#faith that her vision will be carried out with or without her.

[stergeon]

at some point i will figure out how to write the post-canon, post-empire edelgard autonomy fic of my dreams. it just feels like a very big task and maybe like with playing the dane, i’m simply not old and traumatized enough to manage it yet.

but my vision is thus: it’s set years (realistically, decades) after the end of crimson flower, when everything has gone as right as it can possibly go. fódlan is thriving. the social reforms have taken effect. the nobility system is nearly eliminated, if not entirely so, with titles made merely symbolic. social mobility, welfare, and prosperity are high. there’s an explosion in arts and culture and technology. brigid and duscur have gained independence; relations with sreng and almyra are much improved; heck, maybe they've even figured it out with dagda. in my most idealistic version, leicester and faerghus would eventually be ceded back to become autonomous regions, essentially disbanding the adrestian empire. rule is no longer hereditary, but merit-based. there's a roadmap for the future, and everything is on track—and more than that, people at all points on the power spectrum have already seen it bear fruit. with or without edelgard, it will be pursued. there's buy-in. they believe.

of course, it's not perfect—nothing can be—but edelgard's vision has been fulfilled. the people are empowered. humanity is free. fódlan has healed.

and somehow, she's had enough time to resolve her goals outside of politics, too. those who slither in the dark have been eradicated. edelgard and lysithea's second crests have been successfully removed, allowing them to live if not full lives, then substantially longer ones than they would have with their twin crests intact. who knows—maybe she finally gets around to having that wedding.

point for point, every item listed in edelgard's manifesto has been checked off. the ghosts of her past have been laid to rest. she can finally take off her crown. she can finally pursue the quiet, humble life she's wanted for so long. she can finally breathe.

... but can she?

edelgard is nothing if not driven. her intelligence, vision, and sheer willpower allowed her to plan and execute a revolution against two countries and the most powerful institution on the continent, all while she was still a teenager. as royalty, her life was never truly hers even before she became heir to the adrestian throne, with all the additional baggage of survivor's guilt and the desire for vengeance and her need to ensure nothing that happened to her can ever happen to anyone else, ever again.

so what happens when that drive has no outlet? what happens when someone who has been constantly in motion, constantly working and planning and preparing every spare second of every day since she was fourteen years old, suddenly has to stand still? what happens when someone whose hands have been bound for so long—first literally in the dungeons of enbarr, then by the weight and responsibilities of her crown—is set free?

being edelgard, she would step away from the throne, no matter how hard it was for her to give up control. she's always been focused on the endgame, and she knows that if she doesn't let go, she'll be setting the wrong tone for fódlan's future. she's too devoted to that endgame to cling to power much longer than she needs to, though i could see her making some excuses and trying to iron out just a few more things to buy herself some more time to mentally prepare before she's done for good.

but who would she be then? who is the woman without the crown? what becomes of a machine once it is no longer needed, when it has made itself obsolete? what about when that machine is a person with legs and arms and an innate unwillingness to gather dust on a shelf?

what happens when you get everything you want? what happens when all your wanting has been for others to thrive, and now you have to want only for yourself? how do you discover who you are when you've spent decades being everything for everyone else? how do you find meaning again? how do you find purpose?

after a lifetime of devotion and passion and movement, how do you learn to sit with yourself, and be quiet, and be still?

gosh, i would love to meet her. i would love to pick her brain. but boy, i do not envy the work that girl has to do.

#sterge.rtf #fire emblem #fe3h #edelgard von hresvelg #realistically edelgard is not getting all of this done in her lifetime. but that wouldn't keep her from stepping away anyway #'cause a funny thing happened to edelgard during the crimson flower route: she learned to have faith again. #so even if she couldn't check every box and fix every societal ill she'd still be able to pass the crown to the next ruler. #maybe not without fear. but with confidence. with optimism. with the belief that she's leaving the world better than she found it. #she'd have faith in her people. faith in the future. faith in the groundwork she's laid. faith in the systems she's put in place. #faith that her vision will be carried out with or without her. #and that faith would allow her to eventually let go. #i so love edelgard pulling a george washington and saying nah i'm good on power. peace #though unfortunately i could also see her pulling a teddy roosevelt #and saying nah i'm good on power. peace. wait what are you doing. you're ruining it. you're bungling everything. i can't believe this #and making several (failed and increasingly insane) attempts to get back into politics #who is the taft to edelgard's ted tho. i don't want to do ferdinand the disservice of saying it's him even though i think it's very funny. #it's literally the opposite of his character as taft notoriously sniffed roosevelt's farts for a long time #until he finally pulled his head out of the guy's ass and realized there are other smells. such as the sewer. and garbage. #smells which he pursued quite happily much to ol ted's chagrin #meanwhile ferdinand does not think anything of edelgard's ass except that his is definitely better-looking than hers #(he's wrong on so many levels but you try telling the guy that) #in fact ferdinand has always taken great joy in pointing out all the things that smell better than edelgard does #which gives him an instant up on mr Take-Advice-From-Theodore #all this to say i think ferdinand von aegir would have been a much better president than william howard taft. that's just my opinion. #i'm getting off the rails in these tags idk what's wrong with me #sorry for equating your blorbos to long-dead american politicians everyone. i know this is a cardinal sin #also please don't take this to mean i think positively of washington or roosevelt or taft or whatever. #i hate all dead old white guys who ever held a modicum of power #i just had a hyperfixation on american presidents when i was in grade school and unfortunately now my brain works like this

[painted-bees]

August 12, 2008.

 Magritte had only ever heard good things about Vancouver's Granville Island and so, naturally, it was the first place she set out to find upon arriving in the city. The Greyhound station her bus pulled into had been only a short walk from the Skytrain that would carry her two minutes to Granville Station. And it was here that Magritte had the good sense to find a nice, unintrusive space to sit cross-legged and lay her old, faithful piano keyboard across her lap.

  The instrument, pulled out of its cozy bed from within her large duffel bag, was a well loved Yamaha PSS-270. Its dull, black, plastic body was covered in ancient, disintegrating stickers, and a generous amount of electrical tape served to hold its batteries in place.

  With an affectionate press of a button, she woke the machine up from its slumber, selected her choice presets and, with no specific setlist in mind, began to improvise a little tune. Something cute and fun, perhaps a little bit like Donkey Kong’s Stickerbrush Symphony in tempo and progression. Or just…”Stickerbrush Symphony”, wholesale, why the hell not? Improvisation melted seamlessly into the classic video game tunes that were fondly familiar to her.

The beloved instrument cradled in Magritte’s lap had been pulled apart and reassembled more times than she kept track of. But still, it held together and played its charming FM sounds dutifully. A tidy row of silver metal switches, lined up along the side of its body, were left carefully undisturbed as her fingers danced across the yellowed plastic keys. Magritte had learned very early in her busking career that the general public did not appreciate the unpredictable discordinance of a bent circuit as much as she did. And so that row of silver little switches connecting the data lines stood stoically in their ‘on’ position, not allowing for any delightful surprises, but also not deteriorating the synth-chip’s sound into glitchy noise on a bad turn. Perfectly vanilla, perfectly agreeable, endearingly nostalgic.

 She had placed an old ball cap upside down infront of her, tossing in a few quarters of her own as a way of inviting more from friendly pockets. Ideally, she’d play an hour or two and leave with enough change to buy a coffee. Not just a Tim’s coffee–no. She wanted a decadent foamy latte from a cute, artsy little cafe she could sit in. She couldn’t bear to walk through the streets of Granville Island without having the spare change to treat herself on an impulse. And so–she’d not leave the train station until the passing public funded her frivolous spending habits.

After all, it was her birthday. She deserved a little gift.

 Busking in a transit station was always a bit of a trade-off. It was a bustling place full of foot traffic but the people here were focused on reaching their destination; busy and preoccupied. In a place like this, Magritte had no expectation to captivate loiterers. Not many transit-goers could spare a minute or two to sit and listen while she hammered out her cheap little tunes on cheap little piano keys. And so, when a well worn pair of tan colored, loose-laced Timberlands entered her field of vision, stopping definitively to stand before her, Magritte turned her gaze upward to welcome the listener with a wide, sloppy smile.

 Without giving her brain time to register the face she was speaking to, Magritte opened her mouth to chime a cheery greeting. She was cut off faster than she could process his expression.

  “You’re in my spot.”

  The man’s voice was curt, and the cold annoyance in his tone was mirrored in the expression on his short, square face. Pale blue eyes looked down a sharp, slightly bent nose at her. His narrow lips were pressed narrower still in a stern line, framed by a full, sandy colored beard and moustache. Atop his head, long hair of the same light color was pulled back into a small, tight bun; more slick and tidy, but far less full than the sloppy bun that Magritte’s unruly mane of curly rust colored hair had been wrangled up into.

 Her dorky smirk dissolved with a few confused blinks into a slack jaw of nervous apology. “O-oh! I uh-s-sorry!” 

Her startled gaze snagged itself on the acoustic guitar slung over his shoulder, and the instrument’s exciting potential made her straighten her back with intent.

 She found her smile again. “What if–maybe we could jam? For a few minutes! And then I can scoot on outta here and leave you to it if you want. It’s been a long time since I’ve had the chance to–”

 “Do you have a permit?” His tone was unchanged by her eager proposition.

 “Huh?” It wasn’t that Magritte didn’t hear him, but she needed a moment to process what was being asked.

 “You can’t be here without a permit. Not the stations, not anywhere in Granville either.” The unaccommodating man took a few steps towards her duffel bag and used the top of his foot to lift and slide it away from where she had safely tucked it. “Get a move on.”

 Magritte protectively reached out to grab her bag as the man carelessly footed it out of ‘his’ space. And in doing so, she caused her keyboard to slide off her lap, forcing her to clumsily abort her duffel-grabbing effort in favor of clutching her instrument before it could somersault over the edge of her knees and land face-down onto hard ground.

 The man, it seemed, was done with words and had already begun moving into the small space that shoving her bag out of the way had created. She felt her face turn hot as she began to gather up her items. Any desire to engage the guy more than she already had was lost along with her nerve.

 As she relented to stowing her keyboard back into her duffel bag, an unfamiliar hand shoved a cold, unopened can of Coke in front of her face.

 “Here you go.” Another man’s voice. A softer one, this time. Magritte glanced up to meet eyes with the stranger who was offering her a free drink, only to gaze into a pair of red, plastic, star shaped dollar store sunglasses.

He gave the soda can a little shake, prompting her to take it into her hands. “Sorry I took long, I had to give someone directions to the aquarium.”

 “Is this…for me?” Holding the can in both hands, Magritte stared at the unopened beverage, unsure what to do with it.

 The new stranger leaned onto his back foot. “You said coke, right?”

 Before Magritte could stammer out a response, the new stranger turned his attention to the man with the guitar. “‘Ey, Kurtis. You mind, dude?”

 The unaccommodating man, ‘Kurtis’, had just started settling in, and looked towards the new stranger with an expression that appeared as perplexed as Magritte herself felt. He turned up both his palms in a slightly contentious gesture. “Didn’t know you were playin’ here again. I’ve had this spot for, like, a year. People don’t usually park here without asking me first.”

 “Okay, but you can’t just kick ‘em out like this, man.”

 “I didn’t know she was with you–”

“Doesn’t matter,” Magritte’s new best friend replied. “Sixty minutes. It’s not a long time to wait if you gotta wait.”

 Magritte, who had been watching Kurtis’ confidence slowly drain from his body with each passing second, turned to examine the cut of her spontaneous new accomplice. His hair was a shade or two darker than Kurtis’, and trimmed much, much shorter, with longer locks in front that fell in straight tufts over the tops of his ears and just past his thick, blocky eyebrows. His eyes remained obscured by the cheap plastic shades, and their childish novelty paired strangely with the well trimmed goatee that fanned out from under his lip to define the curve of his somewhat long but gentle chin. And he had with him a rectangular instrument case of…some variety. Not big enough for a guitar, not small enough for a flute. It didn’t give away the shape of the instrument inside, but the black oxford cloth and gold colored metallic detailings of its exterior gave it a classy, charming look she had not seen for an instrument case before. It was cute. Magritte wondered if such a style was available for portable keyboards.

 His hands, which wore white fingerless driving gloves, cracked open his can of sprite, and he took a casual sip while waiting for Kurtis to, “Get a move on.”

  Relenting, Kurtis shuffled away from the spot he had been deliberately crowding Magritte out of. With a snort and a nod of his head towards her, Kurtis said, “Can’t exactly play Paganini on a Portasound, Raf. What’s on your setlist?”

  Raf brandished a lopsided smirk and jutted his chin in the direction of Magritte’s upturned hat on the ground. “Put a toonie down and I’ll show you.”

  “Fuck off.” Kurtis’s scoff was accompanied by a laugh–one that sounded surprisingly genuine to Magritte's ear. “I came here to earn change, not spend it. But I’m curious to hear how the Ephrem Classical pairs with Toy Piano.”

 Raf let out a low groan that could have been mistaken for a growl. Moving into the corner that Kurtis had surrendered, he unslung his instrument off his shoulder with a shrug. “There’s plenty you can play on just forty-nine keys.”

 Being very confident about this fact, Magritte couldn’t help but provide her insight on the matter. With an enthusiastic lean-in, she interjected, “Yeah, like Kirby’s Dreamland!”

 Raf’s head flinched in her direction almost imperceptibly, and if she had caught the subtle downward twitch of his eyebrows that betrayed a pang of confusion, she might have felt a bite of embarrassment. But instead, she heard him agree. “Like…Kirby’s Dreamland, yeah.”

 He turned to look over his shoulder at her, his sunglasses mercifully hiding the bafflement in his eyes. Magritte beamed gleefully back up at him.

  “Well, have fun.” Kurtis levelled a stern yet somewhat pleading glance at Raf.” I’ll be back here in an hour. Don’t let anyone else move in if you leave early, please.”

 Raf simply shrugged and sipped loudly from his can of sprite in response.

  As Magritte watched Kurtis disappear into the foot traffic, she began to tentatively scoot back towards where she had previously sat. “I didn’t mind giving that guy his spot back, he was just kinda–”

 “A dick. Nah, I saw that. S’why I stepped in.” Raf had carefully set his instrument case down, and was in the process of zipping it open.

 Leaning slightly to get a peek at what he was playing, Magritte said, “Thanks for the pop, by the way! I can pay you back after. If uh–you’re actually gonna stick around and jam with me.”

 He pulled his instrument out of its protective cradle; a pale varnished wooden violin. “Don’t worry about it.”

Inside the carrying case, Magritte noticed two bows neatly stowed. The bowstrings on the bow Raf selected was a standard white color, but the strings on the one he left in the case were an eye-catching red.

“Truth be told,” tucking the chin rest of the violin beneath his chin, he played one string, and then two experimentally, “I don’t really play anymore.” His fingers closed around one of the tuning knobs at the head of the violin, but if he had tweaked it at all, it wasn't perceptible. “So it’s gonna be pretty rough. But uh…gotta commit to the bit, I guess.”

  Magritte took the moment to open her soda and enjoy a refreshing sip. “What kinda music do you normally play?” 

  “Classical,” he replied almost too quickly. “You?”

  Magritte hesitated for a second. She should have had an easy answer for this by now, but all she could manage was, “a bit of everything. Anything, really!”

  Raf ran his bow over the strings again to hear their tune before turning to look at her. “Yeah?” His eyebrows were raised, and his smirk favored one side of his face; an expression Magritte interpreted as incredulous. He fidgeted with a tiny, lone knob on the violin's body where the strings ended.

  “Y-yeah! I, um…” Settling her keyboard back into her lap, she turned it on. “You can just play whatever, and I can fill it in. I can improvise, I think.”

  Raf paused and stared down at Magritte’s little Portasound with a sigh much heavier than he intended. The thing was lacking, not just in keys, but in sound. It was a struggle to think of something he could play that she’d be able to accompany. The titles which did come to mind where…overplayed and would have to be simplified considerably to suit the keyboard's limitations. Weighing it in his mind, however, he decided that ‘simple’ may benefit not just the limited range of her instrument, but of her musical skill as well.

 He ran the bow over his strings to measure their tune one last time before tentatively, very slowly playing the first few crystalline notes of Für Elise. He felt a tension he didn’t know he was holding melt off his shoulders as he watched Magritte’s face light up. She curled over her little piano in a hurry to play his accompaniment. She knew this one.

  She picked a soft, more ambient sound from the keyboard’s voicebank, electing to quietly cushion the violin’s notes rather than chafe against them. It was…difficult. Her little yamaha and its quaint library of FM chip sounds did not get along nicely with ‘real instruments’ that were being played ‘straight’. It wanted to be weird and annoying, just like her. But the notes Raf played, while simple, were extremely clear in tone; neat and tidy. The bow did not once stutter on the rough strings, it glided with practised ease. And with a great deal of restraint.

  This guy…he was playing beneath his skill level. For her sake, presumably. Like a gentleman.

 As Raf brought Für Elise to a close with the last, steady draw of his bow, Magritte swapped her soft, ambient voicing out with an annoying music box sound, and began hammering out a choice section from the 3rd movement of Appassionata. Her fingers slammed the keys harder than was necessary, solely because she enjoyed the percussive sound it added to each obnoxious, feverish note. 

  Lowering his violin, Raf watched Magritte’s fingers flutter furiously across the mini keys with respectable precision. Holding both the bow and the neck of his violin in one hand, his free hand reached up to remove his sunglasses and he rubbed his eye with the heel of his palm. A humbled snort escaped through his nose. “Yeah, okay.”

  “Play any song.” Magritte slowed her fingers to a stop without completing the movement. “Even if I don’t know it, even if it goes beyond the range of my little piano, I can improvise something nice for it, I promise!”

  Fitting his sunglasses back on, Raf let out a tentative hum. “I’m not much of an improviser–”

  “You don’t have to improvise anything! Play whatever you want, however you wanna play it. I will improvise around whatever you give me!” Magritte’s voice had risen to an excited shout, and instinctively, she withdrew into herself just a little bit, as if making herself smaller would also make her voice smaller, too. “It’s my favorite thing to do. It’s a lot of fun.”

  His incredulous smirk returned, but this time his brow furrowed slightly, encouragingly, under his growing sense of intrigue.

  “It’s–” Magritte held up both hands haltingly, “it’s probably not gonna be like how you know it should be. Just…so you know. It might even be…bad? In some parts? But-! Mostly it’ll be neat! I promise!”

  “Neat…” Raf brought the violin up once again to rest under his chin. “Neat’s cool. Alright, let’s see, then.”

  As though he had been inspired by Magritte’s aggressive interpretation of Appassionata, he began with a series of fast, chirpy, clean notes of his own. A wholly different song, but Magritte recognized this one too. She had most often heard it as a phone ringtone, but she couldn’t recall who composed it nor what the song was titled. She provided a jaunty, equally bouncy accompaniment that she’d have described as ‘percussive’. The violin’s unwavering confidence was a delight for Magritte’s deft little fingers to dance around. He never fell out of tempo, and she was able to punctuate his notes with hers in perfect time. Maintaining synchrony for the entire length of the fast paced composition filled her with such satisfying joy, she had failed to properly appreciate an obvious fact about her musical accomplice until he brought the song to a close; he was a skilled musician.

  Staring up at him from her spot on the floor, Magritte’s wide eyes almost sparkled with delight. “You’re like…Concert hall good, aren’t you? Are you part of the local orchestra? Or at least like–aspiring to be?”

  Raf’s gaze hung on her as both his jaw and posture slackened. “Uh…” 

  She didn’t give him enough time to respond, hitting him with another question. “What was the title of that song? I just know it as one of the Nokia ringtones.”

 “P–” Raf’s stunned silence cracked with a laugh that sprang forth from his chest and took him by surprise almost as much as Magritte’s line of questioning had. “Paganini. It’s–it’s Paganini, Caprice number…number 24.” The response was punctuated with warm chuckling. “Or, you know, that one phone ringtone, yeah.” He smirked at her for a moment longer, studying her for any sign that she was putting him on. “How do you…accompany me that well, on that little machine, and not even know the song?”

 Magritte waved her hands in front of her. “No, no, I knew the song! I’ve heard it before, I just didn’t know what it was called.”

 “Yeah, alright.” He snorted one last incredulous laugh and brought his violin back up for another song.

 Magritte stopped him before he could settle on his next pick. “Do you play professionally? I mean, it sounds like it but, like–”

  “No.” Before Magritte could inquire further, the first notes of their next song filled the space between them, drawn out of his violin with long, purposeful strokes of his bow.

  The next several songs, Raf played seamlessly one into the other–without pausing for conversation. That was just as well for Magritte. It had been ages since she was given the chance to play music with someone, and never had she played with someone who was so…solid? Consistent? The real deal. Usually, she had to avoid getting carried away when playing with another person. It was very easy for her to close her eyes and get taken to places that her musical partners could not follow along with. But with Raf, she was finding herself challenged to keep up with him. Most of the songs he had chosen, she had not heard before. And so she needed to keep an attentive ear out if she wanted to pick out repeated phrases, and predict melodic trajectories.

  Finally, they arrived at the end of an especially eclectic piece, and Raf did not immediately follow through into another composition. Instead he lowered his bow, and Magritte took her opening to converse again.

  “I really liked that one. It was super janky, in a fun way.”

  “Yeah,” Raf said. “I was always fond of it, too.”

  “I liked the plucky bits. Did you write it?”

 “Did I–” Raf palmed both his bow and violin in one hand, and massaged his eyes and browline with the other. “No, some guy named Ravel did. Tzigane, that one’s called.”

  Magritte chewed the inside of her cheek. “R-right.”

  He furrowed his eyebrows at her. “You knew that one, though.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “...You just let me solo the first four minutes based on vibes?”

  “I thought I missed the bus on it.”

  “The actual composition has no accompaniment until about half way through, so…bravo.”

  “Wait, really?” Magritte leaned forward eagerly. “Did I play the accompaniment correctly, too?”

  “Not even close.”

  “Drat.” She slumped.

  “Was good, though.” Raf picked up his sprite from where he had placed it, on the ground next to his case, and drained the last bit of its contents.

  Magritte perked up again. “Yeah!?”

  He held the lip of the empty can between his teeth as he began tucking his violin back into its carrying case. “Mmhm.”   

  Magritte watched him pack up for a moment longer than it should have taken her to realise, “Wait, you’re leaving already?”

  Raf zipped his instrument safely away before removing the empty soda can from his mouth. “Yeah, I gotta get going. But look,” He bent over to collect Magritte’s upturned ball cap off the ground. The few quarters she had started with now had a generous handful of friends with them; more quarters, some loonies, a few toonies and–

 Magritte accepted the hat when Raf handed it to her, and pulled a crisp twenty dollar bill out of it. “W-who left this!? I wasn’t even paying attention, I should have said thanks!”

  “A mystery.” He slung his violin case over his shoulder.

  Magritte urged him to wait, fluttering a hand at him. “Half of this is yours!”

  “Nah.” He favored her with a smile. “Genuinely, this was a treat in itself. It’s been a long time since I’ve played for fun like this. It…was fun.” That last part sounded as though it came as a surprise to him.

  Frowning, Magritte pleaded with him. “Okay, okay but–okay. Lemme treat you to a coffee then, at least? If you’re in no real hurry.”

  Raf paused to regard her with a measuring stare. He then sighed and shoved his hands into the pockets of his black denim hoodie jacket, waiting for Magritte to stow her keyboard away into her bag.

  Zipping the duffel closed, she hoisted it with effort over her shoulder and beamed up at her new friendly acquaintance. “If you know any cute, cozy coffee places with a real decadent latte, I’m open to suggestions!”

  “There are…a few.” 

  “I’m Magritte, by the way!” She extended her hand out to him.

  With slight hesitation, Raf shook it. “Rafael.”

  As the two of them began to make their way out of the station together, he dared to ask, “Are you here visiting, or..?”

  “Oh!” She bounced on the balls of her feet, “I just came in from Calgary like…two hours ago. Ideally, I’d like to stay until the spring, but that’s gonna depend on things.”

  “Calgary?”

  “Yeah! I was in Edmonton before that, and in Winnipeg before that–but that was mostly a fever dream. I wasn’t there long. Montreal before that, though, was nice..!” She talked the entire walk, and he was content to quietly listen. part ii

#meet cute? #meet cute. #unedited...sorry about that lmao #Hi-Note #rafael #magritte

[distortionbobble]

Royal Flowers Chapter 7

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series masterlist

pairing: anakin skywalker x fem!reader (poc friendly/coded)

series summary: A long, long, time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, a certain Jedi by the name of Anakin Skywalker meets you, the current Queen of Naboo and cousin of Padme Amidala, and is tasked with protecting you by pretending to marry you. As a spy, you’ve infiltrated the Separatist ranks and are close to finding out the mastermind behind all of it. The fate of the galaxy is in your hands.

warnings: minors dni! ageless blogs dni! canon-level violence/character death this chapter. series will have eventual smut, and just general warnings.

a/n: i am . baaaaack baby! hope y'all enjoy the chapterio. beta read by the very sweet @sythethecarrot . appreciate her so so much and alll of you for reading and giving this story your time :')

“Are you sure that we need Obi-Wan here, milady?” Anakin asks you, blowing on his clasped fists nervously as you wait for Obi-Wan to reach your chambers. He had sent a message an hour ago, letting you and Anakin know that he had landed in the forests of Naboo and would be reaching the palace soon. “What if it puts him in danger?” 

“I understand your concern, Anakin, but we’re in over our heads now,” You hum, looking over the room once more to make sure things are in place. You realize it’s out of nervousness, and wanting to earn the Jedi Master’s respect, and quickly look back at Anakin. “But yes, we need him here, even if it’s just temporary. You’re not as skilled as he is, according to you, with the skill of mind-control, and we can’t risk the Separatists slipping out of your influence and realizing that the Queen’s husband was trying to figure out their plans. Obi-Wan, on the other hand, is unlinked to the palace, and his involvement would not directly jeopardize us. As for him being in danger… I have faith in Master Kenobi’s abilities, and I’m sure that his involvement will be brief, despite the necessity of it.” Anakin nods, grabbing his lightsaber from the depths of his pockets and flipping it in the air anxiously. He nearly drops it when Obi-Wan jumps cleanly onto the balcony, moving quickly to get through the open doors without being seen. 

Hello there,” General Kenobi says. His voice immediately lifts a weight off of your shoulders. You knew as soon as you decided to take active action against the separatist while also uncovering their leader, you’d need more help. General Kenobi was the most adept in mind influencing. That, you could use. You couldn’t have done these last few months without Anakin, but it was time to move. And fast. 

“Master,” Anakin says, striding to Obi-Wan and enveloping him in a tight hug. He hadn’t realized the importance of Obi-Wan in his life— the younger Jedi Knight’s torturous visions, nightmares of the people he loved dying as he watched helplessly, had stopped when he left, but the certainty of Obi-Wan’s guidance had disappeared with it. And when he was dealing with you and the nuance that your task called for, it certainly wasn’t easy to carry on without Obi-Wan and his gentle guidance.

Not that he listened to Obi-Wan all that much, but it wasn’t about that. He lets go of Obi-Wan reluctantly, knowing that their bond is deeper than words could convey. 

“Master Kenobi,” you bow respectfully while Anakin quickly checks the noise dampener. “It’s an honor to have your assistance.” 

“It’s an honor to be called. Will you walk me through the plan, milady?” He asks, settling criss-cross on the marble flooring of the room. You sit across from him, and Anakin joins your side instinctually before the puzzled look from Obi-Wan has him shuffling further from you until the three of you form a triangle. 

“I was so caught up with the overarching goal that I lost track of the present. While it’s true that I absolutely cannot jeopardize my own mission, I cannot sit back and lose more of my people.” Obi-Wan nods in understanding, tracing circles on his knee as you confess your guilt. 

“So you need to know more than what they tell you, and be able to have one of your Ministers know how to countermove without it coming from you,” Obi-Wan confirms. 

“Exactly. It shouldn’t be too hard to get that information but I’ll need to know who it is I can trust. I don’t know exactly the scope of your abilities, would you be able to help me figure out which ones I can trust?” At your request, Anakin clicks his tongue, nodding at your request. 

“Well, we can’t read minds. What we could do is something along the lines of figuring out what emotions they’re feeling when they talk to you?” Anakin suggests, garnering Obi-Wan’s approving nod. 

“And as for getting the information…” you trail off, unsure of what to do now that you knew the Jedi couldn’t read minds. 

“Well, there’s a few things we could do,” Obi-Wan processes aloud, something formulating in his head as he considers the options. “What do you know about the leaders of the Naboo Separatist chapter?” He asks. You snort. 

“I’ve met their leader, but he’s a total dunce. I truly believe that they chose him because he’s easy to manipulate,” You say. At your words, Anakin lights up, nonverbal communication flowing between him and Obi-Wan. It’s kind of cute, seeing him more in his element. You like the side of Anakin that Obi-Wan brings out. It’s like the older Jedi pushes Anakin to be better— to think things out, to be rational. Something along those lines. But the shift is obvious. 

“Easy to manipulate, you say?” Anakin says, an excited look on his face.

“If that’s the case, then there certainly is something we can do,” Obi-Wan says cautiously. “Is there any way I can see the leader in person?”

“I know where he lives,” you say, looking up at the ceiling to avoid making eye contact as you cringe at the thought of him. 

“Why do you know where he lives?” Anakin asks suspiciously. 

“Because he was once my boyfriend,” You sigh. 

~~~

“Baby,” a sleazy voice calls out from the table you just crossed. Arus Dryskan sits in the booth of the low-lit pub, sketchy characters flitting behind you in the shadows. When your eyes meet his, you’re reminded of all those nights you spent with him, tangled up in the sheets. You’re reminded of the good and the bad: the way he’d toy with your emotions and blame you when other men would flirt with you, all the shouting matches, the control that he tried to impose on you. Part of you is affronted by the fact that he’d even dare to call you baby after putting you through all that. But you set it aside, reminding yourself that you’re in control here. He has no power over you. 

You relax your shoulders and tell yourself that Anakin’s here, that you will be fine, forcing yourself to inhale and relax as you slide into the vinyl seating. Arus’ arm is thrown carelessly on the back of the seating, a cigarette hanging from his mouth as he eyes you up and down. 

“It’s been a while, Arus,” You say, reigning in your repulsion and leaning in to gaze into his eyes seductively, batting your lashes and eyeing him up and down. That should work, right? Even when you were together, it was never about the two of you— it was about Arus, about making him feel desired. You never were the most affectionate with him (largely in part because he’s fucking irritating) but you need him to think that you want him. It’s funny, there was a time when you found him quite attractive, but now, the only thing you can focus on is how revolting he is. He rakes one hand through his greasy hair, flashing you that grin that used to work so well on you. 

“You’ve done pretty well for yourself, huh, milady? Queen of fuckin’ Naboo,” he says, leaning in to whisper in your ear. The heat of his body feels suffocating next to you, and the mere thought of his touch makes you dig your nails into your palms, trying desperately to regulate yourself before your fear gives you away. “It’s funny that none of these suckers know you’re one of us.” His eyes are conspiratorial, which you can work to your favor. You smile slyly, allowing your fingers to dance on the tabletops as you slide in closer to him. 

“Nobody knows I’m here,” you laugh, “Not even my dunce of a husband.” At your words, Arus raises his brows, a big smile spreading across his face. Sorry, Anakin. “I’ve missed you,” you whisper in his ear. Your tone wavers between the truth of your desperation and the practiced smoothness that you used so often when you were with him. Your hand finds its way to his shoulders, resting there as you wait for him to give you some sort of sign. 

“What about your dunce of a husband?” He asks you playfully, leaning back. 

“You think that nerf-herder could satisfy me the way you do? I played around with him for a while, yes, but he was so boring. Not to mention how much…bigger you are. ” You allow your hand to drift downwards, teasing him through the material of his shirt. He may be a sleemo, but you’d be lying if you said he wasn’t built. 

You almost want to roll your eyes when his hand shoots out to grab your waist, pressing you even closer to him as your hand travels from his pecs to his abs. Was he always such a simpleton? A pretty girl bats her eyelashes at him and he goes absolutely dumb. Or stays dumb. He’s not very smart. 

“Do you wanna… get out of here?” you ask, your voice a low, seductive hum in his ear. You can practically hear the blood roaring in your ear, the feel of your heart thumping traitorously in your chest and you can only pray that he can’t feel it. Take the bait. Let’s go. 

You have to hold back an audible sigh of relief when you hear the clink of his speeder keys as he grabs them, and you, and pulls you out of the bar. You know Anakin’s following closely behind you — Obi-Wan’s already at his house, you just need to make sure that he gets there. If anyone asked at the pub, anyways, they would’ve just seen one of Arus’ usual nightly conquests. 

You keep touching his arm as you sit in the speeder and on the way to his house; you need him to be distracted so that he can’t see Anakin following behind you both. The ride there is short but he’s so revolting it feels like a lifetime— he’s telling you about how he blew up a village the other day and found it so funny. You have to force your laughter, but you really just want him away from you. You’re disgusted— the fact that you had ever touched him, had ever been so oblivious to all of him. Back then, he wasn’t so evil— or maybe he was, and he just hadn’t had the chance to show it yet. 

In the rearview mirror, you see Anakin cut into the side streets, a shortcut to his place that would work just fine. Arus is too busy talking about himself to notice, as per usual. 

“Let me open the door for you, princess,” he says when you pull up to his house. The second he’s unbuckled and standing outside of your door, there’s a soft thunk before he slides on to the speeder, practically falling in your lap as Anakin looks down at him with a glower. 

“Thanks, Anakin,” You say, opening the door and throwing Arus out. 

“Was it really necessary to be all handsy with him?” Anakin grumbles. 

“How else do you think I’d be able to get him here?” You ask, puzzled. 

“Still,” Anakin frowns. Is he jealous? 

“Oh, don’t worry, my darling husband, you’re still the only man for me,” you confess dramatically, throwing yourself into his arms and snickering when he pushes you off with a scowl. “Moody,” you tease, helping him hoist up Arus and carrying his body through his door. 

“Took you both long enough,” Obi-Wan says from inside the house. Once inside, Anakin doesn’t bother carrying him, instead just lifting him with the Force into the little chair and flicking his finger so that ropes bind him tightly. 

“Normally, I wouldn’t approve of you using the Force for such a trivial thing, but the Queen looks rather tired from holding him up,” Obi-Wan quips. 

“He’s quite heavy, you know,” you chime, sitting down on the ground. 

“I think it’s best that you and Anakin wait in the speeder outside,” Obi-Wan says. “It would be bad if he wasn’t influenceable and saw you here with me.” You and Anakin shuffle outside at his order, sitting in Anakin’s speeder as you wait for Obi-Wan to do his thing.

“So… is that your type?” Anakin asks, looking out the speeder, past the dim streetlights to the clear Naboo night sky. 

“What?” 

“Guys like him.” You look over at Anakin— at his lean structure, deceptively strong and muscular under his robes— and shake your head. 

“No. Not anymore, at least. I really only chose him because I wanted to do something for once in my life that wasn’t the order of someone else. I learned pretty quickly that that wasn’t the right idea. He was controlling, obsessive, and just downright mean sometimes.” 

“So what is your type?” 

“Why do you wanna know so bad?” You ask curiously, propping your feet up on the dash as you study Anakin’s face. 

“Well, we’ve got time to kill,” Anakin says, fiddling with the keys to the speeder as he avoids eye contact. He does that when he’s nervous. Why is he nervous? This whole interaction is completely puzzling to you, but you think there’s a way that you can mess with Anakin’s head the way he’s messing with yours. 

“Hmm… My type is tall, melodramatic Jedi who go by the name of Anakin Skywalker and are secretly, hopelessly, in love with me,” you tease, leaning over to his seat to pretend to kiss his cheek. He pushes you away with a scowl, glaring at you when you start laughing at his anger. 

“Not funny, milady,” Anakin huffs, crossing his arms.

“I thought it was funny,” You grin, pretending to cross your arms and puffing out a breath in mock irritation. 

“Stop that.”

“No. Not unless you stop being a child.” 

“Why can’t you just answer me honestly?” Anakin asks, a note of seriousness in his voice.

“Anakin…” You sigh, thinking that you have an idea as to what’s going on. Your eyes dart quickly to make sure Obi-Wan’s still inside, then you reach over and put your hand atop his. “If this is about Padme—” 

“It’s not,” Anakin grumbles, but you pay him no heed.

“Since this is about Padme leaving you, because I really don’t believe you, will you let me just say one thing? I’m sure she had her reasons. Padme never does anything that she knows would hurt other people unless she thinks it’s totally necessary.”

“I know that,” Anakin says quietly to himself, the metal paneling of his arm rippling as he flexes and looks at you. In his eyes there’s a softness you don’t find very often, one that’s inviting, that makes you want to pretend for maybe a second that this marriage was real. 

“You’re perfect, Anakin,” you reassure him, lost in the depths of his eyes. Why is it that you can feel every breath of his as if it’s your own? As though his heartbeat itself matches your own, in total synchrony with every part of you. 

“And so are you,” he whispers. You can hear his breath hitch in his throat as he looks at you and you wonder, just for a second, if there’s actually something between the two of you. You can’t be imagining all of this. But it’s over as soon as it started, Obi Wan’s voice snapping the both of you to attention. 

“Milady, you’re going to want to hear this,” Obi-Wan says grimly, the slightest of tremors in his hand as he rakes through his long strands. You don’t know him well enough to say, but the way that Anakin perks up at Obi-Wan’s tone tells you that there’s something big. “The Separatists, they’re not just planning on launching military attacks, they’re planning on attacking the food sources; slaughtering and burning the Shaaks, poisoning the water sources. They’ll have a series of attacks and bomb blasts set up to distract the Naboo Military. They’ll stop at nothing.” 

“Okay. Okay,” You whisper, brought back to reality. Your fantasies of Anakin in some role that he would never play are blinked away as terror seeps in, tinges your view of the future. “We’ll need to ramp up imports of food, and be prepared to maintain a completely safe distribution of food. I’ll leave it under the charge of someone not at the Capital, as I don’t want the spies interfering with our stores of food. As for the water,” You sigh, your mind turning furiously as you think. It’s all coming to a dead end. 

“We can’t let it become like Tatooine, where they have to moisture-farm just to get water,” Anakin interjects coldly. You look over at him to see that distant look in his eyes and you know he’s somewhere else, somewhere horrible. You reach out tentatively to bring him back to you. 

“The water will come later, after the food,” Obi-Wan adds quietly. “Dryskan told me when they’d do it all.” 

“Is there a possibility that he could have fooled us, at all?” You ask fearfully, hands shaking as you think of more blood under your rule, more blood on your hands. You can’t take it anymore. You can’t let what happened, happen again. Anakin seems to read your mind when he places a heavy hand on your shoulder, nodding silently when you turn your head to look at him. He knows what you’re thinking. 

“It can’t hurt to prepare, milady,” Obi-Wan responds. “But not a soul can know of your knowledge of it. They could strike sooner, leaving you no time to prepare.” 

“Get enough food to account for a famine without anyone realizing, get the people in danger out before they can be slaughtered, too, and fend against the increasing Separatist attacks. Sounds like it’ll go without a hitch,” You remark dryly, leaning your head back to close your eyes. “There must be something big. It has to be big, if they’re going this drastic. They’re trying to make Naboo an example, once and for all, and that means that there has to be something big coming our way.” The three of you sit in somber silence, hearts in your gut as worry tenses your muscles. 

“There’s a list of military attacks as well,” Obi-Wan says, breaking the silence. You reach for a slip of paper hidden within the sleeves of your robe

“We can’t write them down. A paper trail could be fatal,” Anakin interjects, placing a hand on your forearm. “I’ll remember them.” 

“You’ll have to act fast,” Obi-Wan responds. “Their next attack is in two days’ time.”

“That’s not enough time to plan a full-scale defense, let alone having to do it all without the Separatists knowing,” you sigh, frustrated. 

“We’ll have to evacuate the civilians, then. And quickly. Let the Separatists attack a deserted town,” Anakin suggests. He’s tired of the bloodshed, and you can’t blame him. You imagine that the blood spilled by the Jedi didn’t often involve the blood of the innocents. 

“If we go now, we could encourage them to evacuate with enough time,” you respond. It doesn’t take much convincing after that, the three of you shrouded by the night as you drive on in tense silence.

~~~

It’s nearly dawn by the time you arrive at the small town. There’s a feeling lingering in the back of your mind, some anxiety that you can’t give shape to with words. But you’ll be fine, you’re certain; if they find out that you and Anakin are missing, you’ll just lie. An early-morning stroll would fit you and Anakin’s dynamic rather well. 

Some of the town’s workforce is up, walking in the dusty roads, illuminated gray by the early morning light. They look at you without suspicion, just a curious indifference. You stop the speeder, donning your palace robes and get out. 

“Good people,” you say, your voice unwavering. You need them to believe you, like how they would if it was Padme telling them instead of you. “I come under the order of the palace. The Queen has knowledge of a Separatist plan that puts you all in grave danger. I’ve been sent here to aid you in evacuating; you are instructed to bring what is most important to you, and the palace will compensate and aid in rebuilding efforts should the town face damages.” You hide your nervousness— you can’t help it if they don’t believe you, but you also can’t tolerate another slaughter. Their faces show no signs of doubt, however; the mere mention of the Separatist forces are enough for most of the galaxy to tremble in fear. The chatter of conversation in response to your warning is slow but steady in its growth; the murmurs of people wondering what to bring, fear of the Separatists borne out of the knowledge of their crimes, and finally the concern for their wages. 

“S’cuse me, ma’am,” one man says, stepping forward. You feel Anakin step forward in response reflexively, moving to guard you from any threat and for some reason, it brings a flutter to your stomach. “How can we trust that what you’re saying is true?”

“You can’t,” you say, a bitter smile pulling at your lips. “But the risk of not trusting me will lead only to death.” 

~~~

“Six months is not enough to hide your thoughts from me, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says to Anakin as they usher the last of the town residents to the speeders, leaving them with the instructions on how to get to the determined shelter. 

“I don’t know what you mean, Master,” Anakin mumbles, helping a child up into a speeder as he avoids Obi-Wan’s eyes. 

“Anakin…” Obi-Wan sighs. “I am glad you have recovered from your heartbreak with Padme. Don’t deny it, young Skywalker, I have eyes and you’re about as subtle as a bantha with a trombone. And of course, with the current Queen, closeness is only natural. You spend every waking moment with her. But can you trust her?” 

“….I don’t need to trust her,” Anakin grumbles, pulling on a loose thread on his shirt. 

“But you do. I see it in the way you look at her, Anakin; it’s more than a mission. And when this is over, will you truly be able to let her go entirely?” Obi-Wan refutes. Anakin can’t answer his pointed question— he doesn’t know how to, because the thought of letting you go feels entirely foreign to him now. At his silence, Obi-Wan sighs, moving to stand next to him as they look at the open, deserted town. 

“I know what the Jedi Code says about attachments, Master. But this… it feels different. I do not covet her, I do not wish to own her; no, it’s that she shows me those parts of me which I hide. She is similar to me, and forces me to be better. I cannot call it love, nor can I say that I can trust her thoughtlessly, but perhaps it is the Force that brought me to her.” Obi-Wan hums, lost in his own thoughts as he internalizes what Anakin said. Anakin wonders briefly how well it is that Obi-Wan understands his words— after all, only a fool would have missed the dynamic between him and Duchess Satine. But part of him knows that it wasn’t entirely truthful— was it not jealousy that drove him to ask you about Arus? Was it not jealousy that he felt when you mentioned having been with another man? Hadn’t he wanted to rip Arus to shreds the second he saw him touching you? Anakin pushes his feelings down, ignoring the churning in his stomach in the hopes that it’ll go unnoticed by Obi-Wan. 

Obi-Wan, after a sizable pause, sighs heavily and nods. “Where is the Queen? You should go find her,” he says to Anakin tiredly. For a second, Anakin feels a twinge of guilt— he doesn’t mean to make Obi-Wan feel as though this is a lesson that he must parrot again and again, but it’s not like that with you. He’s not like that with you. But he swallows it, and goes off in search of you. 

The sun is bright and beating down on him overhead. It’s been hours since you first began evacuating every soul in the town, instructing them and helping them pack. You’re good and it couldn’t be clearer to him. And if you’re good, he’s good. Maybe that’s why he feels more self assured around you— you and him have so many similarities but you seem to live your life without that internal turmoil that Anakin knew for the past few years a little too well. 

As he walks the dusty streets he can hear the telltale sounds of a struggle, the sharp cry of pain which quickens his feet and takes him to the sight of you. He watches, almost frozen in his feet, as you deliver a sharp punch to Reyna’s throat, winding her before you sweep her to the ground in a move that he knows he taught you. A sense of pride fills him before it is overcome with horror— your hands, tangled in Reyna’s hair, slam her skull on the dry, dusty ground over and over again, until her body goes limp. You grab a nearby rock and drive the jagged edge into Reyna’s forehead, a splash of crimson spraying across your face as you look up to meet Anakin’s eyes. 

The look lighting up your eyes brings a sense of familiarity within Anakin, that bloodlust that had clouded his judgment all those months ago when he killed the Sand People. Nausea chokes his throat as he remembers that day, sees you mirror what he must have looked like. And through the fog of his revulsion and fear and regret, he realizes that no one can know what happened. 

“She saw us evacuating the people from the town, she knew we knew, she was gonna expose us,” You babble, still frozen on top of Reyna’s body. “She never trusted me, she never trusted us, she was going to— we would be dead if I hadn’t done it, she wanted us dead,” You plead, trying to rationalize and explain it all to Anakin. You don’t realize that he understands you perfectly.  

“Come on, come on,” he ushers you, getting you away from the body as you begin to shake. 

“What did I do, Anakin?” You whisper, trembling hands reaching to the ground as you try to sink away from his grasp. 

“No. Look at me. My queen, look at me,” he urges, wishing so desperately that he could take away the horrified look in your eyes. “You didn’t do anything. You haven’t seen her since you were in the palace, after which you and I went on a romantic stroll. How did she find you?” He asks, hands resting on your temples as he tries desperately to bring down your panic.  A little feeling of guilt burrows itself within him as he realizes he had never felt this guilty about the people he had killed. Maybe he should have, and that makes him feel worse. 

“She— I forgot to take off all my jewelry, and there was a tracker in one of my bracelets,” you whisper, going to rip off the bracelets. “She woke up this morning and we weren’t at the palace, so she checked the tracker and found us here. She didn’t tell anyone, or she would have brought someone else with her.” Anakin nods, stroking your temples with his thumbs. You close your eyes, murmuring his name in a desperate sob, with a sacredness to his name that he’s never truly heard before. 

Anakin hoists you away from Reyna’s still-warm body, the heat flowing out of her like rivers that seek you out, staining your hands with more blood. He doesn’t want you to deal with this, but fate has left the two of you with no choice. He can’t use the Force— Obi-Wan’s natural distrust of politicians, spies, whatever category you fit into would only make his opinion of you suffer. He’d be able to sense it instantly. And for some reason, Anakin wants him to approve of you. Desperately so, in fact. So he grabs some tools from the front of a nearby home, using some sort of shovel to dig into the dry dirt of the road. Each thud of the shovel radiates pain up his arm and the metal of his hand creaks and complains, but he hardly notices for the fact that the only thing you’ve been able to say is his name, over and over again. You’ve turned him into your anchor, and he can feel it, the vulnerability, the pain, the fear that you’ve become something that can’t be reversed. It’s the same fear that he feels so often, the same fear that he felt after killing the Sand People. And it’s then that Anakin realizes, startlingly, that he’d do anything for you. 

Anything.  

#royal flowers series #distortionbobble's fics #my writing #fic #anakin skywalker series #star wars series #star wars fanfic #star wars #anakin skywalker fanfic #anakin x reader #anakin x fem!reader #anakin x f!reader #anakin x you #anakin skywalker x reader #x reader star wars fanfic #anakin skywalker x fem!poc!reader

[hitomisuzuya]

Been working on this animation for a while and it's taking a lot outta me 😭

Taking a break now but was wondering if I could get a Nun!Reader x Venti/Barbatos where the reader grew up being a nun so she never been in a relationship or had any physical contact so of course she's very deprived and well horny-

So while sinfully touching herself(let's say the church has specific rooms for the nuns who live there) and calling out his name in sin Barbatos appears to grant her her wish, her prayer of feeling him fill her up-

I'm too down bad for this man😭

If you can could you incorporate these kinks?

God complex, Corruption kink and breeding kink? 🥺

-With love, Ventis Windblume🌸🍎💚

Venti x Nun!fem!reader. Smut. Yandere!Venti Corruption kink. Breeding kink. God complex.

a/n: When I saw this, I thought: Oh this perfect cause now I can write Yandere!Venti like I said I would. I hope you enjoy. First time writing smut with Venti😭 I hope I don't disappoint. Don't work too hard, okay!!

You were lost in your own little world, gripping the sheets in your room, rubbing your clit and fingering yourself desperately. You were a Nun. And it was generally frowned upon for a Nun to engage in sexual intercourse.

You were a bride of the Anemo Archon. Your body needed to stay pure for him.

It didn't make sense to you though, hearing that you had to stay pure in the name of Barbatos. Why shouldn't you offer your body to him?

So this was your way of doing it. You wanted to always keep in mind what Barbara had told you, though.

So you stuck to pleasuring yourself in one of the rooms at the back of the Church.

"Hehe~ You sound so pretty moaning my name like that. Please, keep doing it while I watch~" Venti giggled, seeming to materialize out of thin air. It didn't take long for you to connect that Venti and the Anemo Archon were the same person. You were a very astute young lady. He grinned at you, "Tell me when you are close to cumming. I'm going to enjoy this~."

Your heart leapt, soaring high into the clouds like Dvalin was carrying it on his wings.

Your cheeks were flushed with pride, bucking your hips up against your fingers, moaning his name with more urgency. You could finally serve your God like this!

Venti grinned the whole time, watching your every move. It was turning him on, seeing you acting so sinful in front of him. And you so desperately wanted to stay pure to your faith.

The very moment he'd heard you say to Barbara that you would always uphold your vow to stay pure for him, the only thing he could think of was getting his hands on you, corrupting you late into the night while you screamed and writhed beneath him.

He stalked you for months after that, always hanging around when you did your chores out in the courtyard, picking up the slack for Barbara so she could sing for her fans. You were so sweet for doing that.

Practically all ever he ever looked at or thought about was how perfect your childbearing hips were. You would look breathtaking pregnant. Your children would be the rarest of them all, being born with a Vision at birth.

Oh he was so excited!

Venti practically salivated as he watched you. You were showing such loyalty to him right now. It was really turning him on.

"My Lord, I'm close. Hurry please, I don't think I can last much longer," you pleaded, tears of desperation fell from your eyes. You looked more divine than ever right now.

"Don't worry, my love~," Venti said gleefully. You hadn't even noticed he was naked already. He had jacking himself off while he watched you. "I'll fill you full of my children. It's what you want the most~."

He didn't apologize for thrusting his cock inside of you without warning. You cried out in pleasure, making him shiver while he started thrusting. Your pussy seemed to suck his cock inside of you. "You have made such a filthy mess of yourself. You look so delicious that I can barely hold myself back~."

Your legs wrapped around his waist, pushing his cock to the hilt inside of you.

"The other Nuns might be disappointed when you become pregnant. They shouldn't be. Don't worry, my beautiful, loyal Nun. You'll always be pure in my eyes. You are serving your God so well. I'll make sure you are pregnant while I corrupt you slowly. It's all I ever think about.~"

#genshin impact #genshin smut #fem!reader #venti #venti smut #yandere venti #venti x reader #venti x you #venti x y/n #genshin imagines

[natashaslesbian]

We Saved Each Other (Part One)

Summary: The Black widow is taking her final steps to join S.H.I.E.L.D in the heart of Budapest. A young widow has been discarded. Will Natasha’s guilt get the better of her?

Word Count: 689

Pairings: (Natasha Romanoff x Kid!Reader) (Avengers x Kid!Reader)

Warnings/content: None for this part

————

“We need confirmation Dreykov’s in the building” the spy said as his eyes wondered over the device in front of him. “His car is pulling up now” the assassin said, a thick Russian acent present in her words. She watched as a young girl exited the car and was ushered inside. Her eyes moved up to the second floor, the girl passing through each window frame. At the end of the hall, the brunette entered an office. The widow watched as a figure spun on his chair and greeted the girl. This was wrong, but this would make things right. Right? Guilt ran through her blood. The redhead dropped her vision to the right side of the building, and there she saw it. There she saw you.

You looked to be no older than 7 or 8, a large man was dragging you by the wrist, out into the cold winter evening. You were crying, sobbing, screaming. He threw you down on the concrete and with no hesitation turned around and walked away. You crawled to the door and banged your tiny fists against it. “Natasha, we clear?” She brought her communications device to her mouth, eyes still painted on you. People continued to pass by you without a care in the world. You cowered away from every wondering gaze, so afraid they would bring you more harm. Your frail body violently shook with each cry. Natasha took a deep breath “wait a minute”

Before Clint could even respond, Nat was out the car door and crossing the road, completely out in the open and risking everything. She paused briefly at the corner, studying you. You sheepishly returned to the door, trying the handle this time “please” you whimpered “I be good. I pam- I pwomis” the ex-widow knew those words all too well. She knew how you felt, and she would be dammed if you carried this hurt for the rest of your life. Natasha approached your fragile body with caution, she crouched to your level a few feet away. “Hey there” she softly spoke. You turned your gaze towards her, slowly, you eyed her with caution. “My name’s Natasha” the stranger said to you “what’s yours?” The question floated around for a moment, your voice now lost and dead to the world. “Why don’t we get you out of here? Somewhere warm and safe?” She reached out her hand and you pondered her intentions. Was she here to hurt you too? Or was she worth your trust? You looked back to the steel door, they didn’t want you anymore, you were there thrown out trash, where else did you have to go? Could anywhere really be worse? You turned towards the pale redhead woman, your eyes raw and burning. You took a leap, or rather step of faith and stumbled towards her outstretched arms.

“All clear” Natasha spoke into her coms as she pulled the car door closed. Within seconds, the building went up in flames. Rubble began to fall from the sky and the noise had you on high alert. “It’s ok” she said as she held you close “you’re safe now. Safe with me” Natasha pulled you into her chest as she began to drive away “saf” you whispered “yeah, safe” Natasha repeated. Before long, the motions of the car lulled you into a slumber. Natasha was shaking, so afraid, but her guilt was long forgotten. She turned the wheel so carefully, braked with ease as to not wake you. Was she crazy? This was crazy. A young girl laid in her arms, a young girl who needs love and care. How was she to give that to you?

The assassin turned onto the large green field, a shield jet waiting for her arrival. She stumbled out of her car, you still sound asleep against her neck, herself still shaking. “Who’s this?” Clint asked as the young woman approached with another young woman accompanying her. “She-she was outside” Natasha began “I couldn’t just, I couldn’t. They just threw her out” she explained, tears now escaping her “let’s get you both on the jet” Clint smiled.

————

Part one of a new story :))))

The parts will get longer I just wanted to start with something short to see the interest

-Astara🩷

#marvel #natasha romanoff #black widow #marvel fic #nat x reader #avengers #natasha x little!reader #clint barton #clint x natasha

[targaryen-jpg]

like real people do — ch. 3

part two: hold me without hurting me

part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six, part seven, part eight

pairing: aemond targaryen x tyrell oc

summary: during a hunting party celebrating the birth of prince maelor, helaena has a dream and adria makes some realizations.

notes: y'all episode 10 did things to me. apologies if this is shit i was writing like a madman i fear i started foaming at the mouth thank you everyone for all the love, i appreciate it so much!!

the kingswood smelled of fresh earth and rain when the royal party arrived – wagons carrying the lord and ladies of the red keep and their belongings. among them, the three children of king viserys and queen alicent and the ever faithful adria tyrell.

while the men hunted, adria, helaena, and alicent held court for the ladies left behind. inside the comfortable tents that had been erected before their arrival, adria sipped wine from the arbor, bouncing the young princess jaehaera on her knee. the infant giggled, babbling at her twin brother, cradled in helaena’s arms. 

“the dragon’s trove does not leave its sight,” helaena murmured.

adria turned at her sudden words, “princess?”

but helaena was cooing at the prince, her riddle already forgotten.

helaena was a dreamer, she was sure of it. her omens nearly always turned out to be correct in some way or another. it was known that daenys the dreamer had foretold the doom of valyria, and helaena was of her blood. not all believed her premonitions, but adria knew they were more than mad ramblings.

the hunt was a successful one, with prince aegon bringing back a large stag. he and the men whoaccompanied him paraded back into camp brandishing the massive animal. the ladies who had stayed behind were outside the central tent awaiting their arrival.

adria hated herself for it, but the only thing she could focus on was the tall prince beside aegon, long hair falling over his shoulders in silvery sheets. aemond’s face was damp with sweat and he was flushed with exertion, grinning. adria’s stomach lurched, and her eyes moved to stare at the ground at her feet. 

“is the ground in the kingswood truly so interesting?” a voice said, as dusty black boots came into her field of vision. adria looked up and aemond was watching here, head cocked.

his proximity sucked the air from her lungs. he seemed so full of life like this, dressed in a casual dark brown tunic, scabbard hung low over hips. his lips were full and pink, and adria found herself wondering what they would feel like beneath her fingertips.

what in the seven hells?

perhaps she was dreaming. perhaps she had finally gone mad, because why else would she be admiring aemond like this? the air was too thick as he silently stared, causing her cheeks to light up. he was still waiting for a response.

“my… my prince,” adria mumbled some apologies, then started off before he could say more.

at the feast that evening, adria barely dared breath. she sat next to helaena, on the princess’ other side was her husband, then prince aemond. three seats away and he was far too close for comfort. adria swore she could feel his gaze but dared not turn.

she dutifully ate the venison, drank her fill of arbor wine and conversed with helaena until she felt it was an appropriate hour to retire.

adria stood, “princess, princes, i beg your pardon but i believe i shall retire now.”

“oh, you and i are of the same mind,” helaena smiled, “i’ll accompany you.”

“come now, brother,” aegon slurred as he stood, “how can we allow these two ladies to travel without an escort?”

“we have the knights,” adria protested, her stomach beginning to turn.

“nonsense,” aegon declared, dragging aemond up, “take adria, aemond.”

adria delicately placed her hand on aemond’s forearm, and they started across the camp.

they arrived at the royal tent, the warm glow of candlelight illuminating the ornate structure. it consisted of a large central room, with several bedrooms leading off of it.

“i beg your leave, your grace, i should return to my own tent,” adria protested, pausing in the threshold.

“come, lady adria” aegon grinned, pouring several cups full of deep red wine, “let us share one more drink. this is a celebration!”

she swallowed. he was the crown prince – this wasn’t a suggestion. it rarely was with him. she dutifully took a cup and nearly drained it, as aemond and aegon did the same. helaena took a small sip.

they had another drink, and another, and aegon kept calling for more wine before adria could tell him to stop. her head had grown fuzzy, and she found herself laughing at aegon’s crude jokes, despite herself.

adria reclined on a floor cushion, legs tucked beneath her, while helaena had taken up a more ladylike stance on a loveseat. aemond had found himself at the table, while aegon sat in an elaborate chair in the center of them all.

helaena was the first to leave, drawing the curtains to her chamber shut as she left. adria should have left then, but the she was so comfortable and so happy that the thought scarcely crossed her mind.

aegon left soon after, though not to his own room. he left out the front door as adria said a silent prayer for the female servants.

her cup was empty, she realized.

“pass me the wine, my prince,” adria asked, looking back at aemond.

“i do believe you’ve had enough, my lady,” he murmured as he joined her on the floor – but he brought the flagon with him.

he sprawled on the floor pillows next to her. it was in that moment adria registered that they were alone. the wine had turned his cheeks rosy, his elaborate tunic unbuttoned, exposing the white shirt beneath. somewhere in her muddled mind, adria had the thought that he was beautiful.

“i do believe this is the first time i’ve truly enjoyed your company, aemond,” she mused, as he poured her a cup.

he chuckled, downing the remainder of his own glass, “i shall sorely our little talks when you are wed.”

oh.

adria had forgotten about that – about him. jacaerys. 

“your silence speaks volumes,” aemond said, raising an eyebrow.

she took another sip, looking away, “don’t do this, aemond.”

“i’m not doing anything.”

fog cleared as anger filled her, “you’re being a child.”

he scoffed and downed his cup, “i see the world as it is. you are blinded by notions of love. whatever else you think this marriage will bring.”

“the world is not all evil, and i am not a fool. i know the reality of my situation, jacaerys is possibly the best match i could be offered – you know nothing.”

“i know he doesn’t deserve you,” aemond spat.

“and you do?” adria scoffed.

“no,” he quieted, “no, i don’t.”

adria’s heart sank. 

aemond laughed bitterly, “you – i have wanted you for as long as i can remember, yet you are the one thing in the seven kingdoms i cannot have.”

oh.

oh.

adria felt like the air had been stolen from her lungs.

aemond was so close to her, so close – sprawled out on the pillows, more open and relaxed than she had ever seen him. she could see the flecks of grey in his violet eyes, the stray hairs that hung over his eye patch. his lips were tinged pink from the wine, and adria was remind of her earlier thought – what would they feel like?

she set her cup down, and tentatively reached down. her hand met aemond’s jaw, the skin smooth and warm under her touch. her thumb swiped over his bottom lip, and she hummed at the feeling.

adria felt like her entire body was on fire, was sure that her face was cherry red as she watched aemond. he was still, stiff as her hand met his face, but relaxed into the touch. so, she moved, tracing a single finger over the eyepatch, down the scar that ran under it. she felt the length of his nose, the hard plane of his cheekbone, traced his jaw from where it met his ear to his chin.

she returned to his lip, feeling along his cupid’s bow, “i was wondering what your lips felt like.”

“were you?” aemond breathed. he seemed as surprised as she felt, one hand coming to circle her wrist. his hand covered hers, and he pressed a slow kiss to her fingers, “and are you satisfied?”

adria moved their intertwined hands to rest back on his cheek,“not yet.”

she leaned down, and then her lips were on his.

aemond seemed to freeze for a moment, but his free hand moved to tangle in her hair, pressing the two closer. his touch was soft, but adria could feel the urgency behind it, behind every movement against her lips.

they parted a hair’s width, panting, but unable to move further apart. adria held gaze, watching every breath, every twitch of his eye.

aemond grabbed her waist and pulled her closer, capturing adria’s lips once more. she made a small noise in the back of her throat, and aemond’s hand buried itself in her hair in response. 

adria realized then that she was kissing aemond targaryen – the object of her ire for nearly eight years. the man who had mocked her and bullied her, the man she had threatened and insulted right back. the man who at present was gripping her waist, kissing her like he never would again.

when adria finally pulled back, gasping, aemond rest his forehead against hers. his lips were swollen, his hair mussed. adria knew she looked the same.

“stay,” he whispered.

“you know i can’t.” 

next part ->

taglist: @bubblebuttwade @kittykylax @fix5idiots @signyvenetia @stillinracooncity

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond x oc #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen smut #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd fic #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon #like real people do #emilia writes

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Wildest dreams, pt. 13

Summary: Paul is faced with his worst fears.

Warnings: angst, swearing, blood, mentions of death

Wildest Dreams Masterlist

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Looking down at his hands, Paul lets out a shaky exhale. His lips quiver as his chin trembles, eyes darting from his hands to the trees surrounding him. Hearing leaves rustling behind him, his head snaps in the same direction, holding his breath. Staring at the trees, he could feel his heart threatening to escape his chest.

Slowly, he turns his body toward the suspicious tree as well, eyes narrowing as he tries to make out the possible danger lurking in the woods. Shaking his head, he tries to shift – imagining his fur growing over the skin, allowing his body to contort into that of a wolf.

A drop of sweat rolls down his left temple, but nothing happens. There aren’t any trembles that come with transformation and when he looks to his hands, there’s no fur or paws in sight.

“What the”, he murmurs as the tree branches crackle and his eyes flicker higher up, looking for the vampire that’s toying with him. He’s helpless if he can’t shift, something that’s never been an issue before. When he was younger, Paul often lost control and would have trouble shifting back, but he never had trouble shifting.

Swallowing thickly, he can’t help the way his muscle tense, his senses sharpened as he awaits the attack that’s undeniably coming soon. He’s certain whoever is stalking him has found his weakness rather amusing.

He wants to call out to them, to provoke them into attacking, but he can’t. Whenever Paul did something stupid in the past, it was because he had no one to come home to. While Y/N may not be thrilled with the idea of imprinting or him, Paul has faith they will find their way to each other in the end and for that to happen he must return to her. After all, it’s not he who was bleeding out in his vision – he will survive this. He will. And then he will do everything to make sure he changes the future.

Enraged by the wait, Paul scowls as his eyebrows draw closer into a frown.

“Come on, you coward!” He screams out, his throat raw and scratchy from the cold air. “Come at me!”

But as Paul screamed at the trees, he heard something else in a distance. They say we cannot feel the pain of another, but Paul felt a tear in his heart as a scream echoed from somewhere deep in the heart of this forest. The agony of the scream seeps into his heart, the urgency and desperation of it overwhelming his mind.

Paul didn’t even realize when he began to run, rushing through the untouched, overgrown forest without even knowing where he’s going. His legs are burning, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch breath, yet it’s not his body that’s failing him, it’s another body – someone he has a deep connection to – someone he can’t live without – a bond that can never be severed.

Y/N.

The world around him turned into a blur, for he wasn’t just running aimlessly anymore, it felt as if he was guided toward her.

“Y/N”, he screams her name, hoping to hear her respond. Maybe she just fell, or somehow got herself in a standoff with a cougar who’d easily be chased away the moment Paul shifts.

But he can’t shift.

“FUCK”, he grumbles as he keeps running, realizing he’s near.

His heartstrings aren’t so tightly pulled on, they’re loosening as they always do when she’s near. But he’s also unable to deny the metallic smell carried by the wind with every step he comes closer.

Stopping, he finds himself at the cliffs, overlooking the raging oceans. The sky is grey, the same grey his fur is. Looking around wildly, Paul’s nostrils flare as he senses the smell of fresh blood near.

“No”, he whispers under his breath. “Y/N?!” He calls out for her, but there’s no response. “Y/N?!” He repeats, calling for her again and again and again until he can taste blood on his tongue. The rawness of his throat must have turned to actual wounds now, or perhaps its from all the running he did, but he can’t focus on that. He can’t focus on anything.

Where is she?!

“Paul”, he hears a faint whisper behind him.

Turning, he finds himself face to face with his imprint, a meek smile upon her lips. A trail of blood is running down her chin drips to her chest where a larger wound is formed – one of claws, the kind he’d attribute to a wild animal, not a vampire.

Rushing to her, he tries to reach her but closer he gets, the further she seems.

“What the”, he pauses with furrowed eyebrows. “Y/N, what happened to you?!”

The anguish is palpable in his voice, his heart barely beating at the sight of her. She’s standing, but she looks as if she’ll crumble any moment now. Her clothes are drenched in blood, her gaze frightened, her lips parted slightly.

“Save me, Paul.” Y/N pleads. “Save me.”

“I will. I promise, I will”, he runs toward her once more. Just as he’s about to reach her, she disappears.

Eyes wide, he lets out a shuddered breath.

“Save me.”

He turns to find Y/N behind him, standing on the far edge of the cliff.

“Don’t move!” He holds out his hands out, slowly approaching her. “Wait, I’ll come and get you!”

But the wind picks up, pushing her hair back and for the first time, Paul can see just how pale she seems. She’s weak, too weak to fight a strong wind with an unsteady edge of a cliff.

Gasping, he could see it happen before he had a chance to move, before he could do anything to help her.

Throwing himself to the edge, Paul had watched Y/N plummeting into the crashing waves, praying she will land as the pack does when they’re cliff jumping.

His hope was quickly extinguished as the wind blew Y/N onto the rocks.

Tears blurred Paul’s vision, blinding him until they fell, following the same path his imprint did.

He could hold it in no longer, allowing the pain to escape his being through a deafening scream carrying her name, leaving him desolate in the wake of this loss. Sobs wracked his body, one after another, tearing him apart as if he’s made of glass and all of him just shattered.

Breathing is impossible as he pounds his fists on the rocks underneath him, hoping they give out so he could follow Y/N down, but none budged. His knuckles cracked, bleeding massively, but he felt none of the pain. There is no amount of physical pain to rival the heartbreak, the loss of a soul bound. Nothing is as severe as the moment he could sense her heart stop beating.

Gasping for air, he found himself on his back, feeling as if he’ll lose consciousness soon.

Good, he thought. Maybe then I’ll be free of the torment.

Blinking, he stared up at the sky as his heart convulsed in his chest. Perhaps this would be his end too. After all, losing an imprint kill a wolf, does it not? Paul didn’t mind it. Life without her didn’t seem worth living.

Closing his eyes, he smiles.

“I’ll be with you soon.”

As his world went quiet, he found solace in it.

“Paul?”

Furrowing his eyebrows, he grimaces. The silence didn’t last nearly as long enough as he hoped. He would have anticipated an eternity of it. Last thing he wants is to open his eyes now, but as he feels a squeeze of his right hand and lips on his forehead, he can’t help but be curious as the voice calls out for him softly once more.

Groaning, he forces himself to open his heavy eyes, the light blinding him immediately.

“Close the blinds”, he hears an order of a familiar voice. “Get a glass of water!”

Lips parting, he tries to open his eyes once more, slightly afraid of the stabbing sensation of sunlight hitting him once more.

But this time it doesn’t come.

Blurry as his vision is, he can easily recognize the face before him.

“Y/N?” He asks, his voice so frail, so raspy that he frowns at the sound. It’s so unlike him, foreign almost.

“Who else, you dumbass”, she chuckles as she embraces him roughly, causing Paul to wince.

Inhaling the familiar scent of her perfume, Paul’s left arm wraps around her lightly, while his right hand buries itself in her hair, fingertips brushing the back of her neck.

“I made it to heaven”, he sighs contently. “I made it back to you.”

“Heaven?” She pulls away, cupping his cheeks gently. “You didn’t die, Paul. You’re still here. You better not be trying to escape this soulmate deal with death, because I’ll tell you right now, I DO NOT ACCEPT THAT.”

Chuckling, he grimaces, grabbing his chest. “Owh, stop making me laugh!”

“Stop giving me heart attacks then!”

Exhaling carefully, Paul blinks a few more times, each time sharpening his vision. She’s real, she’s alive, she’s his.

“I was so scared”, she admits, tearing up. So was Paul. He had seen her die. Not once, but over and over in the hell he was banished to for who knows how long. It felt like an eternity.

“You never told me being away from me would make you weaker.”

“So you’d be with me out of guilt”, he raises a brow. “Not a chance.”

Smacking his arm playfully, she bites her lower lip when he groans. “It’s not out of guilt, it’s a necessity, also when have I ever let anyone guilt me into anything? You should have been honest with me.”

“I know”, Paul remarks. “But you needed time and I didn’t want to impose.”

“Sure, because you almost dying sure made it better.”

Frowning, he clears his throat. “I think I was in hell for a while there.”

“What makes you think that?”

“I watched you die”, Paul swallows thickly. Every second passing unlocks a new scenario in which she dies, in which he was helplessly losing her. “And I couldn’t save you.”

“I was in hell too”, she admits. “Because I thought my indecisiveness killed you. Because I was so afraid of letting you in. Because I was fighting my own demons. I pushed you away, but I swear to you Paul, I am not leaving you. Ever again.”

Resting her forehead on his, she closes her eyes, but he couldn’t. He didn’t want to miss a single moment they have together, hoping to memorize each line of her face, every inch of her.

“And it’s not out of guilt or whatever you told yourself”, she pauses. “It’s because I’ve looked into my heart and I found you’ve been there for a lot longer than I like to admit.”

“It’s when I danced with you in kindergarten, admit it”, he teases and she pulls back, rolling her eyes.

“You pulled my hair that day and I swore to be your worst enemy ever since”, she deadpans.

“I love your thirst for vengeance.”

“Reserved for you and you alone”, she smirks. “But if I have to look back, I think it’s the day you found me under the bleachers.” She shrugs meekly. “When you held me for hours as I cried after my mom died.”

“And I was the idiot unaware it even happened.” Paul sighs. “Found out later that night and felt guilty for not holding you tighter…longer.”

“You did more than enough”, Y/N sighs, placing her hand on his left cheek. Lightly grazing her thumb across his cheek, she watched his lips curve in a small smile.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

Nodding, she agrees. “Now we can start this whole thing over.”

“Does that mean you’ll let me take you out on a proper date?”

Grinning, she bites her lower lip. “I can be persuaded.”

Turning his head toward the palm of her hand, Paul leaves a tender kiss. “Good. Because I intend on wooing you.”

“Awe, that’s cute”, Embry snickers as he hands Y/N a glass of water. “Can I come and take photos for posterity?”

“No”, Paul narrows his eyes. “Have you been listening in this whole time?”

Pursing his lips, Embry turns to the half open door. “Everyone’s outside with their ears to the door. So, yep.”

Chuckling, Y/N nods. “Wouldn’t have expected anything less.”

Unintentionally, she allows her hand to travel from Paul’s cheek down to his chest, sensing his heartbeat. Suppressing a smile, she glances at him and she knows he’s aware that the beat of his heart betrays him.

Paul’s heart is boundless, spilling all the love that he’s nurtured for years in each beat, singing her a song he struggles to put to words. It’s promising her an eternity, a forever in which she will never be alone again – an achingly sweet vow to fight for every day to be filled with laughter.

Swallowing thickly, she chases away tears – and for once these were not tears caused by heartache, rather by happiness. She never believed people cried from happiness, but if that’s the case why is she choked up now?

Letting out a shaky breath, she bites her lower lip as a small smile graces her face.

“So, what did you have in mind for that date?”

Cocking a brow, Paul smirks. “That’s a surprise.”

Rolling her eyes, she purses her lips. “How am I supposed to know if I might need a day off? Or what to wear? What if I need to go shopping?”

Chuckling, Paul places a hand over the one she left on his chest. “Leave it all to me…and Emily.” Licking his lips, he smirks. “Whatever I plan, know it’s going to end with me taking you home with me.”

“Cocky.” Narrowing her eyes at him, she huffs. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet you can’t get enough of me”, he winks.          

Shaking her head, she turns to the door. “Alright everyone, flood in!”

“But I wanted more time with you”, Paul whines as she stands up.

She shrugs. “Good thing you have plans for taking me home with you then.”

“You’re a tease”, he raises his voice as she heads to the door, his heart fluttering as she sends him an air kiss over her shoulder.

“Paul’s whipped”, Jared chuckles, getting no death threats in return.

“You always said it’ll happen”, Paul grins. “Guess I’m just glad it’s sooner, rather than later.”

“Oh, I’ll be sick from all the sweetness”, Seth grimaces.

“Paul is dripping in honey with none of the sting, even a bee is scarier than you”, Quil teases, earning himself a death glare.

“Just wait till I can get out of this bed, we’ll talk then”, Paul insists.

“Ah, there he is”, Embry cackles, “so quick to resort to threats!”

While the pack brothers were catching up, Y/N sat in Emily’s living room with her head in her hands. Her heart is galloping as she stifles a sob she long held in.

“What’s happened”, Emily rushed to her side, a hand rested on Y/N’s back immediately.

Heaving, Y/N shakes her head as the pressure in her chest rises and she can hardly breathe from the insurmountable pain passing her trembling lips.

“Should I get someone?”

Shaking her head, Y/N places a hand over her chest, straightening her back. “No, please”, she gasps. “I just”, a shuddered breath escapes her. “I just need a minute.”

“You’re scaring me”, Emily whisper shouts, her eyes flickering to the door where all the guys are, wondering if she should ignore Y/N’s refusal for help.

“No, no”, she inhales deeply. Exhaling, she takes Emily’s hand. “I’m fine. I just felt so much relief”, sniffling, she turns to Emily. “I spent a week trying to be brave, but I’ve never felt so much fear and worry in my life.”

“You needed a release”, Emily nods.

“Yeah”, Y/N exhales loudly. “Everything with Paul brought some really bad memories from when my mom passed, I was terrified he’d die too.”

“First thing you need to understand as an imprint is that our men aren’t that easily killed”, Emily gives her hand a squeeze. “The worry is constant, but they will come home. They will.”

“I don’t know how you do it”, Y/N says quietly. Licking her bottom lip, she looks to the door with a crease between her eyebrows. “I’m not even officially with Paul, but I can’t imagine losing him.”

“But you are”, Emily smiles in reassurance. “The moment he imprinted, you’ve become echoes of each other’s souls. You’ve been bound and when that happens, feelings and attachments fade in comparison. It’s a single threat you’re both pulling until you meet in the middle and being separated is incredibly harmful for both of you.”

“I wish I knew that before”, Y/N sighs. “I wish he imprinted on me in high school. We wasted so much time.”

“I’m sure he feels the same way. What matters is you’ve found one another now.”

Nodding, Y/N manages a smile. “And I’m never letting go of him.”

In that moment, even Y/N’s human heart skipped a beat, as if fate had sent her a warning that the happiness she feels now will not last.

Tags: @the-chaotic-cow @xxxjaexxx @captainrogers-19 @bexloxl @laehlaluvs @adaydreamaway08 @sunsetevergreen @volturiwolf @twihard08 @galacticstxrdust @sorrow-and-bliss @ireadthensuetheauthors @missxmarvelous @locokoca @unstablekay @makhaia @venusdelaroix @avadakadabra93 @tearsforhan @a-marie-a @lendeluxe @julia13123 @seagulls-corner @whatevenisthisname @jdbxws​ @kitabestboy​ @rottenstyx​ @itsmytimetoodream​ @dreamerwasfound​

PART 14

#paul lahote #paul lahote x reader #paul lahote series #twilight saga #twilight #twilight fandom #twilight fanfiction #Twilight series #paul lahote imagine #paul lahote imprint #Imprinting #wolfpack

[ladyduellist]

Epistles of Saints & Sinners

Chapter Summary:

Astarion's plans go awry when confronted with his own past.

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Story Summary:

When Astarion meets the humble bard, Tav, he soon finds out he's the only one between them that knows they are bound as soulmates through their marks. Deciding it's more trouble than its worth, he refuses to tell her along the course of their journey across Faerûn.

But, unbeknownst to him and their companions, Tav is harboring a gruesome secret that she only thought was nothing more than a traumatized period in her life.

As they both come to face to face with their pasts and presents, will they choose to move forward or let it consume them?

Healing isn’t linear—after all.

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Chapter 12: Hunt*

Ao3

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Main Page & Chapter List

Word Count: 5.6k

Pairing: Astarion x female bard Tav

CW: Smut, Vaginal Sex, CPTSD episode during sex, Cazador, Blood & Violence, Act 1 Spoilers

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Vampires are some of the deadliest monsters we may contend with. I do not relish my current mission to seek out the spawn, Astarion. But, he may be the only way we can ever see our children again. I am plagued by visions of them being carried away by these blood hungry creatures. Plagued even more by their screams that fill my mind in the most quiet of hours. Full blooded vampires become consumed with whatever they set their eyes upon. But, spawns—I have to wonder—if they were to escape their masters, would they be able to redeem themselves if they took the road less traveled?

— Gandrel of the Gur Tribe, journal entry 567

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“I suppose I should, yet again, count myself lucky: the bastard is alone,” Astarion smirked, picking a few stray leaves from his clothes. He had just returned from a lengthy scouting trip assessing the hunter they may parley with.

It had been several days of traversing rocky footpaths until they arrived in the Sunlit Wetlands. Several days of anxious nights wondering if Cazador sent more pawns to retrieve him. Several days of nothing more than forlorn glances exchanged with the songstress.

Wyll crossed his arms, concentrating on Astarion’s face. “That at least bodes well. Did he look familiar to you?”

“Not at all. Though I have met a lot of the city’s miscreants over the years, it’s possible he’s a scorned lover of a lover that Cazador convinced to seek vengeance. He had a lot of connections in the city—so it’s hard to say.”

“Let’s fucking goooo,” Karlach roared as her axe split apart a piece of log. She swiped away wood dustings from her brow, turning to the vampire. “What makes you think this is Cazador’s doing, fancy boy?”

“Oh, how could I forget that it must be one of my many adoring fans, come to shake my hand out in the middle of blasted nowhere,” Astarion replied with a sneer. “Tell me: who else could it be?!”

Of course it had to be his former master! Cazador Szarr would do anything to ensure his spawns stayed forever reliant upon him. For them to know that survival without him wasn’t possible. Astarion knew deep down that no matter how he repeatedly longed for freedom, if he showed up, without question the vampire spawn would still feel betrothed as a slave to enact his heinous mandates. Compelled or not, the attachment to him remained.

The fiery tiefling teetered her axe over her shoulder, ready to swing downward again. “Alright. Alright. As much as I’m always raring to go, I just want to be sure we aren’t getting caught in a trap, yea?”

She had a point. Cazador, reclusive as he was, commandeered powers that most were unaware. Their group was mighty, but could they defeat a vampire lord? It would be nearly impossible, but the fraction of a percentage that they could end his life for good, ignited an invaluable resolve inside of the spawn.

Astarion debonairly examined his nails. “Well darlings, I’m sure I can go about this on my own if you’re not up for a bit of potential excitement.”

“I have every bit of faith you can handle this by yourself, but I think it goes without saying that hunters are all too well-versed in regions such as these. There may be something we don’t know from what you’ve investigated,” Wyll interjected.

“Why Wyll, the famed monster hunter is going to help protect a monster?! I could kiss you! Or bite you—if that is your preference,” the vampire giddily responded, clasping his hands together as he flashed the tip of his fang.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves Astarion,” Wyll chuckled, uncrossing his arms to gesture a stop signal with his hand. “Shall we say around morrow’s noon we head down to speak with the stranger?”

“I’d prefer to stab first, but if you insist, who am I to deny such a handsome face?” Astarion flirtatiously bowed his head.

Karlach visibly shrugged her shoulders, breathing out a long sigh. “Ugh, finnnne. Let’s get this good and over with before something awful happens to your pretty face and you break someone’s fucking heart.”

“My dearest Karlach, are you saying you wouldn’t miss me?”

“I’m saying that our leader wouldn’t be all too happy with any of us if we just let you sod off on your own,” she clarified firmly. “By the way, you may want to speak with Tav about our plans.”

The vampire fisted his hand near his mouth, pretending to cough. “Ahem, well, I’m sure she’s been far too busy entertaining our newest druidic hunk we’ve adopted to camp. They’ve been practically braiding each other's hair since the party.”

“Gods, you don’t sound jealous at all,” she teased. “And look who it is! Mornin’ to you soldier!”

And there she was. Trailing into camp on melodies she sang under her breath. Lavender and vanilla invisibly suffocating him with its whorls of scent around his neck.

Wyll waved in her direction. “Tav! Could we trouble you for a moment?”

Tav quietly nodded, giving him a subtle smile out of the corner of her mouth.

“Astarion just returned back from surveying the bog and it would seem that this hunter is currently alone. Few weapons, but I reckon he has the good sense to protect himself with other means.”

“The three of us are heading down to speak with him come highsun tomorrow. But, if shit goes bad, we’ll be armed,” Karlach added, flexing her arm high in the air. “Hey, are you okay? You look awful.”

“There is nothing to worry about, Karlach. Personal matters.” The bard tried to peer behind the tiefling, staring at the elven man that was clearly avoiding her. “Astarion, did you approve of this?”

He raised his head, the state of her startling him. The skin around her eyes was swollen, a glaze of wetness having long filmed over her sclera. It was evident she had been crying on and off since their last encounter. She was lacking her usual demure aura, visibly rundown.

Astarion cocked a bleary eyebrow at her. “I did.”

“Then, I trust you to handle this to the best of your abilities.”

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In the middle of the night’s air, Astarion stood outside of her tent entrance, overwrought with a queasiness burning the walls in his stomach.

After their argument several days ago, he left in a panicked state to hide under the forest canopy bordering their camp. The illusion of hyperventilation attacked his lungs—a memory of it really—as he held onto the bulwarked trunk of a tree. And then, blood spewed from his mouth. He leaned over, coughing and vomiting up a mouthful of the bear’s crimson he consumed earlier that evening.

He had charmed and manipulated Tav enough times to create the image that would steal her away like a rogue in the night. And she craved it. She wanted him to fill the role of her abductor, appearing from behind the curtains in her bedroom, to entice her with cool lips on her knuckles and sworn covenants of intimacy with his bite. Urging her to just let go.

Yet, his plan kept hitting snags.

Without a doubt, he knew his instinctual techniques were all in order. When there had been a few mishaps, he quickly adapted and switched his tactics. But, what he didn’t account for—what he had little to no proficiency in—was dealing with these people’s bygone histories for this length of time. Try as he might to reluctantly focus on the lamentable surface details of the bard and the kettle of vultures—their companions—that circled the hearth of their campfire, piles of their shit kept unearthing themselves like the carcasses of burying beetles.

And he didn’t fucking care.

Why should he? He didn’t know them. Oh, they were a formidable bunch—each having inherited an adeptness for physical or magical strength. He extended his belief in them about as far as relying on them in battle would allow him. But, what had they truly done for him otherwise? It wasn’t them that offered mercy upon his vampiric existence and allowed him to stay within their group. It wasn’t them that made sure he was properly fed, baptizing him in their blood.

No, the only person he owed a speckle of his acknowledgement was the songbird with the voice of singing jewels. Though she challenged him at every nook and cranny of their time together, she was the only one to judge him in such a way that seemed fairly balanced.

Until now.

Tav with her saintly observations, was becoming aware of his methodical ministries. Perhaps not in the sense that she could pinpoint exactly what his strategy was, but gods, her cursed awareness and the cloistered tale of her former life, filled him with enough discomfort he almost considered forgoing his plan entirely.

She knew something was amiss with him. She knew he had to be embellishing everytime he damn near spoke to her about anything other than his wretched past. So, why didn’t she make more of an effort to single him out and put him on trial? Had she been waiting for him to tell her otherwise? To correct her misgivings she was having about him.

It made him uneasy to not know. He could poke around in her mind with their worms, but that certainly wouldn’t bode well if she was unreceptive to the notion.

What an absolute shitshow, Astarion chastised when a strained laugh cut silently through his teeth.

Not to mention the realization that it was not only the façade of her companionship and intimacy he would have to contend with. This foe was clever—more so than he. It had been in her life years before him. Knew her in ways he had yet to scour. And when she tried to disobey it, it had a way of enticing her back into the comfort of its everlasting punishment.

And the name of such a formidable nemesis? Her past.

He couldn’t afford to lose her—not yet. It was too soon and far too late to humor his whims on another camp occupant. Nay, he would see this through to the end. Tav’s or anyone else’s lives be damned!

“I can smell the bergamot in your oils,” a meek voice breathed out. “You can come in whenever you’re ready.”

Astarion deeply inhaled, preparing himself to face her, knowing he may have to use his body for another nightfall to convince her not to forsake him. His performance hinged on being immaculate tonight—to be everything she wanted.

Another transaction: imitated comfort for the reinstated troth of her loyalty.

He lowered himself to his knees and opened the flap of her tent to enter. Tav sat with the used lute on her lap, twisting and tuning the pegs on her bare thighs. She struck a chord, listening intently as the sounds vibrated off the walls of blue linen, then adjusted further or moved onto the next string.

She lifted her head to acknowledge him. With the candlelight casting a golden glow across her face, Astarion thought this may have been one of the few times she possessed such a delicate lethargy.

“Is something the matter?”

“I—no,” He paused. What would be the right thing to say in this situation? “I thought it would be in my good nature to check in on you. But, if now isn’t a good time, I can come back later.”

Tav blinked at him several times, then gestured for him to come further in with a nod. He scooted closer to her on his knees, allowing the flap of the tent to cascade off his back like a discarded blanket.

“I'm not a fan of this lute, especially the strings on it, but some things can’t be helped right now. I should be grateful Alfira could even find one available for me,” she spoke softly as if he wasn’t there. “Hopefully, when we make it to a different area or even the city, I can buy a new one.”

The vampire cleared his throat, resting his sweating palms on his thighs. “There’s differences between them? I mean, of course the details are not the same, but what of the sound?”

A shallow smile formed at the corner of her mouth as she continued fiddling with the tune. “Lutes, flutes, drums, violins—any musical instrument really—sounds different depending on several factors. The material used. Strings. Weight. Length. It’s all a determining factor for the sound produced.”

“What type of wood do you prefer for your lutes?”

The messy bun pinned on top of her head bobbed as she popped her head up to stare at him. “Spruce. Always spruce. It has the brightest sound—perfect for ballads.” She pushed her bangs to the side as an afterthought, placing the instrument by her side. “I appreciate you coming here tonight, but you don’t need to pretend you’re actually interested in a music lesson.”

“My dear, I have quite the appreciation for the arts of all kinds,” he grinned. “However, since your perception precedes you, I’m here because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And then I realized that the whole thinking part was actually a worry.” He covered his lies by slowly lifting his eyes under a refuge furled lashes to peer at her.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” Tav stated, pursing her lips.

“I’ll have you know, that I could be sinking my fangs into a deer al fresco right about now, but instead I choose to be here. Now, let’s forego this game of hopscotch and chat.”

She ran the pads of her fingers along the edging of her nightshirt. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to revisit parts of our disagreement from a few days ago—if you’re willing to talk about it with me.”

He wasn’t willing, but what choice did he have if he wanted to keep up this charade with her?

Astarion cocked his head to the side to nod, flaring his nostrils with a practiced breath. “If it's truly that bothersome to you, then I suppose I could pencil you in right this very second to listen.”

He could hear the strums of her pulse trembling. She was nervous.

Blood rushed to her lips, coloring them in roses. He saw tears welling up, threatening to spill over her lower lids. She could no longer hold it in. “First of all: I’m so so sorry Astarion. What you said about ‘power’ reminded me so much of…I…I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions like I did. You are your own person—not some reanimated villain of my tragedies.”

Ah, so she wished to focus on her reactions instead of the subject he hastily broached during his blood drunken stupor. How very like her to satisfy her own accountability. This could work in his favor.

Astarion would not press. Should she circle back to his unfavorable comments, well, he could always blame it on the mind flayer tadpole having deceptively influenced his mind after their encounter with other ‘true souls.’ In case he needed to change routes in the moment to suit her thoughts and actions, he made a mental note to be considerably more deliberate in reading her facial expressions.

Finding out just how much power these worms wielded, delighted the vamp. Of course they would be valuable in advancing his fight against Cazador, but directing those around him to do as he pleased? Gods.

The positions he could seat! The material wealth he could own! The liberty to indulge in all manners of debauchery and authority!

A future living side by side with an illithid creation suddenly didn’t sound so horrible.

“May I ask who he is?” He questioned, trying to inflict his tone to a more polite wisp.

She shied away from looking at him directly. Guilt-ridden and hiccuping. Tav’s lips trembled, shaking her head to refuse him while she continued to weep.

It intrigued Astarion to see the normally strong-hearted woman bearing this unknown man’s crown of thorns with the pith of his blackened blood dripping from her eyes like melted candles. Days ago, during their night’s quarrel, the soul mark behind his ear hammered rapidly to the point of searing pain when she mentioned him. This man—this incubus—still choked her with his malignant hands, even though he was probably leagues away.

The hells cracked open, And he was reborn. With evil tongues spoken, Her scrawled promises would not be mourned.

While bewitching the bard had been as ordinary to Astarion as any everyday routine, she was hiding the flotsam of her personal dogmas sundered by this same mortal, making his task all the more difficult. A heretic to her own emotions.

They were both slaves to their pasts and towed the weighted cold night visions where escape seemed nothing more than mere fantasy. And he felt something by this acknowledgment. A blink of connection to her in the form of empathy.

Empathy?

Hells, it had been so long since he knew any emotion except anger, terror, and numbness. But, empathy held dire consequences. One of the last times he felt any ounce of said emotion, cost him a year of starvation inside of that derelict burial place. The memory still seemed so fresh in comparison to the ages he’d lived. If he let himself know empathy once more, it would mean allowing himself to be in a position of the same weakness he had been in for centuries.

“You don’t understand how awful I feel for how I reacted,” Tav managed to squeeze out of her throat.

He moved further within the tent to sit cross-legged in front of her, angling his head downwards to grab her attention. “Silly creature, of course I understand how awful you feel. Your heart is literally an open wound gushing onto everyone it passes. If someone ran into you, YOU would be the one to apologize.”

“We’re still alive, aren’t we? Well, you are at least, but I do have the advantage of being ravishing forever,” he added with a quip.

The bard laughed as her body shook with sobs. Hands flew to her face, catching the falling tears with dabs of her fingertips.

“Darling.” He reached out to her with his palm up. “Come here. I can’t leave you blubbering like some muppet begging for scraps.”

Taking a hesitant breath, Tav placed her hand gingerly into the inviting salve he offered, holding onto it tightly. “A moment longer. I have more to say.”

Astarion’s mind filled with dread. If she terminated their agreement, that would be it; his protection would cease. The possibility of Cazador dragging him off screaming into the shadows, felt more real than it ever had been. Swiftly, his brain sprang into action. He would use whatever methods possible to adapt.

Touch. Comfort. Sex. Promises. Encouragement. Which would she need?

“Don’t keep me in suspense now, my sweet. You know how I hate to wait,” he smirked in his typical silvery tone.

“I’m trying to word this as not to sound like a psychotic lover here,” she laughed anxiously. “But, I have run ’us’ through my mind more times than I can count and I keep wondering if it would be best if we end whatever this is between us. Casual distractions would be much easier if we didn’t see each other everyday, but we don’t have that luxury and—“

“Do you even like me?” Tav questioned wearily. It was apparent such ideas had been consuming her.

No.

“Do I like you? I mean, you definitely have a certain set of allures about you,” he answered slowly. He wasn’t lying about her qualities—if that’s what people choose to call them—but, no, he did not care for her.

A grimace settled on her expression as she removed her hand from his.

“Were you expecting a more defined answer?”

The bard chewed at her lip lightly with her front tooth. “I’m expecting something that doesn’t feel like you’re acting on stage,” she replied stiffly. “You seem so versed in saying all the right things, but there is a pit in my stomach warning me it’s not all true. I don’t want you to force yourself with me.”

Oh, but he would force himself. His survival depended on it.

The spawn ran his hand through his curls, flashing a glib smile she didn’t detect. “Ha! Could that be your own insecurities speaking? Or shall I get down on my knees and recite a sonnet of my undying affections for you? Would you believe me then?”

Turning away, she looked past him towards the ground. “Is it so wrong for me to desire something real, Astarion?”

Hope.

She wanted hope.

He could perform hope.

The vampire enclosed her ruddy cheek with his hand, thumbing a gentle swipe across the roundest point. She shut her eyelids lazily, microscopic tears still adhering on her lashes like diamond dust.

“Don’t turn away from me, Tavelle,” he commanded her gently. “A woman that has as much to offer as you, deserves to hold her head up high and be worshiped.”

As if to confirm her yearning for him, her eyes roamed half-opened to search his face. She fisted the ruffling of his shift tightly, pulling herself taut against his chest to crash her lips fervently against his with a tight gasp.

The kiss was urgent. Delivered as if they’d both turn into smoke in an instant. Like she’ll lose me someday, Astarion thought.

He could hear her heartbeat stepping out of its darkness, begging, begging, begging him to cradle her adorations for him.

Kneading his pale lips on hers instinctually, she tangled a free hand into waves of silvery-white earning her a low hum from the deepest reaches of his voice box. “Star…,” she incanted into his mouth.

Fluidly, he reached up to unpin her hair, allowing her tresses to fall over her shoulders. He decorated his lithe digits with her silken strands, tugging her head gently backwards to drop fervid pecks down her throat. She cried out, sputtering lilting syllables of his name everytime he idly rearranged his hold on her hair.

Tav held onto his arms as he worked his tongue in circles. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me,” she pleaded, clawing at his clothes.

Releasing her hair, he pulled Tav back in to seam their mouths together. She sucked tenderly on his upper lip, grazing her tongue horizontally across it, before she finally nipped at it playfully.

He pushed his nose into her cheek, abruptly stopping them. She was short of breath, heaving in anticipation for him to kiss her again.

Grabbing her chin firmly, Astarion’s eyes flitted down to her lips as he spoke mere centimeters from them. ”You’ve slowly been driving me insane,” he roughly asserted, avoiding her want for affirmations.

She snuck her fingers up the length of him, lacing them behind his neck. Her lips parted, a husky reply threatening to swallow them whole. “What do you mean to do with me then?”

A lukewarm thumb found safety pressed against her lips. The tip of her tongue tunneled through the gap of her mouth and licked a teasing small patch of skin on the inside of it. Debauched images of him drawing blood from her tongue filled his mind. Biting and biting every inch of her supple flesh until he had his fill of her essence settling like a fine wine in his veins. He panted maddeningly at the thought, his shaft hardening immediately.

Then, the minx slinkingly shifted onto his lap, encircling her legs on either side of his hips. She undulated on the length of his bulge compressed in the middle of her soaked smalls and his trousers. Insolently, she yanked a handful of his hair. He hissed at the delicious pain now aching through his cock and the back of his head.

Pallid dexterous hands ripped the front of her shirt open, cutting buttons loose to fly into the air. The strength of his paw found her breast hiding behind the torn fabric and he squeezed it considerably, pinching an erect nipple. She moaned his name, trying to keep her body upright.

Sharp teeth nibbled a sliver of flesh near the corner of her lips. “Is this what you need? For me to take you as I please?”

Tav nodded innocently, her whole body turning flush with desire.

And then something feral snapped inside of Astarion. That spine-tingling rapacious trait that was half vampire and half carnal man. He could have her if he wanted her; whenever he wanted. Fill him with her blood just to sate him. Her life belonged to him, if he so chose to take it.

“You can follow instructions properly, can’t you sweetheart?” Astarion grumbled as he tucked strands of her hair behind her ear. A strangled noise squeaked from her mouth as she shook her head. “Good. Now listen closely: I want you to unlace my pants, push your smalls to the side, and slide my cock inside that very creamy slit of yours.”

The songstress whimpered, whilst she untied the bindings of his fly, “I want to be good for you Astarion.”

Fuck, his name sounded like the filthiest sin coming from her mouth.

He peeled back the material of her shirt from her heaving bosom, exposing her soft milkiness. Humming around one of her pink buds that popped into his mouth, he felt her remove him from his pants with a few precursory strokes. Instinctively, his gaze feasted on the light bluish veins spreading across her breasts. Just a single bite couldn’t hurt—?

“Hells,” he groaned as she sunk the crown of his cock into her clenching heat. “You like being this drenched for me, don’t you?”

“Only you…gods…make me like this,” Tav sang out, holding the back of his head while she adjusted to him inside her.

Her wetness dripped down his length as she stuffed him further into her, trickling down to settle on his testicles. A howling wail started from the middle of Tav’s diaphragm up through her windpipe when she glided up his erect prick once and came back down to his hilt. Astarion chased her mouth with his, muffling her frenzy with open-mouthed kisses.

“Shhh. Shh, songbird,” he hushed in a chuckle. “We are about to wake the lot of this camp soon.”

“I’m sorry. Just love…having you…inside of me,” she giggled lowly, kissing him with blistering ardor between her words.

Surprising the bard by grabbing under her ass, Astarion cajoled her to ride the stiff hardness in his lap. Tav hooked herself onto his shoulders, using them for support while she bounced upon him. Her tits brushed against his shirt with her movements, causing her swollen buds to stay hardened.

My prodigal son, what do we have here?

Master.

Ah, of course. Tonight would belong to the echoes of Cazador. There would be no need for the paralysis that enthralled the spawn’s body to take over, not when his master’s commands needed to be minded.

The vampire busied his fingertips by pressing them further into her flesh, focusing on her slickness encompassing all those nerves at the tip of his cock. He pushed her all the way down to his base, relishing the swaddling of her warmth around him.

A bard, hmm? Bring her to me.

Yes, master.

He reached a hand down in between them to swipe his thumb through her folds, caressing her clit in gentle circles. Tav’s mouth formed into a small “o.”

Look at her—enjoying your flesh like a whore. She’s exactly like all the others. You are only meant to satisfy her needs as a means to fulfill my hunger.

I won’t disobey you master.

“My sweet, turn around and let me fuck you from behind,” he urged mildly, trying to maintain his composure.

Astarion couldn’t let her see. He was steadily losing his grip on their surroundings, disappearing into the quilted stars of the night sky he summoned as he disconnected. If she saw he wasn’t present again, she would send him away.

Tav didn’t respond, continuing to pump his shaft with her tight cunt at a steady pace. She opened and closed her mouth in silent moans, replaced by heady breaths. Did she not hear him? He placed his hands on her waist attempting to settle her motions.

Would you like to hear her sing, Astarion? How do you think she’ll sound with her blood gurgling in her throat as I feed from her?

“Turn around,” he demanded firmly.

Body slowing to a near halt, she cupped his cheeks with a litany of fingers rasping the sharpness of his bones. She pressed a peck to his lips. “Lover, I want to look into your eyes while I’m on top.”

He bucked his hips maneuvering his legs to lift her off of him enough to push her down onto her bedroll. Spreading her legs open, he swiftly settled in between her thighs, and brashly reentered her with a concrete plunge. The bard yelped in surprise, clutching his biceps tightly.

Soulmates? Tsk. Did my beloved spawn forget that he is not allowed to be connected to anything except me? Get rid of her mark.

I wish to please you master. Allow me to show my fealty to you.

His vision rapidly moved from side to side until he arched Tav into him to rest his forehead onto her soulmate mark, hiding, endeavoring it to disappear on its own so he wouldn’t have to hurt her. He thrust up into her hurriedly, trying to chase her to the banks of her climax to end his delusions.

“Wait,” she uttered as he drove into her.

Astarion ignored her, opening his mouth to frame his teeth around her soul mark. He must dispose of it.

“Astarion, no. Don’t bite there,” Tav ordered, snaring his curls at the root. “Look at me. Please.”

He’s everywhere. He knows where I am. He’s already taken everything from me. I’ll never be free, Astarion screamed inwardly in anguish.

His fangs pricked the first layer of her epidermis, pellets of crimson gathering around the invasion. The bard severely yanked his head to detach him, dribbles of her blood coating his lips. “I said no! GET OFF OF ME,” she shrieked, thrashing her body under him.

They became motionless. Her face had morphed into thousands upon thousands of blurry conquests. Voices: high and low, moaning, whispering their pleasures. Luring each of them in the dead of night to their death eternal. And Astarion, bound to the scaffold with a noose around his neck, forever being led back into Cazador’s arms.

And then her eyes were suddenly there in focus. Afraid and sorrowful. Full of tears. For her. For him. Rainy storm clouds floating across the earth. Tav with her inquisitor view, leading him on a pilgrimage away from the haunts of his deadened soul.

She covered her nakedness, pulling her ripped shirt over her breasts. Two pin prick spots of blood seeped through the fabric, reminding him of his violation. He was disgusted with himself.

What had he done?

“Tav, I’m sor—,” Astarion proclaimed hoarsely, loosening his brace on her waist.

Tav reached up to place a hand on his cheek. “Leave,” her voice whispered sternly.

He couldn’t wash this away and escape what he was made into.

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Burning iron-vine powder levitated in a cloudy haze around them.

A Gur?! A godsdamned bloody Gur. Cazador’s cruel humor never seemed to fail; he must have sent him.

His mind started to race. Astarion’s safety may be coming to an end. It was a misjudgement to ever presume that he could disappear without facing the repercussions of his former master. Would he ever have somewhere to land from all this falling?

“You’re Astarion?!” The monster hunter loudly said in surprise. “Apologies to your companions, but you’ll need to come with me.”

“Gandrel, was it? I’m not going anywhere.” Astarion removed the blade from his back, pointing it towards the man.

“Fuck! This is bad,” Karlach muttered to Wyll.

“Then, I’m afraid I have no choice but to take you by force,” Gandrel declared, shooting an ‘Ensnaring Strike’ spell at both the vampire and fiery woman.

Thorny vines raised up around their legs, holding them in place. Astarion sliced at them, trying to wriggle free, but the bindings only reinforced their seizure. “Uh, a little help?!”

He was too distracted to fight. Flooded by the memory of how Tav’s tears flowed like blown stars living their final moments. But, he could still feel her hands upon his cheeks. Her hands where flowers bloomed in the dark; flowers that emerged wherever she appeared.

Karlach swung her axe in a criss-cross pattern. “I can’t move! Wyll, you’ll need to repel him!”

Wyll lunged forward casting an Eldritch Blast that narrowly missed the hunter’s cheek. “Damn!”

Gandrel placed another arrow in his crossbow, aiming it at the spawn as he approached. “I’m sorry it had to come to this, but you’re needed else—”

The hunter suddenly collapsed onto one knee, a spray of blood ejecting from his mouth. He looked down at the arrow protruding out of his right side, then looked past the spawn.

Astarion followed his gaze, mouth wide open in shock when he reached his destination. “Songbird? But, why?! I don't—”

Tav threw down her bow, reaching to unsheathe her rapier. “You’re a beacon of trouble, ‘Star.”

#baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 astarion #baldurs gate tav #baldur's gate #astarion x tav #bg3 tav #tav #astarion #astarion fanfic #astarion acunin #bg3 spoilers #bg3 #bg3 fanfic #epistles of saints & sinners #bard tav #spawn astarion #female tav #fem!tav #smut #bg3 smut #astarion smut

[avelanlorelay]

*Fireflies*

Mature | Fluff | Fluff and Smut/Romantic | Post The Queen of Nothing

Words: 4,124

Summary: Cardan steals Jude from the feast to show a surprise. Based on the deleted scene from The Queen of Nothing.

*Just cuteness and happiness. English is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes 🖤

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49553290?view_adult=true

You are the light I've been searchin' for forever

Feels like I've really never felt the rain

Buried in the desert, didn't think I'd push through the dirt

You just cleansed me like a waterfall, you came

You cranked the heat up, I was cold

My past grew mold around my heart

And all my anger, sadness, regret disappeared, it's madness

I'm not used to all this water love, it's true

Light Shower, Melanie Martinez

He squeezed her hand, a signal for Jude to trust him, even though her patience was wearing thin as they walked through the woods, toward a lake Cardan used to visit near the palace. He had whispered furtively in her ear in the middle of the feast, promising her a surprise and a kiss if she would accompany him without asking questions.

Despite Jude’s reprisals that they shouldn’t run away in the middle of dinner, abandon the guests and especially escape the guards. But of course, a rebellious and impudent King like him didn’t care about any of that. Cardan agreed with a prankish smile, satisfied with his new title.

She followed him, though, perhaps because she was tired of Lady Asha’s glares and Minister Randalin’s exhausting babbling. Or maybe she was really tempted by the promise of a kiss. Jude hated to admit it, but Cardan’s lips were always good justification for breaking the rules.

Amidst the sound of owls and other creatures moaning or rejoicing in the dark of night, Cardan heard his Queen sigh, tired probably, but too touched by his willingness to surprise her to complain aloud. Oh, his Tempting Fruit Jude, who had already charmed him while sour, now made him even more smitten with her little efforts to prove herself sweet.

“Don’t worry My Queen, just a little bit more and we’ll arrive. Oh, perhaps you would rather have called your servants to carry you in a litter. He turned with a smirk so he could see her brown eyes roll back.

Even now as High Queen, Jude wasn’t usually as ostentatious as Cardan – except when it came to politics, of course, Jude then was all beauty and orders – but she wasn’t spoiled like the king, he had to admit.

“Perhaps I would rather you carried me in a litter.” She replied, eyebrows raised in sass, which no other person would have the audacity to say to the High King of Elfhame.

Cardan laughed.

“And am I not already one of your most faithful servants, my Goddess?” He pulled her to his side, placing a soft kiss on her hand. He was grateful for his magical vision for being able to see Jude's cheeks turn crimson like a red rose. She made a strange sound in her throat.

"What sound is this? Are we getting there yet? Jude pointed, quickly changing the subject.

Cardan became aware of the sound of water and the croaking of frogs nearby.

"Indeed. Wait here, I'll be back shortly.

"Cardan..." She began.

“Just trust me, Jude.” He insisted with a smile. Not a malicious smile or one of silly joy, but a truly sweet one, increasingly present on his lips.

Cardan didn't wait for her answer, he slipped through the trees. Five minutes later, Jude prepared to follow him, not caring to spoil the surprise, when she heard Cardan's voice humming her name. She approached with a small smile and almost gasped when she finally saw him.

Her King was smiling by a shining lake, illuminated by hundreds of fireflies that flew together, moving and dancing in harmony with the silent song of the woods, illuminating a carpet of white flowers that bloomed and spread out to cover the dry leaves of the ground and the trunk of the surrounding trees. A sweet scent of jasmine and honey lingered in the night.

Jude felt love move her heartbeat. In the light of the living stars, Cardan looked even more handsome and charming. Even more passionate. She had to blink a few times to make sure it wasn’t a dream.

“Did you like it?” Cardan asked hopefully, gesturing to induce the fireflies to fly around Jude. She turned to follow them with her gaze, but said nothing. “I have been training for some time.”

His tail swayed back and forth in anticipation, his usual confidence faltering terribly with her long silence. It was always like that with Jude. At all times, he found himself yearning for her reactions to his jokes, to his kisses, to his touches, from the most delicate to the most intimate. A rare laugh, a sigh of comfort, a moan of pleasure. Every melody that came out of Jude’s lips was the most beautiful song to his ears.

But at the moment he heard nothing. Perhaps the flowers were overkill? Maybe Jude was finding him clingy. Maybe he should tell all those silly fireflies to stop dancing and go away.

“It is splendid.” She finally sighed with a smile and he felt his heart dance in the chest along with the fireflies.

He smiled smugly, proud that he’d managed to impress her. Cardan held out a hand for Jude to join him at the edge of the lake.

“Did you do all this just for me?” She asked, brow furrowed, a little surprised and thrilled at the same time. Jude didn’t even remember that there was a lake near the Palacio, and especially didn’t knew that Cardan trained to charm fireflies.

She realized that she still wasn’t used to the idea that Cardan was her husband now and that lovers did romantic things for each other, asking nothing in return, even in Elfhame. Indeed, it seemed she would never get used to the idea that Cardan was hers, that he thought of her, that he liked to surprise her and give her gifts, that he wanted her. Without any logical explanation, his love was like Faerie magic itself.

“Well, I still don’t have much experience with being a husband and I also thought you wouldn’t like something too extravagant. So I tried something romantic in the right measure. However, I’m also not sure any measure of romance suits your tastes.” Cardan explained with a shy smile.

Jude couldn’t help but laugh and could have sworn his cheeks reddened. He was undeniably handsome when he was -rarely -shy.

“Actually, I like any measure of romance when it comes to you.” She moved closer, wrapping her arms around his neck. Cardan raised his eyebrows in surprise. “So feel free to be romantic whenever you want.”

“Oh Jude” He sighed, in love “You’re not mocking me, are you?”

The Queen pressed her lips together, drawing her eyebrows together.

“If every time I try to be affectionate you’re going to get suspicious, then I’ll give up right here.” Jude replied, promptly withdrawing her embrace. He pulled her back against his chest before she could pull away any further.

“No, don’t be so cruel to me. But sometimes, everything seems too perfect to be true. I feel like I’m dreaming.”

Jude thought so too, but she at least had the advantage of knowing that every word of love and devotion that fell from Cardan’s lips-and of which there were many, even when she didn’t ask for it, even at inappropriate times-were the absolute truth. . He, however, was not so lucky. Jude remembered how he hadn’t believed her when she confessed that she loved him for the first time, making a mental note to try to remind him of the truth of her feelings whenever necessary, even if it wasn’t with words.

"So… it’s a dream.” She concluded simply, with a small smile that reflected across his lips, before she attacked them with a kiss.

After a long moment, the fireflies swirling around them like a spiral, Cardan tried to pry their mouths apart, but Jude bit his lip to stop him. He moaned into her mouth and after a lot of effort, managed to pull away with a husky laugh.

“Wait, my dear kissy. Actually, I brought you here so we could bathe in the lake. I used to enjoy swimming back in the day, before I became King. I realized I missed it, so I wanted to come back here, but with you.”

Most of the time, he swam alone, enjoying the peaceful feeling of floating in the water, of feeling free. No pain, no hurt, no anger. Just freedom. Nicasia accompanied him some other times. They exchanged secrets and kisses and risky caresses, and he walked all the way home with a goofy smile on his lips. But those moments were long forgotten by Cardan, the happiness of those memories fading with time, as his love for Nicasia had faded. Disappeared from a place in his heart, so that Jude could occupy it entirely

In every moment with her, Cardan could feel the memories being eternalized in his own skin, just as he could feel the flowers opening in the ground, as if he and Jude were intertwined like the roots of a single rose. And every moment together with Jude, he wanted another and another and another, and as many memories as he could keep in the hundred or two hundred years they would live together.

“As long as you don’t try to drown me this time.” Jude narrowed her eyes with a wicked smile.

Cardan froze. He had completely forgotten about that day. Jude watched him blush a second time, truly a miracle. She had to stifle a laugh when he lowered his gaze.

“Oh, that. I don’t think I’ve ever apologized properly. I’m sorry, Jude. But if you give me a chance, this will be the perfect opportunity to replace this terrible memory with a much better one.”

Cardan looked into her eyes, a small hopeful smile, his tail twitching nervously for the second time that night. He could almost feel his muscles getting tired. She smiled brightly at him, moving close enough that her breaths seemed like a single, as she murmured,

“You’ve already done it. No bad memories exist when I’m with you, Cardan.”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise and swore his heart had stumbled a beat.

“Ask again if I’m mocking you and you’ll have to swim alone.” Jude added grimly.

“Fair.” Cardan chuckled, raising his hands in surrender as he approached the lake. He had been speechless anyway.

Cardan removed the long wolfskin cloak from his shoulders, followed by his doublet and shirt, and threw them carelessly to the earth. It took Jude some time in her silent admiration to realize that he was taking off his pants as well. Her cheeks flushed as Cardan turned to her stark naked, gaze inquiring and tail twitching impatiently. All his pale skin glistened in the moonlight, as if the King was it sole focus. It was mesmerizing and intimidating at the same time, his unearthly beauty.

“As tempting as your gaze is, I would like you to hurry up.”

His petulant tone snapped her out of her trance. Jude cleared her throat.

“You want me to go in the water with you completely naked? If anyone sees it, they’ll think we were doing something else.”

Cardan rolled his eyes. His queen didn’t care much for the fae’s nudity and even their inhibitions with sex. But Jude seemed terrified that anyone would find her in the slightest bit in that condition or in any way related. Jude only allowed the folk to see her as a warrior, never as a lover. Not that it bothered him, she had always been secretive anyway. On the contrary still, Cardan liked to think that her innermost side was reserved for him alone, her greatest proof that he possessed her every confidence. As if he were special.

“Good.” The King snorted with amusement. “You can swim with your clothes on if you want. Everyone will wonder what happened to the Queen when you returns soaked from head to toe, though.”

“Or you could lend me your robes and walk naked to the palace.” She retorted insolently.

The laugh Cardan gave echoed through the forest, as revitalizing as birdsong.

“Well, then surely everyone would know what happened to the Queen.” He snapped, so bold he didn’t even make a point of looking at Jude. He didn’t wait for her either as he waded slowly into the water, the fireflies clearing a path for his to pass.

“Come on Jude, the water is very nice. Warm, as you like in the bath. The sun must have been pretty hot this morn...” His excited voice trailed off as he turned and saw Jude wading into the lake. She had let her chestnut curls loose and, naked with every detail of her body exposed and lit by the night, Jude looked as beautiful as any mermaid of the sea. He would have gladly drowned at the sound of her melodious voice, even for a single kiss. She laughed at his silly expression.

“Why are you looking at me like that? With those rosy cheeks, you looks like a maiden boy who has never seen a woman without clothes.” She scoffed, cupping her hands together to get some water and splash it on his head, wetting his black hair.

“No matter how many times I look at you, your beauty always disturbs me.” Cardan muttered hoarsely, ignoring her taunt and the drops dripping from his hair.

Jude felt her cheeks burn. It was still hard to get used to being the center of all attention from those black eyes. She ran her hands through his wet hair and pushed it back, leaving his face fully exposed to smear kisses over his pale skin. A kiss on top of one apple, then the other. Another kiss on the forehead and one more on the chin. One last at the corner of those soft lips, right where he hid his smiles.

When she pulled away, Jude combed his black brows with her thumbs and smiled into his smitten eyes. He looked like a hypnotized sailor, ready for her to drag him under the water.

“I dare you to see who can stay underwater the longest.” She said suddenly with a teasing smile. Cardan needed a moment to process her sudden change in mood.

He smiled and agreed. Jude counted to three and they both submerged in the water at the same time, her long hair flowing around her like a great crown. With puffy cheeks and a small smile of suppressed amusement, she was beautiful and she was his wife.

Underwater, Cardan reached out his hand and the entire lake lit up as if stars had fallen from the sky. Jude’s eyes widened and when she looked up, she realized it was the fireflies that had formed a carpet over the lake, following his movements.

Jude could see a shoal of violet fish swim in a row at the bottom, followed by a small water fairy riding a pink eel. At the very bottom were glistening mosses and a variety of water plants and flowers. She had never been able to see what she had in the lakes of Elfhame before. All the while, the King’s eyes followed her awestruck gaze.

When he could no longer hold his breath, Cardan emerged and Jude followed him.

“You won!” He laughed breathlessly, pushing his hair back.

“It’s so amazing. Do it again.” She asked in awe, ignoring her small victory.

“Why do not you try? Go ahead. Come on, Jude.” Cardan persisted when Jude stared at him in disbelief.

She held out her hand as he had and a rare goofy laugh escaped her lips as the fireflies followed her, even as Jude twirled her fingers, they danced in sync with her movements. Her eyes sparkled with the reflection of the lights.

“But I don’t understand...” She mumbled with furrowed brow. “This is magic, but I’m not magic. I’m just a mortal girl.”

“You are the High Queen, Jude.” Cardan smiled, taking her hands in his. “And this is our land, Elfhame. Yours and mine. You gave me this.” His voice has genuine admiration.

“And you gave it to me.” Jude reminded him softly.

“In fact, if we’re both upfront about our intentions, we set a trap for each other. And you fell perfectly into my trap, which made me really proud of my skills.” He grinned cheekily.

Jude clapped his shoulder. He held her hands tighter and savored her lips and the smile that crept onto them afterwards.

Neither of them worried that they had been gone for too long or that any guests or guards had noticed their absence. They swam deeper into the lake and discovered new creatures and plants. They played with the fireflies and laughed so hard their stomachs hurt. They floated in the water and watched the clouds move.

Only when Cardan took Jude’s hands in his and felt her fingertips wrinkle like shriveled fruit did he stop, frowning in concern.

“What happened to your fingers?”

“It’s normal. It happens because I was in the water for a long time.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Oh, no” Jude chuckled at his lovely genuine concern. “It’s like armor for human skin to get used to water. It’s just a little uncomfortable, but it can happen in the bath too.”

“Oh.” He raised his eyebrows. “We better get out of the water before you turn into a plum.” Cardan dropped one more kiss on her fingertips and stepped out of the lake, helping Jude out as well. He knew she didn’t need the help, but he also knew that she liked it when he showed her that he cared.

“But I don’t want to go back yet. Can’t we stay a little longer?” Jude questioned as she wrung out her hair at the lakeside. By this time, she no longer cared that Cardan saw her naked anyway.

He stared at her in mock surprise.

“And to think it was so hard to convince you to come… But if that’s what you want.” The King shrugged “I won’t be the one to deny you something in life.”

“It’s better anyway.”

Cardan grimaced.

“You are incredibly demanding today, aren’t you?”

Jude clicked her tongue ready to bite back a reply, but then she noticed he was leaning back, gently twisting the furry tip of his tail.

“What are you doing?” She asked with a surprised laugh.

“It gets heavy when it’s wet. Don’t laugh, Jude.”

“I am not.” She lied with a amused smile. Cardan shook his head in mock irritation, reaching down to pick up his robes from the floor.

“For my Demanding Queen, only the finest accommodations.” He said with warmth, dramatically laying his soft cloak on the flower-strewn ground.

He lay down in all his elegance and nudity and Jude couldn’t help but be reminded of the sculptures of Greek gods from the human world. She wouldn’t tell him of course, she’d already done enough for his arrogance for one night.

She lay on his chest while Cardan stroked her damp hair and they were both silent for a long moment, simply admired the stars. Until Jude realized too late that it wasn’t a good idea to hug Cardan while they were without clothes and having skipped the first step that usually got them into this situation. It was stronger than she was, this desire that had haunted her for so long and that now it was finally free to indulge whenever she wanted.

Their skin was still damp, and with hers pressed against Cardan’s, they warmed each other, making the touch even more inviting. She was up and sitting on his lap before he could notice.

Jude felt him under her body almost instantly. She almost let out a laugh, the poor King should have been holding back for a long time, but he was too respectful to try anything with his wife outside of they rooms.

“Jude” Cardan panted, clutching the lined cloak on the floor beside his tightly to avoid touching her. “I don’t want to test my resilience right here and now. Let’s go back then.”

Jude smiled and ran her hands slowly over his chest and belly.

“I already said that I don’t want to go back. And if we go back, we’re going to have to join the party. I want to party with you alone.”

Cardan covered his face with his hands and growled.

Jude laughed and pushed his hands away from his face. He looked at her with a frown.

“Are you sure?”

“No one will see us here, willt hey?”She asked shyly, stroking his soft cheeks.

“No. Nobody, I swear.” Cardan promptly stated. Too fast, even. The controlled desperation in his voice was comical, and though Jude was trying hard to sound seductive, she laughed again.

“Then fine.” She moved closer to kiss his lips and he responded eagerly.

Cardan turned them so that Jude was under his body. He kissed her all over her face as she had done to him, taking the opportunity to move down her body. On her muscled belly, he stopped to lick her belly button and followed with kisses down her inner thighs, skipping a spot that Jude thought was extremely important.

She gripped his hair tightly and pulled him up.

“I need you. I need you now.” Jude whispered in his ear, nibbling the tip of his pointed ear. Cardan shivered and let out a hoarse groan.

He squeezed Jude’s breasts hungrily and hurriedly positioned himself inside her, moving slowly as their breathy moans echoed through the forest.

Amidst the scent of flowers and the lights of dancing fireflies, Jude and Cardan made love as if they were the only ones in the world illuminated by moonlight.

“You are so delicious…” She whispered into his neck, spreading wet kisses over his skin. “I love having you inside me. I want you so much...”

Cardan shuddered and kissed her on the lips with even more desire. He had once confessed to Jude that he fantasized about her flattery, now she always whispered sweet nothings that drove him crazy. To mock him or not, Cardan did not care. He would beg at her feet for more if he had to.

“I am the one who desperately wants you.” He stroked her cheeks in his long-fingered hand. “Say what you want and I’ll give you anything, anything you wish. If you asked me for the stars, I’d go up to the sky and knock them down for you. I’d make the planet stop spinning, Jude. Just ask and I will give you everything I have and steal what I don’t have.”

Jude caressed his soft lips with her thumb, as if they were the petals of a rose. Her amber eyes like two fireflies twinkled only for Cardan.

“I don’t wish for anything. All I want is you. It is more than enough.” She slid her fingers under his chin and pulled him to her, their mouths intertwining effortlessly.

When she melted into him and pressed him inside her, her lips vibrated into the kiss with a drawn-out moan from Jude. He tightened her thighs around his body tightly and increased his thrusts, releasing himself inside her with his whole body shuddering and a growl. Jude pulled away biting Cardan’s lip, panting and with a small smile of satisfaction. Cardan always invoked many of her smiles.

He buried his face in her neck and almost purred when he felt Jude’s hand stroke his damp curls with water and now sweat. Another hand of her gently ran its fingers over the old and newly self-made scars on his back. Cardan could spend the rest of his long life there in her arms. He would forever be undone by her, in fact.

**** ***

They walked back through the forest barefoot, the warm night air drying their skin and hair. Between kisses and laughter, they stopped halfway to lean against a tree, their swollen lips tireless of each other. They promised to come back whenever they could and make it a secret place. Those memories they would create together Cardan would never forget.

That night, the King and Queen returned to the party just as the sun was about to rise through the trees. Their absence was not noticed by any revelers, however, all too involved in the celebration. Cardan and Jude danced and laughed, a secret on their lips shared only between them.

He loved it, how it was now part of her secrets. She felt as light and exhilarated as she had never allowed herself to be before.

If life had ever been cruel or boring, neither of them could remember.

*I modified some lines from the deleted scene and made some references to HTKOELTHS.

Thanks for reading! 🖤💗

#cardan greenbriar #jude x cardan #jurdan #tfota #the cruel prince #twk #fanfic #fanfiction #tfota fanfic #jude duarte #tqon #ao3feed #Spotify

[orthodoxadventure]

Life of Blessed St. Xenia of Petersburg February 6 (January 24, Old Calendar)

St. Xenia was the wife of Colonel Andrei Feodorovich Petrov, who served as a court chanter. At the age of 26, Xenia was widowed and, appeared to have lost her mind from grief: she distributed her possessions to the poor, dressed herself in the clothes of her reposed husband, and, as if having forgotten her own name, called herself by the name of her reposed husband - Andrei Feodorovich.

These eccentricities were not indicative of a loss of reason, however, but signified a complete disdain for earthly goods and human opinion, which places them at the center of existence. Thus, Xenia of Petersburg took upon herself the difficult podvig of foolishness for Christ's sake.

Having come to know the inconstancy of earthly happiness through the death of her beloved husband, Xenia strove toward God with all her heart, and sought protection and comfort only in Him. Earthly, transitory goods ceased to have any value for her. Xenia had a house; but gave it over to an acquaintance under the condition that it be used to shelter paupers. But Xenia herself, not having a refuge, would wander among the paupers of Petersburg. At night she would go out to a field, where she spent the time in ardent prayer.

When they began to build a church in the Smolensk Cemetery, Xenia, after the onset of darkness, would secretly carry bricks to the top of the construction, and thereby helped the masons erect the walls of the church.

Some of Xenia's relatives wanted to take her in and provide her with all necessities, but the blessed one replied to them: "I do not need anything."

She was glad of her poverty, and when visiting somewhere, would at times remark: "I am all here!" When her reposed husband's clothing wore out, Xenia clothed herself in the poorest clothing, and wore torn shoes without stockings on her feet. She did not dress warmly and forced her body to suffer from the severe cold.

Sensing the greatness of Blessed Xenia's soul, the inhabitants of Petersburg loved her, because she despised the earthly for the sake of the Kingdom of Heaven. If Xenia entered anyone's home, this was considered a good sign. Mothers rejoiced if she kissed their children. Cab drivers would ask permission of the blessed one to drive her a little, since after this the earnings would be guaranteed for the whole day. Merchants in the bazaars would try to give here kalach [cracknel bread] or some food; if Blessed Xenia took something from what was offered, all the wares of the seller were quickly bought up.

Xenia had the gift of clairvoyance. On the eve of the Nativity of Christ in 1762, she walked about Petersburg and said, "Bake blini! Tomorrow all Russia will bake blini!" The next day, the Empress Elizabeth Petrovna, suddenly died [blini is traditionally made at someone's death]. A few days before the murder of the royal youth, John VI (Antonovich, the great­great­grandson of Tsar Alexis Michailovich), who in infancy had been proclaimed the Russian Emperor, the blessed one wept and repeated, "Blood, blood, blood." Within a few days after Mirovich's unsuccessful conspiracy, the young John was killed.

Once, Xenia came to a home where there was a grown-up daughter. Turning to the girl, she said, "Here you are drinking coffee, while your husband is burying his wife at Okhta." After a certain time, this girl married that very widower who at that moment had been burying his first wife at the Okhta Cemetery.

Blessed Xenia died at the end of the eighteenth century, but tradition has not preserved either the year or day of her decease. She was buried in the Smolensk Cemetery, where she had helped build the church.

Pilgrimages to her grave began shortly after her decease. Blessed Xenia often appeared in visions to people in difficult circumstances, forewarned of dangers and saved them from calamities. The righteous one has not ceased to show compassionate love toward all who with faith have called upon her, and many instances of her help for the suffering and those in desperate situations are known.

A civil servant, Nicholas Selivanovich Golovin, had lived in Grodno approximately until 1907. He often experienced unpleasantness at work. He came to Petersburg to put his affairs in order, but they became even more entangled. Golovin was very poor, caring for his elderly mother and two sisters. In despair, he walked along the streets of Petersburg, and, though he was a man of faith, the thought to throw himself into the Neva stole into his soul. At this moment, some unknown woman stood in front of him. He was struck by her appearance, which was reminiscent of a poor nun. "Why are you so sad?" she asked. "Go to the Smolensk Cemetery, serve a panikhida [a requiem service] for Xenia, and everything will be settled." After these words, the unknown woman disappeared. Golovin fulfilled the advice of the mysterious nun, and his affairs were unexpectedly settled in the best manner possible. He joyfully returned home to Grodno.

Emperor Alexander III, when he was the heir, became ill with a serious form of typhus. The Grand Duchess Maria Feodorovna was very alarmed by her spouse's illness. One of the valets, seeing her in the corridor, related to her how Blessed Xenia helps the sick, gave her sand from the cherished grave and added that he himself had been healed from illness by the prayer of the righteous one. The Grand Duchess placed the sand under the pillow of the patient. That same night, while sitting at the head of the bed, she had a vision of Blessed Xenia, who told her that the patient would recover and that a daughter would be born in their family. She should be called Xenia. The prediction of the blessed one was fulfilled exactly.

In the Pskov province, a relative from Petersburg came to stay for a while with a landowner and recounted how they revere Blessed Xenia in the capital. Under the influence of this account, the pious landowner prayed before sleep for the repose of her soul. At night, she dreamed that Xenia was walking round her house and pouring water on it. In the morning, the hay barn on the country estate caught on fire, but the fire did not spread further and the home remained whole.

A colonel's widow arrived in Petersburg to enroll her two sons into the Cadet Corps. She did not succeed in this. The money borrowed for the trip had come to an end, and the widow walked along the street and wept bitterly. Suddenly, some woman of the common people came up to her and said: "Serve a panikhida for Xenia. She helps in sorrows." "Who is this Xenia?" asked the colonel's widow. "The tongue [that asks the way] will lead to Kiev," she answered, quickly vanishing.

Indeed, the colonel's widow easily learned who this Xenia was. She served a panikhida for her at her grave in the Smolensk Cemetery, and shortly after received the unexpected news that both her sons had been accepted into the Cadet Corps.

A multitude of similar instances of Blessed Xenia's help is known also in our days.

[source]

#Saint Xenia #Saint Xenia of Saint Petersburg #Christianity #Orthodox Christianity #Religion

[ask-healthy-light]

With a quiet chuckle, which only barely managed to cover a frightful sob, Shining thanked Celestia, before he told her that he would gather his armour and weaponry, and whatever else he may need when he met their friends in the Dragon Lands; but he worried that he would not be able to tell Cadance, as he could not bring up the terrible visions she suffered through, until Luna calmed her thoughts.

Knowing far too well how horrifically vile such visions could be, and the visions that Cadance bore witness to in particular, Celestia nodded wisely to Shining in return, when she added that he could not leave without letting her know, either; but since there was little reason for her to doubt that he was summoned, Celestia said that it was all right to tell her a white lie about his destination.

Although she realised that Cadance and the two Young Princesses would want to be there for him, and to wave him goodbye before he left, Celestia whispered to Shining that he should not travel whither he had to go, or at least, not directly; for if Cadance caught so much as a glimpse of the scorched plains of the Dragon Lands, or if a familiar fiery gate appeared, she would know something was off.

Instead, she advised him to pack what he thought he would need, and to hide it, either underneath a cloaking spell, or by covering it with supplies or other parts of his clothing, since the icy winds outside of the aura would give him good cover, and a greater excuse; and after he was out of sight, and had made it past the storm, he could send word to their friends to translocate him to the East.

This way, Celestia continued, Cadance would believe he was barely outside of the protective Aura of the Heart, and close to the borders of the Empire, instead of far across the Eastern Sea, countless leagues away from here; and she had faith that with his help, not only would their group of friends be safer, but they would swiftly reach the furthest East, and head back to the Empire even quicker.

When Shining looked back to Cadance sitting nearby, smiling brightly as she played games with Young Twila, who knew nothing of the horrors her Mother dreaded she had foreseen, a small smile grew upon his face, before he asked Celestia to tell Eclipse of their plan; for he knew neither how to send a letter to their friends, nor how to receive one in return, and he hoped they would be able to help.

After she solemnly nodded to Shining, and had wiped clean his tear-stained face, Celestia got up to look for Eclipse, while he took a deep breath, and walked back over to Cadance and Twila, wearing a a warm smile on his face, and carrying a sleeping Flurry in his arms; and as Shining approached the two, before he had even sat down again, Twila had already started to reach out to greet her Father.

In return, the smile on Shining's face swiftly grew brighter, before he quietly apologised to Twila as he glanced at Flurry, and softly asked her to be careful, lest she accidentally wake her up; but Cadance sweetly took over the duty of carrying Flurry from Shining with a smile, which let him pick up Twila to place her in his lap, to the joy of both the Young Princess and the Lady of the Empire.

While Shining spent even more time with his Family, giving his Daughters and beloved many kisses on their heads, and forcing himself to hide his overwhelming worry of losing them, Celestia was flying around to look for Eclipse, when she found them embracing Spike in a nearby hallway; but she merely warmly smiled to the two, and nodded to them when she landed nearby, without uttering another word.

Even though she could tell that they saw and heard her land, Celestia closed her eyes and patiently waited for the two to step towards her, which they did not too long after she made it to where they were; and Spike and Eclipse both nodded to Celestia thank her, before they kindly asked her whether there was anything they could do for her, or if she wanted to ask them anything, to which she said:

"Shining Armour wants to help. Have you sent the letter already?"

(Thanks for reading! And if you enjoyed, please reblog! Thanks in advance!)

Send an ask or request! | Start at the beginning! | Next part!

Featuring: Solar Eclipse and Twilight Sparkle as Twilight Eclipse from @asktwilighteclipse Princess Twila from @twila-bloggin

#story related #my little pony #writing #oc #healthy light #twilight eclipse #princess twila #princess celestia #princess cadance #princess flurry heart #spike the dragon #shining armour

[mythaura-blog]

Under New Management

Hey all, Grif here!

Mythaura started out of a love for virtual pet games and the incredible sense of community that blossoms from them. It was always my goal to create something not only fun and visually wonderful, but someplace where people from all over the world can come together.

The last few years, I began to understand that my plans for Mythaura were starting to get further and further out of reach as my free time was something of a rarity. I realized that, to see the game released sooner, I would have to let it go. I’ve made the enormously difficult decision to hand Mythaura over to Koa. She has been coding on the project for a long time and is someone who knows Mythaura inside and out, since close to its inception. I whole-heartedly believe under Koa’s incredible leadership, the vision for Mythaura will be made into reality. I am very excited for the future of this project, and I really hope the community still is too! I want to thank everybody who has supported me and my vision for the game. Without the amazing encouragement of the community on tumblr and discord, Mythaura would not have ever lifted off the ground. Thank you to past Patreon supporters who kickstarted development for the game, your faith in the project means the absolute world to me. I hope Mythaura will be everything you wanted and more. I will still aim to be active in the community however if you need to get into contact with me,  please feel free to message me on Discord (Grif#1760) or please send an email to [email protected]

---

Hello Mythaura, Koa here now to bring you the rest of the update!

First off, I want to extend my gratitude to Grif for everything she has given to the game. These last few years have been some of the most difficult in memory for so many people, and she has been committed to the success of Mythaura through all of it. Mythaura could not have gotten this far or have captivated so many people without her dedication and talent and I am honored to have the opportunity to carry the torch past the finish line.

As part of the immediate move, there will be some downtime as the domain and server are transferred and re-delegated. Rest assured we will have it back up as soon as possible. This downtime may last several days but when it is up again, there will no longer be a security certificate error when you access the site.

Introducing the New Owners

Koa and Sark are a married couple who love to code together. We’ve worked on numerous projects together and have a passion for gaming and all things nerdy.

Koa (she/her) - Full Stack developer with an emphasis in PHP & Laravel. She has developed with other pet sim games in all stages of release, including building one from the ground up. Koa is also a seasoned artist, and has the flexibility to work both on art assets and code development.

Sark (he/him) - Front End developer with an emphasis in User Experience and UI. Sark is a professional UI developer and plans to bring nearly ten years of his expertise to Mythaura to ensure we deliver an amazing user experience on both mobile and desktop.

State of the Game Right Now

The art assets are mostly complete. We also have already talked with previous artists and intend to retain them in order to finish out the remaining art assets.

The amount of code work still needed is substantial. It will be some time before we have an idea of when we can transition into a beta release but we do hope to provide a development roadmap in the coming months so you guys can follow along as we develop the game. While we will be dedicating as much spare time as we can to Mythaura, both the new owners are employed full time and working on this during evenings and weekends as a passion project. This will be a marathon, not a race, but we are in it for the long haul and hope you will stick around for the ride too!

Rain or shine, development updates will be posted to social media once a month.

Patreon & Closing Notes

Patreon will not be reopening at this time. We are funding the completion of Mythaura out of pocket and want to focus all of our attention on building the much needed code infrastructure. There will be opportunities in the future for you to contribute and help, so keep an eye on our monthly updates for ways to get involved. 

A big thank you to all of you who have been sticking with us this whole time. We will be keeping an active presence on discord and invite anyone interested in following the project to join the official channel using this invite link: https://discord.gg/hdcp3V9Ts6.

#mythaura #virtual pet site #petsite #virtual pet sim #pet site #game dev #dragons #browser game

[insurrection-if]

🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔

"When an MC drinks the blood of a Gifted, they become connected to their heart, mind, and soul. They may feel past sensations, experience current emotions, or become foreign in their own skin."

Me, thinking: MC constantly drinking their beloved (main/minor) Gifted!RO's blood = ultimate intimacy 👀👀👀 Fite meh!

Aight, kidding aside, I wonder how would ROs react to that, especially on the early stage when they just met MC and, due to a valid reason, have to give their blood. Then they find out about the side effects O.O

Add to that, later on if a RO is secretly and deeply crushing on MC and has to give blood, I don't doubt that they would be in for a treat. Imagine the awkwardness and blushing and embarrassment 😈😎👌

(*´∀`*) Haha, I mean, some ROs would hold the opinion that it’s quite an intimate experience to be so helplessly vulnerable to this empathic experience with their partner / crush—others, well, are not too keen on it!

Ah, I fear I might veer into spoiler-y(?) territory since “revealing thoughts and emotions they most definitely did not want revealed, including romantic sentiments” is a planned possibility within the narrative for those drinking from their intended ROs. Mm, in more generalized terms I guess, the run-down for the HAWKS ROs would be:

Early Stages

In the case they had been unaware of the side effects prior to offering their blood (for a valid reason) . . .

Sigmund

Sigmund would be pissed, to put it lightly. It is too reminiscent of violations he has experienced in the past, whether they were attached to the antics of the Gifted or instigated by purely mortal whims, and he's practically grinding his teeth to dust as he holds back all he aches to shout. His glare is piercing, sometimes intended for Mockingbird themself and other times (when reason finally surmounts the blind rage he feels towards this unconsented exposure) simply towards the circumstances that forced them both in such a situation.

He will find a time and place to corner them somewhere, to interrogate them on what they had seen and . . . and, perhaps, what they had felt - what his gift felt like when experienced by the hands and heart of another.

"Next time," he more so growls than warns, "you will trust me to keep you safe: with or without the blood."

It is no question which scenario he truly demands you abide by when danger comes again. At the very least, his vow for protection is fully intended to be true. But whether he truly may prove enough on his own, without you to fight with his gift alongside him . . . that is a risk, a test of faith, you must be willing to take.

Imka

Imka would be more focused on her concern for Mockingbird’s emotional and mental well-being after undertaking such foreign sensations from others, not fully processing that those sensations are rather private to her. She worries their lack of mastery over her gift isn't worth of cost of adopting the burdens she never intended to force upon them, and she quickly insists on carrying a sense of blame for imposing this pain(?) onto Mockingbird.

Only in time, once separate from the immediacy of her panicked concern on Mockingbird's behalf and the shock of the revelation, will she flush horribly in embarrassment for all the unknown exposure she unwittingly bore to a near stranger - a violation she cannot help but think as cruel when she realizes how her most intimate thoughts and emotions had been made vulnerable to this theft in exchange for . . . power? protection? defense? Even if Mockingbird didn’t witness or experience anything truly personal, something she would never have willingly shared, the risk itself is unnerving to her.

Ah, but in that case, perhaps she is selfish to place her privacy above Mockingbird's ability to protect themself as a HAWK, as someone otherwise mortal and disadvantaged against the threats they face. Yet, even still, she cannot help the tears of shame that blur her vision at the thought of their judgement towards the most private parts of herself.

Elouan

Elouan would be conflicted between a cold curiosity to witness firsthand how exactly these side effects manifest in Mockingbird and a desire to keep what lies beneath his surface under lock and key.

He will feign absolute calm and confidence upon learning this, acting as though he does not have a plethora of unwanted skeletons to hide. Ah, is Mockingbird gazing at him differently than they had before? With contempt? Morbid curiosity? Acceptance, perhaps? An unlikely notion, but he entertains it all the same. Nonetheless, he knows it is best to not give reason for suspicions by insisting on interrogation or confrontation over what might have been unwittingly witnessed. In the meantime, he would be best served by building up Mockingbird's goodwill towards him before its current shaky foundations are inevitably torn down by what they will eventually come to see.

And yet, on his end, his sense of trust of them shall never be fully sound after this oversight in disclosure.

Jae

Jae, in the heat of the moments following Mockingbird's consumption of her blood, would purely be on an adrenaline high that fuels a sense of excitement towards seeing just how her gift fares in the hands of another - as novice or clumsy Mockingbird may turn out to be with it on a first try (which makes the entertainment all the better).

Learning of the consequences may first go through one ear and out the other, a trivial detail to be waved aside.

But once the truth settles in . . . her smile becomes sharp, eventually easing as her expression is softened by thought. For a time, the past occupies her present, a force almost alive and encompassing as she considers what you might have seen in the midst of what had been experimental fun to her not so long ago.

"You owe me, sneaky bird," she soon manages to tease through a sigh, her lips now able to lift in a peace-offering smirk. "I wonder what you have to offer that's as precious as my kindly given blood and memories. Two weeks' worth of laundry duty should be a good place to start, no?"

As much as her laughter implies this is no more than a joke, the sudden spark in her eyes suggests otherwise.

If you ever wish to disclose what you had seen, she would not halt your attempts to share. She may interrupt with a joke or correction, some input or rebuttal intended for no one but herself, but the way she leans close with eyes to intensely focused upon you is all the reassurance you would need towards her genuine interest. But she would never be the one to first make this approach for answers, not wishing to disturb the possible past or the fragility of her present by actively sticking her nose in a matter like this.

Mutya

Shit.

She never would have offered her gift to Mockingbird had she known. She would have told them to stay behind her, to not be the hero, to let her protect them.

It's not even the rage towards this unwanted exposure that twists her lips with frustration, stabs at her heart and hardens her glare. It's her damned fear for the danger they pose to themselves that causes her to coil up with a burning anger, an emotions directed at them as much as it is towards herself.

They never should have handled her gift with a mind split like this. The thoughts they manifest are not theirs alone, or risk not being so, and that unpredictability frightens her. Frightens her for their sake, her own, and everyone around them.

This is not a gift Mockingbird should wield if this is the case.

She is not someone Mockingbird should bind themself to in this way.

When all is said and done, it takes all her resolve to not knock some sense into them - the sense they clearly lacked when taking her blood without disclosing the extent of the risk.

From then on, she tries to live in ignorant bliss towards what Mockingbird might have seen and learned from this cursed bond.

Deep Crush Stages

Um, in a rather simplified and very general overview:

Sigmund: I should be enough. He has yet to acknowledge the sneer he wears whenever you drink from him, an expression he instinctively calms when your gaze flitters towards him. And yet, beneath his firm belief that he alone should be enough to keep you safe - to make you feel safe whenever you are by his side - he knows there too lies a selfish fear whenever you drink from his blood. Beneath the worries for your long-term health, the guilt for allowing you to carry his burdens, there lies the fear of his own honest heart. Unrestricted by his will, open and bare to you . . . he fears you will see him for the common man he is. Someone who, weak and afraid, will not ever be enough for you.

Imka: Be gentle, she silently pleas as her blood meets your lips. Please, soul or heart or whatever it is you are . . . please, be kind to Mockingbird. She avoids your gaze when you reunite, quelling the nervous shake of her palms by clasping them together in a hold as tight as her smile. Whatever it is you saw, I wish I could have told you myself.

Elouan: Please, he prays, do not be repulsed by my affection. His blood is yours to take, and he is a fool to leave himself to open to the hurt of your rejection . . . and, perhaps, disgust. As you endure the weight of his soul, he laments on not having been a better man. And though he may never have you, he may at least prove to be of some use to your wellbeing at the risk of his own selfish comfort.

Jae: This feels like a love letter, she muses with a grin, only wincing the slightest bit at the strength of love when she lacks a better word. Written all over my blood is my fondness for you, and you oh-so-conveniently happen to favor my vials. You must think you're sly, she ponders, wondering if you too can sense her amused accusations. I hope you enjoy the ego boost, songbird.

Mutya: Damn it, she internally groans whenever she catches herself thinking about you in the odd hours of the day and quiet moments of the night. With her accursed luck, this solitary intimacy she holds is bound to be shared to you in the midst of some inconvenient battle, dumping onto you her ridiculous wanting in a time where every moment holds a risk to you. She tries to silence these thoughts as she does for her own gift, these fixations on you in your daily and mundane lives, and yet . . . this self-discipline in regard to you, perhaps, will prove be the toughest battle she will ever face in this life.

And as a bonus for the non-HAWK ROs . . .

Early Stages

Fyodor

His hesitance towards allowing a stranger to wield his gift, one that should be directed by his will alone, would actually diminish upon learning these consequences. To have the chance to be understood so deeply by another, a near and supposed stranger they may be, is quite the alluring thought to him. Perhaps they will have greater insight into how his gift might best be translated into a force for good, or simply be tamed enough to be used solely by his will at all.

Please, if you will . . . tell him who he is, who you felt him to truly be.

Please, tell him what he might yet become.

Dearil

Aha, no.

His hand slips quickly, slyly, from the security of his glove. You will not cling to life long enough to sense the coldness of his touch, nor the strength of its bruising grip.

This is not a risk he will take.

Curadora

She quells the sense of betrayal that threatens to arise within her. How hypocritical. The self-given accusation is quick, and true. She is thankful for her mask as it rests atop the storm of emotions that are slowly, patiently, calmed by her will.

Ah, so this is what it feels like to be on the other end of this unfortunate deal.

She quiets her worries, focuses on her shaky trust in this Gifted that relies in equal turn on her blood. It is not as though she is helpless towards fixing this lose end in a harmless manner, one that will not leave her anguished for nights with guilt and fear.

The more accepting she appears towards all this, the easier it will be to lure them close and make matters right once more.

At the very least, she will leave them with the memory of her gratitude.

Retriever

Retriever would be somewhat lost for words at first. Maybe he would first offer a breathless laugh, short and instinctual in balance with his mixed emotions with routine politeness, as he ran a hand through his hair—only to then find himself unsure as to where to rest his hands next, a revelation matched with a throat suddenly too pinched with discomfort and uncertainty to speak.

By the time he collects himself enough to share his thoughts, any thoughts, on the matter he finds himself without the courage to share them with this near stranger.

And so, he settles with asking if they were comfortable through that whole experience, kindly halting any attempt from them to share whatever they had felt or seen.

Lempo

She's delightfully intrigued by this revelation, eager to see just how this mesh of psyches manifests in Mockingbird. She has nothing to hide, nothing to be ashamed of, and so she is happy to witness just how Mockingbird will respond to the truest, deepest parts of herself.

When all is said and done, she will have no reservations towards offering her blood again.

And before you depart, please, let her taste to see if your ambrosia differs in any way from hers. It is only fair, after all.

Bones

In the very early days of becoming acquainted with the MC in childhood, he would have fought tooth and nail to protect his psyche from them. It is not theirs to see, to judge, and much less to feel just so they can use it to hurt him or - worse- pity him.

Mishka

Mishka would sooner kill the MC quickly and quietly before allowing them anywhere near their inner psyche.

Deep Crush

Again, briefly and in a very generalized manner:

Fyodor: He hopes it confesses all he cannot properly convey in words and actions alone.

Dearil: If this binds you more to him, then he can handle the consequences.

Curadora: She worries that, with every taste, you will only grow to despise her more.

Retriever: As long as you like what you see, he's glad to provide. Just . . . please, don't mention what you've seen.

Lempo: She would love to recount every moment of your connection together, enamored with your descriptions of how this bond felt.

Bones: He doesn't want to hurt you like this.

Mishka: Their frustration towards this exposure is restrained by their gratitude towards your survival after such an intense connection.

Thank you so much for the ask! (･⌄･)b

#ro #gift #c: sigmund #c: imka #c: elouan #c: jae #c: niccolo #c: mutya #c: fyodor #minor ro #c: dearil #c: curadora #c: retriever #c: lempo #c: bones #c: mishka

[dragonmuse]

Are there any Revenge-family siblings we haven’t met or heard about? We’ve seen the Hands siblings and the Boodhari siblings and obviously Alma and Charlie, but does anyone else have siblings who haven’t shown up in the stories yet? There are a lot of confirmed only children and the only sibling I can think of off the top of my head who has been alluded to but not shown up is Faith’s sister who was the one who gave Izzy her ring after she died.

( There may be, but they haven't made themselves known to me yet! But in the meantime, here's someone I never thought I'd write about)

Pru Morris was walking away.  It wasn’t the first time. At eighteen, she’d walked away from her parents' house with just the contents of her carefully packed messenger bag in boots that belonged to a dead girl. Those boots had carried her to her first three dead end jobs and then, at last, to a big accounting firm where an executive called her ‘assistant’ and meant ‘surrogate wife’. 

For three years, Pru handled everything in the man’s life, including his actual wife. She never slept with him, but it was a close thing once or twice. The second winter, the boots had died at last with the sole slipping from the right one. She probably could’ve fixed them, but it felt right to put away childish things. She’d never even liked them really. But she didn’t throw them away, just tucked them in her closet and forgot about them. 

Then the man got promoted and got a new assistant. Pru was handed over to the new man without ceremony. It was a silent divorce that she felt in bones, and she forced herself to start dating again to make up for it. 

Drew Morris was fine. He had a good job, a good car, and he took her to nice dinners. He wasn’t flashy, but he was steady. When he proposed a few months later, it was with a decent ring and she said yes without much further thought. 

The honeymoon was beautiful. Days in the sun and he held her hand and Pru felt loved for the first time in a long time. But then they got back and the handholding stopped. For a while, she was sure she’d done better than her mother at least. Drew never raised his hand to her,  rarely yelled. 

But he also barely looked at her, barely spoke to her at all. On her birthday, every year he had a bouquet sent to her at work and every year, the card was the same tucked among the blooms. Pru knew his assistant had ordered them. It was the same message she had chosen for her executives a dozen times. 

“How pretty!” One of the other girls at worked cooed. “You’re so lucky!” 

“Lucky that someone else keeps his calendar,” she said flatly. It was year four. 

Pru Morris was twenty-nine years old. She was sitting in her bedroom which was meant to be theirs, but Drew was away a lot. He told her to decorate it however she wanted, then wrinkled his nose when he’d seen what she’d done. ‘A little gaudy, isn’t it?” he’d said and all the pretty things she’d picked out became cheap and tatty all at once. 

Maybe that was what she needed. A fresh take on the bedroom. She could redo it, get it right this time and maybe he’d want to linger. With a renewed sense of purpose, Pru got a garbage bag and started pulling things out of her closet that she hadn’t worn in a while. She’d do a purge, donate some things and get started on a fresh vision. 

At the back of the closet, she found a pair of black boots. The right heel had come away on one. Pru fell to her knees and drew them out. Without any thought, she pulled them to her chest and started crying. The tears shocked her. Pru was not a weeper. She hadn’t cried on her wedding day or the day her executive dumped her. But today she wept over the broken leather and rubber, holding the boots to her as tenderly as a baby. 

“Fuck him,” she realized as she held them tight to her. Pru didn’t swear, crisp memory of her father shoving soap into her mouth had ripped all that away. Even she said ‘heck’ she’d remember the horrible taste and his hand fisted in her hair. 

But she didn’t taste soap right now. Just her own ears. “FUCK HIM!” she stood abruptly, letting the shoes cascade down. Then she went and got her suitcase and filled it with the few thing she cared about, some clothes and her toiletries. She ripped off her perfectly nice ring and left it on top of a note that was much politer than she wanted to be. She had her own money, carefully hoarded. Drew had been so afraid of her siphoning off his money that he insisted on separate accounts. Asshole. 

She got a studio a few blocks from work. Cramped, but her own again. She put the boots by the front door as a reminder.  For good luck, she’d tap her toes against them as she went out the door to meet her lawyer. 

In the end there was no fight and she got plenty of Drew’s money anyway. Enough that she could sustain herself in the studio for as long as she liked. For a few months, she stayed at work, talked like everything was normal and only mentioned the divorce if asked where her ring had gone. People fussed like she should be melting down, made sympathetic noises, asked if he had cheated. 

She just shook her head and said, “Just went our separate ways.”  A few of the women stopped talking to her, but Jenny from the front desk and had groaned and said, “I KNOW that feeling.” 

They went out for drinks. Jenny was raw and funny and Pru had no idea why they’d never talked before. She was divorced too and was happy to talk to Pru about every dating service under the sun. They went speed dating together and laughed over the awkwardness afterwards. Pru had had a lot of ‘friends’ over the years, but Jenny felt like a real friend. 

“Hey, there’s a three bedroom opening up in my building, what do you think?” Jenny offered. “Get you out of that bachelorette special and me away from my horrible roommate?” 

The apartment got a lot of light and Jenny was a good roommate. They hung out a lot, but also gave each other space. And the first birthday Pru had in the apartment, Jenny gave her a framed print of the poster for A Walk to Remember, Pru’s favorite movie. Pru had cried for the second time in as many years. Jenny had hugged her and not judged. 

“Hey, is it okay if I move these?” Jenny asked when they were both on a cleaning kick. The boots sat by the door still. 

“No!” Pru said then winced.

“I don’t mean away,” Jenny assured her. “I got us a shoe rack. Is that okay” 

“You did?” 

“Mhm, so we don’t have the water dripping onto the hardwood, there’s a mat that goes under it.”

“Yeah okay.” 

Jenny set the boots on the lower rack, noticed the broken sole. 

“They were my sister’s,” Pru blurted, the words no longer able to stay behind her teeth. 

“You have a sister?” Jenny’s eyes went wide. 

“She died. When we were still kids.” 

“Oh wow, that must’ve been awful.” 

“We didn’t get along,” Pru twisted her hands together in front of her. “Fought all the time like everyone else in that house, but I figured we were sisters, you know? It’d work out. It always did on tv. And then she just died. Mom and Dad tried to toss all her things, but I got a few. I didn’t even know why...I was fifteen. Just seemed wrong to make her disappear like that. She had his thug boyfriend, took her ring from me. My parents took her bedding, her cassettes, most of her clothes and just tossed them. I hid her boots under my bed. Grabbed her hair brush too, but I lost it somewhere along the way.” 

“Oh, Pru,” Jenny hugged her and she hugged back. The boots stayed on the shoe rack. 

Dead at seventeen. Pru was thirty-one. It could happen, she thought as she tapped the boots with her toe each morning. She tapped them the day she changed back her name. She tapped them the day she saw the poster for an interior design class. She tapped them the day she got her certificate and the day she headed out to meet her first client. 

No one ever called her work gaudy.  

“You’re a miracle worker,” Patrick said when he walked into his new kitchen. “This is exactly what I wanted.”

“You had a really clear vision,” she told him eagerly. Patrick was on the short side, closer to her height and his hair was thinning a little. He dressed beautifully though and had poured over samples with her just as invested as some of her female clients. 

He was divorced too, pictures of a daughter scattered around the apartment and a bedroom set aside for her visits. 

“You’re great at visions, Pru,” he told her eagerly. He paid her and as soon as the check was in her walled, he said, “This is probably really inappropriate and I hope I’m not putting you on the spot, but would you...get dinner with me some time?” 

“I’d like that,” she beamed and she did like it. They both kept their places and Jenny teased her about being ‘the other woman’. 

“You’ve got it wrong. He’s the other woman,” Pru announced and then Jenny cried on her, which made things feel a little more even. 

Pru Callahan wasn’t walking away from her past  any more. She was running towards the future. And she’d need some sturdy boots for that. With her heart in her throat, she brought them to be repaired and re-soled. That winter she spent every day in fashionable outfits, accessorized with vintage Docs.

#leda house and the kraken verse #ficlet #dear prudence

[glapplebloom]

Time to end the Friendship is Magic Series...

Twilight is at Canterlot making sure they’re ready for the Knights of Harmony’s attack (and Lyra is there despite being in the Cat Kingdom last issue). Magical shields covering the city, civilians and even animals in a safe location, and the Royal Guard alongside some of the best fighters are ready for action. But it seems one of the Knights wants to talk to Twilight.

His name is Danu and he promised to spare them as long as they hand over the Elements. But since they’re a part of them, they can’t. So that makes them go on the offense. The shield is powerful, but they never covered underneath the Earth for some odd reason. Professor Two-Brains ensured that and one of his two brains is a rat.

So the Knights go on the attack and make short work of Twilight’s army. Danu controls the Earth, is the leader, and represents Loyalty. Taranis represents Pride and controls wind. Mannah represents Acceptance and controls water. Balor represents Magic and basically is able to take it away from others. Ceridwen represents Equity and her power basically takes powers from someone and can give them to others. And Morrigan represents Faith and basically mind controls people.

101 ends with the Knights cornering everyone and 102 begins with telling their origin story. According to them, their Kingdom wanted to spread THEIR way across other lands. When they failed to do so with Discord, that’s when the other Elements counter attacked their country. Sadly, they were the ones who taught them how to use the magic and easily dispatched them. Then they hid the temples and themselves to protect their kingdom only coming back out because Twilight is bringing them back.

I already said how much of this is a load of baloney, but to sum it up they pretty much want to make people do things THEIR way and when they found out others resent them basically trying to take over their culture, they made sure to take away their gifts. This is basically Gentrification in a nutshell. And they want to make sure nobody can use the Elements against them.

That is until Discord shows up, so tunnel vision gets to Danu and he orders the Knights to give chase. Too bad it was a trick and it gave Twilight and the gang a game plan: separate the Knights and show them what Harmony really is like. And it works but sadly Discord only made 5 clones so when it came time to unite, one of them pretended to be Spike.

Stealing Twilight and Starswirl’s magic, they gave it to Danu who proceeded to try to destroy Canterlot. Luckily thanks to asking for help earlier, everyone arrived to help. And combined, they were able to defeat Danu, the Knights of Harmony and promise that the future will bring nothing but harmony, which the actual Series Finale delivered.

Overall, while it was action packed, it carries with it the burden of IDW’s ideas. Trying to create so many new characters without having the time to fresh them out really makes those final moments not as exciting. And honestly, we don’t really get to see Danu see his defeat because his last words were still saying that she’ll regret this.

And honestly, they definitely needed a true comeuppance. Something to make them see that they were wrong. They weren’t using the Elements of Harmony, they were trying to control it. They didn’t understand what it truly could do and thus their fears became true because someone else who DID know how to use them showed them the way.

It’s given a big explanation point in Danu’s fight against Maud, Stygian and Cadance: He knows how to use the Earth, but he doesn’t understand it as well as Maud, who made all of his “I threw a rock at him” plans fail. But because we only see them KOed and Danu still saying his thing and nothing else (no imprisonment, no disappearing, he’s just standing there), the defeat isn’t as satisfying as other villains.

Still, this is how IDW ended their long running comic series about Ponies. But they still have a few more issues and plan to do something fans wanted. Just not as good... Also, the rewrites will come in two parts: the Finale of IDW had hindsight and what if GLAB Vs the Knights of Order.

#green lantern apple bloom #mlp review #MLP Revisit #idw comics #comic series #season 10

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

Sorry if you already answered this, but I can't find it in the master post: what do you think are the Cullens opinion on religion? If you were to write a POV of them thinking about religion and such what would they think? Like, if they were to take a side, who would be more of an atheist and who would be more of an agnostic? Carlisle is a theist, but what about the others? Did Emmet hear about the  Flying Spaghetti Monster and decided he was a believer? Is Jasper the type that'd go with the idea that Hell is life on earth? Does Esme think this is her paradise? What about Alice, does her gift influence her, does she think there is no life after death?

Interesting question.

First off, I'm one of those that doesn't read that much religion into the books. There's a lot of people on this site, and elsewhere, who can and do and specifically see Stephanie Meyer's faith in many aspects. I'm going to assume you've come to me for this question in part because of that.

Which is to say that it's hard to tell because save for Edward and Carlisle, most of the characters don't discuss religion at any length. Bella, as an atheist, is pointedly not interested beyond this being yet another obstacle for Edward to turn her as she has to somehow prove that he totally has a soul. Which she totally believes in.

So, all of this is going to be my... guessing based off what we do see.

Alice Cullen

Alice doesn't seem to care. If Alice has a religion, it's guided by her visions (as most things in her life are). It has led her to this blessed future and seems to continue to do so. She gets to see how it all might go terribly wrong along the way, and very quickly at that, but she also gets to see how it goes right.

I think she then would be very mindful that there's no overarching destiny to our lives and whatever good things happen are due to either chance or Alice herself manipulating events to get what she wants.

Who or what created the universe to look the way it does likely doesn't interest her all that much. The world is the way it is and what Alice does is make the best of circumstances.

Carlisle Cullen

@therealvinelle and I have him pegged for a theist at this point.

Edward Cullen

Oh baby, we know where Edward stands. I wouldn't say Edward's particularly devout, or even believes in a God per se, but he certainly believes in the Devil and the Devil is him. Edward cherry picks aspects of religion that suit his beliefs, such as his being denied access to heaven and the afterlife and being an eternally damned creature.

Beyond that, he seems to have very little familiarity with any religious doctrine and doesn't spend all that much time thinking about religion. He just puts a rubber stamp on it to give him justification of "I'M A MONSTER AND YOU'LL BE ONE TOO".

Emmett Cullen

Another "doesn't care/doesn't think about it much". Given that Emmett thought he saw an angel and God when Rosalie carried him to Carlisle to be turned, he was at least mildly Christian/religious upon his death. I imagine he's kept that in that if you asked he'd probably say he's Christian but he doesn't go to church, doesn't think about it all that much, and doesn't do nonsense like ponder whether or not vampires have souls.

Esme Cullen

Esme's another "I thought I was in heaven" upon being turned. However, like Emmett, she doesn't seem to think about it or fret over it much. We don't see the Edward style angst from her on whether or not she's been turned into a demon, what turning would mean for Bella Swan, or even what Bella's baby might turn out to be without fully human DNA. I think she just doesn't think about it much though might opine "Things usually work out in the end".

Jasper Whitlock

Again, we don't get much from him, but I imagine he's extremely atheist in that he's seen horrific things take place, participated in them, and does not see himself as worthy of any kind of redemption religious or otherwise. Alice is his saving grace, per her gift, and without her he would have likely died. I don't see him attributing her appearance in his life to a higher power.

Rosalie Hale

Similar to the others, likely was brought up to believe certain things, but doesn't spend much time thinking about it these days. If anything, she's casually religious though would likely admit that she just doesn't really think about it or believe in it.

#twilight #twilight meta #twilight headcanon #twilight renaissance #the cullens #alice cullen #carlisle cullen #edward cullen #esme cullen #emmett cullen #jasper whitlock #rosalie hale #meta #headcanon #opinion #al3zthecat blog