#GOOD LORD WHAT DID HE DO TO DESERVE THIS????
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Never Not Mine
Summary: Elain Archeron has been betrothed to the seventh born son of Autumn for as long as she can remember. With her family's reputation in the balance, Elain is resigned to her fate.
That doesn't mean she has to like it…or that she has to make it easy for him.
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Read on AO3
Elain wasn’t invited into the meeting with Kallias, leaving her alone with the Lady of Winter, Viviane. She’d never met her, either, though Elain of course knew of her—had seen her on occasion but never spoken to her.
“Walk with me,” Viviane had suggested when Lucien disappeared behind a door. His face was still freshly brutalized, the scars pink around the edges. It was a miracle he was alive at all—he should have died. He should have died in the mountains while she clutched at his body, sobbing into the howling wind.
No one knew that, though. Lucien had survived that night, a magic Elain didn’t truly understand. He was a seventh son with no magical gifts to speak of. Eris had the markers of a future High Lord and yet…when Elain had woken that morning, Lucien had still been battling the ravages of the poison, but he, too, still radiated magic pooled deep in a well he had no business having.
Kallias had been prepared to turn them away with little more than a healer but had changed his mind when he looked upon Lucien. Had he seen it? The challenge to Beron’s power, the possibility of a neighbor whose High Lord owed him his life?
“Walk with me,” Viviane murmured, linking her arm with Elain’s. “There’s no point sitting around waiting on males.”
“I’d like to know what they’re discussing,” Elain replied, frustrated she’d been shut out. The only reason Lucien was around to talk to was because of her. She’d dragged him here, heavy and limp and at one point without a horse. She deserved to be included.
“I’m sure your husband will tell you,” Viviane replied in that sweet, good-natured way of hers. “They like to feel important though, don’t they?”
That did little to soothe Elain’s wounded pride. “Do you know what they’re discussing?”
“Helion's terms, likely,” Viviane said, pretty face serene in the cold morning glow. If Kallias was frigid ice then Viviane was inviting snow. Still cold, but in a way that felt friendly—pretty, beneath the glittering sunlight and yet no less dangerous should you drop your guard. “High Lord’s can be…difficult…when it comes to hospitality.”
“Eris Vanserra warned us not to go to Day,” Elain admitted, wondering only after the fact if it was wise to tell Kallias’ wife.
“I’m sure he knows more about the inner workings of Autumn…but his wife is from Day, and I would think the relationship between their two courts is friendlier than most.”
“Maybe the way he acquired her left a bad taste in their High Lord’s mouth?” Elain asked as she slid her hands into her pockets.
Viviane’s pale, blue eyes twinkled. “Perhaps. Helion can’t be too upset if he’s allowing you both to remain in exile, should you like.”
Was that what they were, then? Exiles? Elain would think about it later because she had one, last question for the Lady of Winter. “Lucien should be dead,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper.
Viviane’s eyes sharpened. “My lady Elain. Are you certain this is a conversation you want to have with me?”
Elain hesitated. “You…you were there when Kallias became High Lord. You saw…”
“I did,” Viviane agreed, her face cold as night. “And it was a secret I would have taken to my grave. I would consider what you say to me very carefully because there are some who would kill a potential High Lord on sight.”
Elain’s blood ran cold. “You wouldn’t.”
Viviane only shrugged, her sweetness returning. “Who can say what I or my High Lord might do? I would hate for you to find out when you’re so close to leaving.”
Elain sighed. “I hate politics.”
Viviane bumped her shoulder with Elain’s. “As do I. Whatever your suspicions, though, just know…I echo them, privately. Helion commands over a thousand libraries. Do some research, see what you uncover…and then move in secret. No matter how his brothers claim to love him, they will only see a threat, should your suspicions prove correct.”
There was nothing left to say to the Lady of Winter—though Elain had a million questions. They could have been friends, she thought glumly once Viviane parted ways with her. Viviane could have mentored Elain through all this, if only briefly and instead…instead she picked her home. Elain couldn’t begrudge her for that.
She found Nuan lounging in one of the sitting rooms available to guests. She was knitting something with both her good and mechanical hand in a buttery beam of light that made her onyx hair shift between blue and purple depending on how the light touched it. She turned her lovely face toward Elain, causing Elain a prick of discomfort. How did Lucien know her?
She was…she was beautiful.
And Elain was jealous. How had they met? What, she wondered, was even the nature of their relationship. She could have asked, of course, but Elain didn’t know how to without betraying what she felt. Nuan might betray her to Lucien, who would surely gloat and be generally obnoxious.
Elain started to turn but the rustle of her skirt was loud. “Sit with me,” Nuan said in her pleasant, sweet voice. “I’m going crazy sitting here by myself. It’s so quiet.”
Elain had never been to Dawn. Creeping closer, she asked, “Is Dawn loud?”
“Dawn is lively,” Nuan replied with a bright smile. “It’s warmer, and people are naturally around. Here, everyone is in specific rooms, and it feels so…exclusionary, I suppose.”
Elain crept a little closer. “How much longer are you staying?”
“Just until I can see Lucien again,” Nuan told her, eyes falling back to the yarn in her lap. What was she making, Elain wondered? She was entranced by the way her fingers moved in a blur of color, creating row after row as though it were an afterthought.
“You need to see him?”
Why did it bother her so much what Lucien may or may not be doing? It never had before. It did, though. Elain’s stomach churned at the thought of beautiful Nuan with her husband, her…her what?
Nuan offered Elain a secretive smile. “Just to make sure all is well…and offer him some advice.”
“Advice about what?” Elain demanded a little too hotly.
Nuan didn’t react, raising her hand to flex mechanical fingers. It was just as lovely as she was, glinting in the sunlight as each finger bent like the real thing. “His new life. The stares, the whispers…the way people are going to react when they see him.”
It was pure indignation that made her respond, “Why would they do that? He’s still just as handsome as he ever was!”
Nuan didn’t bother to hide her smile. “I suppose all that matters is that you think so. It’ll make things easier for him.”
“Can I sit with you while we wait?” Elain asked her, some of her frustration easing. If Lucien did have a past with this female, maybe it wasn’t the worst thing.
Nuan nodded, her fingers slowing for a moment. Curious, Elain asked, “Do your mechanical fingers help?”
Nuan’s laugh was pretty. “A little. They never tire, which is nice. It doesn’t help with my other hand, of course, but I can keep this going indefinitely if I want.”
“I’m a little jealous,” Elain admitted, thinking of how much more gardening she could do if her arms didn’t start to ache halfway through.
“Don’t be,” Nuan replied, but there was a lightness to her tone. They fell into companionable silence and by the time Lucien found them, Elain had forgotten all about her jealousy. They talked of Dawn and Spring, comparing and contrasting the High Lords and their courts. Elain listened like a starving animal, desperate for any crumbs of the world she’d been so sheltered from.
“We can leave as soon as you’re ready,” Lucien told her, sounding just as exhausted as he looked.
“Do you have a moment?” Nuan asked, setting her yarn and needles into her chair as she rose, graceful as a dancer.
Lucien’s eyes cut between Elain and Nuan before nodding, beckoning for her to follow him out. Elain felt her hackles raise, fingers gripping the edge of the chair as she forced herself to remain seated. Everything is fine, she chanted over and over in her mind. Why did she care if he was alone with another female?
But oh.
She did
LUCIEN:
“I spoke with your wife,” Nuan began once they were locked in Lucien’s bedroom. Her dark eyes teased him, sparkling with mischief. “What kind of lies did you tell to get her?”
“What are you insinuating?” Lucien demanded, laying himself on a chaise as Nuan loomed over him.
“Only that she could almost certainly have done better than a rake like you.”
Lucien spluttered, though there was truth to her words. “I’m not a rake.”
Nuan only laughed, fingers pressing at the edges of his new eye. “Of course you aren’t, which is why there was a small fight over who would get to come and see you. Again.”
Her words would have once amused him. Now they filled him with shame. His wife—his mate—lay somewhere just outside that door. She’d carried him across courts, saving his life and Lucien felt like he dishonored her with this conversation. Unable to meet Nuan’s gaze, Lucien merely mumbled, “Ah, I see.”
“I’m glad it was me who came,” Nuan said with an easy wink, applying enough pressure to force a gasp of pain from between his lips. “I was never that impressed with you.”
There was no need to point out no male could impress Nuan—she preferred females. As to how they’d become friends, Lucien still couldn’t say, though he was grateful for it all the same.
“How do you feel?”
“The same. Different,” Lucien said, sitting up once Nuan was satisfied with her work. “I don’t suppose you can…”
He gestured to the scars raked down his face. There was nothing he could do about the mechanical eye, but it seemed a greater insult to have both a ruined eye and the scars.
“If I’d been there right after it happened, yes. But now…? I’m sorry, Lucien. Truly.”
Lucien stared at his hands folded in his lap. “So am I.”
Though, he wasn’t. If it hadn’t been him, it would have been Elain. Still, his vanity won out. Lucien’s looks had always been his saving grace—he could always fall back on a charming smile and a quick wink if he needed to. Now…
“It’s not so bad,” Nuan murmured, perhaps guessing his misery.
“Do you ever get used to the staring?” he asked, knowing people would be gawking at him everywhere he went, now. The High Fae were supposed to be beautiful—unblemished.
“You stop caring after a while,” she said, holding his gaze. “It stops mattering.”
“How long did that take?”
“A decade,” she admitted ruefully. “I won’t pretend it’s easy or that it doesn’t get tiresome, but the alternative is, what? Death, in your case? And your wife was very clear about what would happen if you died.”
Lucien’s heart quickened. “Oh? Making threats, was she?”
“And then some,” Nuan said with an easy smile. “And when things settle…come to Dawn again. I’ll talk to Thesan—”
“No,” he interrupted, thinking of Jesminda. She was there, somewhere, starting over. Lucien didn’t want to be near her. Not now. Not while he was trying to untangle his feelings toward her and Elain. It was for the best to give her space—and himself, he supposed.
“You’ll feel more at ease,” Nuan told him, though she didn’t press further. “I hope you enjoy the Day Court more than I do. It’s far too warm.”
“I like the heat,” Lucien said absently, picking at a stray thread on his sleeve. Nuan didn’t respond, slipping from the room so he could be alone with his thoughts. Where they’d once raced, however, now they faded into a jumbled hum of noise, keeping him company without drowning him in his misery. He only noticed Elain slipping in because of her scent, and though he didn’t dare look up at her, she sat beside him all the same.
“We didn’t bring anything worth packing,” she told him gently, fingers tumbling around each other in her lap. “We could leave.”
“I know,” he murmured, more anxious than he’d ever been in his life. “Elain, I ah…I’ve been thinking.”
“Oh, no,” she murmured, nose scrunched upward.
“Hear me out,” Luicen said, gathering the courage to say the words he desperately didn’t want to. “I can go to Day alone. You don’t have to join me. I…you can tell them the truth. That I didn’t consummate our marriage, that you have tried to be a good wife while I’ve spurned you at every turn. I won’t dispute it. You’d be free to pick another male—someone you love.”
Lucien waited for Elain to say something and when she didn’t, he dared to glance at her. He found his mate staring at her hands, tears streaking silently down her cheeks. Were they happy? Misery clawed at him, demanding he fix this as Lucien forced himself to remain still.
“Why are you crying?”
“I…I suppose I thought…” Elain swallowed a gulp of air before rising to her feet. “If that's what you want.”
“It’s not.”
He hadn’t meant to say it. The words had escaped before he could contain them, slamming against them both with his confession. Elain looked over her shoulder and he saw that bright, sunny relief crest over her pretty face. Surely not.
And yet hope bloomed in his chest all the same.
“Then we’re agreed. And we’ll go to Day together.”
Lucien wanted to rise to his feet and kiss her so badly it made his teeth ache. To hell with Day, he thought privately. There was a bed right here—he could consummate their marriage, at least. The only thing that stopped him was the thought that after years of treating her poorly, Elain deserved to meet the more charming version of him. The male other females had fallen in love with.
Jesminda’s Lucien.
It should have felt like a betrayal, and yet right then somehow it seemed like a gift. The male he’d given Jesminda was not the same male Elain had been talking to. That male was someone Lucien liked. Someone Elain might like, too.
He couldn’t help himself from standing, stretching his stiff legs before making his way toward her. Lucien wanted to kiss her and settled, instead, for pulling her into a gentle hug.
“You saved my life,” he said, breathing in the sweet scent of her hair. “I owe you my life.”
“You saved mine,” she protested, shaking her head back and forth before resting her cheek against his chest. Elain simply didn’t understand because while Lucien believed she felt the bond, she didn’t realize it was the bond. Protecting her was his sacred duty—to let her be harmed was a failure so egregious that Lucien didn’t dare contemplate it.
But what he’d done compared to her…it was nothing. She’d risked her entire life for his. If Beron had caught up to her, punishment would have been severe. Swift. He’d have died, and she likely would have to, though slowly and only when Beron tired of torturing her. Lucien would die in exile, now, away from his home and his family, if only to keep Elain safe.
She wanted to stay married.
He couldn’t help his smile.
“There are some things you need to know about Day,” he told her, pulling regretfully from the hug. Elain took a healthy step backward, smoothing out her skirts to hide how pink her cheeks were.
“Tell me,” she said softly.
“You can’t wander like we did in Autumn. There are areas we’re not allowed to go—and the libraries are forbidden to us without a written request that is approved ahead of time. Helion doesn’t want us in the city, either. Not without an escort. We’ll need to be careful.”
“Why let us in at all?” she grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Beron and Helion have history. Maybe he’s hoping I’ll divulge secrets,” Lucien said with a shrug. “He’s the only High Lord willing to house us for the moment. Even Tamlin…”
Kallias had told Lucien none of the Seasonal Courts were willing to risk Beron’s wrath. He commanded the largest ground force in Prythian as far as they knew, and bordered the other seasonal courts. He could sweep in and unseat their High Lord with little resistance before absorbing their borders within his own.
Still, it stung. Lucien considered Tamlin his friend and Elain’s family lived there. He should have risked it—Lucien would have. Now he had a wife without a home that he was taking into uncertain circumstances. He didn’t have a home for her, though he intended to beg one off Helion. It didn’t have to be extravagant, it just needed to have four walls and a roof.
First, though, they had to get there and prove themselves trustworthy. Lucien intended to make himself of use to the High Lord even as he knew it would be considered an act of betrayal to his father.
There was no way around it. Beron would demand them back so he could kill them. There was no point in remaining loyal—not while his father lived, at any rate. If Helion wouldn’t let them stay, he’d secure passage across the sea toward the continent. Lucien would figure it out.
He’d keep his mate safe.
ELAIN:
The heat his Elain before anything else. Blinking against the blinding sun, Elain gulped down the warmest air she’d ever experienced. She didn’t know the world could be this hot. Spring and Autumn were mild in comparison, but here? Oh. Elain raised her hand to shield her eyes as she drank in the sprawling marble palace set atop a winding hilltop. Tall spires seemed to reach like spindled fingers toward that same golden sun while little golden domes threw rainbows of light against the cobblestone streets below. Trawling vines slithered up the slide, reaching, too, for the loving arms of a sun it would never touch.
Elain felt strange. Settled somehow, though maybe it was just the relief to be somewhere without the constant threat of rain. Beside her, Lucien sighed, unaware he looked radiant in the golden light. Something about it offset his skin, making it seem richer somehow. He was glowing, even with his glum expression. Elain was practically bursting with excitement—she’d always wanted to see the world. This was her opportunity, even if Lucien saw this as a curse. Once he settled and got used to no longer being a prince, he’d see her vision.
They could live anywhere. If they got bored they could simply pack up and move on.
They.
We.
Us.
Elain swallowed the realization that she was thinking about herself and Lucien as a singular entity. She just assumed they’d stay together. He’d said he wanted to, and she did too. Somewhere between dragging him up that mountain and him agreeing to leave, Elain had decided if she had to be married, she’d prefer it was to him.
It was tempting to reach for his hand. Elain did when their escort arrived, lips parting as the male stared openly at Lucien’s face. Elain didn’t consider herself a violent creature but right then, she wished she’d asked Cadmus to teach her to fight.
Lucien glanced between them, causing Elain to squeeze tighter. She knew what people saw when they looked at her—she was an empty shell, nothing more than a pretty face attached to an appealing body. Lucien wouldn’t be the first to suggest she ought to leave him, which made Elain feel all the more defensive. There was more to life than beauty—beauty was nothing at all, a mere accident of nature.
Besides, some of the most beautiful plants were deadly. Elain liked to imagine she, too, had thorns and could draw blood if someone was a little too careless. Elain glared daggers until the male glanced toward her, dark skin paling every so slightly at whatever he saw.
Good. Avert your eyes. Lucien looked nearly the same as he always had, and certainly just as beautiful. Anyone attempting to deny it was merely kidding themselves.
Elain and Lucien followed behind the male, hiking up a small incline toward the main entrance of the palace. Sweat slid down Elain’s temple before the cool air of the palace rushed from sheer curtains tied in front of the windows and doors.
“I told you not to come to Day.”
There, standing against the gold flecked marble, stood Eris Vanserra and Arina, the former looking annoyed while the latter looked delighted. Lucien exhaled, mirroring Eris’s irritation.
“What are you doing here?”
“Demanding you return,” Eris said, not looking as if he was demanding anything at all.
Lucien frowned. “And if I refuse?”
“Then you’ll be disinherited and exiled. If you step foot within Autumn, you’ll be executed,” Eris replied, his words sounding as though a child were reciting a particularly boring passage from a book. “And father will marry Elain off to Cadmus.”
“He’s my favorite,” Elain chimed in as Arina grinned, mouthing me too as Eris scowled beside her.
“Father sent you all this way to threaten me?” Lucien questioned.
“He thinks we’re in Winter,” Arina announced gleefully. “We got word yesterday Helion was going to allow you in and—”
“Just assumed you’re so brainless and stupid you’d take him up on the offer,” Eris interjected, his patience clearly wearing thin. “Come home. Let father lock you up for a couple days. Submit to the lash. Don’t…don’t do this.”
Elain’s outrage returned. “Why should he? Lucien didn’t do anything wrong!”
“Wrong has nothing to do with it,” Lucien surmised, eyeing his brother. “Beron told you to remain here and you disobeyed him.”
“You would have died.”
“And he would have gotten what he’s always wanted,” came another deeper voice. Elain caught sight of Eris rolling his eyes just as she turned, coming face to face with a truly beautiful male. Helion Spell-Cleaver seemed something out of a storybook—the handsome, charming prince come to rescue the princess. Something about his features felt right, though familiar in a way she couldn’t quite place. The strong jaw, the full lips, the high cheekbones, all set against dark brown skin. His black hair fell in waves around his face, the tips brushing his bare shoulders while his golden were rimmed with kohl.
“Lucien Vanserra,” Helion said, offering a ringed hand to Lucien. Eris looked like he might hack it off if Lucien took it, and she wondered what, exactly, Eris had against Helion. She bet Arina knew. “Come to visit at last.”
“I’ve been here before,” Lucien mumbled, taking the hand with little enthusiasm.
“No greeting for the rest of us?” Eris interrupted as Arina elbowed past so Helion could wrap her into what seemed like a genuinely nice hug.
“I allow you into my home, do I not?” Helion snapped, gold eyes flickering with irritation. “You have my—”
“That’s enough,” Arina hissed, pushing away from the High Lord. “We’ve come to beg a few days of your hospitality.”
“Apparently my palace is little more than a vagrant inn,” Helion said dismissively, turning to look at Elain. “Though you are more than welcome.”
“Ugh,” Eris muttered, nose wrinkled with distaste.
“You, my dear Arina, can stay as long as you like. The rest of you have your restrictions,” Helion declared, eyes sweeping over the group. “Do not make me regret allowing you here.”
“We won’t,” Elain said earnestly, wanting to make a good impression.
Helion lingered for only a moment more, gaze drifting from Lucien to Eris. “I expect an update once you’re settled.”
Eris only offered a curt nod in response before grabbing Arina’s wrist and pulling her closer to him as though he expected her traipse off with Helion. And though Elain knew Arina had lived here her entire life, she didn’t quite belong. Even with her shimmering, golden brown skin and the hair that looked as though it had been poured by the sun itself, Arina didn’t have the same belonging Helion did—as if the Mother had known she was destined for Autumn and had left little traces in the wine red of her lips, the green of her eyes.
“He’s so…” Eris trailed off as Arina turned fully to face him, her face appearing to seem interested, though Elain knew Arina was merely daring him to finish his sentence.
There was no time to watch the inevitable argument. Another male appeared at Lucien’s elbow to show them to the room they’d been allowed, while Eris merely followed after Arina to a familiar place only they knew. Elain wished she could see people's memories—how had Eris managed to convince Arina to love him?
The room she and Lucien had been given looked at though it ought to belong to a prince. Perhaps it did. Perhaps, she reasoned as she drank in the open, warm sitting room that overlooked a glittering cerulean sea, Helion wanted to honor the son of Autumn even if he was now living in exile. It was far larger than anything they’d had at Autumn, and Elain ruefully remembered how big she’d once found it.
Lucien, too, seemed flabbergasted. “I wonder what he wants from me.”
“You don’t owe him anything,” Elain murmured, uncertain if that was even true. Lucien certainly didn’t seem like he agreed as he moved past a long chaise to step into their bedroom. There was no fireplace—Elain assumed it wasn’t needed given how warm it was outside—leaving more space for cozy furniture and a bed so large they could have put four Lucien’s side by side comfortably with room for her as well.
Elain was suddenly too warm, staring at the cream and gold bedding laid before her. Lucien shifted, his expression utterly unreadable. Was he wondering the same thing she was? They’d admitted they wanted to be married…and Elain understood what married couples did. She both wanted to find out if it was half as interesting as people said it was and was terrified to find out.
Lucien swallowed beside her. “I ah…I wonder if they’ve thought to bring us clothes.”
They had, which was a mercy given Elain’s clothing was still lined with wool and fox fur to keep her warm in Winter—it was intolerable in Day. She and Lucien hastily parted to change, though it did little to stem her overactive imagination.
She’d hated Lucien so long that she’d never given much thought to how you went about courting a man’s affection and attention. She hadn’t wanted it from him and now…now she thought it might be nice to know, at least. To make an informed decision about the male she’d married before she started pestering him to show her the world. And if she didn’t like it, well…perhaps they could work out some other arrangement.
Perhaps she could agree to give him access to her body in exchange for traveling, even. It seemed a little too transactional for Elain’s taste, who did want the kind of storybook love she’d grown up reading. She’d never wanted it with Lucien but…but maybe it didn’t hurt to try.
Just a little.
Just to know.
Parsing through the gowns, Elain found a white dress with gold chains for straps. It wasn’t entirely modest—her mother would have gasped if she saw how low the neckline scooped, revealing the tops of her breasts and the slope of her collarbones. And the straps that held the dress over her bare shoulder, also draped decoratively over her arms, creating a pretty effect.
While she waited, she toyed with her hair, scooping it up before letting it fall, trying to figure out which one seemed the most seductive.
Lucien came in, casual in a pair of trousers and a loose, white shirt that looked as though it belonged beneath one of his tunics. He hadn’t bothered lacing up the neck, likely because of the heat, but all Elain saw was the tease of muscle that made up his chest.
He’d tied his hair off his face and never, in her whole life, had she wanted anyone as much as she wanted him right then. She didn’t even know how she wanted him. Only that she did. She needed Lucien to do all the work because somehow it was simply too embarrassing to admit how attracted she was to him.
Lucien glanced at himself in the mirror, smile fading as he remembered what he looked like. She wished he wouldn’t do that—wished she could show him how he looked in her mind. With a sigh, he asked, “Do you mind if I stay in here for dinner, tonight?”
Yes, she wanted to scream! But Elain offered Lucien her sweetest smile, because she was trying to show him she wanted him, and said, “Only if you don’t mind if I stay with you.”
Lucien blinked. “Of course not.”
“Then it's settled.”
That, she decided, went better than expected.
LUCIEN:
Something strange was happening with Elain, though Lucien couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Maybe it was merely her excitement at being in Day, though he couldn’t fathom why. Sitting across from her, Lucien felt entranced and wondered, absently, if she wasn’t a witch. It had to be magic, because he’d seen this woman a hundred times before. And yet he felt as if he hadn’t, because Lucien couldn’t drag his eyes off her.
Elain had swept her hair over her exposed shoulder, revealing the long, slim column of her neck. Her soft eyes peered down at her cards, unaware that from his periphery, he was watching her breasts rise and fall with each new breath she took. Lucien wanted to haul her over his shoulder and thank her properly for what she’d done for him.
Wanted to pull that dress off her until it was ruined so no one but him would ever see it on her. It was a dangerous impulse and yet…she’d said she wanted to be married to him. Had she thought of what that entailed? He needed to ask and didn’t know how without sounding lecherous.
Elain, when you said you wanted to be married to me, did you also consider what married couples do in their shared bed?
Somehow, he doubted it would go over well with her.
Would she notice if he began courting her? Night had fallen and Lucien was feeling a little bolder now that dinner had concluded and his brother hadn’t come banging down his door. Lucien wanted Eris to leave—nothing good would come of his brothers continued presence. The decision had been made and this was one thing Eris simply could not control. It was over, Lucien could not go back.
He would not go back. If he thought punishment would be reserved wholly for him he might have just so Elain had a stable place to live. Beron would assume Elain was a weakness and use her against Lucien and Lucien knew it would work. It was why, he assumed anyway, Eris rarely dared to defy their father. Bringing Arina to Day was a risk and Lucien wondered what Eris intended to do if they were caught. What lie he’d spin to keep his mate from harm.
“I’m going to lose,” Elain said, jutting out her bottom lip into a pout. Lucien’s entire body went hot and tight at the sight.
“That’s…” Lucien cleared his throat, unable to clear his mind of the image of his own teeth sinking into that plus lip. “Do you want to take a walk?”
Elain looked up and oh, he wished she wouldn’t. She was simply too pretty to be believed, made prettier by the fact that she was still here and looking at him with those eyes. How was he supposed to function?
Had the Mother known his fate? Surely not, because why give someone like Elain to him, knowing his fate was to be…this? The thought was enough to temper his overheated blood before Elain could catch a whiff of his scent.
“Where would we walk?” she questioned.
“Ah…the courtyard?” he suggested, certain they hadn’t been banned from that area of the palace. Elain nodded, tossing her cards to the table. She’d been right about losing, unaware that she would have won simply because Lucien wasn’t able to pay attention. Still, no need to tell her that. Not when she was rising to her feet in that dress, glowing in the soft faelights shimmering overhead.
Leaving the bedroom seemed like the worst idea he’d ever had, even if they weren’t even close to the bed. Elain had dragged a breakfast table away from the window and onto the balcony so they could play against the sounds of the ocean. Now, though, having stepped inside the sitting room, all Lucien could think about was the solid surfaces available to them, all of which were perfect for kissing, touching…and every other filthy impulse currently racing through him.
“This way,” he said, offering Elain his arm. They were courting in reverse—she was already his wife, and he’d secured her through no effort at all. Now he simply needed her to want him as badly as he wanted her.
Lucien swore he could feel her fingers through the thin material of his shirt. It had been the only suitable clothing—everything else was long tunics without pants and togas, none of which seemed quite right. He didn’t belong to Day Court, so why would he wear their clothing?
He’d need to speak to someone about it. Lucien didn’t want so much of himself on display, besides. He was feeling self-conscious about his form for the first time in his life and preferred to have everything covered, thank you very much.
“This place is big,” Elain whispered when they stepped into a darkened corridor. “Easy to get lost.”
“Agreed,” he murmured, not bothering to mention he’d only half heard her—he was too busy imagining what he could do behind a shadowed pillar. She continued talking and Lucien offered non-committal noises of agreement so she knew he was listening even though he wasn’t. His imagination was out of control, building on each new fantasy until Lucien was half mad with desire. What was he supposed to do with himself?
Stepping into the breezy night air was a relief, cooling him just enough to refocus on his wife. Elain seemed to know everything, somehow, as if the wind itself whispered its secrets to her. Lucien wanted to ask her how she seemed to know things she shouldn’t, but the moonlight spilled across her bare skin and Lucien found himself at a loss for the first time in his life.
“Elain,” he managed, catching her by the wrist as she tried to step across the blue and white flagstones toward a bubbling fountain. He was going to die if he didn’t kiss her.
Elain spun, eyes moon bright and Lucien…Lucien was an idiot. He wasn’t thinking straight, was so consumed by his gratitude and desire that he merely pulled her against him until their faces were inches from each other.
Sharing the same air, Elain whispered, “What are you doing?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted, running a thumb over her bottom lip. “Tell me to stop.”
He needed to hear her say it. The instinct writhing with pleasure in his stomach demanded he obey her—if she told him to throw himself off a cliff, Lucien thought he’d do so gladly.
Elain lifted her chin, eyes blazing with defiance. She didn’t say a word, which was permission enough. Lucien lowered his mouth, heart hammering in his chest as he breathed in the warm, salty air mingled against the spring scent of jasmine and honey. Their lips touched briefly—just enough to ignite a blazing heat in his body so intense he thought he might combust. Magic welled in this throat and Lucien swallowed it so he could kiss Elain again—actually kiss her the way he wanted, to make her want him as badly as he wanted her.
“Am I interrupting?” Helion Spell-Cleaver asked from the shadows, illuminating the darkness like the sun personified. Elain skittered back, pulling out of his grasp and Lucien wondered just how much trouble he’d be in if he murdered a High Lord.
“No,” Elain breathed, the liar. Helion seemed to know it, too, given the amused smile on his face. “Are we…should we not be here?”
“You’re welcome here,” Helion replied with a graciousness that grated on Lucien’s nerves. You could see I was busy!
“I often come out here to contemplate my existence,” Helion continued, coming closer still. His skin glowed a soft gold while his eyes cut through the darkness, banishing the shadows completely. “My magic, too.”
“Fascinating,” Lucien bit out, hating how Helion offered him a toothy smile, turning fully to look at Lucien.
“I feel it strongly in this place,” Helion continued, not looking at Elain at all. “Do you?”
“Nope,” Lucien lied before snapping his fingers so Helion could see the weak flame he commanded. “Just came to see more of the palace.”
Helion cocked his head. “Is that all your High Lord gave you?”
Lucien blinked. “I’m only the seventh son.”
“As you say,” Helion replied, turning to look away. They’d been dismissed. Lucien reached out his hand for Elain before the two scurried away, Elain looking over her shoulder as they went.
“Something about him feels painfully familiar,” she whispered. “I can’t put my finger on it.”
“You probably saw him swanning around some meeting,” Lucien grumbled. The moment had been destroyed and Lucien didn’t know how to get it back. Trying to kiss her while they got ready for bed, and then were in bed felt too far. It was supposed to be a kiss somewhere clothed, somewhere he could make suggestions for other things that involved fewer items of clothing later.
Helion had wrecked everything, he thought once he was settled in bed. Elain hadn’t immediately rolled away like she usually did, though the distance between them felt pointed. Careful. Lucien wanted to think only of her.
And yet…he kept coming back to that burning in his throat, and the magic that shouldn’t have been there.
I’m only the seventh son.
What if he was more?
#elucien#love lucien coming to all the wrong conclusions lmao#oh maybe im the next high lord of autumn WRONG SIR
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trying to get the rhaenyra theon feelings sorted out in text:
for one, it's the "smiling always smiling" while emotionally guarded vibes. there's a scene in E1 for instance where alicent tries to get rhaenyra to talk about her vulnerabilities and rhaenyra just… blocks. there's several moments where it's like child you are NOT smiling right now but you are! <3 (like during the violence at the tourney). and this air of not taking things seriously enough but actually whenever she reveals her thoughts you notice that she's been paying close attention, that she's bright and focused and that all this is a way to guard her heart. i think you could relate this to them both growing up in somewhat unsafe environments, obviously being winterfell's hostage and growing up in a cut-throat court environment ripe with manipulation and machinations is not quite the same, but in both case you gain a child that does Not Trust (and for good reason!)
the way in which they both need to move around and physically exert themselves to calm down when stressed.
then of course you have the entire, it is my birthright but someone else is considered more suitable/you are not suitable (any more) because you're a hostage/a girl. and some of the unfairness they decry at this is, from a modern pov a bit: well but it is not Good to want that, right? theon: i should get to be an ironborn reaver who commands women and smallfolk. rhaenyra: i should get to be a male heir who may crawl brothels and father countless bastards in inpunity. and it is, sure, aegon and daemon (and robert, and….) all do precisely just that, so i get you, but what they want is also full access to a privilege that is violent in the first place.
related to the theme: is ambition evil? is this type of ambition evil? both don't want to be Bad lords they want to be Good lords but maybe they are driven more closely by emotions. maybe they end up doing things on their road to fight for their ambitions that are violent. tyrannical maybe even. murderous. they have been failed and cheated from what they were indeed entitled to but so should they have just let it go? and both with real emotional familial ties also driving their ambitions - their fathers and their father's wishes, rhaenyra's children.
detail: rash, bold, ambitious, actually pretty clever, and disobedient moves to "prove her worth" that yet earns her no credit and no safety
also the "spoiled brat" "he/she should be more grateful" etc type angle. like yes: clearly they both are noble characters growing up cush at the top of the feudal hierarchies in castles with tutors nice clothing and so on and so forth, so while they complain about life being hard for them many others suffer and starve. but also they are expected to be grateful and obedient to what harms and controls them (theon: the hostage system; rhaenyra: womanhood). and their fears get a bit dismissed. in a meta way. theon feared for his life and in a way, so did also rhaenyra ("my mother was forced to squeeze out heirs until it killed her"). like not wanting that fate is not being an entitled selfish brat. it's not failing at gratitude! and yet!
anddd the sexually abusive evil uncle. well that's way more explicit with rhaenyra of course.
kind of theon also how rhaenyra's victimisation then casts her as "filthy". how her reactions to her circumstances make her a bad survivor who doesn't deserve sympathy any more because of a bad attitude. like, say, the night out with beloved sexually abusive predatory uncle. then coming home from this in a bad way (criston immediately: are you hurt, princess?) and the fallout is she's a whore. latches on to criston, you could say he took advantage of her state but also it's ambiguous and messy and i don't think either of them did something terrible there, but the fallout literally all: she's bad, she's inappropriate, she's irresponsible, she's dirty, how could she! (including the best friend!). but when she then also makes deliberate subsequent choices that prove her deliberation and agency in this, that she means to find sexual joy and she will. which means that….. she never was victimised in the first place? she was irresponsible all along? "she gets to have everything"? spoiled cunt after all?
generally i feel the way in which all these factors - playing it with a smile, acting wilful, being trouble, having a "bad attitude" make her into, idk, Not Deemed Vulnerable. as they say about theon: he was treated soooo well!
also not sure whom to connect that to - not euron, not thramsay, not throbb, but WHAT is this relationship with daemon! i'm So interested yet so upset. maybe the seeking safety, power and freedom in hurtful places. ending up yet very alone with how you're being harmed. of course, this is all extremely, extremely bleak. theon is about seeking freedom and breaking free which all devolves into horror but that doesn't mean that the seeking was meaningless nor that there aren't pockets of escape. i guess i'm always more interested when the paths of victim-perpetrator-agency-entrapment converge so messily, maybe that's the connection. (but the choking scene! i knew this was going to be bleak, but this is really very bleak.)
rhaenicent-throbb has been compared already from what i see and sure you have the close very special friend who is also your king/queen who may command you and whom you let down and maybe for halfway good reason (rhaenyra DID lie to alicent but also her mistrust was well-placed?) but the "betrayal" if you should even call it that is still catastrophic. part of if isn't even rhaenyra's fault but viserys's and otto's joint work but then neither was everything theon's fault. i thought you and i were in this together but then you do this to me. you leave me behind with all this, having destroyed some of what was dear to me, and i trusted you! but then of course alicent is certainly no robb. selkie is correct here in stating they both are theon.
to end on a slightly positive note from the theon emotions pov rhaenyra's (brief) luck in creating this queer little family built on mutual trust and friendship and protection is rather what i would hope could be possible for theon in the future. including having 'heirs'. i mean of course the thing with rhaenyra's heirs is they actually are her heirs (her being the mother) and yet there's all sorts of complications as we can see. so maybe my fantasising about smooth underhanded greyjoy succession has been a bit too rosy lol.
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Epistles of Saints & Sinners
Chapter Summary:
The group comes closer to entering Rosymorn Monastery, but first Tav agrees to let Astarion bite her with new rules in place.
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Story Summary:
When Astarion meets the humble bard, Tav, he soon finds out he's the only one between them that knows they are bound as soulmates through their marks. Deciding it's more trouble than its worth, he refuses to tell her along the course of their journey across Faerûn.
But, unbeknownst to him and their companions, Tav is harboring a gruesome secret that she only thought was nothing more than a traumatized period in her life.
As they both come to face to face with their pasts and presents, will they choose to move forward or let it consume them?
Healing isn’t linear—after all.
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Chapter 18: Embryonic
Ao3
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Main Page & Chapter List
Word count: 5.7k
Pairing: Astarion x female bard Tav
CW: Language, Violence, Mention of Torture Devices, Blood, Trauma, PTSD, Act 1 Spoilers
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I have settled upon four commandments in total for my future spawn.
Words to lead them through our epoch together until the moment is ripe.
Even should they try to disobey, it will do them no good.
For I will become all they know. All they love. All they serve. All they pray to.
To the point where even the thought of being insubordinate would bring them anguish.
They have much to learn, but I will be their teacher in all things.
And they, will be perfect.
My next lesson is such:
Second, thou shalt obey me in all things.
— Cazador Szarr ‘The Avid’, journal entry 1281
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The last time Astarion genuinely smiled was before the hovel of Cazador Szarr’s dark kiss stole his last living breath.
Conditioned from the moment the seven spawns clawed their way out of their mortal burial pits, any expression on their faces—including their smiles—was to be moderated by the edict of their sire. Cazador exercised complete control, reminding his inhuman children that their deprived autonomy was the equivalent exchange for the largess of immortality. The vampire lord could have anything he wanted because he was their god! Once an unfathomable figure regaled as their martyred father, now their regent in all things.
Astarion recalled when his Lord Szarr, with perverted glee, stringently forced him to learn the “appropriate” ways to smile under his rule: a farce reserved for luring victims, enticing the cream of the crop in Baldur’s Gate, and the master himself. A slight crookedness showing any volume of teeth was viewed as criminal peasantry, unsuitable for anyone’s gaze. If the spawn attempted to exhume an asymmetrical grin, with his mouth rising on one side and remaining static on the other, it was received with verbal battery for hours. Many would have called the latter a sneer, but Cazador called it a ploy for dominance.
However, there was one smile that was strictly forbidden: the one of true happiness.
To flagrantly even allow the beginnings of it to form crow’s feet would incite unthinkable wrath. Any self bliss evident on Astarion’s face—or enjoyment at even the slightest prosaic object he fancied—for any reason other than what his master commanded, was banned and to be promptly expunged through means of sanguine deprivation and physical torture.
“You know that smile is not allowed.”
“I know, master. If you find it within you, please accept my apologies.”
“If you knew it was against the rules, then why did you do it?”
“I—it was a mistake, master.”
"Could it be because you still think somewhere deep inside that inferior soul of yours, that you deserve anything other than what I’ve given you?”
“No, master. You bless me everyday by allowing me to stay by your side.”
“Choose your next words carefully Astarion. Is that derision I hear in your tone?”
“I do not wish for my tone to mock you, master. Please teach me how I can improve upon my speech and my expressions.”
“The punishment will be severe, my son.”
“I deserve no less, master.”
“Who do you smile for, boy?”
“Only you, master.”
“And?”
“Whomever you command me to smile for, master.”
“Correct. Now, I want to see what type of smile you’ll make when you’re placed into the scold’s bridle and that whorish tongue is gagged.”
On more than several occasions, Astarion summoned ideations about scorching off his own lips or taking Godey’s favorite pliers to remove each tooth that represented precious solitary memories from a biological time that had slipped away. A rebellious fantastical vagary to mutilate his face, so he may heed his lord’s discretion and never smile out of joy again.
But, Cazador was already miles ahead of Astarion. The blood from his sire that the spawn had only supped from but once, coursed through his corpse-like vessels like a blood memory. And through that wedded death bond, Cazador was able to detect the inklings in a change of thought or action that didn’t fit his ideal regime. So, the master compelled Astarion to never harm himself unless demanded otherwise because his face was to always remain the fairest.
To lure victims. Watch scream. Prostitute out. Cum upon.
Subsequent to that moment, Astarion would wander Cazador’s barnacled castle’s halls, brothels, flopshouses, even taverns, studying paintings of people on the walls. These inanimate figures became his tutorial monstrances, with their tight-lipped expressions teaching him how to smile in a way that would please his slavemaster. Through them, he sought benediction. When the gods didn’t answer his prayers, these pictures briefly became his gods until he properly learned all he could from these individuals indentured to their frames.
In the present, Astarion started gathering his bearings from his recent trance as he watched the soft glow from the dawn peeking into his tent.
He thought back to the night before when the creeping smile that appeared on his face, as he viewed the stars with Tav, revolted him. Petrified, the pale elf had tried to think of anything—ANYTHING—that would prevent the smile from continuing to emerge. He felt it as it was happening, his mouth resisting against the shrill voice of his master in the back of his mind dictating him on what to do. Relaxed muscles. Cheekbones lifted. That subtle elevation of his lower eyelids as they robbed the bottom portion of his sclerae of space.
That expression had long been deemed as selfish, a reward meant only for those who deserved happiness. But he didn’t believe in real happiness anymore. On no account did he continue to have faith in a time where his whole life was still ahead of him and he could relish in the rewards for the hard work he had accomplished. Additionally, the concept of possibly falling in love had dissipated within that first decade into his vampirism. The only two constants in his undeath were survival and hunger. Everything else seemed temporary to him, as temporary as his fading humanity.
This he was proselytized; this he abided.
Yet Astarion couldn’t help but to rewind the moment Tav stared into his eyes, declaring to him ludicrous admissions nary a single soul had ever bestowed him.
“But, that’s not all you are.”
But then, what was he?
He already knew he couldn’t answer the blistering question about himself without inserting the words “sex” or “slave.” Everything else about Astarion was made up of visages that had been infallibly rehearsed, manufactured, catering to the fraudulence he enmeshed into his serpentined yoke.
Yet, could he be something more?
That damned bard seemed to reckon so and she was the last person he would ever expect to deceive him, especially not when she made parts of his brain actually think about things whenever their conversations jumped into undesirable depths. The vampire spawn recognized he had transgressed against another one of Cazador’s rules allowing her virulent words to affect him. An infection that contested him in ways he didn’t understand. Ways he wanted to waterlog until it crashed into a seafloor. Ways he ached to hold onto.
Astarion’s fingertips gently tugged at the commissure of his lips back and forth before letting it go taut, wondering how soon it would be before Tav asked him to survey the night sky with her again.
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What was the meaning of friendship?
After weeks of traveling with his companions and learning more about them, Astarion didn’t feel he was any closer to solving the conundrum. The natural bonds that seemed to form between people that held each other in such regard, was as foreign to him as what human food tasted like anymore.
This was now the second time Tav volunteered them to take their acquaintanceship in that direction—should he decide to take her up on the offer—but he wasn’t certain of the mechanics behind the genial rapport. He thought it foolish to ask her about it, not wishing to necessarily display his weaknesses over the annoying matter, but how in the devil then was he supposed to learn? Better yet, was this even something he was willing to try? He surmised he didn’t exactly have many other options if he were to assimilate himself further into the group to maintain his security, seeing as their songbird didn’t exile him after their midnight chat.
Hours ago, he watched as Scratch confidently dashed around camp, seeking out scraps and affection from those they would relinquish them. How could a dog, of all the organic beings that existed, rolling around on the disgusting ground—probably to deposit his scent on dead worms—-manage to incite joviality and trust from those that met him? Astarion thought about procuring a ‘Speak with Animals’ scroll to talk with the furry beast about what his definition of friends could be, but chose last minute to forgo the plan after seeing Scratch plop a drool soaked ball into Wyll’s hands.
It was like being jolted awake from a coma, this journey. Thrust back into the world of the living after decades upon decades as a revenant, slipping through silhouettes of buildings and dank passageways, proved to be exhausting. He was certainly as dumbfounded about being more personable as anyone might expect after hearing about his lack of real kith and kin to anyone outside of the Crimson Palace, yet being free didn’t instantly provide him with the tools he needed to be successful at it either. But maybe if his predator-esque sight followed someone kind like Tav around whilst she attended to her daily life, paying apt attention to her social graces, would help him start to understand how to be a proper friend—or at the very least mimic one.
However, Astarion’s pensive meanderings came to a pause the moment he, together with Tav and Lae’zel, encountered Lady Esther.
Undaunted, bossy, with a voice like the matted ass end of a bugbear, Esther was the epitome of a pestiferous adventurer that should probably be thrown defenseless into the githyanki crèche she had been chased away from. Her padded armor smelled faintly of dried saltwater and mineral from uncooked oysters, reminding Astarion too intimately of his nightly stalks on the streets of Baldur’s Gate—which she just so happened to hail from.
“I should dispose of you for even suggesting such an atrocity,” Lae’zel indignantly replied, wrapping her steady fingers around the grip of her sword.
“And I would suggest you back off of that blade,” Lady Esther snarled, instinctively reaching for her own weapon at her hip. “‘The Society of Brilliance’ is an upstanding order in Baldur’s Gate. What we mean to do with our research is answer the long age question of ‘nature versus nurture.’ And, an unhatched githyanki egg is the perfect specimen for this undertaking. Your people could be a part of history!”
As the women’s argument surged, Astarion and Tav retreated to stand behind their gith comrade as if they were knights awaiting a command. When Lae’zel bared her teeth to Esther, he grinned, hoping the githyanki would soon plunge her sword through the older woman’s chest cavity so their group could carry on with their contemptible mission into the monastery.
Judging by the steadily growing sighs exhaling from Tav’s lungs, she felt similarly. “We really don’t have time for this,” she muffled.
Astarion pulled out a jackknife from his pocket to twirl mindlessly in his hand, an attempt to quell his boredom. “I don’t see what all the fuss is about over these gith eggs. I doubt the taste is comparable to anything that is red and leaking out of a wound.”
The bard lifted her brow, turning her neck to glare at him. “You know there are children inside those eggs, right?”
“Children?! Does that mean they lay them like some sort of amphibian?” he sputtered a tad too loud in which Lae’zel audibly called him k’chakhi under her breath. “Well darling, you know I only half listen when any of you speak.”
“That explains a lot,” Tav snidely remarked, rolling her eyes.
He canted his head to offer the elven woman at his side a jape, the balm of fresh lavender on her pulse points filling his senses, only to be temporarily obstructed by a diversion on her face.
Two freckles, almond in color, were bound to her skin below her left eye: sacred gifts permanently bestowed from the sunlight.
Perplexed, he narrowed his eyes at the offending dots. Were those there before? Surely, he wouldn’t have missed them during the visitation of his lips resentfully kissing her near the delicate area. Committing the minute details of Tav’s appearance to memory, came as just another habitual action to secure his deceptions. Details with no need for reflection, only adding to the prickling numbness that burned throughout his body.
During those very tiresome centuries under Cazador’s thumb, Astarion would view such semblances on former liaisons with malcontent while he feigned his enthusiasm. A brush of his dark lashes against scars. Pecks upon port-wine stain birthmarks. Murmurs along the ghosts of amputated limbs. Any action to elicit the final shudder leading them to their fore ordainment. Because when it came to gaining someone’s trust, who didn’t like to be seen?
But why was he so damned rattled at neglecting to notice her meaningless freckles of all things? Was he finally losing his touch? He wanted to chase the sun, lambasting the glowing medallion as his blade tried to cut its rays in twayne for Tav’s sunspots afflicting his sight and abruptly capturing his attention.
And yet, after all the venom he inwardly spat about the bard’s two threatening marks, he couldn’t bear to look away from them.
He bit his tongue, regaining his normal frivolity. “I do so ever love food with a bit of zest!” Astarion murmured into the sheath of Tav’s ear. “Which one do you think would taste better?”
“Shush. I’m trying to listen in case Lae’zel needs our help,” she responded, trying to stifle a chuckle as she wiggled her nose like a chipmunk. “Besides, I literally just fed you last night.”
“It’s not my fault I’m feeling a bit peckish,” the vamp pouted, showing Tav one of his fangs. “And it’s definitely not my fault your blood happens to be the most exquisite dessert I’ve ever had and I can’t indulge in it as much as I’d like.”
“Now you’re just flirting,” she pointed out.
“And shamelessly I might add.”
He watched the slightest purse spread her lips as she seemed to ponder their exchange. “After we take care of this, I’ll grab Shadowheart and you can top yourself off.”
“Pardon me, but could you possibly explain to your friend here that the society’s goal isn’t to harm their young?” Lady Esther interrupted, leaning to peer behind Lae’zel.
Fibril pieces of hair were wiped away from Tav’s face as she approached, wedging herself between Esther and Lae’zel. “There’s nothing to explain. You’re trying to steal another race’s child to use as a science experiment without the child’s consent. In most places, that would be considered trafficking.”
Lady Esther sneered, adjusting her body into a defensive stance, readying herself if one of them drew their weapon. “What a brazen accusation to make!”
“My steel wants blood! Let me strike her down and be done with this offense,” Lae’zel scolded, ripping her sword off of her back.
“As do I,” Astarion slid in, throwing his knife into an intricate spin in the air before catching it.
Tav spread out her arms to the sides, quieting the multiple voices. Then, the aria of her tadpole reached out to Astarion’s, whining aggressively to connect.
What is it?
We don’t have much time before Esther suspects something is up, but do you think you can sneak behind her to knock her out? the songstress hastily implored.
Knock out? Shouldn’t we just kill her? You know Lae’zel isn’t going to be pleased about this, he chastised.
The purring vibration of Tav’s worm hesitated. I know she won’t be, but this will at least allow us time to deal with the githyanki crèche. I don’t want more blood on our hands than necessary. Please.
Ah, so she wasn’t exactly denying ending the old woman’s life could be the right call to make, but Astarion knew that that rapturing heart of hers had once again gotten in the way. He sighed—it wasn’t his choice to make anyways.
Not even a sip?
Astarion! Tav warned.
Ruin my fun then! he grumbled. Keep her distracted, will you?
The link ruptured and he watched Tav casually lower her arms, walking a half circle around Lady Esther’s position. She tracked Tav’s movements while keeping a squinted eye on Lae’zel, who also began to shift in the same direction as Tav. He realized his two companions must’ve had a separate tadpole conversation that alerted Lae’zel of the plan to deal with Esther.
Astarion willed his respiration to stop, falling back on his less human-like qualities. Stealthily he tiptoed, like a mouse in a church searching for sacramental wafers leftover by those who refused communion. Upright, heels up, the twigs he avoided didn’t stand a chance keeping him off course.
And then, he was behind Esther, the pommel end of his dagger raised above her head and angled at her temple, waiting for Tav to administer her last rites.
“Nobody should be a slave to someone else’s ambitions,” the bard firmly said, nodding at the vampire to execute the finality to their gambit.
WHACK!
Astarion stowed the dagger, looking up from the unconscious woman laying on the ground. “Aww, I was hoping she would have put up more of a fight. How about we go get that bite to eat now?
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When it came to seduction, Astarion thought of himself as a professional, however, he was quickly losing at his own game the moment his garnet irises gravitated towards Tav’s neck.
Further down the mountain trail, to an obscure area that directly overlooked the invaded Rosymorn Monastery, the bard dragged Astarion down a set of half-broken stoned stairs constructed into the ground itself. With timorous intensity and the pledge of blood, Tav led him by his arm around the corner of a boulder. She swept her hair up into a brunette nest—requesting over her shoulder for Shadowheart to stand watch nearby—when they reached the impromptu private place for him to feed with footpath dirt accenting their boots.
It was incongruous, really, hiding behind the rock like a pair of horny teenagers that snuck off to neck each other just so he could briefly swill her crimson. Though, because his brain chose to remember the gloaming cycles when Cazador Szarr forced him to slice open his pasty tissues after he saw the cut Tav intentionally made on her arm, a regretful pang writhed within, causing him to brood over past actions that inevitably spurred her rash decision. If only he hadn’t disassociated, it would have never come to this.
Tav released his forearm, turning around with a serious expression. “Lathanyll,” she said elegantly in their elvish tongue.
Astarion’s brow lifted. “What about the sunlight?”
“Lathanyll: our new safe word,” she asserted.
“Safe word? Darling, why do we need a safe word? I’m not going to kill you—at least on purpose,” he joked, tucking his chin in ever so slightly to smirk at her.
Tav crossed her arms, turning her eyes upward. “That’s definitely comforting,” she replied sarcastically. “I’ve just been thinking that maybe a safe word could help us out. If either of us feels uncomfortable with what we’re doing, we say our ‘word’ and we automatically stop. No questions asked.”
A safe word. It wasn’t an absurd idea, maybe a bit on the tedious side should he be mid drunk imbibing her blood, but it was one of the better proposals she’d had.
Covertly, his eyes flickered down to the soul mark he once imprisoned with his teeth, covered by the leather breastplate she chose to wear in lieu of her bard’s doublet. Should he ask her about it? Did it still hurt? Was it healed yet?
Astarion remembered the night he violated her flesh in clear enough detail, that he found himself with bouts of pining to penitently beg for clemency from her. Teeth digging into her fibrous pulp, his master’s voice commandeering him to flay her soulmate marking, red, red, red everywhere! And her blue eyes, dulling as she realized the utter betrayal to her autonomy and the vague relationship they had begun to form. Nevertheless, she inexplicably wanted him to stay.
He wondered if they had established a safe word much earlier, could his harmful behavior that now caused so much distrust have been avoided?
Astarion shouldn’t care. No, he wouldn’t care. Caring was full of peril, leading to feelings Cazador would exsanguinate only to reinforce his commandments in their place. He had mindlessly endeavored to obey centuries worth of orders—of lost agency—that…
Wait, what in the deadly fuck was he going on about? Cazador wasn’t there, and he sure as hells wasn’t coaxing the spawn into a choice. The tadpole must be feasting on his mind again. Back into the void he plunged it all down.
Seal his fated habits of treacherous shame,
Blood running chill with blame.
Molted skin, bones displayed,
Reject the lord that he once bade.
“You okay?”
“Yes, of course,” he rasped, clearing his throat. “Does Shadowheart know about me? About the um, you know…” he gestured his head towards the non consensual area he previously bit.
Tav sailed her fingertips on the outside of her armor where his teeth imprints had once laid, expression softened. “No, that’s between us. I told her I’ve been having trouble recently with an old injury and needed her closeby when you fed in case the blood loss made it act up.”
Of course she would lie for him. “Wicked girl, lying to our cleric,” he smirked, crinkling his mischievous eyes.
She bound her back against the boulder as if she were an odd wallflower debutante at a ball. “I don’t need their judgment and neither do you. If we are to be friends, I’d like for us to try and heal without their intervention.”
“So assertive!” Astarion chuckled. “You’re serious, aren’t you? About retrying this whole,” he waved his hand around ,“friendship thing.”
“You doubted I was?”
He shook his head. “More like I wondered if you would have second thoughts.”
“Trust me, I have thought about this more than I care to admit. All choices have consequences, but that’s just a risk we’re going to have to take, huh?” she coyly smiled.
Astarion drew closer to her, the tingling discomfort in his fangs beginning to throb thinking about the moment her ambrosial skin would soon fill his mouth. How long had it been since he drank directly from her? Days? Weeks? Far too long in his book.
“Just like the one we’re about to engage in?” he teased, now hovering over her with their few inches in height difference.
“Careful, vampire,” she warned with a grin, likely noting the inflection of flirtation in his voice.
“What? I’m only being friendly,” he cleverly indicated with a wink. “Don’t <em>friends</em> tease each other where you’re from?”
Tav chuckled. “Sure, except your teasing always has a layer of illicitness to it.”
His hands flew to his hips, staunchly pointing his chin upwards playfully. “Songbird, I’m a very pious man that is entirely devoted to all pleasures in life.”
She stared up at him, the corner of her mouth curling into a half smile as she unbuckled the right strap of her breastplate, allowing him better access. “How do you—how should we do this?”
“Don’t tell me you've forgotten already,” the vampire scoffed as he felt the side of his lip twitch in want.
“No, I meant—um, like without touching too much so we’re both respecting each other’s boundaries,” she answered quietly, frisking the side of her neck to gather up any remaining loose hairs.
Eyes widened, resembling glossy jewels, he tilted his head at her. Minimal touching. Was such a thing even possible? I—that sounds…nice. Right? A toiling inner peace fell upon him, threading into his ancient muscles at the thought.
There was a fragility present betwixt them, one that had been wholly sundered, now giving them the opportunity to repair itself like the use of gold and lacquer to seam bits of broken pottery. Pieces that eddied, tangled amidst the weight of their bedroom sins and their cursed interactions.
It was unprecedented, having the option to abstain from touch and sex like he’d been waiting on the words to finally give him the permission to do so. And it was surprisingly all because of Tav rooting the notions into his mind through her passionate homily under the swirling night air the prior night. The woman he couldn’t manage to entirely seal the access to his clandestine murkiness from.
Astarion wasn’t sure what to do, but opted to rely upon Tav to guide them. “Any suggestions?”
Thoughtfully nibbling the edge of her bottom lip, she proposed a solution. “How about I put my arms at my sides and you can steady yourself against the boulder behind me?”
“That could work,” he agreed. “Ready?”
The quivering from her heartbeats thudded erratically in his ear as she nodded. His deft arm reached out, leveraging himself against the cool rock. Slanting downward, he leaned in, the shadowy veil of his body covering her face from the blaze of the highnoon sun.
With his free hand, he traced the top stitching of her upturned collar, lightly yanking it away from her neck. “Nervous?” he checked, lowering his pitch.
Tav’s ears bloomed in tantalizing rose hues, reminding Astarion of pink quartzes crushed into lady’s brooches. “Yes. It’s been a while,” she admitted.
“It has,” he confirmed. “I’m not wont to let go of a scrumptious morsel such as yourself, but we don’t have to do this if it doesn’t feel right.” This was him offering her an out. Their untested limits for consent required full participation or he knew this would never work as intended.
“Funny. When it comes to ‘feeling right’ around you, it would seem all my senses wind up being tossed into a cyclone,” she stated almost bemusedly, vertically angling her head as a signal that he could bite.
“And yet, you can’t keep away,” he purred on the airy corridor leading to her succulent skin, crisp maw landing softly onto her thrumming veins.
Different lengths of his curls lunged sideways, grazing her clavicle as the sirenic call in her blood sunk his eardrums into a hypnotic state. His lips receded to stimulate her neck with skimming nips barely pricking her taut flesh. She gasped, holding back a cry from his contact, when he voraciously nursed on a mouthful of salty sweat imbued skin from their flushed exchange.
He wouldn’t lose control this time.
He wouldn’t lose control this time.
He wouldn’t lose control this time.
“Astarion, why didn’t you want me to cut myself to give you blood?” the songstress interjected sweetly before he bit her, breathing shallowly against his neck.
Astarion shut his mouth halfway, centralizing his view—as a distraction for the flashbacks spilling into his mind—on the cacophonous pastel blue vein begging for his teeth to rupture. “When I was still beholden to Cazador’s bondage, he would sometimes compel me to lacerate myself if I displeased him. Only when my flesh was finally covered head-to-toe in cuts, caked in bodily filth, would he relent and allow the wounds to be healed without a trace that the act ever occurred.
“I don’t think I need to explain to you what I thought after I saw you had harmed yourself for my benefit,” he confessed.
A gentle sway of pulsations swelled from the mark behind his right ear, as though one of Tav’s folk songs entered their soul-fated connection with reposeful cadency. Astarion couldn’t deny he felt a tad more at ease as the melodic rhythms rippled through the token imprinted into his paleness.
“Thank you for being considerate of my safety,” she suddenly whispered, presumptively heeding her sympathies.
He sighed, planting a cordial peck to the area he was about to sup. “My dear, I just can’t have you accidentally unaliving yourself, leaving me with no constant source for food. I mean, can you imagine me trying to convince one of the others to be my fodder?”
The vibronic ghost of her lips wisped at his ear lobe as she courteously laughed. “Point made.” She shifted under him in anticipation. “If you’d like to continue, I promise not to interrupt again.”
Then, Astarion inhaled deeply, slowly sinking his fangs into her supple neck, and it was like the first time his tongue lapped at her scarlet fluids all over again. Every shade of the world’s colors deluged throughout his body, waking his catatonic veins from their slumber.
Tav whined for him through gritted teeth, instantly muttering a quick “sorry.” Her heart was pumping thrice over trying to keep up with his feeding. He spread his palm out flat against the large rock behind her, harboring himself in place, growling away the urge to grab her hips and press her body into him. She gasped again.
But he could sense her lingering nervousness as her fists clenched tightly at her sides. Her mind was apt to processing matters, thus it wasn’t infeasible she may be worried about his episodes taking control of his hunger again. Or perhaps, she was resisting bodily natural desires she sought to eventually vanquish. He thought to rib her about it, but his moral conscience switched on, harkening back to her respect for his own needs.
Incredible, he cringed at his abrupt compassion.
Astarion glided his hand down, wrapping around her wrist in a mollifying position. His thumb lazily rubbed circles into her skin, remembering this had once briefly calmed her in the past.
For a few seconds, he withdrew from her neck, concerned he may have breached their new terms. “Is this okay?” his blood warmed breath shuddered.
“I—yes,” Tav keened, squeezing her thighs together, no longer accustomed to his touch.
Satisfied, he bent back down to relatch himself to the puncture wounds.
As he sucked, he could taste the absolution for his addiction to her blood in the beatific raptures exhaling from her lungs into his ear. Astarion audibly moaned into her neck, guzzling claret currents into the sanctum of his belly. The constriction from his pants smothered his hardening cock and he desperately tried to angle his lower torso in a way so that she wouldn’t accidentally nudge it.
Gods, he wasn’t sure how he was ever able to survive without her crimson filling his gullet! He once compared her libations to vintage wine instead of the cheap plonk that derived from an animal’s circulatory system, but honestly, he diminished just how incredible she actually tasted. Her ichor was the immaculate permeation of ripened dewberries prattled upon by fresh rain in the early morn. Sweet. Tart. Bursting with wet juices inside the gulf that led to his throat. Tav incessantly prevailed as the most lavish meal he ever dined upon, never failing to cause his near rabid state. And he wanted more and more and more and more and more…
“L-lathanyll, Astarion,” she stuttered.
The spawn gave a concluding ovally stroke to her inner wrist before withdrawing his hand completely. His tongue wagged out, licking the remaining droplets that dared to coerce him into keep sipping. He backed a few feet away from her, giving her room to recover. Maybe that word held some weight to it after all.
“Thank you for listening to the safe word; I wasn’t certain if it would work.” Tav collapsed back onto the boulder, trembling. “How was I?”
“You tasted…tense.” Astarion labored to breath. He felt a nigh fuzzy drunken effect settling throughout him.
“I tasted tense? How so?”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong, you’re still very delectable, but it was less sweet than usual. Like a sharp tartness had been mixed in.” He licked his lips, cleaning them entirely of her red stains.
“Less sweet,” she repeated. “Is this going to be a problem for you? For however you digest blood or whatever goes on in there?” Tav nodded at his stomach, fixing her shirt and rebuckling her leathers.
“It won’t be a problem for me, but it may be for you.”
She looked stumped. “I’m not following.”
Astarion puckishly twinkled at her. “Only that there may come a time when you should consider relieving some of that pent up frustration on your own time.”
Her eyes bulged out. “Did you just suggest I should m-masturbate?!”
“Heavens, no! Although, that may be the quickest way to do so and we both know just how aroused—”
Blushing feverishly, Tav darted forward, cupping her palm over his mouth. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence!”
His sight dipped, focusing on the two little vile freckles that created so much angst for him during their argument with Lady Esther, sitting on the vista of skin surrounding her eyes. A symbiotic companionship with fine lines showing her life experiences. Actually, he mused, revising his former criticism , they aren’t so bad, are they? Maybe even kind of…cute.
Astarion raised his arm, politely taking her hand ransom to peel away from his face like a mask, revealing just the sudden makings of a genuine smile. “Darling, you should really learn how to have more fun.”
⸺⋘✤⋙⸺
Notes:
Githyanki Language:
k'chakhi = idiot
Elvish Language:
lathanyll = sunlight
#baldur's gate 3#baldurs gate astarion#bg3 fanfiction#bg3 astarion#astarion x tav#astarion#baldurs gate tav#bg3 tav#tav#epistles of saints & sinners#slow burn#astarion fanfic#astarion acunin#bg3 spoilers#bg3 fanfic#bard tav#spawn astarion#bg3 soulmates#soulmates#soulmate marks#female tav#fem!tav
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WHAT IS IT WITH SKIZZ AND THE NUMBER 3???
I don't get it man, this guy. THIS GUY. He just CAN'T SEEM to escape the number three. Don't believe me?
What about the fact that he's died 3rd every single series he's been in? Yep, both in 3rd life and in last life, this man died third. And in the exact same way too, foolishly charging into the enemy with no plan other than bloodshed. Which fails.
What about THIS????
LIKE YOU CAN'T TELL ME THAT A LITTLE BIT SUS. IN 3RD LIFE TOO. 3RD LIFE. WHERE THE FIRST 2 KILLS WERE HIS.
What about the fact he's only ever had 3 lives assigned to him?
What about the fact that in B.E.S.T, S is the 3rd letter?
What about the fact that he missed Double Life, the 3rd season of the Life Series??
What about the fact that because he missed Double Life, he’s been apart of 3 seasons of the Life series???
AND NOW. WHAT ABOUT THE FACT THAT IN SESSION 1 OF LIMITED LIFE, HE DIES 3 TIMES IN THE FIRST SESSION????
LIKE WHAT IS HIS DEAL??? WHY IS HE SO HAUNTED BY THE NUMBER 3??? HOW DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING????
And I mean, he's usually portrayed as an Angel in fanart. and 3 is considered a holy number. The Rule of 3, the Trinity, and its symbolism in numerology... (yes that's a thing. don't ask me how I know.) It all ties together. And it ties together to the man whose heart is too big for his head. To the man who, despite all the flair, has never killed in anything but self-defense, in the service of another. To the guy whose entire schtick so far in Limited Life is not to kill, but to appreciate the time he has and the people he's around. To the guy who's drawn as an angel.
I KNOW THIS SOUNDS LIKE A CONSPIRACY THEORY AND IT MIGHT BE BUT LIKE, YOU SEE IT DON'T YOU??? THE PATTERNS???? IT'S INSANE. I DON'T GET IT.
Now idk what you could do with this as like a design thing. Could have like a third wing sticking out of his neck so he'd have 3 wings? Could have a halo with 3 rings? Idk man, I ain't the artist, but I feel like there's potential here.
Could also have Dove symbolism? Y'know, doves and angels, doves usually being associated with peace and Skizz having a very nonviolent and more negotiating approach. I mean he spared both Scar and Bdubs in 3rd Life, he chose mercy when really, he could have killed them together with the Red Army. And after Skizz dies is always when everything goes to true shit. After his death came the final battles of Dogwarts in 3rd life. After his death, the Wither was summoned in Last Life and everything fell into slowly decaying chaos.
First goes the canary, the first warning that time has run out. Second goes an innocent other, to hammer in that there's no return. And to complete the rule of 3, the dove follows the canary. The death of peace, a final warning. That now there will be no more.
im a little insane about skizzleman okay.
#LOOK IM JUST LOSING IT#THIS GUY#THIS MAN.#GOOD LORD WHAT DID HE DO TO DESERVE THIS????#I KNOW I SOUND LIKE A LUNATIC BUT I HAD TO SAY SOMETHING#skizzleman#3rd life#last life#limited life#limited life spoilers#life series spoilers#trafficblr#life series#3rd life smp#last life smp#limited life smp#my writing#i know i sound insane EGLOESGSLH
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the directors said cut but jonah hauer king king heard slut and he went with it
#jonah hauer king#little mermaid 2023#I literally#would produce a whole football team and it's cheerleaders#just for him#I mmight be pmsing#maybe i'm insane#good lord#i want him so fucking bad#hes literally perfect#hes my babygirl#my god#what did we do to deserve him
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Joe Burrow at Cincinnati Bengals training camp
#joe burrow#joey b#cincinnati bengals#my gifs#? ?? ? ? ? ? ? ? ??good shit#? thats what im talking about right there right there (chorus: ʳᶦᵍʰᵗ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ) mmmmmᎷм? ?? ?нo0оଠoooooоଠଠooooᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒ? ?? ? ? ? ?#respectfully? disrespectfully? carnally? all of that.#im so whipped#im absolutely fucked#@god what did i do to deserve this#@god idk what i did but i ain't complainin''#i would like to thank not only god but also jesus#the lord is my shepherd and he know what i want...have mercy#his body tho like look at him goddamn#do u fiuckin mind#him i wanna [REDACTED] [REDACTED] [REDACTED] because this man i can't
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the way for so long santana’s biggest fear was not only being gay but not being loved back (by brittany but also in general she has a huge fear of being unloved) and then finn really aired that all out in a CROWDED hallway as a comeback 😐 ryan murphy when i get you ryan murphy.
#no because i do like the finntana friendship dynamic#but those fucking episodes piss me off to no end#why did they make finn do that?? all his weird homophobia in general tbh was so unneeded#like i like them as friends but i can never forget what ryan made him do to santana??#she really did not deserve that idgaf what anybody has to say about her bullying or teasing or wtv#the narrative or show or wtv always had to frame her as 10x worse to excuse the men’s actions toward her#like when she suddenly got kicked out of the glee club for the purple piano??😭#they always paint her as this big bad person when others around her are doing worse or equally bad#not that that absolves her of doing anything wrong like that’s not what i’m getting at but it’s just noticeable the way they frame her vs#others in order to make one of them the clear good guy and santana the bad guy#but then you really examine the scene and it’s like Well That’s Not…?#Ugh the finn outing thing pisses me off so much & then he rlly blackmailed her into joining again. AGH#really had him prey on her fears and insecurities#one’s that could damage her life if they got out (her queerness in conservative ohio small town to a school#with a ton of horrible homophobic bullying background)#and just had him let it out in a school hallway IM JUST SO MAD#I CANT EVEN GET REAL COHERENT THOUGHTS OUT#maybe i’ll explain more tomorrow i’m gonna sleep. Good Lord#tldr love finntana but NOT in s3 😐 so many gripes. and it’s all ryan murphy’s fault#ryan murphy when i get you ryan murphy#(third time tagging that in 2 days)#gleeposting
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it makes sense that refa had a family with kids and a wife given his status, but making senna a character and having her role be what it is really makes their story tragic as fuck. his family so easily could have never been heard from again after his death, but londo taking senna in out of guilt is so fucking. sad. lol
#and im not gonna be out here woobifying refa of all fucking characters#but i do think he was a good family man. good centauri with a happy home life#and i do think he loved senna#and he died when she was like 15 or something like that so he spent quite some time watching her grow up#she didnt know what he was up to#lords had to do what they had to do#and it makes sense for refa to come home and be good to his family after being shitty to everyone else#hes self serving and the people he decides are worth caring about are going to get His Special Attention#and that includes his little girl#a whole ass teenage girl orphaned is so heart wrenching. a family that loved her.#a nurturing family life is already so rare on centauri prime#like please babylon 5 there was abolutely zero reason to make refa ??? sad ?????????? like dont make me feel upset over him#he doesnt deserve it#but im such a sucker for a weird fucking horrible asshole who has a soft spot for his daughter..#proud of her despite the centauri clearly favoring male children#takes her out in public and raised her to be the strong woman she actually did turn out to be#all for him to die brutally which im not saying he didnt deserve bc he did#but londo rly did do all that bc he thought he killed adira lmfao. no wonder why he took senna in#literally nobody is puttjng this much thought into refa but me. i need to get help
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I'm reading transcripts of the exile streams and just. Wow. C!dream was a fucking asshole. Like I've watched these streams before but sweet jesus I forgot the extent of his bullshit.
#I've been in the fandom since november 2020 and I watched as many vods as I could from before then but I've mentally blocked out/forgotten-#so much that it feels like I'm watching for the first time again and it's a bit strange lol#grass yells into the void#block men#tommy was doing his best and it just makes me so sad the entire exile arc was fucking rough he did not deserve that#<- hot take I know /sarcasm#no but like the fandom is definitely aware of exile but I feel like so many people haven't watched the streams so they're not really aware o#like I've seen a lot of dark!sbi discourse which I'm not going to touch with a ten foot pole btw leave me the fuck out of that#but anyway I've seen so many people get upset at the actions of the characters in dark sbi works and claim that the author shouldnt've-#written something like that meanwhile they wholeheartedly support c!dreams actions#idk it's just a bit funny to me#again I'm not taking a side on the whole dark sbi thing I really don't want to be involved in that shitfest#but some people who are vehemently against the genre are a bit hypocritical imo#if you're gonna be an apologist (or whatever people call it) for a character don't denounce another character for doing the same things :/#god I am so tired my sleep schedule is so fucked up and my pain meds arent working so I'm very opinionated today while being sleepy#not a great combo lol I'll probably delete this later if I come back in a better state of mind and think all of what I just said was bs#<-very likely#I'm afraid to tag this as discourse so I'm not going to plus all of the stuff that would merit that is in the tags soooo#should be good I think#dear lord I need to sleep
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ok listen objectively kisara and dohalim would be a "straight" pairing but listen neither of them r cishet like OBJECTIVELY just look at them. they literally call dohalim "flamboyant" in canon just LOOK at him. theyre not straight. and i am cradling them in my hands.
#speculation nation#i have reached a new level of shipping where im like 'yes this is a m/f pairing no this is not straight'#bi4bi and t4t let's GO#or if not trans then at least gender-nonconforming which DEFINITELY counts. to me.#listen lady knight and flamboyant lord what's not to love here#ngl seeing this late game shit with the two of them is really getting me closer and closer to admitting i like the pairing#the scene where kisara first calls him 'Do'............ ldkfjslkdfjsdf#AND THEN her calling him that in front of the others and Law being like 'Did you just-' b4 Rinwell pushes him along lmaoo#everyone too busy dunking on dohalim to realize kisara actually really really likes him#to be fair she also dunks on him. he made green goop pancakes with his face on them and called it art i think he deserves to be dunked on#also OH GOD THE PANCAKES lksjdflsdjflskdjfslkdjf dohalim pancakes... and he legit put his face on them.#i was fucking cackling#im enjoying wandering around the game in this late-game setting. just a bunch of shenanigans#shionne's max campfire bonding like lskdjflsdkjf alphen get ur brain out of the GUTTER 'do you wanna make something together?' 'w-what?!'#like broooooooooooo but tbh i kinda had that thought too so maybe i cant blame him. it was just the face she made while saying it ok#and then fantasizing about domestic living together... like ok i wouldnt quite say i Ship them but they are very cute. & very canon#BUT ALSOOOOOOO dohalim's max convo slkfjsldkfj drinking together... alphen commenting that it'd be a good time for music...#and on the space ship thing dohalim asking him to support him with leading their peoples... ooughhhhh#i want them to be joint rulers soooooooo badly. They Both Have Two Hands.#i can be a shionne/alphen/dohalim/kisara truther ok. alphen and dohalim have Two Hands#ldkfjsldkfj many thoughts. maaany thoughts. also love dohalim commenting on law's nonexistent love life lksjdflkdjf#'it wouldnt be called the spring of youth without a little storm every now and then' ok old man lmao hes not even old hejust sounds like it#also them finding a wiener (their word choice) recipe & dohalim commenting 'Personally i prefer bologna'#dohalim likes bologna canon. i Knew he was my favorite for a reason.#he likes weird food in general tho. king shit i love him#toarise spoilers/#lots of rambling sldkjflsfj i just love this game
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Every time I read or watch Lord of the Rings I can’t help but think about how Tolkien had survived one of the bloodiest, most cruel, most dirtiest and darkest wars in human history, came back and wrote this:
“The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater.”
And this:
"'I wish it need not have happened in my time,' said Frodo.
'So do I,' said Gandalf, 'and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.'"
And this:
"I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend."
And this:
“Many that live deserve death and some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then do not be so eager to deal out death in judgement. For even the wise cannot see all ends."
And this:
“True courage is about knowing not when to take a life, but when to spare one.”
And clearly they were all written partly because he survived the war, because of what he’d seen and done and learned. But at the same time the unwillingness to lose faith, the courage and strength that this man had to believe in these things after going through hell! It makes the nihilists look so cheap, so uninteresting! People who’ve went through concentration camps and wars believe in humanity anyway, isn’t that proof that hope and love exist? And many, many, many of them did not return or returned broken and cruel and traumatised to the point when no faith in others was possible for them, and nobody can blame them. But there were many who refused to lose faith and hope. They have seen some of the worst that life has to offer and came back believing that we shouldn’t be eager to deal out death in judgement and should love only that which the sword defends.
No matter how many people say that humanity is horrible and undeserving of love, and life is dark and worthless, and love doesn’t exist I remember this and have hope anyway. Because there were people who have actually had all reason to believe in the worst and still believed in the good, so the good must be real. The good is real, even despite the evil, and we must trust in it.
#tolkien#jrr tolkien#lord of the rings#lotr#the hobbit#jirt#silmarillion#beren and luthien#john ronald reuel tolkien#frodo baggins#gandalf#gandalf the grey#gandalf the white#galadriel#quotes#book quotes#lotr quotes#world war one#ww1
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Can I PLEASE have some Colin bridgerton smut? My man deserves it he's so overlooked by Anthony and Benedict that no one barely writes for him and it makes me sadd :(
Imagine you and Colin are on travel(or a honeymoon even) and he just ruins you on a balcony ofc you scold him for it but it's not like he would listen to you
Pairing: Colin Bridegerton x fem!reader
Warnings: 18+mdni, groping, teasing, clit play, semi public sex, p in v, creampie. (1.3k words)
Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated<3
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You're standing outside on the small terrace right outside your bedroom of the chateau you've been staying at for the past few days, the warm summer air blows gently across your skin as you watch the sun set in the distance. Your week has been quite hectic with all the traveling you and your now husband Colin have been doing, he always promised you that once you were wed he would show you the world and he's done very well at keeping his word. The day after your wedding the two of you set off into adventure, stopping off in many cities in England before working your way through Europe.
You were amazed at just how grand everything was outside of your city, you had grown so accustomed to the high social life you were brought up in, it never crossed your mind that others did not live the way you did, and when you found out, it was life changing. In such a short amount of time you had learned so much from the people you and Colin came across, he's quite the tour guide, he shows you to all of the best places for food and always seems to find the most unique forms of entertainment. You were so grateful to have such a special husband, most of the other suitors were bland and didn't care for culture but Colin was different, he had a thirst for exploration and he wanted you to come along.
Though he loved to travel around and see the sights, he also loved to spend time with you. More importantly, time alone... that man hasn't been able to keep his hands to himself since you both said "I do", his hands mindlessly wander around your body at any given moment, the feeling of his rough callused hands sent a rush through your body and he knew exactly what you were feeling. It was almost if he got off on making you shiver, seeing you try to pretend you don't feel anything when his fingers graze the back of your neck while talking to some local about the price of fish in his small town really gets him going.
You were lost in thought and didn't hear the footsteps creeping up behind you until suddenly long, toned, muscular arms wrapped around your frame causing you to jump. You hear his soft chuckle and immediately realize it was your husband, "my apologies dear, I didn't mean to startle you" your heart was already racing because of his sneak up but it pounded a little harder when his hands started to caress your sides so lovingly.
You let out a soft chuckle and lean against his chest "it's alright my love, my mind was in another word" you say, then you feel his hands starting to make their way up to your chest, his large calloused hands cup your breasts through the thin fabric of the nightie that clung to your body. A gasp gets caught in your throat as you feel yourself becoming more aroused, "Colin, we mustn't do this out here, the staff will see."
Colin's warm breath fanned on the nape of your neck leaving goosebumps in its wake as he whispers "we'll give them a good show, lord knows this place lacks entertainment." Despite your protests he continues to indulge in your body, you look over the balcony to see maids hanging up laundry to dry in the distance, surely if the looked up they could see you but in this moment you stopped caring. Your love and lust for Colin was much too strong to fight.
He moved one hand slowly down your front and lifted the hem of your dress to expose your undergarments that were now damp with your arousal, Colin runs his middle and ring fingers teasingly over your clothed slit sending a shiver down your spine. "Mmm, you're already so wet for me. Just how I like you." His dirty words make you feel like the only woman in the world, the pleasure he gives you is unlike anything you have ever experienced and you know you'll never find anything that will compare. His fingers found their way into your panties and he begun teasing your swollen clit with the pads of his fingers, you fought back moans, you didn't want him to know the effects he had on you but he was already well versed in your pleasure.
The hand that was still on your breast made its way you your neck, he held it gently but firm enough that you knew you weren't going anywhere.
"Tell me what you want, dear. Tell me what you crave." He whispers huskily into your ear, his desire for you strong in each of his words. His fingers slowly circled around your entrance, giving you a teasing taste of what's to come if you just ask.
"You," you let out breathlessly, "I want you." He hums as he is delighted by your response and pulls his hand from your clit making you whimper softly with need, he takes his hand off of your throat to quickly pull down his sleeping pants. You feel his hardened cock against your ass as he pulls up the fabric of your nightgown, his fingers hook into the waistband of your underwear and pull them down to your ankles. He spreads your legs with his knee and pushes your back forward slowly, your chest presses against the cool metal of the railing in front of you. He takes your hands and makes you grip the rail as he teasingly says "you might want to hold on, dear."
He lines himself up behind you and slowly runs his tip between your folds before pushing his length into your dripping pussy, your body shakes slightly as your senses are taken over by pleasure. He starts slow, rocking his hips against yours as he holds onto your waist firmly to keep you in place, his cock stretches you out deliciously making you moan softly. Your sounds encourage him to go harder, it's taking everything in him to not completely ruin you right now, he wants to prolong the experience to make sure you feel everything. Once he sets a good pace, that's when he starts to have fun with you. He snakes one hand under your bunched up dress and palms your bare tit, he groans into your ear as he pinches your hard nipple, "you feel so fucking good, fit so perfectly around my cock." You can't fight it anymore, you let your moans fly freely for the world to hear, you'll probably regret it later but you don't care right now.
You were certain everyone in the whole estate knew exactly what was taking place, your loud moans bounced off the walls as you came all over his cock, Colin was in complete ecstasy and couldn't care less about any onlookers. Let them watch. Let them see who owns you.
A few more pumps into your tight channel was all it took to send Colin over the edge, he groaned loudly as his hips bucked against you whilst his seed flooded your womb. He panted heavily as he slowly pulled out of you, both of your fluids covered his length in a beautifully raunchy mess. You slowly stood up straight and turned around to face him, the smile on his face matched yours as you both began to giggle softly. You feel so relaxed but you were still a bit embarrassed about allowing him to take you so publicly. "Colin Bridgerton, you are a very scandalous man" you say teasingly and lightly hit his left peck, he laughs heartily at your comment and takes your hand, bringing it to his mouth and placing a soft, loving kiss to it. "My apologies, dear. You are too irresistible, I cannot contain my desire for you." He says with a smile and helps you straighten out your clothing before leading you back into your bedroom where he will most likely repeat the events that just transpired.
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Tag list: @let-love-bleeds-red @lovelyy-moonlight @themadhattersqueen @artzygurl
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#natti’s 18+#colin bridgerton#colin bridgerton x reader#colin bridgerton smut#colin bridgerton x you#colin bridgerton x y/n#bridgerton#bridgerton smut#colin bridgerton x fem!reader
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Established Steddie, they have been living together for over a decade, did their best to heal their wounds from the Upside Down and learn to enjoy life again. It's not easy but they do it.
When the Lord of the Rings movies come out, it's actually Steve who suggests watching them to Eddie. He really tries engaging with Eddie's passions, but his focus is not the greatest when it comes to books. That doesn't mean he doesn't listen to Eddie ramble about them though - he knows all about hobbits, second breakfasts, the culture of smoking in the Shire...Eddie admires a lot of characters from the books, but ever since experiencing the Upside Down fuckery, he actually admits that the hobbits had a point. Good food, even better company and good tobacco? What else does one need? It also inspires Steve a few years later to prepare a full day of hobbit-inspired meals for their trilogy marathon when the extended editions come out. But this is about their first time watching the movies.
They both go to the movie theater excited. Steve is familiar with most of the characters, including Eddie's self-admitted crush on Aragorn. And Steve can see why, he can see so much good in all the members of the fellowship. After the first movie, he's wiping his eyes because Boromir deserved better. Eddie has a lot to say about what was lost in adaptation, but Steve knows Eddie loves those movies and would cut off his only remaining nipple before missing the next ones.
The Two Towers have Steve rooting for the ents and he feels strangely touched about how everyone underestimates Pippin, yet it's him who gets the ents to march. He really can't pick a favorite character. He can't wait for the third movie.
They go to the premiere of the Return of the King with Eddie. They secretly hold hands in the last row, and Steve watches the ride of the Rohirrim with bated breath. He clenches his hand in Eddie's when Theoden gets gravely injured, but then Éowyn is there and...oh.
He is staring slack-jawed at the scene. Éowyn's large, terrified eyes, the towering frame of the Witch King. Her posture was fearful, crouched, but still she faced him. And something surfaces in his head, something he's long forgotten.
He's unusually queit when they come back home, he still loves the rest of the movie, almost cries at "my friends, you bow to no one,", then definitely cries at Frodo leaving the Middle Earth. But there is still that something and Eddie can sense it. When they're falling asleep together, Eddie finally asks him. And Steve's had enough time to process what he felt.
"When Éowyn faced the Witch King...it reminded me of what it felt like. I mean, for the first time. I know it's stupid because saw so much unnatural shit, but...it's the first time that I have hard time forgetting," he admits quietly. "She reminded me of me in 1983 so much. I had no clue what I was getting myself into. I thought I'd do the right thing, but then I had a gun pointed at me, they both had blood on their hands...and then it appeared."
Eddie doesn't speak, he only holds Steve closer.
"It was so tall. I remember that petal-like mouth, those teeth, but mostly...I remember the crippling fear. I felt absolutely terrified. I couldn't move. There was even a moment when I thought of running away, but...I couldn't leave them there. Seeing someone go through something similar and being praised for being a hero...it makes me think. I used to be so ashamed for freezing in that moment. For even considering running away. But Éowyn...she was like me." There's awe in his voice and warmth, relief. "She had no idea what she was getting into. She froze. She didn't do everything perfectly and gracefully like Legolas or something, but when it mattered...she did what she had to."
He holds Eddie tighter and asks, almost shyly: "Will it offend you that I think she's my favorite character? Not Aragorn or Sam?"
Eddie just shakes his head and drops a kiss to Steve's hair. "Nah. She suits you well. And you're both amazing."
And if it becomes a silly endearment in their household, that Steve is sometimes called the Shieldmaiden of Hawkins? ("I'm not a maiden, Eddie!" "I'm not calling you a shieldboy or shieldbachelor, Steve!") Then Steve feels a hint of something that he thought he'd renounced, but now, for the first time he feels it's deserved - pride.
#steve harrington#eddie munson#stranger things#steddie#steddie drabble#lord of the rings steddie#not proofread I'm sleep deprived af
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Last time I checked he still hot 🔥
#joe burrow#joey b#cincinnati bengals#Trenton Irwin#Andrei losivas#? ?? ? ? ? ? ? ? ??good shit#? thats what im talking about right there right there (chorus: ʳᶦᵍʰᵗ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ) mmmmmᎷм? ?? ?нo0оଠoooooоଠଠooooᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒ? ?? ? ? ? ?#respectfully? disrespectfully? carnally? all of that.#im so whipped#im absolutely fucked#@god what did i do to deserve this#@god idk what i did but i ain't complainin''#i would like to thank not only god but also jesus#the lord is my shepherd and he know what i want...have mercy#his body tho like look at him goddamn#do u fiuckin mind#him i wanna [REDACTED] [REDACTED] [REDACTED] because this man i can't
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HOW ARE BABIES MADE?
[SYNOPSIS] ˚⁀➷｡ ran, rindou, sanzu, takeomi, kakucho, mikey and izana being asked by their children how babies are made.
[NOTES] ˚⁀➷｡ reader is implied to be fem, reader is called “mother”, “mommy” etc. this was so fun to write!!! thank you anon for requesting <3 also, i used tenjiku&bonten characters but everything’s taking place in the final timeline.
RAN is definitely the type to try to explain the entire thing, without any second thoughts whatsoever. He’d definitely hear the question, and open his mouth but before gets to say ‘sex’ he feels a book flat against his head. “what do you think you’re doing?” you whisper-yell from the kitchen, curry udon long forgotten on the stove. “explaining to your daughter how she spawned into the world?” he answers, dodging another decor item that you aimed toward him. upon asking, dramatically and over-exaggeratedly of course, so offended because he just doesn’t know what he was doing wrong, you just stare at him. “we agreed to tell her when she’s 14. she doesn’t even know boys have dicks and you want to explain the entirety of sex and how it goes to her? do you even know how it works?” he sighs, defeated, “let’s go eat, sweetheart, i think i made mommy a lil mad.” he says, picking up his daughter, “that last part was uncalled for, by the way.” “suck it up, mr. club owner. ”
meanwhile, RINDOU simply freezes: “daddy, how are babies made?” what? excuse him? oh my lord, he did not expect this to happen this early. why the hell is his five year old son asking him about coital activity, right when you’re not around? fuck him (himself), fuck this situation, fuck you for not being around right now (both figuratively and literally). “you see! when… uhm.. when two people love each other and they kiss, they make a baby!” he mentally face-palms for what the fuck he just said. “so you can’t kiss girls until you’re twenty-one, yeah?” finally, thankfully, his phone rings, and thank the heavens it’s you. “oh my god, y/n—” “rindou, what did i just hear on the baby cam?” “haha, my love! funny story!!!!”
SANZU just goes feral. he’s having a fucking anxiety attack or whatever so he just texts you while your daughter asks her daddy about how babies are made.
TAKEOMI plays it safe, using the infamous stork. “and it just comes flying?” “yeah, it carries a little basket with its beak and gives it to us!” he smiles, playing into his baby girl’s fantasy. “you sound just like my parents.” you smile and his gaze averts to yours, from his seat on the living room carpet. “well, your own stories inspired me, because, to be honest, i was about to shit myself.” “daddy!” the little one yells, stretching out her palm, “1000 yen!” and her father exasperates “god put me out of this misery of only being an atm, you’re just like your mother. ow! what’d i deserve that punch for?”
KAKUCHO handles it like a pro. “papa.” one of his little girls walks up to him, younger twin following her right behind. “yes, pretty girl?” he straightens his back and crouches down, still sitting on the couch. “how are babies made, papa?” the shyer one asks and his face drops for a split second. “i promise to tell you when you’re older, right now it’s classified information!” he jokes, and the girls giggle. “now… who wants to watch doraemon!!” he does the jazz hands and the twins jump into his lap. not long after, you sit down next to them. “if i didn’t know any better, i would have said you rehearsed those lines from the moment you were born.” you laugh, resting your head on his shoulder. he wraps an arm around you, chuckling, and kisses the crown of your head.
if there’s someone (who thinks they’re) escaping this question, it’s MIKEY. “ ‘tou-chan, how are babies made?” blond locks spin toward him, and the big eyes of his daughter look him up and down. “ ‘tou-chan?” she says again, a bit annoyed. mikey sacrifices the motorbike races he’s watching and looks back at her. “ask ‘kaa-chan, i’m not really good at biology.” he smiles when she jumps from her place and runs into your bedroom, where you’re blow-drying your hair. confident that he’s just dodged a bullet, manjiro returns to his priority — the tv. moments later you storm in, hair half wet, still in your bath robe with the kid in your arms, visibly furious. he knows he’s dodged a bullet but is about to get hit by a cannon.
IZANA is at the dining table doing some paper-work for tenjiku and you’re watching tv when your oldest marches into the kitchen, determined. “daddy.” the blond looks up, eyeing back at the spitting image of himself. “yes?” he answers, and you also look back to see what’s going on. slamming a big book on the table, the toddler points to the cover “how are babies made?” you burst out laughing and your husband snatches the book away, making you laugh hysterically. “where’d you find this?!” he questions, and his forehead is already soaked with sweat and he wants to bury himself into the ground. “your office.” he can’t believe his five year old son walked in there and just so happened to find this book: effective positions for baby-making. his cheeks redden and he scans the room to find you and request your help, but he’s greeted with the sight of you rolling around on the living room floor, trying to calm your laughter down. yay.
#tokyo revengers#tokyo revengers x reader#tokyo revengers imagines#tokyo revengers headcanons#tokyo revengers scenarios#tokyo revengers x you#ran haitani x reader#haitani ran x reader#rindou haitani x reader#haitani rindou x reader#akashi takeomi x reader#takeomi akashi x reader#sanzu x reader#haruchiyo sanzu x reader#kakucho hitto x reader#kakucho x reader#mikey x reader#sano manjiro x reader#izana kurokawa x reader#kurokawa izana x reader#manjiro sano x reader#ran haitani scenarios#haitani ran scenarios#rindou haitani headcanons#ran haitani headcanons#sanzu haruchiyo x reader#sanzu haruchiyo fluff#izana headcanons#izana x reader fluff#izana fluff
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If It All Fell (7)
Pairing: Azriel x Reader
Summary: If it all fell apart—if you forgot who you were—would you love him again? Would the bond guide you back? Azriel doesn't know if that uncertainty is one he can bear.
Word count: 3k
Warnings: Angst, PINING, Azriel's POV and he is incredibly sad
a/n: Yay here's more <3 I promise it gets happy and there's a little teaser of what that'll look like in this part. Let me know what you think pleaseee :)
Series Masterlist (all parts ♡)
~~
Azriel
Azriel’s heart came to a thudding halt.
“What was that?” he asked softly, trying to play it off. Trying to pretend as if you hadn’t just asked him the one question he had hoped would never come. Because you were supposed to get better before it came to this.
He had begged the Mother for any kind of reprieve.
She hadn’t listened, as Azriel had expected.
“Mates,” you slurred, your head bobbing on his shoulder. The High Lords had exhausted you. “Helion said you… he said something about a mate. I can’t remember exactly… but no one’s told me what that is.”
Pure adoration tore at Azriel’s chest. Your words blurred together as you sunk deeper into his arms, and Gods, did he love you. He let himself imagine that you were drunk—just for a moment. You were drunk and still his and he was carrying you home after a night at Rita’s.
“Azriel?”
The moment ended and panic replaced the temporary comfort that had consumed him.
“Yes, my love?” It had slipped, a mistake fueled by his clouded mind. Azriel counted his footsteps and held his breath, but you only hummed in response, too drained to notice the endearment that had fallen with such desperation from his lips.
“You were telling m’about mates,” you reminded him. Your arm slipped from his neck and landed in your lap. Azriel held you closer, feeling your body begin to lose its grip.
“Of course,” he dutifully replied. “A mate is… it is a gift from the cauldron. An equal to share a bond with.”
“Like a lover?”
Azriel could hardly piece your words together with the way they tumbled out.
That, and his stomach was twisting, reminding him of the very bond that was crying out within him. This was wrong. It was all so terribly wrong. He didn’t have to have this conversation with you last time; it had hurt you too much to even hint at the topic.
Back then, Azriel had been so deep in anguish he couldn't keep food down, so desperate to just speak to you that his body rejected all else.
This was somehow worse.
“Much stronger,” he whispered, pressing his nose to your temple in an act of weakness. You didn’t notice. “Our souls are linked—mates I mean. A mating bond doesn’t always lead to the pair being lovers, but if they choose to do so, it’s enhanced. It’s unexplainable, truly, having someone connected to you that you love so deeply.”
“That sounds nice,” you mused, a melodic flow of syllables starkly contrasting the effort with which Azriel was trying to string his sentences together.
“It is.” He gave in to his urges and looked down at you in his arms, your hair flushed against his leathers, your face soft and drowsy. “It is wonderful.”
You cracked an eye open. Azriel had stopped walking. “Do you have one?”
“What?” he choked out.
“You speak as if you know the feeling well. Do you have a mate, Azriel?”
“I—” There were no thoughts in his head, nothing but the sound of your voice and your question repeating itself like a bell tolling in a vicious pattern. “Yes,” he sputtered out. “I do, yes.”
You smiled softly, but it was paired with a furrowed brow and a light sigh. “Good,” you nodded to yourself. “You deserve a mate.”
Too much talking, too much thinking; your head lulled into his arm, face against his chest, and you were asleep.
Yes, this was much worse than the last time.
Azriel adjusted his grip and carried you back to the room you didn’t know belonged to the both of you.
~~
The pounding in your head was your first indication that you were awake. You moved your hand to your hairline before opening your eyes, applying pressure in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure there.
Useless.
A small groan made its way up your throat. The night before, or whenever it was—you had no idea how long you’d been sleeping—was a jumbled mess in your mind. You remembered meeting Helion, being told you were in love with him, being told that you actually weren’t in love with him, and then he and Rhysand had entered your mind and left you as nothing more than a vegetable.
There were other pieces too, like Azriel carrying you back to your room and talking about… mates? Yes, that sounded right—the larger-than-life, effervescent partners bestowed upon fae by the cauldron.
And he had told you that he had one.
That was good. Great, even. Something stirred within you, an uncomfortable feeling, but you ignored it in favor of the pain radiating across your head. Gods, why did it hurt so much?
Helion and Rhysand had been in your mind. They were going to discuss things with you.
You shot up far too quickly, the motion sending shooting pains up your neck.
“What?” you heard a voice panic. “What is it? Are you hurt?”
Another jarring look to the side and you just about passed out from the pain. You caught a glimpse of Azriel before you squeezed your eyes shut to try and manage it, his large form folded into a chair by the door that was certainly not made to accommodate wings. You lowered your head into your hands and heard the chair screech against the floor.
“What is it, y/n?” Azriel asked, voice closer now.
You let out a shaky sigh. “Sorry, just—it’s my head, give me a moment.”
He didn’t speak, but the room became dark. That seemed like an impossible feat, with the floor-to-ceiling windows lining the walls and letting in the rays of the day court sun. But the pounding in your head receded a fraction, and you could tell it was dimmer even from behind your eyelids.
“Does that help?” he asked, so low you could barely hear him.
You felt his breath at your arm.
“Yes,” you whispered back, and when you opened your eyes, Azriel was there. His wings had circled you, encasing you in a darkness that blocked out the world, his knees at the side of your bed.
“You got up too quickly,” Azriel offered.
“I know, but I wanted to hear what the High Lords had to say about the witch and my memories and what I need to do to fix everything. Have you heard anything?”
“Very little. I’ve been here.”
“For how long?”
“You slept for a day and a half.”
“And you stayed the entire time?”
“You requested I stay by your side. You’ve been here.”
You bit into your lip, the heavy weight of guilt loading onto your chest. Azriel flinched as if he felt it himself. “I wanted to stay,” he comforted. “It puts me at ease to… see you while we’re in this court. To know exactly where you are and who’s around you.”
“Because of last time,” you stated, but it was a question that hung in the air.
Azriel’s eyes tracked along the planes of your face. His hand twitched. “Yes, because of last time.”
He looked so serious, bordering on forlorn. Despite the pain in your head and the conflicting emotions rising within you, you attempted to lessen some of the load that seemed to bogg the shadowsinger down.
“You could have taken shifts with Cassian, you know. Or even, I don’t know, laid on the bed that’s the size of a small apartment. I was out cold the entire time—didn’t wake up once. I wouldn’t have noticed if you did,” you offered with a hint of a smirk playing at your lips.
Azriel’s gaze dropped to your mouth, his own expression lightening. “Cassian would fall asleep immediately. And, just to let you know, you did wake up. Several times.”
You gave him a doubtful look. “I think I would remember that.”
The shadowsinger bit back a smile and something within you shone at the playful look in his eye. “Right, so you don’t remember waking up and practically ripping that from my body?”
His eyes shot down to your chest, an action which you followed to find a large, unfamiliar sweater swathing your body in warmth. You looked further down at your hands, only to find the sleeves of the garment covering your palms and fingers as well.
An incredulous laugh bubbled in your chest. “I wouldn’t—I didn’t actually rip this off of you, did I?”
Azriel shifted his knees into a kneeling position beside you, his wings shuffling and creating a sound you had begun to find comfort in. “Well, you didn’t exactly ask politely.”
You groaned and shoved your face back into your hands. “Gods, that’s embarrassing. It’s because I was delirious, I swear. Those damn High Lords scrambled my brain.”
“Y/n, you have a penchant for demanding things in your sleep. Food, water, clothing, more blankets. Once you woke up to ask me for an entire roast duck and in the morning you had no recollection. You were quite aggravated that night.”
“No, stop, I can’t take this. I am melting into a puddle of mortification and you are making it worse.”
Azriel chuckled. “It’s alright. I’ve grown used to it over the years. It’s almost charming, really.”
You peeked through your sweater-clad fingers. “You can’t mean that.”
“I mean it very sincerely. When you are sick or unwell, you sleep through the entire night. When you wake up and grab the neck of my sweater like you’re robbing me, I know things are okay.”
You groaned again, this time tilting your head back and immediately regretting the action when a pulse of pain permeated along your temples. But it wasn’t so bad anymore; Azriel and his wings made it better.
You took a moment to gaze upon his face in the proximity. He was smiling slightly, some humor still shining in his hazel eyes. The occasional shadow made a pass along his cheeks and by his ear, whispering secrets you weren’t privy to and then coming to wind around your body as well. His hair was mused and untamed, landing in soft patterns across his forehead.
Azriel was so beautiful it hurt.
“Does your mate ever get upset that we are so close?” you asked, the question not even fully formed in your head before it entered the space.
The smile slipped from Azriel’s lips and you regretted your impulsivity almost instantly.
“No,” he answered, a slight shake of his head. “I wouldn’t worry about that.”
“Has something happened? Between the two of you?”
“Y/n, please don’t worry yourself over—”
“It’s just—Azriel, I know how hard all of this has been on you. When you spoke of your mate it was the first time I saw you look at peace. That’s why I’m asking.”
“You remember what I said?”
“All of it,” you smiled, but Azriel only looked grave. “Az—"
The shadowsinger jutted back as the familiarity left your lips. He sent his shadows out, their configuring forms covering the windows and the cracks in the doors until it was dark enough for him to remove his wings from around you. With him went the comfort of night-kissed air and warmth and all of the things that made sense in this life you had been dropped into.
“Rhys has requested that we meet in the study to discuss findings,” Azriel relayed, clearing his throat and standing from his place on the bed. “I laid out some of your things and a servant ran a bath when you started to stir. Do you need help—”
“I’ve got it,” you interrupted, eyes downcast, feeling as though you’d ruined something that was already painfully delicate.
“I’ll be here if you need me. Just outside the door.”
You believed him—you did—but something was missing. Something you couldn’t keep up with. Perhaps it was the knowledge that he was in love with someone. Mor, maybe? Or one of the sisters Cassian talked about on occasion?
The thought of him with his mate made you nauseous.
You shouldn’t have asked.
~~
“A replication?” you asked, running a hand along the side of your head in an attempt to look casual about the throbbing taking place there. “So… it is like last time?”
“Partially, but because the witch’s powers aren’t pure, she was unable to mimic what a full daemati can do. So, same outcome, fewer side effects,” Rhys offered, a calming presence across the table. “Witches often find sources to draw from because they don’t have access to their natural abilities any longer. Your source was—”
“An opening in her mind,” Azriel concluded, expression guarded as he sat stiffly beside you. “There were remaining injuries in her mind. The witch found her weak points and used them against her.”
Helion nodded, rounding one of the more ornate chairs and basking in the light streaming through the window. “Very astute. We thought there were no remnants of—”
“Don’t say his name,” Azriel warned.
“—of the attack,” Helion quickly corrected, obviously not in the mind to start an argument with the keyed-up spymaster. “But they must have been miniscule. We think she must have been an old witch, very practiced.”
“So what do we do now?” Cassian gruffly asked, arms crossed as he leaned against the windowsill. You turned to look at him, but the sunlight casting his shadow sent your head ablaze. You quickly righted your gaze and squeezed your eyes shut to compensate.
You felt shadows stalk beneath your feet and across the floor until they consumed the light of the window. If anyone had any comments on the shadowsinger’s act, they didn’t voice them.
“Now,” Helion breathed out, dropping into a chair and interlacing his fingers atop the oak table. “We wait. Just like the last time, this kind of power is not something we can simply undo. We need a witch, and witches are incredibly elusive.”
Trepidation gripped your heart, sending your lungs into a fiery descent. You were just supposed to wait? Wait and hope that maybe, possibly, they would find a witch and fix this before your life moved on without you in it?
Your breath came out in quick, uneven puffs, exacerbating the ache in your head.
Azriel sat up in his seat, high alert and on the defensive.
But Rhysand was quicker than his spymaster���s anger. “There is the possibility that this wears off on its own.”
Your eyes snapped up. “Was that a possibility last time?”
“No,” Cassian remarked, brows shot up to his hairline. “That’s why you were missing for so long and in so much pain after. You both made it clear that there was no moving whatever the daemati put in her head.”
Helion and Rhysand shared a look, but your High Lord was the one to speak. “It was weaker this time, more permeable. We think, with time, the wall the witch attempted to replicate will break down and you’ll have everything back. She did only do this to you to flee from attack. It wasn't personal.”
“How much time?” Azriel strained.
Helion replied this time. “There is no way to know, shadowsinger.”
“What about the pain? You said fewer side effects but I couldn’t even have light in my room this morning.”
Rhysand looked sheepish, eyes darting over to the window still opaque with shadows. “Yes, well—we may have pushed you a bit too far during our assessment.”
Cassian let out a disbelieving huff from the corner of the room. Azriel gripped the arms of his chair until they groaned.
“So it’ll go away?” you asked, desperation trickling into your tone.
The wood beneath Azriel’s hands splintered.
“Yes, very soon. We can give you some tonics before you leave as well. They will help speed up the process,” Helion promised, eyeing his chair being slowly destroyed.
In a motion that felt almost second nature, you covered the spymaster’s hand with your own, shadows wrapping around the press of your skin. It was then that you noticed the ring. Silver and unassuming, it took up residence on the ring finger of his left hand and looked like it belonged no place else.
Our souls are linked, he had said, talking about his mate with such passion.
You removed your hand from his.
Azriel flexed his fingers upon your departure.
“We were thinking,” Rhysand began after a pregnant pause that seemed to blanket the room. “With your pain, we might want to stay a few more days. Winnowing can add extra pressure to the body and flying would—”
“No,” you were quick to dispute. “No, I want to go home. It’s lovely here, Helion, and I thank you for all you’ve done and are doing, but I want to go back to the Night Court. I want to try and live the life I’ve made for myself, even if I have no idea what I’m doing.” Another pause. “If that’s okay.”
“Of course that’s okay,” Azriel spoke from beside you. His words sounded dull, his fingers remaining outstretched on the chair.
“We will continue looking for the witch on our side,” Helion nodded, pushing out of his chair. He came before you then, meeting your gaze. “I cannot apologize enough for what your time in my court has cost you. I only hope that all will return to you. I have missed you, y/n.”
And then the High Lord of Day was gone, and you had no recollection as to why he would miss you in the first place. Everyone was saying they missed you, even as you stood before them unharmed and intact.
A harsh reality slammed into you with the departure of the High Lord.
If you didn’t get your memories back—if there were no witches or deteriorating walls in your mind—they would continue to miss you. You would forever be a husk of your former self, never understanding the full picture of who you were.
But that wasn’t okay with you—not at all.
#azriel x reader#azriel x you#azriel x y/n#azriel x female!reader#azriel fanfic#azriel shadowsinger#azriel acotar#azriel spymaster#acotar#acotar fanfiction#azriel angst
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