maybe Reader gets hurt on an adventure by a black-blooded creature, and the Chain is bit too late to save them. So Reader is like Twilight for a bit, although maybe they can also recover due to the Chain likely supporting them as much if not more than with Twilight. How would the Chain react to this afterwards? Would they be relieved, angry, or...? Both? Tbh I think overprotectiveness would just go brrrr after this-

Also, love love LOVE your writing! Seriously, HOW DO YOU DO THIS MAGIC? It's put together so well and istg i get goosebumps sometimes from this stuff.

Thank you!!!

Thank you very much for requesting, and I hope you enjoy this very late reply!

Notes aka author ramblings: Apollo slapped me in the face with random energy and motivation to write this, the inspiration came along the way and faded a bit more towards the end, so please take that into consideration 😭

Basically I wrote this on the span of 2-3 hours

What may look like a few plot holes was some ties I left untied on purpose because I felt like it'd probably sound too much like an info dump in the oneshot

But I have so many thoughts

And yes reader's codename is Stray

I hope I'm not rusty fr

TWs: Light yanderism, blood and wounds (not graphic), mentioned spiders, bullying, childhood trauma and exclusion.

Yandere! LU! Chain x Reader

Stray at heart, collared in body.

The world is big and full of stuff, and to say that you loved to explore it would be an understatement. Sometimes it felt like your biggest love was for adventuring, cause’ of course it was! How could anyone not love to find new places, objects, people— Even animals and magical creatures!

It was the type of subject that got you rambling and all excited.

Of course, you weren't exactly one of those pure born hyruleans, you weren't even from Hyrule, for starters, so you lacked the elegant pointy ears, and, well, the actual magic and luck that came with being one so close to Hylia as the race that descended from the Goddess herself.

That definitely hindered your explorations, leaving you bare handed when it came to healing and all things good and helpful for explorers like you. Still, none of that ever stopped you.

Actually, it was the thing that moved you to start in the first place, back when you were very young.

Back then, in the village you came from yet never considered home, the whole place felt filled to the brim with boredom-inducing stillness — or so you remembered, and so your childish eyes told you — you felt like it wasn't worth staying there.

It was going to be still and empty of fun forever, you could never be happy staying locked down there when so many new and yet ancient things were waiting for you everywhere else!

Needless to say, your head was constantly in the clouds, though, maybe that was a good thing after a while. It certainly shielded you from feeling too lonely when you started to actually notice you were being excluded by the rest of the children.

The stares and quiet giggles weren't easy to bear, but you just learned to deal with them with time, keeping yourself focused on your future instead, the future you wanted to build far away from that place.

Of course, as you are now today, and after learning about and interacting with so many different cultures, learning what you could from their knowledge, some things stuck with you.

Like the knowledge that now you had, that the children weren't ever the ones at fault in the first place.

Their stares and giggles mainly mimicked, almost perfectly, the ones who teached them to act that way, their glares and mockery.

Sometimes you wondered how your own parents managed to cope with being badly spoken about in the mouths of other adults from that village, the ones who insisted in believing your restless adventurous spirit from such a young age could be nothing else but bad parenting or a curse to the family.

You used to believe it, wish it was real and you either were or had a curse. That would mean that you at least had a percentage of magic in your veins, even if it wasn't exactly the best type.

Because it turns out, you didn't fit in with the most of Hyrule, either. Your normalness kept them away just like your strangeness used to keep away those around you during your childhood.

In fact, that acquired you the nickname of “Stray”.

Stray. Stray because at heart, no matter the community you shoved your way into, you didn't truly belong anywhere. You belonged to the world around you, and nothing could force that out of you.

It was deeply etched into your very soul.

Or so they said.

Well, a group of people begged to differ.

You've heard of a “hero” and a “triangle trio” thing more than a few times already when you roamed the remaining villages of Hyrule, but the last thing you were expecting to find was nine heroes traveling together in a group.

However, none of them belonged here anymore, and so that spoke directly to your inner child, the one who was used to being the only one, always related to some synonym of lonely.

You were often called “Stray” by them rather than your own name, but you still wore the name with pride, because now you were in no way the only stray present anymore.

They were also the reason you stopped wishing for a curse of a magic of some kind. Because you were more than aware that then they'd also have to force you into an imprisonment of some kind.

Still, you already felt achieved.

Finally.

What else could you wish for? You were finally able to explore to your heart's content.

Though not without many worried glances and startled yells sent your way every time you got near anything that left you endangered in some way.

And the best part, you weren't shunned anymore.

At least not by them. Villager's still gave you uneasy and passive aggressive glances.

The one you were probably the closest to was the one named “Wild”, or so they called him — calling all of them “Link” wasn't ideal — after all, out of all of them, he was the one who was most in tune with you.

You were both from the same time period, which already differed from the others, but he wasn't able to fit in anymore due to his lack of ties to any community.

Of course, you were more than aware you still weren't the same. If he tried, he'd still be able to settle down anywhere he wanted, but he still had a job to do which rendered him unable to do so, therefore you made yourself believe you were still alike in some way.

It would hurt too much to not do so, your sanity was at sake here.

They made it so easy too. being all friendly and welcoming. You finally felt at home, in peace.

What else could you truly wish for?

Although, maybe singing victory and yapping about happiness wasn't the smartest idea when they were all in a dangerous mission. And you, of course, were involved.

You were all exploring — or rather, just walking through — a forest on the way to some village at the very ends of Hyrule.

The people of that village didn't travel much, but they had something your group wanted, therefore, your group had to go to them instead.

Being the dumbass, air head, you were, instead of walking in the middle of the moving crowd of fully capable heroes, you found yourself roaming the edges, gawking at whatever you could see yet not reach for past the edges of the path you were all following.

Time was keeping his eye on you — the only working one he had — the whole time, making sure you wouldn't wander off. You felt like a kid.

And just like a kid, the very moment he got distracted, killing a Skulltula, you wandered off.

However, turns out there wasn't just one spider.

The forest was infested, which definitely explained why the village folk were so against the idea of wandering too far past the starts of the foliage and the big thick bushes surrounding and protecting the narrow path you traveled by.

Didn't take too long for you to be found by something else rather than your friends, who by now, must have been definitely looking for you.

They never took long to notice your disappearances, the opposite actually, which used to annoy you a lot since Wild never had to face the same overprotectiveness. Not even Wind!

Now, your desire to prove them wrong brought you face to face with one of said spiders.

Maybe they weren't that wrong...?

And, just you luck! The thing undoubtedly had black blood.

Just like a kid, you failed to remember or acknowledge the fact your group just happened to be chased by those types of monsters earlier, some still following you.

It just slipped your mind, completely.

Just like you slipped on the mud on your way out of the trees and back to the narrow path where your friends’ yells and blurry faces were awaiting and rushing towards you worriedly.

When did it start raining enough to create mud?

The mud smelled metallic.

Your memory was blurry, the world itself felt blurry.

Still, you half remembered, like a far away memory, stumbling out of the thick bushes and into many arms, blood equally as thick dripping from a gash in your abdomen like a waterfall in a rainy — stormy, more like — day.

Then, like a blink, a very long blink, your consciousness was gone.

It took an overly long while for you to wake up. It felt like sleeping during a rainy night, you never wanted to wake up the morning after, and even if you felt like waking up was the best idea, your body refused to open it's eyes.

Only difference was that for you it felt like an overly long rainy night, and like you spent the following week still asleep.

At some point sleeping even became boring.

And you had 9 voices in your head telling you to wake up “please”, when they weren't chatting — worriedly, most of the time — amongst each other. Didn't sound like the usual, to be honest.

When you did come to it, it was in a slow, painful way.

Your head felt like someone banged their shield against it multiple times. If bone was able to bleed, your skull would have been bleeding.

Your eyes also felt tired, despite having just woken up from a long, restless and dreamless nap.

However, your throat felt surprisingly fine, and so did the rest of your body, though you felt numb and weak.

Instantly, your senses were crowded by familiar scents a bit too close to you.

Twilight's was the one which overwhelmed the others, and was paired with the feeling of fur and warmth, overwhelming warmth.

Your body definitely felt too hot. that much you could tell. Though the sight of the many blankets, coats and furs — one specific dark gray fur, actually — explained that, and also the weight on top of you.

With some strain and trembling limbs, you sat up. Instantly regretting it when the sleepy feeling which was still clouding your mind and leaving your movements sluggish got torn away from your body by the force of a sharp pain on your abdomen, strong enough to challenge the dull one still hammering inside your head.

You made a groan of pain and pushed the pile of warmth on top of you to the side, making it fall off the cot you were laying in, exposing the reason for your pain.

This triggered a gasp from somewhere near you. You didn't pay attention, too focused on the strange sight of a large bandaged wound on your belly.

“Stray! You're awake! You're finally awake...” The voice came from above, you could recognize the soft yet shaky tone of Hyrule.

Yet the body which wrapped around your shoulders carefully, and clearly as gently as possible, were definitely from Sky.

“We thought we wouldn't be able to…” Sky swallowed some of his shaky words, trying to spare you from listening to his rambling and sobbing at the same time.

Hyrule grabbed your hand on the bed, opposite to Sky's side.

“You're even worse than Twilight in the “no response to potions or enchantments” aspect…” He gave you a weak smile, now you could guess why it took you so long to wake up.

They had to resort to different methods to try and keep you alive.

You made a face and nodded slowly, also leaning a bit more into Sky now that you weren’t that surprised anymore.

It took less than about 2 minutes for the rest of the group to come back to see you, which was quite curious for you, considering there weren't any messages exchanged through anyone — Sky and Hyrule refused to leave your side, and nobody else was around — and they were all the way out of camp and into a village's market.

Guess you'd never know how they found out.

Your recovery took far longer to finish than Twilight's, considering you had no previous strength built against the black stuff, so you just spent your time sitting around or being carried.

The fact you were, in fact, able to walk, was just another reason for that extreme boredom.

And you weren't even carried to many places! Just around camp!

To say you were itching to touch the grass with your actual flesh and feel the thrill of seeing new things again would be an absolute misunderstanding.

And of course you wanted to bound to the first available place you could the very moment you were released from your inability to carry yourself around.

Did you, though? No, not really.

“I'm gonna check out that pond.” You yawned with serotonin coursing through your veins. The same restless feeling you always got when you saw the beach, despite having seen it many times.

It was around the fourth or fifth time you asked to go check out something. The answer was always the same.

This time you felt completely healed though, so you were hopeful!

“And get attacked by that bokoblin?” Legend crossed his arm with a deep frown, he was always frowning, but that frown just seemed more deeper than the others you've seen before.

“What bokoblin?” It confused you, the pond was absolutely empty when it came to any live beings, though maybe not if you counted the greenery and a few fish.

“There could be one. You didn't see the skulltula last time, did you?”

Well that made you frown. It hit you directly where it hurt.

And now you were unsure about venturing that way.

You nodded, slowly.

“I'll get Warriors to go with you, if you want, once he's back from the planning with Time and Twilight. For now, let's just do some crocheting?”

You always tried to convince him you could go alone.

This time, you voiced no opinion.

[writtenbycassandra]

why i don't like the netflix adaption of sge

i've watched the movie this weekend, and i have some thoughts to share:

the people in the village actually know about the school and the fairy tales. it's important because in the books it is one of the things that characterizes sophie the way she is. most kids have developed a fear of being selected for the school for good and evil, while sophie is anticipated to be kidnapped by the school master. she even bakes goods for him, feigns "good" demeanor, and discards all the protective mechanisms her father had constructed to keep her safe.

her father and to-be stepmother are portrayed inaccurately as well. they are simple, sane people. in the books, they never treat sophie really horrible. perhaps her father wanted a son instead of a daughter (we don't really find out if that is true or a part of sophie's broken worldview), but he still cares for her—he provides her with enough resources to do her strange make up routine every morning, he eats her gruesome food (yes, he complains, but not with an abusive tone at all, he just sounds tired of having to consume the vegan food he clearly hates), and he tries to prevent her from getting captured. and her stepmother is also a vaguely decent human being, and not a merciless, evil person.

the way sophie talks to people is very different. in the books, everything she did was to make her appear more "good", so she'd be taken to the school for good. she never actually had any motivation apart from her own wants. most people who watched the movie love sophie, but not because they think she is evil, but because they think that she is simply misunderstood. and in the book it's made extremely clear how false this is. sophie is jealous, cheats, manipulates, lies, finds joy in hurting others, kills, judges easily, only cares for her looks, feels no empathy or guilt, and rejects people who are trying to help her. and she doesn't do it because she is misunderstood and wants to find revenge/was taught to be that way/lived through a traumatic event. honestly, i find her pretty scary. book sophie would've killed movie sophie instantly.

agatha is also a point for me. first of all, her looks. and i'm not talking about the race of the actress (acting skills are what matters and she is a good actress), but about the way how they depicted her. agatha was supposed to look "hideous"—oily hair, watery eyes, grim face. people literally flinched before her in the books because of the way she looked (and treated herself accordingly.) but her movie version looks so pretty, and i mean that not in the objective way, but in the way that they didn't include the things that made her appear ugly in the books. they never let her grow and find out that she was always pretty, but nobody recognized it because she couldn't embrace her beauty. also, the thing about her being good is a thing. in the books we are thaught that regardless of her gruff, quiet, lonesome, and sorrowful personality, agatha still can be a good person. but in the movie she's just your average, nice teenage girl. there is no character depth. where is the mean, broken girl who seemed to hated everything, yet wanted to be good? where is the girl that wouldn't give up on sophie? where is the girl that always prioritized others? well, we never really got to see her in the movie.

agatha and tedros' relationship is an insta-love story instead of a slow burn. remember, in the books he hated her at first and literally wanted to kill her until like over 300 pages into the book. just saying. and in the movie, they are all nice to each other, like no? sophie was the one tedros had a crush on at first because he though that she was his would-be princess. (there was also no character depth on his side. he never overcomes his prejudices.)

they revealed stuff way too early and made the two female teachers enemies instead of friends. (also, why is jesper playing the evil gremlin?) that disappointed me because i loved their dynamic in the books.

all the little yet extremely important things were missing... the lessons yuba, professor sader's whole existence, the test about "being good" that agatha aces, so many scenes with the never girls, the ever girls being more evil than some nevers, all the lore.

it was not a bad movie (it's okay, i guess?), but it's a horryfing adaptation of the books.

[foundtherightwords]

Fallen Empires - Chapter 9

Pairing: Geta x OFC

Summary: Having done the unthinkable to secure his throne, Emperor Geta rules with ruthlessness and paranoia. Now, after escaping an assassination attempt, a badly injured Geta is saved by Daphne, a young widow, who takes him back to her remote village without knowing his true identity. As Daphne nurses the former emperor back to health, attraction blooms between them, and Geta discovers a soft side he didn't know he possessed. But can their love survive his thirst for revenge and his desire to reclaim power?

Chapter warnings: none

Chapter word count: 3.2k

Prologue + Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8

Chapter 9

The next morning, Daphne came back from her chores to find Romulus sitting at the table, all dressed up in his old cloak and belt, with his dagger in its sheath dangling from his belt. She looked at him askance, still stung from the previous night. It had started out so well—when she returned from the village, she could tell he'd been waiting for her, and she'd wanted to tease him a little, to see if he had truly missed her. Perhaps she'd gone too far. But then he had made her blood boil, and this time not in a good way. First, he'd had the audacity to order her about in the bedroom—though she didn't particularly object to the act he'd proposed, it was his tone that insulted her. And then, after she'd overlooked that first offense and stirred from her sleep to help him out of his nightmare, he'd kicked her out of the room. Her room! Ingrate fool! She could tolerate some male arrogance, but she had her limit.

"Going somewhere?" she asked coldly.

He avoided her eyes. "Yes. I think it's time I rejoin my legion." His voice was polite but flat.

Daphne's heart stumbled, as if his words had just grazed it like a knife. The day before, down in the village, she'd heard about a big battle going on in the Parthian city of Nisibis, not far from the border. Everybody had been talking about it, saying it would decide the war. She had sat with her mother and Mikkos, praying for Attikos and other men from the village, who were no doubt fighting in it at this very moment. Upon returning to the hut, it had been on the tip of her tongue to tell Romulus about the battle, but she'd stopped herself. She was afraid that if she'd told him, he would've left immediately to join his fellow soldiers. As angry as she was with him, she didn't want him to go. Not yet.

Had he heard something after all? But that was impossible. How could he have, stuck up here with no one for company except the goats? So why did he want to leave? Was it because of what had happened between them? Did he regret sleeping with her? Was he married after all and now regretting his infidelity? Or perhaps he simply didn't want to stay with a woman who had threatened to kill him. She hadn't really meant it, of course she hadn't. It was only because he'd made her so mad... Oh, why had she let her temper get the better of her?

She put the jug of fresh goat's milk down on the table and turned to the larder, bringing out bread and cheese and olive, moving slowly so she would have time to compose herself. "You wish to go to Edessa?" she said.

"Yes."

She didn't want to tell him that the army was no longer in Edessa. "But you're not—"

"I know I'm not well enough!" he snapped, reverting to his old irascible self. Then he took a breath, and continued in the same flat voice as before, like he was trying to distance himself from her. "You mentioned that there's a town a couple of days from here," he said, "where I can get passage to Edessa."

"You mean Adala?"

He nodded. "Adala, yes."

She finished setting out breakfast. "And when do you wish to leave?"

"As soon as I can. I'm well enough for a two days' walk, surely?"

"Yes." She found herself mimicking his tone and grimaced in annoyance.

He got to his feet. "Right. Prepare some food for me then." His old commanding voice was back, and she glared at him. He must have realized how he sounded, for he corrected himself, "I mean, if you could spare some food and point me in the right direction, I'll get out of your hair. I've imposed upon your hospitality for long enough." He'd never spoken to her so courteously, so coldly. She wished he would shout and whine and complain as he had before. It would be a hundred times preferable to this polite stranger.

But there was no point in clinging to him any longer. He was never going to stay. This was bound to happen sooner or later. It would be better if he left now, before she became too used to his presence.

She sighed, thinking of the long summer days ahead, when she would be alone again. Despite the heat, she would sit outside with Midas and the goats, just to feel the presence of some living things other than herself, or go into the garden and put her ears to the beehives, listening to their gentle buzzing, just to hear something other than her own thoughts rattling inside her head. She would miss him, miss this strange, infuriating man...

Then an idea occurred to her.

"Perhaps I should go with you," she said slowly. Her mind was telling her this was not a good idea. Better to cut off the wounded limb and make a clean break, than to draw out the agony. But her heart was saying otherwise. "I have to visit the apothecary in Adala anyway," she explained, "to trade for a few things and restock my shelves."

Romulus looked at her, considering the option. She thought she could see the conflict in her heart reflected in his face, as the desire to spend more time together waged war with the fear of a prolonged goodbye. "Very well," eventually he said, in that same stiffly polite tone. "I would welcome your company."

"Then give me some time to pack," she said, trying not to sound too excited. "And you don't want to travel under this sun. It's better if we leave in the evening. It will be cooler then, and you can stay hidden."

It was clear that he had not thought about the danger of being discovered. He nodded and took off his belt and his cloak.

For the rest of the day, Daphne busied herself going through the various jars and bottles and packets of herbs, taking stock of how much she had, what she could use to barter, what was running low. She had to admit that labeling the jars had been a big help. It helped, too, to have Romulus's assistance as he wrote down her inventory on the wax tablet. For a while, the easy companionship between them felt like the old days again, and Daphne managed not to think too much about the imminent departure. She also remembered to bring Amalthea and her kids to Ione, who was most eager to watch the animals while Daphne was away.

They descended the hill as a waxing moon rose over the rock cliffs. With Midas's bridle in her hand, Daphne led them around the village instead of through it. She knew that on a cool, moonlit night like this, the villagers would be out in droves, sitting on their doorsteps, the women weaving, the men fixing their tools, all sharing drinks and gossip, and this detour was the only way to avoid detection. Once out of the village, they followed the stream as it wound its way through the valley to meet the Balikh. The water was low and sluggish this time of year, but the soft murmur of the current was enough to mask the sound of their footsteps.

"You all right?" she asked Romulus, when they were deep in the valley. "Would you like to ride Midas? Or should we stop for a rest?" She had heard him wheezing behind her for a while, but didn't want to stop before they were far enough from the village.

"I'm fine" was all he said. She looked back at him. His face was gray in the pale light of the moon, his dark eyes were enormous, and he was breathing heavily.

"No, you're not fine," she said, putting Midas to a halt and moving some of the saddlebags of herbs aside. "Get on."

Romulus glanced at the donkey and made a face. "No."

Daphne sighed, exasperated. Such ridiculous creatures, men. "I'm sorry I don't have a war elephant for you," she said. "Get on. I'll not have you collapse on me again."

He looked at Midas once more, before apparently deciding that his comfort was worth more than his dignity, and climbed on the saddle. Daphne suppressed a triumphant grin as she took up the bridle and walked on.

They walked through the night, under the silver moon. After it set, they pushed on for a while longer, until the sky brightened into a pinkish gray and a strip of gold appeared on the eastern horizon. The sun rose rapidly, spreading light and heat across the valley. Eventually, when the heat became too much, Daphne drew them to a stop under a bank of willow trees by the stream and made camp. Romulus looked up and down the bank warily, but after she assured him that they would be perfectly safe, he sat down next to her, with his back against a willow. They ate some of the bread and cheese Daphne had brought along. Then, shielded from the hot sun by the sweeping willow branches above and cooled by the gentle flowing of the stream beside them, they slept.

The sun had dipped behind the hills again, but it was still light, by the time Daphne woke. Romulus was no longer lying near the willow tree across from her, and she bolted up, afraid that he might have slipped away while she slept. But no, he was still there, sitting a little further down the bank. He was trying to shave with his dagger and making a mess of it.

"Need a hand?" Daphne said.

He jumped. "Hades!" he cursed as the dagger clattered to the ground. "Are you trying to kill me?!"

"No, but you may cut your own throat if you try to shave with that meat cleaver." She pulled her own little knife from her belt and sharpened it with a stone from the riverbank, before handing it to him. "Here, try this."

He took the knife from her and tried again. One scrape, and he threw it to the ground as well. "I've never done this before," he said, sounding both frustrated and embarrassed. "There were always barbers..." He glanced at Daphne. "Can you do it?"

Daphne hesitated. "But I've never shaved anyone before," she said. "Well, I did, once. My husband. The morning he left to join the army." It had been the last time she saw him.

Romulus shrugged. "It's not hard. I'm sure you can do a better job than I."

"You trust me?"

She only meant to ask if he trusted her not to make a mess of his face, but a hesitant look came into his eyes, and Daphne remembered that she'd threatened to kill him just the night before. Of course he wouldn't trust her.

She handed him the knife. "It's best that you do it," she said.

The look in his eyes changed inscrutably as he looked from the knife to her and back again. Then, reaching out his hand, he pushed the knife back toward her and raised his chin expectantly.

Crouching down in front of Romulus, Daphne started to scrape the knife across his jaw. A small whimper escaped his throat. She jumped back, holding the knife aloft. "That hurt?"

"It's fine." He cleared his throat. "But usually the barber would put some kind of oil in my beard first, to soften it."

"Why didn't you say so?"

Daphne dug through her supplies and found a jar of almond oil, which she rubbed into his beard. The pulse just below his jaw beat wildly under her hand, and when she happened to lift her eyes to his face, the look he gave her made her own heart thump along with his. How she longed to kiss him there, on his jaw, to feel that pulse and his warm, smooth skin beneath her lips... But he would probably push her away again, and she was not willing to repeat that exercise in humiliation. She put the knife back to his beard. He was right. With the oil, the knife glided over the hair much more smoothly and easily.

"Is that better?" she asked. Romulus nodded once and sat still, as if afraid any movement would cause her hand to slip. "Relax," she said. "I won't nick you. I promise."

"I'd rather you promise not to gut me like a fish," he said.

She glared at him, but his tone was light, and something like a wry smile was lifting the corner of his mouth. She felt her cheeks grow hot. "Don't test me," she warned, trying to put on her sternest face.

His teasing smile grew, and for a moment he looked once more like the man who had taught her to read, the one who had helped her after her father's disastrous visit, the one who had held her hand when she told him about her husband. "I wouldn't dream of it," he said.

His breathing calmed after that, yet her own remained ragged as if she'd just made an uphill climb, and she couldn't help noticing the heat between them. She forced herself to concentrate. Scrape, scrape, scrape. The hair fell away under the blade, slowly. They were breathing the same air, their bodies feeling the same heat, separated only by two thin layers of linen. She wanted to hit him and then kiss him, and then hit him again, for making her feel this way. But she did nothing, only reminding herself that he would soon be gone. Scrape, scrape, scrape.

Once his jaw was clean, Daphne moved on to his mouth, trying not to notice the feel of his lips between her fingers. Then she leaned back to survey her handiwork.

"How do I look?" he asked.

"Very well."

In truth, her shaving was rough, and there were uneven patches here and there along his jaw where she hadn't gotten all the hair. But, freed from his scowl, and with his curls getting longer and falling over his forehead, the face that emerged from under the beard was sweeter, almost boyishly handsome. She cleaned the oil off with the end of her stole and flicked away the little hairs that stuck to his skin, her fingers lingering over his now-smooth cheeks. He tilted his head, pressing his face into her hand, his dark eyes gazing into hers. Daphne's heart jumped. She knew that look. He'd looked at her the same way the other night—had it only been two days ago?

It was on her lips to ask him to stay, to keep this touch, this fire between them just for a little while, just a little longer... Her thumb brushed across his mouth, and he jolted away as if her finger had been a poisoned arrow.

"We best get a move on," he said, getting to his feet.

The plea for him to stay died in her throat. With a sigh, she stood up as well and began packing their things.

They continued in silence, with only the moon as their constant companion. The next day, they left the valley and the stream behind as the path rose toward a plateau. The willows became shrubs, then the shrubs became tuffs of tired brown grass, before getting swallowed up altogether by the tired brown sand of the plateau. Adala lay on that plateau, a handful of mud-brick houses lining narrow, winding streets, all congregating around a small marketplace. Having neither pastures nor arable land, it made its living as a trading post, where merchant caravans stopped for a change of horses before heading to larger towns, and where farmers and shepherds from surrounding villages brought in their goods to barter and exchange. It was the one place Daphne had learned without her grandmother's guidance—the old woman had never left their village and had seen no need for it, but Daphne had understood early on that she could not make a living if she stayed in their village all her life. Besides, she liked the hustle and bustle of the town, though only in small doses.

They pushed on, not stopping to rest, and came into Adala in the early afternoon. Romulus had jumped off Midas's back as soon as the town came into view. Now he stalked next to her, his head low, the hood of his cloak pulled up to cover his face, and his hand gripping the dagger tightly.

"Stop worrying," Daphne said. "No harm will come to you here."

"You can't be sure of that," he mumbled, his eyes darting left and right. It wasn't a market day, so the town wasn't particularly busy, but that only made the two of them stand out more. Eyes were turning their way, with curiosity that would soon turn into suspicion, Daphne knew.

"If you're trying to appear suspicious and draw attention to yourself, then you're doing an excellent job," she said drily.

He straightened up and pushed the hood off, looking slightly abashed. After that, he walked more normally, though he still kept a hand on the hilt of the dagger.

They walked past the marketplace under the shadow of a temple of Zeus and turned into a side street. Unlike the rest of the sleepy town, it was crowded here, as the townspeople flocked to The Lynx's Head for their drinks, snacks, and daily gossip. Part tavern, part inn, part gambling den, it was the true center of Adala, much more than the marketplace and the temple ever were.

Daphne stopped a little further down the lane and nodded at the tavern. "There you are," she said. "Go inside and ask Eukleis at the bar if she knows of anyone going to Edessa. You'll get passage in no time."

Romulus glanced at the crowd gathering outside The Lynx's Head, looking uncertain, but said nothing. He still said nothing when Daphne handed him a little pack containing a change of clothes, a wineskin, some food, and a small vial of poppy juice, in case his wounds still bothered him.

"Well," she concluded. Her voice shook a little, and she cleared her throat, trying to sound cheerful. "I must hurry before the apothecary closes for the day. I guess this is goodbye."

Romulus opened his mouth, but no words came. He kept gazing at her, with a beseeching look in his eyes that she hadn't seen before. She waited. Ten, fifteen, twenty heartbeats passed. He still didn't say anything. His hand moved at his side, but he didn't reach out for her.

"May the gods watch over you on your journey," Daphne said. Then she pulled her stole over her head and led Midas away.

"Daphne?" Romulus called after her.

She spun back so quickly that she hated herself for it. "Yes?" she said, hope flickering painfully in her heart.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "And may the gods watch over you as well," he added, almost as an afterthought.

There was a pang in her chest that might have been heartache, or it might have been mere disappointment. She nodded at him and walked down the street without another look back.

Chapter 10

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