#anyway elf being well fed as always

[notquitecanon]

Foolishly Admirable (pt 2) // Astarion x Reader

Summary: The morning after the Gur incident, you and Astarion both have a lot of questions about what things mean for the two of you. Not that either of you are willing to ask them out loud. So, in each of your own convoluted ways, you try your best to figure it out.

Read Part One Here!

TW: canon typical injury, biting, bloodloss, talks of lying and manipulation (if your romancing and reading Astarion fanfic you should be prepared for that anyway), unresolved issues and feelings, these idiots won't communicate (and yes it is driving everyone else in camp insane)

Astarion woke from his trance the following morning feeling better than he had in…. well, ever. Though still chilled, his hands weren’t quite as cold as usual and even the peaks of his cheeks felt warm. So well fed that he idly wondered if he would see a slight pink to his cheeks- if he were able to see his reflection, that was. The previous nights events had been reduced to nothing but a grisly stained hole in his favorite (only shirt) and the slightest mark on his chest that seemed to be fading with each passing. Healed, well fed, and… something that felt dangerously close to happy. 

He stayed very still, the only movement the craning of his neck over to look at you, still sleeping soundly where you’d given out- curled up under the blankets and cloaks Astarion had draped over you, burrowed into the pile of pillows that he kept in his tent. In sleep, you looked more peaceful than Astarion saw you during waking hours, a brief intermission from your foolishly admirable determination to singlehandedly save every poor, unfortunate soul on the Sword Coast. Of course, he realized, he shouldn’t complain. Astarion himself had been one of said poor souls you’d devoted yourself to, if the previous night’s actions were any indication. 

As if visual proof of this thought, despite being a lump in a pile of blankets, cloaks, and pillows, one of your hands had reached out to him in the night. As you had slept, you’d mostly kept to your side and Astarion to his, but over the course of hours, unbeknownst to either of you, you had wiggled a singled hand across the gap. Astarion’s red eyes stared at your fingers, not quite touching him, but instead firmly knotted into the loose fabric of his sleeve closest to you. As if you could keep him from being taken in the night. You held onto his fabric much like someone might hold someone’s hands, the soft worn fabric tangled between your fingers to keep you tethered to the elf. The thought flitted across his mind, he didn’t particularly mind the idea of being tethered to you. He pointedly ignored the thought, moving his gaze to your face, the only other part of you to be seen. 

Unlike him, you bore the physical weight of last night. You skin’s pallor was paler than usual, not much color to your cheeks but plenty of purple shadows under your eyes. The potions might have closed your wounds and steadied your heart, but no potion could put the blood back into your veins. Peeking out from under the blanket, the smallest glimpse of your neck, littered with faint scars from the deepest of his bites. Though only hours old the potions had made them look like you’d always had them. Under your darker than usual eyelids, your eyes moved along with whatever dream you were having. He’d seen the effects of his near nightly feedings, how you bared the much less severe blood loss. But this was another beast, Astarion doubted you’d be able to think clearly, much less wield a sword. After the previous night, you’d need as much rest as you could get, there would be no traveling or adventuring that day.  

The longer his gaze lingered on the evidence of your altruism, the more his undead heart clenched in his chest. First, you went off and tried to get yourself killed in his place. Secondly, you so diligently worried over him, all that saccharine care projected onto him. Then, you willingly let- practically begged- Astarion nearly kill you just to heal himself. Bleeding yourself dry for someone who would always want more. Really, weren’t you smarter than this? How far would you go for him? How far would he let you? Was it concern for you clenching his jaw or was it guilt? Instead of analyzing these complicated emotions, he allowed this slip into familiar (safe) annoyance. 

Truly, how was he going to gain lasting protection if you went off and got yourself killed? That was a safer thought in more familiar territory. Astarion could push this thought to the forefront, make himself believe that was still his only priority. 

Still, it was driving him mad, He thought to himself, watching your eyes move under closed lids, He was a master manipulator to be sure, but not even he was this talented, to draw such a force of nature into his atmosphere. Was this even something he could have achieved? What did it mean if you’d done it of your own accord? 

Gently, utilizing all his stealth and sleight of hand, he used a feathered touch to remove your grip from his shirt and then sneak out of the tent. He informed the early risers of camp (Wyll, Gale, Lae’zel) what you had done after they stared at him as if he was a ghost (wrong flavor of undead), and further explained the need for a day of rest. The rogue, with varying degrees of snark, cut off any protests before returning to the tent with an assortment of supplies. 

—

It had been ages since you woke up naturally, since you were allowed to let you're body decide when you were rested. Which would make you think that your body would be grateful after such a treat. Nevertheless, when you woke up, everything was sore- your muscles, your head, your neck- hells your neck-, and even your heart seemed to feel sore.  You felt cold and yet you were also sweating under the pile of blankets nestled around you. Your throat and mouth were dry, and your stomach was clenching around nothing. With a groan, you looked around the tent, trying to ignore how your vision was dizzy and spinning. 

The burgundy canvas was practically glowing with the sunlight outside,  and to your surprise, you found Astarion sitting up in the adjacent corner. He’d pulled the stool inside, long legs crossed gracefully in front of him as he pulled a needle and thread diligently through his white shirt, "Oh, so you’re not dead over there. That’s a relief, how awkward it would have been to tell Gale I killed you… again."

His voice was dripping in teasing, but there was a twinge of forced casualness. Your brows ruffled, first you squinted at the shirt he was wearing- a plain red shirt with the laces loose at the chest, you had nicked it in the Grove- before flitting your eyes down to your hand that you were sure was grasped around his sleeve only to find a handkerchief wadded in your grip. Damn sneaky vampire, how hadn’t that woken you?

Astarion didn’t need to pause his stitch to spare you a glance, rolling his eyes before lifting a single, perfect eyebrow at your expression, "Stop pouting, darling, I had to leave to get you something to eat, since you so generously provided such a feast last night."  

"‘m not pouting." You tried arguing but your voice was hoarse, barely audible. Astarion rolled his eyes again, using the sewing needle to point next to you at the carafe of water. It was surely room temperature if not a little warm, but it looked heavenly. Slowly, you sat up, using one arm to brace yourself and the other to pick up the pitcher, aiming for the same silver chalice from the previous night. 

You really hoped Astarion had become suddenly engrossed in his sewing instead of watching how you shook like a leaf as you tried to pour. You had never considered yourself frail, but after the previous night even the slight effort of pouring a glass of water brought an uncomfortable burn to the muscles up your arm and across your shoulders. The glass was half full with a puddle around it when a pale hand swooped in over yours, steadying you and taking most of the weight. Of course not, damn vampire. 

You were first glaring your own useless hands for your weakness, then his for noticing, before moving up to glare at his face, only to find him already staring down at you. His gaze wasn’t soft, it was actually particularly intense with a emotion that you couldn’t quite place, but it made your protest die on your tongue. 

"Let me, love." Despite his intense expression, his words were a soft demand, and he didn’t wait for your cooperation. Instead, leaning ever so slightly over you as he poured the water and then presented the chalice to you. You let one hand wrap around the chalice though the vampire took it upon himself to balance it with a touch to your wrist, with his close proximity you had bigger concerns than water, no matter how scratchy your own throat was. As you carefully lowered the chalice to the ground, you kept your stare level on his. Astarion’s eyes kept their intensity, but it was the curiosity in them that kept him still. 

With your other shaking hand, you carefully pushed past the laces of his shirt. Astarion tensed but didn’t stop you, and you froze for just a moment before trying to steady your hand. Dropping your gaze to the spot where hours ago a stake had protruded, you focussed much of your energy into keeping your touch light, barely a whisper as your hand dipped under the red linen.  A ghost of a touch, first at his heart which caused some of the tension to leave the vampire’s shoulders, slid then a couple of inches to the right. Only hours ago, you’d whispered apologies as you pulled wood splinters out of a hole in this very spot. Now, you felt nothing but the slightest indent in it’s place.  Was he still here because he needed more? Was he hurting? Somewhere between a whine and a whimper, you tried to pull yourself up, craning your head over to bare your neck to him, unknowingly baring the scars as well. 

A breath, almost a laugh if it didn’t sound so melancholy, fanned over the exposed skin, along with Astarion’s own cold fingers tracing the past bites. His other hand steadied you at your ribs. You’d never known Astarion to be this quiet and it was beginning to unnerve you as the vampire took another look pause to analyze you. As he scrutinized you, the fingers at your neck brushed up to your jawline, then your cheek, and finally your eyelashes. Another sigh, as if he hadn’t figured out the answers before pulling the caressing hand away though he took great care to keep holding you steady as he leaned away. Finally, his voice broke the silence.

 "No, no more of that for now, little love." 

Your eyebrows furrowed as he turned away from you. He didn’t want your blood? It felt childish to feel rejected, and yet the sting was still there. And that name: little love. You were hesitant to call it a term of endearment, that sounded too real. You might be too proud to mention it out loud, but you could recognize how you preened when he called you darling or pet or dear, the way it made your heart lift and stomach flutter. Like a schoolgirl with a crush, but this nickname. You knew, instinctively, this one was different. It had only been said in the most tender- vulnerable- of moments. And both of these things happening at the same time made your head spin more than it already was. As you lifted your head back up, slowly to try to ignore the way your brain seemed to rattle around in your skull, you tried to hide your confusion.

 In an impressive show of dexterity, a dagger turned an apple into bite size cubes in record time, finding their way onto a bronze plate that you weren’t sure where he found, accompanied by cheese, grapes, bread, and honey. You watched the vampire carefully, brows furrowing in confusion. Sure, Astarion was nicer to you than the others, but you were sure his shows of affection were limited to snarky teasing,  stealing things, vulgar comments, moments of passion, and watching your back in a fight. Which were all perfectly fine with you, hells, they were the a large part of the reasons you were so enamored with him. But this? The way he was caring for you? Seemed more like your motive than his, not very roguish.  Did he want something? Surely, he’d figured out you’d give him just about anything he asked of you. He was smarter than this. But when you offered, he’d declined… Yet, it was still nice it it’s own way, to have someone care for you the way you cared for others. 

"What?" This time his voice was shorter, more in line with his usual sass. Astarion, after pushing the plate towards you, truly noticed your staring. Not the gaze of relief from last night, but this time a confused, analyzing look yet still gracious. It unnerved him then just as much as it had the night prior, like you saw all of him and still chose to be kind. Of course, he told himself, that couldn’t be it. Had he done something wrong? 

Staring for another moment, you wondered if you should tell him, let him know what you were thinking. But his eyes had lost some of that intensity, carrying some kind of sad hopefulness and nervous uncertainty. If you told him would it shatter the moment? Was it selfish to enjoy the tenderness? Would the reality of your emotions scare him off? 

In the height of the prior night’s emotions, you’d compared yourself to a rabbit, latching on to the snake for fear of the serpent starving. Though, in the past you’d been told or made to feel like your love was stifling, constricting. Were you truly the rabbit in the metaphor? If you were, were you letting yourself be consumed for his sake or yours? Were you actually on the verge of choking him?

So, you shook your head, lifting some of the fruit to your lips, "Nothing, Astarion, thank you." 

"You’re ever so welcome, darling. After such a feast, stealing some fruit and honey was the least I could do." Astarion gave you one of those coy grins he was known for before returning to his stool, and picking his sewing back up. As he resumed his little project, you ate the little feast slowly, eyes unfocused as they half paid attention to the repetitive moment of Astarion’s stitching. You idly wondered how long he’d known to sew, if it was a hobby or a necessity. Outside the tent, you could see people moving about camp, hear chatter and commotion. Your eyebrows furrowed once again, starting to remember everything that needed to get done. 

"I’ll eat and then we must get a jump on the day, there’s too much to get done." You decided, shaking yourself out of your reverie. Wyll’s father, the gith’yanki that were surely hunting you, Karlach’s engine, the impending shadow-curse. It didn’t matter how tired you were, you’d just have to push past the dizziness and light headedness. The party couldn’t waste another day just for you too rest. The vampire tied off another stitch, examining his handiwork as one of his perfect brows raised. 

"Must we? Not much to jump on considering it’s nearly midday, give or take." Astarion didn’t seemed concerned in the least about the time-sensitive nature of… well, everything that was going on. Your stomach dropped, not comforted by his nonchalance in the slightest. Midday?!

"Astarion, why the hells didn’t you wake me?" The sudden sharpness in your voice made your head echo and your chest rattle as you stared wide eyed, eyebrows knitting so far up your forehead they might knock you over. 

"Really? You were sleeping like the dead- believe me I would know- and if Lae’zel sharpening that godsdamned sword again didn’t wake you who was I to try?" Just as with your numerous quests, Astarion didn’t seem to mind your outburst as he sat down his mending. Until you began to gather yourself up, swaying as you reached for one of your boots. It was then that his lackadaisical teasing turned to a stern glare even though he kept his words light, "Now, now, darling, surely you you don’t plan to rush off to battle without fully breaking your fast- oh, or maybe you were just wanting me to feed it to you? Shall I, dear?" 

Your eyes widened, quickly looking away from his mischievous smirk, and had you had enough blood in you at the time, it would have all rushed up your neck to your cheeks. But you didn’t, so you instead cleared your throat, "But-" 

"But you need to eat after all that blood loss. So, finish the food and then we’ll think about whatever trouble you’ll land us in today. Besides, I thought you’d be rather insistent. Some of the others are scouting the road ahead as well as tying up some loose ends," He interjected, eyes almost challenging you to argue more. You swore he enjoyed arguing, but you knew it was often more trouble that it was worth, often resulting in twisted words, flushed cheeks, and moments of passion quickly followed by the realization that you’d lost the argument. Like a scolded child, you continued to work at the plate, dipping the apples in the honey and eating them on the bread, (totally not) pouting as you watched your companions go about their tasks outside. Just as he had last night, he smirked at your obedience, teasing you further, "Good girl." 

You didn’t even have the energy to flush. When you were about half way through the plate, even the half meal in your stomach was enough to sate you, enough so that you felt the exhaustion return. You kept telling yourself to focus, finish the plate and go about the rest of the day- if you were diligent, you could still get something done, help someone. But, even lifting the little bites of cheese to your mouth was proving tiresome, and the sun was warming the tent in such a encompassing way… maybe you could just rest your eyes...  Your eyes drooped and you hadn’t noticed that you’d stopped moving, closing your eyes let your mind slow for a moment which was nicer than you cared to admit. Astarion, however, did notice. He watched carefully, then saw the way your head dropped an inch, quite literally nodding off. He saw the way one of your hands went limp, almost knocking over the chalice of water. Hurriedly, he snatched the dish from you before gently pushing you back against the pillows. Your only protest was a whine before you relaxed once more. 

"Looks like our discussion will have to wait. But we will be having a discussion."  

— 

The next time you woke, you felt better. Less hollow, the tinges of magic vibrating in your bones. Shadowheart or Halsin must have visited. This time, it was easier to sit up and the tent didn’t seem to spin as you looked around. Your eyes first landed on the shirt Astarion had mended, spread out to dry over the stool he’d been sitting on and now a rich, pitch black. As you rubbed at your face, you giggled softly.

"Look at you, looking more like your bright eyed, hopelessly naive self every hour." Astarion’s voice chided as he ducked into the tent, glass of wine in one hand and a book in the other. He kneeled beside you, gracefully reclining into a sitting position without spilling so much of a drop.  

“Thanks… I think.” You hummed, finding a replenished cup of water next to you to gulp down. Astarion watched you as carefully as he earlier, like you might blow away in the wind or spontaneously dissolve into dust. His eyes narrowed on your neck and again on your heart. 

You frowned, something was clearly bothering him? But what? Your tadpole wiggled temptingly behind your eye, a reminder that you possessed the power to know him. You suppressed the desire, knowing that a brief uninvited glimpse was likely to lock you out forever. Instead, you returned his stare trying to decipher whatever his deeper meaning was based off his body language. 

He had turned down your blood. Surely he wasn’t still hurting, the wound was barely a scar after all the magic and blood that had been poured into him. Was he upset that you’d killed the Gur hunter before he’d had the chance? Had you overstepped or overwhelmed in your efforts to save him? 

“You’re very welcome, darling, after all, only one of us can pull of the corpse-like look. And since I do it so effortlessly, my dear...” As if he could sense your thoughts narrowing into his own, he deflected with his usual level of snark and sarcasm, filling the chalice for you again, “I’m afraid you’ll have to refrain from going off and getting yourself killed, or worse laying down to die in my tent. What would the others think?” 

What were you supposed to do? Wait for the poison to keep him down long enough that he starved? Sit idly by while was suffered? Let the Gur stake him without so much as a protest?  Simply hope that the antidotes and magic might catch up before it was too late? 

“Astarion-“ You began with his name because you honestly didn’t know where else to start. The tone of your voice was the same way one would say sorry, an apology, which only made Astarion tense further. The elf wrinkled his straight nose, his eyebrows crinkling as you slowly got to your knees so you could look him in the eyes. His face slightly turned, chin dipping as he tried to predict what you do next. Aside from your affinity for foolishly admirable acts of altruism, you’d been proving hard to predict as of late. Making himself harder to predict. 

Despite his tension, you hazarded a movement towards him. Your hand once again grazed the laces of the red wayfarer shirt he was wearing, waiting briefly. If he so much as breathed to suddenly, you’d retract your touch. But he didn’t, staying perfectly still as you once more slid under the shirt, again pausing over his unbeating heart and back to the even less prominent scar on his chest. Still healing, closer and closer to as if the last night hadn’t even happened.

And just like he had earlier, his own deft fingers feathered over your neck, where the bite marks were fading much slower than his own scars.

“Don’t even think about offering another nibble right now, my dear.” He muttered, voice somehow soft and dangerous all at once, scarlet eyes pausing at your own before roving down your face, across your cheeks where color was beginning to return, then across your jaw, like he was still searching for that explanation before slowly lifting back to your eyes. The open palm over the stake wound closed into a fist, knuckled resting softly against the scar as your eyes lowered to his chest. Maybe it was the exhaustion, and if anyone asked thats what you’d blame it on, you blinked a couple time to assuage the sting in them, lip wobbling. 

“I’m sorry-“  

This time, at your outward display of emotion, Astarion did flinch away. Not far, but just enough that your hand fell back onto your thigh. Your teeth toyed with the inside of your cheek, as you searched for the right words, “I should have- maybe I could have- Astarion, I promised you I’d watch your back and you- I let-” 

“Stop that.” It was a clipped order, but his voice didn’t sound cold. Confused, definitely, a touch irritated. Maybe a hint of something else that you might be able to place if your mind was clearer. 

“What?” Your voice was confused as well, a touch airy as the dizziness started to seep back into your bones. You pulled your eyes back up to his, trying to figure out what he wanted from you. You didn’t mean to fall back onto your backside, but it happened anyway, contributing to how small you felt in front of him, “But-“ 

“Quit being so kind. It makes me want to be nice back. Infectious, and quite frankly: disturbing.” It was a compliment but he said it like the deepest insult. His face grimly serious. You shook your head a bit in disbelief, instantly regretting it when it made your brain swim around in your skull. The tadpole didn’t like the tumultuous turn of emotions either, squirming in time with the dizzy spell, “No use in dying for me-

As if he could sense your mounting protest or maybe corrected his own line of thought for his own sake, “- quite yet, we still have a cult to overthrow and what not."

You lifted your hand to point at him again, but found your hand was shaking again. The lingering boost from the magic was waning.  You ran a hand over your face both to steady yourself and to hid your face for a moment. No longer under your scrutiny, Astarion’s mind reeled. He needed to get things back under control, quickly, to stick to his original plan. He’d started straying and look where it had gotten him: a stake to the heart,  you were crying, and his favorite shirt was ruined. 

From behind your hands, your voice was muffled, clearly trying to force something of a casual joke. Things had gotten too intense too fast, which had always seemed to be the case between the two of you, “Can’t overthrow a cult without a Rogue. No one else can pick a lock worth a damn.” 

Astarion would have laughed at the truthful joke, but he was stuck amongst warring thoughts. Best to stick to what he knew, seduction and manipulation. Tell himself he that was why he was doing doing what came next. No other reason. Other reasons were dangerous, and quite possibly all too real. 

The vampire reached behind him, into the pouch of things he’d nicked from Wyll earlier, producing a potion of greater healing, easily holding it and flicking the lid off with one hand. He offered it to you once, pressing the glass to your knee only for you to nudge it away stubbornly. You could tell what it was from the overly sweet aroma, and you had no interest in being nursed anymore. Apparently being cared for.. It made things too complicated. 

"You’re pouting again, darling, would you look at me?” He forced the sincere softness out of his tone before he even got to the pet name, replacing it with the more familiar, safer feeling suave charm he was accustomed to. You slowly pulled your hands away from your face, eyeing him with a bleary, cautious gaze. Like you were the one who’d done something terrible.

Gods, you really made this too easy. Astarion ignored the tone of his thought, instead focussing on the words. Easy, this was easy, it was instinctive as he forced a smirk, maintaining eye contact as he took a long pull from the potion bottle, but he didn’t swallow. Instead, his free hand laced into one of yours, ignoring the wetness left behind by the tears you didn’t want him to see. Using the tether, he pulled himself over you. Just as he had been the night before, he leaned over you as he gently pushed you back against the pillows once more. His cold, straight nose prodded once against your neck, along his own fang marks. Instinctively, you rolled your neck to the side, but Astarion’s face chased your own. 

The rapid change in mood didn’t help your dizziness at all, but the way Astarion’s nose then grazed your jaw before his forehead pressed against yours was enough to take your fuzzy mind off things. Your eyes fluttered closed, both preening under his touch and to more easily ignore the way your vision was twisting with how fast your heart was beating. Blood loss and desire fought a dangerous battle in your heart and mind.  His chest vibrated in a chuckle as you leaned into the palm that had come up to cup your cheek, his other hand now at your hip to keep you flat so he could stay centered over you. He didn’t want to waste a drop. 

Astarion’s lips met yours just as they had a dozen times since that first night in the clearing. It was intoxicating...dizzying, more so than the blood loss. To keep yourself from swaying too far, you threw one lazy arm around his shoulders. Not that he’d let you get too far. First, as usual, he tasted like the deepest red wines he liked along with something metalic you didn’t try to think too hard about. It was when the sweet taste you’d refused hit your tongue that you suddenly understood his plan. You hummed a slight growl at the trickery, though you really shouldn’t have been surprised. He was a rogue after all. 

The elf’s fingers at your hip dug in as he clenched, the kiss becoming harder as your mouth filled with the elixir. The palm at your cheek didn’t quite hurt, but was enough to keep to still for him. Not that you were trying too hard to truly get away. His sent of rosemary, bergamot, and ever present blood was surrounding you. Frankly, you were right were you wanted to be. 

Finally, when your lungs were burning in need for oxygen and Astarion had no potion left for you, he pulled back just enough to mutter against your cheek, “Come now, be a good girl and swallow for me. You know how I abhor waste.”  

Your eyes shot open as you reflexively swallowed before you could sputter the brew out, and you had no doubt that the potion was immediately put to use in the form of a warm flush up your neck. 

Astarion was smirking smugly at you, though the look in his eyes wasn’t smug but not something you could decipher either. 

“Fine, now you can consider us even, little lo-“ He stopped to clear his throat, “Pet.” 

---

I've been working on this for a month and it is not good™️ but I can't seem to make it flow right so you're getting it unedited laugh out loud

#astarion x reader #bg3 x reader #astarion x tav #astarion self insert

[purdledooturt]

drink break

Summary: Astarion didn't often run into Tav awake when he drank from her at night - not since the first time, anyway. But he can't say he doesn't enjoy it.

Note: I'm extremely grateful to the members of Cinnamontails's discord for their part in getting this out of WIP hell - it's so cool being surrounded by other creative people and there's something about it that pushes one to keep creating, so please come and join us! They also helped me come up with our fruit-based nickname for Astarion 🤠 [AO3 Link]

Tonight, Astarion was at peace.

He often took on first watch – he would take the time alone to hunt, get a break from the chatter of his companions, and he would read uninterrupted, winding down from a full day of travel or exploration or combat. It was the benefit of being an elf – he’d seen his companions running on less-than-ideal amounts of sleep, and their performance always suffered when they were poorly rested. Meanwhile he was free to hunt, crawl back into his tent, trance for four hours and be back to his usual perky self. He liked to lord the fact over Lae’zel, who begrudgingly agreed that being able to enter into a trance was a lot handier than needing to sleep – he cherished what wins he could have over her.

He had nowhere to be tonight – he had drained a bear the night before, spotting it sniffing around towards their camp chest which had just been restocked with supplies carefully catalogued by Gale. It wasn’t much of a challenge, and probably the closest he would have to a restaurant experience as a vampire, but the bear was extremely filling, and he didn’t want to be picky. He was feeling sated enough and didn’t really need to hunt, so he took the time to catch up on his reading while he sat watch, lounged on his carefully stacked pile of plush pillows at the entryway of his tent, enjoying the sounds of the forest and the mild breeze on his skin.

He greatly valued these moments. He occasionally wondered if this was how he would have spent his nights if he were still alive (minus the outdoor aspect of it). Often, he would look up at the sky and think about his old life at that wretched castle, and it would steel his resolve to never return. He prized his freedom, however temporary, and other than the occasional intrusions from his guardian, his mind was his own. His companions (tadpole included) made for far better company than his siblings. His companions listened to him and there was a friendly camaraderie that the surlier members of the group refused to acknowledge. They never told him to be silent, never tried to sabotage him, never told him he wasn’t good for anything but lies and seduction. They valued his input, and he, in turn, begrudgingly depended on them. It was the closest thing to friendship for him (although he couldn’t tell exactly what it was the stopped it from completely crossing over).

But what he appreciated the most was the ability to manage his own hunger. Gone were the days of mind-numbing starvation. Gone were the days where he fed on rats and bugs, getting what little sustenance he could from fetid and rotten blood. He was free to hunt as he pleased, though he stuck with animals as he’d been requested to, save for the times he got to bite into the necks of the less-friendly thinking creatures they encountered.

The most delicious of all, however, remained his first. Which reminded him —

Tav, their leader, had offered herself for a drink this morning, and he was waiting until she was well within her dreams before he wandered off to top himself up. While he didn’t explicitly need to feed, he always took her up on her offer as he couldn’t miss the opportunity to have some of her blood. Hers, for some reason, cleared up his mind the best.

He decided it was a good time to do so when Halsin woke up to take over – the two elves had an arrangement where they took turns to watch while the rest of their companions got their eight hours (or as close to it as they were afforded to). It worked out for everyone, and it meant Astarion would get his me-time guilt-free. He watched as the druid wandered towards the fire with blocks of wood and his beloved set of carving tools – he was in the process of creating little wooden trinkets for some of the party, after Shadowheart had requested he made her a little trinket of what animal he thought she would be if she were a druid. She got a little wooden goldfish the next day, which she carefully hung at the entryway of her tent, dangling like a sad, friendless mobile. She was so very pleased, smiling wider than usual as she cooed over the gift, and Astarion was surprised that the idea of being a forgetful fish didn’t offend the Sharran.

Neither of the elves said anything – they were both very good at keeping silent, not wanting to interrupt their companions while they slept. Astarion pulled himself up, leaving a folded note about camp chore allocation he’d been left one day as a bookmark. Wordlessly, he headed towards Tav’s tent as Halsin began carving away – tonight’s project seemed to be Karlach’s, and it looked to be a bear that looked more like Clive than an anatomically accurate one.

Astarion pushed past the flaps of the tent, careful not to let too much of the light from the campfire through. He didn’t want to admit it to anyone, but he was a bit soft on Tav, wanting to make sure she got her rest and was inconvenienced as little as possible by his feeding on her and accepting her generosity. Normally he would find her sleeping peacefully, exhausted from the day’s travels, and he would sup just a bit generally as a dessert before he left for his bedroll feeling lighter and happier.

He blinked at the sight in front of him as he let the tent flap fall behind him, and the sliver of light that came through from the campfire shrunk into a line and then nothing. His dark vision meant he could see her clearly even without the light.

She was hunched over, in such a poor posture he had to actively bite his tongue to not comment on it. Her hair was showing signs of chaos – she always was a bit of a wriggler in her sleep, and so her hair often tangled from the back (or so he noticed – he also noticed it tangled worse when it was freshly washed, as was the case tonight). With one eye open and the other closed, she lifted a finger at him in a gesture that he took to mean as ‘hold on’, while she chugged down the contents of her waterskin.

She looked charming. Adorable in a very unruly, wild gremlin kind of way.

She popped the cork lid back on the skin, smacking the top of it with practiced precision. Keeping one eye closed, she began to lay back down on to her bedroll, her hand gesturing towards him with palms up, inviting. Tensing her core, she brushed the hair from her neck and pushed her hair up on to the pillow, making things easy for him to access. She closed her eyes.

“Are you awake?” he whispered, as he began to kneel alongside her. Was she… sleepwalking?  Was she conscious? He’d never run into her awake for feedings since they started their arrangement. She adjusted her position as she laid down, laying her entwined fingers together over her stomach like a princess in a coffin, ready to rest. It was a comical sight with the unruly bedhead looking like a nest-crown.

The eye closest to him fluttered open briefly. She muttered, “yes,” like a childish princess impatiently waiting for her true love’s kiss. He wanted to snort at the sight.

“Shall I come back another time, darling?” he asked, still keeping his voice low. He watched as she pursed her lips and let out a forceful sigh through her nose. It had been a while since he’d fed from her while she was awake, and while the first time went better than he expected he didn’t want things to be awkward given how intimate the whole experience tends to be.

“It’s fine,” she replied, muttering under her breath. She cleared her throat quietly. Her voice was a bit scratchy despite the water, and Astarion wondered if she was perhaps getting sick. Humans were always so susceptible to illness. He wondered if the ground was too cold for her despite the bedroll. Maybe the bedroll was too thin?

Ah – he really was soft on her. The others must not be allowed to know, but he tried to scan through his inventory in his mind. He may be able to spare her another blanket to tuck under her bedroll, just to stop the cold from seeping into her back. But he’d have to do it in a way that made her think she “made him” give it up.

He enjoyed teasing her – it was so easy when she was so gullible.

He began to position himself over her neck, like he often did when she was in deep sleep and lightly snoring. “Well, at least you’re not snoring this time.”

Her eyes popped open and her mouth fell slack in shock, and she smacked his chest lightly, though she tensed when she noticed that he had his arms over her like a makeshift cage. Why did everything about vampirism hinge on sensuality? “I don’t snore,” she argued. She was on the verge of pouting, staring up at him as he hovered over her. Her eyes looked so large and so round in the dark. He could stare at them forever.

“You convince yourself that, darling,” he said with a smirk, as he lowered his mouth towards her neck. He could hear her heartbeat speed up, thudding loud in the silence of the tent. Gods, teasing her was just so fun. Excitement made her blood taste a little different. He made sure to let his breath hover over her skin. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

She tilted her head away to give him easier access to her neck, almost reflexively. He glanced at her from his periphery, noting the full pout and frown that marred her eyebrows. Petulantly, she snorted. “Absolutely not do I snore,” she whispered furiously, relacing her fingers together over her diaphragm. She closed her eyes again, but the small pout remained. It looked like it could be dispelled with a kiss, but he wasn’t about to test his luck.

He shushed her, enjoying the way she shivered from the base of her spine from the sensation. He knew a thing or two about appealing to someone without actually touching them. Breathily, he whispered, “Now, now – let’s be professional about this, darling.”

“Yes, let’s,” she said, quickly sparring against his flirting like she always did. Gods – he loved the sparring. It kept him on his toes, and not in the fight-or-flight manner he had grown accustomed to. “I always am. I think this is a you problem.”

He sighed again, dreamy and content. His hand found its usual place against the other side of her neck to keep her still. “I do so love dessert,” he muttered – his lips brushed against her skin closely before he bit down and began to feed. She stiffened at the action – she always did, even when she was asleep, but she remained stiff. He rubbed slow circles against the skin of her jaw near her ear. He pulled away briefly, keeping his lips mostly against her, to whisper, “relax, pet.”

She melted under his touch upon instruction, and he resumed his meal. He hummed in appreciation.

He tried to take little – he was still full, after all, and he didn’t technically need to feed. He just wanted to accept the offer, selfish as he was, to help clear his mind. He gave the puncture site some kitten licks, cleaning up the remaining blood, leaving nothing wasted. “Let me wipe that up,” he said, as he pulled back and straightened back to sitting position, studying his companion who now seemed to be at the edge of sleep. Her head lolled back as if trying to follow the sound of his voice.

“M’kay,” she slurred, as she began to turn on her side. He knew she was a side sleeper – she liked to sleep with her knees tucked up towards her chest and one hand tucked under her head. She often complained about pins and needles the next day, but never did anything to change her sleeping position. He knew she drooled, too, when she was extremely tired – he usually wiped the drool off when he was cleaning her up post-feed. “Thanks.”

“Do you… want water, darling?” He asked, as he tipped out some of the healing potion they kept explicitly for clean up into a clean handkerchief. He approached her and gently held her chin as he took care in dabbing the handkerchief against her wound. He checked for drool – nada. Good.

“D’be nice,” she muttered, her words fading into silence as sleep began to take her back into its arms. “Thanks, melon.”

He frowned. “Excuse me, darling – melon?” Where did that nickname even come from?

She hummed in agreement. “You’re my melon,” she said simply as her voice gave way to a light snore. Her breathing evened out, betraying slumber.

He shook his head as he took her empty water skin, making his way out of the tent and towards the big cauldron they used for clean, potable water. Halsin watched him with mild interest as he carefully refilled the water skin, before cautiously punching the cork back in place. No words were exchanged as he strode back to Tav’s tent, sliding in to find her with her arm stuck up.

“Gimme,” she muttered, and he rolled his eyes to hand the water skin to her. She sat back upright, eyes lidded and hair still a mess. “Gods, I’m so thirsty tonight.”

“That’s because you drool.”

“I do not,” she disputed, lips wrapped around the mouth of her water skin, but he was amused to find her reach up to her cheek anyway. She grumbled, before taking a big drink – he wouldn’t be surprised if she’d emptied the damn thing again. She gulped down the liquid greedily, before she let out a light ‘ah’ as she put the lid back in place.

Astarion’s hand shot out, offering to take the item. With a confused look, she passed it to him, and he put it back on top of the crate she used as a makeshift table. He stood and prepared to leave. “Thanks, Astarion. You didn’t have to do that,” she said softly, with a dopey smile that made her eyes crease at the corners in the way he adored. It made her look so innocent.

Never one to let opportunities pass, he countered, “well, nice of you to remember my name now, my dear. You called me a melon a few minutes ago.” He didn’t address the rest of her statement. He didn’t know how to deal with gratitude – so he didn’t.

She laid back down, closing her eyes and trying to paint herself as a picture of peace. It didn’t seem like she noticed his avoidance. “I didn’t call you ‘a melon’,” she clarified, though it did nothing to demystify the topic to Astarion, “I called you ‘melon’.”

“Yes, okay, darling – but where in the hells did that comes from?”

She frowned and one eye cracked open. “I thought you knew Elvish. Isn’t that ‘friend’ in Elvish?”

Oh. She meant ‘mellon’, but she used the wrong tone, didn’t elongate the correct syllables, and got essentially nothing of it right. He pursed his lips together, unsure of whether to correct her. It would be funnier to… not. Plus, he found he wasn’t very pleased with being called ‘friend’, but he was somehow fine with being called ‘Melon’. It was… cute. And it was special because no one had ever used that pet name on him before. He could let it pass.

“Yes,” he lied, “well, you just butchered the pronunciation a tiny bit, darling, but I see what you’re going for now.”

The single open eye rolled. “That’s what I get for being friendly. Get out of here, you melon.”

He scoffed. “Well, goodnight, my sweet,” he whispered, as he turned to head out of the tent. He cast her one final glance. He could make out her beady little eyes peeking at him and the telltale crease in their corners betrayed a grin she tried to hide beneath her threadbare blanket. He could imagine the little wrinkle her nose would make when she made such a face – it was his second favourite feature of hers.

He felt the intense urge to bundle her up and take her away – she looked so vulnerable and innocent at rest, and the fact that she trusted him while she was in this state gave him conflicted feelings. A part of his mind told him she was an idiot and the perfect target – too trusting, too naïve, too stupid. Fell quickly for a pretty face and a kind word. His insidious mind whispered there must be an ulterior motive to it all – a fetish or some such she was wanting to fulfill. Surely no one was this kind? This giving? If she were in Baldur’s Gate she would have followed him to slaughter without question. And he would have led her there, and the world would have been less bright without her in it.

It made his phantom heart clench. Another voice in his mind asked – what does that make you? You fell quickly for a pretty smile and a generous heart.

Well. It seemed they were just two fools meandering around.

“Sleep well.”

She let out a sleepy chuckle, followed by an impressive yawn. “Goodnight, my melon.”

Astarion emerged from Tav’s tent to find Halsin still carving away, deep in focus. The larger elf looked up at him and his expression softened, before returned to his work with a slight smile. The vampire walked over to his tent, slid in, located the spare blanket he was going to bait Tav into taking in the morning, and laid down to prepare for his trance. He was surprised to find his cheeks hurting.

As he closed his eyes, he thought of melons and wood carvings, and the faint scent of the rosewater that always lingered in Tav’s tent.

Tonight, Astarion was at peace.

#astarion x tav #soft astarion #there's something about waking up at 3AM to chug a full water bottle that gets me feeling real gremlin #9 INT Tales #purdle-writes #astarion x f!tav #astarion x female tav #baldur's gate 3 fanfic

[girlwiththepapatattoo]

The Unlikely Similarities Between Kittens and Vampires, Chapter 2

Warnings: blood drinking, canon typical violence (not graphic), more sexual tension, Astarion being himself, Sable being a ball of anxiety

Summary: Sable does Astarion a good turn. Astarion doesn't know why.

Notes: "It's just going to be a one-shot," she lies like a liar.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy! <3 And a special thanks to all those who commented and reblogged the first chapter! <3 <3

Read on Ao3 here!

One of the first things that Astarion noticed about the resident druid (well, the first resident druid, anyway) is that animals positively adore her. If they stop for a quick meal, a red squirrel finds its way to her shoulder, or a rabbit sits on her foot. One day almost an entire herd of deer just…wandered into the campsite and curled up around the sleeping woman. It was disgustingly cute, in his humble opinion. 

“You’re like a fairytale princess cliché,” he said to her one day. 

She’d rolled her eyes as she fed a tiny mouse an almond. “And not a prince charming to be seen.” 

He’d scoffed, of course. “I am the most charming man you’ll meet in a hundred leagues, thank you. Not a prince, of course, but that could change! Who knows what the future holds, once we get these little tadpoles out.”

Her lips twitched, and she looked like she’d been suppressing laughter, something which he’d been smug about the entire day. 

Then, as they traveled to the goblin camp to rescue the aforementioned second druid, they came across a boar that had been Astarion’s meal the previous night. Her eyes found his after seeing the puncture marks, the exsanguination, and he puffs his chest out, ready to defend himself. But, to his shock…nothing came. There were absolutely no visible signs of anger, or even disapproval. She’d simply patted the boar, almost as if in thanks, and continued on. 

And Astarion had watched her go with his jaw visibly slack. 

////////////////////////////////////////

He stewed on it for hours. And when they finally make camp, he resolves to ask her about why she didn’t say anything. All he has to do was wait for her turn on watch–easy enough since she always took first. 

The fire is crackling merrily, and Sable is staring into the flames, absently petting a bunny who’d made a home on her lap. “Never thought I’d be envious of a rodent, but here we are,” he teases, sitting down beside her. 

The bunny, sensing Astarion’s nature, tenses to flee, and Sable looks down and says…something. The vampire’s eyebrows raise as soft huffs and gentle squeaks emit from the elf’s mouth. He’s about to ask if she’s quite all right when he sees tiny blue motes of magic around her lips, and realizes she’s using a speak with animals spell. 

The bunny seems mollified by whatever she says to it and settles back down, though not without a suspicious look up at him. 

It’s quite odd, feeling insulted by a rabbit. 

“Don’t make this one your dinner, please,” she says softly, going back to giving the small thing gentle strokes. “I’ve told her that you’re a friend of mine and wouldn’t hurt her.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, putting as much sincerity as he could into his voice. And he’s surprised to find that he means it. 

It’s quiet for a bit, the sounds of the forest at night and the crackling of the campfire providing background music. Finally, he looks at her. “That boar, earlier today. Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“It’s not up to me when you tell the rest of our group what you are,” she replies softly. 

He blinks. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. Huh…

“Well…I’m not usually lost for words,” he finally says. A strange feeling pulls at his gut. Gratitude? No, people don’t do nice things for him without an alternative reason. “In return, let’s say I owe you a favor, hm?” 

Her brows furrow, and she looks at him as if he’s grown two heads. “A…favor?” 

“Yes, a favor. Hasn’t anyone ever owed you anything before?” he asks, looking at her the same way. 

“No,” she replies bluntly. “If I want to help someone, I do it because I want to. Not because I want them indebted to me.” She looks down to the rabbit in her lap, gives it another soft pet, then looks back up at him, meeting his eyes. “You don’t owe me anything, Astarion.” Her lips twitch in the barest hint of a smile. “Though, a ‘thank you’ might be nice.” 

He stares at her. Something in his heart, deep, deep down, softens. It almost aches, so foreign is the feeling of a kindness done simply out of…well, kindness. She can see it, simmering in his eyes, confusion and wonder, and her own heart softens a little more towards him as well. 

Then those emotions are gone, replaced with obviously feigned disgust. “Ugh, you are so sweet you make my teeth ache. I bet if I tasted your blood it would be positively saccharine.” 

To her surprise, she feels a laugh bubbling up. She swallows it down, but grins very faintly. “Better than Lae’zel’s I’m sure. Hers would be like an orange peel mixed with hot peppers and vinegar.” 

Astarion’s nose wrinkles, and if she finds it rather adorable no she doesn’t. “Spicy food I tend to like, but that just sounds awful.” She huffs a small laugh, and he can’t help a small, genuine smile. “Sable. Thank you, truly.” 

She gives him the same type of smile back. “You’re welcome.” 

He couldn’t stop himself. He reaches out and tucks a flyaway lock of hair behind her pointed ear. Her skin is warm. It makes the pads of his fingers tingle, and her cheeks bloom in a gentle blush. He has to drag his eyes away from the sight, because his teeth are aching in a much different way now. “But honestly, I was surprised you weren’t angry about the boar. You do seem like animals more than people.” 

“Why would I be?” she asks in confusion. “You’re a predator of sorts, and that boar was your prey. Perfectly natural.”

“Yes, I mean, you’re not wrong, but–fairytale princess, remember?” he replies huffily, waving his hand at her dramatically. “I figured you’d be mad at me about draining a possible…eh, friend, or whatever.” 

She rolls her eyes. “Astarion, loving animals means that I love all sides of them, predator and prey. Some animals have to die for others to live, that’s just…how nature works.” The bunny on her lap makes a noise that says exactly how she feels about that statement. “Besides, it’s not like you have many other options.” 

“Well…you’re not wrong,” he replies slowly, and his sanguine eyes start to gleam. “Unless…”

“...unless?” she asks warily. 

“Would you like to help me with a little experiment?” he purrs. 

The bunny on her lap feels her tense slightly, and takes off, running into the forest. “That depends entirely on the experiment,” she replies, staring at him suspiciously. 

“Nothing dangerous, I promise!” he rushes to assure her. “You see…” He purses his lips for a moment, indecision plain on his face, his eyes darting as if searching for an answer to a question he hasn’t asked out loud. “...I’m a vampire, yes, but not a true vampire. I’m a vampire spawn, turned by…well, a very bad man.” His eyes darken for a moment, before they clear and look back to her. “Anyway, vampire spawns are compelled to follow the orders of their masters. One of his orders was that I cannot drink the blood of thinking creatures. However…” He flaps a hand up toward the sky. “I should have been ash when I woke up in the sun after the crash. I also shouldn’t be able to cross rivers and streams without pain, or enter all the buildings we’ve gone into without invitation.” 

Sable blinks as understanding washes over her. “So you think this has to do with tadpole?” 

“Precisely! Smart girl,” he praises, and she blushes faintly again. “So, if the tadpole is shielding me from all those pesky side effects of being a vampire, maybe it’s also shielding me from his commands.” 

“...so you want to try drinking my blood,” she says, getting to the heart of it. 

“If you’d be so kind as to oblige me, yes,” he replies, his eyes resting on her throat. 

Her lips purse, and for a long, long moment she just stares at him. “...has this been a command the entire time you’ve been a spawn?” she finally asks. 

“Yes,” he replies simply. 

“So you’ve never drank blood from anything other than animals before, have you?” 

“...no. You’d be my first, so to speak,” he replies with a little, almost bashful, chuckle. 

“Then how about we start with something small. I don’t like the idea of you tasting higher blood for the first time and losing yourself in it when it’s my neck,” she says wryly. 

“Well, I can’t blame you,” he admits reluctantly. “What did you have in mind?” 

She lifts her hand towards him. “Take a drop from a finger.” 

He blinks. “A drop? Only a drop?” 

“I said something small. If you can handle a drop without going into a blood frenzy, then…I’ll let you at my neck. Sound fair?” 

He very much looks like he wants to pout, before he sighs and nods. “If this is what will put you at ease, my dear Sable, then I am fine with it.” His hands come up, cupping gently around the one she holds out to him. He meets her eyes, and for a moment the usual smug glibness, the haughtiness, falls away. He looks…earnest. “But you can trust me. You’ve done right by me so far. I’ll do right by you in turn.” 

She looks at their hands, his slender, clever fingers so gentle on her skin. She’s not sure if the goosebumps running up her arms are from his cold flesh, or the touch itself. 

She decides she doesn’t want to dwell on it. 

Swallowing hard, she has to look away, back towards the fire. “G-Go on then. One drop for now.” 

“As you say.” 

He brings her hand to his mouth, which opens eagerly. His cool breath glides over her skin, and she has to suppress a shiver. Delicately, almost hesitantly, the very tip of one razor sharp fang punctures into the pad of her middle finger, before retreating. A single, shining drop of crimson wells up, and he looks at it as if it were precious. His eyes dart to hers, who had looked back to watch, and he maintains eye contact as his tongue slips from his mouth to lick the ruby bead away. 

They both gasp. Her from feeling his slick muscle on her skin, cheeks bursting into a blush. Him at the fact that he did it, he’s able to go against the command…

…and at how absolutely delicious her blood is. 

His eyes close as he savors the drop on the tip of his tongue, and the moan that leaves his throat is positively sexual. Her heart jumps in her throat as that same feeling from a few days ago comes back, that strange spark of arousal settling again in her lower belly. And when he opens his eyes to look at her, there’s only a thin ring of red, his pupils expanding as he feels something similar. 

“I was right,” he purrs, and presses a soft, lingering kiss to the tip of her finger. “You are the sweetest thing that’s ever been in my mouth…” 

That spark jumps, kindles into a candle. She stares at him, her own eyes blown wide as emotions she doesn’t normally feel start to swamp her. 

So she does what she always does when she’s overwhelmed. 

She turns into a tiny, pure black cat and climbs up the nearest tree. 

He blinks. Then he blinks again. That was…certainly not what he expected out of that encounter. 

He stands and makes his way over to the tree, peering up, trying to see her in the branches. “Sable, darling, I…I apologize if I was too forward, but did you really need to do this?” 

No response.

He sighs, crossing his arms. “Do not make me come up there after you.” 

The smallest little mew drifts down to his ears on the breeze. 

“...you know I can’t understand you like this.” He taps his foot impatiently, glowering up into the tree. “Meow once for yes, and twice for no. Do you want me to leave you alone?” 

It’s quiet for a long moment, long enough that he’s about to turn around and go back to his tent. But then, two small meows reach his ears, and he sighs. “Oh, very well. You’re lucky I like you.” He climbs up into the first branch, swearing under his breath as he pulls himself up to lean against the trunk. “I’m not going any higher, Sable,” he warns. 

After a moment, the tiny form of the druid leaps down and sits next to him. She doesn’t meet his gaze, and if a cat could look embarrassed…

Something tugs behind his eye, and her voice drifts into his head. Sorry, Astarion. I…this is…what I do when things get…too much. 

I suppose I can understand. I am very overwhelming, he thinks back smugly. She rolls her little eyes at him. …but I am sorry, if I went too far.

She’s quiet. The tugging in his head stops, and she steps closer and curls up on the branch, her back pressed against his thigh. 

He couldn’t stop the smile that tugs his lips up if he tried. Gently, he rubs a single finger in a soft scritch over her head, and to his delight she starts to purr. “Oh, you’re never living this down, darling,” he says to her, but the purring doesn’t stop. 

They sit there, vampire and kitten, as the camp sleeps peacefully, and he does his best to ignore the unfamiliar ache in his long-dead heart.

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #my writing

[marazhaibrainrot]

Like legit owlcat needs to fix that lock marazhai in the cargo hold route stuff cause it actually resolves the issues I (personallly) have with dom!RT and sub!mara, because it's not about squeamishness, it's about control, and controlling every little aspect of this delusional elf that has for whatever reason decided to crawl into the beasts den and stay there instead of booking it the moment they left commoragh. Like it's not the feasting/hunting that gets me, it's the fact that for how possessive/controlling full dom!RT seems to be at times, letting marazhai hunt free his corner of the decks as he pleases seems to be not that.

So this got kind of long sooo

It feels like it was supposed to be

- marazhai has full reign of ship = sub!RT

- marazhai has feasting area = nuetral, heretic RT who is not romancing him, it's a compromise between sustaining him and also keeping him contained and also chaos and heresy

- keep him locked up and control his diet/feed him/make him beg for it = dom!RT

And like lowkey there's precedent for this with the bed scene where there's just not sub version of it no matter what. And so I choose to believe that there's alternate sub route for how to handle the locked up Marazhai route that we were denied. (Or I could just be projecting my own desires/interpretations onto marzipan lol, toybox archeology and its consequences)

Sub!marazhai is interesting in the sense that he's always creating openings for you to assert your dominance and I'm thinking that a fully realized dom!RT shouldn't be waiting or watching for those openings, fun and salacious as they are, instead creating/opening them as they desire.

There seems to be this sense of dignified 😈 around this elf, which yeah he's trueborn and that's sort of a big deal for the drukhari, even if this one is a loser.

He has this dark grace and I want dom!RT to have noneee of that.

I want their dynamic to be a mix of, RT still has an axe to grind with marazhai, but they also find the flashes of submission from this ruinous creature unexpectedly appetizing and want more, much much more.

And marzipan existing in a state of assuming he'd be introducing RT to his culture and the drukari condition and slowly testing and teaching them and then finding the carpet pulled out from under him when RT ends up being much more experienced than he was prepared for and much more demanding in ways he wasn't prepared for.

Oh, Marzipan needs to feed on suffering to not wither away? Well instead of that being something he gets to take for granted that he will be fed, that it will be conditional, a reward. I want to him to squirm for it. To question whether RT will actually seriously give him up to slaneesh just like that. I wish you could do that btw, you can offer him to the inquisition, you should certainly be able to- oh wait you can yeah, with the daemonettes.

But it's not a proper equivalent though, a proper equivalent would be drawing a straight up ritual circle, parking his betrayed and terrified self in it and kissing him goodbye. Better if after the brand because sure, he thought it meant something but you've tossed out/thrashed much more expensive property than one drukhari.

Anyways.

This is making me realise that what I actually want is the heretic rt ending but like the diet coke version and only marazhai drinks it. Kind iconoclast RT for everyone else. And occasionally for marzipan but like to torture him by denying him torture. And that to be loved is to be changed slideshow and it's just marazhai before and after. Would this RT still adore marazhai after cooking him like this? Who knows.

#marazhai #marazhai aezyrraesh #thank you for coming to my ted talk #the emperor protects #and like I feel like yrilet would back away from you a bit because killing dark eldar is one thing #personally handing over their souls to she-who-thirsts is another #sub!marazhai

[inquisimer]

hello. for dadwc might i recommend "thanks. i really needed this." from the platonic prompts list? for whoever you see fit, although if you'd like a bit more guidance i would be interested in seeing something involving bethany hawke with that prompt.

happy dadwc!! some jaded warden bethany was on the menu tonight ;-;

for @dadrunkwriting

~~~

She spent a great deal of time at the Vigil staring out her window.

It was a fortress clearly built to house a large force. The Wardens, even now, were anything but. The Commander had recruited well, but interest and willingness had died off quickly, especially after she left. Without the allure of a hero or the threat of a Blight, most of the quarters at Vigil’s Keep remained empty.

Bethany was given her choice of rooms and it was no accident that she opted for the one furthest from everyone else. They were all close, bonded by their recruitment, the battles they’d braved together, the comrades they’d lost along the way. Her only companions these days were resentment and bitterness; she was doing the others a favor by staying away.

But she watched. From her window she saw the elf and the dwarf spar with a familiarity that belied their antagonism, the dwarves eliciting minor explosions from their forge, the stray cats in the courtyard that had learned this was a place to get fed. She saw their camaraderie and she held herself apart from it.

She wasn’t done being mad at Mari yet.

Most days she wished she’d taken a dagger in the ribs than a sip from that wretched cup. The burn from the corruption in her veins was a never-ending wound, and she found no joy in their supposed purpose. She was free, as Mari had always wanted, but at what cost?

She was tucked into the faded window seat one afternoon when a knock at her door disturbed her moping. For a few beats, she considered ignoring it. But…it could be her superiors. And they had the power to make her life here worse than it already was.

With a sigh, she unfolded herself and opened the door. It was, in fact, a superior. But Alistair was never quite a boss, and he seemed more forgiving about her attitude than most of the others.

“Oh, uh, hi?” He seemed surprised that she’d opened the door. “I brought soup?”

He did indeed have soup. A tray with two bowls and crusts of bread, and two mugs of pale ale to boot. Bethany felt a twinge of nostalgia; would it be better than the piss they served at the Hanged Man?

She remembered suddenly that she should move aside and did so. Alistair hesitated before entering her room and it jarred her, reminded her that things were not as they once were. She had a measure of privacy she’d never known. She didn’t want it. Not like this.

There was a little table pushed up next to the door and Alistair deposited the meal there and took one of the chairs for himself as well. Apparently this wasn’t just a delivery. He gestured to the soup and, despite herself, Bethany’s stomach rumbled.

“You haven’t eaten a real meal in three days,” he said, stopping her open-mouthed objection with a raised palm. “Bread and cheese nicked from the kitchen does not count.”

Bethany flushed up to her hairline, but she sat and picked up a spoon. It did smell good, and when she brought a measure up to her lips it was hearty and comforting, like something her father used to make.

Her companion didn’t speak, just enjoyed his own soup while she inhaled her portion. It wasn’t until her spoon clacked against the bottom of the bowl that Alistair cleared his throat.

“You’re…not happy here.” It wasn’t a question. It didn’t take a genius, and Alistair could grasp the obvious with ease. She answered anyway.

“No.” Her fingers clenched around her spoon and she imagined it was Mari’s neck instead. “This…was not my choice.”

Alistair nodded. “I won’t pretend to understand. I don’t. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t others who wouldn’t.”

He jerked his head toward the window. “At least half a dozen of the new recruits who came in before you are here because the darkspawn got them before they evacuated, before we stopped it all. They know what it’s like to not have a choice, even if it’s not exactly the same way.”

“But,” he added, leaning forward with one hand on his sword hilt, the other propped against his chin. “You’ll never know if you keep hiding up here in this tower, princess.”

“I’m not hiding—“

“Moping, sulking, whatever you want to call it.” Alistair waved it all away. “You’re here now, Bethany. That’s true enough, regardless. You don’t have to like it, don’t have to be pleasant. But if you’re not going to try at all, well—some of the blame will fall to you, eventually.”

He didn’t really leave much room for rebuttal, just stood and began stacking the empty dishes back on his tray. It was like he’d rehearsed the speech before coming and they’d reached the end of his choreography.

The part of her brain that was a little sister, and a brat, and angry at everyone rejected his words. There were people to blame for her circumstances and she could name them. It wasn’t her fault.

But—that wasn’t what he was saying.

It wasn’t her fault that she was in this predicament. It was her fault that she was staying there.

Alistair was almost out the door before she remembered herself. She stood abruptly, her chair scraping across the stone floor and jerking him to a pause.

“Thanks, I—I really needed that,” she admitted, somewhat sheepishly, staring at a spot on the wall just past his head. He jerked his head and she took comfort in the fact that he was surely feeling as stilted as she was.

“I know,” he said, and then he hurried from the room in an attempt to hide the embarrassed blush at the very tips of his ears. Bethany smiled; it was endearing, that one of the heroes who stopped the archdemon could be so awkward.

She looked around her room, barren as it was. Mother and Mari had sent a trunk when they finally received news of her survival—she’d been living out of it in some vain hope that she’d get to pack it up and leave. But now…

Well, unpacking was something to do. A good place to start.

#dadwc #dragon age fic #bethany hawke #warden bethany #alistair theirin #dao #da2 #dragon age #my writing #alistair & warden sibling is my FAVE I love themmmmm

[jacklyn-flynn]

Alistair is very vocal about his disapproval of the relationship between Zevran and his fellow warden. Perhaps it's jealousy, or just a brotherly instinct to protect them. Either way, he doesn't notice how their relationship starts to shift. He's so busy grumbling that doesn't even notice how happy he makes them outside of their tent. He means well though, so when someone gets fed up with his belly-aching and tells him how it really is, he feels pretty bad about it. Maybe....maybe, he isn't so bad afterall.

Alistair watched as Zevran bent down behind Briall where she sat working on a new spell with Morrigan. Intimately close, the elf whispered something into her ear. Briall sat still as she listened. Her eyes widened suddenly and a blush bloomed on her cheeks. 

Morrigan’s brows furrowed in annoyance and she made a sharp comment. Briall looked back at her, making a quick apology and trying to hide her smile by biting her lip. Zevran laughed, walking away and leaving the mage to her chastisement and the remainder of her lesson. Alistair groaned disgustedly and shook his head. He looked down at his breakfast, a plate of eggs that was grossly outweighed by the pile of bacon he’d claimed. 

“Something wrong with your food?” Leliana asked beside him. 

He glanced up at the sister. “No, not the food. The assault against Briall’s innocence.” 

“The unfortunate truth of the world is that we all lose our innocence at some point. Also, if you haven’t noticed, we’re in the middle of a Blight?” she pointed out. “No one in our little group can claim innocence.” 

“So that gives him a free pass to use a sweet, naive mage as his personal sex toy?” Alistair realized that he was starting to raise his voice and glanced around camp quickly. He didn’t seem to have drawn any attention.

Leliana let out a long-suffering sigh and set down her plate. “I really need to teach you how to read people.” She turned to face Alistair fully, knees tucked together with her hands poised delicately on her lap. 

“Let’s just completely set aside the fact that Briall is happy. Perhaps for the first time in her life, despite being responsible for the fate of Thedas and every soul in it. We’ll zone in on the ‘problem’ you’ve identified.” Leliana forged ahead despite Alistair’s apparent lack of enthusiasm on the subject as demonstrated by the roll of his eyes. “Zevran.”

“Someone like Briall has never happened to him. I know this through both observation and conversation. I asked him what his intentions were with Bri and he said that he didn’t know. All he knew was that she was the first lover he’d ever taken that he didn’t want to be with again.” Leliana held up one finger quickly when he scowled. “He said that he needed to be with her. That leads me to believe his intentions are good.”

“I also see it. Every day.” Leliana laid her hand over his when she noticed it start to shake. “When we set up camp, he helps her with her tent and provisions before he even starts his. If his watch is after hers he wakes up early to relieve her. If hers is after his, he lets her sleep in if he wakes her at all. Have you seen how she closes her eyes and smiles, ever so slightly, when he brushes and braids her hair or how carefully he does so?” Leliana raised her brows in question and Alistair begrudgingly nodded. 

“He does little things that she doesn’t even notice. Things he doesn’t get credit for but he does them anyway. Clean her boots, patch her tent or steal things from her pack to carry in his to lighten her load. I very strongly feel that Zevran has never done anything in his life that did not directly benefit him, until Briall.” She leaned a little closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “But do you want to know what I see, every day, that tells me she isn’t his ‘sex toy’?” 

Starting to feel a little ashamed of himself, Alistair nodded. 

Leliana pointed toward Zevran where he sat by the fire. “When he isn’t doing something for her, or in her company, he’s almost always doing that.” 

The assassin had his breakfast plate on his lap, all but forgotten. He was watching Briall as dark purple and black mist started to seep from her palm and swirl around her fingers. She was fully engrossed in her lesson, giving him free rein to stare to his heart’s content. A wistful smile played on his lips. His honey-gold eyes were soft with affection, not lust. 

“If you want my honest opinion, which I’m going to give you regardless; Zevran is in love with her. He doesn’t know it yet because he’s never felt it before, but he is.” When she looked back at Alistair, she was pleased to see a sheepish look on his face. 

“She makes him happy. Most importantly, he makes her happy.” Leliana picked up her plate, resuming her meal. “Credit where credit’s due.”

#headcanon du jour #hdj #dragon age #dao #dragon age origins #alistair theirin #leliana #zevran arainai #briall surana #zevran x briall #alistair means well #he's too soft-hearted for his own good #zevran in love (but he doesn't know it yet)

[raayllum]

Anyway let’s finally talk about

Dark Magic’s Cannibalism Motif

Dark magic has been compared to many things in fandom, most notably hunting by those who see nothing wrong with dark magic itself. However, I’ve always seen dark magic as been more adjacent to cannibalism — the consumption of self and others — as far as motifs and explicit explorations in canon go. 

This is for a few reasons, most notably Sarai’s speech in 2x05. In it, she critiques the labelling of the Magma Titan simply as a monster, instead positing

Does it think? Does it feel? Does it have a family? Or is it the last of its kind?

Simply put: is the Magma Titan sentient like a “human” (whatever that means) and therefore is murdering it much more ethically complicated than we want it to be? Is seeing something as a monster — as dark magic parts — the easy way out of the problem we’re in? Harrow is able to extend not seeing some lives as inherently more valuable than others on the basis of birth and borders to Duren, but he is unable to do so with Xadia. 

For example, if the Magma Titan is fully human in thought and feeling, but just speaks a different language — how would you feel if the spell had required an elf’s heart, meaning whichever unlucky elf they came across first would be slaughtered? What if it required an elven child’s body parts? Would you see the fault line then? Would you stare down the slippery slope and see the bottom?

While I think most dark magic spells that require only animals and plants and no magical creatures to be much more passable, even that is an ethical pit. What constitutes as an animal vs a sentient being in a world where some animals can talk? Is talking the basis for human intelligence, when plenty of humans do not talk and have routinely been ostracized and abused for it by society, seen as ‘less than’ to begin with? What if a magical creature is considered ‘sentient enough’ to not be magic parts in one kingdom, but not enough in another? 

Dark Magic is inherently about finite consumption. You have the materials for one spell at any given time; if it is going to be performed again, you need a repletion of these materials. (The one exception we see seems to be Claudia’s snake bracelets, although who knows how they’re enchanted.) Season three ramps this up further by showing how you can consume dark magic and how it can consume you — literally — particularly in the case of Viren.

“He swallows your heart.  He swallows your mind. He swallows your power.”

Translated dark magic spell from Aaravos when he and Viren are attacking Zym in the exact same way Ziard used in the 3x01 / 1x01 flashbacks with the sun birds. Time and time again, we see Dark Magic focus on parts and things rather than people. Dark magic, while it can use all parts in the body, even off handedly derides certain things and beings as useless. Additionally, organ harvesting every part of a person’s body is not the ‘winning’ solution here, either.

We see this in the way Viren, Aaravos and Claudia both treat other people like they’re inherently disposable (Rayla, the human soldiers - who although they fight, Ezran regrets and at least tried to give them a path; Kasef’s anger, the rulers’ lives, Khessa, Aaravos with Viren and Claudia, etc). We can also see this in the way Claudia only sees the parts of Viren she wants to, rather than seeing him for who he wholly is and who they are both becoming. 

So what is cannibalism, exactly, as a motif? Well, at its core, cannibalism is a transgressive motif, per the violation of the self and of personhood, and very common in the Gothic literature space in particular, although it pops up everywhere. Feeding on human flesh is routinely seen as a bad thing in the source materials (using that term loosely) TDP draws upon, like Greek Mythology (the Minotaur, who is half human in nature and in birthright with a human mother; Tantalus, who slayed his children and fed them to the gods and was punished accordingly). 

It also speaks to the religious Christian symbolism Viren is given in S3 (death and resurrection, parting a literal red sea, “only beloved son,” “do not be afraid,” etc). This lends itself perfectly to his God and martyr complex, believing so much in sacrifice of both himself and ultimately of others for ‘the greater good’ that only serves to incite more violence in the future. Christianity mythos is steeped in cannibalism with the body and blood of Christ being a literal belief in many denominations, including the one I grew up with (hi Catholicism). Furthermore, we see this cannibalism motif repeated more than once throughout the series:

CANNIBALISM is both a concept and a practice that may involve diverse themes of death, food, sacrifice, revenge, aggression, love, and destruction or transformation of human others. The many and varied examples of cannibalism are difficult to summarize, except in terms of the widespread idea of the human body as a powerful symbolic site for defining relations between oneself and others and marking the boundaries of a moral community. In violating the bodily integrity that prevails in ordinary social life, cannibalism signifies an extraordinary transformation or dramatization of relations between those who eat and those who are eaten. When it occurs in religious contexts, the act of consuming human substance commonly represents an exchange between people and cosmic powers, promoting union with the divine or renewing life-sustaining spiritual relations. 

This is the crux of Harrow and Viren’s disagreement over the Soulfang spell and the breakdown of their relationship, as Viren continues to push the moral boundary of the castle community while Harrow has his eyes fully opened. Aaravos is similar, with violations of the body and consumption of the other being a crucial part to furthering his and Viren’s bond.

TDP in some ways takes it one step further, violating not just the body but the spirit and the soul in some of the worst dark magic spells, hollowing out not just the victim’s body as a site of trauma, but the spellcaster’s body as well. 

We see this in Bloodmoon Huntress as the endgame. Kim’dael has been capturing and consuming elves - including children - for centuries, using their souls and bodies the same way Viren uses his butterflies. And we know from the coins and Through the Moon that souls used often in Dark Magic do not receive peace to the same degree as those who are allowed to rest, with both the assassins and the corrupted soldiers from the Storm Spire.

Dark magic destroys the world in an unsustainable way, as it can never be sustained by its nature; not in its ingredients, and not in the toll it takes on the user. Its endgame form, that we’ve already seen come to pass more than twice, is organ harvesting of children or innocent beings. The horror of cannibalism is desecration of the self through desecration of the other, of dehumanizing another person enough to use them on the most base level possible as food.

And well, that sounds like Dark Magic, to me.

#dark magic #tdp #tdp meta #the dragon prince #almost got distracted halfway through by dark magic routinely being a way to escape consequences but that's a meta for another day #analysis series #disagree just move along lmao #viren #me finding out at 14 it's technically supposed to be literal: wut #the english major strikes again #this isn't as eloquent as i want it to be but also comes from 'yes dark magic is bad. if the show's text isn't enough for you #idk what to say' so here take some stilted sloppy meta lmao #multi #arc 1 #bloodmoon huntress #viren x aaravos

[austinswhitewolf]

One of the Last Morrigan Pt. 11

“You must be Eretria’s friends.” He spoke, eyeing how Wil had moved you to stand between him and Amberle. They quickly grabbed the three of you. You and Amberle were taken to a room where they made you put your clothing back on. They wanted to keep the dresses. When they got you outside, you saw they had done the same with Wil, obviously wanting to keep the outfit he had nabbed. Once you were back together, they took you into the woods and when you came to a small clearing with three large wooden posts, you noticed Cephelo tied to one. WIthin moments Wil was moved to the middle one, you were pushed quickly behind and tied on the opposite side of the post with him. Amberle was then tied to the third. “You can’t leave us out here.” Wil spoke up to the woman who had tied you and him up. “Shut it, Elf.” 

It was then that you heard almost growl like sounds in the distance. You became very uneasy when the woman said they were coming. Who?

You grabbed Wil’s left hand with your right. 

“Who’s coming?” “The trolls, Princess.” Cephelos spoke up finally. “I told you there was something not right about these people, didn’t I? Never thought I’d end up as dinner.” “We’re being fed to the trolls?” Wil asked, with complete disgust and disbelief in his voice.

“And now he’s up to speed. I got a proposal for you, Blondie. In exchange for my freedom.” You rolled your eyes at Cephelos. He was always trying to weasel his way out of everything. 

“And what exactly is that? Hmm?” The woman moved over to him. 

“I’m talking about elfstones, the most powerful magic in all the four lands. The last hope for the Elvin race. And they could be yours. I got them here right in my pocket. This could be our chance to get rid of the elves once and for all.” At those words you had to bite your lip to keep from laughing out loud at his stupidity. As the woman pulled out the pouch, you snickered softly and shook your head. When she saw that they were the dice, you actually laughed. “Have a nice life, Rover. Well, for the next 20 seconds anyway.” With that the woman and two men who had brought you out here, turned and started to walk away. 

“Here’s a thought, since you’ve still got the real elfstones on you, why don’t you whip ‘em out and show us what you’ve got before that pack of trolls rolls in and sucks the meat off our bones!” 

“Even if I could reach them, they only work on one thing… Demons.” 

“Would it really hurt to try?” Cephelos snapped back at Wil. “Wil… They are coming.” You spoke nervously. You could feel him start to fumble, trying to reach his pocket. “Hurry!” Amberle yelled out.

“I can’t reach the stones.” Wil was straining to try and reach them, and your hands were not at the right angle to even try to help. You watched as the troll slowed down as it reached the four of you. Its stench made you feel sick to your stomach. It moved around so it was standing in front of Wil. Just as it raised it’s ax to hit him, you heard a loud noise ring out and heard the body of the troll hit the ground hard. 

You lean to the side and look around Wil’s shoulder. You see Eretria and let out a sigh of relief at the same time Wil does. She moves over and cuts the two of you free before moving to Amberle. The moment she was freed, she wrapped her arms around Eretria. “I’m sorry for what I said.” Her voice was muffled into her shoulder. You and Wil watched the interactment. Though you rolled your eyes when Cephelo cleared his throat. With a roll of your eyes, you reach down and grab the blade from Wil’s boot and move over, freeing the rover before gently flipping the blade and holding it out to Wil. 

It was then, that the woman and man that had cut you off and one of the men that had brought you out here stopped near you.

“Oh, no, no, no! Do you realize what you’ve done?” 

“Ty, please.” Eretria pleaded, holding the gun up towards him as he raised his. 

“You’ve doomed us all.” He said before shooting at you all. Wil gripped you and pulled you into him as he put his back to the wooden post as cover. Shots rang out, your ears hurting from the loud noises. Crossbow bolts were soon hitting the wood by you. You grabbed Wil’s hand and moved back into the woods for some cover as Eretria shot back. Wil had his arms around you, watching what was going on. The moment the grunt moved forwards, he was shot in the head. When he dropped to the ground, Wil shot forwards towards him. “Wil!” You shout out as he moves, your eyes wide and fear filling your heart. He grabbed the crossbow the man had and shot back. You glance over as you hear both Rovers talking to each other, and see that Cephelo is bleeding, having been shot in the gut. 

When she handed the gun over, you looked back to Wil. “Wil, come on!” You needed him to get out of there. He was back at your side in moments as Cephelo stood up and started towards the two left alive, shooting the gun. You glance back when you hear him fall. He had given you enough time to get out of range before he had been killed. The smell of Trolls was strong to you. “This way, I don’t smell troll as much.” You speak out and start to lead the way. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ When you finally stop running, the night has given way to morning. The sun was rising and the trees thinned out as you caught your breath. “What now?” Eretria asked, her breathing heavy as she looked at Amberle. “Now, we find Safehold.” She responded, resting her hand on the woman’s shoulder with a small smile. With that she took off again. 

Wil looks over at you. “You okay?” “Yeah, I just need to rest soon. We are near water, can you smell the sea?” You ask, he nods in return, grabbing your hand before taking off after the other two women. 

It wasn’t long before they broke through tree cover and were upon some metal ruins and just past that was the sea. All four of you stopped and looked across the large gap of water between you and another area of land. Only a small part of a bridge was still standing.  Eretria looked at the map and then back up. She sighed and looked between you all. Wil leaned against your side, looking around the front of you and looked down at the map in her hands. “What about that? The yellow line?” He asked, reaching over and pointing it out. “Do you see another path? The bridge was it.” “Well, hope you’re a swimmer.” Wil responded to Eretria. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Amberle move off. You turn your head and watch her. When she looks down, you start over towards her. “We’re not going across.” She calls out. When you reach her side, you see what she was talking about. “We’re going under. There’s a tunnel.” 

You could feel the color drain from your face, your lungs contracting and having a hard time drawing in breath. The world started to dim around the edges and you gripped onto the railing in front of you. “It’s almost dusk. We go in there now, we’re spending the night. If there are trolls down there…” “Would you rather sleep out here in the open?” Amberle cut off his words. 

Her words made your knees weak. Yes you would rather sleep in the open than down in enclosed tunnels. “That tunnel could be flooded.” Wil responded. After a few moments of silence he turns, noticing you. He quickly moved to your side. “What’s wrong?” He had never seen you like this before. 

“I can’t go down there.” Your voice is barely audible. “What do you mean?” He gently turned you away from where you were looking and guided you a few steps away to have some privacy. “Small spaces. I can’t do them Wil. I feel like the walls close in on me, I can’t breath. It’s bad.” You looked into his crystal blue eyes while speaking. “You’re claustrophobic?” 

“Well, it never came up.” Your tone was layered with anxiety and unease. “Hey. I will be right beside you the entire time okay? Just focus on me, not where you are. You were meant to be at safehold with us.” He rested his hands on your upper arms and gave a gentle squeeze. Wil leaned his head down and rested his forehead against yours. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.” 

Taking a few deep breaths, you try to focus on him, grounding yourself. The smell of the fresh air and water helped. After a few moments you felt a little better. Wil pulls back slightly, kissing your forehead before leaning back. “Ready?” “As I’ll ever be I guess.” You nod slightly. With a deep breath you turn towards the other two women. Both you and Wil glance over a green sign but stop on it. “Wil?” Your voice is soft and questioning if he saw it too. “Yeah.” He nodded before moving over to it, grabbing a chunk of soft white rock. By now Amberle and Eretria were standing side by side against the railing. They looked up and over when Wil moved to the sign. He wrote out the letters E and H, the sign now saying Safe Hold on it. 

“Safehold.” Eretria spoke softly. “We made it.”

“Alright, let’s go.” Wil said, reaching his hand out for you as he moved towards the stairs. Lacing your fingers with his, you moved right into his side once you were both down the stairs. Amberle and Eretria were behind the two of you. 

#wil ohmsford fic #wil ohmsford fanfiction #wil ohmsford fanfic #wil ohmsford imagine #wil ohmsford story #wil ohmsford x reader #wil ohmsford x you #wil ohmsford #austin butler #austin butler fic #shannara chronicles #shape shifter

[onipanda379]

🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊 neri~

gushin' about ocs!

Oh my sweet boy Neri. I might as well go into a little biography, since his "canon" self is a little different from his XIV version that I've been RPing for the last few years. Gonna put it under a readmore for length. And it's probably gonna be kinda long.

A quick bio:

Name: Nerium Oleander (named for the flower) Age: between 19-21 Birthday: Sept 9th Height: 5' 2" Personality: Very sweet and caring. He can be really shy but once he' gets to know someone he's a little more outgoing. Though always remains hesitant in befriending people. Hobbies: Gardening, drawing, rearing animals (a real farmer type)

I'll share a little about his creation then give a sort of abridged biography of where and what he is now.

He was originally conceived as a "Nobbodysona". That's more or less what it sounds like. A persona of myself, but as a Nobody from Kingdom Hearts. Then later developed into a proper Kingdom Hearts OC. He was designed to be a foil to Marluxia and would eventually take his place after Marluxia dies.

His overall theme was a sunflower samurai. And his "element" was poison. He'd be a more defensive type that inflicts status ailments instead of using brute force. His background was kind of really meh and I didn't put a lot of work into it, so I doin't entirely remember what I had. It was something about him looking for a "cure" for a heart condition that only seemed to stop when he became a Nobody.

His overall design was created with XIV, so his hairstyle may look familiar from that. Though at this point he hasn't been developed that far. And even after he's been turned into an "original verse" oc, he keeps that same hairstyle. But with some modifications. It's sort of his trademark and it's gonna be real hard to not draw him with it.

Alright, so THEN he becomes an XIV oc, but I won't go into super detail, since his early iterations were never consistent, and ultimately isn't all that different from what he is now. So I'll just hop straight into Tellus Neri.

Tellus being the name of the world he's from, and also the name I use for the verse as a whole. It's a world where magic is common place. Except for humans, who can't wield magic but are proficient in all things science and engineering. But naturally, there isn't harmony. The Elf King who runs a massive empire sees their developments as a threat and works to eradicate them all.

And now we're where Neri comes in. His general story and placement is in a more modern era in this world. A sort of DnD version of the 1920s. Where it's illegal to drink and humans struggle for equality. You know, the things we dealt with before! (And the Fae are treated as lesser beings too, but for very different reasons.)

Anyway, now here's the thing about Neri. He's half human and half fae. "The fae" is just a very general blanket term for beings that aren't purely human or purely elf. Generally the two races can't reproduce successfully. And most other types of fae like fairies, trolls, or anything that doesn't quite look elven or human are treated like lesser beings. Like they aren't sentient. Most are, but most also just don't fit into the social norms.

But that is the general vibe of the era.

I will note that this part has mentions of abuse.

Neri lives on a ranch that (maybe ironically) produces magical creatures as livestock. But they aren't purebred at all. So like, imagine a cow but it has a magical ability to produce milk all the time. Creature like that. OR, these creatures go to slaughter to be used in mass produced spells and potions. Kinda like horses are for glue. But unicorns for their healing... glue.

Neri's story is pretty sad and terrible. Despite his rather kind personality. While he doesn't find out till much later, he was kidnapped form his parents as a young child. By his own half-brother that despised him for being half-fae. His brother being human. His brother actively fed Neri lies that his parents hated him and sent him away.

And his brother is a massive hypocrite. Despite hating magic, he uses it to erase their parents memories of Neri. And he also runs the ranch. Taking a sick sort of pleasure in raising these animals just for them to be killed off. He also collects significant parts of magical creatures like trophies. Like unicorn horns or fairy wings.

But it's not all despair all the time.

Neri meets his love while suffering at the ranch. He meets Julian. A boy his age who is also not quite human or fae. But also not really a real halfling either. Julian is from a long line of warriors that bond with the spirits and gain power from it. His family in particular are... well, unicorns. The real deal ones.

Though unicorns aren't quite the delicate creatures portrayed in other media. These unicorns are hardened warriors that were once human, but out of desperation sought out a way to survive their near extinction. The gist of it is, each child of age go through a trial that grants them the ability to turn into a unicorn. It fundamentally changes them. Making them no longer true human. And thus are counted among the classification of fae.

He's also kept as a prisoner. He and Neri bond and eventually find a way out. Though it's not easy. Neri ends up having to kill his brother in order for the suffering to really stop. And to break the spells set upon them to keep them inline. He'll free both himself, Julian, and to Neri's shock, Julian's father.

Julian's father was basically kept as a stud horse. Forced to be stuck in his unicorn form to create these lesser hybrids with normal horses. It's all incredibly fuck up.

And that's basically it for now.

Eventually I will write out their story, even if it's just an entry on ao3. Til then, I will flesh out more on what will happen to them.

Though I did kind of plot out a sort of sequel story to this, where Neri is ripped form his happy life. Everyone's memories seem to be erased of Him. Including Julian and their daughter. And seemingly been replaced with a woman that looks very similar to him.

She basically used Neri's bother's remnant spells and his undying hatred to cast the spell. But I haven't really decided if I want to keep that story or just keep it to myself for my own joy.

#my oc #nerium oleander #julian eachann #answered ask #i have no idea what to tag this as #since this isn't like an rp blog that i'm used to being on lmao #but pls neri is good and pure everyone should love him

[elvthali]

one of my D&D morons whom I only have concepted and not actually played whoops

More information for Aeros under read more;; And link to Aeros’s Artfight page! 

*hi yes this is a half-baked character sheet cause I've not had the privilege of him playing any sessions with him yet (cries) and as a result his information is kind of rough;;;; orz  

Name :: Aeros

Race :: Elf (particularly of my best friend's homebrew elves? Shh we don’t have anything properly set up)

Age :: ??

Gender :: Male (he/him)

Sexuality :: Gay

Height/Weight :: 5’7 (~170cm) // 135 lbs

Weapons/Inventory :: Dual-sided spear, Rapier, and Magic (leans strongly towards lightning and/or some storm/weather-related magics?)

Class(es?) :: Sorcerer + Ranger of some sort??? Hell if I know

Very Loose Alignments :: Neutral-Chaotic Good + Lawful Neutral??

General Appearance Info ::

Long black hair; partially braided back and tied with blue ribbon. However his eyes, tips of ears, throat, and sternum are a strange inky-black color. Otherwise a relatively average small, lean elven man. Moderately athletic, or at least as much as his racial traits allow since most men/amab elves [of my best friend's homebrew elven-race] are small and better suited for magic.

Blood is also black. Makes a point of keeping any wounds wrapped or healed to stop bleeding quickly as a result.

Eyes are always a solid black color; however can be drawn with a white outline in place of irises/pupils if needed!

General Personality ::

Generally quiet, prefers to observe and absorb his surroundings. Prone to deadpan sarcasm. Very fed up with bigoted side of society and distrustful of large religious groups. Quick to question situations, surroundings, and investigate. Desperately tries to keep his cool in dark areas in spite of being scared half to death (not particularly successful at this ouch).

Usually laid back towards most people, but prone to being rude towards characters with strong religious backgrounds. He especially has a hard time trusting any ‘high-ranking’ religious individuals.

The moment he is presented with cultists, necromancers, or really those involved in dark immoral acts or rituals in general; Aeros tends to shift towards being aggressive and extremely disapproving.

Fucking loves rain and rainy days, especially thunderstorms. Will at times beg to just go for a walk around the area/town/etc if it is raining (cannot resist occasionally splashing a puddle too, what a child).

Having been raised in an isolated cult-town in the middle of fucking nowhere, and then growing up in the outskirts of lower-class areas; Aeros is not particularly great at dealing with “high class” people or situations. Generally not intentionally rude or lacking in manners, just a bit clueless and disregardful of seemingly dumb customs/social rules of high society.

Quirks/Details/Backstory Stuff ::

Eyes are completely pure black. The tips of his ears, underside of throat, and sternum + portion of collar are black, almost looking as though smeared with dyes or like he swallowed a bunch of ink and it seeped into his skin instead (not the case obviously, it's part of his skin).

Bleeds black blood. Tends to fuss over bandaging/healing wounds asap as a result; his own inky-black blood makes him rather anxious.  

Aeros is unsure why he has these traits as they're very abnormal, but has had them since he can remember. However so far can find no evidence these traits are harmful or any cause of concern- just weird looking.

Due to looking into the origins of the cult he was essentially trapped with and the origins of his odd physical traits; Aeros has a proficiency in investigating cults, dark arts, etc.

Discovered early on after his ‘escape’ that he can hear/understand creatures created or altered by dark arts (ie. skeletons, risen dead, chimeras, general unnatural-occurring monsters), though not very well since most of said creatures don’t have much to say anyways or ‘speak’ in extremely broken manners. Aka this isn’t an overly helpful trait as most of what he hears are things like broken up threats, declarations of suffering, or just general nonsense.

Was born/raised in an odd highly-isolated town tucked away in the mountains. Said town was more of a cult and often practiced a variety of highly immoral and dark acts (cult rituals?). Strongly suspects his black-traits came from some horrible act or ritual (not as a curse, just a byproduct). Said cult-town was destroyed in a strange cataclysmic series of events of massive thunderstorms, flooding, and monsters attacking. Aeros 'escaped' (use the word escape real loosely lmfao) when falling into floodwaters and being washed away downhill into the forests towards the base of the mountains. Was ultimately found by a hunting party and then grew up on the outskirts of a large city.

Due to trauma and injuries from his 'escape'; Aeros recalls very little of what exactly life was like growing up in a cult-town. Not amnesiac, just full of heavily repressed memories that could certainly bubble back up given the right (wrong?) trigger.

Accustomed to people being alarmed by his appearance, and either being mistreated or mistrusted for it. Was deeply bothered by this when younger, is now fed up and just moves along. Aeros ain't got time for your bullshit yo.

Has no patience for dark/immoral arts and practices, ranging from; cults, necromancy, human/animal sacrifice, dark/shadowy magics, etc. Also deeply unnerved by and scared half to death of the dark.

Actually very fond of lightning, water, and thunderstorms in general; viewing them as what rescued him from the cult-town despite nearly drowning/dying/etc during the strange cataclysmic events that occurred.

Somewhat anti-religious? He's not fond of the idea of worship or dedicating one's entire life to a "deity" mostly, actually tends to view gods more as beings/people with massive (and sometimes excessive) power. Power that can very easily be misused or manipulated.  

So when dealing with these corrupted gods, he's not there to help a deity and gain favor, he's there to help other living beings; but he is also inherently distrustful of anyone who is highly religious- especially if they worship these corrupted gods in spite of something being wrong.

Gay as all fuck. 'Nuff said lmfaO

#original character #dungeons and dragons #D&D #dnd #elf #elven #aeros #oc #lgbt+ #gay

[mrsfrecklesmarauders]

How The Marauders got back together after The Prank

"Are you staying here?" Peter asked, trunk in hand. Sirius had plans of staying at Hogwarts for Christmas Holidays. He had heard how James, Remus and Peter planned their holidays at the Potters. Without inviting him. And practically the other two left without even looking at him. Sirius couldn't blame them. He didn't deserve to go, less, face Mr. and Mrs. Potter after everything they had done for him...

It had been two months since the incident. Sirius didn't even want to remember the stupid thing he did. But he missed his friends. Every day even more. Specially Remus. He didn't know why, but Sirius needed him so much.

"Yeah" Sirius answered "I got nowhere else to go Sirius had left Grimmaund Place the previous summer and his mother made sure he knew they didn't want to see him anymore. And Sirius didn't want to return anyway.

"I wish you could go" said Peter slightly smiling. He had been the only one who talked to him, when the others weren't around of course. But still Sirius was greateful.

"I don't think the others want me there Pete"

"I know" said Peter looking down "Well, I'll see you on January"

Sirius smiled. When Peter left he came back to bed with tears in his eyes.

His plans for the Holidays consisted on staying in bed all day, drink Firewiskey, smoke a lot and repeat. Sirius didn't want to do anything. Nobody he knew was staying. Besides he was so sad to move anyways.

It was Christmas day and Sirius was lying in bed listening to "While My Guitar Gently Weeps'. He moved to the side and saw on Remus' bed, a sweater. That green sweater he always wore, that fitted him so well and was his favourite. Sirius instantly got up and fetched it. 'Why did he leave it here?' Sirius first instict was to smell it. God. It smelled just like him..

"I miss you Moony" he said holding the sweater to himself.

"And you too bastard" he said looking at James' bed. "You too Pete" he said looking at Peter's bed. Suddenly Sirius had tears in his eyes again.

Then he heard a knock on the door. Sirius jumped and dropped the sweater. Who could it be? Sirius opened the door to find McGonagall standing there. "Hello Minnie" he said now smiling.

"Mr... Sirius" she said a little nervous "Merry Christmas"

"Merry Christmas"

"Pick up your things. You'll use the Floo Network"

"What? Where am I going?"

"She didn't tell you? Mrs. Potter is expecting you for Christmas"

Sirius dropped his gaze. "No. That's impossible. I don't think they'd want me there"

"Then why did I get this letter from her asking me to send you?" she gestured the opened letter.

"Really?"

"Bloody yeah" Minerva said impatient '"And I think you should go. Spending Christmas here by yourself is not a good way to spend it, is it?" She turned to leave "Oh and you should get a shower first"

Sirius smiled.

Sirius couldn't hide his excitement. If Mrs. Potter invited him maybe James wanted him there too. Maybe his friends wanted him there. Maybe they wanted to talk. But he was also nervous. How was he going to face the Potters? Why Euphemia was inviting him? She knew what he did? Was she going to scold him?

Sirius crossed the Floo Network and there she was

on the Potters living room, Euphemia.

"Sirius!" she said embracing him tighly "I'm so glad to see you sweetheart. Merry Christmas"

"Mrs. Potter. Merry Christmas" said Sirius shocked. She didn't know? Why was she so nice to him?

"What's wrong Honey?" she asked

"Why did you invite me here?"

"It's Christmas. Time to be with the ones you love"

"But... I don't think James wants me here"

"Don't worry. James told me everything and I'm not angry" she smiled "Now Fleamont and the boys went to buy some things. We can have some time by ourselves. Let's sit down and chat about it. Fancy a cup of tea?"

They chatted for about an hour. Sirius told her everything that happened. How sorry he was. And how he missed everyone.

"That's why I'm a bad person" Sirius finished. "I was surprised you invite me here. I thought you were mad?"

"Sirius, you're not a bad person. Do you hear me? You've just been through so much. And of course I'm not mad. You know, no matter what a child does, a mother will always love them anyways. And you are like a son to me. I ment what I said back in August, Sirius"

Euphemia smiled at him. Sirius was so grateful. That woman was the opposite to his own mother. James was so lucky. He smiled back.

"And you know how James is" she continued "Stubborn just like his father. I'm pretty sure he will forgive you, though. All your friends will"

Suddenly they heard the door opening up.

"Speaking of the devil" Euphemia said.

She stood up and went to the door. Sirius began to sweat. He didn't know how the rest were going to react to him being there. He didn't want any more fighting.

"Ah, you're back" Sirius heard Euphemia greet the rest.

"Effie" it was Mr. Potter's voice "You have no idea how many people were at Diagon Alley"

Sirius heard the boys greeting Mrs. Potter as well.

"We could have been here sooner but your son, didn't decide on a broom"

Sirius smiled.

"They were all great!" James protested. The two boys

laughed. God how much he missed them.

"Glad you are here boys" Sirius heard Euphemia's voice. "We have a guest"

As she said that, they all entered the room where Sirius was. He stood up. The three boys went pale when he saw him.

"What is he doing here?" James asked very upset. "What are you doing in my house?"

Sirius dropped the gaze. Fuck, he shouldn't have come.

"James" Euphemia said "I invited him for dinner. And this is not your house"

"What?" James got even angrier "There's no way we're dinning with him"

"James, boy" it was Fleamont who spoke "Don't be rude"

Sirius looked at Remus. He was avoiding his gaze.

He wanted to hug him so much.

"No! you don't understand" James continued "I've told you what he did. I've told you he is not my friend anymore"

Those words hurt Sirius like hell.

"James Fleamont Potter! that is enough!" Euphemia shouted, she was angry "You are going to change and eat with us. That is final!"

"Arrrg!!" James protested leaving upstairs. Remus followed him without looking at Sirius. Sirius followed him with his gaze. Peter gestured hello to Sirius but followed the boys.

"Don't listen to him, Sirius" said Fleamont smiling "He is even more stubborn than his old man" he patted Sirius shoulder "I'm glad you are here, boy. You are the only one who actually laughs at my jokes"

Sirius smiled.

"That's because he is gentle" Euphemia said smiling at her husband "Come to the kitchen love" she said to Sirius and he followed her.

Dinner was torture for Sirius. Everyone was eating in silence. They could only hear the sound of plates and houselves popping in and out. Sirius could feel James hateful gaze on him. Sirius looked at James but he suddenly stared at his food. Sirius looked at

Remus. For a moment they crossed stares but Remus looked somewhere else. '

Fuck, Moony look at me, he thought.

Sirius sighed and looked at Peter who appeared to be the only one enjoying his food. A house elf served Sirius more butterbeer with magic.

"Thank you Delphi" he whispered. Delphi disappeared. Sirius decided to breake the silence.

"Dinner is delicious. Mrs. Potter" he said

"Yeah it is" said Peter with his mouth full.

"Thank you. And Sirius call me Euphemia"

"Pfft" James whispered

"James" said Mr. Potter "Behave nicely please"

"Oh I'm sorry" he said sarcastically "Mr. Black I'm glad you are enjoying dinner"

"James" said Mrs. Potter

"What? You want me to feed him as well?"

"'James" whispered Remus. Sirius looked at him. It was the first time he spoke.

"Can we just enjoy a bloody dinner in peace?" asked Fleamont.

"This is ridiculous" said James "What? Are going to pretend we are a happy family? He only spent a few weeks here and now you consider him your son?"

Sirius lost his temper.

"That's enough!" he yelled dropping the fork on the table. Everyone looked at him. "You know, James? You're acting like a child right now. Grow up" Sirius was trying to be as nice as possible but he was fed up of people treating him like shit. First, his parents, Reggie and now James.

"I'm the one who is acting like a child?" James asked as furious "I'm not the one who almost killed someone. What? Everything is forgotten now?"

"James, stop it" it was Remus who spoke. Sirius looked at him in hope. Hope that he was defending him.

"You're arguing in front of your parents" Yet Remus didn't even look at Sirius.

"What? Are you defending him?"

"I'm not defending him"

"Do you remember what he did to you, Remus?"

Peter was following his gaze through them like a muggle tennis match.

"Fuck it James!" Sirius was fuming now "You think you are better than me? What about your nonstop bulling against Snivellus?"

Mr. and Mrs. Potter looked at their son.

"Shut up Sirius" James grunted

"You're not that fucking innocent. You've done terrible things to him"

James was angry looking at Sirius. But Sirius wasn't thinking straigth.

"At least I didn't try to kill him" James said

"James" said Remus

"Guys" Peter spoked

"Fuck I'm sorry! Okay?" Sirius shouted "I've said it so many times already. I'm sorry" he looked at Remus "I'm sorry Moony. I'm sorry I hurt you, okay?" Sirius had tears in his eyes. Remus looked at him for the first time "I didn't mean to hurt you, or anyone. I wish I could just go back and change it all but I can't. All I can do is feel miserable. I'm sorry, I'm like my parents or I'm a Black. But I love you Moony. God I love all of you so much. And you have no idea how much I miss you, lads. You are like my family. Without you I have nothing" Sirius wiped out his tears and got up. "Sorry Euphemia, but I need some air"

He left leaving everyone speechless.

Sirius got to the garden. It was beautiful out there tonight. Not like Sirius' insides. He shouldn't have come. He couldn't stop behaving like a Black. He always did or spoke stupid things without even thinking. Sirius wished that he could be someone else. Anyone. Have other family. And behave like a normal human being. Sirius had tears in his eyes. He was trembling. He took out a cigarette and put it on his mouth but before he could find his wand, another one was providing fire for him. Remus' wand.

"Remus" Sirius whispered.

Remus smiled slightly. "Hi, Pads"

It was the first time he called him that. Actually it was the first time he spoke to him. Remus had tears in his eyes as well. Before Sirius could say anything he heard another voice.

"Did you really miss us?" It was James. Sirius looked behind him and there he was with Peter.

"Yeah" was all that came out of Sirius' mouth.

James rubbed his hair "My mother yelled at us, and made us come to check on you. She's really annoying"

James wanted to sound angry but Sirius really knew him. He sounded... sorry?

"Prongs" said Remus with a smile on his face.

"Okay" James continued "I'm sorry for being an asshole to you" he said looking at the floor.

"And..." said Remus "She said we should focus on the good things you've done for us. She is right" Remus sighed "You are a good friend. You accepted me for who I am and you've been there for me. For us"

Sirius' heart was warming up. Was he dreaming? Was Remus saying all those nice things to him?

"Right" Peter added

"So, you are not angry at me?"

"Honestly Pads, we are always angry at you" James said.

And then he hugged Sirius. Sirius hugged him back tight, like if he let him go, he will disappear. They stood like that for a while.

"Amm. Should we get you a room?" Peter asked. Sirius and James stopped hugging awkardly. Sirius smiled and hugged Peter too.

"So are friends again?" Peter asked

"We never stopped being friends Wormy" said James Sirius turned to face Remus.

"Moony. I'm truly sorry for hurting you, I promise I will be there for you no matter what. You are very important to me. And I won't do anything stupid anymore"

Sirius had said sorry so many times by now but he got to let Remus know how important he was for him.

"Who are we kidding Padfoot?" Remus said "You will always do stupid things"

Everyone laughed at that and Sirius hugged Remus. He didn't know how much he needed the touch of his body. How much he missed his smell. His heart started beating fast.

"I think these two need a room, Pete" said James.

"Shut up, Prongs" Sirius said but he was smiling.

"Okay, who wants dessert?" asked James "Mum prepared her famous apple pie"

"Me please" said Peter

"Okay let's go"

James patted Sirius shoulder and smiled at him. Sirius was so happy to have his brother back.

James and Peter started walking. Sirius and Remus stayed behind. Sirius looked at Remus and Remus looked at him. They looked at each other goofly for a while smiling at each other. And Sirius' heart was racing again.

"I'm glad you are back" said Remus

"I'm glad I'm back too" Sirius said

Remus kissed his cheek and followed James and Peter. Sirius stood there. If this was a dream he didn't want to wake up. He had his friends back. He had Remus back. Did he actually deserve it? He promised himself, he wasn't going to hurt them or do something to lose them again. They were his family.

#harry potter #marauders #maraudersera #marauders headcanon #sirius black #james potter #remus lupin #wolfstar #young peter pettigrew #the prank #euphemia potter #fleamont potter

[kakiwrites]

Tamaki has always been ostracized due to his origins as an elf, the only person that treats him with kindness is the daughter of the town druid Aizawa (reader)

falling into a flowery paradise

Genre: slight angst then fluff

A tamaki amajiki x reader

Synopsis: A time where elves, fairies, dragons, and other wonderful creatures live in harmony, how would you choose to live? On a pirate ship? Making potions? Who do you stumble upon along the journey? A soldier, a poet, a king? Well, that’s for you to decide.

 (masterlist is under navigation!)

 a/n: hey guys! Time to write for more elf Tamaki. Honestly, I feel like Tamaki can be canonically some kind of elf, either that or because of his genes, he has those cute pointy ears. Idk, I have a small soft spot for the anxious baby~ I kinda changed this request, hope you don't mind anyway, requests are still open so please don't be shy to leave anything in my inbox! Let's begin!

 "I hereby decree that Tamaki Amajiki will now be banished from the land of the elves."

 His heart dropped to his stomach. Why did he do it? For once, he finally gathered the courage to stand up for himself against his bullies but that got him here, prosecuted by the court. His bullies' smiles piercing through him and pulling him down into the abyss even more.

 Tamaki did no more but nod his head, dragging his feet out of the court and into the wilderness. He brought this among himself. If he just stayed quiet then he wouldn't be banished.

 But maybe being away from his kind is a good thing for him.

 He was considered as one with his kind. He was always considered the black sheep. Everyone shone and he was there, blending into the shadows. While everyone tried to stand out, he stayed the same. It did the opposite effect he wanted. He stood out. He wished that he wouldn't be a target.

 And targeted he was.

 He was picked on for everything imaginable, his appearance, his personality, and how he presented himself. He had to endure years of harsh words and shoving. His inner demons started eating at him each passing day until the day arrived where he couldn't handle it anymore and stepped up to them, fighting with the same flame they used to burn him down over and over.

 But nobody cared, they turned a blind eye and made everyone believe he was a monster.

 A monster?

 Maybe he was.

 Maybe-

 Tamaki sat up to see the orange sky. Did he fall asleep? He looked around to see he was in a beautiful flower field. The wild grass and flowers following the direction of the wind. He got up on his wobbly feet and walked blindly in a random direction before stumbling onto a small cottage, vines growing up its foundations, flowers blossomed in its cracks. Smoke started to rise from the chimney just as a cool breeze went through him.

 It was going to a cold night.

 Should he approach the house?

 No, the inhabitants wouldn't like that.

 The elf was just about to turn back the way he came when he saw a figure walking towards him. The person wore a dress made out of thick vines and flowers. her hair was dolled up into a bun, little petals stuck into it.

 Wow.

 you looked like a goddess.

 Tamaki was frozen in place as he watched you walk toward him. He could finally see your face, A druid people always praised and worshipped. You were the daughter of the village chief, Aizawa and you were raised to be humble and help everyone in need and that included the smallest of flowers that need more sunlight. You finally stood in front of him, hands resting together. The townsfolk weren't lying when they said you were a blessing from the gods.

 "Tamaki amajiki correct? One of the wonderful elves?" you started. Little strands of hair started to fall out of your bun. Tamaki decided to fix his attention on there instead of into your (e/c) eyes. He always got anxious when he had to look someone in the eye but why did he feel that same dread when you were the one staring at him with kindness and patience. He nodded his head, not trusting his voice.

 "How are you? What are you doing far away from your village?" you asked. You started walking toward the little cottage. Tamaki hesitantly followed behind you. Was he even allowed to follow you? You didn't seem to mind his presence.

 "i-I was b-banished a-after standing u-up for m-myself," he muttered, thinking that you wouldn't hear him.

 But you did.

 You stopped in your tracks and turned to face him. This was the first time he saw you without your smile. It was replaced in a frown. "now that's just not right." you simply said. It looked like you wanted to say something else but you decided against it, turning your back and continue down the path to the cottage.

 Tamaki just followed you.

  He met your father soon after. He was a stern-looking man but he had a good heart. He let Tamaki stay in his humble abode for as long as he wanted to and even talked to him like a son. For once, Tamaki felt happy.

 It was the first time he felt like he belonged.

 Don't get him started on you. You've been anything but mean to him. You've treated him with compassion. He felt like he could talk to you. He found your life interesting and in turn, he started falling in love with it, even joining you when you planted some new flowers in your little garden or when you fed some stray rabbits hoping around.

 You found out that Tamaki had a soft spot for life, especially animals. He can usually talk to them and calm them down quicker than you. You admired him for that.

 You went out to the village with your father while Tamaki stayed home with the cats and the bunnies. He never really minded. It was the least he could do.

 You got home to hear him humming to his favorite bunny,  thumper. He stopped for a moment before piping up. You pressed your ear against the door to catch his muttering. "you know thumper, ever since I came here… I feel at ease. Mr. Aizawa treats me like a son and (y/n)… don't get me started on her." your hand went to your mouth to stifle a giggle. You could tell from his voice he had the soft smile on his face you love seeing on him.

 Love. You loved him.

  "(y/n) is so kind and caring. Not just to me, but to you." he paused to think of his next words. "i-I think I love her, thumper."

 What?

 You felt your face heat up at that. He… loved you back. You opened the door, making a flustered Tamaki jump up from his seat on the floor. His face a crimson red and you could tell from his expression that he knew that you heard him.

 "i-I c-can explain-" he tried to say before he could, you ran over to him and pressed your lips onto his. He stiffened up for a moment before easing in and kissing you back. You could feel how soft his lips are and how sweet he tastes. Just like you imagined him.

 He pulled away, breathing heavily. For the first time, he finally gathered the courage to look into your (e/c) irises to see them swimming with happiness and affection. His embarrassed smile grew wider.

 "s-so does this m-mean…?"

 "yes Tamaki, I love you too."

 From that day on, all of the plants bloomed brighter and vibrant as ever.

 And there you have it! It was kind of short but hopefully, you guys still enjoyed even though it was kind of short. Working on the noremma fic tonight, hope you guys are as excited as I am! Love you 💖💕❤️

General taglist (don’t be shy to comment your tumblr @ below): @tokyoghoose @macaronnv @reogou @lnarizakis @midnightangelfox @wumboho @seiijixcia

series taglist  (don’t be shy to comment your tumblr @ below!): @astrxrism ​ @kurookinnie @isentsworld @inkumistuki

#bnha x reader #boku no hero academia #mha x reader #amajiki tamaki x reader #tamaki amajiki #tamaki x reader #my hero academia #my hero academia x reader #soldier poet king

[nocturnememory]

this softness (a knife, a knife, a knife)

 I was with you, he says, with his fingers ghosting along her scar. Right here, always.

She’s curled up against his side, Tales of Beetle the Bard, sits splayed open on the other half of the bed, but there’s no story she likes hearing more than the one he’ll tell her and only her, in the low light of her bedroom, half-asleep and pressed up as close as she can get to him.

Prompt: This is two prompts mixed into one, hopefully that works out for both prompters... the first was “What if Voldemort won the first war but harrie still ended as a hocrux?! Their life and story then. Would he watch over her as she is raised? Maybe care for her more or less?“ and the second, “How do you think Voldemort would raise Harrie? If he took her or kidnapped her from her parents instead of trying to kill her.”

This doesn’t quite match up with both exactly, but it merges the two together because I think they were too similar to not meld together into one prompt.

hopefully the two prompters enjoy it anyway!

Warnings: Underage, age-gap, Voldemort raises Harrie, Minister of Magic Voldemort, morally grey!Harrie. Pureblood rhetoric/prejudice. Pureblood culture/beliefs.

This is definitely pretty dark and like, very very morally complicated. Don’t be fooled by the fluff in the first part. If you’re at all sensitive to underage/age-gap stories, this one is definitely not for you. While I’ve done my best to keep it from being squicky with grooming, there’s definitely still going to be threads of this story that cross like, a lot of boundaries.

this softness (a knife, a knife, a knife) 1/3

                  Outside of her cupboard, there’s a knock on the front door of Privet Drive.

In the kitchen, a chair scrapes back, her uncle grumbles and mutters about dinner time and no good nuisances. His footsteps are heavy and thundering as he passes by her cupboard, blocking the striped, reaching light from the slats for a moment as he heads to the front door.

His footsteps fade as he turns the lock and yanks the door open, his voice sharp and hard. “Do you know what time it is? What kind of f—”

There’s a thump and a sliding sound, like something heavy being pushed across the floor. Like when Aunt Petunia has Harrie vacuum the front room and she has to push and push the big couch back to get at the dust underneath.

The light to her cupboard gets blocked again, that sliding noise louder and louder like whatever is being pushed is sliding right past her cupboard door along the strip of carpet in the hallway.

Beneath that noise, just beneath it, something gurgles and gasps.

And then, there’s a scream. A thump, more thumps, something breaks and shatters and underneath it all, that choking, gasping gurgling sound.

Harrie huddles into the corner of her cupboard with her knees to her chest and her arms shaking, clutching at her little tin soldier in her sweaty palm.

No one ever looks in her cupboard, she tells herself, they won’t find her in here. She’s safe in her cupboard, she’s always been safe in her cupboard.

It gets louder, the thumping and gurgling and screams outside of her cupboard and Harrie tucks her head into her knees, squeezing her eyes shut—

Until—

Until—

It goes quiet.

Her ears strain and she pulls in a breath and holds it, trying to hear what’s going on in the kitchen.

There’s a drip, drip, drip… and Harrie swallows, turning her head towards her cupboard door, watching the light stripping through the slats, her heart thundering in her ears as she holds her breath just a little bit longer.

Drip, drip, drip.

Like spilled milk over the edge of the kitchen table, she thinks, or juice from one of Dudley’s tantrums that Harrie always has to clean up, girl.

Drip, drip, drip.

Shaking, she hears footsteps, a pair of shoes over the hard kitchen floor turning into softer steps on the carpet in the hall. Steady and slow, coming towards her; they sound too heavy to be Aunt Petunia’s, but much too light to be Uncle Vernon’s.

A stranger, she thinks. It’s a stranger in the house, isn’t it?

She huddles smaller, hugging her knees tighter as the footsteps stop in front of her cupboard; it blocks some of the light, the pair of legs just outside of the door.

Her heart pounds, wild and unsteady and so loud in her ears it sounds like Dudley jumping on the stairs above her head. Thump thump thump.

The latch slides and drags back in a metallic scrape.

She goes cold at the same time something hot burns through her stomach and— and she feels— she feels—

So angry. So angry, her palm’s slippery and hot and it was over too quick, too quick, should have taken longer. Drawn it out. It’s clawing at her insides and— and the knob turns and the feeling cuts off, sharp and sudden enough to make her hitch a little breath.

The door pulls back.

A man crouches down slowly, he’s tall and big and fills the little, angled doorway of her cupboard up until there’s barely any space left.

He holds his hand out, it’s red and shiny, even in shadows of her cupboard.

“Hullo, Harrie,” the man says with a careful, slow smile that makes her feel…makes her feel…

It makes her slide forward, unfolding from her tucked-up, tight huddle in the corner, makes her slip her hand into his sticky one so he can pull her out towards him until she can tuck her head into his neck and wrap her arms around his shoulders and cling onto him so tight she thinks it has to hurt him.

But his fingers are long and warm as they push into her hair to cup the back of her head as his arms wrap around her like they’re swallowing her up in the size of them; his voice is low and warm and she can feel it inside of her chest, her belly, the clench of her knees digging into his ribs, trembling to cling on tighter and tighter and tighter.

His head turns into her shoulder, his chest shifts against hers as he breathes out, long and slow and warm over her skin, his arms tightening just a little bit more around her.

“I’m sorry it took me so long.”

                                                                            She’s so much smaller than he expects.

He doesn’t burn the house down, no matter the desire to wipe the filth of that family off the face of the Earth like God’s hand coming down with a vengeful flood.

No, no. That’s almost kind, isn’t it? Fire purifies in so many ways, and they deserve to die like the bugs they are. A smear of gore on glass. Crushed beneath his palm.

He seals the house and leaves them to rot.

The girl, his girl, breathes gently against his neck, her cheek soft and warm, her arms lax over his shoulders. She hasn’t spoken yet, but she knows him.

She knew him as soon as she saw him.

In a cupboard. A cupboard. (He killed them too quickly, too easily. He should’ve taken his time taking them apart. Chained them to a rockface and picked at their organs and bones like a vulture. Left them to be gnawed on by rats and birds a little more each day.)

His girl whimpers at the heat of his anger and irritation, and he ducks his head and presses his lips to her forehead, his voice low and easing, shh, sweet girl, it’s alright.

She weighs nothing, and it’s his own fault for being so caught by it. She’s taken up so much space in his mind for years that the reality of her, no matter that he knows she’s nothing but a four-year-old child, leaves him staggering to process it.

He’s been hunting for her for so long. Four years since he knew about the idea of her. Three years since he’s known her, known her voice and her face in flashes, known her hunger and her tears, known the terribly rare sound of her laughter. (Once, just once, a kitten-lick on her palm, a stale house with an awkwardly-kind old woman surrounded by cats who fed her stale cake.)

A squib, he’d found out later, a kind old fucking squib faithful to Albus. She’d lived only long enough to seal her own fate. (A terribly small girl, she’d said around her tea cup, her eyes glassy and unfocused, I’m not sure they treat her very well but—)

But.

But.

                                    When he was a boy, he imagined that when the day came that he and Albus came wand-point to wand-point, it would be bloody and beautiful and biblical. The battle of Armageddon; the orphan boy and the false king.

(His eyes are like blazing fire, and on his head are many crowns. He has a name written on him that no one knows but he himself.  He is dressed in a robe dipped in blood, and his name is the Word of God.)

A final stand that would raze Britain to its foundations and let the victor rebuild it in whatever image they chose. A fanciful, violent dream shaped by a boy sculpted by his childhood. Verses twisted to fantasies. Recitation twisted to conception.

It would have been something.

But now— now Albus has fashioned himself a noose of his own making and it tightens by the hour. Inches tighter by the minute. There will be no crowns and no battle, no fire and no brimstone.

There are bruises on her and she weighs nothing.

                                      He holds her through the twist of Apparition, carries her into his estate that’s been sitting empty, sitting waiting, sitting ready for the moment he finally found her.

He peels her out of her too-large muggle clothes and sinks her into a bath so overloaded by bubbles from an overeager house-elf that she nearly disappears into them.

The house elves send food and Harrie picks at apple slices with peanut butter and sliced fruit with slick little fingers.

He sinks himself onto a conjured stool beside the tub and does not even once think about what anyone would think about Lord Voldemort sitting at the side of a child’s bathtub.

Instead, he rolls his sleeves and pulls bubbles into little animal shapes to move around her head. Sends an Erumpet charging through a bubble-boulder, a snake winding over her head, a little fluttering pixie that blows bubbles out of its little bubble mouth.

Her laughter is sweeter than that one echoing sound of it he heard once in his chest— sweeter than any sound, in truth, in all the years he’s been alive or a shade or something caught between the two.

Harrie laughs and giggles and soaks until she’s pink and pruned, until all the filth of those muggles is nothing more than dirt sinking down the drain.

After, when he plucks her out of the tub and wraps her in a too-large towel, she stands between his bent knees and shivers in the chill outside of the tub, the fluffy thick, white towel tugged up to her mouth as she blinks at him all wide-eyed and green; hopeful, resigned, curious, cautious.

“Are you real?” she asks, her voice small and muffled as he rubs his hands briskly over her shoulders and back to warm her up again.

His anger is a sudden and ice-cold dagger inside of him. Harrie's brows furrow and her body tightens, shoulders tensing, pulling the towel higher and tighter until its right under her nose.

He reigns it in, swallowing it down and resumes rubbing over her shoulders and back. “Yes, I’m real,” he says, as light and easy as he can manage. “Do I not feel real?”

She shrugs her little shoulders and leans into him, tucking her head against his shoulder. She’s warm and damp and he can feel it soaking into his clothes slowly, but he wraps her up in his arms and lets her burrow closer, still clutching at the towel but pressing herself into him.

“I’m real,” he says as her hair soaks his shoulder and she turns her head and presses her cheek against his chest. “I’ve been looking for you for a long time, Harrie.”

She’s quiet, her body slowly easing in his arms as her shivers subside. “You promise you’re real?”

“I promise.”

                                     (Albus has lost the right to be remembered. He’ll be no more than those muggles dead in Four Privet Drive, a smear of bug guts on glass.

He’ll leave the man to rot in a field, he thinks. 

Nothing but dead and rotting meat.)

                                                                                               I was with you, he says, with his fingers ghosting along her scar. Right here, always.

She’s curled up against his side, Tales of Beetle the Bard, sits splayed open on the other half of the bed, but there’s no story she likes hearing more than the one he’ll tell her and only her, in the low light of her bedroom, half-asleep and pressed up as close as she can get to him.

He’s warm and so big and Harrie never feels like she can get close enough, no matter where she tucks her head or how hard her hand curls into his shirt. His heartbeat is steady and familiar, even when it wasn’t. Even when she isn’t sure she knew his face, she thinks she always knew him.

I had to put myself back together, he’ll say, with his fingers on her cheek or her scar, his voice this low-rolling thing that fills her up so nicely, rumbling out of his chest and into her. You were my little guide in the dark for all my scattered parts.

She doesn’t like the idea of him being apart but in her mind he’s like a puzzle and she’s piecing him back together with her own little hands, fitting all his edges into hers the way her still-bony knees and elbows fit so nicely into the warmth of his chest or under his arm. The way her cheek will fit hotly against his shoulder and she can hear that wave-like whump-bump of his heart that always reminds of her when she was in her cupboard and it was dark and empty but not so empty at all. When she’d shut her eyes and plug her ears to cover the sound of the Dursleys forgetting about her. In the quiet, in the press of her palms, she’d hear that ocean-like sound, whump-bump, whump-bump.

It’s her favourite place to be, listening to that sound inside of him; her ear pressed up against his shoulder or chest and she thinks he knows it, too, because sometimes he’ll slide his hand over her cheek until it covers her other ear, until the world fades away and there’s nothing but that sound. Nothing but the weight of his palm, his fingers in her hair and his thumb tracing slowly over the edges of her scar.

Whumpbump.

                                                                                              There’s a man kneeling on the floor, and he’s bound in shackles and he looks at Harrie with the saddest look Harrie’s ever seen, like those dark paintings she’s seen hanging on the walls in the Malfoy’s long hallways, their faces twisted and dark.

The man in front of her and Tom says her name like it’s something other than just a name.

“Harrie,” he says with a face that twists almost painfully towards tears. Harrie, I’m so sorry—

She doesn’t know what he’s sorry for, but one of the Death Eaters standing next to him yanks a thick silver chain that’s attached to a thick silver collar around his neck and the man grits his teeth as his eyes flash yellow and something growls low in his throat as he winces in pain.

Tom carries her as he walks in front of the man, but there’s a smile on his face just for her, and in her ear he says: he thought he could hide you from me, like it’s a funny little secret just for them.

Harrie almost laughs, burrowing her smile into his chest instead; she doesn’t think it’s the right place to laugh, it’s too cold and tight in the room. It doesn’t feel right. But it’s funny all the same and she feels it bubble inside of her because—

Because Tom hunted giants for her, she knows the story; she was hidden away like a princess in those adventures in her picture books.

The half-giant came thundering through the rubble and stole you away from the battle right when I’d finally found you.

The giant had been the one to leave her with the Dursleys, Tom said.

Sometimes, Harrie thinks she remembers it, this cracking roar of a sound that she thinks must’ve been the giant; she remembers being carried so high up that it must have been something very tall carrying her.

He was the key to finding you, he’d tell her whenever she asked for the story, and I fought him until he fell like a great, old tree and then I cracked him open until he spilled all those terrible secrets in his thick, giant head.

It’s silly, she thinks, that anyone could think Tom wouldn’t find her. The man kneeling in front of them should have known better.

“This one,” Tom says as he shifts Harrie in his arms and walks around the chained man. “Was one of Albus’ most loyal little dogs. But he’s been hiding away in the muggle world, hasn’t he? Like the little traitor he is.”

The last comes out sharper, harder, and Harrie feels Tom’s anger in her belly; sometimes she’ll get echoes of it when he tells the story but it’s brighter now, more real.

It isn’t just a bedtime story, she knows, no matter how many times she asks for him to tell it. She knows it’s all real.

Tom fought giants for her.

“Not even a dog,” Tom says and then he smiles again and presses it into Harrie’s cheek until Harrie looks at him and wraps her arms around his neck and drops her cheek to the thick of his shoulder to watch the bound man from the comfort of Tom’s heartbeat beneath her ear when he pulls back.

“No, not a dog,” he says lightly. “But we’ll let him find himself, won’t we, sweet girl? We’ll show him what sort of beast he truly is.”

The man swallows and jerks in his chains, his eyes closing as his shoulders slump. “I’m so sorry, Harrie.”

She frowns and fiddles with a button on Tom’s shirt, blinking at the man; she doesn’t know what to think about him, only that he’s awfully silly for thinking Tom wouldn’t find her, and must not be that smart to think he could hide.

Tom’s very, very good and Hide and Seek. He always finds her.

“It’s a full moon tonight,” Tom says lightly. “We should go to the beach, shouldn’t we?”

Harrie sits straighter in his arms, glancing at the other man. She doesn’t think Tom means to bring him along, they usually only go to the beach together but… “Just us?”

Tom chuckles and nods. “Just us. He’ll be much too busy tonight, I’m afraid. He’s been cooped up and hiding for so long, I’d imagine he needs some time to be himself, hm?” he pinches her side, his smile growing at her laughter before he turns his head to look at the other man. “And he must be quite hungry, I’d imagine.”

                                                                                                           Nagini, Tom tells her, holding her in the waist-deep water along the edges of the lake as the snake slides through the waters around them like a glimmer of dark oil just under the surface. She’s big and long and endless, circling Tom’s waist, brushing slickly against Harrie’s toes where they dig into his hip.

She isn’t sure if she’s afraid, because Tom’s with her and nothing bad will happen to her if he’s there, she knows, but she clings on a little tighter to his shoulders, peering down into the dark waters, the sun above them lighting only the first few inches, just enough to see the metallic, colourful scales along the snake’s skin as she circles them.

Tom walks further into the water, until it laps coolly over her waist and his stomach and she’s only half-listening but ever attuned to his voice in her ear.

Naga’s prefer the water, he says, but Nagini loves to hunt in the fields. Fat cows and wild deer, the bigger the better. She’ll squeeze and squeeze, he says, his arms tightening around her, until they fall asleep, and then…

He pinches her side and makes her squeal out a laugh and slosh the water around them as he sinks them up to their shoulders.

She’ll bite them, quick and sharp, sinking her venom into them.

You’d be nothing to swallow up, he teases, a little mouthful. A little appetizer with sharp little bones.

You wouldn’t let her eat me, Harrie insists.

No? he asks, with his crooked smile that makes her whole tummy do this happy little dance and makes her grin back as she shakes her head, the damp edges of her hair flying around them.

I’m not food.

Aren’t you? he says, with a laugh as he takes her hand in his and moves it out into the water to stroke over Nagini’s winding scales. What are you then?

Yours, she says and his grin is wide and so happy she can feel it, like little bursts along her insides.

You are, he says and brushes his nose over the soft of her cheek before he lets out a little snarl and bites her cheek lightly. You’re mine to eat up, aren’t you?

Harrie squirms in his arms, giggling at the scrape of his teeth over the soft of her cheek, before she bites him back, snapping her little teeth at him, her nose scrunching with a growl. No. I’ll eat you. She says and wraps her arms around his neck, tighter and tighter. Like Nagini, she decides, I’ll swallow you up.

He laughs into her shoulder, and she barely pulls in a breathless squeal of surprise when he dunks them both into the water, Nagini winding around them, her voice as smooth as silk.

Hello, little hatchling. He’s been hunting for you for ssso long.

                                                     The door creaks open and he glances up, even though he already knows who it is, sneaking into the room. Though, he thinks, sneaking isn’t quite the word for it.

His girl slips sleepily into his office, clutching a throw blanket from her bedroom around herself, her hair wild and her eyes heavy with sleep. Her bare feet quiet little pats in the lull in the room, the blanket dragging behind her like a cloak.

Abraxas’ lips turn up at the sight, hiding a smile in the way he leans on his elbow, his fist just covering his mouth. Bellatrix’s jaw tightens in irritation, as young and too eager as she is vicious and cruel.

Severus watches the girl, his mind carefully, perfectly blank.

Harrie stumbles up to his side and he turns in his chair, letting her clamber onto his lap, pressing her warm cheek into his chest as she curls up in her blanket. She grabs at his arm, dragging it over her middle, a soft little pout in her lip.

“Spoiled girl,” he whispers before shifting her, settling her more comfortably on his lap, listening to her little inhale and sigh, feeling the curl of her hand into the front of his shirt, holding onto him.

She’s asleep in moments, the gentle hum of her mind always at the back of his, fades into a soft, blurry thing full of contentment.

“The papers are already running the story,” Abraxas continues after clearing his throat and schooling his face. “The attack on the Ministry will be blamed on the Order. I edited the article myself, malcontents targeting Purebloods and Minister Bagnold, who so recently and tragically lost his wife to the very same violent insurgents.”

“How terrible,” Tom smiles, feeling that same contentment that comes with Harrie’s steady heartbeat against his. “I look forward to tomorrow’s paper.”

                                               Albus dies alone a week later. A poisoned candy rotting away in his stomach.

(He lets them bury him and lets them mourn. He takes Harrie to Italy for the week and lets her press gelato-sticky kisses to his cheek in the heat of the Italian sun and the salty spray of the ocean. He’s never been partial to lemon, but he smiles around glass after glass of Limoncello and laughs at the face Harrie makes when she insists on tasting it.)

Lemon has never tasted better, he thinks.

  (He digs him up when they get back. Strips him naked before dumping him in a field just outside of Hogwarts wards. No final words, no victorious speech; Harrie’s waiting for him already, tucked into his bed no matter how many times he carries her back to her own.)

 Victory, Tom realises, looks entirely different now:

Sleep-warm cheeks, bony knees in his ribs, a little reaching hand that curls around his finger. 

                                   .

.

#my writing

[raziroo]

1.Stockholm Syndrome - Sirius Black

Pairing : Sirius Black x Reader

Genre : Angst

Warnings : Mentions of death, mentally abusive home conditions, pain. Read at your own risk. 

Word Count : 4,297

~~~~~

I didn't like these people. 

I didn't like the pretty redhead; not the kind brunet, not the funny raven, not even the nervous blond. And I certainly didn't like the rude, black-haired boy. 

See, I'd been abducted by these people in hopes that I would give them information regarding my family, my father. 

I was sitting in the living room of our not-so-homely home, reading a textbook about latin, trying to understand the meaning of the extremely complicated meanings of magical spells. I was bound to learn some of them, some day, I was sure of it. Because even if the magic flowing through my veins was untamed, there had to be some way for me to control it. At least that's what my great grandmother always said. 

But then again, I'd always been fed lies, throughout my life, since I was an infant, so there really was no saying if it was true or not. Because I really was clueless about what this 'pure magic' meant for me; I didn't know how to control it, I didn't know how to not lash out if any dark magic was near me, and I certainly didn't know how to sleep without that soul-binding spell. 

My life was a little complicated, yes. 

Actually, more than a little complicated, but I do not wish to delve into the complexities and issues of my life. However, one thing I can say is that it isn't pleasant, and there is absolutely no possible way that I enjoy this life. 

Anyway, as I reached to the five hundred and seventy eighth page of the massive book, I was rudely interrupted by a call of my name, coming from our house butler. Yes, we have a butler serving us, along with a house elf, and I myself am not sure why my cruelly disgusting father craves to express the 'power' he holds in the Wizarding World. I think it's annoying. 

"Miss, please descend to the dungeons," Klaus, our butler, said. I didn't look up from my book. "Why Klaus, what is it?"

"Your Grandmother -"

"Great grandmother, Klaus."

"My apologies, miss. Your great grandmother requires you to get to dunge -"

"Why? Why does she require me to do so?" I asked, finally looming up at him, face neutral, eyes filled with scrutiny. He looked different from usual, though; the cuffs of his shirt were unbuttoned, his tie was the slightest bit loose, and he looked panicked. 

"Miss, plea -"

However, before he could finish it, a CT of red hit him, along with a call of "Stupefy!". I turned to the door, only to see two men, about my age, one with jaw-length black hair, and another with sandy brown hair, at the door. The former had his hand held out, wand gripped in it so tight, his knuckles were going white. 

I hadn't moved, but obviously, they'd come there to get me, because as soon as Klaus was passed out, both of them turned to me. They shared a glance, and I had blacked out too, the book falling from my hands. 

This group of people, majority of them my age, called themselves The Order of the Phoenix. The name, being quite impressive, had managed to pique my interest. But, as my rotten fate would have it, these people would just glare at me whenever I asked them about it. 

They obviously thought that I was worth of value to my family, my father, precisely, and so they'd captured me to get my father and his group of horrid men, men much like him, to come and rescue me, and then the Order would capture them as well; the Order probably wanted information from them. They'd also asked me a couple times, to see if I knew anything, but I had, unsurprisingly, told them I didn't, because I honestly didn't. They didn't believe me, and I hadn't expected them to. Everyone would think that being the heiress to a prestigious pure blood family, I would be aware of, and support, all their darkest secrets. My family was completely opposite; they didn't tell me anything they did, and didn't even consider myself a suitable heiress, solely because I was different from them; I was pure. My magic was pure, I couldn't be able to perform dark magic even if I wanted to.  

My family had showed no signs of coming to rescue me, and I was sure they wouldn't, until Antonin asked them to. See, Antonin was my fiance, and probably the only one of the people who knew me to actually care even a tad about me. And even though I knew that it was just because he wanted to mate with me; children of people like me, and usual wizards and witches, were said to have stronger magic running through their body, stronger than normal magical folk. 

I didn't even love Antonin, he was 9 years older than me, and it was he who was infatuated by me, by my appearance, and by my blood. 

Tonight, however, was supposed to be a more interesting night than usual; the Order would question me. In the sense, properly question me. They would make me sit in a room for a couple hours, take turns questioning me, you know. Everything that a person wanted to go through. 

I, personally, didn't think they knew of my abilities, of my magic, because one, my family did their level best to keep everything about me under wraps, and two, the Order never use the soul-binding spell on me before I went to sleep. That's the exact reason I hadn't slept in four days now; if I did, my magic would go into overdrive, and probably severely maim me and the other people living in this house. If there are any. 

And so, currently, I am trying, and failing miserably, in reading one of the books this room contains. It's not that I don't want to read; it's probably the only source that I have to get rid of boredom. It's the fact that my eyelids are drooping, and my brain is desperately trying to convince me to fall asleep. I'm against my brain. 

"Sit."

"Where?"

"On the chair, that's kept in front of the table."

"OK, OK, calm down," I said, and headed to the wooden chair that was clearly meant for me to sit in. That didn't mean that I wasn't allowed to irritate the three males who'd escorted me into this room. Specifically, Sirius. I'd overheard that glasses wearing man calling the rude one Sirius. And also 'Padfoot' a couple of times. I was sure it was just a stupid nickname. 

I took my seat, and so did the three males. They were silent for the most part, and I fiddled with the charm of my necklace. After a period of prolonged silence, in which they appeared to be uncomfortable, and I thought about my betrothal with Antonin, among other things, the glasses wearing boy finally spoke up. "Where are Fab and Gid?"

Sandy haired boy shook his head. "No idea, James."

And then there was silence for another 5 minutes, when three redheads entered the room - one a pretty redhead, who was also pregnant. Weird I hadn't noticed that earlier, because she looked to be at least six months along. The other two were both men, looking a few years older than the rest of us, and were twins. 

All of them greeted each other, but looked hesitant, and kept glancing at me, and although the others at least tried to be discreet, the twins and Sirius weren't even trying. Charming. 

Pretty soon, my questioning had begun, the males all taking turns asking me questions, while the girl stood on the sidelines. I answered them to the best of my ability, because I honestly didn't know what my father, heck, my whole family was up to, but I sure didn't support them. I would never support them. Not after what happened to Antares. They didn't believe me, but I couldn't possibly do anything to change that. 

However, when the questioning took a turn, and they started prying too much for my comfort, I diverted the topic, and very obviously at that. 

"Why didn't you attend Hogwarts? Because you look to be about our age, but we've never seen you around. And you weren't enrolled in any Wizardry institution, don't try to lie. We have all the records." Fabian said, pulling out a thick file of papers from a drawer I hadn't noticed. 

I tried to keep my face neutral, but my jaw was working, and they saw that too. I had been caught in headlights, and needed an escape, quick.

"What's your name?" I turned to the girl, who looked startled by my sudden interest in her. 

"Huh?" she asked, looking to the raven haired male, who I assumed was her boyfriend. "Your name, what is it?" I raised my brows, biting on my thumb nail. 

"Uh, Lily, my name is Li -"

"Lily," I said slowly, liking how it rolled off of my tongue, my eyes staring into the distance, and then snapping to her. "Beautiful name, suits you. And," I pointed at the stomach of the bewildered woman. "First child?"

"Yes."

"Hm. Good for you."

I then turned to the males, who had all been watching mine and Lily's interaction with incredulous looks. "So, you're the father, I assume?" I questioned James in a tone I rarely used, authority. They all turned to me, silent. "Hm?"

"Y- yes, I... am the father." The boy looked genuinely nervous. Poor thing. 

I nodded, and sat up attentively. "Well, I would really appreciate if you got this questioning session over with quickly," I said.

"I... OK. Yeah, let's, get on with it... Remus?" Gideon turned to the sand haired boy. 

"Yeah, yeah, so -"

Just then, the door to the room burst open, and plump woman of about thirty entered the room, with hair same as the twins, and she looked distraught. "Molly?" Fabian asked. "What is it?"

"Death Eaters! I- in Diagon Alley!"

The males all got up in an instant, snatching their wands; James went over to his panicked-looking... whatever Lily was to him, and cupped her face, pressing a chaste kiss to her forehead. As the men all left, the two women glanced at each other, and then at me, probably because they were confused on what to do about me. Or probably because I hadn't even turned to Molly when she'd made her entrance, hadn't glimpsed at the bustle in the room even once. 

*****

One whole week. One whole weak, solid seven days, I'd gone without even a wink of sleep. I didn't know how I was even awake at this point, because all of my being, my entire body was begging for me to sleep, and I wanted to, so badly. But I couldn't. If I didn't wish to hurt these people, if I didn't wish to hurt myself, I couldn't. I was aware of that, and accepting of that fact. 

But it seemed that my kidnappers weren't. For on the eighth night, Sirius entered the room with a tray of food. This was strange because usually it was Lily, or occasionally Remus, who came to serve me food. I wasn't exactly sure why Sirius Black, of all people, had come to give me food. 

My confusion was momentary, because I sensed the smell of a sleeping concoction as soon as the tray of food was set on the bedside table. And I would've been able to eat the food, if only I knew what exact item the potion was mixed in. The rest of the food was perfectly consumable. 

After surveying the tray of food, and Sirius' neutral expression, I asked him a question. "Can I ask you something, Padfoot?"

A strickened expression flashed across his face, but was gone as soon as it appeared. "Don't call me Padfoot," he growled, jaw clenched. "And no, don't ask a question. Just eat your food, and let me go," he looked up to me, his face a couple feet away from mine, hair falling in his face. I would have been lying if I said he wasn't abnormally attractive. 

"Okay, then. What have you mixed the sleeping potion in?"

"Could you please shut up with your nonsense, and let me go? " he stood up straight. 

"Could you please answer me, and do me the favour of leaving? " I retorted, eyebrows raised. 

The male exhaled forcefully through his nose, looking extremely pissed. "No."

"Okay."

"What?"

"Oh-kay," I sounded. "I mean, you can leave. Go."

He looked skeptical. "Okay, I'll leave."

"Yeah, yeah, go. Just- uh, and take the food as well," I said, motioning to the tray. 

"You don't wanna eat?" he asked. 

"I do want to eat. I would honestly really appreciate if I could eat food, I mean, I can't sleep, food will be appreciated. But," I drawled the word out longer. "I don't wish to consume a sleeping potion."

The man looked at me after my statement, for about a minute. And then before I could react, he was aiming his wand at me, and I passed out, part of me glad to receive sleep, and a fraction of me scared of what was very clearly bound to happen. 

My body felt hot, all over, as if there was electricity flowing through me. A familiar feeling of stinging pain consumed my head, and spread to my body, slowly, painfully. Inevitable cries, shouts, and groans of pain escaped me, eventually turning to screams of pure agony. Tears flowed from my eyes, as I writhed and thrashed, my magic erupting out of me in short bursts. 

I could make out the faint noises of people entering the room, casting spells, and trying to control my magic. I knew it would be uncontrollable; it would only go away when all my energy was drained, as in literally drained, I wouldn't be able to use magic for about a week or two. There was another way, however. The soul-binding spell. Two simple words, 'ligat animam', and all my misery would be gone. But none of these people were skilled or powerful enough to carry that spell out, I was sure of it. Even my father had to practice for a good three weeks to get the spell right, and however much might I dislike him, I had to say that he was an extremely skilled wizard, and an experienced one too. 

These wizards and witches, however, would just end up fainting, and not help me in any way. After all, the soul-binding spell was as tiring as the patronus, if not more. Constricting a person's soul, their core, their magic, it wasn't an easy task, shouldn't have to be. 

They would just get hurt, the Order. And so, overpowering my agony and suffering for just a moment, I managed to utter something that made them leave, albeit hesitantly. "It wo- ah! Won't wo-urk! Lea...ve! Un-less you... bind- the sou...l!  Please!" and went back to sobbing. I guess they understood what I said, and left. 

Waking up was a very energy-consuming task, more so than you could ever fathom. Every joint, every bone, every fiber of my being hurt, and hurt bad. My body was so completely sore, it was almost numb, and it would have been a million times better if it was numb, because the aching was unbearable, something no one should have to experience. In simpler words, it was as bad as the after effects of the Cruciatus curse. 

I somehow, Merlin knows how, managed to support myself up on my elbows, before crumbling to my bed again. Morgana help me. My situation was hopeless and I knew it.

I had nearly given up on hopes of getting up and about, when someone entered my room. Correction, two someone's entered my room. One was a sand-haired male, Remus Lupin, and the other was a black-haired one, Sirius Black. 

I had only recently learned that this Sirius was the Sirius Black, epitome of disappointment, perfect example of what was considered disappointing in a pure blood family. It was actually quite foolish of me to not put two and two together, there were very less people who would name their child Sirius. 

Anyways, as the two men entered my room, my eyes followed their movements; Sirius stopped at the entrance, while it was Remus who actually entered the room. The latter trotted to my bed, and unexpectedly, helped me sit up. I was surely surprised at first, yes, but managed to cover it up pretty well. Or so I thought.

"Why do you look so surprised, hm? We're good people, you know, people who actually want to do good for the Wizarding World," Sirius chided. Now, look, I would have just ignored him, like I always do. But one should have the basic understanding of when they need to stop blabbing, and stay silent. Sirius clearly didn't have such sense. And so, when Remus went to say something to the former, I cut him off and spoke myself. 

"Siri-"

"Yeah, you're such an angel, aren't you?"

The boy's jaw clenched. "And what exactly is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, I don't know, probably the fact that you put me to sleep without my consent; you are the reason the happenings of last night even occurred!" I answered, my tone sharp. My retort didn't seem to faze Remus a lot; in fact, he had a slightly guilty expression himself. But why would- Oh. 

The sleeping potion, obviously. These people were worried about my sleep schedule, and that's why the attempt to get me to sleep. They probably thought it was because of being captured, because of anxiety, that I was losing sleep. Foolish people. 

"You thought- you all thought that I wasn't sleeping because I was stressed... about being held captive?"

When no one broke the silence, I did. By chuckling. "You are all so naive," I said, full out laughing now, albeit it being hysteric. Their faces were hilariously incredulous. 

I stopped laughing, and rolled my eyes. 

"I, have no reason to be worried, or stressed, or- or anxious, of you," I said, each word being pronounced with each of its syllables. "I didn't wish to sleep because of... Well, because of what happened last night. You thought it wise to interfere in matters that didn't concern you, and that's why I had to- " I stopped, and took in a breath, closing my eyes. 

"Could you please leave?"

*****

Sirius didn't wish to, apparently, because after only three hours of providing me with time to think, he returned. That complete, absolute git had the nerve to enter my room after hurting me so much. 

He cleared his throat. I didn't pay attention. He coughed. I still didn't listen. He stopped trying, saving the little bit of self respect he had left. 

After a long and painfully uncomfortable period of silence, I adressed the man who was present with me in the room. "So, you're here." 

"I- uh, yes, uh, I guess I am... After all." he cleared his throat again, not meeting my eyes. 

"Hm. Well... what are you here for, Mr. Black?" he radiated an even more awkward aura, if that was possible. "I... I wanted to apologize. On the entire Order's behalf; we shouldn't have tried to, uh, put you to sleep forcefully."

"That's... yeah, you shouldn't have." This statement made him look ashamed. "But, well... I guess your heart was, uh, sorry, hearts were in the correct place. You just needed a bit more... Research. It's... Okay, after all. I accept your apology."

The male finally looked up, hope flickering in his eyes. "Really?"

"Yes, really," I nodded, not breaking eye contact. He smiled a bit; the smile made him look a hundred times more attractive than he already was.

"That's... Great. Thank you."

*****

Two months. It had been two more months of me being held captive, but my family didn't seem to care; some would consider my condition to be pitiful. Over the course of these two months, I had grown fond of these people. James, Lily, Remus, Peter, Fabian and Gideon, even Sirius. I didn't really know Peter that well; he seemed kind of scared of me, if I'm being honest. I didn't really dwell on it too long, just shrugging the matter off. 

I also was sleeping on a regular basis; Dumbledore helped with the soul binding spell. Meeting the elderly wizard had been quite an experience, I would always remember it. 

Currently, I was eating breakfast on a small foldable table, Sirius sitting opposite me. I had grown closer to him more than anyone else, he actually had a great personality. I think his personality was the reason why he came across as so effortlessly attractive. 

"How is it?"

"The food?"

"Obviously."

"Well. It's actually really good. Doesn't seem like something Molly would typically make, but it's good."

"Really? "Sirius seemed uncharacteristically excited. 

"...Yes. Why? "

"I made it. "

I looked up at him, studying his face. He really had made the food on his own. "Liar. "

"Wha- no! You got to trust me" I'm not lyi-" He was enraged. 

"I'm done. Congratulate Molly for cooking such delicious food," I said ignorantly, putting my fork down.

"You do believe me, don't you? You're just trying to irritate me," Sirius said in a tone that seemed to be wanting to convince himself more than me, that I believed him. He waved his wand, and the plates and cutlery were gone, table folded and levitated to the side. 

"Well... I might be," I said, sheepishly.

He stared at me. I stared back. 

"Can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

"Why... We're you not anxious or worried? I mean, you were being held captive, it doesn't matter however nice the captor is," he asked, hesitantly. 

I sunk back in the pillows, and suddenly, my hand seemed to intrigue me more than they ever had. "It's okay, you know, if you don't want to tell," he began in a hurry. "It's perfectly fi-"

"No, no no no, " I cut him off, stretching my hands in front of me. "It's just... They aren't exactly... The best household to be part of, or grow up in. They've always ridiculed me for... My magic. Because it's different, and because it repels dark magic. The kind that they always put to use, so, they feel... offended, maybe? That their daughter, their own blood can't do the magic they want her to. It's no big deal, honestly," I laughed, not breaking my record of not loosing at the male opposite of me. "I guess it's just how pure blood families work."

I kept my gaze in my lap, pointedly ignoring Sirius. Said person stayed silent for a long time; longer than I felt comfortable with. Just as I had begun apologising for burdening him with my family's secrets, he reached across and hugged me. Tight. And initially, I was confused, but then I made out the vibrations of his chest against mine: sobbing. Sirius was sobbing. Why, I wasn't aware. But that didn't matter. So I hugged him back. I held him close to me, my arms wrapped around him tightly. 

*****

He was here. They all were here. For me. 

It had been six months since I was captured, and they were finally here. Lily's son had been born, little Harry, and he was in danger. Lily herself was in danger. And so were James, Sirius, Remus, Peter, everyone. Gideon had already been maimed; Fabian was dead. 

All because of me. 

And just as I burst out of the room Sirius had locked me in, so as to keep me away from the insane amounts of dark magic outside, I collided with him.

"Antonin," I breathed, looming up at the man. He was clean shaven, like always, and his eyes had that cruel glint, like always. 

"Oh, love," he sighed out, like he'd been putting a lot of effort to just be able to say that to my face again; and with the ambush these Death Eaters had carried out, I was sure he had. He was just about to wrap his arms around my torso, when a spell hit him from behind, blasting him to the wall. Horrified, I looked up, and my orbs met stormy gray ones. 

The person who possessed these eyes grabbed a hold of my forearms, and in one swift motion, I was inside that wretched room back again, and Sirius had locked that door, again.

"What do you think you're doing?!"

"Sirius, calm down, I was-"

"Calm down? I'm sorry for not being calm during an ambush! Now what were you-"

"Sirius! Listen to me, alright? They- um, Antonin, he won't stop until he has me, okay? And Fabian is already, I can't, I'm sorry. But I've got to go, okay? I have to go, becau- "

"No, no no no! No! You can't! Please, love, no-" He looked so panicked. For the first time since I'd known him, Sirius black looked a wreck. 

I kissed him. Square on the lips, and for a time period that seemed way too short to tell him how much I really loved him. 

"I love you, Black. And don't you ever forget that."

And with that, I stormed out of the room, right into Antonin, who apparated me out, with Sirius having that stunned and pained look in his eyes. 

*****

Twelve years. It took him twelve years to break out of that hellish place. 

I would have scoured the planet if I could, for him. Shame really, that I was already dead. James and Lily thought so too.

#tumblr #sirius black #sirius #marauders #character x reader #sirius black x reader #sirius x reader #marauders era #hogwarts #slytherin #ravenclaw #gryffindor #hufflepuff #golden trio #harrypotter #ron weasley #lily evans #remus lupin #peter pettigrew #james potter #moony #wormtail #padfoot #prongs #regulus black #pureblood #halfblood #muggle #mudblood

[long-cosmos-overhead]

Prompt: How about Lindir, Elrond, Bilbo, Legolas, Thranduil and maybe Beorn and Bofur reaction to their s/o who likes to rough house/ wrestle?

Yep I altered it just a little bit so it’s just the reader and character roughhousing xx

(I do not own The Hobbit or LoTR/ gifs not mine)

Thranduil

You’ve chosen the right man if you like roughhousing. Thranduil is very strong, on one occasion he lifted you with one arm. Typically Thranduil is a gentle lover but by god he can kick it up if it’ll please you, he can’t deny he rather likes it himself because it almost always ends up with you pinned beneath him, bodies close and a smug grin on his face. In all honestly he’s relieved you like to get rough sometimes it helps him blow off steam and now he knows your comfort is secure when he decides to be slightly rough after a long day. You may be strong but you’ll never beat Thranduil, you don’t know how he does it however you can’t deny how he makes you feel at the closeness and intimacy of his hands all over you.

Legolas

Legolas, like you, enjoys a good-natured, blow-off-steam sort of fight. He missed out on a fair bit of his early life so he himself is still a little childish at times and nothing makes him laugh more than having you wrestle him for something. You both act like children giggling and messing around but it’s the most endearing thing to witness. Legolas will always be gentle even when you’re both getting rough he’s never hurt you and made sure you feel safe. He can easily win a fight with anyone that includes you. Usually he evens his skills to match yours to make more of a competition willing for you to perfect your moves however you always end up in his arms sneaking kisses off each other.

Elrond

Elrond can fight however he doesn’t really enjoy it and will only partake in such activities rarely however the times he does are a stunning display of his strength since you never imagined him to be that strong. He honestly finds you cute trying to be the victor of your little ‘fight’ since you are so much smaller than he is and no matter your strengths he will win. You’ve accepted it’s an elf thing at this point. He’s worried he’ll hurt you. Elrond knows he can be very dangerous and strength is not something that should be thrown around instead he prefers to keep you in a tight embrace unwilling to let you leave until you say some childish worship such as ‘oh almighty one I beg you release me from such hold.’ Makes him laugh every time.

Lindir

He’s so shy when it comes to the simplest touches. Always asking if you’re okay with his touch and if you’re comfortable. Lindir is willing to try something new as long as it pleases you but you’ll have to take the lead especially in this one. At first he was tense fearfully of hurting his meleth but after a while and a lot of reassurance he started becoming more confident. Still you’d be the dominant one. Once Lindir flipped you over so suddenly and placed kisses all up your neck in a rare burst of confidence it was so thrilling, his touch was feather light but you loved the sudden dominance that overcame him. All in all Lindir is too sweet and caring to go full on roughhousing he just loves you too much.

Bilbo

He gets so flustered. His cheeks turn bright red and he has to ask you what you mean and take some time to process it. Watching Bilbo try to do anything physically demanding is funny and pitiful but he has improved greatly in the art of war after his time with The Company. Bilbo himself won’t join you the only time he does is when he has to force you to take medicine when you’re weak and he’s fed up. Oddly he finds watching you wrestle rather flustering on its own unless your opponent is getting too handsy then he steps in. Bilbo is also more likely to feel calmer when you go out alone there are many people with ill intentions but now he knows you can hold your own.

Beorn

Beorn is immensely strong just know if you decide to start getting rough or challenge him to a wrestling match you’ll be under his mercy within seconds. Beorn is very respectful as well though he’ll ask before if you’re certain about it and would never hurt you. His strength is something that amazes you, if he really wanted to, he could pick you up and throw you with no difficulty whatsoever a skill which came with being a skinchanger. He finds you trying to beat him in a fight funny and cute since he could hold you with one hand and it’d all be over. He wouldn’t let you wrestle with anyone else he knows your strength and can adapt to it others do not and would end up hurting you something he is fearful of, he lives too far away from everyone anyways.

Bofur

Oh he really enjoys this. Watching you get rough especially with him is one of his favourite things. The closeness of your bodies, the fun and the laughs you both get from it is one of the nicest things to have occurred during the quest to reclaim Erebor. Like all the others, Bofur is strong having had many years training in combat he can easily win but that’s not to say you don’t surprise him with your strength. You had him over once and his reaction ranged from surprise, disbelief, amazement, humour and finally adoration. Your kind and gentleness combined with your strength and love for roughhousing was perfect to him and your little play fights always put his spirits up high.

@kristinpawz

#lindir x reader #thranduil x reader #legolas x reader #elrond x reader #bilbo x reader #beorn x reader #bofur x reader #the hobbit #the hobbit preference #preference #fluff #ask #request

[tolkienhorror]

In Sauron’s Lab: File #4

Another oneshot about one of Sauron’s torture methods.

Warnings: Abuse, torture, non-con, oviposition, flaying, public humiliation, cannibalism of sort, medical torture.

Please note: This was created on a tumblr prompt given on my main blog. Prompt: Celebrimbor/Sauron, Public humiliation & Oviposition Also kudos to @sianascera for working in her excellent pirate fic with certain Dark Lord & oviposition themes first that play a role in this oneshot ...

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

Something was different tonight. 

Celebrimbor shifted uneasily on the soft fur protecting his scar-littered skin from the sharp-edged surface of the anvil he’d been forced to bend over earlier. His wrists and ankles were throbbing only from his weak attempts of freeing himself, not from the suspiciously soft material they’d used to tie his arms and legs to the heavy construction. No new scratches and infections from barbed wire then, or the chance for another of these useless attempts to rip his arteries open on his bonds badly enough that not even Sauron’s extensive medical knowledge and darkest healing songs would be able to bring him back.

Still, none of that was particularly new; it wasn’t even the first time Sauron had ordered his henchmen to put his favorite pet on display like this in his throne room, for everyone to see his naked, marred shape right next to the Lord’s chair. Ready to be abused by whoever and whatever Sauron deemed proper at any given time. It was Sauron who was different. Sauron usually didn’t put his hands on him when they were not alone. It was a matter of privacy, he sometimes cooed into Celebrimbor’s split ear, silken voice full of almost-sincere sounding care and desire, before he was fucking Celebrimbor in some corner of his bedroom with that barb-studded, crooked cock of his.

A mockery of the tender nights they’d shared when Sauron had had this other name and shape that Celebrimbor had bonded himself to. Of a time when he’d still believed that the foundation of this world was trust and that it was worth fighting for. Of course, Celebrimbor was still not talking, and by now, he’d half and half expected his former lover to have understood that he never would, that Sauron was only wasting both their time.

No such luck, apparently. And apparently, tonight, Sauron wasn’t feeling the need for any privacy either. Tonight, he had not ordered a couple of orcs to whip and rape his favorite pet for his entertainment, or one of his trolls - only one of those, always, because after those incidents, he always needed half a week to sing Celebrimbor’s insides back in place. He wasn’t even using Celebrimbor’s immobilized body as his personal pincushion, as some perverted kind of plush toy to cut and pinch and scrape with the diamond-sharp tip of one metal gloved finger, casually, while he was going about his daily business. Tonight, his torturer had thought of something else to pass the time while being immersed in some heated discussion with one of his lieutenants about the next attack on where Sauron thought - rightly so - a larger elvish population to be hiding from the deadly terror of his troops. He made very sure to lay out in detail what he expected his henchmen to do to these poor souls that Celebrimbor had once used to lead and protect, if the orcs should really manage to invade their hideout. But for once, the Dark Lord wasn’t in full armor, the poisoned edges and spikes of which had ripped and punched more than one hole in Celebrimbor’s body in the past when his former lover had been especially impatient to fuck his frustration about Celebrimbor’s defiance into him. Almost plain looking, without his crown and wearing only a crystal-studded, black robe, his impossibly long legs crossed, covered by thigh-high orange boots, his torturer had one arm loosely hanging from the throne’s armrest, sharp-nailed fingertips preparing his favorite toy for whatever he had planned for him tonight. His hand never stopped moving for even a second while was instructing the very interested looking soldier who could hardly take his bulging eyes of Celebrimbor’s degraded shape, drool dripping from his grey lips. Sauron took his sweet time, laying out how many elves he wanted to be taken back to this fortress, to conduct his inhuman experiments on them. In a place that had once used to be Celebrimbor’s own home but had long become unrecognizable, with everything that had used to be crystal and silver turned into tar and smoke. A couple of those poor refugees would be left behind, dying bodies speared on the orcs’ lances for everyone to see who would pass by that the reign of Sauron was everywhere and there was no place to hide.

Celebrimbor found, with little surprise, that he had run out of emotional strength to dread these words. He couldn’t help his people, he couldn’t even help himself. All that was left for him to do was keep the one last secret that prevented his devilish husband from ruling all of this cursed world. And to try to die as quickly as possible before Sauron might find a way to beat it out of him after all.

The irony wasn’t lost to Celebrimbor that his torturer had chosen this very meeting, in which he once more let him know that there was nothing that Celebrimbor loved and treasured that Sauron wouldn’t rip to pieces, to try this very special kind of torture on him. One he hadn’t even used in the very beginning when he’d still been of the delusional hope, he could sway Celebrimbor’s mind, make him serve him like these pitiful creatures disfigured in body and mind so happily did. It was worse than anything else Sauron could have come up with.

The well-oiled fingers buried deep in Celebrimbor’s backside crooked gently, aiming straight for his oversensitive prostate until another hardly suppressed moan came from Celebrimbor’s lips, stretched too far around the metal gag keeping his mouth ready for his torturer’s cock whenever Sauron had use for it. He struggled against his bonds again, hardly able to lift his upper body more than an inch or two off the surface. There wasn’t a lot of strength in his body left since Sauron had starved him down to half his former shape and had fed what most of what had been left of his muscles to his wolves right in front of Celebrimbor’s eyes. The new-grown, deformed patchwork that was his skin burned and itched from more salt covering his body by the second as the heat started to rise in his groin despite all his best efforts to ignore the skillful stimulation.

His hollowed cheeks blushing in shame, he could see the lieutenant kneeling in front of the throne grinning at the reluctant sounds of arousal from his lips, the brawny creature licking its lips in hunger. From the corner of his eyes, he also didn’t miss how the guards by the door laughed scornfully and rubbed themselves through the leather pants of their uniforms, surely hoping they would get to use Sauron’s favorite pet once the Master was done with it for the day until his body wasn’t even twitching enough for them anymore to satisfy.

That was usually how things went when they dragged him to this throne room by the collar sewn into his throat, but Sauron, for some reason, seemed to want to make it a point today, showing his henchmen from up close how he liked to treat his favorite prisoner. With the meeting finally over, he waved the lieutenant away to stand with the others, never taking his slowly thrusting fingers out of Celebrimbor’s stretched hole, instead pushed one more into him, eliciting a new moan from Celebrimbor’s lips.

Four slender, slowly circling and scissoring digits it was now that were working him open, drumming his prostate every now and then, a sharp spark burning in his groin every time those pointy nails tapped the oversensitive spot. And there was nothing Celebrimbor could do to stop his slimmed down hips from thrusting back towards that intrusion instinctively. From chasing that blissful nothingness spreading in his soul that made him forget, at least for a few minutes, all he’d lost and all they’d done to him, even the black creatures leering and cheering at his newest humiliation in the corner. He wondered, as his chest was heaving with ragged breaths, if Sauron would fuck him right here, in front of his people, the last privacy concerns obviously traded for the foolish hope that this, finally, would be the way he could convince Celebrimbor to betray everything he lived for. Maybe he would take his Annatar shape for him again, Celebrimbor thought dully as he let himself fall into sick desire, no longer caring who watched the once-honorable elvish Lord of this land whoring himself out for the Dark Lord. That elf was long dead, his life’s work nothing but a vague memory of better times. There was no use fighting what was happening anyway. It would be nice, maybe, he thought, not even trying to fight the tears rolling down his cheeks when the dreaded pressure inside lessened, only for Sauron to thrust his hole fist past his almost unresisting hole next. A shadow of better days it would be, seeing Annatar’s slender, well-formed shape at least from the corner of his eyes when Sauron would take him, feel his beautiful, thick length slowly slipping inside of him instead of a beastly weapon ripping his insides. Losing himself to the illusion for a while that they were back in their marital chambers, that the future with this heavenly creature by his side was bright … His untouched cock was leaking white on the dark grey, polished dreariness that was the ground, both from the stupid daydream and that small fist slipping deeper into him, knuckles digging into his prostate, drawing deep groans from his lips. A drop of red joined the white mess, falling from his chapped lips from a choked scream of protest at being breached even deeper, far deeper than it should be possible, by something too big for this use, pulling and shoving at the sensitive flesh of his insides until he wondered if Sauron was trying to reach for his very heart to rip it out of him. Celebrimbor hated how relieved the sob from his bleeding lips sounded when his torturer finally pulled back, as if he didn’t know exactly that the bastard was far from being done with him. His too quick breathing hurt in his chest. He wondered if he could come up with enough strength to hyperventilate himself into a few seconds of unconsciousness, if it would be worth the punishment, getting his forcibly aroused body to calm down and regain at least a shred of his dignity ...

Sauron didn’t give him time for such useless musings. Suddenly, he was standing right in front of him, shielding Celebrimbor’s trembling body from the eyes of his other slaves at least for a moment, green cat-eyes glistening with deeply rooted sadism as he held out to Celebrimbor what he had brought for him today to play with. “Good news, my love,” he purred, pointed teeth scraping a fine line of red into his full lower lip, whitish glowing skin flushing with lust at the sight of Celebrimbor’s wide, terrified eyes. “You are going to be a father.” He bent down low enough to slip his forked tongue into Celebrimbor’s mouth, past the metal bars spreading it open, feeding to him the acid tasting blood of his most preferred shape until Celebrimbor gagged and tried to tear away from the iron, ice-cold grip on his chin.

Which only made it worse, because now he had the black and grey colored, egg-shaped device right in front of his eyes that his torturer held, easily bigger than a man’s fist on its widest point. Heat was radiating from it, and under the half transparent shell, Celebrimbor could see a strange light glowing, slowly moving like the thick very substance of evil itself.

He must have made a sound he couldn’t remember behind his gag, because Sauron chuckled and patted his head like one would calm down a nervous horse. “Oh, you’re going to like it, Tyelpe.” He ignored Celebrimbor’s faint sob at this name he’d come to hate so much just like his victim’s futile pulling on the unforgiving ropes. “I created this especially for you. And I made it big and heavy, like an Eagle’s egg, since I know how much you like to be stretched and filled, my love. I figure it will make walking hard for a few months, but it’s not like you have many places to go, is it?” With an almost hysterical chuckle, he petted Celebrimbor’s head again and then buried his hand in what was left of his hair, forcing his head up so that Celebrimbor had to stare at this disgusting thing again. Sauron licked the hot tears from his cheeks with a sigh of delight, holding the egg to his narrow chest almost lovingly careful. “Can you feel it, my love? It’s almost alive ... It’s waiting … It only needs to be fertilized. You see, I have no idea what this is going to be when it hatches. I suppose it will be a friendly, if you beg me nicely enough to bring it to life myself. It could be ours. Wouldn’t that be sweet, my dear? You always said, you wanted us to have children one day …”

That unhinged, too high-pitched laugh again, that had Celebrimbor’s stomach hurl and sent shivers down the parts of his skin that were still able to produce them. His eyes were full of tears, of hate, of despaired pleas when he shook his head against the unrelenting grip on his hair, trying to form words with his dry tongue behind his gag that wouldn’t come.

“No? You might want to think about that, my love.” Sauron’s eyes glowed brighter in the weak light of the torches, well-known anger smoldering in his animalistic pupils, an impatience he was no longer able to hide. “Because if it’s not supposed to be me, I will leave it to these fine soldiers back there to fuck you full of their seed. Morgoth knows what then will come out of that egg once it’s ripe. Are you sure you want to risk that? I imagine it might not feel too nice when it starts feeding its way out of you …” Almost soothingly, he wiped the helpless tears off Celebrimbor’s cheeks and squeezed his unprotected throat close with a harsh grip before the violent gagging there could fill his mouth with bile. “Or …” Sauron leaned close enough to his ear to lick and suck on the torn flesh, lowering his voice to an almost inaudible whisper as if no one was supposed to learn about the favorite lie he sometimes still tried to make his victim believe. “Or you could just tell me what I want to know, and we can end all this right here. I will make you my equal, my commander, and we can rule this world together. Make it in our image. Bring peace and order to everyone. Isn’t that what we used to dream about, my sweet Tyelpe? Just say the words and you’ll be free …”

Celebrimbor didn’t deem it necessary to even try and give any kind of answer save for the blank stare he regarded his former lover with when Sauron withdrew with one thin eyebrow expectantly raised.

“Didn’t think so. Guess we’re going to find out then what kind of offspring an elf and an orc breed, won’t we?” With an exasperated sigh, Sauron straightened up again and sat back down on his throne as if nothing had happened. But the tell-tale wet sound of something smooth and heavy rolling into that bowl of oil he’d been keeping there all evening, had Celebrimbor’s blood run cold. Hot, slightly uneven breath hit the oversensitive, swollen mess that was his hole. The sharp scrape of teeth had him cry out, a thin trail of blood running down the back of his thigh, giving him a first taste of what was in store for him. “Such a beautiful, willing ass,” Sauron sighed, it sounded almost honestly disappointed. “A shame, really, you’re begging me so loudly to ruin it again and again. But who knows? Maybe you’ll change your mind once you can feel your precious baby start moving inside of you, tearing in your flesh. You know, I’m always very willing to hear you beg and plead, my love.”

But Celebrimbor remained silent. It didn’t last long.

*

It was only hours later that he saw his torturer again, a faint vision of white and black moving gracefully through the cell they’d taken him back to after he’d passed out. A light-hearted, bright whistle was on his torturer’s lips as he lay a few of his usual instruments and jars with potions out on a table. Seeing Celebrimbor’s eyelids flutter weekly, and the feeble twitching of his arms in the leather manacles that strapped him down to the broad metal table where he had been suffering for months now, Sauron stepped close to him with a toothy smile. Spider-like fingers stroked his messy hair, down his sore throat, to his very weakling heaving chest and finally lower, to the massive bulge rounding his stomach.

Celebrimbor wailed softly and twitched, new bile burning his tongue when his insides cramped around the intruder stretching them to their limits instinctively and the faint thud of a strong heart vibrated against his flesh. His abused, torn hole clenched around nothing, torrents of greyish, reeking cum dripping from it as his drained body tried in vain to get rid of something that didn’t belong there, but the egg was sitting far too deep buried inside of him for that. This thing wasn’t going anywhere unless his torture would allow it.

And the fascinated shine in his lover’s eyes as he slowly started to trace Celebrimbor’s swollen belly and reached for the first of his instruments, let him know quite clearly, this wasn’t happening anytime soon, even if he should have found in his broken soul enough strength to betray himself and everyone he loved, to beg for this unbearable ordeal to end.

He wondered, faintly, with a mind that was no longer entirely bound to the stability of sanity, if the next months of his pregnancy would finally answer the question who, between Sauron and him, was the more stubborn one.

#Sauron #celebrimbor #silvergifting #silverfisting #sauron's lab #fanfiction #DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT