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asa-do-your-thing · 6 months

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The Shadows of The Lost Court

Dark!Aemond x F!OC - 18+ MINORS DNI Word Count: 8.6k TW: dubcon, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-Typical Behavior, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Shameless Smut, Angst, Fellatio, Misogyny, Internalized Misogyny, Non-Consensual Drug use, Religious Imagery, Symbolism and guilt

Art made by the lovely @nyctophilic0vitnir - thank you so much sweetheart! <3 And thank you so so much @ewanmitchellcrumbs for organizing this @hotd-bigbang , you are amazing!

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Elisabeth shuddered and stopped, turning around, coughing to try and relieve her dry mouth.

She knew. She knew… She knew something. Something was following her.

Leaning against a grubby, crumbling wall, Elisabeth tried catching her breath. There was nothing there, neither on the left, nor on the right. Only cobwebs; cobwebs, moss and the smell of decay.

‘Is The Stranger a something or a someone?’

Tonight was different. The milk came sooner than usual.

Elisabeth struggled - where some people love the rush and the calmness afterward, she hated it. Hated the way it made her sick. Hated the way it lamed her tongue; hated the way it hid her. She knew better than anyone that her doses were calculated. Maester Rithyr must have gotten the order for her to be silenced, not addicted. That wouldn’t look good.

Elisabeth peered out of a window, only to see thick tendrils of fog curling up from the ground like ghostly fingers. The dim light filtering through the mist gave everything a spectral, otherworldly hue. She took notice of how broken everything looked: shattered windows, splintered doors and debris scattered across the dusty floor. She sighed heavily as she rearranged her long, dark brown hair under its veil, trying to keep it in place amidst all the chaos. And then, she heard him again - his footsteps echoing through the ruins.

The sound made her feel uneasy; it was too quiet, too lonely. For a moment she wondered if she was in trouble or hurt. But then a chill ran down her spine and she realized that perhaps it wasn't just the desolate ruin around her making her feel so cold and scared.

“You swore to obey me. You swore before the gods, you brutish whore. After all I’ve done for you…”, the voice echoed around her.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

He was closing in on her. The staircase seemed to be miles away, yet still, she pushed herself away from the moss-covered stones and cautiously started walking. Elisabeth grunted, her legs burning. It was as if she was walking against a current of water, one that swept her slowly closer to him. She stepped over a rotting tapestry and tightly clung onto the handrail of the staircase.

‘Why would The Stranger think of me like that? Is it time for me to… die?’

Carefully descending down, she peered up the stairs. The window let in cold, humid gusts of air and Elisabeth was sure that she could see his dark robe in the shadow. Knowing that the Queen’s Ballroom had no other exit, she trudged past it, stopping to catch her breath along the way.

Out. Out of Maegor’s Holdfast, her mind urged her. But where would she go? As soon as the Kingsguardmen saw her, they would gently escort her back into her chamber. That’s the way it has been for a long time. Biting her lamed tongue, she quietly walked down to the entrance and glanced out. No one was there. No one, except for the occasional rat that scurried through the lower bailey.

“I saw the way that the Strong bastard looked at you. You were with him, weren’t you? Was it not enough to tell him about our political strategies, but to also give him your useless cunny? Do you even know the shame you bring onto this realm?”

Her breath hitched as she saw him closing in on her, his dark cape billowing in the light wind. Glancing up at the serpentine steps, she felt a thick raindrop splashing down onto her. That was just what she needed - collapsing on the slick stairs, The Stranger close behind her. No, risking embarrassment by climbing over the ledge into the Godswood was far more appealing to her.

“Leave me be! I beg of you!”, she whined, her lungs on fire.

'I cannot do this anymore, not long, anyhow, my feet... my lungs... The Stranger... Death...', she thought, unable to focus on anything else than him.

The Godswood was an ancient and sinister place, a twisted forest lurking within the heart of Maegor's Holdfast. Towering weirwood trees with their deathly white trunks and faint streaks of crimson formed a menacing roof above, and the loamy earth seemed to swallow her every step. Elisabeth took a raspy breath, feeling the icy, dank air fill her lungs. The stench of decay surrounded her, the smell of putrefaction and rot. Rain drops pelted down onto her skin, the soil beneath her feet sodden.

Elisabeth moved with a sense of urgency, her feet burning as she weaved through the dense trees. The pattering of rain on the leaves above offered her some concealment as she made her way between the shelter of one tree to another, hoping to avoid detection by her pursuer. Suddenly, a twig snapped behind her and she whirled around, only to hear the sound of footsteps growing louder and louder.

Her heart in her throat, she ducked behind a gnarled oak tree, taking cover from the ominous presence that was closing in on her. She could feel every drop of cold rain as it streamed down her face and hair, running down her back and soaking through to her skin. Each breath was ragged and tumultuous as beads of perspiration bubbled up on her forehead. Elisabeth shuddered uncontrollably in the frigid air before finally forcing herself to keep moving forward through the relentless downpour.

Elisabeth could hear the sound of her own heart pounding in her chest as she tried to make her way through the Godswood. She was shaking with fear, her breaths coming in short, shallow gasps. She knew that The Stranger was close behind her; she could feel his presence like a dark cloud looming over her.

She stumbled over a tree root, nearly falling to the ground, before weakly righting herself and continuing on. Her hair was plastered to her face and neck, her clothes were soaked through. However, insignificant concerns like the dampness penetrating her to the core were overshadowed by her urgent need to elude her relentless pursuer.

Abruptly, a chilling sound pierced the silence, causing her blood to freeze in her veins. It was the eerie scrape of something sharp grating against the gnarled bark of a tree, almost like the sound of a blade being sharpened before an execution. Her heart raced as she whirled around, and there, amidst the gusty winds, stood The Stranger, his ominous dark robe unfurling like a spectre from the shadows.

"You can't escape me."

Elisabeth recoiled in terror, her wide-eyed gaze darting around frantically, searching for a possible escape route. However, the Godswood resembled an inescapable labyrinth of winding trees and dense underbrush, leaving her utterly trapped.

The Stranger took a step forward, his eyes fixed on her. Elisabeth saw the hunger in his gaze, the hunger for her soul. She knew that she was doomed. With a cry of despair, she turned and ran, darting between the trees as fast as she could. The Stranger was right behind her, his footsteps pounding on the wet ground.

She could feel his breath on the back of her neck, cold and ...familiar? Shaking her head quickly and looking up into the sky, she saw the towers again. She probably ran around in circles, her dazed mind tricking her into thinking she had been trapped in a forest.

Frantically sprinting out of the oppressive Godswood, she sucked in a deep breath of fresh air as her gaze fell upon the dilapidated Outer Bailey. The once-glorious stone walls loomed ominously over her, crumbling inward from age and neglect. Threadbare tapestries hung limply in the breeze, swaying like ghosts in an abandoned graveyard. Gaping holes in the walls revealed chipped statues that had been carved centuries ago, still standing guard despite their years of neglect. In the far distance, the towers soared into the sky, dark voids against a backdrop of gray clouds.

Elisabeth inhaled deeply as a thick, unsettling aroma engulfed her. The scent of lavender and jasmine combined with the decaying smell of rotting fruit and mildew. In the distance, Elisabeth could hear the faint sound of buzzing from unseen insects lurking beyond the shadows. She stumbled forward, mesmerized by the air that was heavy with an ominous foreboding.

At last she reached the entrance to The Sept - an imposing structure made entirely out of pale stone blocks that glowed in the fading light. Stone steps rose up to meet two large wooden doors while several small windows peeked out like watchful eyes looking down on her every move.

Elisabeth, feeling the stinging of her lungs, ran into the Sept and fell down on her knees. She laid atop the golden seven-pointed star on the floor and looked up at the statue of the Mother, trying her hardest not to look at the Stranger. To calm her head, she closed her eyes and took deep breaths, running her dry, cracked hands over her burning calves. The tears continued flowing over her pallid face, running down into her dirty gown.

‘What is happening to me? Why on earth would the Seven punish me so?’

She remembered her wedding. It was magnificent, aye. But then again, it had to be. After Joffrey’s death at Princess Rhaenyra’s wedding tourney, she was quietly whisked away from the Stormlands and settled into the Red Keep as a way of keeping the Lonmouth’s - and to a greater extent the Baratheon’s - good graces, so as not to let them favour Princess Rhaenyra’s claim in the case of King Viserys’ death.

The time until the courtship was quiet, that much Elisabeth still remembered. She grew up alongside Princess Helaena - Helaena being three years older than her. Endless hours of handiwork, study and prayer had shrouded her in relative solitude, so when she turned four and ten, she was shocked to be invited to the Royal Table more often and to be invited for strolls with Prince Aemond. Back then she had still been Lady Elisabeth, not 'Princess Bess'.

Later she understood why the engagement happened. Prince Aemond had to marry to secure the crown’s security and to show the green faction that they had gotten the Stormlands support.

She often asked herself why they had chosen her over the Baratheon girls. They were more comely - Elisabeth's stature was short and plump, giving her the appearance of a child much younger than her age. Her brow was rounded, her cheeks plump and her eyes large with dark, scared pupils. Her Monmouth blood - the one that made her relation Joffrey so beautiful - must have passed her by. Her long, dark hair was thick but formless, hanging in her face without curls or ringlets. It was clear to her that Aemond was not interested in her, not in the romantic sense at least.

As days turned into weeks, Elisabeth discovered that Prince Aemond was the first man with whom she could engage in conversations almost as equals. His cold, yet encouraging words had ignited a spark within her, urging her to delve deeper into her thoughts and ideas. Over time, an unexpected fondness began to blossom in Elisabeth's heart for him. In his unique manner, he exuded a charming gloomy aura that drew her in. Many hours passed in their quiet companionship, their noses buried in books, immersed in shared moments of silent contemplation. Their intellectual pursuits were often overseen by the watchful presence of Princess Helaena, serving as a discreet but ever-vigilant chaperone.

But now, as she lay on the floor of the Sept, she wondered if she had made a grave mistake somewhere along the line in her life. Should she have taken her vows? Life as a septa would’ve suited her far more than whatever tragedy her current situation had turned into.

Aemond had changed since they were wed. Princess Helaena said that that was the case for most men, yet somehow, a small glimmer of hope still arose that it might have been different. He had become more... mean. It was as though he was a different person entirely.

Although... he had always been the quiet sort. The kind of man that you could hear exhaling slowly whenever he heard a foolish remark, the kind of man that judged everyone for everything, the kind of man that doesn't even think himself superior - he believes it.

Elisabeth couldn't help but think of the Stranger. It was a foolish thought, she knew. But in some ways, Aemond reminded her of the mysterious figure. Both were dark, brooding, and unpredictable.

Elisabeth had always been on edge when Queen Alicent was around; her hawk-like gaze followed her every move and her scornful words cut deeper than any blade. Every time Elisabeth tried to be independent or think for herself, the Queen would chastise her that those were qualities meant just for Husbands.

After months of having to constantly please the Queen and ignore her own wants and needs, Elisabeth felt like a teetering ball ready to burst with the slightest push. She was too afraid to say anything, though, in fear of making things worse.

Then arrived the fateful day of her wedding, a lavish spectacle replete with tournaments, sumptuous feasts, and exhilarating hunts—a grand display of House Targaryen's power and influence. The exuberance of the festivities infected all who attended, making it effortless for others to revel in the celebrations.

However, beneath the surface of the revelry, Elisabeth harboured a mixture of anxiety and excitement, uncertain of what her future held in store. In the midst of it all, Prince Aemond had become a steadfast presence in her life, forging a deep connection with her. He seemed to grasp the essence of her being, affording her the precious gift of solitude for introspection, or so she believed. He made sure to squash her hopes.

For most, that had been a grande and joyous event. For Elisabeth, it was the start of her misery, though she did not yet know the full extent. As the Queen had instructed her, she treated everyone courteously, demurely.

That she did, or at least she thought that she did. Her husband disagreed, though. As soon as they were escorted into his chamber (he had wished for the doors to be closed), he spun around and pushed her against a wall. Aemond asked with a steely voice, towering over her, if she had been cavorting with the Velaryons, the way she had smiled at them, the way Jacaerys’ lips lingered on her hand as he greeted her.

Aemond questioned if she thought him to be blind. Elisabeth whimpered and gulped, trying her hardest not to hold Aemond's hard gaze, when she explained that she was told to be courteous to everyone, only to be cut off, when Aemond had pushed her even harder, making her yelp in pain, her shoulders burning from his strong grip. He ordered her to hush and questioned her why she would associate herself with usurpers, bastards and sodomites.

What followed was of no particular interest to her, not anymore, anyways. Someone outside of the chamber, presumably Maester Myntheon, cleared their throat and told them to settle any disputes after the ceremony. Aemond had quickly slipped off his breeches - the fact that he didn’t even care enough to fully undress stung her after it had happened - and made sure to get her naked as soon as possible.

She laid there, freezing, looking up at the tapestries next to their bed as he quickly stroked himself. ‘Do not do anything, lest he should think you a whore’ ran through her mind so often, that she almost thought that a small version of Alicent sat in her brain, spewing her nonsensical rules over and over so she could drive herself insane.

“Open up.”

When Aemond saw her puzzled expression, he sighed, shook his head and gently pried her legs open, pulling her down the bed so that she was close to the ledge, closer to him and his half-hard member.

“I need to get to your cunt. Don’t make this more difficult for us than it has to be.”

Elisabeth felt her face heat up, and even though the room was dark, she could feel a heavy blush take over her neck and cheeks. She opened her legs wider and tried to steel herself for what was to come, but all too soon Aemond was pushing himself inside of her. She gasped as he entered her roughly, not giving her time to adjust. He kept thrusting into her with more force than necessary, making it hurt even more than it should have. Did he know it hurt? Did it hurt him?

She tried to cry out but he put a hand on her mouth and told her he was almost done. Tears started streaming down Elisabeth's face as Aemond kept going for what seemed like an eternity until finally his body went limp on top of hers. He rolled off of the bed without saying a word and left the room without so much as glancing at Elisabeth again.

Elisabeth lay there in shock, touching herself gingerly where Aemond had just been. For the first time ever she felt ashamed of herself; despite all that had just happened she still felt pleasure deep within herself that made her feel worse than before - something no one had prepared her for or warned about prior to this momentous night.

Was she a wanton whore? Was.. was Alicent right?

That was that. After that, he visited her fortnightly, stated his needs and left again. Although, Elisabeth noted quickly to herself, he had gotten gentler after seeing her bruised cunny. Proving she was a virgin had been no great feat. Her fear had made her so stiff and dry that there were multiple splotches of blood on the bed sheet, so many that even Alicent deemed to congratulate her. That was also the time where Alicent had started giving her milk of the poppy and after that, Elisabeth could not remember anything reliably.

Even if she could, she noticed it was not the time to reminisce anymore. His eyes were dark and bright at the same time, void of feeling even while raging with anger. The candles flickered nervously on the altars as he stalked into the room and slammed the door shut behind him. Slowly turning around, she tried looking up at him despite her shaky vision. He was tall, wearing a cape with a large hood that covered his face.

If he wouldn’t … glide and give off a sense of dread, one could almost think it was Aemond himself. Yet, the way she knew him, he would not have spent such a long time chasing her and taunting her. He made it clear enough to her, she didn’t matter.

“Have you come to confess? To repent?”

The Stranger offered her a hand, which she eyed cautiously.

“Have you come to take me? Or are.. You taunting me?”

He laughed ominously. “You know me, I could never taunt you in a sept. But… taking you? That is a very bold request, Lady Wife.”

Lady Wife? Elisabeth shivered and groaned, taking his cold hand. She was not instantly taken away to the realm of the dead, which made her glad and worried at the same time.

“Wh… why..? And… why Lady Wife? I’m Elisabeth, don’t you know?”

The Stranger helped her up and held her for a while until she gained complete function over her legs again. Letting her go, he stepped away again and looked around the Sept.

“You're quite perplexing. You've yet to respond to my allegations, and instead, you've led me on a convoluted journey through the Red Keep, Bess.”

Calmly folding his arms behind his back, he strolled through the small hall, making sure his eyes were firmly on her shaking form.

“You even took me here, just to ask me to be with you, despite your previous reluctance. Has something changed, perhaps due to a newfound perspective from The Maiden?”

Elisabeth cocked her head to the side, trying her hardest to identify the figure in front of her. Why would… why would The Stranger care for her relations with Princess Rhaenyra and her sons?

Why would… why would he want to engage in an amorous congress with her? Was that a cruel way the gods were testing her?

“Well… You chased me… I thought you meant harm to me…”

The figure hummed and it almost looked like his face turned into a doleful expression.

“I could mean you harm depending on the answers you shall give me. We are in a sept - if you lie, you are damned. Do you know that?”

Elisabeth took a few steps back and lowered her eyes again. So it was the Stranger. He was asking about her sins so that she might repent before he took her away. That realisation hit her gut like a punch. Tears started welling up in her eyes.

“I… yes, I do, but believe me, I-”

“I shall decide for myself if you are innocent, Lady Wife. Spare me your tales of woe.”

Closing the distance to her again, the figure gently took her chin into his hand and forced her to look up into his eyes. He quickly smoothed her hair and wiped the tears from her face.

“Before I ask you though, I need to take you. I need to take what is mine; you have ignored me long enough and now that you’ve asked me, I would be a fool not to take you up on your offer.”

Elisabeth whimpered and stood rooted on the spot. If it weren’t for the weird pull in her stomach, she would have pleaded, would have fled. But something… Something about the way the figure touched her so gently, so caringly, made her heart leap in ways that have seldom happened. Nothing made sense anymore.

On one hand, she wondered why on earth the Stranger wanted to take her, yet on the other, she knew that what the Gods willed was destined to happen. And if that wasn’t the Stranger? Well, but who would it be? A dream figure? But why would she dream of such things? Was she so depraved and craven? Maybe she was. In that moment, delirious and flush with adrenaline, she threw all concern out of the tiny window of propriety that she still had in her foggy mind.

Placing a trembling hand around the Stranger’s waist, Elisabeth nodded lightly.

“Take me then, if you must,” she whispered. The Stranger smiled in response and embraced her tightly, pulling her close to his chest as he kissed the top of her head.

They stayed like that for what felt like eternity and Elisabeth swam in a sea of emotions like never before. She could feel his heart beating against her own, slowly but surely drawing them closer together.

He smelled familiar. Something in her mind told her she knew him; the smell of leather, dragons and sweat. Could it be...?

At long last, the figure pressed his cold lips onto hers, almost possessively. Even though it had been one of her first kisses, he guided her strongly, making sure that she couldn’t doubt him or his intentions.

Bess tried her hardest to banish the thought of Aemond in her head. No, it couldn’t be - Aemond never kissed her. It had to be the Stranger. Was that the metaphorical kiss of death?

Answering her doubts, the Stranger slowly started to undress her, as if he was uncovering a precious gem. His hands moved with a slow and patient rhythm, almost like a ritual or dance as they explored every inch of her body. He caressed her curves and memorised every quirk on her figure until Bess had no more will left in her to resist.

For a moment it felt like time had stopped. As if the entire world was focused on them and their lovemaking; their own little bubble of pleasure and passion that nothing could penetrate. Aemond let out a low moan of pleasure as he drew his lips down Bess’s neck, relishing in the taste of her skin against his tongue. She shuddered beneath him as his fingers slowly moved ever lower, exploring each inch of her body without an ounce of inhibition or shame. She gasped when she felt his tongue swirl around one sensitive spot near the base of her spine before finally coming to rest between her legs, ready for exploration…

Elisabeth found herself melting beneath Aemond’s touch as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through her body in response to his ministrations. His fingers seemed to know exactly where to go and what buttons to press – it was almost like he was born again.

It was almost like Elisabeth had been born again. The grogginess in her mind had subsided almost as soon as she had felt the pleasure; so had the illusion of the Stranger. But then again, her Aemond had never been kind, gently, loving in bed. He had always been rough with her, pulling her hair if he got too excited. And this man…Her Aemond had never touched her the way he did right now. Was she still dreaming?

Aemond stepped back, the space between them electric with passion and anticipation. His smouldering gaze locked with hers, and she felt a rush of heat that paralyzed her body and mind. Even though he had desired her since the day they were married, he thought she despised him, yet now in a sept the intensity of his longing was palpable. The air around them was thick with desire.

"I need you to taste me. I need to see you naked, on your knees, here, in front of the gods. Elisabeth, I finally want to claim you as my own, as my wife, and not as a piece of meat I spill my seed into every fortnight."

Despite all of her hesitance and apprehension, Elisabeth obeyed without any objection; he was still her lord husband and adhering to her spouse was the utmost important action she could take as a dutiful wife.

With trembling, cold hands she took his long, hard member and guided it towards her mouth. Was that her punishment? But for what? She had done nothing to warrant this perverse humiliation, but as he placed a hot, determined hand on the back of her head, she knew that she hadn't had much of a choice.

Gently, Elisabeth opened her mouth and engulfed Aemond’s cock. She could feel him shudder at her touch, and the heat that emanated from his body caused her pulse to race. His breathing was ragged as he gasped her name again and again, urging her on.

With a gentle hand, she guided Aemond’s hips closer to hers before taking him deeper into her mouth. The sensation of his velvety smooth skin against hers was electrifying. Her tongue gently danced around him, exploring every inch of his manhood until he could no longer hold back the intensity of his pleasure.

Elisabeth felt embarrassed and exposed; this seemed like something she should never be allowed to do in front of the gods. But the sheer pleasure that it evoked in both herself and Aemond kept her going. Gods, it felt so wrong yet so right at the same time.

"Fuck. Yes, Bess... You belong to me... Not to The Strong bastards, not to Aegon, not to anyone else... You're... fuck... mine..."

Aemond's hands tightened around her head, making sure she was as deep as her mouth allowed her to be as he released a long moan before spilling himself inside her mouth. It was hot, salty and Elisabeth tried her hardest swallowing it without looking up at him.

With a throbbing head, she released him and covered her face in shame. She knew the milk was dangerous - yet making her dream of death and running through the Red Keep? Taking Aemond's cock like a... a dirty Harlot?

That was more than she could take. Now he knew that she was a weak person, that there was only a weak will buzzing around inside her. The last thing she needed now was the usual gloating expression on his face - his unbearable questioning.

“I’ve done all you wanted. Ask me your questions, so that you might finally understand that none of this was ever my will,” she said as she wiped her mouth, her voice brittle.

Aemond gave her a cold look of confusion and cocked his head to the side, closing his breeches and slipping his doublet on again, after he had caught his breath.

“What wasn’t your will? Giving yourself to me here?”

Elisabeth sighed. "You're my husband. Your wish is my command."

Aemond, in his usual fashion, looked away from her in shame, flaring his nostrils.

"Alright then. If it is your wish again to make me feel like the worst human being in the world, then I shall do so too. I thought I could take you to your chambers again, get you a hot bath... Alas, my Lady Wife, you asked for the interrogation yourself."

He walked over to the Statue of the Mother and gave her a cold look, his tousled white hair gently floating down his back. His eyepatch made him look even scarier than it usually did.

"I've heard rumours that you've taken moon tea. Do you want to avoid giving me an heir? Swear on the Mother."

Elisabeth shivered and slowly dressed herself again, making sure not to break eye contact with Aemond. The milk made it's presence - or rather, abscence known again - it made her desperately queasy. The aftertaste of Aemond's spunk in her mouth certainly did not help.

"I swear on the Mother I haven't been taking Moon... Tea."

Aemond raised his eyebrow in a quizzical manner.

"Then what is that concoction that Maester Rithyr brings you? I can't imagine it being a skin cream."

If looks could kill, Aemond would've joined the Stranger's embrace right then and there.

"Do not mock me, Lord Husband. You and your filthy snake of a mother know exactly what it is he brings me," she seethed, her voice thick with venom. "It is exactly the thing that made me think you were the Stranger chasing me through..."

Anger was not the only thing that bubbled up inside her. Retching, she emptied her stomach onto the marble floor, the large marble hall making the splattering sound of her vomit uncomfortably loud.

Aemond's eyes blazed with fury, one hand pulled back in a fist ready to strike. But before he had the chance, Aemond's gaze fell on her frail, sweaty body next to a pool of her own bloody vomit and his arm fell limp. He was held in place by the sight, unable to move or even blink as his anger turned into fear.

"Bess, gods, tell me what it is he gives you! Come clean to me, you foolish girl!"

Elisabeth flinched and wiped her lips, groaning weakly. Aemond had not seemed like someone who would lead her into danger or punish her for being honest - if he wanted to be so cruel, he could've hit her when she cursed his mother. She took in a deep breath and tried to rid herself of the sour taste in her mouth, then nervously patted her clammy palms on the stained fabric of her dress. Leaning against the statue of the Father, she felt a little bit safer.

"From the moment we were wed, your mother has given me milk of the poppy. Told me you'd stop trying to give me an heir if I continued to act the way I did."

Coughing, she shook her head and gave Aemond a cold look. His face was unreadable - no reaction was a reaction, Elisabeth noted and took a deep breath before continuing.

"The people in front of our door at our bedding ceremony told her of your indignant attitude to me and my inability to give you an heir after that. She... She thought I was denying you and that you were too courteous to take what was yours."

Elisabeth heaved once more, so Aemond propped her up and held her hair back. As she vomited, a worrying amount of blood appeared - it was nearly just that. Frowning, Aemond used a piece of fabric from her dress to clean up her lips afterwards.

"Please continue," he whispered into her ear, his breath hot on her skin. She felt a tear roll down her cheek and wished she were in bed with a warm blanket instead of being forced to confess. But the more she said, the better chance she had of avoiding drinking that awful milk again.

"She was always displeased with me and she did not hesitate to tell me so. She told me the Daeron's future wife - a certain Clara Lannister," she gave him a sharp look putting a finger to her lips, signaling to him that it was a secret and that he didn't hear it from her, "would have made a much better wife to you than I have. She's even more pious, meeker, prettier..."

Aemond huffed. "Clara's a feeble twelve year old hussy and she has wrapped the court around her pretty little fingers. I still cannot quite comprehend why my mother would try... try to drug and shut you up."

Elisabeth raised her eyebrow and gave her husband a sorrowful look. “You remember why, don’t you my Lord Husband? You were displeased that I was fraternizing with the Strong bastards. You said to her that I wasn't serious about state affairs. You told her you couldn't go through with our marriage vows and that I was too...” A tear slid down her cheek as she shook her head. She wanted to avoid any more tears rolling down, so she looked up in an effort to stop them. "You called me Bess just as the others did to show how much of a simpleton I was and you continue doing so! You would've beat me senseless if I'd have called you Monny!"

Aemond let out an exasperated sigh before taking a seat next to Elisabeth on the cold marble floor, gently wrapping an arm around her shoulders in comfort and pulling out a handkerchief from underneath his cloak which he tenderly offered for for her to clean herself off with.

“It’s fine,” he said gruffly. “We all make mistakes.” He put a finger under her chin and lifted it towards him so she had to look him in the eye. “I thought you hated me after our marriage ceremony, and I foolishly told my mother about it in a fit of anger.” Despite his words, there was something uncomfortable in the way his gaze held hers.

Elisabeth erupted into desperate sobs, pounding her fists against his chest with each cry. The dried blood that stained her hands flaked off like dust as she grabbed him in despair. "How could you do this to me? We should have talked it through, together! Instead of understanding why I had changed after our marriage, all you ever did was lash out at me and let your mother drive me to the brink of madness - treating me like a stranger and I can barely recognise myself anymore! If I didn't love you so much, I would hate you right now. But even then, my heart still aches for you... Oh gods, Aemond..."

The strain of her confession was too much for her. Elisabeth tipped forward, still gripping onto Aemond’s tunic with her bloody hands, as she lost consciousness in his arms.

Aemond caught her, gently placing her down onto the floor, then stood up and looked around the sept. He felt torn; part of him wanted to believe what his mother said but the other part of him knew it couldn’t be true. He had made a horrible mistake by allowing his pride and anger to drive him to such lengths, and he now he had to face the consequences alone. With a heavy heart, he summoned some guards who helped move Elisabeth’s lifeless body to his chambers where she could rest peacefully and recover from her ordeal.

Aemond was left with an overwhelming feeling that something fundamental in his life had shifted during that conversation in the Sept — not just between himself and Elisabeth but also between himself and his mother — an unspoken understanding that things would never be the same between them ever again. As he walked off in a daze towards his chamber, thoughts of revenge raced through his mind as he planned how best to confront her about it all — but for now, all he could do was hope that Elisabeth would recover quickly enough so they could make sense of everything together.

He was determined to take care of Elisabeth and as he watched her sleeping in his chambers, the rage that had been building up inside him slowly melted away. He brushed a strand of hair off her forehead and sighed resignedly — he had no control over what happened next, all he could do now was to care for her. As best as he could, Aemond pulled the blankets over her body to keep her warm and placed a pillow underneath her head for extra comfort. He sat by her side all night, silently willing for herto open her eyes so they could talk this out together, but it seemed like she wouldn’t wake up anytime soon.

The hours dragged on and his frustration only heightened with every minute that passed until finally Aemond couldn’t take it anymore. He ordered one of the guards to stay with Elisabeth before storming off in an attempt to clear his head. As he walked through the corridors of the castle, images of their conversation in the Sept replayed in his mind but try as he might, Aemond still couldn’t make sense of it all – what did this all mean? Could they ever go back to the way things were before?

Aemond was prepared to take matters into his own hands, he always was. He thought that this evening would end in him seeking a divorce or a mistress at court, arguing with his senseless simpleton of a wife, yet nothing could have prepared him for the confrontation he would have with her.

Storming up the steps up to her apartments, he quickly shooed away Ser Criston Cole and opened the doors. He followed the light through the Entrance Hall up to her solar, where Alicent sat quietly on a settee, getting her feet rubbed by a lady in waiting. She raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Whatever's the matter, Aemond? Is Helaena all right? Did Aegon do something?"

Aemond's nostrils flared with fury as he fought himself to remain silent. How dare no one tell him - Elisabeth's husband - that his own wife had become a shadow of her former self, her mind so clouded with drugs she was practically a ghost? He could feel the rage building in his chest, threatening to escape and take over.

"Milk of the Poppy. Have you lost your damned senses?"

Alicent flinched a bit at his dangerously low, cool tone and sent her lady out. He could not make out her facial expression - it could have been anything from boredom to indifference - which angered him even more. Trying not to act too rashly, he tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword.

"Say something! And don't you dare deny it, I know it was you! Maester Rithyr told me everything", he lied effortlessly. He knew he had to - everything else would put Elisabeth in great danger.

Alicent lowered her eyebrow again, donned her slippers and stood up. Her face changed into a caring and hurt one, leaving Aemond a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Wasn't it you who told me she was cavorting with Jacaerys? Didn't you complain of her disobedience, my dear?"

'So it is my fault now', he thought and took a deep breath, stepping closer to her and grabbing her tightly by the shoulders.

"What I wanted was for you to give her spiritual guidance and help in transitioning into her role as a princess. Why-"

"You cannot turn Mice into dragons, Son. Everyone knows that Bess doesn't fulfil your needs and our doubt will only be confirmed if she continues to be barren."

Alicent interrupted him icily and tore herself from his grip, sitting back down.

"I have received a raven from Boros Baratheon, he said his daughters had only just flowered. What do you think? Or would you rather prefer Clara Lannister? I could..."

Aemond was taken aback, this conversation had gone way beyond his expectations. How could his own mother suggest such a thing? He knew he had to put an end to it before it was too late.

"Stop right there, Mother", he said sharply interrupting her mid-sentence. "Contrary to popular belief I like Elisabeth a lot and do not wish to take another wife."

He glanced coolly around the chamber and smiled unsettlingly.

"You must forget yourself, dear Mother. Helaena is Queen Consort now so it should be in her responsibility to judge on these issues and you know how much she likes Elisabeth. And besides, if the court would know of your... hysterics, who would continue to take you seriously? You know how your dear father, the Hand, dislikes your moody tendencies."

His words must have struck a chord - Alicent paled significantly and shrunk in her seat, clasping her hands on her lap.

Aemond continued with a calm, yet terrifying tone:"I don't wish for you to continue giving her the drug. I think the milk of poppy may be causing her infertility and I won't let that happen. You barred me from having heirs - who knows what you did with Helaena or you will do with that Lannister girl? It's almost treasonous, you know."

Alicent was desperate and scared, she picked at the skin around her nails to distract herself from what she knew would be a losing battle.

"My son-", her voice was small and trembling. She wanted to argue with him but his implacable gaze made it difficult for her to even look him in the eye. He had always been so strong willed, just like her own father. She had never been able to get through his hard shell of pride and arrogance, no matter how hard she tried.

"I only wish the best for you and our kingdom," she said softly trying to reason with him but he merely scoffed in response.

"Then how can you suggest me taking another wife? It would do more damage than good." His words were cold and final - this conversation was over before it began. Aemond stepped away from her and towards the door, pausing momentarily as he grabbed the handle."Remember our discussion mother", he said sternly before leaving the room without another word.

Aemond stepped out of the chamber, feeling a mix of anger and disappointment. He had hoped that his mother would be able to understand his point of view, but it seemed she was too entrenched in her own ideas about Elisabeth's faults to do so.

He walked down the corridor that led to the castle courtyard, trying to clear his mind of all thoughts. But as he walked, he couldn't help but think about how much he had changed since he had been married with Elisabeth. He had never imagined himself being such a cold and vengeful man, no.

The thought brought a sharp pang of guilt - what if word got out that the heir presumptive to the Iron Throne was considering taking another wife? It could cause widespread scandal and potentially put him at odds with some powerful houses. He shook his head in dismay, knowing that this wasn't an option for him - not now, not ever.

Aemond made his way to the training yard to clear his mind. He picked up a sword and began to practice with it, swinging it in powerful arcs and thrusts as if he were fighting some invisible enemy. His body moved in sync with the blade, becoming increasingly faster until sweat was dripping down his face from the exertion. The familiar movements soothed him - they allowed him to forget about the pressures of court life for a time, giving him respite from all of its trifling problems.

Once he felt sufficiently calm, Aemond returned back to his chambers and changed into some clothes more suited for the upcoming feast. As he finished dressing, he noticed something odd - there was a faint light coming from his bedroom. He rushed over to see what she was doing, hoping that she had woken up again, which she had, indeed.

Elisabeth looked up at Aemond with an anxious expression on her face before hastily turning away from him. "I don't wish to cause trouble," she muttered quietly before standing up and making her way toward the door without another word. "I shall just... retire to my chambers, Lord Husband."

Aemond watched as she stood up, feeling confused and slightly hurt by her actions - why was she so distant? What had happened happened to her?

"Elisabeth?"

He said her name softly, stepping closer to her and taking a gentler tone. He had meant to apologize for his earlier words, but something else came out instead.

"I wanted to thank you, for telling me the truth yesterday. I know it must have been difficult for you. I spoke with my mother and she will never give you milk of the poppy again if she values her life and social standing."

Elisabeth's dark eyes widened as she stared at him in shock. She had completely forgotten the events of the previous day and that Aemond had cared for her after her hallucination - another one of the side effects of the milk. His kind words made the feelings of guilt and confusion wash over her anew, and it was hard not to be taken aback by his unexpected familiarity with her. If she wouldn't have felt that painful yearning in her soul for more of the drug, she would've believed that she was still dreaming.

"L-lord Husband? How...? Why...?"

He smiled, realizing that she must'nt have remembered what had happened yesterday.

"It doesn't matter now," he said kindly. "What matters is that I would like for you to join me at the feast this evening, so people can see how beautiful and intelligent my wife truly is."

Elisabeth gave him a weary look before returning his small smile. She quickly glanced at her reflection in the mirror, before blushing self consciously.

"I give thanks to the Father for leading you to discover the truth... Before we go, can I take a moment to change my clothes?", she questioned quietly, gazing up into his eyes. Once they had filled her with unease but now caused her heart to flutter with a hint of love.

Gently laying a kiss on her forehead, Aemond motioned for one of his loyal servants to come forth. He commanded them to fill the grand bath with steaming hot water and to bring a most exquisite dress for her. "Let me be the one to tend to you my darling. I must have you look as though you are mine," he uttered in a commanding yet affectionate voice.

The servants quickly scurried to do his bidding, bringing forth everything Aemond would need to make Elisabeth beautiful. They filled the bath with fragrant herbs and oils, as well as a variety of soaps and lotions for her to use. They also brought forth an exquisite gown of rich green silk and delicate lace, complete with matching slippers.

Elisabeth silently slipped into the soothing hot bath while Aemond knelt down beside her and began to lovingly bathe her body. He took great care not to scrub too harshly on her bruises and scrapes, something that she had not expected from him. The heat and his gentle touch made her trust him more with every second. "Lord Hus- um, I mean, Aemond, might I ask you soething?"

Aemond squeezed out the sponge in his hand and gently caressed her body. He truly missed out on all of this due to his anger against the Blackss, he noted grimly in his mind and gently started brushing her long, dark hair.

"You may speak freely, Elisabeth."

Elisabeth flushed and hastily sought to conceal the exposed parts of her body, aghast at being presented thus before her husband. "I had been given milk of Poppy yesterday, which has stripped my memory," she ventured nervously, attempting to tread carefully knowing full well his notorious temper. She hoped that whatever grievances between them had subsided in his mind and uttered in an almost meek voice, "Could you tell me what happened? I..."

"Elisabeth, you do not need to be so shy and meek around me," Aemond said soothingly. "I know that is not your true temperament. I will try to reign in my anger more if it makes you feel better." Reaching for a cloth, he dried her body before helping her out of the tub and into the dress they had brought for her. As he arranged it around her frame, Aemond thought about what he should tell herknowing that avoiding certain topics would not help them move forward any better. He gathered his thoughts before finally speaking gently yet firmly.

"I do think it's best for us both if I... do not recapitulate everything, my darling." He tied the ribbons at the back of her dress and gently guided her to a seat, giving her a few pins and such so that she could arrange her hair. His member twitched slightly as he thought back to her, naked on the marble floor, her lips flush against his skin. "You hallucinated something about The Stranger, ran around the Red Keep and then you confessed to being drugged by my mother. We then reached an understanding and I carried you here," he said matter-of-factly, trying his hardest to banish the thought of her full, naked figure from his mind.

Feeling a little flustered, Elisabeth swiftly pulled her hair into a loose bun on her head, letting one or two strands flutter down onto her chest. “Oh, I'm sorry to hear I subjected you through this, I thank you for listening to me and for forgiving me," she said softly. After finishing her hairdo, she stood up and bowed towards Aemond. “Thank you, my Prince, for everything. Shall we go and have dinner?”

When the doors to the Hall opened, a hush fell over the crowd and all that remained was an eerie stillness. With an air of grandeur, Prince Aemond Targaryen strode in, his purple eye sweeping the room like a hawk, the other hidden behind his leather eyepatch. But what shocked the court even more was who he had with him. Princess Elisabeth Lonmouth walked tall and proud beside her husband, having not been seen much since their marriage six months ago. She appeared almost otherworldly with her petite stature and unusual looks, her dark hair waving languidly as a gentle breeze wafted into the Hall. Her chin was raised high and there was no hint of submission or fear in her presence.

The star of Aemond Targaryen had risen again - ready to face the Dance of the Dragons with Elisabeth by his side.

#hotd big bang #house of the dragon #asas fics #hotd #aemond targaryen #prince aemond #aemond one eye #aemond x oc #aemond fanfiction #aemond smut #fanfiction #i love my mutuals #aemond fic #dark aemond #dark aemond smut #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #alicent hightower

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smileydk · 3 months

Text

The Perfect Husband

Pairing: Husband!Dokyeom x OC

Summary: Lee Dokyeom was the kind of husband girls dreamt of when they were young. A Prince Charming who is perfect in every aspect. And he did everything in his power to live up to this.

cw/tw: fluff, kissing, swearing, cheesy nicknames, suggestive, teeth rotting fluff

Note: Just Husband!Dokyeom on the brain :), and since Dokyeom has said he prefers being called Dokyeom, I refuse to use Seokmin.

The clock was almost 12 at noon, but Jiwoo was still fast asleep. She had been up until like 4 in the morning, studying for her upcoming mid-term.

College was tough, but she was working hard for it.

Dokyeom was out running some erands. Both getting some groceries, since their fridge was pretty much empty, and some flowers, since it was Sunday.

That was one of the things Dokyeom had been doing for Jiwoo, ever since they started dating. Every Sunday, without miss, he would buy Jiwoo a fresh bouquet of roses.

He found a bouquet of red roses, which he deemed were perfect enough for his perfect wife.

He quickly paid for the roses and headed home.

On his way home, he couldn't help but smile. He knew Jiwoo would enjoy the roses, she always did, and he always loved the way her face lit up when she smiled.

His friend often teased him for his acts. They couldn't understand how Dokyeom could still be this love-smitten after a whole decade of marriage.

He didn't care. He loved Jiwoo. And he would never stop with his "stupid little acts".

He pulled up to the house and parked. He got the stuff from the trunk, the flowers from the passanger seat, and headed inside.

Judging by the silence Jiwoo was still fast alseep. He chuckled. He was so proud of her. She had been working so hard to get her bachelor's degree in music.

She'd spent so many nights, staying up to study for exams and tests. Dokyeom had done his best to help her study, but he soon found out he was absolutely useless at studying. And he usually just ended up distracting Jiwoo from studying, one way or another.

Dokyeom entered living room. He spotted the, very sad and withered, roses from last week's shopping trip. He picked up the vase and brought them into the kitchen.

He quickly threw the old roses aways and replaced them with the new, fresh ones he just bought.

''Where is my note-paper?'' Dokyeom asked no one in particular. He walked around the whole entré floor, looking for his damn note-paper.

Yes, he had special paper for writing notes for Jiwoo.

He walked into his home-office and dug out a new pack of small squared, pink paper, with a tiny heart in the bottom right corner. ''Ha! Fresh paper''

He jutted down a cheesy note; Wake up my love. Flowers, smiles and laughter are waiting for you, and walked upstairs to place it on the nightstand on Jiwoo's side.

Yes, the note was cheesy as hell, but he had been doing this since they started dating and he wasn't stopping now. And he knew Jiwoo liked them, which was the only thing that really mattered to him.

He went back downstairs to start making lunch, and to wait for Jiwoo to wake up.

As the smell of kimchi reached the bedroom, Jiwoo stirred. She opened one eye, wondering why the house smelled like kimchi.

Then she realized, Dokyeom must be home.

As she sat up she spotted the small note on the nightstand. She smiled at the note, and chuckled slightly at the cheesiness of it.

''Such a chees-head'' She mumbled, but she had a dorky smile on her lips. She took the note and reached into her nightstand. She dug out her binder and placed the note inside.

She had saved every single note Dokyeom had ever written her.

Jiwoo stood from the bed and took a deep breath, through her nose. A small frown grew on her face.

The hoodie she wore was Dokyeom's old favorite hoodie. And also her favorite hoodie. And it no longer smelled like him. Might have been because Jiwoo'd been wearing it for weeks.

But she didn't like that it didn't smell like him anymore.

She dove into Dokyeom's closet and dug out another hoodie, one that smelled like him. She changed hoodies and took a deep breath. Dokyeom's smell filled her nostrils.

Much better.

As she headed downstairs she brought the other hoodie with her. She entered the kitchen and spotted her husband by the stove. A small giggle left her lips as he wore the apron she'd bought him.

It was pink with cupcakes, and she'd made it personal. On the right side it said "Princess Dokyeom". She'd bought it as a joke. But he wore it proudly.

''Hello, love. Looking good in my hoodie'' Dokyeom turned around with a smile and spotted his wife, still groggy from her sleep. ''Sleep well?''

Jiwoo smiled and nodded. ''Yeah, thank you for letting me sleep in''

''Of course I let you sleep in. A, you're a grown woman who can make her own decisions, B, you were up until like 4 studying. I would never wake you up at an ungodly hour after such a study session''

Dokyeom wrapped his arms around her body and held her tightly. Jiwoo wrapped her arms around his waist and enjoyed just standing in his embrace.

''Can you put this on?'' Jiwoo pulled away from the hug and held up their shared favorite hoodie.

''Sure, but why?'' Dokyeom took the hoodie and put it on.

Jiwoo blushed slightly. ''It didn't smell like you anymore, so... you need to Dokyeom it up''

''Of course I'll Dokyeom it up for you, love. Now, I'm making some kimchi jjigae, want some?'' Jiwoo peeked into the pot and saw the boiling stew. She knew Dokyeom cooked like a God.

''Always''

As her husband put the pot on the table, she just had to ask about his little flower traiditon. ''You got new flowers. Again. Why do you do this every week?'' Jiwoo smelled them and smiled at the smell.

''Old habits die hard. At first I did it to impress you, now it's just grown on me. And I like the way you smile every time you see them''

A blush crept up on Jiwoo's cheeks as she felt herself smiling like an absolute idiot. ''I do not!'' Dokyeom raised an eyebrow and motioned to her face. ''Okay... maybe''

''Same for the notes, the asking before kisses and date night, all habits that make you smile like an idiot''

''You're so sweet'' Jiwoo felt like she'd slept with a hanger in her mouth. She couldn't stop smiling. ''Oh right, I know you have some important snob party this evening, so we can move date night-''

''Nope, we're going to the boring party and then we're going wherever you wish, my love'' Dokyeom interrupted.

''Are you sure?'' Jiwoo didn't mind if he needed to skip one night. His job was important, especially since he needed to support her while he studied.

Dokyeom nodded. ''I wouldn't skip date night for anything''

''Cute''

Dokyeom was at his snob party, Jiwoo sat by her desk, books and notes everywhere. She had just showered and now she was back to studying like a mad-man.

Jiwoo's phone dinged once. Twice. Thrice.

Dokyeom:

Love~

Dokyeom:

Baby~

Dokyeom:

Answer me~

Jiwoo chuckled as she read the texts.

Jiwoo:

Yes, Dokyeom? Aren't you in a meeting right now?

Dokyeom:

Well yeah, but it's boring- I think I'm gonna leave this meeting early

Dokyeom:

Be home in 10

Jiwoo raised an eyebrow at her screen. Sure, Dokyeom was the CEO and he could usually do as he pleased, but as far as Jiwoo's knowledge went this meeting was very important.

''He's such an idiot'' She mumbled to herself, but the smile on her lips said otherwise.

Like he texted, 10 minutes later the front door swung open and Dokyeom appeared. ''I'm home~''

''Upstairs! I'm studying''

Dokyeom walked upstairs and found Jiwoo by her desk, clad in his hoodie, pajama-pants, hair in a wet braid and her cute glasses. She hated wearing her glasses, since she thought she looked like a nerd, but Dokyeom found them adorable.

''Wasn't that meeting important?'' Jiwoo asked as Dokyeom spun her chair around.

''Yeah... but I said you were sick... and they accepted it. How long have you been studying?'' Dokyeom asked and peeked at the clock.

Jiwoo followed his gaze. ''Uhm... since you left like 4 hours ago''

''Break time!'' Dokyeom leaned down. ''Can I kiss you?'' He smiled sweetly and waited for an answer..

''You don't have to ask every time'' Jiwoo smiled. ''But yes, you can''

Dokyeom smiled and pressed his lips to Jiwoo's in a sweet manner. ''Well, it's about making sure you're comfortable. Doesn't matter if we've been married for a decade or 7''

Jiwoo smiled. ''Cute''

''Sorry we missed out on date night'' Dokyeom picked Jiwoo up from her chair and laid her in their shared bed. He laid down next to her. ''We've never missed one and-''

''You don't have to panic, we can have two next week''

''Sounds like a plan, now, can I have more kisses?'' Dokyeom pulled Jiwoo on top of him and smiled sweetly.

''Always''

#fluff #kpop oneshots #kpop fluff #one shot #seventeen #lee seokmin #seokmin #seokmin fluff #seokmin x reader #dk #dokyeom #dokyeom fluff #carat #seventeen fluff #seventeen oneshot #dokyeom oneshot #fluff oneshot #husband material

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actuallyevilgay · 4 months

Text

The Apathy (Part 1)

Astarion x Male Reader/Tav

DNI if you are a minor. Dead dove don’t eat. Please read my about before replying. Content: Astarion x Male tav, spoiler warning for act 3 and epilogue.

Summary: After the final battle, Tav disappears, perhaps to mend his broken heart. The adventure has done more damage to him than everyone thought at first. Notes: Astarion is the vampire ascendant, Tav is not a heroic figure. Contains headcanons for several characters, contains headcanons for illithid brain alteration but not evolving. Tav uses daggers and magic. Astarion is an Arcane Trickster Rogue. Content Warnings: Tav suffering from depression / ptsd, self-neglect. A/N: This is my first fic idea I wanted to explore. Some of these elements are inspired and used from my oc, I won’t overly describe Tav, but I wrote it with a long-living race in mind. So Elf, or Half Elf, or Tiefling and such. Tav would not age very quickly.

. . . . . .

The adventure had been.. Brutal. From the day you awoke on the nautiloid, all the way until you fought the nether brain. Without much peace in between the night, the fighting, the plot thickening, you remember every horror and every threat. You were not a hero, you’ve told Wyll that much. When he pleaded to hurry after the father that abandoned him, or when Karlach asked you to beat the shit out of some fake paladins.

You were not a hero, even as you helped up Shadowheart from the sands, or saved Gale from the portal or fed him a useless ring.

You told them, time and time again. Especially Astarion and Lae’zel, whose eyes pierced yours with a silent kinship. You did not trust any of them until they somehow managed to crawl into your heart.

Saving the tieflings wasn’t so bad, but everything went downhill from there.

And yet you still helped every friend you made, you kept promises and fulfilled them. You swallowed your pride as you consumed the powers from tadpoles, feeling the illithid magic take from you, childhood memories you might have once cherished. It made you numb, like you lost something- The ability to understand your own experiences. You could not put words to it, perhaps it scratched away the small bits of morality you harboured a very long time ago.

Jaheira certainly was stupid enough to trust you despite your lack of caution to the tadpoles. It wasn’t until the emperor revealed himself that you realised power comes at a price. For a moment, sense returned- you killed the very thing that promised you evolution with a stomp. No, you would not let this adventure take more than it already had.

Perhaps it was too early to think that it could not take more. Baldur’s gate had come. And everything was horrible. You remember the dread as you led Shadowheart back into her cult, to slay the woman who had raised her. You dread with every fibre of your body as Orin kidnapped Gale, you fear for his life. You remember Karlach’s heartbreak at the corpse of the man she once trusted most in the world. As unheroic as you claimed to be, you still helped save Wyll’s father.

And then.. Vampires. The night raid on the camp. It was time to face Astarion’s nightmare. You were in love with the pale elf. Sharing stories of your past as you struggled to keep it together. You needed to be strong for all of them, not just him…

Leading this band of adventurers into the mouth of hell, time and time again, coming out victorious and triumphant. You don’t remember if you were smiling, but you remember their faces clearly, when you let him ascend.

It had occurred to you that you were sacrificing 7000 souls. But you didn’t care about the cost, beaten and broken from the fight. The colourful edges of once rich, lively looking eyes staring down the back of your lover.

Cazador’s screams were delightful. The agony, the pleasure of taking from him what he wanted most and giving it to the person who had been your entire world the past few months. It was everything.

And you were berated for making the choice.. Your friends wouldn’t fight you on it, so close to the end. It wasn’t until Jaheira pulled you aside and fussed over your mental state that your numbness subsided for a moment.

Are you even a good person? ..Does it matter?

The memory of Astarion’s sultry voice thanking you for your actions and talking of a reward was blurry, like it wasn’t real.

‘’What can I do for my dearest pet?’’

‘’Huh?’’ You looked up at him, as if shaken from a dream.

‘’Darling, there must be something you want? Don’t be dense..’’

There was silence, before you opened your mouth again. ‘’I’m sorry, all I can think about is sleep.. We’ll have to face the netherbrain soon. Gods.. I’m tired.’’

You barely remember the rest of that conversation. Astarion wanted something from you and expected you to know what it was, but all you could think about was how exhausted you were.

He hurt you with words, and you hurt him with silence. It numbed you so bad the memory was lost in the sea of nightmares. You don’t remember why you broke up. You don’t remember why, but it hurt you so much to even look at him. It hurt you so much to be around these people.. These people you loved. These people who were your dear friends. After it all was over.. When Karlach and Wyll descended into Avernus and Lae’zel flew away on a red dragon, you just looked to the sky absently. Barely hearing Shadowheart’s suggestion of sharing a drink. You could feel Astarion’s eyes staring into your back as you left without a word, leaving the remainder of your friends bewildered and confused. You couldn’t hear Gale calling for you as you disappeared into the streets and left Baldur’s gate for good.

All these memories were scarce and incomplete. Like a long distant echo of a time you wanted to leave behind. You disappeared like you never even existed, and even the city itself seemed to have forgotten about its saviour.

……

Six months later, your old friends gathered together to talk about their lives, a party organised by Withers himself at your dear old camp.

‘’I did not expect you to be here, out of everyone.. To be honest with you.’’ Gale arrived early, to be met with Astarion who wore his prideful new garments with much flair. ‘’Ugh, you look like a mess Gale. No offense.’’ He eyed the wizard up and down. ‘’I would’ve liked to be fashionably late, but I prefer doing things differently.’’ Astarion added, waving his hand in a dismissive manner.

Gale laughed a little. ‘’Ah, I thought I was running late myself.. But yes, I should’ve taken my time before coming. These are my teacher’s robes!’’ He nervously scratches the back of his head, making a faint smile. ‘’It doesn’t take that much time to make an effort. You could’ve tried at least.’’ Astarion speaks in a familiar tone, ‘’But,’’ He takes a breath, ‘’ You were the clumsiest out of everyone, it reminds me of the many times you’ve slipped on your own ice spells, Tav would complain about it a lot. I shouldn’t expect too much from you.’’ His tone remained friendly. Astarion grew tired of the conversation. Pondering when his lost love would arrive. He had so many questions for him.. The memory of his departure haunted him.

‘’And this is why you are never getting married, Mr Dekarios.’’ Tara nearly startled Astarion as she spoke up. ‘’Tara! I do my best alright? Six Months is not enough to recover from several near death experiences, having a netherese orb extracted from- and.. and I’ve only just landed this job!’’

The mind numbing conversations continued as every guest slowly made their show. Even as Wyll and Karlach were magically transported to this familiar place, as shadowheart and Lae’zel joined hand in hand, declaring their relationship. They would not shut up.

Jaheira, Halsin, and Minthara were here too. Even Minsc! Everyone.. Except..

Astarion stared into the night sky, expecting Tav to arrive any moment now. Withers let out a loud ‘’ahem’’ as he made a toast.

‘’Where is Tav?’’ Astarion interrupted. ‘’Are you still expecting him to come, fanged one?’’ Jaheira interjected. ‘’Is that the only reason you are here?’’ Everyone grew quiet.

‘’Oh, I am here for the drama alright.’’ Astarion snarled back at Jaheira. ‘’Do you have the faintest idea why he isn’t here?’’ Astarion’s voice had a growl.

Jaheira’s expression softened. ‘’Don’t blame me, I tried to follow after him as you were satisfied with your diabolical ascension and crimson palace.’’

Astarion wanted to do many things, but arguing was not one of them. He waited for Jaheira to continue speaking.

‘’I could not find him, I tried. It’s like he erased himself from existence. He doesn’t want to be found.’’ The harper spoke with a melodic sadness, but also acknowledgement.

‘’Why did you come, Astarion? Did you want to gloat in front of him?’’ Shadowheart added.

‘’No.’’ Astarion’s reply was quick. ‘’I don’t know why, anymore. Why did he leave? After all we’ve been through?’’ He masked his desperation, not wanting to appear weak in front of his old friends. He knew they judged him for his actions. For the way he spoke to Tav when they broke up. For the way he lied bitterly through his sharp teeth when Tav needed him most.

‘’Perhaps,’’ Karlach’s voice broke slowly. ‘’It was all too much for him, wasn’t it?’’ She turned to withers, expectantly for an answer. The old skeleton shook his head. ‘’His soul remains on the mortal plane.’’ Everyone’s eyes widened.

Jaheira shakes her head. ‘’The question remains, is it even a good idea to search for him?’’

‘’Well.. If I were him, I would want my friend to know if I’m doing alright. Oh- and I am doing quite fine, don’t worry.’’ Gale’s reply was met with an eyeroll of both Jaheira and Astarion.

‘’Maybe he’s fighting battles elsewhere. He was a good leader.’’ Lae’zel suggests, but it doesn’t stop everyone from theorising.

Minsc and Wyll both came up with ridiculous suggestions, from bounty hunting kobolds to slaying giants. Something, something, with dragons? Gods. Shadowheart thought maybe he left to start a new life somewhere, perhaps as a labourer, but it bothered her that he wouldn’t write a letter at least.

Everyone had their own ideas and fantasies about what the hell Tav was doing, coming up with one new thing and the next. Travelling. Carpenting. Exploring the underdark. Farming. Solving murders, painting nobles, crafting potions, writing songs. Astarion could not picture it at all. The idea of not knowing after all this time stressed him out.

If he wasn’t dead, and still in this plane.. He had to be somewhere.. Working, living. Breathing? He had to be doing something.

‘’You did pass him your invitation letter, correct?’’ Astarion eyed Withers intensely.

‘’Yes.’’ A crude response, but it offered no further suggestions to the whereabouts or well being of their old friend.

‘’Then you know where he is.’’ Astarion’s glare expanded. ‘’Tell us.’’ The silence grew heavy. Withers’ dead eyes looked over the vampire, noting the hidden concern in his voice.

‘’Neverwinter. I will not say more.’’

‘’Why in the hells is he in Neverwinter of all places?’’ Astarion questions. ‘’He is baldurian..’’

‘’Perhaps to get as far away as he can, from you.’’ Jaheira’s remark bit through Astarion’s side, but he swallowed his pride and did not bark back.

‘’Baldur’s gate did take quite a hit..’’ Gale looked excited at the prospect of visiting Neverwinter. ‘’Maybe.. If I divine a little.. I could find him, or at least, scry on him?’’

‘’Guys- Guys! We shouldn’t just turn up or.. it might be different. Perhaps he’s.. On an undercover mission!’’ Karlach tried to hide her excitement. ‘’Oh- But I do miss him.. Maybe-’’ The idea of joining in on an adventure to find their lost friend was refreshing, only to realise she still needed to pay Dammon a visit before she could even consider it. And as a result, miss out.. She let out a loud sigh,

‘’..You can scry on him? Why haven’t you?’’ Astarion turned to Gale, who stuttered in response.

‘’Well.. I.. Tried, but something blocked me out. I think he pushed me away.’’ Gale’s reply did only make the matter more concerning.

‘’Push you?’’

‘’You remember when we had those parasites? It was kind of like that.. I only just locked in on him, and felt a harsh push.’’

‘’I’d be godsdamned if he turned into a mindflayer after all-’’ Wyll interrupts, the panic finally hits him too. ‘’After all he’s been through-’’ Everyone exchanged looks and glances, expressions ranging from horror to helplessness.

‘’No.’’ Withers interrupted. ‘’His soul remains.’’ The rising tension calmed immediately.

‘’But you did see him?’’ Astarion turns back to Gale.

‘’Barely, I’m sorry.’’ The wizard shook his head.

Astarion huffs. ‘’I had enough. Forget about the toast.’’ He leaves the party, pondering about all the information he had just learnt, replaying the scene of his departure in his head.

The tadpoles. The god damn tadpoles. He remembers that night, after he ascended. His dearest Tav, barely keeping his eyes open. ‘’I’m sorry,’’ His drained eyes, scattering over the floor. ‘’Gods, I’m tired.’’

He remembers his spat. His little.. Unfortunate mistake. No, the biggest mistake. The yelling, the hurtful words. Tav barely responded, his eyes said so much and yet so little.

After the netherbrain fell, that look on his face remained. Lightless. Dull, empty. Broken.

The job was finished. He must’ve walked without much thought. Astarion curses under his breath as he makes his return to Baldur’s gate.

He should’ve gone after him before. But now he knows where to find him.

#ascended astarion x male tav #astarion x m!tav #ascended astarion #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction

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Text

Temptations of Circuits and Sin

CW for this chapter specifically: Elements of Noncon, Murder Kink, Noncon Knifeplay, Durge Murders People, Ritualistic Sacrifice, Possessive Language, Possessive Sex, Rough Oral, Face-fucking, Choking, Hair Pulling, Dom/Sub

DEAD DOVE Do not eat: Please mind the tags, step away if you need to. Mental health and safety ALWAYS come first.

Pairing: OC!Durge x Gortash

Words: 5130 of 10320 Ao3 Link Part 1

Part 2

◤──•~✧Enver Gortash✧~•──◥

A loud clang of metal hitting stone echoed through the foundry workshop as the Steel Watcher crumpled to a heap. Enver closed his eyes in frustration at the failed attempt. He wished he could say he lost count, but he knew the exact measure of failure.

He gripped the head of his cane tightly as he walked over to the motionless Steel Watcher. He poked the useless metal with his cane, the body within peeking through the gaps in the armor.

“Is this your problem?” The bhaalspawn’s voice broke the air of frustration like the crack of a whip. Enver turned to the door they stood at and smiled.

“I was wondering when you’d stop by. It seems you have excellent timing.” He motioned to the desks flanked by the teaching boards. “Most of the details are either on the boards or in notebooks.” They stepped with a deliberate pace to quietly examine the boards. They studied the schematics, eyes scattering over the swath of information before them. Enver waited in silence, anticipating them to ask for clarification, or inquire about what it was he’d created. They moved to a notebook on the desk and flipped to a page to compare something to a sketch on the board. Their focus found a jar with a brain inside on the desk. It held their attention for quite a while. He eyed them quizzically, surely they couldn’t be running through the issue already.

“Your Steel Watchers are nothing more than a metal shell for a decaying body. The brain isn’t communicating with the host body within.” They turned to face him. He couldn’t help a look of impressed shock cascading over his usually controlled features.

“Am I correct?” They prodded him. He chuckled and shook his head in amusement.

“You, indeed, are correct. I am impressed that you managed to conclude all that from just a momentary glance at-”

They pointed to the notebook. “It says here. You logged it yesterday.” They smirked at him, having caught him in their snare. Instead of indignation or shame, he felt a lightheartedness in his chest. So, the spawn could make a joke.

“Touché.” He walked up beside them, directing his attention to the board. “Now, do you know how to go about solving the issue?”

They inhaled a breath, controlled and steady. Then their gaze landed on the brain jars once again. It traveled to the Steel Watcher on the floor, then traveled back to the board.

“I will need some time. Alone.” The attempt to command Enver within his own workshop was a commendable show of bravery.

“This is my workshop, Assassin. I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with my presence, but I assure you, mine will be the only one plaguing you while you work.”

He heard a soft growl leave the bhaalspawn. They gripped their fists and then relaxed after a few more controlled breaths.

They said nothing more as they started to pore through the piled notes and schematics, decidedly not looking at him.

◤──•~ ҉ The Dark Urge ҉ ~•──◥

The Tyrant’s workshop was full of noise putting the bhaalspawn on edge. Hissing vents, whirring gears, dripping pipes. The building was close enough to the water that the squawk of a gull occasionally joined the cacophony. The only salve for the noise was the cool tones of Gortash’s voice. It made them nauseous to both realize and admit.

The Urge inside them was quietly starting to rustle awake. Overwhelming mixes of noise always made them twitch like an irritated animal. It scraped and dug at the inside of their brain. The only thing that quieted the itching discomfort was making a body spill blood for their Father’s purpose, that is until they met the Tyrant. His commanding voice, the lilt of his words, his dark steady eyes - he stilled the swirling mess of stimulus that seemed to drive them wild.

The irritating pounding in their head might have ceased, but now the rolling sickness in their belly threatened their focus.

They knew why the Steel Watchers were failing. They knew it the moment they saw the greying brain in the jar on his desk. Balthazar was a skilled necromancer, but prideful, and relied too much on the magic he commanded rather than truly understanding the bodies he brought back from the grip of death. They needed to check the makeup of the liquid the brain was suspended in to be sure, but the problem was mostly self-inflicted.

They could tell Gortash the issue right this instant, give recommendations of fixes, and be on their way. So why were they wasting time pretending to look through his notes? Why did they force themselves in this room for longer than strictly necessary? A flash of last night flittered into their mind. The Tyrant holding their neck with his gauntleted hand, lips pressed together, his thigh pressed between their legs.

Heat flooded their cheeks and they gripped a book tightly, a forceful swallow ringing through their ears like a church bell. This was a mistake. They should leave.

“I… I need some time to mull this over. I will return tomorrow.” They abruptly shut the notebook they had neglected to read. They moved quickly to the door of the workshop and glanced back, though not looking directly at Gortash. They wanted to say more but the words caught in their throat so they simply nodded and left, barely hearing his response.

“Till then.”

—

The Chosen of Bhaal paced the platform in the temple like a hungry animal. They needed to clear their head. The Tyrant was invading their thoughts and they needed to put a stop to it.

Muffled screams became louder as a bound sacrifice writhed against the two bhaalists shepherding the lamb to its slaughter. They felt their Urge spring to attention, lips twitching as their fingers wrapped around the hilt of their blade.

The sacrifice was placed on the stone altar. They bound the wrists and ankles and removed the black cloth sack that was over the head. Wild eyes widened in fear as the pupils adjusted to the room. Their own eyes stilled in momentary shock as they took in the form laid before them. Dark shaggy hair wet with sweat stuck to the face, which was framed by a strong square jawline. The eyes were dark and almond-shaped and the wide-set nose had been broken, possibly from the abduction. In the dim lighting of the temple, all the features were enough to remind them of him.

They stood over the sacrifice made bare as it fruitlessly writhed against the bindings, screams still muffled by the cloth gag tied tightly against the mouth. Even in their temple, the Tyrant wouldn’t leave them be. As they glowered at the pathetic thing, two attendants came to take the robe loosely draped over the Chosen. They shrugged it off, revealing their naked form. The remaining cultists took position around the platform, beginning a slow and rhythmic chant.

Bhaal’s vitality within them ached for the spill of crimson, ached for carnage. The chanting was like a siren’s song to their blood. Like the beat of a drum before battle, guiding them to the task, it kept their mind in step with the march of duty. They closed their eyes, whispering a prayer to themself, punctuated with a deep inhale. When they opened their eyes, a glowing red consumed their irises. A smile formed at the corners of their lips as they took their holy dagger in hand and pressed the tip to the heart of the sacrifice.

The look-alike squirmed and cried against the blade. The Chosen bent over to whisper in their ear, so none but the sacrifice would hear.

“The gods gave you to me, knowing my plight. This is a test, one I shall pass. Thank you.” They licked up the shell of the ear. More cries came from the man, tears streaming down the side of his face, pooling in and around his ears. They wanted to savor this, do it correctly, and make each cut divine.

They circled the altar, blade in hand. They remembered the scratches their nails dug into the Tyrant’s chest. They wondered if he had healed them or if they remained there for the meeting in the workshop. With a lurch, they quickly drew their blade down the chest of the man on the table in the same pattern as the marks left on Gortash. They were small cuts compared to the depths their blade could have plunged. They didn’t want to kill this man yet.

The continued chanting nearly drowned out the man’s muffled wailing. They admired their work and a flash of Gortash groaning under their cuts filled their mind. They felt a moan threaten to escape at the memory. They diverted their attention to the man, adjusting the tip of their blade to his throat. They barely applied pressure, making a thin nick that started to trickle blood slowly from under the ear to the clavicle. They adorned the other side of his neck with the same slow, near-sensuous cut.

His body quivered under their touch. It was an intoxicating feeling. Usually, they would have driven their dagger deep into the heart by now. All of that would come soon enough. They turned their attention to his legs, remembering the thigh that teased them so easily. They again made their blades dance across his skin, carving an ode to the memory. The man was nearly completely covered in his blood now, a blanket of ruby velvet adorning his form. They felt a swell of longing bloom.

They climbed onto the altar, knees on either side of the man’s torso. They folded over to have their face aligned close with his - so close that they could hear the erratic beat of his rabbit heart. They lightly pressed their lips to his strained ones. A frantic look of confusion mixed with the terror. They cut the gag free, the cloth was soaked from his pathetic saliva-filled cries. He went to scream for help and they immediately silenced his cries with a kiss, pushing their tongue inside his mouth, threatening to choke him. They bit down on his tongue, drawing blood, the liquid spilling into their mouth through the frenetic kiss. He whined in pain into their mouth, causing them to moan in return, remembering a very similar kiss shared between the Tyrant and bhaalspawn not twenty-four hours before. They growled as the memory threatened to take over their senses, merging with reality.

‘Say you don’t want this, and I won’t give it.’

His words echoed through the crimson haze of the ritual, eventually drowning out the sounds of the temple, the chanting and screams a thousand miles away.

Why didn’t they stop him? Why did they succumb to such debased desires? Why couldn’t they refuse him? Why… Why… Why… Why…

With their mouth still pressed to the mundane doppelganger under them, their dagger moved with the speed of lightning, stabbing precisely into the man’s heart. His body tensed in response, eyes wide with the realization of his oncoming death. He choked violently through restrained spasms, finally forcing the Chosen to part from his lips. They savored the taste of the blood, though it didn’t taste as sweet as the Tyrant’s. They laid their head against the chest of the man, listening to his heart slow, the last gusts of air rushing through his lungs, they closed their eyes as they held the knife steady in his chest. They slowed their breathing to match his dying pulse, meditating out of the moment. They went to a place free from compulsion, free from amnesiac episodes, a place of true freedom.

The red glow in their eyes faded, the murderous Urge satisfied for now. They stayed atop the man until his body went still and his eyes dulled. They removed themself from the altar and pulled their knife from his chest. They didn’t bother cleaning the blade and instead walked to their private chambers, blade and body still covered in his blood.

◤──•~✧Enver Gortash✧~•──◥

The next day came quickly for Enver. The duties of a Lord in Baldur’s Gate piled higher and higher, all while his designs remained at a standstill. He put on a good face for the patriar meeting, ever charming, ever the socialite. He found his patience wearing thin, however. His focus kept shifting to the bhaalspawn.

Enver wasn’t sure what to make of the interaction yesterday. They seemed in decent enough spirits at the start, but then as the silence drew on they became more hostile, more wild. They hid it well, but he could tell when they were unsteady and on edge. He wanted to take credit for the change in attitude, but he knew it was deeper than merely his presence bothering them. He thought about the odd behavior concerning his Steel Watchers, turning over the events in his mind.

‘I… I need some time to mull this over. I will return tomorrow.’

After they had left, Enver went to the notebook they had been hovering over for the last handful of minutes. He made a curious hum as he turned it right-side up.

‘Till then.’

They asked for more time but obviously hadn't read or studied the material provided. Perhaps it was sabotage, perhaps they had no intention of helping him. As tempting as the thought was, he quickly pushed it from his mind. They were smarter than that. He looked out the window and saw the sun nearly disappearing under the horizon.

“My Lord?” one of the patriars interrupted his thoughts.

“Apologies, We shall have to finish this at a later date. I have another matter to see to. You may leave any closing remarks with my attendants.” he motioned his cane to a few armored men.

As he made his way to the workshop he found his head spinning in riddles once more. He didn’t like the feeling of uncertainty. With any luck the bhaalspawn will return with the solutions he craved.

He spent some time rereading the notes and designs he had shown them yesterday, trying to discern what they might have seen or discovered. He sat in a chair staring at the brain suspended in a jar, the same one that captured their attention for so long. What did they know?

He rapped his cane against the floor with anxious impatience. He decided to be productive if was stuck waiting for an unknown amount of time. The pieces of armor still lay in a heap on the floor. He used different levies and pulleys to move them back to the stand that kept the hulking useless thing upright. He removed his overcoat, the physical activity causing him to sweat. He rolled up his sleeves as he set to studying the notes Balthazar left for him.

The necromancy should have been the solution to his brilliant design. Using a tadpoled brain to control the body within the armor seemed simple enough at first glance, but something was wrong. A piece was missing, and neither he nor the necromancer could solve it. Balthazar was all too ready to blame Enver’s designs, insisting the arcane parts of the equation were flawless. Unfortunately, Enver couldn’t argue. He was no arcanist, but he had the equations double-checked by an outside source, confirming Balthazar’s confidence.

The infuriating thought that Enver was wrong crossed his mind. That his designs were indeed flawed, somehow. He gripped the head of the cane tightly. He needed the bhaalspawn to help him. He knew they had the answers.

As if on cue, there was a gentle knock at the door. He turned to see The Chosen waiting there.

“Ah, my friend, please come in, come in.” He smiled as he waved them in.

Their expression made no change as they stepped to him. A forced air of casual disdain radiated from them. He couldn’t help the twinge of a smirk.

“I hope you come with good news.” He cleaned the charcoal from his hands, sleeves still rolled up to the elbows. He saw their gaze focus on his hands. He relished in how much he drew their attention. They must have felt his satisfaction, as they made a low snarl before they finally spoke.

“I need to review some things, but I will have your answers.” Their response was short and snippy. Enver hummed in consideration.

“The resources here are yours to peruse. I will continue working while you look through what you need.” He turned from them, picked up a charcoal pencil, and continued his design work. He watched them from the corner of his vision. They made a greater attempt at feigning research this time around.

After nearly an hour they spoke again. “I have discovered your problem.”

“Well, don’t keep me waiting. Please, the floor is yours.” He faced them, putting the pencil down.

They remained still, glancing at the jars again. Enver noticed the glance and quirked an eyebrow, but he waited for them to answer his invitation before he pressed further.

“The brains. They’re dormant. Whatever solution they’re in is preventing rot but at the cost of brain activity.”

Enver studied the cerebral containers on his desk. “Balthazar said that-”

“Balthazar is an arrogant fool who would scream at a rock till his vocal cords tore apart if he convinced himself he could command the thing.” Contempt dripped from their words, with a hint of pride in their assessment. Enver couldn’t help but chuckle at the insult.

“I don’t mean any disrespect, but I had the calculations for the spells double, even triple-checked. They are flawless.”

“It is not the arcane that is faulty. I said the solution was the issue. The spells are taking hold, but the impulses are powerless. Here.” They went to the jar, flipping open a nozzle at the top and pouring some of the liquid into an empty vile. They smelled the vile, then dipped their tongue to it barely getting a taste.

“As I suspected. This solution is merely a preservative. It keeps your brains alive, but they are akin to a sleeping person. The connection between the brain and the body is nonexistent. Balthazar is an expert necromancer, but his form of necromancy cannot control a brain. That’s why all his creations are mindless ghouls and zombies. He’s capable enough of animating a body but ignorant about cerebral processes.” They opened the lid of the jar, grabbing the brain inside. They gently held it in the palm of their hand. Enver listened to their explanation with rapt attention.

“The brain is where the soul lives in a mortal. Many like to say it’s the heart, but that is poetic drivel. The brain is where thoughts become real. It controls the rest of the body, sending signals through the nervous system.” They gestured with their free hand to the body in the armor.

“Balthazar assured me the remote elements of this design were achievable.” Enver could feel his annoyance growing, but not with the spawn, but rather with Balthazar. He knew he shouldn’t have trusted a necromancer.

“He was correct. It is possible. From what I can tell the arcane bindings serve as the nervous system, extending through space, connecting the two. The problem is that your brain isn’t sending signals. It needs a more conducive environment to the increased telepathic capabilities. The brain can hardly send the electrical impulses from one end of the jar to another, let alone traverse a remote distance to its body.”

Enver noticed the light in their eyes as they spoke. The way the stiff and stale attitude melted away as they talked about the brain. He was enraptured by their brilliance. He knew they could help him. There was just one last thing gnawing at him. The bhaalspawn continued in his silence.

“I should have a better replacement for the fluid tomorrow. Something capable of carrying telepathic impulses.” They went to put the brain back in the jar. As they shut the vessel Enver closed the distance between them. He noticed the tension reenter their body with his proximity.

“Truly remarkable. I knew you’d work it out. There’s just one thing I still don’t quite understand.” They turned to look at him, weary but still shrouded in their earlier confidence.

“Why didn’t you tell me all of this yesterday?” He saw their chest quickly expand with a sharp inhale, the mark of a liar about to spill more lies.

“I…I don’t know what you mean.” He tutted at their attempt to feign ignorance.

“Oh, but you do. I thought you were playing some coy joke yesterday, and perhaps you were, but not the one I first thought. As soon as you saw that jar, you knew exactly what was wrong.” He used his cane to point at the brain.

“And I would bet all the gold in my vault that you know exactly how to fix it now. So why prolong this?” He stepped closer, setting his cane on the table beside them. Their eyes narrowed with resentment, but he saw them struggling to swallow, saw the flick of their fingers that signaled the betrayal of their body.

'Ah, so that was it.'

“If you wanted to see me again, Assassin, you didn’t need to fabricate excuses.” He risked bringing his hand to their cheek. They backed up a step from him, practically hissing.

“You grow too candid, Tyrant.” They slapped his hand away. The action filled Enver with an immediate desire to force them to their knees, which was at odds with his desire to keep them at his level. He responded instead with another question.

“Are we just going to pretend the other night didn’t happen?” He filled the space their earlier retreat created. Their body tensed once again. They averted their eyes, choosing silence to his inquiry. He grew tired of their games.

He grabbed under their chin with a dominant forceful hand and turned their head to look at him.

“Or are you so opposed to tenderness that you prefer I touch you like this?” He squeezed the sides of their throat slightly at the end of his words. He felt their body battling the urge to fight back. He gazed into their eyes and found them struggling to retain the ire previously consuming them. They didn’t shy away from him, though.

He leaned in close, his lips brushing against theirs as he spoke. “Tell me. Tell me what you wanted.” He used his other hand to grab at the back of their head, fisting a handful of hair. He hadn’t pulled on it yet, but just the threat of it made them release a breathy whimper.

“Tell me, Assassin.”

They became so pliant in his hands. The power to tame such a dangerous creature caused enough excitement to make him half-hard already. They moved to close the gap between their lips, but he pulled back on their hair. They mewled at the tug.

“You need to tell me. Then I’ll give you what you came here for.” He gave another small pull on their hair. They snarled in frustration but acquiesced.

“I …want you.” He could feel the shame taking them from him. He squeezed the hand around their throat before that could happen. He gave a grin.

“Very good.” Enver relented in denying them any further. His lips crashed into theirs. He felt the reverberation of their lewd and wanting moans as he pushed his tongue against their lips, forcing them to part for him. Just like the rest of them, their tongue wanted to fight for dominance in the kiss, but one firm yank on their hair had their jaw slack with a whine. He parted from their needy mouth.

“You’ve caused a problem for me, Assassin. Fix it.” He let go of their neck and used the hand to undo the ties on his trousers and pushed the underclothes aside, freeing his erection from its clothed confines. His other hand moved to the top of their head, grasping the hair still, applying enough pressure to guide them down to their knees.

Seeing them on their knees for him made his cock throb and leak. He felt a pulse of earnest desire before he pushed their head closer to where he so desperately wanted them.

“Do you want it?” He asked, voice low and full of wanton anticipation. They looked up at him and responded by licking up the underside of his cock, from base to tip. He shuddered and rolled his head back, eyes closing with a deep groan of pleasure. He gripped their hair tighter as they teased the tip with their tongue. They licked over and under the sensitive head. His hips jerked, wanting more.

“You’ve not earned tenderness today, remember?” He spoke between deep, controlled breaths. They had a brief look of confusion before he thrust his cock deep into their mouth, causing their nose to meet his pelvis. They gagged at the sudden movement, and he pulled their mouth from him by the fistful of hair in his grip. The reprieve was temporary as he directed their head back into position.

“Be ready this time.” He demanded as he pushed into their mouth again. This time they were relaxed enough to fully take him without gagging - well, without gagging much. The indelicate sounds of him claiming their face filled the room as their cheeks hallowed out to receive him. It was lighting every sensation with a raging fire deep inside. He felt his tip hit the back of their throat and he moaned at the feeling. He pistoned in and out of the warm, wet hole made loose for him. Tears welled at the corners of their eyes with each forceful thrust. Drool gathered around their mouth, messily traveling down their chin and neck. He felt their hands travel up his thighs, gripping him for stability. He eased on the depths to which he pumped, giving them time to catch their breath.

Enver looked down at the Murder Lord’s Chosen made supplicant at his feet. They fed his pleasure in a way he hadn’t felt before. He experienced the usual euphoria of dominion, but something else crept in he couldn’t place. He enjoyed this game, this domination over them, but he wanted to do more, be more with them. He took his free hand and wiped away the tears from under one eye as they open-mouth panted, struggling for air. They quickly narrowed their eyes at the sudden softness of his touch.

They used one hand to grip around the base of him, and the other to grope at his balls as they dove back down. The abrupt movement pulled a hiss from his lips. Their tongue wildly swirled and rubbed against the underside of his aching cock. He could feel precum leak into their mouth with every suck. He met their enthusiasm with his own. He slammed into their mouth with such vigor he was sure the back of their throat would be bruised. The thought alone almost pushed him over the edge. The spawn used their fingers to tease and squeeze his balls, while their other hand joined with their mouth to work up and down his shaft. They went back and forth between growls and mewls.

'Still warring with themself about which way they should finish me off.'

Enver decided he wouldn’t give them the time to ponder the choice further. He threaded his fingers more securely in their hair.

“Are you ready for me, Assassin?” he asked through his now heavy breathing. With the pull of their hair, they nodded and gave a whimper he’d come to adore so much. He smiled and shoved their head down till he bottomed out against their throat. He grunted as he repeated the movement a few more times, each instance pulling him closer to the edge. They were taking him so easily now. He started to praise them between each thrust as the peak of his ecstasy quickly encroached.

“That’s it - good - what a good - little thing you are - gods!” with one last greedy push into them he felt his orgasm spill into their mouth. He tightly fisted their hair, keeping their head in place as his cock pulsed and finished pumping the last of his spend down their throat. His body twitched with every swallow they took of him.

Enver slowly pulled out from their mouth, cum and saliva dripping from his cock and their lips. He tucked himself back into his pants with a sloppy attempt at retying his trousers. He reached down to pull them up, lightly wrapping his hand around where he had been choking them before. They lifted themself at his wordless command, thankfully still lost in the euphoria of the moment. Their half-lidded gaze found his. He moved his hand to cup their cheek, half waiting for them to pull from his touch. Instead, they softly kept his gaze held in theirs. He felt a swell stir from his stomach into his heart.

He leaned in and kissed them. He could still taste himself on their lips, taste his possessive and greedy claim. A small moan left him as he deepened the kiss. They moaned in return. This was no submissive mewl, not a feral growl, it was simply a pleasure-fueled moan, one of longing and desire.

The moment didn’t last as it seemed they came to their senses. They retreated from his touch and their connection. Wild tension once again filled their body. It was like watching someone coil a spring too tightly, winding it beyond what it could manage. He gave a small sigh.

They used a cloth lying on the desk to wipe their mouth and face, back turned to him in silence. They bent over the table, writing something in one of his notebooks. They left it open to the page as they went to leave. He went to inspect what they had written. It was a list of different chemicals and ingredients.

“It’s the recipe for your new solution. It mimics the brine of the tadpooling centers.” They tried to slip out quickly, but he called out to them.

“I’ve never been much of an alchemist… perhaps an expert should check my work. Tomorrow?”

Enver managed to catch the faint hint of a smile from the Assassin as they wordlessly took their exit. It was all the confirmation he needed to know he would see them the next day.

Thanks for reading, and as always, comments and feedback always welcome and appreciated.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #enver gortash #durge #durge x gortash #durgetash #dark urge x gortash #dead dove fic #cw: noncon #cw: blood #cw: religious themes

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skyward-floored · 3 hours

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Do you have particular sages in mind for Lost AU Zelda to meet as she improves her magic? Game favorites? OCs? Or is that all stuff you're still thinking on?

I have a few ideas actually! Most are *ahem* OCs, but they’re all drawing from canon. I basically looked at oot and albw (and botw a little) and decided where to go from there. My only sticking point is that I don’t know if I want kokiri or koroks. Same with Zora and/or Rito. I haven’t decided how I’m doing any of that XD Stay tuned for rambling.

So! One of them is a little Sheikah girl, related to Impa somehow (granddaughter, grandniece, something of that sort). If we’re going by oot standards, she’s the sage of shadows. Nice kid, weirdly unbothered by pretty much anything disturbing, but nice.

If I decide to have Rito, then I’ll use an OC I have for their sage; she’s a sweet motherly bird, and a little featherheaded. She’s based off mourning doves, and is a light pink-grey. And her name is Moureen because I think I’m funny.

The Zora sage is named Tunal (he’s got tuna colors, dark blue with some yellow). He has several older siblings who all do all kinds of great stuff, but he just hasn’t found his niche, and everybody thinks he’s pretty much a screw up. His problem mostly is that nobody really ever believed in him, or told him the stuff he did pursue was stupid, so when Zelda comes and ends up needing his help, he finally gets that push he needed to realize he’s not useless.

The Goron sage I haven’t anything for sure, but I have a couple different ideas for him? The one I like best is this sort of extreme sports guy, who should be learning how to take over the tribe from his dad, but prefers to do stuff like launch himself off ramps and do whatever the goron-equivalent of a sick kickflip is. But we’ll see.

The gerudo one is an older lady, red hair streaked with grey. She seems like a real grouch at first, but there’s some sort of reason for that (haven’t um. Figured it out yet lol), and she warms up to Zelda. And she may look older, but she’s still got some fight in her, knock it off whippersnappers.

And then there’s a kokiri/korok sage, but I haven’t decided pretty much anything about that one. I guess I also need a sage of light like Rauru in oot, but I don’t know about that either, and if I have a Rito one I guess I don’t really need one? Yeah, idk. Still working it out!

#answers from the floor #lovely vaegtersang #Lost #legend of Zelda au #loz ocs

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moonstarslupin · 1 year

Text

the new Hogwarts syllabus + curriculum

Hogwarts has the absolute worst curriculum, I mean, do they seriously expect the goblins to keep things in check forever after all those rebellions and just not study maths? what about languages? they should teach at least one extra language.

so for the sake of my sanity, the first challenge I up took for this verse was the Hogwarts school curriculum. Because let’s be real, wizards and witches need it.

the curriculum

core subjects (year 1-5)

mathemancy

latin

history of magic

charms

transfiguration

potions

herbology

subjects compulsory only in year 1 (optional from year 2):

magical theory

flying

any one extracurricular from the list given below

extracurricular stuff:

magical art

music

sculpturing

dance

quidditch

electives offered in year 3:

muggle studies

divination

wizarding politics

arithmancy

ancient runes

care of magical creatures

electives offered in year 4:

healing

astronomy

geomancy

wandlore

wizarding literature

electives offered in year 6:

alchemy

spygyric

magizoology

Mathemancy is originally a divination-like subject but here it is basically magical maths but also you need common sense for this subject. The kids need to learn one language so we have Latin, although wizarding literature will be done in english. I’m also rewriting the history of magic syllabus because we already have Binns droning on and making it torture let’s at least make the reading material a little bearable. charms, transfiguration, potions, DADA, and herbology are pretty straight forward. astronomy seemed virtually useless to me unless you decided you wanted to do something in that field so I removed it from the core classes and put it in the electives offered in year four.

magical theory was this verse’s lily evans’ favourite subject, actually and it has a lot of meaning around here. magical theory is, well, a theory class. hear, they discuss magic itself as well how spells are made with only words and what exactly makes the magical potions magical. a fascinating class, I’m sure you’d agree. (snape also took this class, actually.)

flying is major way for wizard transportation (besides the flying carpets that are used in asia and the middle east but they’re banned in europe because white people) so we can actually imagine why it’s important and Hogwarts is trying to foster creativity and let the kids have a bit of fun too so it’s compulsory to take at least one extra curricular class. you can change it any time you want since there are no tests and you can continue it next year and you can also take more than one extra curricular from the second year but in the first year they’re allowed to take only one.

divination remains the same, although arithmancy is basically advanced mathemancy here (although if anyone has any other ideas for it, I’ll be glad for it) and ancient runes does actually getting into actual runic magic rather than it being just a language. also, in my verse Dumbledore actually made a lot of less questionable decisions (he screws up sometimes, but hey, he actually does mean well!) one of them was making Hagrid a teacher right away. instead, he made him a assistant teacher book 3 onwards for care of magical creatures (he dove become a good teacher of his own though) with my oc being the actual professor who’s necessary for some canon fuckery. (real swell guy, though!)

healing is taught my Madam Pomfrey and the older students are often allowed to assist her in the infirmary or taken to visit st. mungo’s. geomancy is basically magical geography, it’s all about places where magic is found and how to find it. and wandlore is exactly what it sounds like.

alchemy is alchemy, which is magic chemistry and geography combined and spygyric is the same thing with chemistry and botany combined, fascinating classes. magizoology is advanced care of magical creatures taught by the same professor and it has a lot more dangerous creatures, too, it’s only for N.E.W.T. students, though. (basic care of magical creatures is still an option for N.E.W.T. students for whatever reason, but they let hagrid teach that class after a few years to skyrocket hagrid’s self-confidence because he’s a sweetheart and everyone loves him and being a assistant teacher has taught him what a responsible care of magical professor looks like reduce the professor’s work load.)

I have a lot of teacher oc’s in this verse due to the number of new subjects, but the ones with the most screen time are the ones with a storyline, I swear.

#hogwarts #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #hogwarts subjects #new hogwarts curriculum #harry potter #look guys #the curriculum sucks #I needed this #for myself #even if it physically pains me to add something that vaguely resembles maths

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phoenixfeatherquillwriting · 2 years

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Hello again! For the OTP questions: 20, 21, 47, & 49 for whichever character you choose!

Hi there, I'm so glad you're back! And thank you! How about Aris/Ash?

Choose one song that perfectly describes their relationship. I have far too many songs to ever pick just one!

Who would get into a fight to defend the other's honor? Who tends to the other's wounds?

Either one but Ash is more of the physical fighter, Aris prefers to outsmart/outwit. Plus, she has healing powers so it's Only Right that she be the one to fix them up.

Does either of them have a secret that could potentially ruin their relationship? Not anymore, thankfully!

Does either of them have a hard time being away from the other?

Aris hates to admit it, but she doesn’t trust many people and can be clingy towards those she loves most, so she doesn’t like to be apart from Ash. Ash loves travel, but definitely prefers the trips when Aris can come too.

#thank you for asking!#oc asks #OC: Aris #OC: Ash #dove's useless ocs #OTP: Border Breakers #Aris/Ash

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lorei-writes · 1 year

Text

Roots of Deception

Chapter III: Vinum

Chevalier & OC (OC Chart: Esther); pre-relationship Blank period* Summary: A visit to seal the deal. Or is there more to be said between the lines? Wordcount Estimate: ~2.5k Other chapters: Masterlist

*- action takes place between the last chapter of a -- yet to be made publicly available -- long-fic, and its epilogue.

Boom, this is why this entire thing was written. It got out of hand at some point.

Posting schedule: Thursday - Friday - Saturday (you are here) - Sunday, 9PM GMT+2

Content Warnings: drowning, food, alcohol

“The beast told you not to be a nuisance, yet you’ve insisted to become one. Did you think you’d go unpunished?”

“As Your Highness can see, our vineyards wield grapes only of the finest quality, and we plan to establish a steady cider manufacture in the perspective of two years,” Annabelle Lavigne spoke. She’d square her shoulders if she could; alas, that was not possible simply due to the fact they had already been squared. Her head held high, she searched Chevalier’s face for any reaction, haughty in her assumption affirmation would be locked somewhere between his brows, eyes, and lips.

“Indeed,” he agreed without much of any reaction. “Considering your claims, you’d offered to sell your product below its market value, however.”

“Exclusivity deal with the palace is ought to bring good fame to my name, Your Highness. I may not earn much at the palace itself, but the overall increase in sales should more than outweigh any losses I may face,” she explained, although her words seemed to have been a waste of air.

A deep furrow etched itself between Lady Lavigne’s brows, little different from ruts scattered over dirt roads with the first coming of spring rains. She softened a glare, suppressed what could be a growl, a howling sounding off from the distance. Perplexed, Annabelle covered her mouth, as if the sound came directly form her; however, Prince Chevalier did not seem to pay her any mind, instead briskly turning around and striding back down the path they’d just walked.

“Your Highness…?”

Seeing that she’d follow him regardless, Chevalier spared her no kindness. He did not say a word.

***

Cold struck Esther, shrunk the air in her lungs. It had her gasp, cramped her abdomen, urged her to fold onto herself, climbed up the ladders of wet hair to seize her head – it enveloped her whole, froze the blood burning in her veins, shocked her, and yet… She still dove further into it, neither hearing nor seeing anything. The submerged world was dark and turbulent, far too convoluted for her to tell anything save for the top and bottom of it. Her vision failed her, all images coming blurred, the roaring current reverberating through her entire body in waves of noise rendering her hearing just as useless. There was nothing. There was everything. All soaked through with the clamouring of her heart, each elapsed second eating away at what little breath she still had.

Esther pushed against the water, the river pulling her along its path. She searched, desperate in her pursuit, and yet –

There she was, wrapped in disjointed movement and escaping air. Marianne kicked her arms and legs as if to protect herself from the attack, thus only worsening the supine assault –

Her hands could still make it in time. Esther reached for Marianne, the girl grabbing at her, each tiny finger a hook to her flesh. A panicked anchor, Marianne climbed, her entire body protesting the moment Esther clutched her against herself. From lifeline to needing one, she pushed against the ever-surrounding weight, further and further up, for as long as her body allowed –

Esther gasped for air. The surface of the river shattered above her head. Marianne coughed and lurched, water dripping from her mouth as she fought to take the air in. She opened her eyes, and in presence of her tears being made invisible, she screamed, arms wrapped tightly around Esther’s neck.

“Everything is fine, sweetheart, it’s fine. It’s fine now. I promise, it’s fine,” she chanted, even though her arms were weak against the current. Esther turned her head towards the shore to estimate how far they had been carried away.

A mass of brown and black fur shot out from the orchard, dust scattering from below the massive paws, elongated snout kept close to the ground.

“Bambi! Bambi!” Esther shouted with what energy she had, wolf-like head turning towards her. Bambi broke into a dash again, each leap outpacing the river’s flow, until –

Splash.

Esther glanced from the dog swimming towards her to Marianne, and back the other way around, the girl still crying. She took in a shaky breath.

“Princess Marianne, you must compose yourself,” she spoke the way storytellers did when reaching the climax of their tale. “There comes your mortal enemy, the dragon who tried to steal you away from under your mother’s care!”

Marianne gasped. Cautiously, she looked over her shoulder, her grip relaxing by a fraction.

“What do we do, wizardess?”

“Hmm…” Esther mused aloud, her arms and legs beginning to feel awfully heavy now that her throat was somewhat less tight again. “My mind-reading powers tell me the dragon seeks your forgiveness, Princess. He wants to help you get back to safety.”

Marianne clutched onto her harder.

“Do...Do we trust the dragon?” she shrilled.

“We do, Princess Marianne.”

It was a relief to entrust Bambi with carrying the child’s weight – and even greater relief it was when they reached the shore, a familiar figure standing just above them. Esther lifted her head, a thin sheet of frost coming over her limbs the moment she met Chevalier’s gaze with her own. Displeased or perhaps annoyed by the situation, he crouched down.

“Marianne!” Lady Lavigne cried, skirts held in her hands as she hurried towards them. Esther patted the girl’s back, and oddly enough, the child did not even seem to mind the fact that Chevalier was the one to pull her out, tiny feet having barely touched the ground before her mother swept her into her arms. Esther looked towards the dog –

“Bambi doesn’t need help,” sharp words came from above her head.

Oh, Esther mouthed the sound, but did not dare utter a word, exasperation thickening the atmosphere around them. She lowered her head, perhaps unwilling to agree that, indeed, she thought about the dog first. Water dripped down her back, her blouse sticking firmly to her chest, her legs being close to useless once made aware of the weight of her wet clothes. Esther fell to the ground, or would have, had somebody not held her by the arm – either way, she did sit down, unhearing, unseeing, just simply cold and soaked through with exhaustion and water alike. Entire clusters of words twined around her ears, not even one making it through to her. Esther hugged herself.

“… wench …”

“… mommy… Esther… I…”

“… It is your personal failure not to have ingrained basic safety in your child…”

Oh. There was this feeling again. Without thinking of it much, Esther wrung her hair out and pushed herself up on her stiff legs. She walked to where she discarded her bag and capelet. Careful as ever, she put them on before returning to the group. She lowered her head.

“If I may… I’d like to request to be allowed to return to the estate with Lady Marianne. She should change into dry clothes immediately.”

***

Esther combed through her hair one last time, the strands looking more brown than their usual blonde, at least when still this damp. With a sigh on her lips, she pinned it away from her face, Bambi glancing up at her from beside the hearth, fire buzzing within the fireplace. She had just finished buttoning up her blouse when the doorknob turned with a quiet click. Nevertheless, Esther did not trouble herself with checking who that might be, instead settling over the bed.

The door closed.

“Has something happened?” she asked, a glimpse of a white cape getting caught in the corner of her eye. Chevalier walked towards the armchair standing in the corner, Bambi raising his head to sniff his boots.

No words were offered to her. A book snapped open in Chevalier's hand seemingly of its own accord, pages turning until he reached the point at which he last stopped. He outstretched his legs and crossed them at the ankles, eyes already focusing on the words…

“To what do I owe the visit then?”

His brows twitched before nearing each other. “The gremlin is throwing a tantrum right now. It is marginally quieter here.”

Esther suppressed a grimace. . “One last thing,” she sighed. “Thank you for helping me out there.”

“You show gratitude for the strangest things.”

“I wouldn’t call pulling somebody out of the water a strange thing to thank for,” Esther argued and placed her hands in her lap.

“Then would you deem it more logical to let a pawn needlessly drown?” Chevalier laughed scornfully, his gaze still holding onto the ink. Firmly.

“Just accept it. I am thankful regardless.”

Chevalier turned the page.

The dinner was served early that day, perhaps to appease Lady Marianne, her wails ceasing as soon as crockery plinked against the table. Unsure of whether she should be there in the first place, Esther sat down to Chevalier’s left, her mouth watering at the sight of the various dishes – whatever stood behind the change, this time more than half of them seemed to be of a kind that would not prompt her guts to be upset. Fish, salads, roasts, pastry, soup, gravy, fruit, cheese and other dairy, all and more had her body tense in a silent prayer to her stomach, begging it not to growl. The food was being plated, servants hurrying around the room to set out glasses full of wine, presumably of their domestic production; sampling, as per their initial schedule. Esther lifted her fork up, hoping she could contain herself as not to wolf everything down.

Wine.

She lifted a piece of baked trout to her lips, her eyes darting across the table one last time. Marianne began to take her meal apart, slicing the meat into smaller and smaller chunks.

Wine.

Esther set the fork down on her plate. She reached for the cup instead.

“Lady Marianne?” she asked, the girl looking up instantly.

“Yes?”

“Could I perhaps ask you for a favour? It is most presumptuous of me, but… It so happens that I am not sure whether I locked the window in my room, and Bambi is still drying up. He may be getting cold, but I’m starving. Would you mind checking it for me?” Esther spoke, all the while holding Annabelle’s gaze. The lady of the household bit into a piece of roasted cauliflower, but remained otherwise silent.

“O-Of course!”

The door to the dining room closed, something thudding just outside of it. Esther leaned back in her chair, still holding onto the glass. She stared into it, burgundy vortex raging right below her fingertips. It climbed up against the walls of its restraint, pungent in its scent, enticing, alluring… Most obviously, red.

“Don’t,” Chevalier said.

“I… suppose I shouldn’t.”

Silence.

Esther brought the cup to her lips and downed half of it before he pulled it away. Chevalier glared at her, sterner than she had ever seen him.

“It’ll make… the situation more transparent… no?” she laughed weakly, her tongue feeling mildly numb. Not five minutes managed to pass before she closed her eyes, enveloped in thick slumber.

***

Wheels tapped a steady rhythm against the uneven road, pebbles skipping out from below the horse shoes. Esther let out a soft groan, calm vertigo twisting the world around her with each sway of the carriage. Her head throbbed, but even so, she pushed herself up from the cushioned seat…

“Lay down. You’re going to fall over,” a familiar voice came from the opposite of her, although at a moment too late. The floor beneath her shook, and whatever thought it was that her hazy mind was forming, it sunk back into the ever-flowing static. Esther retained little sense of direction, the surrounding darkness doing little to remedy the fact – just as she was told, she lost her balance, and so was destined to fall. She never crashed, however, caught in and by some closely undefined warmth.

Esther shook her head in surprise. She moved her legs, perhaps intending to stand once again, but could not get up, held firmly in place by somebody’s arm… and the place in question seemed to be somebody’s lap.

“I’ve told you you’d fall,” Chevalier sighed, his breath grazing her ear.

Oh. The world made itself clearer to Esther, some mist retreating from her mind.

“What exactly happened?” she asked, suddenly made aware of the fact that the sun had long sunken below the horizon line.

“Clavis arrived in time to capture some of Lavigne’s contacts. We’ve confiscated the arms still in her possession.”

Crows shouted outside. Esther shuddered at the sound.

“Are they…?”

“Some of the smugglers are currently awaiting extradition. Lavigne and the rest will be interrogated at the palace…” Chevalier took a deep breath. “And my fool of a brother insisted to personally take care of the gremlin for the time being.”

Cold needles seemed to retreat from her hands. The carriage shook again, thus having Esther sway lightly, still not fully in control of her body. Nevertheless, she attempted to straighten her back, with some degree of success.

“I see,” she whispered. However, her relief was short-lived, two angry fingers coming to poke her forehead. Painfully. Esther pouted. “What was that for?”

“For getting yourself drugged despite my warning. You’re lucky it wasn’t poisoned.”

She could almost see him scowl. “I was fairly certain it wasn’t poisoned, Prince Chevalier,” she argued at him. “Marianne was in the room… and I’d be of more use to them while still alive. However… they did not pour it in front of us, so your glass –”

Chevalier snorted. His grip on her waist tightened almost to the point of hurting. He reached for the collar of her blouse, deft fingers grazing her neck as he began undoing the buttons. Esther winced, only put at ease once he moved down to reveal her collarbones.

“Prince Chevalier?”

“The beast told you not to be a nuisance, yet you’ve insisted to become one. Did you think you’d go unpunished?”

Esther frowned. She tilted her head to the side, dishevelled hair falling away from her face as she searched for an appropriate reply, certain it lurked somewhere at the back of her tongue. All words failed her, however, sentences colliding to take away from each other until naught but gasps remained. Newly summoned fire scorched her flesh, his teeth a flint against her steel-stiff shoulder. Chevalier bit into her, his lips a flame at her skin, each nibble a burnt-in blooming scarlet mark. He bit her again – Esther held back a growl, her nails to his scalp as she tugged on his hair, soft strands delivering their apologies while tickling the nape of her neck. She gritted her teeth, pushed at his chest, pulled at the ties of his cape, until finally her voice escaped. Esther moaned, the sound chasing the beast away.

Chevalier straightened his back, only the soreness lingering over her skin having her believe she in fact did not dream. She slumped against him.

“You’re impossible,” she laughed weakly, but laughed nonetheless, each word a shiver sliding down his neck. “Beast this… beast that… as if biting made you one… as if only you could…”

Time collapsed onto itself, warped call of the hunting horn sounding off inside Chevalier’s head. Soft lips brushed against the corner of his jaw, mumbled complaints a howling of hounds, barely a distraction from the teeth racking down his neck. Each touch a snare, he merely watched, cornered by the lithe hands pressing against his chest. Her fingers curled into his jacket, her breath spilled below his collar… Esther sucked on his skin, the faint prick an arrow aimed at the beast. At… him.

“There are… worse things… than getting hurt…” she finished at last, blissfully unaware of any wounds she might have caused. Her eyes closed, strength leaving her limbs – Chevalier watched, his mind, for once, empty. He looked through the carriage window, and searched the stars, any thought to occupy himself with being suitable enough…

Esther nuzzled into the crook of his neck.

“… so… warm…”

A strained breath heaved his chest. “You fool…”

Chevalier pulled his cape over her shoulders, and buttoned up her blouse. One hour until they reached the palace remained.

Series Tag List: @nuttytani @bestbryn

#chevalier michel #ikepri chevalier #ikemen prince chevalier #ikepri #ikemen prince #ikemen series

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