#The Mistress of the Inn

[tvserie-film]

Title: The Mistress of the Inn (1980)

Vote: 7/10

The theatrical comedy brought to the television screen does not always work but in this case it sparks. Love is used as a weapon in one of Goldoni's most famous works and the final winner will be neither the disenchanted knight nor the beautiful innkeeper. It deserves to be seen and reviewed.

#1980 #Movie #Comedy #La locandiera #romantic #paolo villaggio #claudia mori #Adriano Celentano #7 #The Mistress of the Inn

[underdark-dreams]

Not sure if anyone is still following this oneshot, but I ended up writing a second chapter. Turns out I couldn't stop thinking about giving them a happier ending. (Rated M now 👀)

Rolan x Fem!Tav (Unnamed)

Good Night For Company - ch. 2

Tags: Mild Angst, Sexual Content

Word Count: 4,794 [Read on AO3]

Rolan had spent many hours cursing his timidity that night. 

He’d lain sleepless at his camp as the sky lightened outside the Emerald Grove, replaying each moment in his mind. The look in her eye when she asked to kiss him—her hand tugging him toward her tent—the lovely way she collapsed against him when his lips found her soft neck.

He'd escaped the very fires of Avernus itself with his whole family miraculously alive and in tow. Yet confronted with the puzzle of her hands drawing him down to her bedroll, his mind had seized up in uncertainty. How much easier could she have made it for him?

Although, he allowed himself, he had made some sense that night. For one who daydreamed of her face as often as Rolan, the strain in her features was instantly noticeable by campfire light. Her eyes were heavy-lidded and shadowed with dark, tired circles. Even her skin seemed drained of its usual color. She needed a good night’s sleep more than anything.

But as they said their goodbyes that night outside his campsite, Rolan's hands still holding her shoulders, he could have sworn she wanted him just as badly as he did her.

Rolan shut his eyes with a groan—her face only swam behind his eyelids, that same invitation drawing him into her gaze. He pressed palms to his eye sockets until she burst apart into popping stars.

When he opened them, he was back in the torchlight of Last Light Inn and sitting in his grim new reality. There was empty silence on either side of him where Cal and Lia should have stood chattering.

Rolan dragged his tankard back towards him across the bar, until he peered down and saw the bottom.

"You two," he snapped at the little Tieflings behind the bar. The boys' conspiratorial giggles hushed immediately as they both looked at him. "Are you tending bar or not?" He waved his empty mug toward them.

"I don't know," Ide said, brows lowering in a skeptical line. Rolan tutted at him.

"It's not difficult. Bottle," he pointed at the open dry red behind the bar. "Cup," he continued, waving a hand in front of him. 

"Mistress Jaheira said not to over-pour," Umi piped up, clearly not knowing the term but understanding the sentiment behind it.

"Mistress Jaheira didn't save both your hides from the Shadow Curse, did she?" Rolan snapped. He badly needed another drink; unwelcome lucidity threatened to close in. "If it weren't for me, who knows whether you two would still be out there right now."

“Stop it, mister Rolan,” Ide insisted. Rolan was opening his mouth to chastise him before he caught sight of Umi’s lip trembling. 

The child was already a timid thing. Through the recent memories of too many kin lying on the road, Rolan recalled Asharak, the childrens’ fighting instructor from the Grove. He’d been cut down before their young eyes just days ago. Umi seemed especially affected by the loss. No doubt the man’s body still lay spread-eagle on the path up the hill; the urgency of survival had left no time to bury their dead.

Rolan gave a heavy sigh as he watched the child’s forlorn face. Yet again, he felt like a monster. “Go. I swear I’ll practice moderation. And if Jaheira asks, tell her I ordered you off.”

The two of them scampered away without a response, clearly eager to get away from Rolan at the first chance. If only he could escape his own unpleasant company just as easily. 

But that, Rolan reminded himself, was what all this wine was for. He lurched across the bar for the bottle and tipped the rest of its contents into his tankard. Its heat down his throat welcomed him back toward oblivion.

If he still lived, their errant paladin had everything to answer for. Whether he’d lost his senses to the curse or just lost his mind entirely, Rolan cursed Zevlor for the umpteenth time for fucking off with the cultists and landing him in this unwelcome position of authority. 

Rolan was no leader…at best a very, very uninspiring one. The yoke should have fallen to someone brave and selfless. Someone like broad-shouldered Ikaron. But Ikaron was now another empty body lying along the Risen Road, to be slowly consumed by the shadows.

Rolan knew he was no beacon of encouragement. He’d done his best to herd the other panicked survivors onward, however, using every last bit of evocation knowledge he had to keep them surrounded with light and flame.

He also knew it was sheer good fortune that saved them in the end. If they hadn’t found the sanctuary of Last Light Inn when they did, they’d all be shambling undead by now.

Yet somehow in the days since the ambush, he found all the children hovering around him with frightened eyes, asking him questions he barely knew the answers to himself. How were they going to save the ones who’d been taken by the cult?

Perhaps his unpleasant habit of ordering others about was finally coming around to bite him in the ass.

Nevertheless, Rolan felt vexed and inconvenienced by the unasked responsibility. Weren't his siblings enough of a weight on his shoulders already? Saving everyone would be a miracle; all he could privately hope for was Cal and Lia returned to him. 

If they’re still alive. Those were the thoughts that drove him to drink, and drink he did, tipping back the pewter vessel with abandon. In between bouts of liquor, however, Rolan’s mind was working as hard as it ever had. 

Cal and Lia would be at Moonrise Towers. No question. Moonrise was the headquarters of this insane Absolute cult, the one whose small patrol had butchered their numbers on the road. And a fortress of that size had to have a dungeon of some sort on the lower level. Why would they go through the trouble of taking them alive just to kill them? They must have plans for them all—ones Rolan tried not to imagine in detail.

He had to think of a way to slip through unnoticed—possibly by river, if the rumors he’d overheard from the Harpers were right. How far could he get on his own? Asking any of his fellows for help was out of the question. 

Rolan glanced across the common room at what pitiful few remained. Alfira sat near the open hearth, fingers going through the motions of tuning her lute strings. Her usually cheerful eyes were blank and distant. Rolan hadn’t heard her play a single note since Lakrissa had been taken with his siblings. He should have thought to comfort her, but that kind of gentleness never seemed to occur to him.

Rolan crossed his arms on the bar and dropped his horns to them. If only he’d thought faster, acted sooner, left the others to fend for themselves in order to grab hold of his brother and sister before their screams grew distant. His sharp nails dug into his palms as the sound replayed in his mind. 

He wished he had anyone besides himself to be angry at. He wished he could be angry at her.

If only she'd never taught Cal and Lia how to hope to fight back or be heroes. If only she'd never taught him how to hope…for anything, he decided. For any single single thing he might wish were possible.

Through his haze of drunken self-pity, his ears pricked at some kind of shouting and commotion out front. No doubt another attack by some new shadow-cursed horror. Rolan heard one of the little ones begin calling his name. 

"I’m coming, I’m coming,” Rolan spat, sliding petulantly to his feet as one hand reached for the quarterstaff leaning against the bar. “The damned hells is it this time?" He didn’t care what language the child might hear, but young Mattis was unphased.

“Stow your frown—” Mattis was grinning toothily. “Goblin killer finally made it!”

“What?” But the boy was already gone, bounding away from him through the front doors. Rolan swallowed dry against his fuzzy tongue. He felt fully awake for the first time in days, and he gripped the bar to steady himself before his feet stumbled forward.

Jaheira's enchanted vines were disentangling from her legs just as Rolan entered the courtyard. It was fortunate; he'd grown to respect Jaheira, and it would've been a shame to have to hex her. Rolan jostled through the gathered Harpers without a care in order to push closer. 

She and her companions had been waylaid just past the bridge. Harper Lassandra was relaying a report in her defense, it seemed, but all Rolan could concentrate on was her face.

Her cheeks were splattered with dark, shadow-magic blood. One of her sleeves was ripped open at the shoulder, displaying another patch of blood-stained skin at the seam of her leather jerkin. By the dark circles under her eyes, she still hadn't slept properly since the Grove.

She was the most beautiful thing Rolan had seen in weeks.

Her eyes came to rest on his own face then; he watched her blink hard, as if she might be dreaming.

"Rolan?" She croaked out softly. 

He had already half-closed the gap by the time she started toward him. They caught each other so hard Rolan felt the air leave his lungs in a huff, but he gathered whatever of her familiar scent he could, tinged with coppery blood though it was.

“I’m so glad you’re—I’m so glad,” she laughed shakily into his shoulder. Rolan wished he could kiss her, but it didn’t feel right in front of so many other eyes. He settled for standing back with his arms circled tight around her middle.

"Where's Lia and Cal?" She glanced around behind him, her smile fading. Rolan should have expected her constant concern for others by now, but could only look at her. Her eyes landed back on his face. "Zevlor?" She added quietly.

“Come inside.” Jaheira’s voice interrupted the silence between them. “We can talk over a drink.” 

As the druid directed forces back to their posts, Rolan felt her slip out from under his arms. She approached Gale to ask something—Rolan saw the wizard glance his direction before he replied.

“Come on,” she said, jogging back into his embrace. 

“What about Jaheira?”

“Gale can handle it, he’s good at talking.” She notched herself back firm against his side as they walked in. “I’d rather hear from you.”

Rolan tried his best not to stumble up the stairs beside her. He cursed his impulse to reach for the bottle at any sorrow—he must reek of it. If he did, she was kind enough not to say anything.

He led her to the empty room beside the cleric’s and shut the heavy door behind them.

“We were ambushed,” he said in a rush, before she could open her mouth. “Cal and Lia were grabbed up by those monsters on wings. Along with others. They’re being held at Moonrise.”

“We’ll find them.” Her voice was automatic and steely-certain. 

Rolan nodded, borrowing what strength he could from her eyes. “We will.”

“I thought…Zevlor was leading you,” she prompted him slowly, as if she might not want to know the answer. He only shook his head at her. How could he explain what he didn’t understand himself?

“We took the same path here that you did,” she admitted to him. Rolan knew what she was saying. He remembered each and every blank, upturned face that shrank to a pinpoint in the darkness as he led the survivors away. 

“I’m so sorry, Rolan.” His numbness was broken by her two hands rising to hold his face. “I just—I’m so fucking sorry—”

For some reason, his grief felt more real than it had yet. Rolan looked down at her bloodstained face and folded his fingers around one of her wrists. It would be idiotic to cry in front of her, so he kissed her instead.

His lips shook against hers, from sorrow and from want in equal measure. Rolan didn’t want to think about his dead friends, or his family waiting for rescue in a dark dungeon—just for a moment, he wished he could lose himself in her. She was the one person he could let himself unravel with.

“Rolan, wait—” But she didn’t want him to wait. Rolan heard it in her breathless voice against his lips, felt it in the way her hands clutched at his clothing to pull him closer.

He knew she must taste the alcohol on his breath. Hadn’t he said something to her that night in her tent? Something about wine and sex being a bad mix.

Foolish words of a foolish man who still thought he'd have time to do things properly. Rolan couldn’t remember them, and right now, this seemed like the best thing that could ever happen in such a desolate place. 

Was it so wrong to want her? Even now, with the rest of his life crumbling around him? 

Only his very real feelings for her could have broken through the haze. With a lurch of effort, Rolan stumbled back from her. The four walls of their room pressed in unbearably quiet without the sounds of hands and lips filling the air. Her eyes shone dark to him in the candlelight, pupils blown wide in a way that his deepest instincts recognized with primal satisfaction. He was certain his eyes blazed with just as much desire. 

Rolan licked his lips, gathering his last shreds of control. “Tell me to go,” he rasped. “Say it, and I will.”

He was rooted to the spot to await her judgment. She was silent before him, only a soft pant from between her lips. Rolan stood there for what felt like an agonizing eternity as her eyes traveled over his face. 

So slowly it felt like a dream, she raised one arm across to her opposite shoulder. The gesture made no sense to him at first. Until Rolan heard buckles clicking and watched the plates of her leather armor shed from her chest like scales to the floorboards.

Her tunic was next, and before Rolan could ready himself it was up over her head and thrown on top of her armor, her bare breasts covered only by a few stray wisps of her hair. 

He swayed where he stood, lightheaded; her darkly shining eyes didn’t break from his for a moment, even as her hands were already moving to the fastenings of her belt.

Rolan felt an ache like loss. Those should be his hands—gently undressing her, taking his time as he slowly unveiled each new and beautiful expanse of her flesh—not the two of them rushing through this first moment of newness that they’d never get back. Because even as the thought occurred, he himself was ripping his own robes off his shoulders without a care for the state of them. They would have time enough some other night.

She was faster, already kicking her pants off her bare feet. She wore nothing underneath—the realization brought a groan from his throat. Once his last garments dropped forgotten to the floor, she practically pounced.

Rolan had just enough reflex to catch her as she threw her body against his. Her bare skin on his was electric, filling his mind with wild want even as he tried to take in every sensation at once. Her taut breasts pressed against his chest—fingers lovingly exploring the ridges on his shoulders and back—the heat between her legs barely grazing against his thigh, yet enough to send his mind reeling. She made him feel real again.

And her lips—how could he have already forgotten how sweet she tasted? He kissed her back with hunger, wishing he might dissolve into her soft warmth for good.

Rolan wasn’t as strong as he wished, and he was tipsy as all hells, but he did his best as he guided their bodies down on top of their clothing. Her hips and shoulders thumped under his weight against the wood boards. Surely it must have hurt her—but then he felt her legs cross behind his bare flanks, rutting their hips together, and every other concern was lost.

Slick wetness pressed against his pelvis as she rolled herself against him. The proof of how much she wanted him, if Rolan had any lingering doubts. He fell braced on his forearms around her.

“I missed you so much,” she gasped against his lips. Rolan paused everything as his eyes opened to meet hers, almost too close to focus. “Rolan, I wish we—I should have—” Her face shone with more yearning than he could bear.

"I know, dearest, I know—" The endearment fell with shocking ease from his lips. Though he might share them, tonight was not for regrets. There were enough of those going around to last a lifetime. 

Rolan stopped them with his mouth, licking and tasting her as deeply as she would let him, one hand splaying under her thigh to angle her hips deeper against his own. 

With anyone else, Rolan might have felt self-conscious about how hard he’d been since the moment she undressed for him. With her, what would be the point? She'd confessed more with her body and her words than he'd ever expected.

His ridged length pressed between them, his underside slickening with each rocking motion she made against him. He broke from her slightly.

"Tell me." The words came out husky. Rolan didn't mean them to tease her, only wanted her to direct him, but the way she squirmed under him was addictive.

"I want you," she breathed, and he felt fingers clasp behind his neck. "Please, Rolan—"

How could he deny her anything? Rolan grabbed himself to guide and nudge his tip to her folds, spreading her wetness along his length best he could. She deserved so much better than a hard floor in the middle of nowhere. But everything felt too urgent, like they were at the edge of the world’s end. And her face held nothing but eagerness as she watched him.

Gently, slowly, he guided himself just inside her. She was perfect; Rolan's head dropped to her chest as he exhaled with a shudder.

"Oh—" She only let out the little gasp, but her hands hooked under his ears, tilting his head back up so she could press lips to his forehead and eyelids. 

"More," she purred against him.

Reflexive, Rolan pushed into her to the hilt and let out a groan at how perfectly she gripped him. She hummed in satisfaction, her legs pressing tighter around his hips to hold him there.

It was somehow tender and frantic all at once. Rolan's hips rolled into her with increasing urgency, even as he cradled her face up toward his with both his forearms, wanting to watch each sensation play out over her face.

When he hit a new angle inside her, her fingers actually gripped one of his horns as her lips gasped open. It sent a shudder reverberating through his core.

"So good," she gasped. "You feel so perfect—"

He would do anything to keep it feeling that way for her. He ducked his mouth to her breast, sliding his tongue over one tight bud and sucking her into his mouth.

"Fuck, Rolan—" Her voice canted up a register, and he felt her walls tremble and grip around him with each thrust. Her fingers clutched sweetly at the ridges over his shoulder blades.

In the back of his mind Rolan wondered whether the whole inn could hear his name on her lips, but he wasn't sure he cared, wasn't sure he didn't fucking love the idea in fact.

Both of them were starved for it, and neither of them could last much longer. Rolan groaned something into the flesh of her breast, words lost to the way her body shook under him just as he unraveled all around her. He collapsed against her soft chest and held her tight with trembling arms.

—---

"What did you say before?" 

As he drifted back to reality, Rolan lifted his head from her to rest his chin on her stomach. "Hmm?" 

She was looking down at him with shy curiosity. "When you came," she said. He loved hearing words like that casually tumble from her. "You said something, I didn't recognize the language."

Rolan realized with some embarrassment that she was right. "I did, didn't I." He moved to press his lips along her abdomen, as if it might distract her from the topic. But she was far too stubborn for that.

"Going to tell me or not?" He felt his insides melt as she traced her thumb along the lines of one of his pointed ears.

Rolan regretted letting her in on that fact about Tiefling anatomy, and he told her so with a grumble. She only laughed and gave his ear point a teasing tug.

Rolan closed his eyes against the feeling instead. "It's Infernal," he admitted to her. He hadn't spoken the tongue in many years; the fact he remembered any was a surprise even to himself.

"Oh." She didn't sound put off, only curious. "What did it mean?"

He carefully considered how to answer. "There's…not a word in Common that directly translates." Rolan met her eyes as his lips brushed absently near her navel. "A feeling that cleanses like holy fire. 'Love of salvation.'"

She gazed down at him. "That's the most romantic thing I've ever heard," she whispered.

Rolan reached to smooth her hair across her forehead. "Is it? To be cleansed, you have to be corrupted first."

"Is that an offer?" she asked, a grin teasing at the corners of her mouth. “I mean, we’re all pretty corrupted around here. Don’t forget I’ve already got a worm in the head.”

Abruptly, she pushed herself seated upright; Rolan caught himself back against his knees.

"I’m an idiot," she gasped. “Rolan—that’s how I get to the Moonrise dungeons. This tadpole makes me a True Soul. I can walk right through the fucking front door!”

Anxiety gripped him as he watched the excitement unfold on her face. Rolan wasn't sure he could watch her willingly rush into a den of vipers. 

"I'm coming with you," he insisted, already knowing she would tell him no. She shook her head at him.

“I wish you could,” she told him, and he believed her. “You're not tadpoled, the guards would know. But I'll take as many of my companions as I can, I swear. We can do this," she added, gripping his forearm.

It was all too fast; Rolan caught her hand before she could rise. "Wait," he implored firmly. “Let me travel with you to the bridge, at least.”

That she agreed to. They dressed quickly—though Rolan couldn't resist grabbing her a few times to kiss what bare flesh was still exposed, absolutely adoring the way she melted under his hands and mouth each time.

When he and her party stood at the bridge to the Tower, Rolan regretted agreeing to this all over again. She only gave him a quick peck on the lips with the soft promise of more later, and headed down the walkway with her companions.

Rolan stayed back in the shadows to watch her speak with the guards. His heart pounded in his throat. There was a short exchange; even his sensitive ears couldn’t catch the words. But then the guards stood down, and she and her friends walked freely through the front doors of Moonrise Towers. He allowed himself to feel a sliver of hope.

Back at the Inn, Rolan paced around the hall for what felt like an eternity. Mol complained he was making her dizzy. In reality, it couldn't have been more than a few hours. 

When he heard the soft shout of the patrol below, Rolan rushed through the wide doors and down to the underground port.

Cal and Lia stood alive and well on the wooden docks. Her too, further down the line—she even caught his eye with a smile. Rolan could have laughed in relief, but the guards curtly ordered him back while the Harper on duty checked them over with Jaheira's bottled tadpole. 

Rolan deeply wished to aim a cantrip at the man's skull, but he clenched his fists to gather his last remaining shreds of patience.

When they were cleared, all of them dashed together. Rolan gripped Cal and Lia's heads with a hand each, holding them tight against him.

"You absolute fucking idiots—" Rolan was half scolding, half trying not to cry. "Don't you dare stick your necks out like that again, do you hear me?"

"I'll remember that the next time we get kidnapped by murderous lunatics," Lia's voice said into his shoulder, but she was squeezing his ribs tight.

"Sorry," was Cal's only meek response, and Rolan stifled the juvenile urge to rumple his little brother's hair. 

"Just get inside," Rolan said as he released them. "When was the last time you both ate?"

They both complained over his continued fussing, but each of them obeyed him in the end. The return of bickering and normality somehow eased a weight from Rolan's heart. 

As the Tieflings he knew and the deep gnomes he didn't all made their way up the stairs to the Inn, Rolan linked his arm around her waist beside him.

"I love you," he told her first, low so that only she could hear. Then—"thank you."

"Thank those lot up there," she told him, though he heard through the smile in her voice that she hadn't missed his confession. "They were ready to fight tooth and nail out of there. I just unlocked the bars."

In the dark Rolan placed a swift kiss on the crown of her head, and was rewarded by the feel of her cheek leaning sideways against his shoulder.

Last Light Inn still had an undeniable gloom to it, but it was lightened considerably by the reunions of friends and lovers. To Rolan's eye the hall seemed practically packed compared to a few hours earlier.

His siblings settled back at the bar, removed from the chatter at the hearth. Rolan watched them toast each other with two very well-earned pints. As they both launched into conflicting narratives of their adventure, Rolan felt a deep sense of ease soak into his bones.

"This one's fucking amazing, by the way—" Lia was gesturing her mug to the woman at Rolan's side. "Watched her cut down a Moonrise guard with one swing of a sword. You better have thanked her properly, Rolan," she added.

His sister was clever; Rolan strongly suspected she knew what she was doing. He decided to play dumb for the sake of the dear person beside him, whose cheeks he could practically feel burning from here.

"Believe me, I will," Rolan said. As he spoke, he drew her toward him again with an arm around her middle.

Cal was significantly slower on the uptake. "Eughh." He let out an amused noise of disgust. "Why don't you two just kiss each other alre—"

But Rolan's lips were already on hers, tilting her chin up and back with a hand so he could capture her mouth. His other arm wrapped her shoulders back against his chest, and he felt her fingers grip tight over his forearm. As they gently broke apart, the quiet lasted only for a second.

"Twelve pints at the Elfsong." Lia smacked the bar next to Cal. "That's it, you owe me."

"Taking bets on my fucking love life now?" Rolan began, his indignance slightly undercut by the fact that his love in question was shaking with laughter under his arm, both hands clasped over her face.

In the end, Rolan left his siblings to argue over the details. He was too overwhelmed with embarrassment and the desire to save her from any of the same.

As he drew her back up the stairs, Rolan felt her shoulders shaking with laughter again under his arm. He glanced sideways, wondering what had ruined the mood now.

“What?” he prompted her.

“Nothing, it’s just—” She was positively sparkling as she looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “Can we use the bed this time?”

With a mortifying jolt, Rolan realized there was indeed a perfectly serviceable bed in the room where he’d unceremoniously taken her on the floor.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

“Plenty of time for that,” she agreed, biting her lip as she drew him with her hand. “Now come on.”

#back to classic rolan pov because i am weak #rolan x tav #bg3 rolan #rolan bg3 #underdark-dreams #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 spoilers #baldur's gate 3 spoilers #rolan

[ultralightpoe]

Willing - Aemond Targaryen

Authors Note: hey hey hey hey hey hey hey hey. Did anybody know that you can learn High Valryion on duolingo???????

Word Count:5198

Warnings: none i think 

Description: Aemond is a secretive little shit and you are willing to bet 

“DO NOT WALK AWAY FROM ME!” Your husband yells as he follows you through your shared chambers while you look for your lost earring. “Look. At. Me.”

“I have been looking at you all night, Prince Aemond.” You sigh, knowing the lack of caring in your voice would only irritate him more, and the title you used instead of what you normally called him. “I have grown bored of this argument.”

“Grown bored? GROWN BORED?” He roars, moving to stand in front of you. “You need to be careful of how you proceed, dear Lady Wife.”

“Or what? You’ll slice me apart as you did that man?” You seethe, stepping closer. “He had a family-”

“He touched you!”

“He helped me clean a wound! Because my dear husband could not care less!” You yell and he steps up to match your attitude. 

“Are you so desperate for attention that you are opening your legs to random men now? I am your husband- YOU ARE MY WIFE!”

“YOU JUST SLAUGHTERED A BOY FOR TOUCHING MY KNEE-” Within a moment he has his lips upon yours and you are gasping out, launching back. “No. You do not deserve-”

“Deserve? DESERVE?”

“Goodnight. Prince. Aemond.” You snap, throwing a pillow at him and laying on the bed. 

Aegon is talking your ear off as he keeps leaning over his seat to get closer to yours, eyes casting down to where your breast are slightly shown with the gown. A gown Aemond had ordered to be made for you for his birthday, which you wore tonight for his name day dinner. 

That he did not show up to. 

Which left you sitting beside Aegon who was more than willing to tell you where his brother was. “It is so sad that you have no idea where he is, I would be more than willing to fill you in….”

“Why would you know where he is?” You sneer, taking a gulp from your goblet as he laughs.  “Your breath smells putrid.”

“He’s in town with Alys.” He smiles, your spine tensing as you recognize the name. Alys, your husbands mistress before he had met you, the bain of your existence for the first month of your marriage before he eased your worries. 

But lately your husband, who had always been loving and gentle with you, had been distant and off. You tried not to notice, but the more he was not there the more your anxiety got the best of you. 

“I am sure my dear Lord Husband would never-”

“Never fuck the witch in an inn that he gets every night, with multiple witnesses and guards standing outside the door. Mostly that one-” He points to your right, allowing you to turn your head and see Ser Millan Gale, one of the most noble knights known to Kings Landing.

You roll your eyes and shove him away, but that night when the guard escorts you to the rooms you walk slowly, turning to the guard. 

“Ser Millan?”

“Yes, princess?”

“Would you happen to know where my husband is? Tonight?” You ask, a heat travling your skin as the guard nods. 

That night you sob into your pillow, pretending to be asleep when your husband sneaks into the room, trying his best to stay quiet as he lays beside you. 

“What have I done? What have I possibly done to deserve this behavior from you?” He seethes, stepping towards the bed where you are fixing the blankets, snatching the small blanket from your hand. “How can I fix this if you do not tell me what I have done?”

“There is no fixing this.” You say lowly, eyes welling up with tears as he gives you a panicked look.

“What does that mean?”

“There is no fixing this Aemond! I do not want to be near you! I AM SICK OF YOU!” He steps back at your words, face completely stunned as he stares at you. Shock and panic fill your senses but you double down, trying not to get sick. 

The room is completely silent, just him staring at you with a narrowed eye and clenched jaw before a smug smile fills his face. “You always pick at your nails when you lie.”

Within seconds you snatch your hands to your sides, embarrassment your only option as he moves closer. “What is this all about? Have I not been a good husband to you-”

“You haven’t.” If he was going to keep pressing the matter then might as well play it to the full truth. “But I am sure Alys Rivers has had a good few months.” 

His entire body goes rigid, no longer trying to get near you instead he stands there like a prey that has just been caught, a stillness that you have never seen from him before. For a moment you feel bad, then his frown turns into a sneer and that guilty feeling vanishes like a mist in the spring. “Do you deny it?”

“How can I deny it when I don’t know what I am being accused of?” He seethes. 

“You have been having an affair with Alys Rivers! Have you not?!”

You are up before him the next morning, getting ready for the day ahead. The maids had already dressed you and done your hair by the time your husband begins to stir, hand sliding to your side of the bed and moaning in displeasure when he does not find you there. 

He calls out for you, still half asleep, and instead of answering you remain quiet but make sure to make a lot of noise as you sort through your jewelry to find your favorite necklace. The one Aemond had gotten you when you had accepted his courtship. Three green emeralds on a choker chain. 

He hears you and flops around in the bed, eyes cracking to look for you, the blue sapphire glinting in the morning light. “You look beautiful…..”

You don’t answer him, you actually do your best not to look at him. The realization that you were a fool had been made last night and you couldn’t look at him without thinking about Alys. Gorgeous gorgeous Alys. 

“I do apologize for missing my dinner last night.” He yawns, sitting up. “I was hoping we could celebrate today. You and I. We could-”

“I have to attend to your sister. We made plans last night.” You answer shortly, finding the necklace and attempting to put it on. Aemond sees you struggle and stands to walk behind you, grabbing the ends of the necklace softly and clasping it.

He has always been gorgeous in the morning, hair undone and no leather covering the scar on his face, he went for just his sleeping pants last night and his defined chest showed in the sunlight quite nicely. 

“I hope my family was not too mad about my lack of attendance.”

“They were, not to mention I looked like quite the fool when I didn’t know where you were.” Until now that is. “I tried having one of the guards send for you but they said you were not within the walls of the keep.”

“I was out on Vhagar, got a little carried away.” He smiles sheepishly, but you knew Aemond like the back of your hand, and you knew the little tapping he does when he lies. Just as you thought three small taps landed on the exposed skin of your shoulder. “How about a ride on Vhagar after your  plans with my sister? It has been so long since you have ridden her and I would like to keep your bond with her strong in case anything-”

  “I have no idea when our plans will be up.” You mutter, dragging your attention from him to search for earrings. Why was this breaking your heart?

He lets out a ‘hmm’ before grabbing your chin and pulling you to look at him, leaning down to kiss you where you sat on your vanity. “Then we shall celebrate tonight. I have missed my beautiful lady wife.”

“And I have missed my Lord Husband.” You say truthfully, patting his hand softly. He leans down to kiss your exposed shoulder before moving into the bathing chambers as you try to regain your calm. 

“I am not even going to bother with answering that accusation since you should know better. Instead I am going to ask where the fuck this idea started?” He seethes, hands clenching. This, right here, this is the Aemond you knew in the beginning. 

Long before you had been wed Aemond had simply been the cruel prince that everyone avoided, especially your older brother. But you had refused and you had taken to talking to the prince every day, even on days where he would do anything to chase you off. Aemond has always been quick to chase people off so that they would not end up running from him one day. 

You had outright refused and soon enough the boy was nervously asking to court you.

“Your brother has loose lips when the wine is poured.”

“My brother? My brother thinks the fucking birds outside speak to him and my sister swears she hears multiple voices in her head telling her the future.” Aemond laughs dryly, trying to match your gaze. 

“That’s what I thought. Then he provided proof.”

“Proof?”

“In the form of a guard who knows your whereabouts.”

“Is that so?”

“Ser Millan Gale. He knew where you were.”

“So you asked Ser Millan ‘is Aemond with Alys Rivers’ and he said yes?”

“That wasn’t my exact wording-”

“What was your wording? Exact.”

“I asked if he knew where you were.”

“And he said with Alys?”

“He only said yes.” You feel foolish for a moment, recognizing where your husband was about to take this argument. But it still didn’t make sense as to where he had been all these weeks if not with her? 

“You’ve never been foolish. I guess jealousy isn’t your best trait though.” He smirks, that smirk quickly falling when he realizes he only angered you more. 

“Do not mock me.”

“I am no-”

“You have been with her, and you have been hiding it. Running to her to fuck and love and then coming home to lie to me.”

“If you would just take a second and listen-”

You did not sit by Aemond at the dinner that night, opting for his sister though you had spent the entire day with her already. Alicent was pleased to see you two getting along and kept chatting to Aemond about it although she didn’t know you were using this to avoid her son. 

You excused yourself early from dinner, saying you were feeling unwell, and when Aemond launched up to walk with you you simply denied. He argued that he would be more than willing to take you to bed, a worried look plastered on his face, but his grandfather ordered him to sit back down as he had not been excused by the king. 

You kissed his cheek and left, rushing to the rooms and practically jumping in the bed to once again pretend you were asleep by the time he makes it to the room. 

You hear the door, eyes closing as you even out your breathing, and when you think he will just get ready for bed you are shocked when he walks over to your side and sits on the small amount of room you left, hand tracing your cheek softly. 

“Hey…..” He whispers, forcing you to pretend to wake up, a fake yawn leaving your lips. “I’m sorry to wake you, I just wanted to see what was wrong…”

“I just have a headache.” You lie, trying not to enjoy the feeling of his hand on your cheek. “Spent all day with Helaena.”

He smiles softly before standing and tearing off his leathers, crawling over you once he is in his drawers and plopping down on you. You giggle out when all his weight lands on you, trying to shove him off. 

“You are smushing me!” You laugh out as he reaches to tickle your sides, your laughs getting louder. “PLEASE PLEASE PLE-”

“Say you love me.” He orders, tickles getting faster. 

“I LOVE YOU!” You all but yell, tears slipping from your eyes at all the laughing. The second the words leave your mouth he stops, leaning down to kiss you softly before laying beside you and pulling you into him. 

“I love you too,  I would die for you.” He whispers, clutching onto you.

“Listen? To your excuses?” You sneer, watching as he moves closer. His hands are outstretched, like he is trying to calm a wild horse and his eye is wide. 

One knee comes to rest on the bed while his right hand reaches out to you so slowly. “We had a promise, when we got married, that we would always listen even if we were angry with eachother-”

“If you have not been with her then where have you been?” You snap, tears falling freely as you reach your hand out to his own. 

“I can’t tell you that. I-” You snatch your hand back, shaking your head at him.

“Then I do not accept.” You sob, turning your back to him. You bring the big blanket over you and smash your face into the pillow, ignoring him. 

You hear him sigh, before listening to the sound of him removing his leathers and dropping the pillow on the floor. You listen as he lays on the floor and gets comfortable on the rug in front of the bed. 

“Do not feel as though you are needed to stay here. I’m sure there is an inn you can stay-”

“You are here so I am here.” He snaps. “Just as it has always been.”

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.” Aemond sighs as he takes his riding boots off, watching you get undressed from the day. 

For the past 2 weeks you have been avoiding him, waking up early to leave before he wakes up and coming to bed early to pretend to sleep before he comes in. You have noticed that he has begun searching for you during the days so you have taken on a new class with one of the septas, trying to learn High Valyrian. And though you were bored out of your mind all the time, you knew your husband would never interrupt a septa’s lesson. 

“Y/n.” He calls, a tone of impatience in his voice that has you snapping your head up to look at him. “I have been calling you for minutes now. Are you feeling alright?”

“I just have a -”

“Headache.” He finishes the sentence, opening his arms to pull you into his lap, you being half naked. “Have you seen the Maestor, I’m beginning to worry about all the headaches you have been getting.”

“I am fine-”

“I worry for you darling.” He admits, chin resting on your shoulder as he looks to you, kissing your own chin softly. “Tomorrow we shall go see the Maestor together.”

“Won’t you be busy?” As he normally was this time around.

“No. I’ll be here. You are here so I am here.” He says, arms wrapping around your waist. “Just as it has always been.”

“Just as you vowed.” You smile softly, thinking about his wedding vows to you. They weren’t said during the ceremony, instead he whispered them to you in the safety of your own room, before devouring you that night. 

“I feel like I should warn you on the upcoming weeks….” He begins. “I have done something.”

Your heart begins to beat faster, and for a moment you believe he is about to confess to his affair. But a knock on the door has him launching to answer it so no one will walk in and see you indecently. 

“A raven arrived for you from storms end, a message from your nephew.” An accented voice murmurs as they hand him a raven before he shuts the door softly. 

“Aemond?” You call but he is already walking into the bathing chamber to read it privately. That night when you go in to see where he put it you find it burnt up with one of the candles, only a scrap of it surviving and the small words of ‘the plan’ to be seen. 

It is silent in the room as you both lay there, neither of you willing to say anything but unable to fall asleep. You were still desperate for answers and validation and he was still angry at the accusation and hurt at your own pain. 

There was one candle lit in the room and he watches as your shadow fills the ceiling before you are peering over the bed to look down to where he is lying. “Do you love her?”

“Y/n please-”

“Would you die for her? Just as you always claim to me?”

“SHE DOES NOT EXIST! SHE DOES NOT EVEN LIVE IN THIS SIDE OF THE WORLD!” He shouts, desperate for you to understand. 

“If that is true then what are you hiding from me and why?” You ask tearfully as he stares up at you. 

“I love you.” He breathes out, the only thing he really can process right now. 

“I don’t think you do.” You mutter, falling back into the bed and tuning away from his area once more. 

You wake before him the next morning and follow through with you plans with his mother, only seeing him in the training yard once. 

After lunch you leave to find the hand of the king, looking for a book that Alicent said he might have and when you do you find him in a small council meeting, no Alicent or king in sight. 

For a moment you debate leaving, pretending like you never saw this, but you instead stay hidden as you listen in on their plans to usurp the throne. 

After a few moments of listening you are running to the training yard to find your husband and tell him of the treason you just listened to but as you run through the yard you are sliced with a sword down your knee. 

You cry out in pain and fall to the mud beneath you as the man gasps out, moving to catch you. Your own hands fly to the fresh wound and he stops you, muttering something about the dirt from your hands would infect it. He grabs your calf and looks at the wound carefully. 

Aemond had heard you scream, and though he hadn’t seen what happened when he turned to find you he found a random man with his hands gripping your leg tightly, your dress ridden up to expose your thigh as your eyes ran with tears. A rage built up, him believing you were in danger and within moments he finds himself swinging the sword and slicing the man in two, a guttural scream leaving your lips. 

He carried you to the maestor as you sobbed for the unknown man, the screaming match began soon after the maestor cleaned the wound. 

You awoke to the harsh streams of sunlight in the morning blurry eyed from all the crying, launching over the bed to see if Aemond was still on the floor. 

The pillow and blanket were there but no husband in sight. You did not know if you were relieved or disappointed at that. 

You get dressed by yourself, a little confused by the lack of maids, and move to open the door. Only to find that it would not budge. You tried again and again, screaming at the guards on the other side only to get no answer. 

Before you know it you are searching the room for something to break the door down, in your search you find a parchment on Aemonds nightstand that was not there last night. 

‘Be angry all you want but I ask two things. One, stay in this room until Ser Millan comes to get you for the coronation, be dressed in green. Two, pack a small travel bag and hide it under our bed next to mine. Everything will be explained soon but trust no one.  My father died. -Your Love, Aemond’ 

Your hands shake as you grab the necklace he had gotten you, that had been laying under the parchment where he had placed it before bending down to see he had indeed hidden a travel pouch under the bed as well as his sword and set of knives. 

You move to pull the bag out until a knock sounds at the door and you are shoving it under in a panic, launching to stand as Alicent comes in, eyes puffy as she looks to you. “Dear Y/n….”

She moves to grab your cheeks softly, your arms moving to grab onto hers as you roll the parchment in your hand tightly so she might not see it. “I never thought any of my children would be so blessed with a love match, you have no idea how happy I am that you found Aemond.”

You smile at her, heart beating through your ribcage as you try to act normal. Your heart nearly beats out of your chest as she looks down and you are sure she must have spotted your husbands bag under the bed, but she merely scoffs as she looks back up to you. “Even the best marriages have their ups and downs.”

You look to the pillow and blanket on the floor, nearly deflating with relief that she only saw that. 

“An accident in the training yard yesterday led to a bit of a-”

“Jealous battle?” She giggles while you pretend to play coy and nod, showing her the cut down your leg to draw her attention. 

“That looks terrible, we shall have the maestors keep an eye on it but first I need you to get ready.” She orders, standing to her full height. You nod and move to grab the dress Aemond got you for his name day, a smug smile on your face as she sees the green. 

“I’m already on it, your majesty.” She smiles softly before kissing your cheek and leaving you to it. 

(Honestly did not plan an Aemond Pov but felt like doing it so wish me luck)

The halls of dragonstone were wide and barron as Aemond walked through them with his nephew Jace and his sister Rhaenyra, playing with his wedding ring as he listened to their plans of war. 

He missed you, and the separation was beginning to wear him down as he listened to them, only thinking of you. 

Right now you would be at his name day dinner, probably wearing the dress he had gotten you and waiting for him. This would be the hundredth time he has disappeared in the last few weeks and the guilt was eating at him. 

But he refused to not be prepared for the war that was coming. He knew of his grandfathers plans to usurp the throne, and his mother had been just as aware when he told her. Though she didn’t agree he caught the hesitation in her eye. 

Whether she knew it or not she would be fighting against her old friend soon. And Aemond refused to have you in the mix with Aegon as king. 

So he had sworn his sword to his sister, and has been called to dragonstone to help her plan. You could not know yet, because as much as he loved you and wanted to tell you there was a chance you would accidently blab. 

“I am sorry, dear nephew, but I must return home before my Lady Wife sends for my head.” He teases softly, drawing a laugh from the male as they shake hands before Aemond leaves to find Vhagar. 

 You spend the next few hours getting ready, tying your own corset and doing your own hair as you watch the door in a paranoid manner. You do as Aemond instructs and pack a small pouch, stashing it next to his under the bed just as a small knock is heard at the door and Ser Millan calls through it. 

He gives you a knowing look as you open it, to which you nod and he smiles. You expect him to simply lead you to where you need to go but he actually grabs you and hauls you over his shoulder. 

“SER MILLAN-!” You snap but then you see the crowds being shoved in and realize he was keeping you at a higher level so you weren’t trampled. 

“So it’s true…. Aegon is to be king….” You whisper, heart breaking slowly. 

You were asleep by the time he got in the rooms and Aemond was slightly disappointed with this, but not really when he saw how peaceful you looked. He debated waking you up, getting a bit of celebration from you just like this morning when you wished him a happy name day as you rode him. But that would be cruel and he was also tired, so he simply prepared for bed and slipped in beside you. 

When he awoke he was once again disappointed by the lack of your presence on the bed, calling for you only to get no answer. But he heard you rummaging around in your jewelry and his heart sped up as he opened his eyes to see you. 

You were always so fucking beautiful to him, and Aemond often wondered what he did to deserve you. How had he not scared you off yet? He tells you just what he is thinking, that you look beautiful. His heart begins beating out of his chest when he realizes something is off, moving to get closer and help you with the necklace you were struggling with. 

He offers a ride on Vhagar, just wanting to be with you but you decline and he feels empty, but you had made plans and he should be grateful that one of you is keeping up court appearances while he becomes a traitor. 

He worries about your reaction as he sits in the bath, wondering if you would think him a coward for not standing with his family. 

He prayed that you would understand.

You are brought to stand with Aemond, once he saw you his hands are immediately flying to your shoulders to make sure you are alright. “issi ao alright” (are you alright?)

“aōha muña māstan isse naejot se tistālion bisa ñāqatubis, gaomas ziry gīmigon skoros iksā planning?” (your mother came into the room this morning, does she know what you are planning?)

Aemond shakes his head no, a tense look on his features as he pulls you to stand closer, eyes appraising you. “You look ravish-”

“Is now a good time for this?”

“Well you were screaming at me last night so I feel the need to remind you.” He teases and you begin getting defensive, he must notice because he simply drags you to stand near his family, keeping his hand entwined with yours. 

“Beware the beast beneath the boards.” Helaena mutters and you get an uneasy feeling. 

You were avoiding him, that much Aemond was aware. He just could not figure out why or how to get you to stop. 

He debates locking you in the bedchambers and just refusing to let you out, but you would kill him and he would rather you come to him when you are ready rather than force himself upon you like a crazy man. 

But he was worried, you were speaking of headaches and days where you said you were with his sister you were gone and could not be found. 

You were sleeping right now and he was staring at you like a creep. 

He remembers how you used to follow him around, right after you had met him, and he used to try and scare you off with his rude behavior. You laughed in his face one day and he felt like a fool, but from that moment on he was obsessed. That had never really changed. 

Aemond Targaryen lived and breathed for you, a fact he was glad to admit. When his brother mocked him he merely smiled. When his mother asked for heirs he would crack a joke and say you both were trying day and night to make her uncomfortable. 

Without you he was nothing. 

He kept a rough hold of your hand throughout the coronation, glaring at the scene before him as the crowd began cheering for his brother who was slowly fueling them on. Then chaos broke and the ground was shaking and cracking. 

His feet widened their stance to keep himself upright as he clutched onto you so you didn’t fall while his aunt tore through the ground and smashed the peasants under her beasts talons. Within moments she was coming to them and Aemond felt his heart explode as he turned to pull you into him and block you from any fire the dragon may breathe or at least be the first to be eaten. 

As he clutches onto you he prays, hearing the beast roar as you begin sobbing. “Imsorryimsorryimsorryimsorry”

Then it’s over, and Rhaenys is flying away as you continue to clutch onto him, but he doesn’t have time even if you are terrified. 

Snatching your hand and pulling you into his side to leave, his mother calling for him in a panic. 

“When…..when you go to her, give her this.” She cries, handing him the torn page with a shaky hand. “Tell her…..tell her I remember and I hate the color green.”

Aemond nods, letting his mother pull him in to kiss his head before he is tearing through the castle with you by his side. He meets Millan at your rooms and snatches the stuff hidden under the bed before dragging you to where Vhagar is already saddled and ready.

“This….. Entire time you had been-”

“Planning an escape?” He supplies, trying not to lose his patience as your eyes well up with tears. “Love we have to go.”

“I accused you of ch-” He reaches for you in a moment, pulling you into his chest as you sob and he rubs your hair. 

“I do not blame you. I was hiding something. But we need to work this out later before Aegon finds out I have-” And within a moment another dragons roar fills the air. “Y/n. Saddle. Now.”

You listen, climbing up the rope ladder to reach the saddle, your husband following closely and sitting right behind you on top of the dragon. His hands wound around you as he buckles everything and commands her to go. 

The wind pushes you back into his chest as she takes off and he chuckles softly before his hand moves to your stomach. “This is why I wanted you to ride her before we left, but you had to be stubborn.”

“Your mother.”

“We will figure out a peace treaty, I am sure of it.” He whispers before Vhagar takes off into the winds.

“Then why are we escaping?”

“Because I am not willing to risk you getting hurt while they act like fools.” He answers sharply, pulling you in to kiss him before focusing on the skies ahead. 

NO TAG LIST, IT IS NOT WORKING FOR SOME REASON 

#aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen angst #aemond targaryen possessive #House of the dragon #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon imagine

[a-jynx]

By the Stars & the Moon, I'll find you.

another angsty astarion idea, who knew! i hope you enjoy this lil idea, it's been racking my brain <3

once i romance some more characters in bg3, i'll hopefully be able to write about them as well!

um, so i am so deeply sorry? this fic got away from me (hint; this is why i put the poll for an extra-long fic or multiple parts...) i hope you still enjoy! <3

warnings: there are brief mention of smut, blood drinking, biting, killing of people, and the italicized/bold are either thoughts/memories!

word count; 7k

Dull sunlight broke through the curtains at the Elvin Inn, another little brothel lost on the edges of Baulder's Gate. The scent of ale and stale smoke filtered through the air, warm bodies stuffing themselves full of wine and liquor to help forget about their troubles, some even stuffing themselves into places that don't belong. You jumped as another body slammed into the booth next to you, jostling your ale from its mug. His putrid body odor smothered your sensitive smell.

"Hello, beautiful," his voice slurred as you rolled your eyes, slicing them towards him with a purse of your lips. "What're you doin' sittin' all by yourself?" His breath licked into your senses, making you gag before humming and taking a long sip from your ale. "Observing. People watching. However, you'd like to call it." You shrugged as he suddenly slung an arm around your shoulders, tugging your hood from your head and pulling you close. "Well, let me help you," his body pressed further into your side, his hand caressing your scarred neck. "That man over there," he paused, jutting his head towards the man surrounded by women. "He'll be set for life with his mistresses." He laughed, his body shaking yours as you huffed. Another sip. "That one?" Men were surrounding a young woman, her eyes low and her chest jumping with gentle laughter as a man curled into her, his hand tugging at her hair. "They'll end up married by the end of the night."

"You talk a lot for someone who observes." You mutter, downing the rest of your mug as he snorted. "I'm just tellin' ya what I observe, sweetheart," he suddenly grew closer. His hands grazed down your collarbone and the other rested against your lap. You snarled, pushing yourself away from his touch but his grip tightened. "Besides, I love observing someone else having-" You clenched your jaw, grabbing his chin with a tight grip.

"That won't be happening tonight for you, ale breathe." You hissed, splitting your lips into a grin as your fangs glittered in the dim lights. The man grew wide-eyed, his lips fumbling to make words as you licked at the sharp canines. "Though," you whispered, tugging him close as your lips ghosted his neck causing him to flinch into your hold. "I am feeling rather... Thirsty." The words slithered down his spine as tears cascaded down his cheeks, causing your smile to widen.

"Plea- Please, I have a family-"

"Yet, you hang around here until sundown." You grinned, releasing his chin and jumping forward, piercing his throat with a gargle as he thrashed against you. You sucked deeply. The copper and ale mixed heavenly on your tongue, coating your throat and emptying into your belly as he slumped against you. His blood dripped onto your chest as you licked up the stranded string dribbling down your chin. Your belly and chest felt warmer, soothed even. Moving his corpse to the other side of the booth, you stumbled back into your darkened seat, sighing contently. At least you got a meal out of the place...

"Any rooms will do, really." His voice pierced the air as you blinked, lips falling agape. "We'll only need it for a few nights." A stifled laugh left him as you lowered your head, quickly finding the new group of adventures that had wandered into the tavern. It couldn't be... It's been over 200 centuries since-

"Astarion, did you get us a room?" One of the women asked, her frown seemed plastered on her face while her arms crossed her chest. "Working on it, Shadowheart," his voice tightened as he leaned against the bar, flashing a... Dazzling smile. "What'd you say, handsome...? 300 coins for the next few nights?"

Astarion. Astarion Ancunín. But he escaped... Why did he come back?!

"Whatever, just know you'll never get a good night sleep here." Lonan warned while trading the vampire a key for some coins. All you could do was stare. Watching as he moved easily through the overcrowded tavern. He looked... Happy. Warm, even. His party followed behind him weaving through the tables and crowds. You quickly downed the last of your ale, cringing at the flavor that suddenly reminded you of stomach bile.

"We'll all be sharing, so I hope you and Lae'zel have worked out your differences." Astarion snickered, handing the key off to a man lavished in a dark purple robe, who rolled his eyes. "Behave, we just got this room and it'll be nice to have actual beds instead of sleeping on the hard ground." The man groaned, snatching the key as the others began to go upstairs, leaving the white-haired vampire to himself. It felt like the world had stopped as you turned your head, trying to hide your own ruby-colored eyes. "I'll be just fine Gale! I'll send up that cheap, vinegar wine for you and Wyll to share." He sent a wink as the man, Gale, rolled his eyes with a sigh before following the rest of their party upstairs. This was your chance.

You quickly moved out of the booth, your cloak catching the table causing the ale mug to go tumbling to the floor. A small group took notice of the noise but turned away, but of course... Of course, it had caught his attention. Yanking your cloak free, you tugged the hood over your head with a sigh before seeing his figure move in closer. Looking over your shoulder, you meet each other's gaze. Both parties too stunned to move - either fear or surprise - who could tell? You huffed out a sigh, watching as his nostrils flared - inhaling - and his eyes grew even wider as you took a few cautious steps back, turning away and moving towards the exit.

"Wait!" His voice cut through the loud bards' playing and the shouts of patrons as he pushed through them, following behind you. Gritting your teeth, you shoved a few staggering men into his path, quickly pushing out the door and out into the busy and bright streets. "Hey!" His voice broke through as he tried to shove past the men you threw his way, smirking, you quickly ran down the alleyway. Stumbling into the rough wall, you pushed off and ran down the corridor. Glancing back, you grinned as you saw him appear at the end you had just ran from. Standing for a moment, you looked at each other with your hands tickling the handle of your sword. His own weapon reflected the bright sun, your eyes widened as you took note of his body blanketed by the same ray. He's immune...?

"You shouldn't have come back, runaway." You spoke with a grin, flashing your fangs as he went to run towards you, an obvious snarl on his lips. You rolled your eyes, grabbing your cloak and dragging it over your body, disappearing into a puff of thick red smoke. Astarion stumbled over the cobblestone, growling as he stashed his dagger away. He'd lost his one up on Cazador. But he knew the spawn's face. He could find them again, and make sure their head became Cazador's warning that he's back in town...

**************

"Remind me why we had to leave that beautiful place again?" Gale groaned as Astarion led them through the thick forest. He had only told the party that he had seen of one Cazador's hunters and that the brothel - no matter how nice it was - was infested. "Astarion is the vampire expert, and he said if it was dangerous than I believe him." Shadowheart quipped, shifting her packs' weight with a sigh. "Besides, Halsin was getting antsy in there anyway." She couldn't fight back the grin as the taller elf shot her a sheepish grin.

"Alright, we should be far enough out that we won't have to worry about of Cazador's little leeches," he sighed, dropping his own pack with a grunt. He was being hopeful in the least. Who knows the length those spawns would go to bring him back to his shackles. Blinking away the memories, the party began to set up their shared camp, leaving Astarion to set up his own tent with ease. The soft duck pillows and blankets littering his camp softened the blow of the hard earth beneath him. The vanity in front of him held no image, causing his fingers to shake as he placed it on its desk. Dragging his fingers down the golden edges, all he could think was about the spawn from Elvins'. The dark cloak hugging them and hiding most of their... Condition. Those brilliant and glittering red gems seemed to glint when he chased them - they seemed excited. Thirsty for a hunt. His stomach lurched at the thought, his fingers shaking just like they did when he faced them in that alleyway.

Astarion jumped at the sound of Halsin cutting firewood, a quick sigh leaving his lips as licked at his fangs, allowing them to nick his tongue. His heart seemed to rattle against his chest as he rolled his shoulders, going into his tent and picking up one of the many books he had gathered on his party's venture. He would make a plan. A trap. He can easily best an overly eager spawn. He smiled to himself, he was going to get answers, one way or another.

**************

You moved carefully through the woods. Inhaling deeply, you were greeted with the angry scent of a burning fire and hints of different peoples' blood. Their bodies moving and pumping the intoxicating scent. Licking your teeth, you moved closer, already seeing the tents come into sight. How had no one else caught this spawn yet?

Your back slammed into a nearby tree as a sharp edge bit into your throat. A muffled shout left you as you met his bright, red eyes. You couldn't fight back the grin as he pressed himself further into you, the dagger carefully decorating your neck with a spot of blood. "Now, you're going to answer me and tell me everything I want to know," his voice came out thick, rough even. His hot breath panted against your cheek as you sucked your teeth.

"Ask away, runaway."

"Stop calling me that," he growled, pressing the blade harder as you hissed through clenched teeth, showing off your own fangs. Astarion blinked, your fangs weren't new. You were almost... As old as he was, as he could be. "Tell me who turned you. Who made you a spawn." He all but spat in what sounded like disgust. Anger. Disappointment. You swallowed thickly, moving your hand that had curled around his wrist that held the blade to your throat away, you revealed the other side of your neck. His eyes widened as he recognized the mark. His bite mark.

"Guess I wasn't as memorable as you were for me." You spoke dryly, sighing as he slowly dropped the pressure of his dagger. He took a small step back, staring at you with something you hated. Pity. "Don't look at me like I'm a lost pet," you spat, tugging your cloak trim closer. "You're just as lost as I am."

"Why're you here." He hissed, sleeving his dagger once again as you sighed, watching as he crossed his arms over his chest. "I came here to warn you-" Your back collided with the bark again, this time his hand wrapped tightly around your throat. Both hands shot up, gripping his wrist with a strangled wheeze.

"Warn me?! You should've run to warn your precious master," Astarion all but spit out each word as you hissed, digging your claws into his flesh with a growl. He barely flinched at the pain, merely hissing at the sting of your sharp nails.

"He's nothing to me! He abandoned me when I tried to save my-" You croaked, lips trembling as he growled, dropping you to the forest floor with a grunt. You gasped, grasping at your throat with a coughing fit. "Who did you save? Yourself? Shocking that a spawn would try anything against its master." He tsked, watching as you rose and leaned against the trees' bark, huffing deeply. Rubbing your sore neck, you rolled your eyes before slowly standing to your full height. "We never got along. Besides, I wanted out of that damned place for a long time." You spat out the last words, causing him to frown at you. He had caused this to fall onto you. You had been one of his first consorts for Cazador... One of his many firsts.

"I.. If you're looking for an apology, don't hold your breath. It's not in my nature, darling." He almost snorted with a huff. You rolled your eyes, taking a step towards him, crossing your arms over your chest. "I don't want an apology. What I want is your help."

"What?" He glanced at you, his brow perked up and with a slight tug of his lips. He may be hesitant, but he was intrigued. "What could I possibly help you with? And why would I even consider helping you?"

"You came back for a reason." You pointed, picking at your nails. "That reason has to do with Cazador. You want what he has, and to get that you'll have put that damned dagger through his heart," you hissed with a sickening grin. "Let me help you, and you help me." You stated matter-of-factly as he groaned, rubbing at his chin. "What could you possibly know about Cazador that I don't already know?" Astarion scoffed, waving his hands in the air as you carefully pulled off your hood, gently unclasping your cloak, tugging down your loose tunic. Turning around and presenting your back to Astarion, who stared with wide eyes at the infernal sigils carved jaggedly into your flesh.

"That he's planning to ascend." You almost whispered. His shock state makes you inhale deeply, quickly shrugging your cloak back on. Heat rose to your cheeks to the best of its ability as you turned to face him, sighing before meeting his eyes once more.

"And he needs us to finish the ritual."

********

"Tell me about the ritual," Astarion sat across from you as you glanced around his tent. It seemed more like a home than your cell or the room you rented at the Elvin Inn. "All of it." Turning back towards him, you reached into your satchel and pulled out a book. Flipping open and rifling through the pages, you thumbed through it until you landed on the stages.

"This is all I know of it. He's been planning this for centuries," you paused, turning the book towards him as he scooted closer, his fingers gently pressed against the yellow-tinted pages. "He must've had it planned since the night he changed you..." Your voice lowered as he glanced up at you through his lashes. "How can you be for sure? What if this was a- was a trap? A fake?" He laughed in his throat as you rolled your eyes, scooting closer and flipping the pages a few more times. Pointing at a few paragraphs as Astarion's eyes moved over the words. It was Cazador's own handwriting. This was his journal.

"How did you get this...?" His voice was low, barely a murmur as he turned to face you. His eyes were wide as he took in your features. You blinked once, twice, three times, before scoffing and leaning back from him - heat moved through your chilled figure. "It was simple, honestly... Cazador had me as his prized spawn," you scoffed out a laugh, picking at your nails once more before shrugging. "I was able to sneak into his quarters without much of a second thought. Everyone believed I was meant to be there, so I acted like it. I took the journal and ran,"

"How did you escape? You could've died from the sunlight-" Astarion scoffed, closing the book with a hard thump as you rolled your eyes.

"I waited, clearly." You spat, dragging your knees up to your chest with a sigh. "I listened to him tear apart his quarters and office trying to find it. He killed tens of us with such... Ease, that it felt as if I was dying every time, they hit the floor." Your voice was a small whisper, feeling tears well-up along your waterline. Astarion stared at you, brows furrowed, and his lips pulled in a tight frown.

"Do... Do you remember who he killed?" His voice was careful - like tiptoeing on ice. Ice that had already shattered and been refrozen.

"I only knew a few, maybe three of them, by name? They looked so different when they hit the floor," you turned your attention to your hands. Hard blood stained your palms while your fellow spawns' faces’ broke through your thoughts. Their screams echoing as you stared at the stained lines of your skin. "Teyona, Nyla, and... And Sebastian." You cut your attention towards Astarion, his face looked as if he'd seen a gnoll. You remembered how much Sebastian meant to Astarion, at least when he first turned him. They were more than spawn and consort - they were lovers. Until Cazador tricked them - him - just like he did to everyone in that foul castle.

"I'm sorry, I knew he meant something to you,"

"Please,” Astarion all but scoffed, but you could see the glossiness in his eyes. “That was centuries ago. Besides,” he reopened the book, flipping through the pages absentmindedly. “If Sebastian ever saw me, he’d probably try and run a stake through my heart.” A small smile graced his lips as you frowned. Sebastian had spoken about how Astarion tricked him, but he also spoke about how loved he felt... You shrugged, leaning into your knees with a muffled sigh. “You might’ve tricked him - lured him - but Sebastian talked about how much you poured love into it. He had to have known you might’ve cared more than let on.” He paused his page flipping, his lips pulled tight again. You could see the imaginative clogs clanking around in his head, you watched as he swallowed thickly. "Even if I did, it doesn't matter anymore," he paused, his eyes staring at the book, blankly. "He's dead." Astarion wettened his lips, his eyes flickering over the chicken scratch of your old master's handwriting. "You never told me what you'd be getting out of this little... Deal, we have on-going." Astarion's attention flickered to you for a moment as you cleared your throat.

"Does my part of the deal truly concern you?"

"No, but I'd rather know what the other party gets out of my sweet helpfulness." You couldn't fight the urge to roll your eyes. Nibbling at your lip, you grabbed the book from Astarion, who fought back for a second before releasing it to your grasp. Flipping a few pages towards the back, you landed on what looked like a list, or a note of some type. "Cazador was outraged when you fled, he took most of his anger out on the spawns' you had collected - myself included. For some reason, he took an interest when I fought back. I bit him, clawed at his clothes, ripped out his hair... Hells, I fought like I was going to die,"

"Because you would've." Astarion spoke quickly, his body facing towards you as you turned to look at him, already feeling the hot tears well up. "No... No, maybe in the end, but we were all part of his big plan. This," you held up the tattered journal, your hand shaking. "This ritual is what kept me alive. What kept you alive. He had to have planned this from the beginning." Your voice shook, tears spilling over and down your cool cheeks. Stomach twisting in tight knots as you dropped the book onto Astarions' carpeted tent floor, clenching your trembling hands into tight fists. His eyes flickered between the book and yourself, studying how you shook when speaking about this ritual - this ascension.

"Well, good to know I'm important for something." He laughed dryly, before standing and brushing himself off, glancing towards you. "When was the last time you fed?" You blinked at the question; your stomach seemed to twist even tighter at the mere thought. Standing up from your spot on the ground, you rolled your shoulders. "At the inn-"

"You fed on a drunk man?" Astarion released a loud, exaggerated laugh as you rolled your eyes, fighting back a grin as he wheezed. "That is fantastic, I'm shocked you were able to run from me,"

"And yet the great runaway spawn couldn't catch me, I suppose called me shocked as well." You released a short snort as Astarion placed his hands on his hips, rolling his eyes as he shouldered past you and outside his tent with you quick to follow. Darkness had already tucked away the world, leaving his companions to dream sweetly in their tents as you both moved towards the woods.

"You avoided the topic," Astarion broke the silence as you walked down a small pathway in the woods, towards a small clearing in a field. "Of what you'll be gaining from all of this. I mean," he paused, leaning against a tree and crossing his arms. "Cazador will want to send you to Avernus, only to bring you back and do it all over again." You merely shrugged. You knew the cost of doing this - all of it. Taking the book, tracking down and helping Astarion... Fighting for your past. You wandered around the tree, settling next a fallen branch while watching the gentle stream ahead of you both. "I understood the risk of doing any of this - escaping, taking the journal, seeking out you, hells even drinking from that patron would've gotten me buried." You licked at your dry lips, suddenly aware of how dry they felt. Astarion slinked closer to you, settling on the branch next to you as your knees knocked together, you flinched for a second but melted into the touch.

"I remember his methods well. He took... Everything from me. Everything I had in that time. My family, my childhood," he scoffed out a laugh. "Hells, he took my life." You glanced to the rogue, seeing his lips curve down and his eyes softened.

"This may sound... Utterly ridiculous," you whispered, causing Astarion to turn to you. "But I'm... Appreciative that you turned me." His eyes widened as you turned away, facing the stream once more. "I had nothing going for me. Any coin found or made was spent on ale, I flirted my way into a getting a roof over my head for the night but was always gone before sunrise, no true friends or family to seek me out," you paused, inhaling deeply while feeling Astarion's stare burned holes into the side of your head. "So, when you approached me, I thought it was just another way to get a warm bed but... Who knew I would wake up as someone else, in a dirty cell no less."

"You... You appreciate becoming a monster? Something that must stalk around at night because the sun would threaten to turn you to dust? Feeding on the blood of things with thinking minds? Forced to become someone else's puppet?" Astarion spat, each word dripping with venom as you snapped your head to him. His brows pinched together and a snarl on his lips, his fangs on display from his clenched teeth.

"I had no life before becoming a monster, Astarion!"

"So, it was better to be the puppet of someone monstrous than to try and make something of yourself?!" He snapped, standing from the limb as you followed. You felt your cheeks burn hot from embarrassment. Licking at your own fangs, you sighed. "No. No, it wasn't better. You know how he was - how he is. Beating us, belittling us, feeding us rodents for meals and laughing as we fought like dogs; afraid when our next meal would be, burying us beneath the earth and waiting for us to pop out like fucking daisies in the spring! That life wasn't better, but I had a roof. And people I considered to be a family - as messy and challenging as it was - is." You spat, huffing with tears blurring your vision once more. Quickly wiping them away with your wrists, you sniffled. "It wasn't better. You're right about that, but I am still appreciative because even though I miss the sun, I miss seeing the worlds' color, hells I miss seeing myself... I miss a lot of things, but everything I gained helps make up for it," you finally turned to face him, seeing his eyes had darkened harshly, but he had a look of... Confusion.

You sat in silence, just staring at one another before he ripped his attention away and standing from the fallen limb. Watching as he stalked away towards the stream, his arms crossed at his chest, leaving you to observe quietly. Watching as he pulled his dagger from its' hidden sleeve, and jumping as he threw it off to the right, causing your brows to furrow. Sitting quietly, you watched as he followed where his knife had flown, only to see him reappear with a rabbits' lifeless body. He struck its neck with his fangs, drinking from the dark, brown-furred animal, watching as the blood dripped past his lips and dribbled from his chin... You felt your mouth begin to water. Snapping his eyes open, he cut his eyes towards you before breaking away and tossing you the animal, you could only blink as he stalked back towards you, settling back into his spot. "Either drink from it, or give it back," he sighed, licking at the bloodied blade as you swallowed thickly, quickly striking it with your own fangs. Your eyes fluttered closed as you drank from the rabbit, humming softly before dropping it into your lap, licking at the crimson that smeared across your lips. You jumped as Astarions' thumb traced your bottom lip, tugging the fat drop of blood that had dripped down before he brought to his own mouth, suckling it gently. Warmth flooded your cheeks from the action. He stood abruptly, sleeving the dagger once more before he moved around the branch that had become your bench.

"Get your strength up, we will be needing it when we face our old... Acquaintances." He threw over his shoulder as he went down the path towards his camp. Inhaling deeply, you turned back towards the stream, licking at your lips before glancing down to the rabbit in your hands. Drinking from things with a thinking mind. Is that why he killed it first? No. Vampires usually love the hunt and the warmth from the blood... So, why kill it? You frowned, standing from your seat and moving towards the tree Astarion had leant against earlier, tugging your sword from its' sleeve. Flipping it in your hand, you used the handle to dig a hole in the loosened soil, placing the rabbit inside, and covering it up gently. Patting the soil softly, you stood, moving towards Astarions' camp as the night slowly became lighter. The day was coming quickly, and you were somehow excited to take it on.

**********

You did it.

You really did it.

You watched as Astarion landed on his haunches, blood splattered and smeared across his body while Cazador gurgled and choked on his blood. Your hands trembled as you stumbled towards them, falling next to Astarion as he gasped out before looking up, allowing a gut-wrenching cry to burst through. Tears cascaded down your cheeks, lightening the blood from your face. Dropping your sword as you glanced around, seeing your brothers and sisters drop from the rituals binds. A soft scoff-like laugh escaped your lips as you turned back to Astarion, reaching over and grasping his shoulder causing him to whip his head towards you.

"We did it..." Your voice shook as you suddenly thrusted yourself into him. Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck as he stumbled, landing onto his backside with a small thump, his arm shaking before slowly wrapping around your back, holding you close. "We did it, star," you leaned back, your crimson eyes locking with his own, his pupils blown. You grew conscious of how your body rested against his, breathing in unison as your eyes grew wide. Star...? Star?! Why- Where did that name come from? You blinked, slowly falling from his lap and meeting the cold, stone floor, your palm slapping the thick puddle of blood as you lurched forward, your head feeling like it was being split by a pike.

Your body shook in pain as you clenched your eyes shut, gritting your teeth, feeling your fangs prick against your bottom lip. Astarion moved towards you, grabbing your shoulder and dragging your head back into his lap; his hand caressing your sticky cheek. "Relax, let it through, shhh," his voice became light years away as you shook against his grip.

Images flashed across your blackened vision; your hot skin pressed against his. Sweat clung to your bodies as you moved together, hair sticking against your forehead and nape. Astarion's mouth moved hungrily against yours, nipping at your bottom lip, begging for entrance. You licked into his mouth, deepening the kiss. His hands slid across your body, squeezing and pinching at your skin, leaving irritated scratches across your skin. His mouth moved on from your lips, the tip of his tongue licking along your throat, his lips pressing hot kisses against it.

"Astarion," you moaned, tilting your head back, allowing him access to your throat. His inhale shook as he pressed tighter kisses to your throat, gently nibbling at your pulse, causing your body to jolt. "Patience, darling," he whispered huskily against your throat, pressing open-mouth kisses down your shoulder, nipping at your chest. "Only good little pets get what they want." You moaned openly; one hand tightened into his bright, white curls before tugging his lips back to your own. You bit his bottom lip, tugging it between your teeth. "Show me the stars, Astarion," you pressed another hungry kiss to his lips, smirking as he moaned into it. His mouth moved down your neck once more, hovering over your thundering pulse before he pierced it with his fangs. You've never moaned louder.

You withered against Astarion's lap, gasping as one of your hands shot out, wrapping tightly around his tattered and blood-covered tunic. Your scream pierced through the somewhat silent basement.

Your giggled echoed through the spawn dorms. Astarion cradled you close while playfully glaring. "You're going to get us into trouble," he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple as you turned into him, cuddling closer. You couldn't hold back your smile. "Well, excuse me for being excited about you finally asking me to be yours," you smirked as he scoffed, rolling you both over to where he hovered over you, a small smile on his lips.

"Nyla was starting to think you were stringing me along," you chuckled as Astarion rolled his eyes, pressing another kiss to your lips. You sighed into the affection, wrapping your arms around his neck and dragging him closer to you. With your foreheads pressed tightly together, Astarion slowly pulled back, his soft breathing barely tickling your lips. You could see the twinkle in his bright, red eyes as they stared back into your own. "You look like you're thinking," you mumbled, smiling again. "That's quite dangerous for you." Astarion scoffed at you, rolling onto his back next to you, still keeping you tangled close. "Only you would consider my thinking dangerous," he snipped, pressing another kiss to your cheek. "I have many great ideas, like for instance, making you into a breath-taking," he pressed a kiss into your hair. "Talented." Another to your nose. "Skillful." Another kiss to your lips. "Dangerous spawn," his voice trailed off as his lips trailed down your neck, placing his last kiss against your vampiric scar. "Just like me." You turned your face towards him, smiling softly while staring at one another. The world around you seemed to blend together.

"I believe you are the promise of perfection in my eyes, my Star," you whispered, reaching up and caressing his cheek, brushing your thumb against the apple of his cheek. He blinked, mouth falling slightly agape as he broke into a small grin, turning towards your palm and pressing another kiss against your roughened skin. "We share a similar view, my Moon." He murmured against your skin, as you stared at one another, just loving each other's touch. "Promise me something, Astarion," you lowered your voice as he furrowed his brow, sitting up on his elbow as he leaned over you. "Promise me we'll get out here... Promise we'll find a way out of here, and a way to be just us." You stared up at him with hope glittering in your eyes. Lovestruck eyes. Astarion stared at you, his lips agape once more as he leaned down, pressed a soft, love-filled kiss to your lips. He knows... He knows you may never escape this. Your lips moved together, pressing hungrily into each other. But that doesn't mean he won't try.

Your eyes snapped open, seeing Astarion holding onto your cheeks, keeping your head still against his thighs as you looked around wildly. You could feel each individual swell of sweat as you curled your hands into your blood-soaked tunic. He hushed you gently, rubbing his thumbs over the apples of your cheeks.

Astarion ran ahead of you, his grip on your wrist tight - tighter with each step. You stumbled over the steps as you both rushed through Cazador's palace. Your supposed brother and sister's running after you - shouts of how you were disgusting traitors following you through the hallways. Turning a sharp corner, you slammed into the wall with a loud shout as Astarion glanced back to you, gritting his teeth as he saw your family behind you.

He swore to find a way to protect you. Protect what you had. To find a way for both to escape the abuse and hardship that followed behind the Cazador home life. And he did, he had found a way out for you - for you both. The only problem is trying to reach it without dying.

Turning another corner, you stumbled into Astarion's back, gasping as you looked around. The ballroom door was shut. And locked. You blinked, your grip on Astarion's hand tightened ever slightly as you both turned, him stepping behind you as he looked around, fear and dread suddenly licking up the back of his neck. He had brought you - his darling, his moon - into the mouth of danger itself. A few controlled spawns surrounded you as the room grew thick with dread. Astarion drew his dagger with a glare, his jaw ticked with anger, teeth grit tightly together.

"Drop your weapon, Astarion, make this simple work before Master joins in the fun," the twisted and eerie voice of your sister, Teyona snickered. Your bottom lip trembled as you tightened your grip on Astarions' tunic. You bared your fangs as he kept his arm out, trying to keep your body behind him. "Just let us go, Tey! Please," your voice wobbled as she tilted her head, her eyes darkening. "I am begging you to let us go! Before Cazador comes! We used to plan our escapes while locked in our cells, dreamed of a knight coming to our rescue!" You felt hot tears dripping down your cheeks, your hands trembling in Astarion's grasp as his eyes darted around the room. "Astarion is my knight! He is my rescue that we've always begged for!"

"Why would I release you when Master has a bigger plan for you." Teyona hissed before rushing towards you both. Astarion slashed at her, but she dodged easily, snickering as she stood tall. "Get them!" A wave of your supposed family washed towards you, fangs and claws bared. Astarion slashed, stabbed and even bit at who was considered your kin. Drawing your sword from its sleeve, you slashed across the vampiric crowds, jumping when a pair of claws slashed across your arm, ripping your flesh as Astarion growled, jumping forward and stabbing his stained dagger into the enemies' chest. Baring his fangs as he twisted it before preparing another strike. Blood splattered and sprayed across the floor, more bodies crumbling and crashing into the marble flooring. The crimson decorating the floor smeared and colored your clothes. You went to turn towards Astarion, thinking him closer than he was, you met the face of Nyla, who you believed to be your true sister in your shared rebirth. She bared her fangs as you stared at her, your sword trembling in your hand as you felt bile rise up in your throat.

"Ny-Ny, please..." You whispered, biting the tip of your tongue as you took a step back, swallowing as she tsked, surging towards you. "No!" You tossed your sword away, tossing up both of your arms to block her blows. Her teeth sank into your forearm, her claws digging into your flesh as an inhuman scream breached your lips. Astarion whipped around at the sound, eyes wide and mouth agape as he struck down the last spawn beside him. "No!" He moved towards your struggle on the ground, only to skid to a stop as... As Sebastain appeared in front of him.

"Hello, Astarion, going somewhere?" The other spawn grinned, their usually shared red eyes, darkened as Astarion bared his fangs at his former consort. "Get out of my way, Sebastain, do not make me your enemy." His voice slightly shook. Sebastain tilted his head, his long, black hair sliding past his shoulder. Your screams and the left-over spawns seemed to melt into the background. "Why stay and fight, hmm? Your... Little Moon will only be the one to sign your away your last breath." He snickered, sauntering towards Astarion, whose dagger slowly lowered. "Don't you see?" He paused, standing beside Astarion with a sad smile. "They couldn't even kill the threat in front of them," his voice slithered into Astarion's ear, making his lip tremble as he glanced down at his dagger. He should stab him. He should've already killed Sebastain and been at your side, getting out of here, heading towards freedom... So, why were his feet still firmly planted in the thick puddle of blood?

"Run." Astarion snapped his head towards Sebastain as he appeared back in front of him, a sickening smile on his lips. "Run away while you still can, because if you drag that... Cargo alongside you? You'll be dead before you hit the streets."

"No. No, they're my lover! I wouldn't leave them even if it meant-"

"Dying? Are you really willing to pay your life for someone who couldn't even protect themselves? How can you trust they'll be there when you need them most...? How do you know they won't take that dagger," Sebastain paused, his fingertip pressing against the drying tip of his dagger, causing his eyes to follow it. "And stab it right into your back." Astarion jumped at the thought. You wouldn't. You were his moon, and he your star. You both had thought of a plan to escape and live out your long, long lives together... So, why did he feel his heart jump at the thought of freedom... Alone?

"Go. Go far, far away, while you still can, my Star," Sebastain cackled as the ballroom doors' swung open, causing you both to shoot your attention towards them. Your eyes met, locking onto one another, as you kicked and pushed against Nyla's body. Blood leaked and spluttered around her mouth as you sent a swift kick to her abdomen, knocking her off. "Astarion! Help me!" You pushed up onto your good arm, pressing your bleeding forearm against your chest. Astarion stared at you, his hand trembling as he blinked back tears. "Star...?" Your voice was barely audible as he sighed, rushing out the heavy metal doors, them slamming shut behind him. You stared in disbelief, your mouth agape and tears building along your waterline, quickly dripping down your cheeks. "Astarion..." His name became a whisper on your lips.

You jumped when Cazador's office door slammed open, the remaining spawn standing at ready as he slowly moved towards you. A sickening smile on his lips as he stood in front of you. "Well, well, look what the love-drunk spawn forgot," he leant down, capturing your throat in a tight grasp. You gagged and dug your nails of your good arm into his wrist, gritting your teeth. "His little love." His voice dripped with anger, before slowly rising with your toes barely brushing the marble floor. "Lock them in the cell. I'll have to think of some... Punishments for their naughty, naughty behavior." He turned, throwing your body towards the basement elevator. You slid across the hard floor, a howl escaping your throat as you grasped your thrumming side. The other, loyal spawn surrounded you as Cazador's control slowly slipped away as he moved back into his office. Nyla, Teyona, and Sebastain, the three other spawns they had bonded with, the only ones who made them believe that they were capable of having a loving family....

"Forgive us, please," Nyla whispered, helping Teyona pick you up as Sebastain stayed quiet, following as they all walked towards the elevator. Dread filled your bloody and aching body, you wanted to beg, plead, bargain even! Just kill you. Send you to Avernus if you must, just don't let him touch you... You would rather burn for all your lives, than be given to Cazador as a beating bag... Your mind drifted towards Astarion... The look on his face as he ran through the doors, not even looking back to you. No second glance, nor second thought. But he was free... Right? Your fellow spawn locked you into Cazador’s cells, quietly leaving as you sat, listening to the echoing drips, each one making your body jolt. Your tears silently continued while tugging your knees up to your chest, hugging them tightly.

You jumped at the elevator descending again, swallowing thickly at the bile that had worked its way up your throat. Boots echoed through the silent prison, only to stop in front of your cell. “Hello, worm… Now,” Cazador held a twisted and gnarled dagger, its blade almost seemed to wink at you in the dim candlelight. “How shall we begin?”

Cazador tortured you for days and nights. Each day led to something far worse than the last, he had carved jaggedly and twisted sigils into your flesh - breaking your flesh as your screams echoed through the prison. He constantly revisioned. Each memory surged into your mind, bullying its way into your soul while you seemed to relive each method. Cutting into your skin, thrown sick or rotting rats into your cell and forcing you to eat them to keep yourself from starvation, tempting you with blood of your siblings - forcing your jaw open and forcing you to drink from them - killing them. Their bodies cracked against the cold stone, your choked sobs bouncing around you as you fought back to swallow their hot blood. Cazador merely laughed, smirking at your distraught, shaking figure.

Images of his blood in your nails pushed forward. His deep scream as he clutched his forearm, his through his teeth. “Vile, imbecile of a child!” He screamed, grasping your throat with his good hand. “If you believed in any Gods before this,” he spat, curling his dagger-like nails into your flesh, a guttural scream erupting from you as you flailed, kicking and scratching at him. “You should begin begging for mercy in their powerless names!” He shouted, spit flying across your face as you screamed. Your hands moved first, scratching across his arm and shoulder, his smile never ceased. He buried you deep beneath the earth. Splinters cut and sank into your skin, dirt and congealed blood clotted your throat and face, your nails broken and peeled back as you broke through the brittle dirt. Gagging and coughing up that stuck to your dry throat, as you sucked in the crisp night air, only to shake as you glanced up, seeing his smirking face. “Hello… Worm.”

Every form and piece of torture, Cazador forced you to beg out in Astarion’s name. To call out to your cowardice lover, to curse his name and all that may become of him. You would scream out for him, begging for him to rescue you each time you were cut deeper, kicked or hit harder, starved longer… Buried deeper. But, each time, you slowly forget the sight of him. The smell of him. The name of him. The mere memory of him… Whoever ‘him’ used to be. All these memories flooded away, but you could still hear his gentle voice whisper in your ear when your punishments were on the severe side. His trembling voice begging for you to stay alive. To keep fighting. To find him.

You gasped, coughing and retching as Astarion released his tight grip, his eyes darting all over your face as you rolled onto your knees, coughing and gagging from the memories. You snapped your head towards Cazador's draining body, grabbing your sword from where it landed from rolling out of your grip. You slid through the thick blood, swinging it down against his body. Once. Twice. Three times, continuing to heave the piece of steel into his muscle and bones. Tears quickening as you slam the final blow into his deformed skull; a bone-chilling scream leaving your lips as Astarion crawled behind you, dragging you into his chest, holding you tightly.

"Shh, shh, my Moon, it's okay," he whispered into your hair, caressing you as you spun in his arms, wrapping them snug around his neck and smashing your lips against his own, mouths moving together. Teeth and tongues smashing together in a wrestle for dominance or desperation - who could tell. You gasped, leaning back, yet keeping your hands tightly wrapped in his hair.

"My Star, by the Gods I should drive a stake through your heart for leaving me here all those centuries ago, you... You Gnoll-haired toad!" You hissed, pressing more kisses to his skin as he sighed into it, digging his fingers into your clothes while tugging your bodies closer. "I regretted leaving you the moment I stepped foot outside," he whispered into your skin, heaving as you breathed him in. Not caring of your siblings seeing the love and tender touches. You waited centuries to hold your promised lover. Your star. "I should've grabbed you. I should've killed Nyla and brought you with me, held you closer..." His lip trembled as your thumb gently caressed it, staring into his glistening eyes. "Gods, I should've slaughtered everyone that day because I love you."

You sighed, pressing your mouths together once again. Your bodies fit together like puzzle pieces that had missed each other. Pressing another kiss to your cheeks and any free skin, he ripped the cloak from your body and pressed a deep kiss to your vampiric mark. His mark.

"As much as I should maul you," you sighed, your lips slowly breaking into a grin. "I love you more than the want to harm that pretty face." He rolled his eyes, pressing another kiss to your lips as you sighed into him. You had each other now, losing the sun was worth finding each other, however... Now, you had a new problem; how're you supposed to get an illithid tadpole removed from your lost lover's brain?

*******

Well, I did ask if you guys wanted a long fic! I hope you enjoyed, and I do look forward to writing for you in the future! <3 ~ Jae

#reader insert #bg3 x reader #astarion x reader #astarion #astarion x you #astarion angst #astarion smut #astarion ancunin #baldurs gate #astarion x tav #baulders gate astarion #vampire #astarion romance #astarion bg3 #astarion fic #astarion imagine

[frasers-of-my-heart]

Wednesday 100: Reluctant Friendship

He knew he shouldn’t grow to care too much for Mistress Beauchamp. Dougal wouldn’t let up on her easily and there was work to do to gleam her motives, but he had watched her nearly every hour of the day for weeks— seen her care for the people of Drummuir when she needn’t, taken the brunt of her judgment when she aimed to protect their people, had a first row seat to her inability to be cowed when so many others would have folded. So, when those bawbags at the inn had called her a whore, Angus couldn’t stop himself.

#outlander #wednesday100 #I miss angus #how many times have I watched Rent? I’ll never tell

[necarion]

One of the characterization complaints I've had of the WoT TV show is "everyone is more of an asshole, except for Nynaeve". Just, everyone has had their edges hardened in ways that make for Storytelling Drama, but do damage to some of the things that made the characters great.

This is perhaps biggest in the case of Moiraine.

In the books (especially EOTW), Moiraine is almost always cool and composed, but she's also just...kind? She's nice to everyone (in a "I'm a noble and better than you" way, to be sure). She's welcome everywhere she goes as Mistress Alys. She tips exceptionally well. She's inspiring to the Two Rivers folks after they started being afraid of her, and before then everyone was super excited to see a nice lady. She goes out of her way to reassure people that she's there to help, and then just does (thinking about how she rid Basel Gill's inn of rats).

When she does get angry, she's quick to water-under-the-bridge it. There are a couple times she gets legitimately mad at the kids: with Mat and the Dagger (at Rand, who she forgives for ignorance, and for Mat) and then promptly goes out of her way to help Mat; and when the boys tell her about dreams they'd been having. And in both cases, she just lets it pass while making it clear the same doesn't have to happen again.

--

In the show, Moiraine shows her Aes Sedai ring immediately in the TR, and gets them to do what she wants out of intimidation. She blackmails Liandrin. She bullies her sister in Caihrean and is a dick to her nephew. She's an asshole in Fal Dara (although the show made sure to turn the awesome Amalisa and Algalmar into assholes as well). She spends S2 being a dick to Lan.

I think Rafe misremembered her "cool and aloof and uncommunicative" as "is an asshole". But also, in a lot of modern film, "is an out-of-character asshole" seems to be the type of Drama that film critics prefer.

Book Moiraine is beloved throughout the Westlands (see also the number of world leaders who come up to say hello at Merrilor!). I just cannot imagine RP's Moiraine being adored like that, by anyone.

It is possible to have a character who is kind, while also possessing deep complexity as well as major character flaws, but it's somewhat seldom pulled off.

#wheel of time #TV show #drama #moiraine #Strange New World's Pike is Kind #and I love him for it

[labeelart]

La Locandiera (The Mistress of the Inn) - Goldoni

#my art #artist on tumblr #digital art #digital drawing #digital sketch #my skecth #sketches #oc #goldoni #la locandina #carlo goldoni

[basket-of-cats-and-witches]

Comfort, Part 4: Halsin

This one's a bit heavy, a bit melancholy, a little bittersweet. I actually write these when I'm having a bad day, you know, to comfort myself.

I hope they do the same for you.

If you like my works, please reblog them. It helps spread them to other people who might like something soft to read as well.

(and if you haven't read the others, Wyll, Gale, and Astarion are all up already.)

----

He finds you hiding in the washtub.

He prefers to be under the stars, usually, but tending to the needs of orphaned children sometimes requires you two to stay in a nearby inn.

Today has been disheartening.

He doesn't say anything, at first.

You're naked, your face pressed against your drawn up knees, and at some point you stopped caring that the water was getting cold.

Your tears practically scald your cheeks, regardless.

He kneels beside the basin, and any other time you'd laugh and tease him about the way his knees crack loudly.

Another quiet sob wracks your form. You have to keep it in, lest the sound of your distress break you fully.

You are barely keeping it together.

His fingers graze the surface of the water, and it begins to steam.

“May I touch you?” He asks gently, and somehow you find the strength to nod.

His palm is hot against your shoulder. “Lean back, and I'll wash your hair. Please.”

You nod again.

Dipping his hands into the water, he wets them before lathering up the soap. His fingers drag comfortingly through your hair. Pulling just enough to anchor you.

His fingers catch on a tangle, and you wince. The apology on his lips is unneeded. The feeling strangely anchors you.

As he gently undoes the tangle, so are you.

The twisting knots in your chest loosen, and you can breathe once more.

The tears fall faster despite it.

Halsin presses a kiss to your shoulder, breathes in, and begins to speak.

“I know today was…difficult. Nature presents us with many challenges, and this was…” he sighs, a deep sound that wooshes out of his lungs and chills your damp shoulder. “This was an especially hard one.”

You laugh, but it is a hollow sound. “There were so many,” you whisper. Halsin presses his fingers against your scalp, massaging it, and you close your eyes against the feeling. “I don't know how we can help them all. I feel like I've failed them.”

His hands dip back into the water, and it is blissfully hot against your skin.

They return to your hair.

“You haven't. We are working against time, the most fierce and stubborn creature of them all. The ones you've helped will have hot food tonight, dry clothing, and warm blankets. It will give them hope for tomorrow.”

“And the ones I couldn't? When we ran out of supplies, when there was no more?”

He finishes lathering your hair, gathering his words. Even now your bond remains close, and all he has to do is tap your shoulder for you to lean forward, a bucket of hot water sluicing over you.

It is a welcome relief. The dirt and grime of the day washes away, and the loud sound of water drowns out your heavy thoughts.

He refills the bucket.

“We must simply hope that someone has the same kindness that we try to give. Nature is a cruel mistress. She takes and takes, and the snap of winter’s kiss takes many victims.

It is up to us to do as much as we can, to encourage others to do the same.”

“I don't know if I have that faith that you do.”

The water spills over you again, just hot enough to make you sigh, as it strips you to your skin, to your bones, to your core.

It stings, and it is a welcome relief.

Halsin slicks the hair back out of your face, his touch tender.

“Tell me. Why did you choose to come with me?”

He picks up the sponge and lathers it meticulously.

“I needed to feel as if everything we'd done was worth it. That I was worth it. All the accolades we received, and the rejoicing…and all I could think about was the blood on my hands. The families who were left behind. We won, but at what cost? I needed…I needed…”

“Hope?” He supplies.

You nod. Your hands are slightly reddened from the heat of the water. “Hope.”

He runs the sponge across your shoulders, along the back of your neck.

“I cannot give you what you seek,” he sighs. “Such instant gratification is not easily found in this journey. However, I encourage you to take heart. Every week we receive letters from our friends, telling us of how they are doing, how alive they are. You could not get away from the flowers raining down in the streets fast enough, when people were celebrating.

This work is not for the faint of heart. But take comfort in those you have already helped. The rest will come in time.”

He kisses your cheek, smiling as you do. “And until then, I will be by your side, as you are by mine. Nature has brought you to me, and bears are protective, guarded creatures by nature. I would not give you up so easily. So I encourage you to do the same for them.”

He rinses your skin, and you smile softly. The pain and trouble still lingers, of course. Such worries are not easily set aside.

For now, however, this is enough.

You take comfort in what you can.

“Halsin?”

“Hm?”

“Join me?”

He smiles, and his eyes darken slightly into an inviting honey-gold.

“Of course, my heart.”

#my writing #bg3 #halsin #bg3 spoilers #just a little but it's post endgame stuff #halsin x reader #halsin x tav #I hope y'all have a lovely day/night

[dedicatednotobsessed]

The Mark of the Dragon [Aegon Targaryen x Reader]

Previous chapter || Series masterlist || Other HOTD stories [requests open]

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Summary: You grew up on the streets of Fleabottom for the majority of your life being orphaned at the young age of ten. Apart from your striking hair color, the only thing you inherited from your family was a birthmark on the back of your left shoulder blade. On the week of festivities to celebrate the King’s eldest, Aegon the Second, you end up encountering him. You help him forget about his duties of being Prince and Heir to the Iron Throne until one fateful night…. [AU based where Aegon was crowned heir instead of Rhaenyra].

Warnings in this chapter:  Abduction; very, very brief mention of necrophilia; light groping.

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Chapter II

Your face was pale, shivers erupting on your skin as you bolted upright in bed, your breath coming in heavy pants. You ran a hand through your silver hair while a slight frown tugged at your lips. It was that same dream.

The same dream plaguing your mind for many years caused you to wake well before the birds. You breathed to calm your beating heart before shaking your head.

“It is just a dream,” You mumbled, pulling back your blanket.

You let out another shaky breath, trying to push the dream to the dark corners of your mind while you grabbed your cloak once you were ready and headed out for another day of pickpocketing. The streets seemed even more crowded than they had been all week. Today must have been the big celebration for the eldest’s name day. 

Your mind kept wandering back to that night with Aegon, a temptation in human form brought to you by the Gods, it seems. You knew rejecting him was the right decision in your heart, but your mind kept telling you what if. What if you had taken up his offer to bed him? Your mind was a cruel mistress at times, plaguing you with false hope of something that will never be.

Your eyes wandered around, trying to sense the most vulnerable to steal from. Often, it was easier to take from the wealthy through the art of seduction with men, especially being very susceptible; however, it was harder being in broad daylight and with bodies all around. You narrowed your gaze on a skinnier man with scraggly dark hair, his clothing telling you he was from the lower end of Fleabottom. Certainly not the kind of man you would take from, yet he seemed simple enough to fall for your charm. 

“Excuse me, sir,” You called softly, clutching your cloak tighter as you approached him. 

The man turned to look at you, a snarl coming onto his features. His face was similar to a rat’s, matching with dark beady eyes- a starved rat is more what he looked like. “Piss off,” He snapped, waving his hand at you.

“Please help me.” You pressed your chest against his to corner him up against the wall, flashing a look of pity. “I’m lost and need help finding Fortune’s Smile Inn.”

The man seemed frozen in place, his eyes wandering over your body before connecting with your violet-swirled eyes. His thin hands were shaky as he placed them on your waist, his mouth agape. Your brows knit in confusion by his actions, and you tried to pull away from him, but his grip tightened, his strength surprising for a man of his size.

“You look like ‘im, you know,” He whispered, his voice hoarse.

“W-what?” Your voice quivered from the fear that was coursing through your veins as the man’s demeanor changed. 

His lips quirked up into a smirk, his arms going fully around you, capturing you into an iron grasp. He chuckled when you tried to leave, hitting his chest. “You will do nicely, sweetling.” He hummed, reaching up, twirling a strand of your silver-like hair. 

His eyes darted around as he tried to tug you down the alleyway, only to let out a shriek when you stomped down on his foot. “You fuckin’ cunt!” You heard him yelling, but his shouts became distant as your feet carried you down the alleyway that seemed to stretch for miles.

You glanced behind you to see if the man was chasing after you before you collided with someone, your eyes meeting that of a round man’s. His breathing was heavy as you clutched tight onto his vest.

“H-help me,” You whimpered out.

The man stumbled upon his words, his eyes focused on the valley of your breasts. “Bart!”

You glanced over, hearing the familiar voice, your eyes widening in fear at the rat-looking man. “Bart! Grab her!” He shouted.

Your body shook as you looked back up at the man called Bart. He offered you a smile that showed no more than ten yellowed teeth. “I betta’ listen to the boss man. We don’t want a pretty thing like you escaping now.”

“P-please.” You felt the tears springing in your eyes while the man reached for the club hanging on his belt. 

“You won’t feel a thing,” Bart assured you before he raised the club above his head.

Vynce winced a bit, trying to catch his breath when he came to a stop in front of his partner, who was holding onto your unconscious body. He pulled down the shoulder of your dress, clicking his tongue at the sight of the birthmark.

“We need to be careful with this one.”

“Got it, boss.” Bart grunted, lifting your body over his shoulder and tossing you onto the floor of the covered wagon.

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As you came to, a small groan passed your lips, your eyes fluttering open. You looked around, taking in your surroundings. Many girls of various ages huddled together, tears glistening in their eyes. 

“Where am I?” You grumbled, trying to sit up, but winced at the throbbing pain in your head. 

“The poachers,” An older woman spoke up. “They’re taking us to an auction house where they will sell us to men who will do as they please before throwing us back into the streets of Fleabottom.”

“Or slit our throats and continue to fuck our corpse once we are dead like what they did to Anyette,” A younger girl piped up, causing a few of the others to wail out.

Your eyes flickered across the faces of each girl. Some were plumper, and some had as many wrinkles as their age. It was clear a few of them also had a run-in with the poachers previously. You braced yourself when the wagon suddenly stopped, a weight jumping down after a moment. 

“Do not fight them,” The same elder whispered to you as the wagon curtain opened.

Your eyes connected with the rat man’s from earlier, who offered you a wide, sinister smirk. “Time to clean up, lovelies. We don’t want you lookin’ like pigs, now do we?”

The man- Vynce- began to pull each of you out individually while Bart peeled the dresses off each shaking girl’s body. The grubby man’s grip was tight around your waist, a hearty laugh passing his lips.

“Remember your manners, Bart,” Vynce said, narrowing his eyes. 

“Oh, come on, Vynny,” Bart whined as though he was a child who had their favorite toy taken away from them. “There ain’t nothing wrong with touching.” He licked his lips hungrily while he ripped the bodice of your dress, his eyes examining your breasts as your clothing fell to the floor. 

You fought against Bart when he reached down, squeezing your left breast firmly. “Nothin’ wrong with that at all,” He whispered, beginning to lean down but letting out a howl when Vynce hit him upside the head. 

“Do not spoil the wares,” Vynce warned, pushing Bart away and causing you to stumble. “Especially this one. She will go for a pretty gold piece. Now, you,” He snapped, turning his attention to you. “Finish cleaning up,” He instructed, pushing you to the wash basin.

You gripped onto the bowl, your reflection staring back at you. The violet tinges seemed dull like your fire was becoming snuffed out. Whatever predicament you find yourself in, no matter how difficult the situation might be, always remember to keep your fire blazing bright. No one has the right to put it out. Your father’s words rang out in your mind; he would always say them to you before he left you to provide for the both of you. 

You squeezed your eyes shut, letting out a deep breath. You tried to let your father’s words calm you even in this dark time, although it did little to help. Your hands were shaky as you picked up the dirtied cloth and dipped it into the bowl of ice-cold water. You glanced up at the pair of men- two predators watching over their prey.

“How many maidens did you count?” Vynce questioned Bart with furrowed brows.

“At least three, including ‘er,” Bart responded, nodding towards you. “Do you reckon he’s comin’?”

“He’s been comin’ for the last three moons. I am sure tonight would be no different.”

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You hugged your knees to your chest; the other two girls huddled together a ways away from you in an embrace. Vynce and Bart had left the three of you alone while leading the other captives onto the stage. The cheers of drunken men could be heard, muffled, from where you were sitting. 

“D-do you believe they are going to set us free?” The younger girl asked through her sniffles.

“Do not be so daft, Ellya,” The older girl responded, her cheeks containing dried-up tears. “Perhaps they wanted us for themselves and their twisted desires.”

Your eyes lingered on the pair, a slight frown tugging at your lips. It seemed the younger one had not even hit her tenth name day. Both were too young to be at the mercy of the poachers. Your head snapped over when the door suddenly opened.

“We know how much you like them maidens, My Prince,” Vynce explained. “The kingsguard had been crackin’ down real hard as of late, but we were still able to get three of them for your picking.”

Your eyes connected with the familiar Prince’s violet ones, his brows furrowed while he looked over your state. Your body was shivering, and you could not tell if it was from how bare you were or the chills that Aegon had given you.

“My rose,” Aegon breathed out.

“What?” Vynce’s brows knit in confusion before he shook his head. “Three thousand gold dragons for that one or eight thousand for all three,” He explained. 

Aegon snorted. “That is one steep price. Last time, it was only fifteen hundred for one.”

“As I mentioned, the maidens are harder to come by as of late,” Vynce stumbled upon his words, intimidated by the Prince.

“And this one is the prettiest we’ve seen in a long time.”

You yelped when Bart yanked you up by your hair, gasping as he roughly pushed you up against the brick wall, pinning you there with his round belly. 

“Why is she three thousand?” Aegon asked with a cocked brow. “Does she have a golden cunt?”

Vynce clicked his tongue. “I am sure you know of her kind. We know you are not an imbecile, My Prince.”

“Not as much of an imbecile as you lot,” Aegon mumbled before he let out a sigh. “I only brought fifteen hundred with me because that is how much the other girls were.”

“If he does not want to pay the gold, I will just take her maidenhood here and now.” Bart laughed as he forced your legs to spread apart, one of his hands squeezing your bum. “Then I will slit her pretty little throat.”

You closed your eyes, whimpering as you felt his grimy hand sneak between your legs. “Wait!” You blew out a breath at the sound of Aegon’s voice and opened your eyes. You felt the tears stinging, but you refused to cry.

“Fifteen hundred gold dragons. It’s all I have on me, but I will give you the rest on the morrow,” Aegon said quickly offering Vynce the velvet pouch jingling with coins. “You know I am good about keeping my word.”

Vynce eyed the coin purse hungrily as he took it in his hands. He opened the purse, licking his lips at the sight of the gold. “Give ‘er to him,” He told Bart. 

Bart scowled but did as he was told, roughly pushing you over to Aegon stumbling into his arms. Your gaze met his, feeling a few tears pool over your eyes. Aegon slowly took off his cloak, wrapping it around you and hugging you to his side.

“Let us get you someplace safe, my rose,” He whispered, leading you out.

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Tagged readers: ✨ @mrsdaemontargaryen ✨ || @aleemendoza2425-blog || @clairacassidy || @fictionalcomforts || @ladybug0095 || @namelesslosers || @neenieweenie

#hotd #house of the dragon #hbo house of the dragon #hbo hotd #house targaryen #targaryen #team green #Aegon Targaryen #king Aegon #king Aegon Targaryen #Aegon the second #Aegon Targaryen fanfiction #Aegon Targaryen fanfic #Tom Glynn carney #Aegon Targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x female reader #Aegon Targaryen x fem!reader #Aegon Targaryen x you #Aegon Targaryen x y/n #a song of ice and fire #fire and blood #ASOIF #Aegon Targaryen fluff #Aegon the elder #aegon the usurper #Aegon Targaryen AU #Aegon II #Aegon II Targaryen

[thatlittleegyptologist]

Hi there, you've shared that you've been dealing with a lot in your personal life, so I want to be clear that this question is not urgent. Take your time or don't get to it at all—totally fine. Take care of yourself and your loved ones first. But if/when you have a moment of free time and energy, and would like to devote those resources to answering questions, here's mine: did and form of hieroglyphs have something like italics? Or some other style to indicate emphasis?

I've got some time this morning, so I'll answer it now.

There's no form of italics or stylised emphasis (like bold/underlined) etc that exists within the Hieroglyphic script. Hieroglyphs just don't work like that! You have to look for other things to indicate emphasis.

Two of those things are visual: the adding of .wy to the end of a verb or a noun to indicate 'doubling' or emphasis (on what's known grammatically as a Stative where something is in 'a state' of something). This is usually context dependent as you can get words like pH.wy 'buttocks' where the .wy ending is simply telling you there's two of them, but in other instances the 'doubling' tells the reader that emphasis has been placed on the word they're looking at.

The same goes for sp-sn or sp.2 which is a series of signs that usually come at the end of a statement and mean 'to double/twice' but you don't translate it that way, you read it as an emphasis on the statement. Like this:

Essentially, it's a way of avoiding writing the adjective twice, but also showing that it's emphasised.

Then you have the more complex grammar, which is where I guess my specialism comes in. These you have to actually translate in order to show the emphasis as it would be present in speech. These are the Pseudo-Cleft sentence, Cleft Sentence (aka a Participial Statement), and what's known as a Second Tense. All these constructions place emphasis on a particular part of a sentence. So...

The Pseudo Cleft is constructed from a noun phrase + a defined relative clause, which agrees with the first term. An example of this can be found in the testimony of a man named Sekhahatyamun:

wA r=i wA r Ha=i nA swt aAyt inn iw.tw Xdb=i Hr nA aHayt n iw-m-itr mntw nA wn=i im

‘Far from me, far from my body were the Great Places! If I am to be put to death because of the tombs of Iumiteru, then they are the ones which I was in.'

The pseudo cleft emphasises the independent pronoun mntw, anaphorically referring to the tombs of Iumiteriu, by placing it in conjunction with the defined relative clause (nA wn=i im ‘the ones which I was in’). By doing so, he equates the tombs at Iumiteriu as being the only tombs that he was in and therefore seeks to use contrastive supplementation to subvert the Tribunal’s presupposition with his ‘truth.’ Basically, he's emphasising that 'ok if you want to punish me with death for tomb robbery, then punish me for *these tombs* because *I* actually robbed those ones, and not the ones you're currently accusing me of.'

Like the pseudo-cleft construction, the cleft construction is a construction in which one part of the sentence is separated (or ‘cleaved’) out from the remainder and placed into prominence/emphasis for the reader or hearer to notice. The cleft construction, or participial statement, is comprised of (in + noun phrase/ntf)+(participle/prospective sDm=f). An example of this is as follows from a letter between Butehamon and General Piankh talking about various tasks that needed to have been carried out and recounts the speech of the mistress of the house:

(i)n bn tw=k m nat i-r-m(=w) nA-Hbsw xr ntk i-ir=k swD(=w) n pAy=k nb

‘Are you not going with the clothes? And it is you who will deliver (them) to your lord.’

Here the mistress is using the Cleft sentence construction to emphasise that it is Dhutmose (Tjaroy) who should be the one to deliver the clothes personally to Piankh, and not to her, as Piankh has requested them. We see the cleft sentence make use of the independent personal pronoun, in this case ntk ‘you’, to cleft out who is responsible for the delivery and where they are supposed to be delivered to. The mistress who is speaking is implying to Dhutmose that if he wants to be seen as obeying Piankh’s commands then he will do as commanded. Indeed, we see evidence of this in Butehamon’s following lines ‘Even if there are some ten thousand servants belonging to our lord, would they obey him like us?’. It would seem that Butehamon is attempting to keep the emphatic force of the mistresses’ statement in his own letter to possibly further imply that the commands of both Piankh and the mistress were met and he is a competent servant. In simplistic terms, the emphasis is placed on the pronoun so 'it is you who is supposed to do this task', with the 'not me' implicitly emphasised.

The second tense construction is well-known to put focus/emphasis on the circumstantial (=adverbial) component of the sentence, with the verb and its dependents providing presuppositional material, thus similar to the pseudo-cleft and cleft constructions. It's a nightmare of a construction (sorry Mark) because it masks itself as a relative form in most cases and is really only definable if you notice the circumstantial element (something I do not always do, again sorry Mark). Here's an example from the testimony of Bukhaaf:

Dd=w ir tA st i-Hnw rs i-iri=k gmt=s mi ix Dd=f i-iri=i gmt=s wn.tw an

‘He was asked, “Now the tomb you went to, in what state did you find it?” He said, “I found it was already open.”’

This question can be seen as implicitly loaded, as the Tribunal presupposes that Bukhaaf was the one who opened the tomb. Bukhaaf’s answer contains the second tense of this example that attempts to dissuade the Tribunal from their presupposition, that he was the one who broke into the tombs, as he has seemingly noticed the implicit cue from the Tribunal that suggests they already believe he broke into it. Emphasis therefore has been placed on wn.tw an ‘already open’ thus allowing Bukhaaf to make it clear that he wishes to protest his innocence in so far as he was not the one who originally opened the tomb, but that it was already open when he robbed it, thus giving the construction a temporal element. This temporal element allows him to contest when the tomb was opened, as though Bukhaaf does admit to robbing the tomb, he seems to strongly deny ever having opened it, indicating that it must have been opened by someone else. Basically, a Second Tense gives an emphasised 'but/however/because of' to a construction like 'yes I did let the cat out BUT I was told to by Dad'.

I think this may have answered your question, but it's entirely possible that I may have caused further confusion :)

[mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess]

"Wei-qianbei, why do your eyes turn red when you use your cultivation?" Jingyi asks as he, Sizhui, Hanguang-Jun and Wei Ying sharing a meal at an inn after a successful night hunt. "Does resentful energy manifest this way or is it some cool technique?"

"Nothing like that!" Wei Ying waves his chopsticks. "I just thought it would look cool if I could do it, so when I invented the ghost path, I incorporated it!"

Jingyi blinked at him twice, Sizhui and Lan Zhan sighed quietly.

"But... I don't remember Xue Yang having red eyes..."

"Of course not! That's my thing only! How else would people know I'm the Yiling Patriarch?"

Sizhui piped in. "The Ghost General?"

Lan Zhan added "Chenqing?"

Sizhui again. "Hanguang-Jun?"

Wei Ying rolled his eyes and laughed. "You guys are no fun! I need an artistic license, don't I? And anyway, red eyes make me more terrifying! You little ones are forgetting I invented my cultivation during war time! It's really important to intimidate your opponents!"

"Well can you teach me how? I wanna scare young mistress Jin next time he pisses me off!"

"Lan Jingyi."

As if he'd been doused in cold water, Jingyi paled and straightened up. "H-Hanguang-Jun... I... um..."

"It's fine, it doesn't actually take much of anything to do it, so if Hanguang-Jun allows it..."

Lan Wangji looked to his husband, then to a starry eyed Lan Jingyi, sighed and poured himself a cup of wine.

Lan Jingyi cheered so loud that Sizhui had to cover his ears. "Yay!"

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #writing attempts #ljy #wwx #lsz

[gotham-ruaidh]

(new) haven - a 7x04 story

“Do you recognize anything here from your own time?”

Claire slowly sipped her stew. “Maybe if we were closer to the university. Frank took Brianna here quite often – he so enjoyed the Harvard and Yale football games, and it was always difficult for me to take time off from the hospital. But I remember the oldest section of the university was constructed well before the Revolution.”

Jamie fidgeted with the spoon beside his own untouched bowl of stew, watching the entrance to the tavern. “So the university still stands.”

“Yes – it’s considered one of the best in the country. The city grew, too. After the Revolution, New Haven became an important port for whaling ships. Lots of money. Then the United States industrialized and…well. Its fortunes still hadn’t turned by the time Bree came here on a solo trip, not too long before we came to Scotland and met Roger.”

The lieutenant they had gotten to know on the ship from Wilmington – a kind and excessively cheery fellow – ducked into the tavern, scanning the crowd.

“I could say something about you allowing our daughter to travel here alone,” Jamie whispered, eyes fixed in the lieutenant.

Claire smiled wistfully. “She was visiting a friend from high school. They ate white clam pizza.”

He turned to her, brow furrowed. “Peet-zuh?”

“Ah!”

Jamie and Claire turned – and Lieutenant Hubbard sat himself at their table.

“So delightful to see you both without the ship heaving beneath us!”

Jamie pushed away his bowl of stew. “Eat this. My stomach still hasnae caught up to my legs being on land.”

The lieutenant heartily tucked in. “If you insist. I never much cared for tavern fare at home, but compared to the absolute slop on the ship…”

Jamie tensed. Beneath the table, Claire lay a comforting hand on his thigh.

“Tell me, Lieutenant – now that we’re here, do you think it really will be two weeks before we set out for Ticonderoga?”

“One week, two weeks, three weeks,” he shrugged, slurping the stew with gusto. “We need to re-supply, and wait for another company of men to join us from Georgia. Messengers can get their dispatches through, but with the roads as they are…”

Beneath the table, Jamie’s hand settled atop Claire’s. “There must be an apothecary here in New Haven. My wife will have need of medical supplies.”

Hubbard nodded. “Not too far away from the inn where we’ve been billeted. I suppose being an officer does have benefits every now and again. The rooms are a bit small, but it’s the last privacy I’ll have for a while. It’s two hundred miles – with all the men and animals and equipment, perhaps fifteen days?”

Claire twined their fingers together. “Sounds about right.”

Hubbard set down his spoon, wiping his mouth with the back of one sleeve. Surprised. “You’ve marched with an army before, mistress?”

Jamie squeezed her hand.

“I have. More than once.”

They waited –

“Well then. You won’t faint at the sight of blood. All the more reason to have you with us, even though you’re a woman.”

“She’s fixed me and my men more times than I can count.” Jamie’s voice was calm, but Claire felt anger in the grip of his hand. “There’s no one else I’d trust wi’ my life.”

Hubbard stood. “Good. Fraser – we’ve a council meeting to attend. The quartermaster is providing his report.”

Not caring one whit about Hubbard or any of the other men in the room, Jamie Fraser kissed his wife goodbye, long and proper.

“I’ll see you at the inn, Sassenach.”

She smiled, and bent to gather her basket as they both stood. “I’ll be waiting.”

--

“Well, I guess your appetite is back.”

Jamie swallowed another mouthful of bread, and cut a hunk of cheese with Claire’s knife. “Did you get greens for me to eat as well? I dinnae want the scurvy.”

Claire unscrewed the canteen and set it next to her husband on the small table. “Not tonight. But you’ll need to eat whatever I give you when we’re on the road. We don’t know what’s ahead.”

He picked up the canteen and sniffed. Face lighting up with joy.

“Whisky?”

She smiled. “The innkeeper’s wife. Her daughter suffered a nasty burn while cooking yesterday. I examined it and made her a poultice. And asked for a canteen of whisky as payment.”

He took a sip. “You’ve always been a canny one.” He held out the canteen to her. “Drink up now. I ken you want to.”

She smiled, taking the canteen from him, deliberately sliding her fingers over his. Watching him watch her take a sip.

He cut another hunk of cheese. “How much have you been thinking about Charles Stuart’s army these past few days?”

She took another sip of whisky. “Too much. I see their faces.”

“Aye, I do too. Though this army is much better supplied. And we know victory is sure.”

She rose and stepped around the table to stand in front of him. Without a word, he began undoing her laces.

“The French will come though this time, Jamie.” She untied his neck cloth.

“Aye, Hubbard was speaking today of it. Ships have come with gold, and men, and money.”

Her bodice fell to the ground. “A good thing you speak French so well. What about the other men?”

He stood and pulled her closer, hands warm on the bare skin of her chest. “Just one colonel at the council today. Perhaps some of the soldiers.”

He ducked down, leaving slow, open-mouthed kisses along her neck and clavicle. She shivered, pulled him closer with her left hand, her right hand undoing the laces of his breeches.

“Why do you taste so good?” he breathed.

“Maybe it’s the whisky,” she smiled, untucking his shirt, grazing her fingertips over the plane of his belly and the thick hair below.

He skimmed his nose up her jawline, meeting her lips in a searing kiss.

“It wasnae like this when you came back to me,” he gasped, cupping her breasts as she teased the root of him with her thumb. “Only – ”

“Only at the very beginning.” Her breath was short and shallow now, eyes closed, picturing him laughing above her in the heather. “When we couldn’t stop.”

He stole her breath in another kiss. “I cannae stop now, Claire. Are you willing?”

She pulled away. Met his shining eyes, surrounded by the lines and creases of joy and sorrow and so many incredible years together.

“S'il vous plait.”

He slid off her shift, and she pulled off his shirt. He stepped out of his breeches, and bent to pick her up. Her legs wrapped around him, and they crossed the room as they kissed and kissed and kissed.

“Je t’aime,” he breathed, setting her so gently on the bed she thought she might cry.

“Je t’aime,” she replied, over and over and over again.

#outlander #outlander 07x04 #outlander fanfic #jamie and claire

[eleanor-bradstreet]

Let Me Be Your Anchor

Chapter 12: Defenses Crumble

Benedict Bridgerton x Sophie Beckett An Offer from a Gentleman reimagined Chapter rating: G Word count: 3k

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Author's Notes: Maybe I'm still a bit salty that that line which has become so emblematic of Bridgerton was given to Simon and Daphne and not where it actually appears in the books, which is uttered by both Anthony and Benedict in their respective love stories. Idk if it was a copy/paste situation on JQ's part, or if we can head canon that Anthony taught Benedict some moves 😜 but you have to admit, it's a great line 💙

Benedict didn’t see Sophie for three days. Not really. She had obviously stopped visiting him, free as he was from his sickbed. But he also didn’t see her walking in the grounds or in the halls or anywhere that he went. He checked in with Mr. Dewitt who confirmed that he was meeting with Sophie each morning to provide her with advertisements. She hadn’t left but was cleverly avoiding him.

Toward the end of the second day, he worked up the nerve to ask Mrs. Wiggin where she was. He knew that repeating such a request could raise suspicion, so it was his only chance. He inquired as casually as he could. The cook informed him that she was helping Anne with the laundry. Benedict returned a curt smile, said something banal and wandered away. He couldn’t very well go confronting Sophie about being his mistress in front of others.

On day three he began to suspect that Sophie was deliberately tying herself to the other servants so as to never risk being caught alone. He glimpsed her briefly through a window, out in the kitchen garden with Lizzie. She was beautiful even at this distance, her short hair reflecting the sunlight. She laughed at something her companion said, making Benedict realize he had never seen her laugh before. He wanted to see it again. He wondered how fervently she was applying to new positions and how long it may take to secure one. He simply wanted to talk to her. But he couldn’t, not with others around.

The fourth day progressed cold and bleak, with rains as heavy as the night of the Cavender party. It made Benedict think of his ride with Sophie, of their night at the inn, of the wholly unexpected course he had found himself on since. Still, there was no sign of her. He was starting to grow agitated. He went to the nursery to work out his feelings on a canvas and was confronted with her half-finished portrait. Frustration building, he stalked downstairs to set up an easel in the conservatory, using the pale light from the tall windows to depict a grey, windswept moor.

He was so focused that Mrs. Wiggin startled him when she appeared with his dinner. The room had grown dark but a fire had been lit in the grate and he agreed to take his meal where he was, assessing what he had painted thus far. 

___

When Mrs. Wiggin asked Sophie to stoke the fire in the conservatory, she hesitated. She had managed to avoid being alone upstairs this long and didn’t relish the thought of going unaccompanied. But this task seemed safe enough, given that Benedict should be in the dining room in another part of the house entirely. She also couldn’t refuse without seeming rude and so she ascended.

As she moved through the house, she couldn’t help but notice how lovely Aubrey Hall was at night. With the paintings and gleaming floors softly illuminated by candlelight, it was not at all like a cold and imposing manse with secrets hiding in its shadows. It was as cozy as a cottage though its size was more akin to a palace. She thought of Benedict and his siblings growing up surrounded by such warmth and felt a bittersweet sadness that she hadn’t been able to experience something similar at Penwood Park. Her time in this house had been a gift, even though it came with such complicated pain. She loved the buildings, she loved the grounds, she loved a member of the family who lived there. But she would never be able to stay, and that was the cruelest trick of all.

Thoughts weighing heavily on her, she walked into the conservatory, its angled windows still glistening in the dark with the day’s rain. She turned to the fireplace and found herself in direct eye contact with Benedict. He was seated next to the fire, one leg dangling over the arm of his chair, studying an easel a short distance away. They both froze, holding their breaths in silence. Then Sophie instinctively spun and dashed out of the room.

“Wait!” She heard Benedict call behind her but she would not stop. Of course the one time she set out alone she had been sent directly into his path. She didn’t want to talk to him. She didn’t know what to say. She needed to get away, and away was a servant’s staircase tucked behind a door off the main entry hall.

“Sophie!” Benedict was catching up to her. The time it took her to open the door proved to be her downfall because no sooner had she ducked through then he appeared beside her on the tiny landing and shut the door firmly behind them.

He repeated her name, softer. She expected him to grab her by the arm as he had formed a habit of doing, but instead he reached out to grasp her hand, halting her in place.

“Benedict!” She whispered, worried the staff would hear them from below. “You cannot be here!” She wanted to pull away but couldn’t deny the electricity she felt at the touch of his skin.

“I need to talk to you.”

Sophie ignored his gentle tone and spat back at him, “You made yourself very clear when last we spoke.”

“I was an ass,” he declared. She stared back at him, caught entirely off guard. He continued, “I shouldn’t have said what I did. I shouldn’t have lorded money over you. It’s reprehensible. But please know, I only wish to ensure your well being.”

Sophie hadn’t expected this, but she was starting to learn that Benedict’s better nature tended to always prevail. “You have an odd and shortsighted way of showing it,” she snipped. “But I know that’s what you are doing.”

A small grin tugged at the corner of his lips. Still holding her hand, he gripped it tighter. 

She looked up at him placidly. “And you’ll be happy to learn that I believe I have found my new position.” 

Benedict’s heart sank again. Every sentence she spoke whipped him from one emotion to another. It was nearly making him dizzy. With feigned casualty, all he could manage to say was, “Oh?”

“Yes. With a home in Scotland. They are in need of an experienced maid and I believe I meet their qualifications, so I have written to them. I am just waiting for their reply.” 

This was the compromise Sophie had devised. She would find employment in a new noble house but it would be as far away as possible; so far that Benedict would never have her followed there, and hopefully so far that Cavender wouldn’t chance to visit either. With her letter of acceptance from the Stirling household, Benedict would need to make good on his arrangement, pay Sophie her wages and let her leave. Then the choice would be hers whether she wanted to follow through with the employment or use the money to start anew in some way she would feel safe. 

“Scotland?” Benedict’s voice faltered. He looked crestfallen. Sophie couldn’t ignore how it pained her, but she was resolved and nodded wordlessly.

They stood frozen in the stairwell, her hand in his, staring at each other in silence. 

At last, Benedict released her and cleared his throat. “Very well. Once you have a letter of acceptance, I will ensure that you are paid. Double what was originally agreed upon.”

Sophie’s eyes widened. “Benedict, you don’t have to…”

“May I ask a final favor?” His voice was soft. “You certainly don’t owe it to me, but I must ask nonetheless.”

“What is it?” The sadness in his eyes was going to break her. 

“Would you let me finish your portrait before you go? It is still a gift I’d like you to have, and just…” He cast his eyes down. “For an artist, it can be torturous to leave a work unfinished.” 

When Sophie did not respond for a long moment, he looked up at her warily. What little light there was in the stairwell betrayed the tears that were brimming in her eyes. 

“Yes,” She nodded briskly, voice tight. “I will sit for the rest of the portrait.”

“Thank you, Sophie.”

They agreed to meet in the nursery again after Sophie had completed her duties. She left him on the landing as she scurried down to the kitchen, managing to stave off her tears. Asking herself why she had agreed to be alone with him again, the vision of his sorrowful eyes rose in her mind as its own justification. He had meant his apology. He was a good man, just a man who had asked for too much, as men in his position were bound to do. He only wanted to finish her portrait, which was a courtesy she could extend to him before she left and never saw him again. It would be difficult to stare at him as he painted and to think of all that had occurred between them, but it would be her last opportunity to seal off these memories before a new chapter of her life began.

She completed her nightly chores in a daze. She believed some of the other staff spoke to her, but she couldn’t really remember. She was positive her answers, if any, were spoken in mumbles. She moved plates, she folded linens, but her eyes barely saw the items in her hands. After Mrs. Wiggin bid her goodnight and headed off for bed, Sophie went to her quarters. She loosened and brushed her hair, reaffixing it the way it had been for her first sitting. She removed her apron and changed again into her green dress. Then, as quietly as she could, carrying a lone candle and using the servants’ stairs, she crept up to the family wing and to the nursery door.

With an overwhelming sense of deja vu, she greeted Benedict who stood at his easel, then took her place on the window seat facing him. She moved through the same motions, feeling as if she were trapped in a repeating dream - one where she would come so close to happiness, but then watch as it slipped through her fingers. Something was different about this time though. The energy between her and Benedict was decidedly darker. Whereas before she had been filled with breathless anticipation and wonder, now she felt weighted down, heavy with frustration, confusion and sadness. 

Benedict looked much the same. His eyes were not shining as they had the first time and there was no trace of the smile he so often bore. He looked dejected and tired, like he was forcing himself to complete the portrait against his own will. Sophie held still as he painted, the air thick with an awkward, painful silence. It grew from uncomfortable to torturous. Sophie wracked her mind for something to say, something that was neither too trite or too honest, but she could think of nothing.

Eventually, mercifully, Benedict spoke. “Could you…” He looked back and forth between her and the canvas. His tone was depressed. “Could you just…”

He debated within himself what exactly he wanted to say. Would he ask her to smile and take that heartbreaking look off of her face? No, he would never be so pigheaded as to suggest that. The word he truly wanted to use whispered through his mind: stay. But he couldn’t. That plea had been made and rejected. He should honor it. It was the gentlemanly thing to do. But he simply couldn’t finish the portrait, not with her looking the way she was, so unlike the Sophie he had come to know.

“I can’t paint your eyes,” he admitted. “Not the way I want to. There is a sorrow deep within them that wasn’t there before.”

Sophie stared up at him, shaking her head slightly as if the sorrow was something solid that could be sloughed off. “Benedict…”

He put down his brush and palette and walked toward her.  “I can’t bear it when you look so sad,” he said, surprised by his own words. He hadn’t intended to say anything, but his heart was clearly controlling his tongue and it demanded honesty. 

She took a shaking breath to steady herself. She should have known this would happen. She should have known he would make her falter again, with his eyes and his words and his gentle nature. He wanted her to stay, of course he did, but her plan was to leave and she needed to see it through. Her heart was starting to pound, protesting against her mind’s resolution.

“Please don’t make this harder than it already is.”

When she said that, something snapped inside of him. He felt it palpably, a hot rush of blood, feeding the frustration that had been simmering inside of him for days. To hell with gentlemanly behavior. He couldn’t let her leave. He wouldn’t lose her like he had lost the lady in silver. He didn’t know how he could be with Sophie if she refused to be his mistress, but he couldn’t let her walk out of his life and disappear. Not when she had stirred his soul that day at the lake, and not when she had made him happier than he had felt in years. He leveled his gaze on her. “You think it’s not hard?” he growled. “You think this isn’t hard?”

“I didn’t say that!” Her voice was growing stronger. There was a determined gleam in her eye, a courage that he so admired. 

This woman, such a rare combination of strength and beauty, made him weak as she glared at him. Every cell of his body was magnetized toward her and the rush of his blood sang in his ears. He dropped to his knees before her, his every defense crumbling. He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring but he couldn’t let her leave without showing her how he felt, just one time.

“I won’t ask you to be my mistress,” he said firmly. The declaration hung in the air between them. Her eyes widened and something flickered across her face, something like hope breaking through the sorrow. It urged him on and he took her hands in his. 

“I will never ask you to do anything you do not want. I only…I only wish to show you how much I care for you, without arrangement or obligation.” He touched her chin, lifting her face until he could peer into her eyes. They seemed to glow from within, glistening with unshed tears. “Sophie, I only want you. Just you. If you’ll have me.”

A pause. Sophie found it impossible to breathe. She didn’t have the strength to fight herself anymore. Not when the man she loved was begging her, on his knees, to be with him if and as she wished to. What sort of relationship that would give them, she didn’t know. That it would still only lead her to heartbreak in the end, she was certain. But she was losing the battle for rationality. Meekly, she launched her only remaining protest.

“You deserve better than me,” she whispered, and the pain in her voice nearly unmanned him.

Benedict rose, pulling her to stand with him. She looked up, eyes unfathomable behind her tears. She had cried too much and he needed to put an end to it. Slowly, he slipped his arms around her and pulled her body against his.

“I burn for you,” he whispered, his lips touching her ear. “Every night, I lie in bed, thinking of you, wondering why the hell you’re in the servants quarters and not with me.”

Sophie felt every last shred of resistance within her fall away. At last, an honest truth crystalized within her. She wanted this. Whatever piece of Benedict she could get and for however long, she wanted it.

Benedict could feel her breath grow heavier, her back quivering beneath his hands. She uttered his name softly as her hands traced up to his shoulders, then to hold his face. She searched his eyes, a thousand emotions glittering in her own. She missed him, she wanted him, she needed him, and now she would finally allow herself to have him. It was the dream she had carried with her for years, the dream she never dared to think would come true. But here it was, in her hands, the sincerity in his gaze speaking nothing but truth. The room was dim with the glow of firelight but he stood out, radiant against it all.

Benedict captured her mouth with his, swearing to himself as he did so that if she said no, if she made any sort of indication that she truly didn’t want this, he’d stop. It’d be the hardest thing he’d ever done, but he would do it. 

But she didn’t say no, and she didn’t push him away. Instead, she positively melted into him, her hands twining in his hair as her lips parted beneath his. His heart leapt, that she was letting him kiss her -- no, that she had decided to kiss him. He seized the moment, tasting her, drinking her, breathing her. He wanted it to last a lifetime. The kiss he had wished to give the lady in silver, proof of all his affection and commitment, building up for years and unleashed at last for dear Sophie. Sophie who was here, Sophie who was real, Sophie who stoked the same fire within him, and she felt like heaven. The soft scent of her hair, the slight taste of salt on her skin -- she was, he thought, born to rest in the shelter of his arms. And he was born to hold her.  Sophie luxuriated in the feeling of Benedict’s lips, his tongue, his hands. The entirety of his body radiating heat against hers. How foolish of her to think that she could or even should, deny this desire, wherever it might lead. How self-important to think that she could be stronger than passion.

Tagging: @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @secretagentbucky @eg-dr3amer3 @time-to-hit-the-clouds @lyta2323 @autumn-grace @sadprose-auroras @the-other-art-blog @goldrambutan @colettebronte @heeyyyou @musicismyoxygen84 @faye-tale @ambitionspassionscoffee @starchaser325 @malna4903 @sincere-sarcasm @kmc1989 @makaylan @queen-of-the-misfit-toys

#let me be your anchor #an offer from a gentleman #benedict bridgerton x sophie beckett #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #sophie beckett fanfiction #benophie #benophie fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #sophie beckett #bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #head canon

[peterpparkrr]

Pinned - Epilogue

Series: Pinned

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x f!reader

Summary: The wedding. And the wedding night.

Word count: 1.9k

A/N: Here it is! I know I always say this, but I really appreciate all the love this story has gotten. Thanks for sticking with it! I hope you enjoy the happy ending of this story.

Warning: This chapter is 18+ as it contains sex. 

prev. part // complete series

I publish the banns of marriage between Viscount Anthony Bridgerton of Kent and Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N) of London.

This is the third time of asking. If any of you know cause or just impediment why these two persons should not be joined together in Holy Matrimony, ye are to declare it. 

On June 7th, 1814, Anthony Bridgerton and (Y/N) (Y/L/N) were married.

It was a small ceremony. Even without a special dispensation, the ceremony was short notice considering the fact that most of London had no idea that the Viscount Bridgerton had been courting anyone at all, let alone on the precipice of an engagement. 

But that was what made it perfect. Small and intimate with just your families in attendance. Well, the Bridgerton brood and your brother and a few of your close friends. 

There was a brief mention of your wedding in Lady Whistledown. Considering how much ink the author had spent on Anthony it was expected that his marriage and the end of his rake-hood would be notable to her. But instead of making a scandal of his marriage to a commoner she merely teased that no one else would match his reputation and wished him and his bride all the happiness in the world. 

The wedding lunch was hosted at Bridgerton House. 

“My wife,” Anthony introduced you to each guest. Smug as he held an arm around you. 

The lunch was well attended. Many members of London society were curious to meet this unknown woman, rumored to have been a tailoress of all things, that had managed to trap the Capital-R-Rake, Viscount Bridgerton. 

It was clear to all in attendance that Anthony Bridgerton was enraptured with his new wife. And that she adored him in turn. You could tell just from the way they looked at each other. 

“Anthony,” You called out after Violet left your side to say farewell to a few guests.. He was standing right next to you talking with his brother. You knew he could hear you. But he was acting like he didn’t.

“Husband,” You tried again. Only for him to immediately turn to you.

“Yes?” He replied with a grin. 

“I think we ought to say our goodbyes, we should try to get to the inn before dark,” You tell him. 

You’d have been perfectly content to stay in London after the wedding. Anthony had work that meant there was no way for you to leave the country for your honeymoon, but he insisted on at least taking you to the estate. As the new Mistress of Aubrey Hall and the Viscountess Bridgerton, you deserved at least a month of marital bliss in your new home, and alone before his family would rejoin them. 

And Anthony refused to take his wife to bed for the first time under the same roof as the rest of his family.

“Is this alright?” Anthony asks hesitantly when the innkeeper shows you to your room. It was a small room. There were relatively few between London and Kent. It was a comfortable day’s journey, but with the late start, you’d decided to split the journey between two days and spend the night in an inn.

Your laughter washes away his nervousness. 

“I’ve never been anywhere that isn’t London, and certainly never at an inn this nice,” You remind him. “It’s perfect.”

“You’re perfect,” He murmurs as he winds his arms around your waist.

“Flattering your wife, you’re learning your husbandly duties quickly,” You reply with a smirk as you look up at him.

“I have another husbandly duty I’d like to teach you,” He murmurs before he presses his lips to yours.

“Patience is a virtue, Anthony, isn’t that what the priest said just this morning?” You ask as you carefully extract yourself from Anthony’s embrace with a teasing smile. “After supper.”

Anthony was certain you were drawing out your meal simply to vex him. Patience had never been his strong suit. And you knew that just as well as most. 

You’d taken your time with the meal as you ate in the dining room along with the handful of other guests staying at the inn tonight. You ate with no rush, as if you were blissfully ignorant to the events that would follow.

Or rather, that you were perfectly aware, and were choosing to behave this way to tease him. 

“Should we retire for the night?” You finally ask once you’ve finished your meal. 

“Yes,” Anthony replied as he abruptly pushed out his chair and quickly made his way around the table to pull out your chair. 

You can’t help but laugh as Anthony leads you up the stairs back to your room, an insistent hand pushing along at a brisk pace. 

“Finally,” Anthony groans as he presses you against the door once it’s closed behind you. 

“Are you going to consummate our marriage against the door?” You ask breathlessly as you look up at him through slightly hooded lids.

“We’re not even close to that, dear wife,” Anthony replies with a grin as his hands gently brush up and down your side. “Patience,” He taunts.

You open your mouth to reply but Anthony covers your mouth with his before you can get any words out. And your biting comment flies out of your mind as Anthony’s hands come up to your breasts, instead letting out a low moan as his thumbs run over your nipples over your dress.

“Bed,” Anthony mutters against the line of your jaw before he presses his lips back to your skin as you both blindly shuffle to the bed and Anthony presses you down into it. 

The cool fabric of the quilt presses against the back of your legs as Anthony pushes the skirts of your gown upward, his hands trailing up your legs as the fabric comes to pool around your waist.

Your dress suddenly feels entirely too tight around your chest as your breathing becomes heavier and heavier. You reach blindly behind you to try and reach for the lacing.

“Let me,” Anthony murmured as he finally pulled away from you, his hands making quick work of the back lacing of your dress before he helped you to pull the gown over your head, leaving you in your stays and shift. 

“All of these need to go,” Anthony muttered as he reached around you again to try and unties your stays.

Once you’d fumbled out of the rest of your clothing you laid back against the bed, trying not to shy away under Anthony’s heavy gaze as he pinned you to the bed.

“Aren’t you supposed to be naked too?” You finally ask once you’ve found your voice again.

Anthony only nods as he wordlessly reaches to pull off his coat and vest. You lean forward to help him pull off his shirt, your fingers nimbly undoing his buttons and fastenings the way you have countless times, the muscle memory kicking in to spite the nervous energy flowing through your body as you reveal new parts of Anthony to yourself.

“Oh,” You murmur once Anthony’s trousers and stockings are pushed down and kicked away.

You’re not innocent in the same way most brides are. You are familiar with the concept of the male anatomy. But never in this context. 

“What do you want? Tell me,” Anthony asks in a domineering tone as he comes back to you. Wanting you to speak your desires into existence.

The demand pulled your consciousness to the forefront once more as you struggled to find the words to describe exactly what it was that you wanted. All the things you’d never dared to wish for. The things that you had thought about only in dreams, both sleeping and waking but had never dared to speak out loud. You wanted everything. 

“I want… you,” You finally told him, your eyes searching his own as he bore down on you, his own eyes heady with lust as he watched you with the hunger of an animal. 

You knew of the baser instincts of men. And had seen glimpses of this in Anthony before. The night of the Opera. But it was always ruled by his desire to remain gentlemanly. 

But the utterance of one sentence from you seemed to allow Anthony the freedom to unleash himself before you. 

And you found yourself responding to it without hesitation. 

“Yes,” You breathe out. Trying to wrap your head around all of the sensations you’re feeling. Seemingly all at once.

And why should you hesitate? There would be no more wondering. No more waiting. No more talking yourself out of feelings that you thought you shouldn’t, couldn’t have. 

Anthony Bridgerton was your husband.

And you were his wife.

Anthony did things to you that you’d only heard quiet whispers of. Salacious things that were shared in frenzied hushes among women while they worked and gossiped. 

Things that brought you to the brink in a way you’d never experienced before. The precipice of something you could not name. 

By the time he had finally brought himself to you, it did not hurt at all. 

You’d been warned to expect pain. A lesser pain thanks to the shared affection between you and your husband, but a pain nonetheless. 

But it never came. 

You felt impossibly full and Anthony pushed himself into you. But it felt right. Good. Like you were finally whole. 

You gasped, your eyes flying wide open to look up at Anthony.  As he began to move a moan escaped from your lips and you felt yourself breathing into him as you pushed and pulled, both of you finding yourselves coming together as the pleasure built between you before it crescendoed as you shuddered beneath Anthony, gasping and heaving before you felt him stutter shortly after, bowing down onto you with a groan as he filled you deeply.

Anthony pressed a kiss to your lips before he pulled away from you and pulled the covers back before laying down beside you and pulling the sheets around your bodies as his arms came to wrap around you. He pressed a kiss to the back of your neck, almost between your shoulder blades as you struggled to control your breathing again.

You might have laid there for minutes. Or maybe hours. You had no idea how much time passed before you finally found the energy to speak. Turning around in Anthony’s arms to face him.

“I don’t-” You tried to say, your brows pinching as you struggled to find the words for what you wanted to tell him. 

“What, my love?” Anthony asked. His own brow furrowed as he reached to tilt your chin upward, forcing you to look at him as he searched your eyes for the expression of pain or discomfort he was fearing he’d find. “Did I do something wrong? Did I hurt you?”

“No! Not at all!” You assure him quickly. “I only wanted to say that, I think I still have more to learn. Perhaps we ought to… do that again,” You tell him shyly, a coy smile pulling at your lips.

“Fiendish woman,” Anthony muttered as you pulled you atop him, pressing a kiss to your lips as you tangled your legs with his. 

Marriage clearly agreed with you both.

An impossible match that had made you impossibly happy. 

#pinned #pinned series #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton drabble #anthony bridgerton fanfic #anthony bridgerton series #Bridgerton #Bridgerton Series #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton drabble #bridgerton fanfic #bridgerton reader insert #anthony bridgerton reader insert #anthony bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton

[sun-and-moon-mushroom]

Day 27: Left For Dead

AO3 link

(Continuation of day 22, BingQiu/QiJiu swap)

The last time Luo Binghe had seen Shen Yuan, his shizun, the man who had found him on the streets after his mothers death and had chosen to teach him cultivation, was when he’d smiled down at him and promised to be back soon, before leaving on a night hunt that he’d never returned from.

Luo Binghe had waited at the inn they’d been staying in until the money started to run out, and after that he’d tried to find his missing master. He’d gone around the local towns and villages asking after him, only to learn that the beast he’d been after had been taken down by a group of Cang Qiong cultivators which meant… Shen Yuan had probably died while fighting it. That was one of the better ideas Luo Binghe had anyway, after he’d spent a month searching to see if his master had simply been injured in the fight. The only other thing he could think of was that the promise he made might have been a lie, something to let him abandon Luo Binghe — but no, his shizun would never do something like that.

Luo Binghe would later claim that it was his exhaustion over searching for Shen Yuan that had caused him to slip up and be captured by demonic cultivators, but the truth was, he had only been cultivating for a year, and with the help of a master who was mostly self taught, out on the roads instead of on a qi-heavy mountain peak. Luo Binghe was just a human, so he went down easily to a demonic poison slipped into his drinking water. When he next woke up, he was in chains, with his cultivation bound.

At first he expected to be cut into pieces for his parts, or have his cultivation stolen — even such a young cultivator could prove valuable to those willing to hurt them — but it seemed the demonic cultivators who caught him had a different plan. They unbound his cultivation, but only slightly — just enough for a few small tricks — and sold him to a noble family looking for a pet cultivator to show off their wealth.

The young mistress, Qiu Haitang took a liking to him immediately — something he tolerated, if only because it kept him away from her older brother, Qiu Jianluo. He was delighted by the idea of having a cultivator at his beck and call, and was constantly ordering Luo Binghe to show him things, punishing him harshly for anything he hadn’t learnt how to do. He even called back the demonic cultivators that had sold him in the first place, forcing him to learn their techniques, no matter how much he hated it. Sometimes he still thought back to Shen Yuan — was he still alive? Had his body been found, was he buried properly? Without being able to leave, he’d never have the chance to find out.

Luo Binghe isn’t sure what the final straw was for him. It could have been Qiu Jianluo announcing his engagement to Qiu Haitang — something he wanted no part in, since his heart had only ever belonged to one person — or it could have been the sight of a group of Huan Hua disciples in the marketplace on one of the few days he was allowed outside, standing there with their gold-rimmed robes and easy cultivation. Whichever one it was, Luo Binghe finally found a way to snap the restraint holding back his powers, using the small amount he’d been allowed to force the way open.

Free at last, his cultivation rapidly spiralled into a qi deviation, and when he came back to himself, he was holding a sword slick with blood and the building around him was burning. He fled — right into the arms of one of the demonic cultivators who’d sold him in the first place. Apparently, they’d sent him to the Qiu as what they called a ‘test’ — to make him one of them. He didn’t have much of a choice but to go along with them — to anyone else, he’d simply look like a murderer, a young disciple who’d left the righteous path in search of power.

This was how he’d found himself in the middle of an Immortal Alliance Conference, attacked by demons on all sides, trying to protect anyone he could — surely his current master wouldn’t mind if the goods he’d stolen had come from already dead bodies? — and then face to face with Shen Yuan once more. No, not Shen Yuan, but Shen Qingqiu, in the elaborate green robes he’d seen on the distant peak lord of Qing Jing, and wearing the face of his first master like Luo Binghe had ever actually mattered to him.

Luo Binghe… had never really been his beloved disciple, had he? Just a brat off the street he could trick into carrying his things and cooking his food. How foolish of his former master— when given the chance to become part of a proper sect, to achieve the power and wealth he deserved, he’d had to come up with an excuse to get rid of him. He’d have rather been left for dead.

#svsss #svsss au #shen qingqiu #luo binghe #febuwhump #febuwhump 2024 #my writing #shen yuan #betrayal swap au

[sanjoongie]

Let bygones be bygones

ღPairing: Director! Park Seonghwa x Professor of Dreams! Reader (f) x Professor of Battle! (General) Hongjoong

ღGenre: enemies to lovers au, Modern Wizardry School au

ღWord Count: 5,631

ღWarnings:  pegging (double-sided magic strap-on), anal (m receiving), degradation kink, reverse dynamics (Captain! {Dom}Reader x Lieutenant! {Sub}Hongjoong), aphrodisiac spell, strap on that squirts!, finger sucking, aftercare, suggestive mxm, hwa using battle spells, mentions of blood/cuts

ღRated: 18+ MDNI, smut with hella plot

ღSummary: you do your best to avoid your past and present but even the most seasoned vet cannot avoid a well laid trap.

ღDedication: @mejuii (dare you to bring up breaking woo's heart again) & @downtoamagicalland, my lovely beta’s

ღPrevious Part| ღAll of the Parts | ღNext Part

“What will it be--oh, it’s you.” Wooyoung sourly killed his happy customer smile as he approached the table you were sitting at.

“Wooyoung,” You began to beg, clinging to his apron, “I don’t want to be enemies like you are with Seonghwa.”

You had decided today to go make up with the chef that cooked with his emotions. It had nothing to do with the fact that you were avoiding Seonghwa or Hongjoong. Or at least that’s what you told yourself.

Wooyoung pursed his lips to the side. “I do like you, you know.”

“I like you too,” You smiled hopefully. 

Wooyoung narrowed his eyes at you, however. “But then you went and fucked the headmaster...”

“Wooyoung!” You couldn't help but shout, feeling heat climb your neck in embarrassment.

Wooyoung grinned and it had a hint of meanness to it, if you were being honest. “Good, at least you’re not proud of it.”

Suddenly, the silverware was very interesting. “I’d like to start coming back here once a week, if you’d let me.”

Wooyoung folded his arms across his chest. “I can’t say no to a paying customer.”

You raised your eyes. “Wooyoung, please.”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically. “I’m still angry at you. Seriously. I’m not sure I can cook for you.” Wooyoung paused his words, clearly chewing on them. “But, if you start spending some tiny breaks here, maybe I might be convinced.”

“Really?” You jumped up, excited at the hope of Wooyoung letting bygones be bygones.

“Maybe,” Wooyoung reiterated, placing his hands on your shoulders and pushing you back in the seat. “Let me go find some desserts in the back I was working on earlier.”

Wooyoung made his way back to the kitchen and you let out a sigh of relief. The last thing you wanted was a fellow white magic user to be angry at you. You were hoping it didn’t have anything to do with the past hatred between the magic types and more to do with a personal problem with the high and mighty headmaster, because that you could actually get behind.

“Oh hello, you’re a new face, who are you?” A handsome, dimpled face bent at the waist to peer at you. 

You smiled, part polite, part strained, and offered your hand to shake. “Mistress of Dreams, pleasure to make your acquaintance…?” 

“San. Choi San. I own the inn portion of this fine establishment. I’m Wooyoung’s partner in crime.” San wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, “Where has he been hiding you?”

You laughed awkwardly, cocking your head in confusion. “Hiding?”

San sat down in front of you, smiling and only making his dimples more pronounced. “Oh he was definitely hiding you--OW, WHAT WAS THAT FOR?”

Wooyoung, with a hand on his hip and a hand wrapped around a wooden spoon that had smacked San on his ear, frowned at his business partner. “Stop hitting on my customers!”

“I’m not hitting on her, I’m simply--YOU STOP HITTING ME RIGHT NOW!” San stood up abruptly. 

You giggled and the two of them deflated--slightly. “You two must be very close.”

“We’ve been best friends since we were children,” Wooyoung confessed.

San looked a bit sheepish, rubbing the back of his head. “Woo, is this--?”

Wooyoung raised his spoon again and San flinched. “You be quiet, you nosy cat.”

San smiled, “It was nice meeting you, Mistress of Dreams. If you ever need to stay at the inn again, let me know. I could arrange--”

“SHE’S NOT GOING TO SLEEP WITH YOU!” Wooyoung raised his voice this time, “The headmaster already snagged her.”

San’s eyebrows lifted up in surprise. “Oh that’s very interesting.”

“Wooyoung,” You said his name in warning, “That was for me to say and you to keep your mouth shut about.”

Wooyoung smiled quickly and then killed it, making it seem mocking, almost. Damn he really was still angry at you. “Sorry.”

You remained at Wooyoung’s pub to nibble on the flaky pecan butter tarts he had baked earlier in the day as San explained how his specialty in magic is song. Someone once told him that if he liked to sleep so much, why didn’t he make it his job. San grinned while explaining he knew it was a joke but it actually was a sound idea. So, with the help of Wooyoung and his cooking specialty, they opened the inn and pub together. San spent most of his days singing to his clients that remain at the inn, and they leave the inn happy, as well as satisfied with Wooyoung’s food.

“It’s a brilliant business plan,” You agreed.

San leaned over the table, “Are you saying I’m brilliant?”

“I’m closing!” Wooyoung announced but not before sending a glare San’s way, “You should get out of here, go back to the academy.”

San’s face fell. “I can’t convince you to stay here for the night?”

You smiled painfully. You didn’t want to go back to the school because the possibility of running into Seonghwa or Hongjoong sounded very excruciating, but you definitely should not encourage San. Especially after trying to make up with Wooyoung. “Wooyoung is right, I should go back.”

Wooyoung offered you a box, pushing it into your hands. “Supplies for when you eventually board yourself in your room.”

You shot Wooyoung a surprised look. “Yeah, I know why you were here. Why do you think I let San chat with you all night?”

You cleared your throat. “Thank you, Wooyoung.”

You walked back towards the school, kicking a stone in the process as you went along. You couldn't even do this without your thoughts moving back towards Seonghwa. 

The thought that his goal was to actually capture your heart terrified you. And it was underlined even more because Hongjoong was here at the school now. The one man who you had fallen in love with, who had fallen in love with you in return… you did not want to live that life again when you inevitably separated with Seonghwa. You had vowed to yourself that very day you had left the army--and Hongjoong--that you would never love again. Whether that was to protect yourself or others, that had remained to be seen.

More to the point, Seonghwa knew how to get what he wanted, that much was clear. And it was also evident in how far you had allowed him to wiggle into your life. You quite enjoyed what you had so far: the secrecy, the sex, the banter. But you didn't actually want to have a life with Seonghwa. His slewed view of having children with you while your career took a backseat was not how you wanted to live your life. You just didn't know how to avoid that with the power Seonghwa seemed to have over you.

Thus, while burdened with your thoughts and your heavy heart, you hadn't realized you had walked all the way to your set of rooms. 

"Come on, Lieutenant," Hongjoong’s voice crooned softly at your door, his back to you, "You can't avoid me forever?"

Your head snapped upwards. "Captain?" You responded automatically.

"Ah, there you are!" Hongjoong smiled happily as he turned around to follow your voice.

"Here I am," You smiled awkwardly.

Hongjoong gestured with his head towards your door. "Invite me in?"

You pursed your lips. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"I haven't properly talked to you since I started," Hongjoong protested, eyebrows furrowing. There was an extra sense of urgency in his voice and it made your stomach tighten. You used to be what Hongjoong used to relieve his stress. Even now, it continues to do something to you.

"We talked plenty before you made your big announcement," You replied in a clipped tone. "Go back to your rooms, Joong, and leave me alone."

The hurt that etched across Hongjoong’s face scraped against your determination to keep him at arm's length. This was someone who you had loved wholeheartedly before. Hurting him was like hurting yourself.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to hurt you but clearly I've been avoiding you for a reason. You don't become a captain of the intelligence Corp without picking up a few things," You grumbled an apology.

Hongjoong pressed at the opportunity you gave him. "Let me come in. Let me talk to you. I mi--"

"Don't! Just don't. We can talk but I won't talk about the past. That's off limits," You insisted.

Hongjoong nodded and you opened your door with your own personal password and a flare of your magic as you pressed your hand to the pink opal slate. "Un beau rêve."

The door opened and you walked in. Hongjoong followed you and closed it behind him softly. Your comfortable reading chair and side table fit into one corner where your moon orb glowed. Your bed was in the other corner looking inviting to your tired body. You offered your chair to Hongjoong, but Hongjoong did as he preferred and instead he sat on your bed.

"How's your classes going?" You asked politely, sitting on your reading chair. You touched the moon orb and it changed to a sun orb, so that it could illuminate the room better. 

"The students are eager to learn battle magic and statistics from me. Seems like they think fighting in a war is exciting," Hongjoong smiled but it was strained. "They've only heard the legends, of course. They didn't live what we lived through."

"They're good students," You offered, folding your hands in your lap.

"I knew when you were in charge of training the new recruits to our unit that you would make a good teacher," Hongjoong mused. You opened your mouth to remind him to not speak of the past but he cut you to the chase. "Do you love it as much as you said you would?"

You nodded, your throat suddenly becoming tight with emotion. "Very much so."

"Lieutenant…" Hongjoong stood up.

You stood up before he could stand in front of you. "Don't you dare Lieutenant me, Hongjoong."

Hongjoong swallowed hard and you watched his Adam's apple move up and down. "Please, I didn't know who else to come to."

"No, Hongjoong, no!" You raised your voice as he fell to his knees in front of you.

"Captain," Hongjoong gave you his big eyes, the same he used to give you when he needed to be taken care of.

"No !” You said again firmly. “Things are no longer the same between you and I.”

“I need you, now more than ever,” Hongjoong pressed, his arms wrapping around your waist. “Please.”

You didn’t need to have Jongho’s powers to be aware that the impending war and the new profession would be weighing heavily on Hongjoong. How was he supposed to prepare for an incoming threat of immense proportions and teach the students on how to both defend and attack in a battle setting when all they had known was peace? That kind of stress wound Hongjoong up until it spilled over him and when he released it in unhealthy ways… it always wounded his soul when he became aware of what he did afterwards.

“Surely you can find someone else to take care of you,” You insisted.

Hongjoong shook his head. “Are you so wrapped up in Seonghwa that you cannot even do this?”

You stiffened at the mention of Seonghwa. “I am not wrapped up in him, Hongjoong. We have a mutual understanding. That is all.”

“Did you tell him that? Or do you let Seonghwa also assume that you love him and will never leave him.”

Hongjoong might as well have buried a dagger into your chest, that’s how much his words hurt. “I did love you, Hongjoong. I didn’t want to leave you!”

“Then why did you?” Hongjoong demanded, wearing his heart on his sleeve.

“I couldn't be a part of the army anymore. They made me eat a dream, Hongjoong! Do you know how much that affected me? And you wouldn’t leave!” Your chest heaved as your emotions got the better of you.

"I found my calling in that army! I was born to lead!" Hongjoong raised his voice to your level, "You said you would follow me anywhere!"

"I did," You said quietly, "I followed you until my heart grew heavy with the guilt of what I had done and my mind splintered. And then I couldn't follow you further than that."

"I followed you instead," Hongjoong said with a raspy voice. "I think it was meant to be. After all--"

"Hongjoong, I am begging you--!"

"No strings attached. It means nothing," Hongjoong made empty promises.

"You're such a fucking liar!" You snarled and pushed him off of you. Hongjoong landed on his ass on the floor, palms supporting him, as you began to pace. "You almost said you missed me. If this happens, there's a lot of strings attached." Not to mention… Seonghwa.

Hongjoong bit down on his lip. "Fuck me, Captain. Please. I need it. I need you."

You closed your eyes, breathed in deeply and let out a quiet sigh. How did he still have the ability to pull that out of you? The desire tugging from the pit of your stomach was overwhelming. Making Hongjoong a drooling mess in bed was something that helped you relieve stress too!

“I’ve a spell that can translate pain into pleasure.”

Fuck, goddamn Seonghwa. You shook your head. Maybe this is what you needed. Maybe you needed to put some space between you and the headmaster, who seemed to think that there was more between you than a hot fuck and some companionship.

"Get on the bed, Lieutenant," You snapped.

Hongjoong almost grinned ear to ear before he scrambled up and climbed back onto your bed. 

"You're lucky I still have this," You grumbled.

You moved towards the chest at the end of your bed and murmured Yuftah.  The lid popped open and you found your old strapon after years of it remaining dormant. "And before you ask, no, I never used it with Seonghwa." Our relationship isn't like that.

You began to remove your clothes but Hongjoong’s eyes widened. "Wait!!! Let me. It's my pleasure, Captain."

Hongjoong took the strapon and laid it on the bed. He went on his knees, still on the bed, and pulled off your blazer, neatly folding it before pulling your blouse from the waist of your pencil skirt. His fingers aptly popped the onyx buttons, the back of his fingers skimming your chest. 

"This is beautiful," he murmured under his breath, bright eyes taking in your baby blue lingerie set. The same one you had worn your first time with Seonghwa.

"I'm using an aphrodisiac spell," You announced suddenly, breaking Hongjoong from making heart eyes at your body.

"Wha--no! I want to--!"

You grabbed Hongjoong by the back of the head and slanted your lips over his. Your tongue began to play with his and when you broke the kiss, Hongjoong looked fucked out and his lips were covered in spit. They were plush from kissing and he looked simply ravishable. 

You spoke in Ancient Roman, entreating Venus to ready both your bodies for sex. An oyster appeared in a lovely shade of green and broke into two, in a cloudy smoke that zoomed to your nose and Hongjoong’s. You breathed in deeply of the olfactory spell and felt your lower half tighten with lust. Hongjoong gasped and he appeared hard against the front of his pants.

"Do not question my orders again, Lieutenant or I'll remove you from my rooms, hard as a rock," You informed Hongjoong cooly.

Hongjoong nodded, swallowing hard. "Yes, Captain."

You got rid of the rest of your clothes and kept on your lingerie set. Hongjoong was about to shed his when you stopped him with a cluck of your tongue. "I don't think so," You chuckled, "I'm going to fuck you in your clothes."

Hongjoong, the general of the White Magic Army, whined. 

"Get on your hands and knees," You ordered him.

"I won't even get to see you insert it?" Hongjoong protested… as he got on his hands and knees like he had been told.

The strapon was a simple contraption that was a deep, dark blue and molded to fit and stay inside of your pussy snuggly while the phallus part allowed you to fuck Hongjoong. There was even a rough side that slid up against your clit, giving you stimulation there as well. The phallus/strapon had, in the past, given you both immense pleasure. You muttered Agua and the strapon pulled from your wetness inside of you and spurted from the phallus. You rubbed it over the phallus until you were satisfied with the results.

Roughly you pulled Hongjoong pants down over his ass and let them pool at his knees. With one hand dry and the other wet, you appreciated Hongjoong’s ample ass cheeks, squeezing and rubbing your hands over it generously. Seeing it glimmer with your wetness was a pleasure in itself. "I'm going to assume you haven't done this in awhile?"

"C-captain," Hongjoong stuttered but pushed his ass backwards, "Please fuck me."

"Patience, Lieutenant, I have to go slow," You reminded him.

You rubbed the head of the phallus against his puckered hole and he groaned at the sensation. You pushed in, slowly but with intent. The pressure against your g-spot made you moan in response as well. 

"D-do I f-feel g-good, Captain?" Hongjoong stuttered as you filled him up.

"So good, Hongjoong." You slipped a hand around the curve of his hip and leaned over his back. Your hand found his hard cock and wrapped your fingers around him.

"Fu-fuck, Ca-captain," Hongjoong whined, "Touch me m-more, please."

You jerked off Hongjoong’s cock, and as he moaned from the stimulation, you started to begin to rock into him. Your movements jolted Hongjoong’s body forward slightly, the head of his cock slapping his stomach. 

"Such a good lieutenant for me, taking everything I give to you, hmmm?" You murmured into his shoulder. "Does it make you feel good, getting stuff like this, Hongjoong?"

"Please." Hongjoong pushed back again on the phallus, your hips digging into his plush ass. "I want it. I want it all."

You pulled your hips back and then thrusted further into Hongjoong, causing him to moan wantonly. "Th-that's the spot."

"Is that your sweet spot, Joongie?" You crooned, "Getting fucked good, are you?"

Hongjoong’s arms gave out and he was now face down, ass up. You watched as his eyes clouded over with lust, drool pooling from his lips as he was fucked and jerked off simultaneously. "Goooood," he moaned, somewhat gone, swallowed up by the dual stimulation.

"You wanna come untouched or you want me to keep touching you?" You tried to check in before Hongjoong was completely gone.

"Wanna get fucked, wanna come from you fucking me, please," He whined into your sheets.

You righted yourself and firmly gripped Hongjoong’s hips with both of his hands. Momentarily you wished to see the naked slope of his back as you fucked him, but fucking him in his uniform was priceless. You fucked Hongjoong roughly, your own g-spot being stimulated and your clit as well. The two of you were moaning messes, completely focused on chasing both of your releases.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Hongjoong chanted, his pitch getting higher and higher until he cried out.

You quickly leaned over his back, searching for your own release but wrapping your hand around Hongjoong’s squirting cock. Hongjoong cried out at the overstimulation but bucked eagerly into your hand. You used the cum coming out of his cock to continue to jerk him through his orgasm. Finally, you came, stilling your hips as your orgasm washed through you. The phallus continued to pull your wetness from inside of you to squirt inside of Hongjoong.

"Such a good boy for me," You murmured against his back, pulling your hand from his cock and shoving fingers into his mouth. Hongjoong’s tongue eagerly sucked and licked his cum from your fingers. "A messy boy, but a good one nonetheless."

"Th-thank you," Hongjoong stuttered under you when you removed your fingers from his mouth.

"Let's clean up and we can sleep," You responded, pulling out and getting up.

The sight before you was just what you remembered when spending these kinds of nights with Hongjoong: his cock still spurting his cum, your cum leaking out of his abused hole and Hongjoong’s face a mess of spit and his own cum. He was looking gently used and oh so delicious.

Once the both of you were clean, the toy put away and new sheets on your bed, the two of you cuddled. Hongjoong always needed careful aftercare, gentle reassurances that everything was going to be okay. You murmured into the crown of his head, his head against your sternum.

As Hongjoong ran his fingers up and down your arm, face completely at peace, you knew what you had to do. You had to go to Seonghwa and break it off with him. You couldn't hurt Seonghwa the way you had hurt Hongjoong. It had to end now; before your heart broke again as well.

🪶✨️🪶✨️

Your knock on Seonghwa’s door was curt and loud. Seonghwa’s voice came from within and you opened the door. Seonghwa’s office was as intimidating as the man himself. His wire rim glasses sat low on the bridge of his nose as a quill scratched loudly on his desk below. His eyes widened as you came in but he finished his dictation nonetheless, continuing to pace behind his desk.

"The second level of hell will need to be temporarily unlocked for the seniors, period. The parental council has given me no choice but to advise our students on what happens when you are too lustful in your younger years, period. You should also get the Mistress of Dreams to hold a class of healthy sexual education for she seems to know most of those types of spells comma, including the infertility one she used on you, period."

"Seonghwa--"

"And what do I owe the honor--shit, halt dictation." The quill dropped at Seonghwa’s order. "Why hello, lover," he purred instead.

"Seonghwa--"

"You put so much energy into avoiding me and now you come straight to my office?" Seonghwa's eyes glinted dangerously. "Do I owe you a spanking? No, too soft for your tastes. Perhaps some pussy slaps? I could always summon my ghost hands again."

"Stop it," You commanded, your nails digging into your palms.

Seonghwa walked around from behind his desk, holding his arms behind his back. "Do you actually prefer a softer approach this time? Shall I take you in my arms and whisper to you of how you have stolen my heart and refuse to give it back so I demand kisses to my nose as payment?"

You sighed heavily, rubbing an eyebrow. "Stop being silly, you ridiculous--"

"I won't let you do this," Seonghwa vowed.

"Do what, Seonghwa? You won't let me finish a goddamn sentence!" You shouted at him.

A crooked smile bloomed on his lips. "There's all that yummy anger." He pursed his lips next, looking determined. "I don't care if you slept with him. You're still mine," Seonghwa declared.

"See, I think you do care," You corrected him, "I don't think you could share well at all."

"Incorrect," Seonghwa, in turn, corrected you. He leaned back on his desk. "I once shared a lovely night with Mingi and another female teacher and she said--"

You groaned in frustration. "I have been informed that I don't clarify relationships well enough, so I am here to stop this one."

"Don't let that bastard Light Skipper project his problems on me. I have no problem with the way you speak your mind and dictate our relationship. I simply inform you that you're wrong." And then Seonghwa winked at you.

You pressed forward, determined to see this through. "We will no longer be sleeping with each other, Park Seonghwa. Our understanding is over." With that, you spun on your heel and left his office, unable to take his cheeky denial any longer.

You walked straight to Hongjoong’s rooms, determined to fuck your frustrations out, perhaps even ride Hongjoong’s face, until you felt in charge of your life again. Hongjoong was surprised to see you at the door but let you in regardless. It was as he was closing the door that a heavy boot halted that motion from finishing. 

“I believe you have something of mine,” Seonghwa purred.

Hongjoong met Seonghwa’s eyes with a challenge. “Yours?”

Seonghwa leaned on the doorframe, putting more of his body in the way of the door being closed. “Apparently you convinced her to break it off with me. She seems to think I can’t share.”

“I know I don’t plan on it,” Hongjoong retorted. 

Your fingers found your eyebrows to rub in frustration. “This is what I get for thinking life would move smoothly for once,” You grumbled to yourself.

Both men turned to you, however, looking concerned. Well at least they had one thing in common. It did seem like they both cared for you. 

“What am I going to do with the both of you?” You demanded since both of their concentration was on you and not each other. 

Hongjoong shot a cautious look at Seonghwa before speaking. “I don’t know about him but I only just got you back, I don’t want to lose you.”

Seonghwa’s eyes traveled up and down Hongjoong’s body before focusing on you. “She doesn’t want to choose, you idiot! Except you just said you’d refuse to share her body.”

Hongjoong winced. “Lieutenant…”

You held both your hands up to halt his words. “I don’t want any of this right now, you don’t have to say anything.”

“Darling, I will not let him ruin a good thing,” Seonghwa frowned at you. 

“Seonghwa, he’s not ruin anything.” Your brain was whirling because of the current situation.

“I still don’t understand what he does for you,” Hongjoong had to mutter under his breath.

Seonghwa grinned dangerously. “I could show you.”

“Uh, no, I don’t think so!” You protested before Seonghwa could get any ideas.

“No, go ahead, do you think I couldn't possibly take watching you with him--?” 

You were in a race to finish the simple shield spell but Seonghwa was The Reaper. His pain into pleasure spell hit Hongjoong before you could complete your last syllable. Seonghwa almost had a wild look on his face before his lips were twisting into another spell. Your shield was up with a bright blue hue but the striking spell Seonghwa had used slashed Hongjoong’s cheek just as your shield covered him in a bubble. Hongjoong moaned and then brought his hand up to his cheek, unused to finding pleasure there. When his hand came down and he found blood, his eyes darkened in anger.

“You two are peas in a pod, enjoying the pleasure that comes with pain,” Seonghwa chuckled darkly.

You strode forward and struck Seonghwa solidly across the face. You shook your fist in pain but it was well worth it. “You are the headmaster of the school and you would strike out at one of your professors just like that? PARK SEONGHWA!” You roared in anger. 

“Lieutenant!” Hongjoong gasped. It wasn’t like you to lose your anger and break the line of command. He couldn't move past your shield, however. 

Seonghwa fell to his knees, not unlike Hongjoong when he begged for you to take care of him. “Please, let me feast on your anger, darling.” His tongue played with the corner of his mouth where there was blood from where you had punched him.

“You sicken me,” You spat at him. “And to think, I trusted you. You’re just like everything I once thought of a damn Black Magic User.”

Seonghwa’s eyes widened at your words. The hurt was etched across his face for only a moment before that skilled courtier smirk replaced it. “Isn’t that your kink?”

You shook your head and turned away from Seonghwa. You waved your hand and your shield released Hongjoong. “I’m sorry, Hongjoong. It’s my fault this happened. I should have gone to my room instead of yours. I was wrong to include either of you in my life. I’ll be leaving." You angrily motioned to Seonghwa. "Do with that one what you will.”

In a blink of an eye, Hongjoong was in front of you before you could reach the door. “You’re not going anywhere, Lieutenant.”

“Hongjoong, really?!” You were confused.

“I believe you just put me through the same situation earlier.” Hongjoong paused to run his hand through his hair. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but we both are begging for you to keep us in your life. Regardless of the other.”

“If I may speak,” Seonghwa stood up from his position on the floor, “If the general is saying that, you know something has changed.”

Hongjoong’s ears were a little red. “I’ve never seen her anger so high before. Your aura, Lieutenant, was beautiful.”

Seonghwa sported a lazy, smug smirk. “Ah, so I’m not the only one who sees that.”

“What are you saying, Hongjoong?” You demanded.

“If you come to me, burning with the anger that Seonghwa has stirred up in you, I can’t say no to that,” Hongjoong mumbled.

Seonghwa threw his head back, laughing and then bringing his hand to cover his mouth. “Oh, that’s refreshing.”

You shook a finger at Seonghwa. “Whatever you learn inside of this room will never leave, Park Seonghwa. You will not sully his name.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Seonghwa promised, although his eyes glittered with amusement.

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. “Then we are in agreement? I will continue to visit Seonghwa and when he, as you so aptly put it, Hongjoong, stirs me up with anger, I will come find you. And we will all be good little adults about this and not let it stir the pot?”

Hongjoong nodded. Seonghwa was smirking again. “What, Seonghwa?”

“Shouldn’t we seal it with a kiss?” 

You rolled your eyes. “Really?”

“I haven’t had a kiss from you in a while, lover.” Seonghwa mock-pouted and you really wanted to hit him again but held back. 

“Well, if it’s an agreement between the three of us, wouldn’t that mean a threeway kiss?” You lifted an eyebrow at him.

Seonghwa eyed Hongjoong curiously again. Hongjoong was caught between wanting to protest and not wanting to break the peace. Maybe you would have been better off just sticking with Wooyoung in the beginning. “Well?” You snapped, causing the both of them to jump slightly.

“We won’t have to share you in the future, right?” Hongjoong asked, still looking unsure.

"What's wrong, General?" Seonghwa moved to pull you against his body, "Worried you might be compared?"

"Seonghwa," You growled his name in warning.

"Who was here first?" Hongjoong intoned, "She's already compared you to me."

You laughed under your breath. "He's got you there, Seonghwa."

"And?" Seonghwa leaned down to speak directly into your ear, "Do I measure up?"

"I'm not playing this game," You declined, "Are we doing this kiss or not?"

"Did you ever imagine, after almost killing me, that you'd be kissing me?" Seonghwa prodded at Hongjoong.

"Seonghwa, I am going to kill you, seriously!" You shouted, stomping a foot in annoyance.

Seonghwa’s eyes became hooded and he tipped your head up with a chuck of his fingers. “Come here, Lover, give me all that anger.”

You struggled as Seonghwa kissed you but eventually melted into his embrace. His plush lips tempted you into forgetting everything else, just the slow seduction of his lips against yours. You were practically whining against his lips as you became wet just from the kiss. When Seonghwa released you from the kiss, you were a bit dazed and confused for a moment, that’s how sucked in you were from the one kiss.

“That is what I do for her,” Seonghwa purred to Hongjoong. 

"Lieutenant," Hongjoong called for you and you slowly focused your eyes on your old Captain. "Come give me a kiss, and seal the deal."

You moved into Hongjoong’s arms in an almost dreamlike state and cupped his head. You kissed him softly, tenderly and not once did he take advantage of you; that's not how Hongjoong worked. He took everything you gave him, even smiling into the kiss. You felt your heart swell for your ex lover and then you were the one to end the kiss upruptly, terrified of how you had slipped into that mindset again. 

Seonghwa’s face was unreadable, which was a first. "Did my lips taste good on hers?" He seemingly couldn't help but prod.

Hongjoong’s smile was gone and his own anger was back. "Can we have peace for more than a few seconds, Reaper?"

"You should know me better by now, General. I like a little chaos every now and then," Seonghwa chuckled.

"Then drink your fill."

It sounded like a threat from Hongjoong until he gripped the back of Seonghwa's neck and brought the taller man's lips down to his. Seonghwa’s eyes were wide and you jumped to intervene before things got messy but when Seonghwa’s eyes slowly closed and you saw a flash of tongue, your mouth dropped open instead.

"Ho-hongjoong?" You said in complete and utter disbelief.

Hongjoong let go of Seonghwa and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "He's a good kisser, I'll give you that."

Seonghwa smirked, crooked and wicked, and said "Mmm, your anger tastes yummy too, General."

You found that you were rubbing your eyebrows again. What the fuck did you just get yourself into???

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