#'my lord please tell me you are not going to attempt to walk on those'

[lovelybrooke]

The way things were before pt.2 (platonic yandere Muzan x reader).

I was inspired to write this after season 4 was released onto Netflix.

Masterlist~~read part 1 here

"Father! Father! Look." A small child grips onto their father's hand as they drag them outside their home. With a surprisingly tight grip, the father follows behind the child, a small smile adorning their face.

It was dark outside, the only light around them being the stars reflected on small pond in their garden. For a moment, he couldn't see what the child was smiling so brightly at, until small flickering of light dances around the garden.

"Look! Lantern flies!" The child points, their father watching with them. The child lets go of their father's hand, rushing towards the bugs. The father smile slowly turns into a frown as their child's warm leaves their hand.

The giggles of the child reverberate all through the garden. It was a pleasant sigh, a happy one, but nevertheless, simply a memory.

---

The bottle in Muzan's hand breaks as he snaps out of the memory. He sighs as his small palm spews blood, before quickly healing itself, like the injury was never there.

The demon lord isn't accustomed to this form compared to others. He was small, playing as a child in order to gather more information regarding the blue spider lily.

Muzan sighs, ignoring the glass on the floor and slowly walking towards the bookshelf. He takes a step onto a small ladder, pushing some books around before pulling out a much smaller, much more worn book. The more he stares at the cover, the more a mixture of rage and quilt built in his stomach.

The Bear and the rabbit

It was an old book, one he remembered reading to you nearly every night before you went to bed. When you were young, you'd beg him to tell the tale to you over and over, before your soft snores would travel all throughout your room. He remembered when a part of him thought it annoying, having to read the same story over and over. Now he misses those days.

"Sweetheart! Are you okay?" It was that woman, his mother, at least when he was in this form. He didn't get to respond as the woman rushed over to carefully pick up the shards of glass on the floor. "You have to be more careful my dear." He hated the caring tone in her voice, laced with sweetness and warmth. It caused his grip on the book to tighten, holding him back from doing much worse.

"Oh? What did you fine?" The glass was placed on a table near her, forgotten as she traveled closer to him. She peered down at the book, her face filled with confusion before warping into a small smile. "Aw-I remember when my father would read that to me." She put her hand on the book, attempting to taking it from him. "Would you like me to read it to you?"

The moment her hand was placed on the cover, Muzan's brows furrowed, and a deep scowl adorned his childlike face. Ripping the book from the woman's hold, he watched with hidden glee as she stumbled back a bit, surprised from the strength. "No." He responded with a monotoned voice. For a small second, the woman looked terrified, before carefully hiding it under a smile.

"Well then." She gave another small smile, "please, just be careful, and goodnight."

She left with a close of the door, and only then did Muzan let him guard down slightly. His scowl was gone, and he was back to staring longingly at the cover of the book. While ashamed to admit it, a part of him was nervous to open up the book, his hand shaking with an unfamiliar sense of fear as he opened up to the first page.

---

"Once Upon a time, in a far and distant forest, live a big, mean a Bear. The bear, grizzly and old, scared away all the other animal in the forest."

"Eventually, it was just him. "It's okay!" Said the bear. "I like being alone!" But that wasn't true. The bear was lonely, and often dreamt of finding a friend who wasn't scared of him."

"One day, a tiny little Rabbit, hopped their way into the forest. They were small, but their courage was big. Even after what they heard from the other animals, they weren't afraid."

""There's something terrifying in there!" "That bear will eat up something small like you!" "You'll never make it out alive!""

"But the rabbit didn't listen, and they ventured further and further into the forest until one day, they met the bear, hiding away in a cave. "What are you doing here, rabbit? Haven't you heard the stories?""

""I have, but I'm not afraid!" The Rabbit explained, surprising the bear. "I'm sure you all you need is a friend!" The Bear, lonely, took the friendship opportunity and let the rabbit stay in the forest, with him, in the cave."

"All was well, for moons and moons, the Bear and the Rabbit lived together happily, and they couldn't be more happy. That was until, the rabbit heard a rumble, a rumble only they acknowledged. For days, the rabbit ignored it, until it got louder and louder."

"Eventually, it got so loud, that the rabbit couldn't handle it, and told the Bear they wanted to leave. At that, the Bear grew angry. He growled at the Rabbit, saying that they couldn't leave. The Rabbit, afraid but determined, told the Bear that they weren't friends anymore, and turned their back on the bear. The Bear, enraged, opened up his big, mean jaw, and ate the Rabbit right up."

"At that point, the rumbling stopped."

"No animals ever saw the Rabbit, knowing that the bear was always the monster they knew him to be."

"My dear, why do you insist on me reading this to you every night?" Muzan asked as he closed the book. Today, Muzan wasn't good enough to make it to your room, so you took the book to him, laying down next to him as he read.

"Because, father, I like it." You replied in such a childish manner, confirming to Muzan that he would never fully understand you. It was unfair, he though, you, a mere child, understood him more that anyone else. You were nearly ten and you were already helping him move around, delivering medication to him, making sure he was okay. He felt eternally grateful that he found you, and forever wished to understand you and all your little quirks.

But that would have to wait, since currently, you were giggling as you took the book from him, placing it down next to you as you craw on your knees to give him a kiss on the forehead. "Thank you father, goodnight. Please feel better tomorrow, so we can play!"

"I will, goodnight to you too." He knew it was a lie, he knew tomorrow he would probably feel worse, but you didn't have to know that.

---

"Father! Father!" Muzan was no longer a child, but now a man, standing in a crowded street littered with bright stalls. Moments like this happened often when he thought of you. He'd sink into a place of longing and despair, only to wake up somewhere else, in another form. He learned to adapt to it if it meant that he could remember you once more.

He looked down at the girl tugging at his sleeve, a small frown decorating his face. He couldn't stand her, not that he really tried. He wouldn't dare replace you, expessially not with something as unworthy. Though, for the time being, he would put on a front, fixing his expression and smiling at the girl.

"What it it, my child?" He asked, watching as she pointed to a stall not far from them. It was pilled with books, and old looking woman being the sole vendor.

He gazed at the stall for a second longer, before looking down at the girl once more. "Would you like to take a look?" He asked, feeling nothing when she smiled and nodded. Quickly, she took his hand, which caused Muzan to shiver, and pulled him over the stall.

"Oh hello, are you looking for books for you daughter?" The old woman asked Muzan, to which he nodded. He could barely pretend to care as the girl showed him book after book, pouting a bit when he said she could only get one. He wished to be done with the whole ordeal quickly, itching to go back to work if it meant he didn't have to be here.

"Papa! Can we get this one?" It wasn't the girl this time, but someone else. He turned to look over at the sound, coming face to face with a father and his child. The child was held up tightly the father's arms, like he was afraid to let them go. The child was pointing at an old book, that when Muzan turned to examine, made him want to stop breathing.

The Bear and the Rabbit.

That stupid book, that stupid fucking book. A pit formed in his stomach when he heard the child giggle, and he swore he heard you again. This time, his head moved quickly to look over, his eyes wide and his mouth in a thin line.

It was you. He was sure of it.

He recognized your hair, you eyes, your smile, your giggle. He wasn't in a quilt filled haze, he knew what he was seeing was you. You were small again, and Muzan felt the urge to take you from that disgusting man hands and hold you. Feel your heart beat, listen to your breathing, never let you go.

He didn't stop watching at your supposed father nodded, taking out the payment at giving it to the woman. He didn't stop watching as your eyes sparkled when the book was handed to you, and he didn't stop watching at you hugged your supposed father the best you could with your small arms.

"I would be careful though sure, the book might be a little scary for children." The woman warned, which only made the man smile and ruffle your delicate hair.

"I'm not worried, they're brave." He said before thanking the woman and walking away with you in him arms, and Muzan couldn't be more envious.

"-ather! Father!" He was pulled back, from you, back to reality at hand, and he wanted to scream. "Can I get this one?" She held up a book towards him, one which he barely looked at before taking it from her, paying for it, and walking away from the stall with the girl he refused to call his child.

Muzan was filled with a fire he hadn't felt in years. He knew he needed to have you back with him again, now that he knew you were alive. He's waited long enough, he could wait a little longer if it meant he get to be with you again.

His dear child.

---

A/n: I don't really like this but it's been in my drafts too long. Hope you enjoy.

#yandere x reader #soft yandere #platonic yandere #muzan x reader #kny muzan #yandere demon slayer #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer #kny x reader #platonic yandere muzan

[fayes-fics]

Reprimand

Double Bind Masterpost

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Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Follow on to Endeavour. Anthony suspects you may have been seduced by another and reprimands you.

Warnings: 18+smut, minors DNI, dom/sub relationships, mean dom, jealousy, consenting-non-consent (CNC) play, deepthroat breathplay, rope bondage, whipping with a riding crop, rough vaginal sex, orgasm control, emotions, confessions.

Word Count: 5.8k

Authors Note: Here is part 4 of the Double Bind series requested by @eleanor-bradstreet where our reader finds herself back with her original dom, Anthony. Please note, everything here is very consenting; they are just playing as if it's not. If that is at all triggering for you, please do not read this. Thank you to @colettebronte for the beta read, particularly around the CNC play. Enjoy! <3

The following night you see Anthony at a gathering—a very dull musical recital just a few doors down from Bridgerton House. He accompanies you as the respectable courting partner, your gloved wrist gently resting in the crook of his arm as you circuit the room before the show.

Once the decidedly mediocre entertainment begins, he leans close to your ear.

“You have about five more minutes, then we are leaving,” he drawls quietly. 

“Where are we going, my lord?” you whisper back. 

“Anywhere I can fuck you,” he states plainly as you struggle not to spit out the champagne you just sipped, a dribble still escaping down your chin that you attempt to dab away discreetly. He intentionally did that—waited to drop that line when you were taking a swig.

A warm finger catches the drip and pushes it back to your mouth, his pupils dilating. “Can’t quite swallow it all; that looks familiar,” he murmurs, intentionally being utterly filthy.

“Anthony!” you admonish quietly but fiercely.

“We both know being on your knees is your favourite place after being face down over my desk,” he mutters, knowing this sort of talk always gets you breathless.

And indeed, it does. “Are those five minutes up?” you ask archly.

Wordlessly, with a bemused huff, he grabs your hand and pulls you out into the aisle, briskly walking towards the rear of the room and out of the door. He keeps marching, out of the building, into the street, making a beeline for his home less than a hundred yards away.

“Your family…?” you check as you realise where he is headed.

“All at that dreaded recital. The house shall be empty except for staff. Not that it is consequential, for we are not going into the house,” he smirks back at you.

“Where are we going?” you ask as you realise he has veered into the mews running behind his property.

“Stables,” he answers as if that explains everything.

“Why?” 

“You are asking an awful lot of questions tonight,” he comments, then pauses and crowds you into a cold brick wall in the narrow dark lane. “How about you trust me and just do as you are told, you wilful little thing?” his warm breath gusts over your cheek.

Oh. It's already playtime.

“Yes, sir,” you respond instantly, and he nods and beams at you.

“Good girl,” he compliments, grabbing your chin. “Now, you will do whatever I tell you from here on out. Do you understand me?

“Yes sir,” your breath speeding up, excitement flaring low in your belly.

“I do so love you obedient,” he sighs and kisses you bruisingly, trapping you forcefully between his body and the wall. “Take off your underwear,” he commands.

“I'm not wearing any,” you stumble honestly.

He growls, “I love when you do that, behaving like a wanton whore.” He knows how aroused you get when he calls you that in play. “Show me right now; pull up your dress.”

You scramble to obey, but he quickly stills your movement. “I see people in the window of our neighbour's house. We should move on,” he offers sagely, stepping out of character and retaking your hand. 

Anthony has never been one to attempt play in public; his image as Viscount so very important to maintain. And so contrasting to his younger, bohemian brother, memories of Benedict’s sinful voice talking of you crawling naked to him in front of strangers suddenly haunt you. How can they be both so very alike and so very different simultaneously? They are an addictive cocktail.

You continue down the mews until a gate leads you into a rear courtyard—this must be the back of Bridgerton House. 

“Wait here,” he says curtly, disappearing into a side building. “Alright, you may come in; the coast is clear,” he calls a few moments later, and you follow.

It's the tack room for the stables. It smells of leather and brass. It’s warm and dry; the mahogany wood-panelled walls give it a cosy air.

“What are we doing in here?”

“There is all sorts of equipment in here I want to use on you,” he crows, closing the heavy door shut and bolting it. The only light in the room is a faint glow from the oil lanterns flickering on the courtyard walls outside and a shaft of moonlight splicing across the room from a high window.

Something in your heart rate spikes as your eyes adjust and look around to see saddles, bridals, whips and ropes. And in the middle of the room, a padded leather bench likely used to change into riding boots.

“Now, do as you were told before we were rudely interrupted,” he prompts, leaning on the wall and crossing his arms casually, an expectant eyebrow raised.

You grab your dress and gather the layers over your forearms until you feel the air swirling around your intimate area. He growls at the sight and is on you a millisecond later, kissing bruisingly, just the way you like. There is nothing more arousing for you than Anthony, this powerful, titled man, so very desperate and out of control just for you. He spins you around, and you are pushed into the wood panels, his hands wrenching open your dress buttons as you breathe hard. 

“Open your legs wider,” he gruffs, nudging your ankles with his shoe. You do so, widening your stance to shoulder width as your dress and chemise are yanked off your shoulders. “Wider,” he instructs as your clothing drops to a pool at your feet. 

You obey, kicking away your dress, standing there now in stays and silk shoes only.

“Good girl,” he compliments, pulling your hips backwards roughly, your hands reaching out to grab the wall in front on instinct. “That's it, bend over, and hold on tight,” he orders.

Your insides dance with anticipation as he drops to his knees behind you. He is usually savage with his tongue when he eats you from behind like this—pushing his whole face into your slit, into the cleft of your cheeks, very thorough in his attentions. So you are somewhat surprised when he doesn't do that. In fact, he is silent behind you for so long you almost ask what is wrong.

“What… the… fuck….is that?” he spits angrily. But it's not his play angry; it sounds worryingly close to genuine.

‘What is what?” you ask, suddenly nervous, twisting to look over your shoulder.

He jumps up to his feet and yanks you roughly back upright against him by your hair, and you squeak in shock.

“Care to explain why there are teeth marks on your inner thigh, my girl?” his voice cutting and right at your ear.

Your stomach plummets as if you have fallen from a high branch of a tree or gone over a waterfall in a barrel. Everything inside you tumbles, and your vision swims slightly.

Benedict.

It could ONLY be him—last night. You vaguely recall feeling him bite your inner thigh as he teased you. But you were so deliriously aroused you barely felt anything. Washing this morning, you did not think to look there; you just quickly bathed and went about your day. 

“It cannot be, sir,” you instantly obfuscate. “It must be a mark, from I do not know what…. from my saddle, perhaps?” you offer, taking inspiration from what is right around you.

His grip on your hair slackens. You are uncertain he believes you. Something feels tender at this moment. Precarious. Like he is vulnerable to what the marks could signify but cannot handle his response in any other way but brusquely—needing the upper hand.

“I have been foolish, perhaps, in not being clear with my boundaries. So here they are. If you are with a Bridgerton, you should only be laying with a Bridgerton, do you hear me?” he lectures, unwittingly giving you a very convenient loophole.

“Yes, sir,” you answer instantly. “I shall only lay with a Bridgerton,” you reply, almost gleeful.

“Why does that appear so entertaining?” he asks cuttingly.

“It is not, sir,” you attempt to school your expression and tone, “more that your order is very… arousing for me, sir,” your response coquettish, knowing the diversionary flattery will work on him.

“You want to be owned by me?” he gusts hot in your ear, a warm hand snaking around your belly, pulling you back forcefully into his muscular frame.

“Yes, of course, sir”, you answer. “I want to wear your name with pride,” you pant gently, slipping into your submissive role with practised ease.

“I will brand your bottom with the family crest,” he snarls, the possessive rhetoric notching up significantly.

You goad him with a challenging look over your shoulder and roll your hips, catching your bottom on the growing hardness in the front of his trousers, knowing it will spur some kind of response. 

“You wanton little whore, rubbing yourself on me like some animal in heat just because I offer to brand you with my name,” he rumbles, enjoying your tactics, grabbing your chin and making you look at him as he leans forward over your shoulder. “I should tie you up and whip you to make you obey me,” he declares, staring into your eyes.

You suddenly know why he has brought you here, to this room—to try some more advanced punishment. The fact there is now the added dimension of his suspicion makes it feel even more charged, like the static before a storm. You can't seem to look away from his turbulent mien, knowing tonight will be something new and exciting. You can feel butterflies against your ribs as he speaks again.

“You would just hate that, wouldn't you?” he smirks, and you intuit what he wants. 

This is a power play to make you remember who is in charge, a way to brand you as his symbolically, not physically. By making you pretend you don’t want this as much as you do. Achingly so.

“You want to play that game?” you check quietly, ensuring what you think is happening is true.

“You are so very observant, my smart girl,” he whispers flatteringly, and you know exactly what to do next.

“Sir, please don’t,” you play up, voice getting louder, twisting to catch his eye and winking, letting him know your reticence is all for the scene. 

“Who said you have any say in what happens?” he chuckles darkly, his hold tightening as he roughly strips your stays from your body so you are completely naked.

This. You perhaps shouldn’t want this, but by god, you do—a little twisted role play. Elation ripples through your body. Somehow you know you both need this today. Anthony to process his suspicions about the bitemark. You, cathartic release of the guilt you carry about your tryst with Benedict. Perhaps it's a dangerous path to walk; you know you are likely playing with fire, but with Anthony, by god, it's nothing but excitement. Mutually assured destruction can seem so appealing behind glowing brown eyes and sharp cheekbones.

“Please, sir, no!” you ratchet up your theatrics, struggling slightly in his hold as he spins you around to face him. 

“Shut up!” he grouses and pushes you down to your knees with a firm grip on your hair. “Now, if you don't keep quiet, I will find a way to silence you,” he warns, yanking your head back so you look up at him.

And you know what is coming, your thighs rubbing together almost gleefully at the prospect. Your insides roil excitedly at the idea of him using you, rough and rugged, as you pretend it is against your will. Trust Anthony to take you to the edge of your needs, push your envelope and make you crave him. This is why you can’t resist him. He knows how to give you things you never knew you needed but want so much your blood sings—makes you ache for him, addicted to him like no one else.

You stay on your knees, panting lightly with anticipation as he walks away briefly, his boots seeming to clatter much louder as he returns. He yanks your hands behind your back, and you feel a thin rope wrapping around your wrists. 

“You know your safety word and action,” he leans over and mutters in your ear, and you nod, twisting to meet his eye. Confirming that today no won't mean stop; only that word or gesture will.

“No sir, please, no god, I’m sorry; please don't tie me up,” you act up.

He laughs menacingly and keeps looping the rope, tying it off with what feels like a bow. Then a hand grabs your jaw. 

“Too late for that; open your mouth,” he commands gruffly.

You instantly obey as two fingers slide thickly over your tongue. They taste of ink, smokey cigars and the tang of money, all Anthony.

“Now I know a certain way to stop this little mouth from being so insolent,” he states, casually pinching your tongue before pulling out his fingers.

“No sir, please, please don’t,” you volley back, a flash in your eyes as you lick your lips, your gaze falling to the tented shape in his trousers as he roughly unbuttons them.

His cock springs free, and you feel a frisson over your skin as you drink in the sight of it, already rigid and leaking. Without preamble, he grabs the back of your head; you can barely take a steadying breath before he pushes into you, hot over your tongue, not gentle in using you, nudging towards the back of your mouth. His cock is always so surprising in size, especially when he does this, showing you no mercy. Gripping your hair and starting a rhythm that pushes deeper on every stroke until he holds your nose pressed up to his body, filling your throat. You want to cough, speak, do anything, but he holds steady, his scent so potent.

With your hands tied as they are, you have no control over how he uses you, but you are determined not to give you safety action, to take the punishment he wants to meter out. Your clit throbs as your lungs burn for air—heady and intoxicating. Still, he does not allow you reprieve.

“Look up at me.” You tilt your eyes up as water gathers at the corner of your lashes. His thumb swipes through them. “Finally, she is silent and obedient,” he chuckles richly, his cock vibrating in your throat, “and looking so pretty on her knees, taking all of me.”

He pulls halfway out, and you inhale sharply before he pushes back in with a groan, and you are again unable to breathe. You want this so much your thighs dampen, and you look back up at him with wide, pleading eyes, playing the part of the victim you most definitely are not.

“Take it,” he stutters gruffly as you feel your throat convulse slightly, wanting to gag. “Stay down,” he orders, crushing your face into his body, his balls against your chin. You feel a pulse in his cock and then a sour tang, that little salty bead of pre-cum sliding down your gullet.

Just as you begin to struggle for air and feel woozy light-headedness, he pulls out entirely, ropes of saliva webbing from your mouth to his glistening tip as you gasp deeply, your throat burning.

“Get on your hands and knees and crawl to that bench,” he grits out, and you do as told, taking a few crawled paces to the padded leather bench in the middle of the room as he loosely refastens his trousers. Your deep wracking breathing sounds so loud, even in the wood-panelled room, as he tells you to climb up and straddle it face down.

“If you move an inch or make a noise, this will be much worse for you,” he threatens.“You will be whipped, and then you will take my cock. Maybe then you will finally remember who you belong to.”

“Please, sir, no,” your protesting murmur is weak and raspy as your throat recovers, but you turn slightly to meet his gaze challengingly, eyes blazing. You had better fuck me so hard, you mouth silently at him.

He twists his face into a bemused pout. I will, you wilful little one, he mouths back.

“Now, do I need to tie you to the bench, too?” he warns, but you get no chance to challenge it as, almost instantly, more rope loops around your back and under the bench you lay on. 

Fire flares in your belly; he has never tied you down so wholly. You cannot wiggle free of this; you are entirely at his mercy. The leather sticks slightly to your heated cheek as a hand spanks a glancing blow onto your left bottom cheek, and you groan and push your hips down into the padded leather. Everywhere between your legs tingles, aches even, and feels hot, getting off on the thrill of submitting to his will, the utter commanding way he handles you. You need him to put his mark on you. To make it bigger, better than his brother’s. 

“Make it hurt,” you sigh, barely a breath. But you know he hears it from the sharp inhale he makes.

You look back at him pleadingly. It could be the look of a captive pleading for mercy from their captor; it could be the look of a willing participant in a provocative game, conveying just how much they want this. Indeed, it’s both, so many layers swirling in this erotically charged moment.

“My girl, you will feel it and remember tonight,” his voice a low forewarning.

You twist to watch Anthony walk away and snag a riding crop from the selection hanging on nearby hooks, heart speeding up as he walks near your head, brandishing the implement. The cool leather tongue brushes the nape of your neck. He traces it slowly, achingly so, down the length of your spine to where your bound hands lay. Your body shivers in response, and he chuckles, seemingly delighted at how he can elicit such reactions from you.

He leans low over your back, the crop raising from your skin. “Now you can't run and get help; no one is coming to rescue you from me,” he growls. Something in the tone suggests bitter experience.

There is a faint, almost whistling sound in the air then you feel a sting lashing across your left buttock. The strength of this first blow is sharp, taking you by surprise, and you yelp in response.

“Be quiet!” he orders roughly, grabbing your hair. “Or do I need to gag you as well?”

“Please, sir, don't,” your lips plead while your mind hopes he might. You enjoy it when he gags you, especially with his cravat, as he did just a few days ago during your last encounter at Aubrey Hall. That fateful night you physically bumped into his younger brother.

Anthony releases your hair as Benedict's voice and face fill your mind. A similar blow to your right bottom cheek brings you back into the room, and you groan loudly, grinding against the bench, feeling the rope around your waist resisting your movements. He is pacing around you in a circle, his footsteps echoing up the walls; you pant in anticipation, trying to crane your head to track his movements.

The crop tickles your open, bound hand, then traces up the inside of your arm, so ticklish you try to tamp down a giggle. Then you gasp as he flicks the crop on your upper arm across the flesh of your muscle there.  The leather tongue drags back down to your hands, then swaps to the other, tracing up your arm in that prickly way until, again, there is a flick to the other bicep. You sense it's coming but still whimper slightly at the lick.

It's a guessing game about what he will do next. These flicks on your arms have been light, not like the force he used on your bottom, but enough to sting and keep you on your toes.

“I do so enjoy the slight of you bound,” he hums, almost absent-minded, as the crop trails back down your arm over your hands, your fingertips and onto your lower spine.

“Please, sir, don’t hurt me,” you play up, panting with anticipation about where he might strike next. 

“What part of ‘be quiet’ are you not understanding?” he utters through clenched teeth; it’s all the warning you get before the crop reigns a sharp blow onto the back of your thigh, right below where it meets your bottom.

You hiss and writhe as the crop insinuates between your legs, encouraging them further apart. 

“If you keep talking, I will crop you right here,” he cautions, running the smooth leather tab over your labia. You fold your lower lip into your mouth to censor any response you might have. “Good girl,” he intones, and the crop is gone.

You are almost relaxing into the soft bench when he strikes a lick onto your ribs, it's not hard, but it takes you by surprise; your yelp is instinctual. Then with an almost predatory gleam in his normally beguiling eyes, he rains little blows across your back. Short, sharp lashes that sting, not hurting but not pleasant. You flinch at every blow but feel a paradoxical sense of relief with each one, the discomfort as cleansing as it is arousing.

It's when the crop disappears between your thighs that you tense slightly. But he does not flick it against your pussy; he holds it over the spot you assume are the teeth marks, his breathing uneven. Then with a determined glint, he lashes the area hard, and you feel redness instantly bloom there as you cry out. He has done exactly what you wanted; he has covered up Benedict's mark on you with one of his own, bigger, better, bolder—so very Anthony. It almost feels akin to a twisted game of one-upmanship you will wear on your skin for a few days.

Then he flicks little marks on the back of your thighs and buttocks. Again each one feels like absolution and a step higher towards a blissful state where you float outside your body, utterly pliant to his demands and treatment.

“Stay with me,” he dictates. 

He senses you slipping into a subspace but wants you alert and responsive to every move he makes. 

“Who do you belong to?” his question is a bark.

“You.” It's a reflex.

“And only me, do you understand me? I will not share,” he grits out. 

“Yes sir,” you slur as the crop makes one last resounding blow on your cheek, so forceful you scream.

There is a clatter as the crop falls to the ground, and he is tearing off his clothing as you watch covetously and panting with anticipation, your skin burning hot in the places he has cropped you.

“No sir, please don’t take me,” you fib with a small smile, catching sight of his delicious, engorged cock as he strips. 

“Oh, but you are mine to take,” he laughs menacingly as he rounds behind you, kneeling on the floor where he lines up to enter you.

With a grunt from him and a cry from you, he plunges into your body; the stretching invasion always steals your breath. The artifice of the game you have been playing falls away as you sigh his name and murmur for him to please take you hard, wanting him to fuck all the guilt out of you.

And he does what you need. He shows no mercy as he grasps the rope around your back in his fist so it digs into the sensitive flesh of your sides and begins a punishing rhythm. Thrusting with such force, your whole body rolls, the bench squeaking in protest. You struggle to form thoughts and just quieten your mind, lean into the intensity of it—allowing your body to be used, taken, finding pleasure in your passivity. 

His hand spanks a glancing blow over your left cheek that he has left flecked with crop marks, and you squeal at the layering of this sharp pang over the dull throb from his earlier discipline.

“Keep quiet,” he hisses, leaning over your back and biting the nape of your neck. His incisors grabbing flesh and pulling, a pinching searing pang you know will mean teeth marks and wearing scarves to cover up until they fade. 

You are shocked at how fast your body is hurtling towards a climax, your clit squashed into the rounded end of the bench as he fucks into you. You start to pant little noises and writhe in your bindings, your wrists still in the small of your back, starting to feel pins and needles as your movement causes the rope to dig in harder.

“You are so very close,” he observes, suddenly holding still, buried deep inside you. “That will not do,” his tone almost disappointed, “do not come yet”.  

You fight the urge, your pussy squeezed tight around him, fighting the little convulsions you feel, every inch of his cock engraving on your walls like he is leaving his imprint inside you.

“I mean it,” he warns, “you will not come until I permit it.”

“Yes sir,” you croak, gusting hot breaths into the bench and trying to calm your body. To stave off your orgasm until he allows it.

Then there are fingers resting on your clit, and you inhale sharply, twisting in your binding to look at him over your shoulder, something wild in his manner, his eyes glittering.

“No,” he says firmly as he teases your bud with expertise, edging you but refusing permission to let you break.

“This is not fair,” you groan, puffing hard as he begins to fuck you again, this time with an unhurried rhythm, withdrawing then surging in as his fingertips expertly hook under your hood to massage your engorged little nub. 

“Fair is not my concern,” he dismisses, “what is my concern is demanding your utter obedience.”

Every ounce of your body is aflame, the tension of holding to a precipice as each welt on your body throbs in sympatico with your clit.

“Please,” you mumble, unsure you can stem the tide building; obey his rules.

His grip on your bum tightens as he spears into you roughly, making you grunt as your whole body rocks with the force. Boring into you now, unforgiving in his mounting of you, he once again wraps the rope that lashes you down around his knuckles, ensuring you gasp at the harsh binding, the rough fibres repeatedly rubbing until small welts appear.

He is setting an almost punishing pace, ploughing into your body repeatedly as you listen to his panting breaths, desperate for his consent to release all the tension, almost an unbearable weight.

He spanks your right cheek for good measure. You moan, and the pleasure-pain that blossoms makes your break impossible to fight anymore. Your eyes screw shut as his fingers slide over your sensitive bud, the grip of his spanking hand now banded around the crest of your hipbone, strong enough to leave more marks on your delicate flesh. 

“You may,” he pants, perhaps sensing the inevitable.

You call his name and bury your nose into the bench, your teeth snarling and biting against the leather as your body, denied over and over, finally relents, your pussy palpitating around him so harshly you almost propel him from your body. Each synapse firing so hard your mind blanks out, a snapping of something inside that is your tether to reality. Then you are floating, somewhere far away, on a cloud of throbbing skin and pumping heartbeats, the pain transmogrifying into something beautiful, like amnesty, appeasement, peace.

You are barely cognisant as he rapidly withdraws from your body with a shout, spilling his seed onto your aching cheeks, the splash of it somehow both stinging and soothing the ache, bringing you back into the room as he slumps over your back, head between your shoulder blades.

For a few moments, there is nothing but the joint sound of your laboured breathing and the creek of the rope as you shift lightly under his weight.

“That was… truly something else,” he pants, drawing upright to untie your body and wrists delicately.

“It really was,” you agree, as he rubs the sore spots on your wrists from the chafe of the rope.

“Thank you. For giving me your trust like that,” Anthony says quietly, sincerely. “It is a rare thing to play like this…. Very rare indeed.”

He looks so thoughtful you don't know what to say in response. “Any time, Anthony. It was a very cathartic experience for me,” you admit honestly. “Something so freeing about playing that role for you,” you clarify before he asks what you mean, Benedict’s face flashing in your mind, guilt flooding your heart.

He jumps up, gathers a padded blanket from a hook, and lays it on the ground, pulling you into an embrace atop it. You settle into his arms, allowing your body to feel soothed by his idle, gentle strokes as he speaks again.

“I have come to realise that you are chasing challenging experiences. And my darling girl, I always want to be the one, the only one, worthy and able to do that, to challenge you in all the ways you may need,” he offers as he nuzzles your temple, dropping a light kiss there.

“That's so funny; Benedict was just saying the same last night,” you giggle lightly, your idle tongue running away from you in your post-orgasmic haze.

“You talk to my brother about such matters?” He freezes and sounds strange as he says it, and instantly you wince inside but try not to let it show. 

“Sometimes he and I talk. Of you and I, our compatibility, our courtship,” you attempt breezy nonchalance, gesturing into the air. “We bumped into each other at the Trowbridge Ball, and perhaps I had too much champagne,” you offer, relieved that partial truths and alcohol may explain how you came to talk of such matters with his brother.

“But you said this was last night?” Anthony argues, slowly twisting and sitting up away from you. “And the Trowbridge Ball was two nights ago. I should know; I was not well that day.”

Bile rises in your throat. You try not to let your panic show on your face, but you suspect your acting skills may be somewhat lacking. “Oh, of course, I… I am mixing up my days. The season is such a whirl, is it not?” You overshoot, mugging a smile too large and too brittle, clutching at proverbial straws. 

You sit up and instinctively grab your chemise to cover yourself up, feeling the need for a physical layer of protection, your skin registering a cold draft that breezes along the floor, making you shiver. There is a few moments of silence where you curl your lip under your teeth. Scared, you will slip up more, knowing Anthony is too smart not to see it. 

“I thought I warned you to stay away from him,” he intones, his voice going low.

“Come on, Anthony. He is your family; why would I not talk to your family? To the outside world, at least, we are courting.” You try to appeal to his logical side.

“Do you converse with Colin? Do you talk such intimate things with him?” He bristles, and you stay silent. Knowing what he points out is true. You have barely spoken more than five words to Colin, all mundane. “Yes. As I thought,” he adds, more than a little bitter. “And I find it strange that I went to call on you yesterday afternoon to apologise for being unable to accompany you to the ball, only to be told you were not home. That you were, in fact, receiving art lessons from my brother. Indeed, your family valet seemed most perplexed that I was not aware, seeing as I had apparently arranged the whole thing.” 

Oh god. 

He knows. 

He knows something is happening between you and Benedict. And he has kept it in until now. Again you are tumbling over that waterfall. Suddenly, so much of tonight takes on more nuance than you could possibly have imagined: the desperation, the possessiveness, the want to tie you down and punish you hard, the now-weighted phrase that no one is coming to rescue you. Part of you wants to run away, be sick to your stomach, but part of you wants to stay and fight.

“Anthony…” you appeal, not knowing what else to say.

“Don't,” he chides, and you feel him building up his walls, brick by brick, cutting you off. “But thank you for confirming what I didn't want to know. You may leave,” he adds bitterly, and you can see untold hurt in his eyes. 

You can see that trying to reason with him is a lost cause at this moment. So silently, you pull your stays on loosely over your chemise and then your dress, the initial panic giving way to a melancholy sinking into your bones about how he is closing himself off. You slip out of the stable door and don't allow yourself the luxury of a glance back, or even a tear, as you walk the few hundred yards back to the recital venue and your awaiting carriage.

You suspect that were it any other man, Anthony would not be so very agitated—his younger brother very much his Achilles heel, right from that first warning at Aubrey Hall. Perhaps he sees something in you that is a kindred spirit to Benedict more than to himself and fears the choice you may make. Little does he know, you crave them equally and more than ever, even as you feel uncertain about where you stand with either brother now. Both knowing of your dalliance with the other, and neither happy about it—precisely what you didn't want. In hindsight, it was never going to be easy playing off both brothers. But you never expected Anthony’s reaction to be so emotional, the hidden depths he keeps so well concealed under the mask of responsibility.

And things are about to get even more complicated when Benedict sees what Anthony has done….

Anthony taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld@eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @fictionalmenloversblog

#anthony bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton smut #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x female reader #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton x y/n #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton smut #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton

[mid-nightowl]

untitled lil fic #1 (jason todd and gotham war)

here's some gotham war rewrites i needed to get out of my head, the brainrot was killing me omg

warnings for violence, cursing, whatever the hell Bruce is doing (just Bruce as a full warning tag, the man is more unhinged than Joker in this)

---

“Oh Jason. How I’ve missed you, my sweet boy.”

The words are sickeningly sweet, poison-saturated words falling from bloody red lips. Delivered with a crooked smile, Joker looks up at him, uncaring at his position. His fingers curl in the clown’s suit collar, lips curling with a snarl.

Jason punches him again, the clown’s jaw cracking and his body straining against the ferry railing. Joker merely giggles, head lolling around through the air before his mismatched eyes meet his mask. 

“Shut the fuck up!” He snaps, unholstering his gun and digging the muzzle into Joker’s cheek.

His murderer raises his hands, waggling his fingers in surrender, grinning and smirking and smiling. 

He hates it, he hates it, he hates it. 

“I want you to think about this real carefully,” He digs his gun into his skin. “This could be the last joke you ever make, you understand? That’s what you want to go with?”

“You know,” His nightmare giggles, chuckles like a wind-up toy before he wipes the amusement off his face. The clown looks up at him, head tilted, pleased and patient and thoughtful. There’s not a single sliver of hate and destructive menace, or anger or disappointment or suspicion. 

Wrong, wrong, wrong, he thinks. There’s something wrong here. There’s something wrong with Joker—and not in the usual way. 

“The best jokes deliver a difficult truth, but hide it with a fun fiction,” Joker explains, smushed but coherent words strung together despite the gun halfway in his mouth. “Without humor all we have left is being mean and lying.”

“What?” He can’t stop the words before they stumble out of his mouth. He doesn’t let the gun go lax in his hand despite the way the clown’s words throw him off guard. 

Off-kilter is a genuine feeling that digs into him, shocking him to the core. The clown does this, he knows it. He knows this is how he does things, how he worms his way out of every situation and every attempted manslaughter, he knows how the clown operates, intimately. 

Jason knows him. 

Joker, historically, has been so many things. But he’s always been a psychotic, impulsive mass-murderer. Someone without restraint, without limitation. 

It’s why he’s always been Batman’s true nemesis. Bruce, he needs a fine-tuned control of everything and everyone. He is someone who has limits and restraint. 

Controlled, focused, and without limitations—Jason is almost the happy medium to both of them. 

Almost.

The three of them are similar, different, opposites and identical. It’s like walking in one of those mirror mazes where you can’t tell who the real you is. 

Who is the real Bruce Wayne? The man who cherishes his children or the one who maims them?

Who is the real Joker? The cold, purposeful mass murderer or the dumped-in-acid man who can’t tell the difference?

Who is the real Jason Todd? The bloody crime lord or the declawed crowbar wielding vigilante?

Joker simply smiles and pats his arm, as if Jason’s not trying to kill him.

He slams the clown against the railing again, snarling. 

“Enough games!” He growls and flips the safety off. The noise doesn’t even phase Joker, if anything he grins harder. His mismatched eyes—one red-brown, one green—flick above them before returning to his. 

“Are you really going to use that big bad gun of yours with Daddy watching? He’ll be so mad at you.” His murderer grins, letting his head hang limply in his grasp.

“What? Batman-!” He jerks back, head snapping up to the ferry roof cover. 

Empty. No looming monster demanding a painful compromise is here.

Joker’s hands push him back, and he grunts, stumbling into the ferry wall. The clown tumbles over the railing, disappearing from view. His laughter haunting the air. 

“No!” He shouts, dashing to the railing. 

The clown is gone under the waves and ice, sinking into the dark of Gotham Harbor. 

He’s not dead. He can’t be dead, Jason thinks, gripping the ice-cold railing, I haven’t killed him yet.

He’s not dead.

But that was mean. 

--

The last words Jason hears remind him of his grave. 

No, not the one he was buried in. Six feet of dirt above him and smothered in satin, watched over by that stupid weeping angel.

There’s a memorial in the cave with his name. ‘Good soldier’ and nothing else but his name. Both of them: Jason Todd and Robin. 

A monument to Bruce’s failure, his greatest mistake, a grave to his complicated teenage years, his love. 

“You’ve always been a good soldier. Rest now.” Bruce told him, jabbing him in the neck with the needle. 

A grave, a memorial, a monument. It makes him sick. The reminder that he will always be the dead Robin, the sad Robin, the angry Robin. 

Dead, dead, dead.

The violence done to him, inflicted and imprinted into his skin and bones was more important. The guilt and the lesson were more important than his cries for justice, for his life’s blood.

The monument and altar, raised after his murder, were never for him, but for Bruce.

He was dead, why would he care?

The story Bruce will tell would never be the truth, just excuses and wrong-doings. He would take accountability after the fact, but not before. 

Bruce would let his murderer walk and let him rot. 

Maybe that was why he buried Jason six feet under, so he wouldn’t have to face the decay and decomposition. That he could keep this golden, blurry image of him as Robin, as the straight A student, the good son. And not a weightless body splinted a thousand different ways to look human. 

But now that he’s resurrected—not in Bruce’s image, but as something broken and jagged, something lost and filled with dirt and green-green-green—Bruce refuses to acknowledge him. Refuses to believe this is who he is. 

Refuses to believe that he remade (destroyed) himself from the ruins, from the broken bones and empty veins and black thread that mended his corpse back into the image of Jason Todd. Refuse to think that if a girl can come back as a soothsayer, that a boy can come back as a gun. 

“Hnnng…Bruce,” Jason groans softly, heaving himself off the couch. 

Batman turns to him, looming with his face mask in his hands. The fluorescent lights, a nauseous lime-yellow, cut over his figure, his face, his mask. Almost a green-green-green, almost a pool of rage, almost a pit of madness.

His mask crackles alive in Bruce’s hands, Selina’s voice wavering between annoyance and worry. 

“Red Hood? Hood, please check in and let me kno-” Batman clicks his comm off. 

The resounding silence smothers him. 

His exhale comes out shaky, his heart beating too fast behind his bruised ribs, a chill crawling over his exposed skin. 

Something’s wrong. Something is very wrong. 

“...Batman? You…” He swallows roughly, mouth filled with dirt and blood and thread. “Wha…What did you do?”

“Nothing I’m proud of, Jason.” 

His heart sinks and skips a beat at the same time, stomach twisting with anxiety and fingers trembling against the ugly brown couch cushions.

Inhale. 

He pushed too much.

Taking Selina’s side?

He went too far.

Hood didn’t kill anyone?

Exhale. 

“Hh! Ho…” Jason croaks, getting his boots on the ground. “Y-you…you..”

“Take deep breaths, Jason.” Batman turns back to the computer hub glowing behind him, ignoring his attempts to speak, to demand answers. 

His arms shake as he holds himself upright, but when he tries to stand instead he chokes, falling to his knees in front of the couch. Gasping for air, he lays his palms flat against the cool tiles. His legs are quivering, heavy and unable to hold his weight. 

His whole body trembles with it, this feeling unfolding through his blood and bones, engulfing his head and voice. 

Fear, fear, fear.

“Years ago I created my backup personality, Zur, using techniques I learned from an old mentor and this machine that I built,” Batman starts, monitoring the screens in front of him with one hand on the keyboard and the other on his belt.

Bruce doesn’t turn to look at him, to face him, someone he calls son, someone he considers family, and explain what he’s done to Jason.

He never has. 

“I can’t change your personality with it, Jason…” Batman sighs, low and quiet. “But I can add to it. A small thing: your failsafe.” 

Failsafe. He slams the heel of his palm on the floor, cheeks tingling with his telltale sign of tears. A failsafe?!

Because Red Hood needs a failsafe instead of justice.

“What?!” He tries to snarl, to hiss and yell and scream his rage. But his voice fails him, anxiety chewing at his throat and tongue, voice tilting too high, too unsteady, too weak. 

“Now when you have heightened adrenaline, when you’re about to do something dangerous, your fear kicks in,” Batman continues explaining. “It…I’m sorry Jason. But it’s the only way.” He clenches his eyes shut—inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale—and tries to ignore his rabbit heart battering against its cage, pounding to the frantic rhythm of fear, fear, fear.

“I love you.” 

The words feel like gunshots, the knuckle prints on his skin after the two of them fought over Penguin, the smack of Selina’s whip against his fingers, the crowbar on his skull, his legs, his ribs, over and over and over. 

“I love you, but you are a murderer,” Bruce condemns him, over and over again. “You’re a bull in a china shop and I go round after round with you, trying to figure out how to help make you a better man, to heal you.” 

“H-heal me?” He whispers, rage cut off at the roots. “This isn’t…this isn’t you, Bruce.”

Batman, finally, turns to Jason. He looms, tall and foreboding, darkness dripping around him, drenching him in fear, fear, fear. 

Batman takes a step forward and he crashes back against the couch, spine digging into the wooden frame painfully. 

He can’t breathe. Batman moves and he knows it in his bones, knows it down to the scars Gotham and its guardian have left on him, that he’s not here to save him, to help him. 

“I got you a new identity. A place in Metropolis.” Batman keeps walking forward, despite Jason’s growing hyperventilation, despite the way his blunted nails scratch at the floor. Despite the way he shakes, black stitches snapping apart, the pieces of him falling to the floor of this slaughterhouse, at the feet of his butcher. 

“B-bat…Batman,” He whimpers, hand twisting into the fabric of his suit. 

“You can live a normal life. Fall in love, do meaningful work. This isn’t punishment, Jason,” Batman kneels in front of him and removes the cowl. “I love you.” Jason shrinks back, shoulders back and legs curled to his chest. Bruce’s face is sharp and pale, with bags under his eyes and days old stubble on his jaw. 

His eyes are dark with absolute rage. 

Batman is going to hurt him. Batman is going to hurt him.

Bruce is going to hurt him again. 

“This is a gift. Any way you look at it, you should be in prison for all the people you’ve killed,” He chokes at Bruce’s words, barely smothering the terrified cry in his throat. “This is me saving you from that. Save you from yourself.”

Jason can only stare at the man before him—the man who took him in, who raised and trained him, who loved him—does his best to bury him.

fear, fear, fear. 

--

“Please..don’t…please,” Jason pleads, covering the girl with his frame, caging her in with his bruised and burnt arms.

“Let’s begin.” Scarecrow’s voice reverberates, it shakes through air to match his erratic breathing.

“P-please, I’ll do anything you want, anything,” He begs, fear, fear, fear burning in his veins. “Please. Just stay…stay away.” 

Scarecrow closes the gap between them, rocking back and forth on his crooked, long legs. His mask distorts and mutates, a familiar green-green-green splashing over the darkened void of his gas mask.

“You’re going to die tonight. I know you know this,” Crane looms over him, green-green-green trickling out his eyes, gushing out like an open wound. “But we can still have fun, can’t we.” 

The girl trembles underneath his chest and Jason tries to smother the whimper begging to pour out his lips. It’s gnawing at him—rabbit heart frantic in his chest, hands trembling from the burning pain and anxiety, smoke and ash gathering in his lungs—fear, fear, fear.

He can’t think of anything else. 

“Those fools were right. Your terror…it’s real and it isn’t mine,” Scarecrow sneers, kneeling in front of him. “There is no thrill in driving terror into the heart of a baby bird.” 

Scarecrow takes his jaw in his hand, needles tickling at his exposed skin, forcing Jason to look at him. He can’t help but jerk his head at Crane’s touch, needles pricking into his cheek when Crane holds him tighter, another inescapable cage around him. 

His chest heaves with every shaky inhale-exhale, his anxious fear fanning over the rogue’s mask. Scarecrow leans in closer, the glass over his eyes gleaming, reflecting the fire roaring around them. Jason can hear the screams in them, watching the shadows morph around them and the straw on Crane’s shoulders wiggle. 

“This is my moment of triumph, and it is snatched away from me by..by him?!” Scarecrow shakes Jason’s head in his hand, needles scratching into his skin but still not drawing blood.

Scarecrow lets his head drop, needles disappearing from his sight before they’re clawing at his throat, wet and cold against his clammy skin. Jason whimpers and clenches his eyes shut, unable to do anything but beg. 

He knows praying for someone to help him is futile. 

No one is coming to save him. 

“Never let it be said Scarecrow has no pity,” Crane says, voice cutting in and out his head like radio static. “I will quickly finish what your daddy started.” 

“Doesn’t mommy get a say?”

A voice slices through the flames licking at his skin and the fear smothering him. And when Jason’s gaze finds him, he can’t help the tears. 

“Step away from the vigilante, pervert.” Joker grins, dark red lips stretched too wide, too thin. Ash rains down on his green-green-green umbrella, rolling down the crooked dark patches and shamrock-colored nylon. 

“You’ve already killed him once. It’s time you learned to share, Clown.” Scarecrows speaks with thin, razor-sharp disdain, glaring over his shoulder at the newcomer. 

“You should know this by now, Doc. I don’t play well with others.” The clown throws aside the umbrella, knife materializing from thin air as he descends upon Scarecrow.

“You’re not even really him, are you? Do you think I don’t know about you? Delusions and megalomania with-” Scarecrow baits and taunts the clown, before the two of them are ducking and weaving and slicing at each other with barely concealed rage and annoyance. 

“Blah, blah, blah. Do you know why you’re always going to be a C-List villain, Johnny?” Joker jokes and Jason can imagine the sharp grin on his face. “Because doctors aren’t scary. They’re annoying.”

He ducks his head down and curls tighter around the girl. She cries underneath him, hiccups soft under the roar of flames closing in on them, the screech of metal on metal and creaking of deteriorating wood. 

He can’t move. He can’t do anything but try to breathe. But all he tastes is smoke, choking him, billowing down his throat and in his lungs. His heartbeat is so loud, jumping under its bone-cage, a heady, heavy thing—badump-badump-badump-badump. It’s too fast, erratic, out of control.

“You’re a bull in a china shop and I go round after round with you, trying to figure out how to help make you a better man, to heal you-”

Always out of control. Jason whines, hands scrambling against the wood below him. It burns, seering through his fingertips. It hurts-it hurts-it hurts, he can’t do this. He can’t.

He can’t breathe.

“Ahhhh! Ack! Achhhhh!” Scarecrow screams, guttural and wobbly and when he looks up, Jason can only watch as Crane crashes through the fifth story window. 

Tears continue to stream down his face, his heart trembling in his chest and the realization strikes him then, cracking down on his skull like a crowbar, over and over and over. 

Joker saved him. Joker saved him. Joker saved him. 

His murderer saved him.

 “A-are you real?!” Jason cries out, fingers curling into the withering floorboards. “Is this real?!” 

“Oh, don’t worry about him. I didn’t even give him a real dose of Joker Gas. I ran out. Heh!” Joker laughs, rubbing at his jaw. Blood and green-green-green stain the edges of his mouth, smeared down his chin and throat before disappearing under the orange sweatshirt he’s wearing. 

“But now, it’s just you and me. And…your daughter? Did you have a daughter and not tell me?” The clown tilts his head in question, tucking away the green-green-green gun in his hand. He steps closer, uncaring of the flames licking over his pale skin.  

Jason can’t tell if it's real or an illusion, can’t tell if his murderer is here and saving? rescuing? tricking? him. He can’t tell if this is just another nightmare he’s trapped himself in, or if this is the real punishment Bruce promised him. 

“She’s just a kid. Please…don’t,” He pleads, the tears searing down his ash-stained cheeks. 

Joker leans down, bringing his face close to Jason’s. His mismatched eyes—one green, one red-brown—bore into his and the clown smiles, too wide, too cracked and broken, too bloody and green-green-green. 

He sobs, cracking under everything. He can’t do this, he can’t. 

“My, my. Even like this you still think you’re the hero. Batman would be proud if he didn’t hate you,” His murderer says, before his bony hand is cupping Jason’s face, calloused fingers dancing over his skin. 

Jason clenches his jaw when it threatens to wobble and tremble, but knows the fear is shining in his eyes. Knows the clown can see it, knows he recognizes it in his baby-blues. He’s been here before.

They’ve been here before, together. 

“But don’t worry my sweet boy, I’ll find a way to fix you. Nobody is going to hurt you. I won’t let them. Because I need you.” His voice is honeyed and threatening, curling and clawing and cloying into his head like a sickness. Joker pets his hair, gentle and caring, and Jason knows he means it. 

He’s going to fix him. He’s going to heal him. 

He’s going to save Jason.

“Don’t worry, sweet boy. We’ll see each other soon,” Joker pats his cheek with a crooked green-green-green smile. “I promise.” 

His heart beats frantic to the words—fear, fear, fear—eyes unable to look away from Joker.

Jason believes him.

#unholy screeching and too much caffeine #my writing #the brainrot was literally killing me i wish i was joking #havent been able to FOCUS on anything else #i just cant get over divorced batjokes playing tug-of-war with their murderous and highly traumatized kid (jason) #im not entirely sure if i like this? it feels very rough draft to me #but i really just needed to get it down and out of my head so i can focus on my other wips T-T #would also love to hear anyone's thoughts if they have any<3 #might have missed some grammar stuff and yadda yadda but im kind of tired of looking at this:)))) #i do think i want to add to it thou--maybe a scene with selina another with the batkids #ill probably come back to this after the final issue for the actual event (which comes out next week!) and joker's comic #i just really wanted to write how jason was dealing with all this; how he might take the fact that joker is saving his ass rather than bruc #but im not sure if it came across the way i wanted it to?? #jason todd #jason todd and bruce wayne #jason todd and joker #writing

[sukunasdirtylaugh]

part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part after five but not part 6 (one shot),

it is often rare for lord toji to bring in guests, ameera tells you. unbeknownst to all of you, word of one of the greatest handlers for the underworld having a little... sweetheart, was big enough news to stir the world of god drama.

"it's sir zenin!" madam mildred hisses at both you and ameera. ameera, who holds a look as if she's seen a ghost, turns to inform you. "sir zenin is the worst of gods, he's one of the cousins to his excellence toji."

"why are you both acting like death is at the door?" you question.

"he's probably here because he found out his cousin toji has a new little woman in his garden," mildred sighs, "ameera is too young, I am too old, and the nuns are out of question leaving you as the only viable source for any god to consider you."

"consider me for what, mildred?" suddenly, towering behind you three stands tall and for the first time you gulp, seeing a look in toji's eyes.

"mildred," he speaks, "what's going on?"

"your cousin, dear excellence." she slightly bows her head. "would you like me to fix him up a pla-"

"-that won't be necessary, mildred." toji sticks out and waves a gentle hand so as to be dismissive. "thank you." the three of you watch him walk forward, hands on the door handles. it is now when you notice the expanse of his back. muscles expand and contract. "I'll have you ladies stay in here and not interfere as I talk to my cousin, alright?" the three of you nod as he looks back at you three. with the open and close of a door, he's out. your heart suddenly pounds quickly, racing as you search for answers.

you're thankful for ameera as the two of you scram towards an opening she's called as 'discreet', unknown to those around the house. helping you up, the two of you sit and stand on a couple of wooden boxes, standing on your tip-toes as you turn your head and see toji conversing to a man who appears to be his opposite. regardless of them being cousins.

"that's naoya," ameera whispers, "lady mildred says he's infamous for stealing wives and women whenever and however he pleases." she says, "I'm not a woman, but mildred says toji meant for it that way so as to keep me safe." you catch into the innocence of her words, not knowing the full extent of what harm is, but knowing enough it is better to stay away.

"you think he wants to harm us?"

"Our excellence wouldn't allow it," answers ameera with assurance, "he's made things to ensure that, but since naoya shares a bloodline with him... it's not exactly easy keeping a god away from this place." she says.

the two of you watch. toji stands tall, with hands on either side of his hips as he makes naoya take a step back, but he persists, smiling and attempting to saunter his way inside.

"oh, is that really a way to greet your cosuin, toji?" naoya grins. "I thought we were family..."

"you know well why I departed from the family naoya. you out of everyone knows best our values don't align, so why return where you're not welcome?"

"you wound me cousin," he offers a dramatized sigh and look, "all I am is coming to see how my cousin is. heard so much about you and how you might have a little..."

"that's not true." toji pauses, giving the effect of sternness. "wherever you heard that, is false."

"mmm.... the family whom you got a certain pair of earrings said otherwise, cousin."

"what business have you meddling with humans now?"

"there's a village not far from there with a tribal leader who is causing disputes amongst the gods. something about a virgin disappearing into the woods. might know anything about it?"

toji huffs, "some nerve of you to think I spend my days following virgins. you forget I'm not like you, naoya. now, if that's all, you can make way for yourself, I have somewhere to go."

"you won't happen to have a virgin within these walls, now don't you?"

"it's disgusting how you keep bringing this up. all there is here are old maidens, girls, and nuns. you'd be wise to keep yourself out of here." ushering him out, naoya hums. "very well, but I'll keep an ear out if I hear anything." toji makes a noise.

"you do that, but it's best you stay out these waters, naoya. I have enough on my plate as it is."

nothing much happens other than short conversation. both you and ameera turn to look at one another and spill the information to lady mildred who only sighs, confirming the allegations of naoya.

later that day, toji alerts all of you to avoid hanging by the main entrance during certain hours of the day. just for a few days, he advises.

but you think there's something more to this when he comes back two days later with a bracelet in his hand. when you inquire, he says. "I want you to wear this at all times." a firmness to his voice makes you freeze, "I don't ever want you to leave this place," he says. "not without me."

#eeeeeek!!!! #okay okay #I just HAD to okay??? #5 parts in one day #expect either another update or never to be seen again :( #I really hope I make more tho #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujustu kaisen #toji #fushiguro toji #toji zenin #jujutsu kaisen toji #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #jjk toji #toji x you #fushiguro

[angelasscribbles]

The Dark Kingdom Chapter 6: Bonded

Series: The Dark Kingdom

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings: Riley x Liam, Riley x Drake, Riley x ?

Word Count: 1,360

Rating: MA

Warnings for this series: mature themes

My other stuff: Master List.

The tension hung thick in the air as the door shut behind Leo.

Riley glanced uncertainly from Liam to Drake and back again, “What’s going on?”

The two men’s eyes met, and some unspoken communication passed between them. Liam recovered himself first, “I apologize for that unseemly outburst,” he gestured to the table, ladened with uneaten food, “Please, sit, eat.”

Riley didn’t move, “You called me your mate….”

A strangled sound issued from the back of his throat and an anguished expression fell over his features, “I’m sorry for that. I didn’t mean to scare you...I just….he threatened you and I reacted on instinct.”

“Why would your instinct tell you to call me your mate?”

“I…” Liam sighed heavily as he sank down into the chair he had previously vacated, “I don’t know.”

She took a step sidewise, away from Drake and toward the door, “Maybe I should leave. Coming here was a mistake-“

“Riley please!” Drake’s hand shot out to stop her, but he halted his momentum as he watched her flinch away from him. He drew his hand back and then held both of his arms up in front of him, palms open, “I’m sorry! I understand what you’ve been through and I would never do anything to-“

Her gaze swung wildly from Drake to Liam, “You told him?”

“No!” Liam looked aghast, “I mean, not exactly…not like you think!”

“What other way is there? Either you told him, or you didn’t!”

Liam met her eyes with equanimity, “You told him… when you told me.”

“I…don’t understand….”

Drake’s gaze bore into her, but he didn’t attempt to grab her again, “Please give us a chance to explain!”

The rational part of her brain told her to turn and run away. That these were men, whatever else they were, they were still men, powerful ones. She had run away from a bad situation to a worse one.

But her heart was screaming something else entirely and she had no idea why. Something deep inside of her recognized this place though she had never been here in her life. This was home, Liam was safe!

Something had called her here. Something had told her to scale that cliffside, an endeavor that had been sheer insanity, yet something inside her had whispered that it would be her salvation.

She hesitated, torn between running for the door and listening to what they had to say. Not as torn as she should be though, all things considered. Her instincts were telling her to trust them.

Her instincts had gotten her this far.

She walked back toward the table and both men let out a sigh of relief. Drake moved to pull out her chair but a sharp look from her and he backed away.

She seated herself carefully then looked at Liam expectantly, “All right then. Please explain.”

“First of all, I would never betray your confidence like that!”

“Then how does he know-“

 “I’m getting to that!” Liam held a hand up, “You know what I am?”

“You’re a vampire,” everyone knew what he was.

Liam nodded then gestured to Drake, “Do you know what he is?”

“I…” her eyes darted to the other man then back to the Dark Lord with a shake of her head, “No.”

Drake’s response was so soft, she almost thought she’d imagined it, “I’m human.”

Her head turned to gape at him, “But…that’s not possible…” her gaze swung back to Liam, “You said he swore an oath to you centuries ago!”

“Yes, he did. Do you know what a human servant is?”

“I know what a servant is…but you don’t mean a maid or a butler I’m guessing.”

“No. A vampire’s human servant exists to watch over and protect him during the day and to carry out any activities that need to be done when the sun is out.”

“That makes sense…”

“Indeed. In order to carry out the duties correctly, the human and the vampire must be bonded. Psychically entwined, if you will.”

Her eyes widened as she turned to Drake again, “Oh! So all those times you looked like you were having a conversation I couldn’t hear…you were!”

“I was,” Drake nodded.                                        

She turned back to Liam, “So…what? You can read each other’s minds?”

“That’s a gross oversimplification. We don’t hear each other’s thoughts unless we are specifically trying to communicate, but we feel each other’s emotions. So, when you confessed your situation to me this morning, the overall concept that you had been hurt and the overriding emotions that provoked in me were transmitted automatically to him. I can’t turn that part off.”

“You feel each other’s emotions?” The previous day's events spilled through her mind. Drake’s sudden change in attitude toward her now made sense. It was because Liam’s attitude toward her had changed.

“Yes,” Liam watched her face carefully as he explained, “Our very life forces are conjoined. If one of us dies, the other will most likely perish as well.”

Riley’s body jolted in shock, “But….isn’t that dangerous for you? If he’s really human, isn’t he easier to kill? Couldn’t someone who wanted to kill you just kill him?”

Liam nodded. “In order to keep that from happening, the bond endows the servant with many of the master’s attributes. Drake has vampire speed and strength, enhanced senses, and immortality.”

Drake smiled at her, “I’m not so easy to kill.”

“Okay, all of that makes sense,” her body relaxed at the sight of his smile even though she was sure it shouldn’t. Why neither of these beings frightened her was a mystery. She returned his smile tentatively before asking, “So you said I was your mate because Liam did?”

Drake nodded. “I feel what Liam feels.”

Her cheeks colored as she directed the next question to Liam, “And you feel a mate bond with me?”

She had grown up in next to the Black Spire Mountains, every human schoolchild had at least a passing knowledge of how the creatures that lived in them worked. She knew that vampires and werewolves formed mate bonds. She wasn’t sure exactly how it worked but she was pretty sure no esseri had ever had a mate bond with a human.

“Yes, but I don’t know why.” Liam’s eyes traced her face as if the answers he sought were there.

“You don’t know?” Riley’s gaze swung back and forth between them. If they didn’t have the answers, how was she supposed to?

“He doesn’t know because it’s impossible,” Drake answered for him. “He can’t feel the mate bond with you, or anyone else for that matter, because he is already mated.”

Riley felt an inexplicable pang of loss and jealousy flare through her. Her voice was shriller than she meant for it to be as she demanded, “To whom?”

“No one,” Liam stood abruptly and stalked across the room, keeping his back to her, “She died.”

Her heart plummeted, “Oh no, Liam, I’m sorry-“

“It was a long time ago,” he cut her off, “But the bond I forged with her never seemed to really go away after her death. And you’re human, so this shouldn’t be possible.”

She stared down at her hands twisted in her lap for a long time, biting her lower lip.

“What is it, Riley?” Drake’s voice came from behind her, impossibly gentle, in complete contrast to the man who had delivered her to the castle just yesterday.

Liam’s voice was just as gentle, “Please talk to us.”

She lifted her eyes slowly to meet Liam’s and whispered, “I feel it too.”

A myriad of emotions exploded across the Dark Lord’s face. Confusion, denial, elation. He held her gaze as a smile curved his lips up. He seemed to consider something for a moment then he moved back to the table and took the chair next to her. He held his hand out toward her, palm up.

Her eyes never left his as she placed her hand in his.

“We’ll figure this out, together, okay?”

“Okay,” she agreed.

Liam’s gaze flicked up to meet Drake’s, “We need the witch.”

“On it,” Drake replied and before Riley could blink, he was gone.

#trr au #trr au fanfic #the royal romance #trr poly #liam rys #drake walker #riley brooks #the royal romance fanfic #angelasscribbles #trr #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #choices #the dark kingdom #dark romance #paranomal #paranormal romance

[icey--stars]

You Cuddled Me

Oh no... there's only one bed at the Inn and there's two of them...

↢ 『 ☾ 』 ↣

Day 2 of @azrisweek 2023 (Favorite Tropes)

a/n: look, ya’ll, my self control went out the window when i read the prompt and saw “enemies to lovers” and “only one bed.”

WARNINGS: mentions of domestic abuse and some slight spicy talk towards the end

{ ao3 } "i want to break these bones 'till they're better" series: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

↢ 『 ☾ 』 ↣

Why did everything seem to be falling apart right now? Eris seriously needed it to stop for just a few moments so he could get his bearings back. He was walking beside the shadowsinger of the Night Court after just almost draining his magic dry to let him and Azriel escape a Bogge. For some reason, the creature was on Autumn Court lands at the worst moment possible. They’d only just barely escaped that damned creature.

If I had my father’s powers already, then I would’ve been able to kill it, he thought.

Eris had been preparing to kill his father in one week and he’d been “traveling,” according to Beron for three. He’d actually been with the Night Court. Azriel was Rhysand’s way of a compromise instead of staying in Hewn City for those three weeks.

“Why won’t you let me winnow us?” Azriel asked again.

“Because we’re not,” Eris snapped. He wouldn’t stoop so low as to let the shadowsinger from the Night Court winnow him. He had far higher standards.

“It’d be better for you to regain your strength quicker in a bed rather than hiking lost through these forests,” Azriel argued.

“We are not lost,” Eris growled. “I know these woods like the back of my hand.”

“Where are we then?” Azriel quizzed, seemingly unable to believe Eris had memorized his own court.

“Just south of the Winter Court border. We’re traveling east, toward a village we can stay at for the night,” Eris answered. “Please have more faith in me, shadowsinger.”

Azriel huffed, his shadows swirling faster. Eris rolled his eyes and turned back to the familiar Autumn Court forests.

“We’re wasting time,” Azriel said.

“We’re not,” Eris argued.

“You have to kill your damned father in a week and you just spent all your magic on that Bogge.”

“And?” Eris prompted.

“Don’t you need to save your magic?”

“Even if I saved my magic for a century I wouldn’t be able to beat him. How much magic I have makes no difference, shadowsinger.”

“Then how the hell are you killing him?”

“By being smart,” Eris growled. “Apparently, you lack the skill to do that.”

“Or you lack any saneness,” Azriel muttered, his wings briefly spreading before resettling.

“You know, there’s a reason why I didn’t tell your friendly little High Lord how I was going to kill my father,” Eris drawled, sarcasm dripping from his tone. “He’d stop me in my tracks and force me into a plan that wouldn’t even work.”

“Enlighten me in your plans then.”

Eris sighed, rubbing his eyes as he stopped dead in his tracks and turned to face the Illyrian. “Do you really want to know or do you want to complain?”

Azriel paused, hands sliding into his pockets. He would look casual if it wasn’t for the shadows coiling up over his shoulders like asps preparing to strike. “Tell me,” the shadowsinger ordered.

He was positively the worst guard that Eris had ever had.

“Fine,” Eris relented. If only to shut him the hell up, he reasoned silently.

A small smile appeared on Azriel’s face in triumph, but Eris paid it no mind as he began to explain his plan. First, he’d enact the traditional Blood Duel for the crown. 

Azriel already dared to scoff. Eris gritted his teeth to stop himself from mentioning it. He’d make this power exchange traditionally or not at all. His citizens had to respect him.

The next step, during the Blood Duel, would be to put all his magic toward a shield when his father inevitably attempted to spear him through with fire. It would most likely occur further into the duel, which he would dodge and grit his teeth against burns. However, after that, his father would be more drained, as would he be. Eris was certain that he could beat Beron in one-on-one combat without magic. Weapons or not.

Beron would be able to choose the stakes of the duel if there were weapons or not, but Eris would decide the time. Eris already had at least a hundred allies in the Forest House that reported to him. The guards, the servants, his brothers… his mother. Beron wouldn’t expect the witnesses of the Blood Duel to take his side.

He knew Beron was already preparing for the day Eris challenged him, but Eris had been planning since he was ten years old, when Beron had first laid a hand on him with that damned whip.

He didn’t mention that part to Azriel.

When he finished his explanation, Azriel hummed thoughtfully and then began to walk again. Eris wasn’t even phased by the lack of reaction. It was a lot like the shadowsinger to show nothing.

They kept walking in silence after that.

When they were about an hour away from sunset and the village, Azriel finally spoke. “I suppose your plan might work. But you’ll have to be quick to anger him into ending it, because I doubt you can survive that long, and I doubt he’d not be able to see your plan. The power surge should save you once he’s dead.”

“I know,” Eris stated. And that was that.

Eventually, the lights of the town were in sight. By then, Eris was dragging his feet and only managing to stay upright because he didn’t want to seem weak in front of the Illyrian warrior beside him.

“What, are you going to demand entry to someone’s home or something?” Azriel asked, his expression looking mocking.

Eris rolled his eyes. “We’re not barbarians like your people,” he replied. “There’s a local Inn.”

Azriel looked about ready to jump him at that comment. Eris felt strangely proud for being able to rile up the silent shadowsinger so much.

“This way,” Eris merely said, walking off without a care. He was, however, keeping close attention to the sounds of Azriel’s footsteps on the crunchy leaves. The spymaster might be able to stay silent in other terrains, but Eris was suited quite well to the leafy floors of the Autumn Court. He knew how and where to step to stay silent if he wanted to. Azriel didn’t.

The Inn was close by and with the sun falling beneath the horizon, they made it inside just in time to avoid Azriel’s time of the day. Eris might be able to beat Azriel in the day on his land but at night? It’d be close.

“General,” the keeper immediately bowed his head. “And Spymaster of Night.”

Eris put on a smile that radiated ease. “We need two rooms for the night.”

The housekeeper gulped, looking down at the papers on the desk. “Uhm…” they hesitated.

“What?” Eris asked, narrowing his eyes.

“We only have one open room tonight I’m afraid…” the keeper said.

“Two beds works just as fine,” Eris settled.

“It’s- it’s just one bed.” The housekeeper sounded nervous and quiet. Eris took a deep breath and sighed. He was too exhausted to handle much of anything else this evening.

“Fine,” Eris sighed. He slid a silver over the counter as payment. “Keep the change.” The keeper swallowed, clearly uncomfortable, before coming around the corner to lead them both up the stairs, to a sharp left, and then on the last door, he opened it.

“Here you are, sirs,” The keeper said.

Eris waved him off and instead just entered the room, holding back a groan at the sight of the measly bed in the center. He knew this town was popular, as it was near one of the bigger cities and was perfect for people to stay, especially with a visiting circus in that city, but he didn’t expect all the rooms to be full.

“Right, how are we doing this shadowsinger?” Eris asked. He shifted his gaze to the room around them. Tiny. Enclosed. There was no room on the floor and the bathroom wasn’t much better. Eris was curious if the Illyrian would even be able to fit in the bathroom properly with those huge wings attached to his back.

Azriel hummed, eyeing the bed and then the floor.

“I should’ve just winnowed us,” Azriel said.

Eris took a breath through his nose, making sure it was audible to show his waning patience. “If you keep whining, shadowsinger, maybe it’ll annoy the people in the other rooms so much they’ll give us their room.”

“Stop being so sarcastic for once,” Azriel growled.

“Stop complaining,” Eris retorted.

Azriel groaned. “Fine,” he stated. “Fuck it. We’re grown males.”

“You have wings,” Eris said with a raised brow.

“I’ll manage.”

Eris hummed before making his way to the bathroom. “I’m taking the first shower, shadowsinger.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from the primping son of a High Lord.”

“Should I expect more from an Illyrian bastard?”

“You should’ve learned by now that insult doesn’t work on me.”

“Oh, you need a new insult?” Eris taunted. “How about Rhysand’s dog? You sit, you stay and you fetch when he asks. Even better, you attack when he says so.”

“Oh shut it and get in the damn shower.”

Eris smirked and slammed the door shut without an ounce of regret for the others in the room across from them. He unbelted his sword from his hip and went for the daggers he had next.

He bit his lip briefly when he realized he’d be going to bed weaponless, lying next to a trained Illyrian warrior. He’d just have to hope that Azriel truly was going to obey his master’s orders. He moved to get the iron armor that covered his upper chest and then the lighter leather armor under it and his boots. I really do need to get a new chest plate, he thought, remembering when he was quite literally skewered on the ice by Cassian.

Finally, he was left in some undershorts and a t-shirt, which he quickly took off and turned the shower on as hot as it would go. He undid the leather strap around his hair next and then turned to the shower.

He briefly flared his fire to heat his blood so the water wouldn’t burn him immediately, and then let it fade and let the water do the work for him. He ran a wet hand through his hair, sighing with frustration as he felt burrs and leaves stuck in them from his rolls with the Bogge.

He used the provided shampoo, conditioner, and body wash before getting out. He didn’t bother with the one towel provided and instead just dried himself off with the fire in his blood. He put his shorts and shirt on and carried his armor and weapons out of the bathroom, ignoring Azriel who seemed to be carefully scanning and counting each one. He set them down on the limited floor space just as Azriel went into the bathroom himself.

He sighed, tightening his hair into a bun to avoid as much touching with Azriel as he could. He sat down on the bed, sighing with brief frustration. It was just a night sleeping in the same bed as Azriel. He would be fine. Perfectly fine-

Azriel opened the door again, still wet and shirtless.

Eris blinked and turned back to face the opposite wall to hide his blush.

When did the Illyrian get so damn attractive? Seriously, that muscle looked unreal.

Eris had slept with a few males before. There were enough experiments he’d had that gave him something else to hide from his father. If Beron ever caught wind of the knowledge he preferred males in bed over females… he’d be strung up by a spear through his heart.

He shook his head clear of those thoughts and turned back toward Azriel with more confidence.

Azriel, however, must’ve noticed, because he was smirking like a fiend.

“I would’ve never guessed the heir of Autumn was attracted to males,” Azriel drawled. “Do you see something you like, little Eris?”

“I’m not little,” Eris snapped, and grit his teeth when he realized the potential double meaning behind his words. Damn the shadowsinger for seeing his weakness and exploiting it.

Azriel looked entirely too happy at the moment, adjusting his shorts lower on one side as he scratched at his hip.

“I don’t sleep with a shirt,” Azriel said. “Too annoying with the wings.”

Of course, he didn’t. Eris internally was telling himself to keep a straight face.

“How interesting that you’ve kept this little bit of yourself hidden,” Azriel continued as Eris attempted to ignore the hip bone and muscles on the Illyrian’s figure.

“Shut it,” Eris snapped.

“Why doesn’t anyone else know?”

Eris heard just a little bit of curiosity in the shadowsinger’s voice. He was honestly asking.

“The Autumn Court isn’t exactly friendly towards people like me,” Eris said. “In fact, people regularly laugh at Helion and Thesan for their preferences. Openly mocking at worst.”

“Damn this place is fucked up,” Azriel sighed, sitting on the bed, causing it to dip in his direction.

“Just shut up,” Eris growled. “You’ll be leaving soon anyway.”

“Unless you die,” Azriel mused. “Then I’ll be spying some more here.”

Eris rolled his eyes. “As if you don’t already do that.”

Azriel shot him a little smirk which told him that Azriel spied on the Autumn Court quite regularly.

“Of course,” Azriel drawled. “Perhaps I was expecting too much from the people who left Mor with a metal spike in her stomach.”

Eris’s fists closed tightly and he took a deep breath. Calm down, he scolded himself. “You would never understand the forces at play then, shadowsinger,” Eris retorted.

“Tell me then,” Azriel growled back.

“You wouldn’t believe me, so get under the damn covers and go to bed.”

“You first.”

Eris rolled his eyes and proceeded to slide under the covers, looking over at Azriel expectantly.

“I’ll turn off the lights,” Azriel muttered.

“Don’t bother,” Eris said. “They’re flames, I’ll extinguish them off when you manage to get comfortable.”

“Don’t you use faelights? And aren’t you out of magic?” Azriel asked, hesitantly getting under the covers.

“I’m not out. Just weaker. And we do,” Eris said. “But flame makes it so much easier for the High Fae around here.”

“Of course it does,” Azriel muttered under his breath and slid so the pillow was under his head. He was turned toward Eris’s side of the bed, his wings hanging partially over the edge so he didn’t have to get on Eris’s side of the bed. Eris sighed and slid down, the covers going under his arm and the other going under the pillow with a strategically placed dagger just in case.

He winked out the flame lights in the room then and waited in tense silence, listening to Azriel’s breaths.

Eris sighed and tried to focus on his thoughts– not the killer behind him.

He had to quell that attraction to Azriel quickly, he told himself. Azriel hated him. He had to control himself as well. He must be losing his edge if he was blushing at the sight of Azriel without a shirt. It was just another male, he scolded himself, he didn’t need to react so strongly. He’s only the hottest male you’ve ever seen.

Internally, he growled at himself for that comment.

Soon enough, he found his mind’s wandering beginning to fall into nothing. Azriel’s breaths were slowed behind him and with that, he fell asleep.

-----

The first thought that occurred to him when he awoke to the sun’s light in his eyes, was that he was eternally grateful that he didn’t have a nightmare.

The next was that there was a muscled, naked chest in front of him and arms wrapped over his body, and his own arms wrapped around the waist of the male as well. What’s even worse is that he felt so safe like this.

The soft breathing above him was so peaceful.

The final thought that he had was the most jarring. He was fucking cuddling with Azriel. In bed. Cauldron boil him alive, when in the night had they wrapped themselves around each other? When had the lapse in his control occurred?

He took a deep breath, shifting slightly. The other male also moved, his hold on Eris briefly tightening before relaxing when Eris stopped moving.

Fucking hell, he swore silently. He had to get up now. He had to stop them both from being so embarrassed they couldn’t even look at each other without blushing.

He prepared himself internally for the argument he was about to start before pushing at Azriel’s chest with a snarl that was only partially for play.

“Damned brute,” he growled as Azriel startled awake. Eris continued, “Couldn’t stop yourself from wrapping around the only warmth in the bed, could you?”

Azriel sat up immediately, blushing bright red.

Well, I failed that part, Eris thought.

Azriel schooled his face after a moment into cold-hearted fury. “More like you searching for something to wrap your arms around. I bet you still sleep with stuffed animals.”

He did. Sometimes. He’d forced himself into hugging pillows or his dogs instead, but on occasion, he still took out that little stuffed fox his mother got him when he was young. But nobody would ever know that. Definitely not Azriel.

“More like you do,” Eris retorted, standing from the bed. “You were definitely the first to do it.”

Azriel scowled. “As if. You kept ogling my muscles last night, so you were definitely the first.”

Eris leaped on the bed again, attempting to pin Azriel to the mattress. Alas, when you try to pin the Illyrian warrior who weighs more than you with your hair unbound, you normally find yourself pinned.

Azriel pressed a knee into the small of his back, yanking his head back by his hair. Eris let out a small yelp, straining against the weight on his back with his arms to try and turn. The dagger he’d put under his pillow was on the ground with the leather strap for his hair. Damn it, wonderful, he thought.

“I bet you bottom for all those males you’ve been with,” Azriel growled into his ear while yanking his head back more. Eris snarled, attempting to turn around and punch the male on top of him.

“Get the fuck off of me,” Eris growled.

“What a brat,” Azriel chuckled, and released him. Eris immediately turned and tried to leap at the Illyrian. Azriel grabbed both of his forearms to pin him on his back now.

“You’re annoying,” Azriel mused. “Can’t you just relax?”

“You’re the one who cuddled me in your sleep!” Eris accused.

Azriel rolled his eyes. “We cuddled with each other, get over it. Or have you managed that little contact with others that cuddling is a foreign concept?”

“As if the spymaster of the Night Court is any better,” Eris grit out, attempting to get his knee up to get Azriel between his legs. A dirty trick, but he needed the male off of him before he did something very impulsive.

“I’ll have you know, I have managed to find people to warm my bed. Unlike you apparently. Are you that poor at flirting?”

He most definitely was not. He just didn’t want his damned father to get any stupid ideas from the rumors.

“Tell me,” Azriel said with a deep tone sending a flicker of arousal up his spine. “Are you the one getting flirted on?”

“No,” Eris growled.

Azriel smirked. “You’re cute.”

Eris blinked in surprise. Even the shadowsinger himself seemed surprised by the words that’d escaped him. He swallowed, suddenly feeling the hands holding his forearms a bit too much and the muscled body holding him down. He gritted his teeth to try and control himself and his scent.

Azriel’s face widened into a smirk. “You’re a pretty little liar aren’t you?”

“Shut the fuck up and let me up,” Eris snarled. “Or I’ll burn you.” He let a little fire flare at his fingertips.

Azriel regarded the flame with a bit of nervousness before looking at Eris. “I’m afraid that’d be failing the little bargain you have with the Night Court. You kill me, you can’t kill your dear old father.”

“I most certainly can-”

“Just shut up,” Azriel growled. “I can smell you, you know.”

Eris blanched, his face becoming an even lighter shade than it was.

“You know,” Azriel hummed, “It might not be known, but I’m quite into males myself.”

Eris’s lips thinned as he stared up at Azriel.

Something in the air seemed to snap and Azriel leaned down, pushing his lips onto Eris’s forcefully.

Eris didn’t fight it and instead relaxed, closing his eyes as he groaned into the kiss.

Fucking hell, he thought. What an interesting beginning of the day.

Azriel brushed his tongue along the seam of Eris’s lips and he readily opened them.

Azriel pulled away with a wide smirk. And that smile was the end of Eris’s impulse control.

↢ 『 ☾ 』 ↣

TAGLIST (see post for getting added)

Tagged in all ACOTAR Stories: @bunnymallowo, @officiallyunofficialperson, @margssstuff, @rebloggiest-reblogger, @inpraizeof, @graciereads, @eos-princess,

Tagged in all Azriel Stories: @ladylokilaufeyson5, @marina468,

(please let me know if you'd rather not be tagged in Azris Week or if you'd like to be tagged!!)

also, day 3 will be skipped due to the fact it hated being written :)

#azrisweek2023 #azris supremacy #azris #azriel #eris vanserra #azriel x eris #eris x azriel #eris acotar #azriel shadowsinger #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic

[mako-neexu]

Can I please hear more about number 2, the Stormborder windowsill?

hello! thank you for the ask! this is about ritsuka celebrating romani's birthday each year and requests time alone from everyone. this is in the perspective of goredolf though and i wanted to try writing him for a while now hehe

-

Goredolf hummed with approval and satisfaction. The cake he baked truly was the highlight of his day, he thought as he walked down the hallways after leaving his dish with the servants in charge of today’s kitchen.

Perhaps, he should do it more often. To bake more desserts and receive praise- Suddenly, there was a chill down his spine.

Oh, Lord-

“I-I won’t actually do it, Toole! Rather, I’d only do it once every two weeks! My technical advisor did put me on a diet and training regimen, so I deserve a little break, right?!” He muttered under his breath. Even to this day, he hasn't forgotten about her teachings…

The man stopped in his tracks as he saw a familiar figure sitting by the window sill of the ship.

It was Fujimaru.

Straightening his back and quietly clearing his throat, he walked forwards in an attempt to seemingly pass by.

Yet, as he grew closer, he couldn’t help but notice how… sad her eyes looked.

“-And then Mandricardo used Durandal to save us.” She played with her cake as she smiled. Yet that smile both held joy and sorrow, an ache that had Goredolf pausing with his breath held.

Who was she talking to, he wondered? While there are many Servants who could use presence concealment… Goredolf felt as if… there was no one there at all.

No one but Ritsuka and a companion only she knows.

“After that, Orion finally put Artemis to rest and we defeated Poseidon with a little help from Jason.” Her fork punctured through the strawberry, bringing it to her lips before settling back down on top of the slice of cake.

She sighed with that same sad smile, “I’ll hold off on what happened next so I don’t talk your ears off.” Her chuckle was quiet and low, yet genuine…the way she expressed herself was simply filled with fondness.

He felt awkward. It was likely that Fujimaru was talking to someone she had lost before the lostbelt ordeal, but it wasn’t clear just who that dear person was.

The girl who smiled so cheerfully and kindly was wavering and melancholy in this empty hallway void of people.

Goredolf had a sudden urge to pat her back and tell her that everything was going to be okay, even as things would get worse the more they moved forward. 

He sighed. Perhaps he should stay in the command room for a bit so she could have some privacy.

But those plans were thrown out the window the moment muted footsteps were heard behind him.

He turned to see who they were and found Mash Kyrielight waving. “Hello, Director.”

The blond man brought a finger to his lips and gestured to the Master laughing quietly to herself and in front of the untouched cake before her.

“Oh.” The demi servant says, her eyes drooping down as well, “It’s that time of the year again.”

“What?” He asked, his heart pounding in concern and anxiety, “What time?”

“Well, it’s-” She looked to the side and bit her lip. 

And Goredolf didn’t miss the way Mash’s eyes seemed to shine so suddenly. 

She swallowed and gripped the sleeve of her jacket, “It’s Dr. Roman’s birthday.”

#fgo #fate grand order #romani archaman #fujimaru ritsuka #guda #gudako #mash kyrielight #goredolf musik #ask

[frenziedslashers]

Thomas Hewitt walking in on his S/O crying because Hoyt was specially degrading that day after they froze in place while a victim was making a run for it? They do not do so in front of him out of fear that he will feel uncomfortable or he will leave them. Please and thank you 💕

Thanks for the ask! Sorry I haven't been posting as much. College and Work have been a lot lately lmao. Hope you enjoy this :)

Thomas Hewitt comforting S/O:

Thomas hadn’t seen where you ran off to after the victim had taken off out the front door. She was a scrawny thing. About 5’4, with golden blonde hair. Green eyes that Hoyte seemed to take a liking to, but she was fast. Lord, could she run. Thomas had noticed you just stand there and stare. He couldn’t tell if you were envying her attempt at escaping, or if you were just stunned. He had noticed the girl shove you into a wall before bolting, and that was one of the main reasons Thomas insisted he is the one to break her legs and hang her from a hook. He could be insulted or beaten day and night. He wouldn’t care. The moment you were even being glanced at in a threatening way, all he could see was red. 

It wasn’t long before all of that was handled. Thomas was dragging her back by the hair and you could hear the screams of the girl. Pleading and shouting with the man you grew to love. You wished you could have done more than just stand there. That there was something you could have done to stop her, but it was so hard to do something when you didn’t know what could be done. 

“I can’t believe you nearly let them get away! What are you, stupid? You good for nothing piece of shit!” Hoyte screamed. It only made you feel more upset. Each insult passed through your ears only fed the thought that maybe you were good for nothing. That may be the only reason you were alive was that you somehow swept Thomas off his feet. Not because they saw potential in you like you were first told. Though mostly Mama told you that, Hoyte hated you from the start. You weren’t family. Why should he like you?

Thomas had found you in your shared room. You were curled up on the floor beside the bed. Knees tucked up to your chest while you cried. You were being sure not to make any noise, too afraid that Hoyte would hear you and hurt you. Or that Thomas would hear and think he did something wrong. He won’t think you did anything wrong. A little voice in your head told you. It was true, too, but you couldn’t help but worry. Those thoughts were even louder than the softer voice in your head. So loud you hardly even heard your lover shuffle over to your side and kneel beside you. 

His large hands on your body - one on your back and the other on your knee closest to him - made you jolt. You weren’t expecting the touch, nor did you really want to be touched right now. A part of you thought it was Hoyte there to kill you, but when your eyes met Tommy’s soft gaze. You knew you were safe. 

He nudged you as if to ask what was going on, and you hardly knew if you had the heart to tell him. You knew that Hoyte was an ass, and you knew that Tommy knew it as well. Was it really worth having Thomas mad at his family for it though? Maybe Hoyte was right, hell, you pretty much believed it now. 

‘Hoyte?’ He signed, and your whimper confirmed it. You could see the fire in his eyes. The look that told you he wanted to break something. Or even kill someone. He would kill someone for you, anyone. All you had to do was ask and he’d do it. He didn’t care if it was Hoyte, you were his everything. You meant more to him than family at this point, because you were family to him. He wanted to spend his dying days with you by his side. 

“Tommy, it was my own fault. I froze up when that girl ran, I was confused. Hoyte was a little mean when he got on me about it, but I shouldn’t have frozen up.” Thomas shook his head with a huff. He didn’t even want you helping with the victims they got, let alone being yelled at about it. Hoyte knew that he didn’t want you exposed to any of that either. You were supposed to be helping Mama, not being blamed for something that was really Hoyte’s fault. 

He scrambled for a piece of paper to write on for you. His refusal and inability to talk made it hard to translate emotions, but the way he was scribbling and abusing the paper you knew he was furious. ‘He let her go, it wasn’t you. He was the idiot,’ He wrote down. “I know, but I could have stopped her.” He shook his head again, he wasn’t hearing you out one bit. “No,” He huffed. Though it was more a grunt, that’s what it translated to. 

You knew you weren’t going to get anywhere with Thomas. He was a stubborn man, but it was so hard to hear him through your own thoughts sometimes. Especially with the constant nagging from Hoyte. 

‘Would I lie?’ You read on the next sheet of paper that he passed to you. ‘Its not your falt.’ He wrote, and you smiled a little. His spelling was a bit off, but you knew he meant what he wrote with all his heart. A tear rolled down your cheek when you leaned on him and his arm came to wrap around your body. For such a giant man, who you knew could snap your bones like sticks. He was always so gentle with you. So perfect. 

He knew that he had to do something with Hoyte. He just wasn’t sure what that could be. Whether it be ushering you away from the crimes he and his family committed and making you sit in the house with Luda. Or fighting the old man for doing such things to you. Even if it was just verbal abuse, Thomas knew firsthand how it could affect a person. He wasn’t about to let any of this slide either, but right now he was there for you. Making sure that you were safe and all right with him. 

He smiled when you kissed his chin. Nodding his head when you thanked him for his kindness. The moment that you started moving he was moving as well. Helping the both of you onto the bed so he could hold you while the two of you lay there for the night. 

“You’re so good to me,” he only smiled. Resting his forehead against your own. “So handsome too.” He rolled his eyes a bit with a grin. You always knew how to make his stomach flutter and his face heat up. He didn’t know what he’d do without you. 

#thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #anon #slasher x reader

[alasse-earfalas]

[deletes entirety of previous post] you know what screw it imma just post the entire first chapter to entice you all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You know who I am, don’t you?” 

Batreaux’s smile faltered. “I’m, not sure what you mean? You’re Link, the human who helped me become one.” 

Link shook his head. “I mean before. Before Skyloft.” 

“Before…?” Batreaux wrung his hands together nervously. “Well, I… I suppose, that, you, do resemble, someone, from, well…” His shoulders dropped. With a plaintive look he sat beside Link. After a moment of thoughtful quiet, he attempted a smile and said, “If it, makes you feel any better, I… I couldn’t recognize you.” 

“You recognize me now?” 

Batreaux wrung his hands some more. “Well, you’re older now, and, you were much taller then, so…” He sighed. “Link, I try to not look to our pasts. It was a dark, terrible time, and you and I both did some dark, terrible things.” He put a hand on Link’s shoulder. “We are who we are now, not then. You are my friend. You are Link, husband to Gaepora’s daughter, devoted to your wife and a loving father to your little ones. You are strong and kind and good. Charitable. A friend to those in need.” 

Link swallowed. “Have I ever told you that I’ve wanted to kill myself since I was a boy?” 

Batreaux gasped. “Link, no!” 

Link looked away from him. “I always felt like there was something wrong with me, some inner darkness that I… just couldn’t shake. And now I know why.” 

“You should be proud of that,” said Batreaux. “It means you’ve truly changed. You’re a greater man now than you ever were then.” 

“Greater,” Link echoed scornfully. “Tell me, does a ‘greater man’ go to any lengths necessary to—” he faltered, “—murder his own brothers?” 

Batreaux scoffed. “Hardly worthy to be called your brothers, with what they did to you. Not to mention how they treated the rest of us. I’d call your scheming against them a liberation plot, if anything.” He smiled briefly, but it faded when he saw that it had no effect. “You, do know why you changed, don’t you?” 

Link shook his head. “Besides scheming to get my hands on the Triforce by any means necessary, no. Not really.” 

“You did it for us,” said Batreaux. “For monsters who wanted to leave the demon tribe, but, didn’t know we could. When you didn’t kill Hylia—” Batreaux caught his misstep, but continued anyway. “—even though you could have, even though the other Demon Lords wanted you to, demanded that you do it—when you chose to spare her, that sent a message to the rest of us. We didn’t have to follow the evil that made us! We could make our own choices, become something new! Yes, Hylia’s grace made the initial transformations possible, but you’re the one who inspired us to want to become something different, to become the first humans. You’re our hero—” He choked up. “You’re my hero, Link. You’re the reason humanity exists, the reason any of us thought we could change at all. That’s who you are, who you’ve always been. Please, my friend, don’t ever forget that.” 

Link chewed on his friend’s words. Leaned into the open arm that was offered him. “Thank you.” 

After some time they parted ways, each returning to his home. Link walked in his front door to find Zelda wrestling with the triplets and trying (without much success) to herd the rest of them. 

“Daddy!” one of the children cried, and began a stampede of little feet in his direction. Link laughed and offered himself as the family jungle gym, meeting Zelda’s grateful eyes a few times. “Have you been giving your mom trouble? Huh?” He grabbed one of them and blew a raspberry on him. 

His little boy squealed in delight. “No!” he insisted. 

“Oh really? Maybe I should ask your mom about that.” 

“No!” he cried with a giggling smile. 

Later on when the kids were in bed, Link watched his wife change into her bedclothes. He grabbed her blouse off the floor when she dropped it, his heart warmed by the way it draped over her rounded belly. 

“You were melancholic this morning,” she whispered. “Is everything alright?” 

Link gazed into his lover’s eyes. Brushed a calloused hand down her cheek. “I remember when your eyes were gold,” he replied. 

He was surprised at her reaction. “How could… How do you know that?” 

So she didn’t remember. He was relieved. He exhaled softly and kissed her forehead. “Thank you,” he whispered, for a million reasons he wouldn’t name. 

“Link?” 

He took her hands in his, pressed their palms together. “I don’t want you to remember,” he said. “Not until this adventure is through. I am your Link; you are my Zelda. That’s all I care about now.” 

Still with a worried look, she pressed into him for a hug. He wrapped his arms around her. 

“I remember when yours were red.” 

Link swallowed hard and clutched her tighter. “For how long?” 

“Does it matter? You’re my Link. I’m your Zelda. We don’t need our old names anymore.” 

Link remembered his. “Heretic,” he whispered. 

Zelda looked into his eyes. “Hylia,” she whispered back. 

It was a relief to hear her say it. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers. 

“Now can we forget about them and go back to living our life, as it is now?” 

He nodded. Hands either side of her abdomen, thinking of their children, how much he loved each and every one of them, and how dearly he loved his wife. He thought of the friends he had: Groose, Fledge, Pipit, Batreaux, the entire community of Skyloft. This life was a happy one, and it was his. Built up over time by fate and his own decisions. 

Maybe Batreaux was right. Maybe he really had changed.

“I love you.” 

“I love you too.” 

They shared a warm kiss, then crawled under the covers and fell asleep. 

[chapter 2]

#legend of zelda #writing #alasse writes #first hero #first link #first hero link #fierce deity link #fierce deity #skyward sword #zelink #ss zelink #hylia's chosen hero #loz hylia #goddess hylia #hylia #fierce deity x hylia #lu sky

[thelargefrye]

Fake titles:

- Project Moon

- Temptation

- Fallen angel

PROJECT MOON

pairing : priest!yeosang x f!reader genre : ancient greece & rome inspired, romance, smut warnings : language, y/n works at a brothel, some fake religious talk i guess (this is a fantasy world so take that as how you will), poor attempt at worldbuilding

smut warnings : unprotected sex, choking, cumplay

you felt your heartbeat beat rapidly in your ears as you walked up the stone stairs that took you to the kingdom's main shrine. you felt your palms begin the sweat, the closer you got to the shrine. mainly because you knew who would be there waiting for you.

once you reached the top of the stone stairs, you seen him almost immediately waiting for you. kang yeosang, the kingdom's head priest, who worked to serve the goddess.

"my beautiful flower," he greets you once you are in arms length of him. you bow in return, eyes remaining to ground. kang yeosang is a beautiful man with many saying he's perhaps a god himself, coming to judge humanity and to see if they are worthy to continue living on this earth.

"my, my, why aren't you saying anything flower? do i amaze you that much," he's teasing you now. as he always does when he sees you. you look up to met his eyes and find that he is smiling softly at you. "that's much better. you always did have such beautiful eyes, flower."

"thank you, my lord," you say politely making yeosang laugh.

"it's just us, no need to be so proper, flower," he says before offering his hand to you. "shall we go ahead and begin?"

the room was silent except for the continuous sounds of skin slapping against skin. along with the occasional gasp and moan leaving your lips as yeosang hits your sweet spot from below or his groans when you tighten around him, squeezing his cock nicely.

"f-fuck flower, have you gotten tighter since we last met? do those drunk bastards at the brothel not fuck you well enough?" he asks as he watches your breast bounce up and down as you ride him.

his hands roam all over your body as you grind down on his cock, allowing it to fill you up nicely and stretch you out. yeosang has always been one cock that you enjoy having over and over again. visiting him was rare with several long months going by between each visit, so you try your best to drag out these sessions for as long as you can. never knowing when he will want you again or if he will.

"my beautiful flower, you take me s-so well, fuck, so, so well," he says as his hands come up to grab your breast, he pinches your nipples making you let out a cry as you throw your head back.

"y-yeosang! my lord, that feels so good, your cock is filling me up so well," you tell him as your hands rest on his well defined abdomen in order to ride him at a much faster pace.

his hands continue roam your body, groping you as how he pleases before one of his hands come up to wrap around your throat. he gives your neck a good squeeze and you feel your eyes rolling to the back of your head at the feeling of him controlling how much air you get.

his other hand travels down to your swollen clit and he happily begins to draw quick figure-eights around your clit making your hips jerk up at the stimulation.

"holy- fucking shit! that... that feel so good, p-please don't... don't stop," you sound like a stuttering mess and you're not even really sure what you are saying anymore at this point. all you know is that yeosang is making you feel good and that your climax is soon approaching.

"are you going to come, my flower?" he asks and you nod your head when he gives your throat a light squeeze. "are you going to let me come inside you? let me bless you with my seed?"

"yes! yes! yeosang, please bless me!" you say as your continues to move as fast as they can. however, before you can think, you are turned over onto your back with your legs pressed into your chest.

yeosang continues thrusting into you at a ruthless pace, his otherwise polite and soft demeanor now good in place of seemingly fucking machine. you can hear just how wet your pussy is as he drills into you and the sudden change in position and pace is what eventually brings you over the edge.

you come with a cry to the priest's name and before long he is stilling inside you, filling you up with his seed.

yeosang remains inside of you for a few moments before he is slowly pulling out and you do well to hold your legs in place so he can watch his cum slowly spill out of you.

"my precious flower, you have been blessed with my seed and you have made the goddess happy with your body. just know that the goddess will bless you with a gift when the time is right," he says as he scoops his cum up and spreads it over your pussy, stomach, breast, and finally your tongue.

yeosang kisses you, happily allowing the taste of himself to enter his mouth before he is pulling away. you take a quick moment to admire yeosang's built body before he is dressing himself in his robes again. he looks at you with a smile and helps you with your dress before he is walking you to the entrance of the temple and bidding you farewell.

send me a fake title and i'll show you what i would write for it

#ateez imagines #ateez blurbs #ateez x reader #ateez smut #ʚ・◞🍥 // ask game.

[wellthebardsdead]

The loved & the forgotten pt28

Part 27 here

———

Vivienne: *wrapped only in a sheet after waking to the commotion and his husbands both running out of the bedroom* c-can you at least move your leg?!

The lurker blocking the door: *groans and nudges him back into the manor with its leg*

Vivienne: *huffs and peers past it’s other one to see voryn and nerevar both step into view before the lurker suddenly stands aside, and Taliesin walks past it* l-love what’s going on out there? I-

Taliesin: *gently scoops him up bridal style* shhh, don’t worry yourself over it darling. Voryn and nerevar have this covered. *smiles reassuringly at him as he carries him back down the steps to their room*

Vivienne: don’t worry?? I woke up to the ground shaking, miraak shouting, mannimarco crying, and you and Kaidan running out of the house with your weapons drawn!! I watched inigo get flung past the door before the lurker blocked me from leaving! Please tell me what’s happened? I want to-

Taliesin: *lays him on the bed and unfurls the sheet as he leans down pressing his lips to his, his dark hair draping over the pillows and tangling with Vivienne’s soft white locks* Please darling… it’s our wedding night. We’ll talk about it in the morning once voryn and nerevar know what’s going on…

Vivienne: *face flushed staring up at his husband* you- you don’t know who attacked? It was an attack right-

Taliesin: *silences him with another kiss* no, I don’t know who they were. But voryn didn’t seem bothered by them, nor did nerevar. Please my love, don’t worry yourself over it…

Kaidan: *steps into the room wiping himself clean with a wet towel* Voryn and the guards are handling it now, they think it’s just a group of reavers that thought our place would be a good target. *tosses the towel aside and walks to the bed, smoothing his hand up Taliesins back and tucking his hair to the side as he reaches his neck, planting a soft kiss there before laying on the bed and giving vivienne a kiss too* are you alright love?…

Vivienne: *blinks hearing the tone to their voices and realising they’re both telling the truth* I… yes, just… just startled I think… *reaches up his hands gently pulling Taliesin down for another kiss before pulling Kaidan in for one too* I was scared it was something worse…

Kaidan: *smiles kissing his cheek* hey, no matter how bad it might be, I know we can take ‘em~

Taliesin: *chuckles and lays beside them both* don’t encourage him ro run into trouble again~

Vivienne: *pouts* I said I’d stop doing that… intentionally at least…

*meanwhile outside*

Miraak: *dismissing his lurkers and seekers before heading back inside after the others to comfort mannimarco knowing full well the state the high elfs still in*

Nerevar: *watching him go* should we ask him to keep some of those beasts active until we’re certain the stragglers are taken care of? *glances back at voryn as the remaining cultists are thrown before his feet*

Voryn: *face bearing a stoic expression as he stares down at the mer before him, his assassins forcing them to their knees and holding their heads back by their hair to face him* no need… *quietly sizes each one up before settling on the one in the middle and gesturing to his men, smirking slightly as they cut the throats of all the cultists minus them* judging by your armour and defiant disposition im inclined to believe you’re the one heading this operation, this, plan, to attack the home of my student and attempt to kidnap him? Rape him? Murder him? All because you believe him to be vivec? Correct?…

Cultist: *bloodied and bruised but glaring up at him with a defiant hatred in his eyes as he spits at him* how dare you speak to me whore! We came here to save him from you! From the bastard who dethroned our lord and claims himself king! We’ll return him to his rightful seat of power! The tribunal will rise again and we’ll dance on your corpses as we cut your faces of-

Nerevar: *watches his head roll away slowly after cutting it off* …

Voryn: … *nods to his assassins, dismissing them before walking to nerevars side and smiling as the Hortator pulls him into his arms by his waist* shhh. It’s alright my lo-

Nerevar: *cuts him off with a deep and strong kiss, pulling away only after he’s sure he’ll leave voryn breathless* I won’t allow anybody to speak of you like that…

Voryn: *panting softly and following after his lips as he pulls away from him* it’s fine love… I was more insulted of what he said of you… and more concerned on their intent towards vivienne… *glances over watching captain Veleth and his men clean up the bodies* captain, have your men found anything noteworthy on their bodies?

Captain Veleth: not yet my lord. I’ll inform you once we do. We’ll work to get this cleaned up before the morning.

Nerevar: *nods* thank you captain… *looks up at voryn before gently ushering him back to the councillors estate* what do we tell vivienne?…

Voryn: the truth… he’s still in danger.

#voryn dagoth #nerevar #vivienne dragonborn #Kaidan skyrim #skyrim taliesin

[joy-of-life88]

Damian Priest x Reader ONE SHOT

First published on Wattpad August 12, 2023

"Damian, could we have a word? We just witnessed how the Judgment Day savagely attacked Edge once again. But yet again, it didn't work out the way you and your mates thought it would. The WWE Universe is curious what you have to say about this.

Why are all your attempts to ultimately take over Monday Night Raw failing? Do you think maybe you were a little too cocky? What are your plans?" I asked Damian backstage.

It was my job to do these interviews and yes, it was part of asking questions that you knew would piss off the wrestlers. That's what the producers wanted to see. Normally it was hard for me to be a little mean. But in the case of Priest, it came easily to me.

He was irritated with me and I was irritated with him. Why exactly? I don't know. Really... I didn't have a clue. We just didn't get along. He seemed a little too full of himself. And I wasn't sure that was just the character he was portraying. I also didn't want to spend more time than necessary with him to find out if I was possibly wrong.

It was better that way. I swear, if he called me spoiled princess one more time, blood would flow. I was so sick of people thinking I was only here because my dad was on the board of the WWE. Hell, I didn't even like my father. And he had nothing to do with why I got this job. That had totally different reasons.

"Well princess... if you understood a little bit more about our business, you would know that you won't get far here if you don't make enemies. We want to get to the top and no matter how long it takes... the Judgment Day will rise above all.

Mark my words, Y/N... even if it's hard for you. We have just begun to spread fear and terror. And anyone who doesn't get out of our way will get knocked out of the way." he replied, and then someone behind the camera said Cut.

"As always a displeasure to work with you, Princess. Now go make yourself useful on your knees somehow." he mocked.

It was probably meant to be funny, but he was talking to the wrong person about that.

"Fuck you, you arrogant asshole. Get the fuck out of my face. I'm getting a headache just thinking about your voice," I retorted.

"I bet you'd like that. But I know what you're really up to.... It's probably been an hour since you demolished that last piece of cake. Hence the headache." He laughed and then left.

-----------------------------

Damian POV

"Why the hell are you always so rotten towards Y/N? What did she ever do to you?" asked Rhea to me.

"Nothing... I just can't stand her and her attitude. And it's not like she's holding back." I replied as we walked further down the hall.

"You're both fucking awful. You bicker like little kids. If I had to guess, I'd say you're attracted to her," Rhea said.

"What makes you think that? She's not my type at all. I don't go for chubby girls with attitude problems. She seriously thinks she's God's gift to manhood," I explained.

"What are you talking about? She's gorgeous. My God so she's got a few more pounds on her than those skinny bitches. Who cares? I think you're not telling me what it really is.... I think you can't stand that she doesn't put up with your shit. Not even on camera." she replied.

"Oh please.... I don't know... She just rubs me the wrong way." I said.

"I bet you'd like her to rub you the right way." she then smirked.

"Not in a million years." i snorted.

"You know... One of these days I'm going to lock you in a room and not let you out until after you talk.

---------------------------------

"Good lord! Can you maybe just do your job? It's not that hard! I'll ask the questions and you answer." growled Y/N as we tried to film a segment for next week.

"I would if you were capable of formulating reasonable questions," I replied in a deep voice.

"Maybe I should just formulate it so you can comprehend it..." she muttered.

And so it went on for another half hour until we finally managed to come up with something decent. I could tell the producer wasn't happy with either of us.

I was walking back to the dressing room when Rhea intercepted me and asked me to follow her. She went into a secluded part of the arena where some empty storage rooms were. She opened the door and practically shoved me inside.

"Rhea what are you doing? I thought you wanted to talk?" I heard Y/N's voice.

"Talking is going to happen. You will talk to each other. In order that you finally get along with each other. It's annoying how you treat each other. Work it out." she said and closed the door behind her.

For a while it was silent. Neither of us said a word. I leaned against the wall next to the door while she wandered up and down the room with her arms crossed over her chest.

"Go ahead, talk," I said at one point.

"I have nothing to say to you." replied Y/N.

"Didn't expect any other way.... If you don't have time to write down the questions beforehand, you can't think of anything." I said.

"Oh he's such a smart one! You can't think of anything new to insult me with. I'm too tired for Rhea's attempt to make friends out of us." she replied.

"As if I ever wanted to be friends with you..." I muttered.

"Yes, because God forbid you should find out that I have brains and not just tits," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Well, if the shoe fits. But I bet you have a lot of talents that require your other body parts." I laughed.

"So that's what you think? That I'm a slut? Are you offended that I've never offered it to you before?" she asked aloud.

"Oh please... I bet you're not as good as you think you are," I continued laughing.

I just couldn't take her seriously. Even though I just saw the tiniest bit of hurt on her face.

"You know what? I'm going to shut you up once and for all. You think I'm a slut? Here you go, so be it." she then growled and came towards me with quick steps.

I had no idea what she was up to, but suddenly she was in front of me, pushing against my shoulder until my back was pinned firmly against her wall.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Proving a point." she replied and before I knew it she had already opened my pants and pulled them down a bit along with my underwear. 

"Woah, woah, woah! Have you lost your mind?" I wanted to know when she already took my cock in her hand and started rubbing me.

I put my hands on her shoulders as I tried to push her off me.

"Hands off." she commanded in a tone I didn't recognize from her.

And at this point... I could no longer resist. Her hands moved faster and faster in a way that blew my mind. Never in my life had a woman jerked me off like that. My breathing became rapid as I looked into her eyes. She cupped my balls and massaged them gently at first, then harder.

"See? You're just like any other man... Powerless when you're being grabbed by the balls. No matter how big your mouth was before. You're pathetic, Damian. Look at you... Being pleasured by a spoiled princess you can't stand. When all you had to do was say the word.... No... or Stop." she said softly and seductively.

And although her words were insulting, they were somehow arousing.

I watched as she stuck a thumb in her mouth and licked it before running that very thumb over my tip.

"So desperate for attention.... With no regard for anyone else's feelings or past. You need to learn that there are consequences." She continued almost in a whisper as her hands continued to work on me.

"What do you mean?" I gasped, very close to coming.

At that moment Y/N let go of me, yanked open the door and marched out of the room, leaving me just like that. Exposed and very unsatisfied. And on top of that, confused and frustrated.

#damian priest #wwe #archer of infamy #live forever #wattpad #my writing #wwe one shot

[insertpoetryhere]

Dadbastian Week: Proud

What? Me? A day late?

... yeah.

It's fine, double entry.

Anyways this is for @dadbastianweek2023 , apologies for the late entry!

Pride is Not the Word I'm Looking For.

Preparations for dinner were cut short by Finney rushing in through the kitchen door and staring at Sebastian, suddenly pale and at a loss for words despite his dramatic entrance.

A bad omen, if you will.

“... Do you need something?” Sebastian prompted, his attention no longer on the potatoes and now fully pointed towards the young gardener.

Finney swallowed hard. “... Promise you won’t be angry?”

Another bad omen.

It was around then that Sebastian began to think much more critically about a quality of the manor that he had actually been pleased by up until that point; The past few hours had been unusually quiet. No “Sebastian I need my shoes tied” or “Sebastian I want cake”. Obviously, he had thought nothing of it. With the fiscal quarter ending, he has assumed his young lord was busy tending to the finances and simply hadn’t needed his assistance. After all, the last place Sebastian had seen him was in his study, nearly hidden behind a stack of papers.

“... Finney, where is the Young Master?” Sebastian asked, now fully putting the kitchen knife down.

Finney bit his lip nervously, which was all Sebastian needed to know. He ripped off his apron, leaving the vegetables on the counter as is.

“Lead the way.”

---

At first, he thought Finney would lead him to the garden. But then they passed the garden. The greenhouse perhaps? No, they passed that too. Stables? Of course not.

Much to Sebastian’s displeasure, Finney seemed to be leading him directly towards the woods. Now, Sebastian was not infallible by any means. Even demons have faulty memories on occasion. But he did specifically recall telling Ciel to not go into the wooded area that surrounds the manor without adequate supervision.

“Adequate supervision” meant Sebastian. He was not, under any circumstances, in any capacity, meant to go into these woods without Sebastian. He was fairly sure he had said so daily over the past three (nearly four) years; “Young Master, do not go in the woods without my supervision.”

The only thing keeping Sebastian semi-calm was the fact that he could still sense Ciel’s soul. Which at the very least meant he wasn’t dead. Just to make sure that his senses hadn’t failed him, Sebastian snuck a peak under his glove to check on the contract seal.

Nope, still there. Definitely not dead.

This still didn’t rule out the options of stabbed, shot, mauled, or maimed. Though he didn’t smell blood, which eased some of those concerns.

He had an itemized list of horrible things that he could be walking into. But what he actually saw was… not on that list.

In fact he saw nothing at all at first.

“I said get help!” The familiar voice made Sebastian look up.

That was… not what he was expecting.

He was in a net. Specifically, one of the traps he had Bard set up around the wooded area. He had told him the traps were for animals, which wasn’t exactly a lie. By definition, human assassins were classified as animals that he did not want getting too close to the manor. Though he had thought he had gotten rid of all of them after seeing Bard’s truly awful trap setting skills, but here they were.

Yes, that explained the net. That did not, however, explain the way Ciel was caught in it.

One foot was tangled in the top of the net, one leg was shoved entirely through a gap in the rope, and one arm was… stuck. Stuck is the only word for it. It weaved in and out of the rope in a way that would surely cause severe rope burns.

If the position came from an attempt to escape, then it was both fruitless and stupid. Even if he had managed to wriggle free, the net was set up far too high for him to not break several bones on impact.

It definitely inspired a feeling, watching a boy he had silently considered to be clever (and took credit for that cleverness) stuck in a way that did not seem… possible.

Pride was not the word he was looking for.

“I did get help!” Finney yelled up at the boy hanging in the tree. “I brought Sebastian!”

Ah, right. The issue at hand. 

Ciel tried to turn his head, eyeing Sebastian as if he was the last person he wanted to see. It was clear that “help” had not included him, which only annoyed Sebastian more.

“How did this happen?” The question was directed towards Ciel, an “explain yourself” of sorts. But naturally Sebastian got no such thing. Ciel turned himself away the best that he could in his situation, but Sebastian did get the satisfaction of seeing him look at least a little bit ashamed.

Finney spoke up instead, which Sebastian was almost sure would not help the young master’s case in the slightest. “The young master was hunting-”

“Hunting?” Sebastian repeated. “As in with a gun? Without an adult present at all?”

There was a noise of protest at the word “adult” from the space above them but Sebastian could not find it in himself to care as he eyed the gun laying in the grass.

Finney, for all his faults, was a brave young man. He paled, but continued. “Y-yes, I suppose that’s right. Well, then we saw this suspicious looking pile of leaves-”

“So you saw the suspicious leaves,” Sebastian interrupted once more. “And you went towards them?”

Finney was strangely fixated on the ground beneath his feet, and lord knows Ciel wasn’t speaking. “... Yes.”

Sebastian sighed. “Pride” was definitely not the word he was looking for.

“Alright.” He said in stunned, resigned disappointment. “Let’s get you down then.”

He was not as gentle lowering that trap as he should have been. And part him very much hoping that whatever bruises his young master suffered because of his rough descent would serve as reminders.

Though he severely doubted any lesson had been learned.

#dadbastianweek2023 #dadbastainweek #dadbastianproud #I'll get the others done on the correct day I swear

[anemoi-i]

Because He Loves You

Diluven | Rated M | No Reposts.

Please read Rain Towards Dawn first.

After preventing an attempt on Diluc's life and getting his identity revealed in the process, Barbatos navigates through no longer being a hidden presence to his people as well as the love for Diluc he doesn't know how to deal with.

Warnings: Potential graphic violence, rating goes up later. Formatting different from the original version.

Part One (Here) | Part Two | Part Three (Coming Soon)

- A Gentle Breeze of Hope Dancing in the Sky -

The Duty of Dandelions

A Mondstater whispers a wish on a Dandelion and holds it in her hands.

She walks towards the square slowly.  She needs assistance to do so, but her assistants is more than happy to help this kind soul to her destination. A smile is on her face and the warm sun cloaks her in hopeful light. Mondstadt has changed in recent time—for the better, of course. Something grand has happened. A cause for celebration. The taverns were full, the streets livelier than ever before. She knows why, it is quite obvious. Even her heart fluttered joyfully once the news reached everyone’s ears.

A Dandelion Seed is important to a Mondstadter. Even without wings, it can hold their hopes and carry them to the Thousand Winds. It represents a Mondstader’s love. It represends their freedom. Almost everywhere you walked, you came across a Dandelion in the Land of the Wind. These lovely vessels of communication also were used in the creation of wine and there was no shortage of wine. In ancient times, the wine from Dandelions held a significance unlike any other. Today Dandelion Wine was one of the many staples of Mondstadt and while the symbolism has changed, it’s original purpose was never forgotten.

The young lady continues her walk to the square. As is common, the scent of Cecilias and Windwheel Asters permeate the air. The city had a period of rain for the past couple of days, so the beautiful scents were amplified. Her assistants tell her the square is only a couple of steps away and she thanks them for their help. Upon arrival, she hears a cheerful crowd but the most important voice she needs to hear is soft and gentle. This voice talks about the Dandelions and the Thousand Winds and acknowledges the wish. The voice grows harder to hear, indicating it is time for it to go, but her assistants plead for it not to.

“Oh, it would be cruel of me not to see you. Come on, bring her here.”

She approaches. He grasps her hands and it makes her flush innocently.

“H-Hello, Lord Barbatos…”

Barbatos squeezes her hands, smiling at her. She can’t see it, but she knows he is smiling and it is beautiful unlike any other.

“Hello, Glory. Did you bring Dandelion Seeds?”

“I did! Will you help me release them into the wind?”

“Of course. I acknowledge your wishes, as do my Thousand Winds.”

Lord Barbatos takes the seeds and lifts them into the air with Anemo.

The seeds glow for only a moment before they disappear. Those who did not leave yet marveled at the sight, while Glory smiled brightly. Though she could not see, she could imagine and often that was greater than any sight. She remembered the times she asked the Traveler to climb atop the Statue of the Anemo Archon to release the Dandelions for her. Now, what better way to have her wishes heard than from the Archon himself? It’s a pleasant, euphoric feeling. Satisfied, Barbatos sends her off with his best regards and she returns to her home that afternoon feeling safer than she’s ever felt before.

A Mondstadter knows their Anemo Archon to be gentle in nature. Understanding. He were never exclusive nor requiring advance notice that someone wanted to speak with him. Oddly enough, all you had to do was  catch him at a tavern. He would have a drink or two and sing until his voice became hoarse. For more serious prospects, he could be seen frequenting Mondstadt Cathedral. He had tales for those that wanted a lighthearted chat, a laugh even. For those that felt lost and weary, he had comforting words for them as well. He knew exactly what to say to his beloved Mondstadters—and it was always the truth.

There came times Barbatos had to remind certain people that he is their Archon and no mere human was going to change that. A month later, after a certain assassination attempt on a certain Winery Master, he made it a mission to “evict” the remaining Fatui out of the Goth Grand Hotel, returning the building to its owner and restoring proper use. Of course, he simply couldn’t hide such an “eviction” from the people, so they watched as members of the Fatui were kicked out like pests while their Lord assumed his true form, threatening their lives should they ever try to cause harm to his people again.

(The people did not have to know that should their Lord have had the privilege of privacy, he had much more violent endings for them.)

After granting Glory’s wish, Barbatos moved from the Square.

He made his way to the Ordo Favonius building and gestured for Athos and Porthos standing guard to follow him. He walked quickly and the Knights had no choice but to follow, matching his haste.

“At your beck and call, My Lord,” Athos spoke. “What can Porthos and  I do for you.”

Barbatos sighed in response. A Thread imparted him with the memories of Glory a long while ago and he always gave her safe passage whenever he heard her prayers. He crossed his arms, losing himself in thought as he continued to walk. It may have been more logical to stay at the Ordo Favonius building, especially since he were overseeing the actions of the Ordo these days, but only for a moment he did not think properly, so he continued to the gate of the city. Swan and Lawrence are there as always, giving him a formal greeting he acknowledges. He turns his attention back to the two Knights that are still at his side.

“Go and retrieve Godwin from my Windrise and order him to return to the Ordo Favonius building.”

Swan and Lawrence quickly turned around. Athos and Porthos bow their heads and leave to perform their given task with haste. I see Swan and Lawrence turn their heads and roll their lips. Their eyes are wide. I don’t have to see it, but they are. They think their comrade is “fucked” so to say. Well, I am not so harsh. They don’t have to worry, but they would worry more if I told them that they didn’t have to, so I remained silent.

Upon returning to the Ordo Favonius building, Barbatos was greeted by several Knights in the hallway, all to whom he acknowledged. He made his way to the office and sat in the vacant chair, propping his elbow on the table and resting his chin in the palm of his hand. He looked bored but he was not. He almost wanted to ask a Thread to whisk Jean over for a chat, but he was the one to give her much needed time off from her duties. He told her that he didn’t want to see her within an inch of the building and that instead, he’d temporarily take over (which caused fear within the Knights, naturally). Not too long into his wait, Athos and Porthos return with Godwin in tow. He looks like he’s seen a ghost.

“By the way, My Lord,” Athos spoke. “A new slew of gifts came in for you. Bottles of Dandelion Wine, freshly made Mondstadt Hash Browns from Sara, a bushel of apples and various other fruits. Where should we leave them?”

“Hmm. Leave me the wines. I’ll take the bushel of apples and one serving of the hash browns. The rest of the food can be distributed to the Sisters and their choir members. Make sure they’re given while they’re still fresh.”

“Will do.”

When they leave, he gestures for Godwin to sit.

“Go on now.”

He sits and much like a scolded puppy, looks down at the wooden table.

Barbatos turned his head, looking outside of the window. It was mid afternoon. The sun still shone in the office, but clouds were forming. Soon day would turn into the night and the taverngoers would be ready to mingle until the midnight hours. He would be joining them, finally able to live amongst his people as he wanted.

The Archon asked softly, “Do you regard human life as being short?”

“W-Well,” Godwin stammered. “It depends on the person really, My Lord. Sometimes humans—”

“I’d like to know what you think, not anyone else.”

“Well… Yes, I do.”

Barbatos turned to face him.

“Living for over 3000 years, I’ve witnessed humans do miraculous things. Here in this beloved city, the ones that came before you raised their weapons in name of freedom. If they did not have weapons, they threw stone. If they did not have stone, they threw themselves. They did this with the memory of happiness, for a future they could not witness. They did not waste a day. Each day was spent doing something for a better tomorrow.

“There were lovers who could not see each other again. Lovers who died in each other’s arms. Burdened with what they had to lose, they were forced to move on by time, which supposedly heals all wounds, but I’ve yet to see it. So tell me: if you regard human life as being short, why do you not see the one who has regarded your safety top priority over even herself?”

He gives up. “I’m sorry, Lord Barbatos! It’s just I… I didn’t want to lose face.”

Barbatos prevents himself from rolling his eyes. The task is harder than he expected it to be.

“I am not the one you should be apologizing to. Let me tell you something. I tasked myself with taking over the Ordo so your Acting Grand Master could take a much deserved rest. She is beautiful and fair, much like Lady Vennessa, the first founder. I also tasked myself with taking over to deliver some harsh truths—I mean, it’s not to be rude or anything, but the Ordo today is not the Ordo Lady Vennessa asked me for my blessing in creating. One way or another I will make sure all of you are well up to the task of protecting Mondstadt.”

Godwin looked down again. “Okay. I understand.”

“Now go. She is at Good Hunter eating lunch.”

He left with what little pride he had remaining.

There was still so much he needed to do to “reform” the Ordo. Barbatos sighed a second time today, wishing Vennessa was once more at his side. On top of her beauty and fairness, she was also incredibly wise and her strength knew no bounds. It was a no wonder she earned Ascension to Celestia, but the idea still left a sour taste in his mouth that he could not speak about even if he tried. Still, a nudge in the right direction would have been nice. At some point, I would have to talk to Kaeya when he returned from his business trip. That is something I dread. I still haven’t even spoken to Albedo yet. Another reason why I wanted to stay hidden.

His saving grace is that the day came to an end. He left the office after his little lecture and saw off the rest of the Ordo. Not that it meant anything, as he would be seeing most of them yet again frequent Angel’s Share or the Cat’s Tail as was the routine. He’s gotten into the habit of stopping at the Cat’s Tail first, not wanting Margaret to feel her tavern was neglected from his appreciation. He couldn’t stay for long because of the cats, but it was enough to give her recognition. He would then make his way to Angel’s Share.

Almost immediately, the taverngoers give their greetings to him. Some approach him timidly despite the alcohol on their skin and hand him offerings. He calls on several Threads to take them to his Domain where they would be enjoyed later. Diluc makes his way from the upper level. He’s carrying a new box  of wines, the very same he places behind the bar. He gathers the ingredients for Dandelion Wine and makes it flawlessly, pouring the finished drink in a tankard and handing it to Barbatos.

“Evening, Barbatos. How do you fare?”

“As pleasant as I can be.”

This is different. Diluc does not glare at him. He doesn’t hold Barbatos in contempt and he doesn’t hate him. He looks at Barbatos with concealed respect. He treats him as a normal person, but acknowledges him fully as his deity, something he didn’t do before. Diluc’s pride was a bit damaged, but not beyond all repair. The attempted assassination still lingered in his mind and as a result of it, his Intelligence Network increased in strength and diligence. Even Barbatos hasn’t met every single member until they come out of their hiding place, bow, and tell him of the situation they have already taken care of.

Diluc reaches into his pocket and takes out a single black card with the Ragnvindr crest in gold stamped on it. He slides it towards Barbatos, gives him a serious glance, and quickly turns on his heel to assist someone else. The card was nothing short of important, as it was the same one used to deliver secret messages between him and his Intelligence Network. It meant that there was activity from those that threatened the peace and prosperity of Mondstadt. Barbatos sips the Dandelion Wine as he reads the card discreetly.

Abyss Order activity was located at Stormterror’s Lair and Windrise.

Threat Level: Novice at both locations.

Speculation: The Abyss Order sought to gather intel due to our Lord’s reappearance.

He made the card disappear with a soft teal light. When Diluc returned, he refilled Barbatos’ tankard and gave him another gaze.

Barbatos asked in a low tone, “Is it still snowing?”

“Sunny,” Diluc replied.

“Who cleared the clouds?”

“Myself.”

This surprises the Archon though he knew it should not.

Diluc, after all loved Mondstadt to the core. After leaving for four years, desparate to know the truth behind his father’s death, he came back. He came back and called Mondstadt home once again, made up with his brother and picked up the pieces that were broken more than a million times. He wiped the tears he tried to deny from his face and channeled that anger into a desire to protect. Barbatos watched as the Ordo birthed a rival from one man who sought to make sure the tragedies he faced would never once again happen to anyone else.

So, the surprise is no longer present on his face. As quickly as it appeared, it left. He has long appreciated Diluc’s efforts in a way that passed the borders of strictly admiration. He has known it to be true, has declared it to himself that the love—the love he feels for him is overflowing. It begs the question: why am I so afraid? Why can’t I utter a single word to him about this love if it is so strong? Is it fear of abandonment? A disapproval or a disgusted glance that would tear me apart, or is it that I’m afraid of what happens when he doesn’t push me away?

He can’t do this. He can’t think about this.

“Thank you. Rest tomorrow. I will think of something suitable to give you as a reward.”

“I need no reward. I do what my heart commands me to do.”

“Poetic,” Barbatos laughed. “Not bad. I’ll give you credit—but you forget I’ve existed in this world for eons. Everyone wants recognition. It flows in the blood. Those that do not simply restrain themselves from the euphoria of having someone look their way and praise them. How tragic would it be to offer your life for an entity that forsakes you? You used to think that I was such entity.”

Diluc’s eyes flicker. He controls his astonishment so expertly that even that deserved recognition in it’s own right. The custome r that wanted another drink for him was his saving grace as he excused himself to serve them. The night became busier, so Barbatos amused himself with playing songs on his lyre while several watched, entranced by his voice. That didn’t change from before, only increasing once everyone found out his identity. He continued to entertain the crowd until it was time for Angel’s Share to close. Even then, he continued to play his lyre and watch Diluc organize the bar for tomorrow, looking much calmer than he did earlier.

“Every beginning of the week, I whisk Dandelion Seeds into the winds so that my Threads can hear and acknowledge the people’s wishes. How come you have not asked me of anything?”

Diluc sighed, “I don’t want to draw unnecessary attention to myself. You know how I work, Barbatos. That shouldn’t be a surprise to you.”

“What if it did not?”

“You publicly announce you’re doing so before going to the busiest area of the city. There is always a line of people waiting for your approval.”

Barbatos scoffed. “There is no one here now. Just you, myself, and  the wind. What would you ask of me?”

“I don’t have Dandelion Seeds.”

“There are ones in front of the entrance, are they not? I’ll see you in front of the Church.”

Barbatos disappears in a flurry of feathers unceremoniously. Diluc catches one of the feathers in his hand and holds on to it tightly as if it were the last feather in the world. Barbatos knows he would entertain every outlandish request he has. Every last one. It’s why he’s marching to the front of the city and grabbing every last Dandelion Seed much to Swan and Lawrence’s confusion. It’s why he’s holding them in his hands in such a way one would think he is carrying glass. It’s why he’s making his way to the Church as requested to quickly find Barbatos. He has his eyes closed and his hands folded and he smiles mysteriously. Is this the same person that has often gotten inebriated and loudly pranced about in his tavern? The same person who leaned against him with blood on his face after stopping his assassin?

It was overwhelming to think about.

“I’ll ask once more,” he began. His voice was soft. Welcoming. “What would you ask of me?”

A short pause. He knows exactly what he wants. He gets on one knee and opens Barbatos’ hands and pours the Dandelion Seeds into them. Only then does the Lord finally open his eyes and look at him as if to say you didn’t have to do all of that.

“Let’s see. What I would ask of you is to be your benefactor. I want your complete and utter trust that I can be the sole person that protects your nation.”

Barbatos opens his mouth, but all that comes out is broken sound. He cannot form coherent sentences.

“You’re on and about inciting change, taking over the Ordo, doing as you please. Fine. Sure. Do that, but I want to be the first person you call on to draw their sword. I want you to need me.”

“…N-Normal mortals ask for mora, Diluc. Or… or more mora in your case.”

“I’m not normal.”

I want you to need me, he says. Terrible irony.

Barbatos lifts the seeds into the air and just as before, they glow briefly and disappear.

“I acknowledge your wish, Diluc Ragnvindr, as do my Thousand Winds.”

#genshin impact #venti #diluc ragnvindr #diluven #venluc #my fics

[coffehbeans]

The Veiled Price (Prompt #51: Drink)

Prologue (you’re here)  |  Chapter 1

Masterpost of stories and prompts (you can send an ask for a prompt from the list!)

*ressurects from the ashes* I FINISHED IT, FINALLY AAAAAAAAAHHHHH *explodes*

Thank you for waiting guys! This was by far the most difficult story to write so far, hence why it took so long (i also procrastinated but shh)

This time it’s a prologue of one of my older g/t universes (5 years ago, to be exact gasps) This story tells the origins of one of my characters. I wouldn’t reveal his backstory until the main chapters but, eh I can’t resist ahushs Fair warning tho that this entire collection of stories will be rated PG-13 for graphic descriptions of pain and death.

Buckle up cause this is my longest story so far! Hope you enjoy!

Summary: It was common knowledge to the people of Immers: never trust the circes. But when lord Audwin Imore falls in desperation to prove himself to his father, he recklessly resorts to drastic measures.“Stop. That is not nearly enough.”

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Audwin laid on his knees on the floor, gasping for breath as if he had drowned, the sword he was previously holding fell a good distance away from him. He had barely processed what his father had said when the baron lowered his sword and started walking away from the exhausted child.

  “Had you been stronger or fiercer, I might have given you another chance. But this already proves your incompetence. I am not going to waste my time testing you any longer.”

  “Father, wait!”

  Audwin scrambled back up and lunged towards Hartmann, who had turned his back against his son. The child gripped the fabric of his father’s shirt and buried his head deep in it, as if the man would turn invisible, never to be seen again.

  “Please! I will get better! I can try again! I’ll do another strike and-”

  Hartmann wasted no time with the desperate pleas and yanked Audwin’s hands from his shirt. His grip around his son’s wrists tightened, cold and distant eyes scrutinizing his tearful ones. He shoved Audwin away and walked to the door as his child stumbled in recoil.

  “It would be wise to keep your mouth shut.”

  With that, he slammed the door closed, the sound ringing inside Audwin’s ears as the sharp words cut through his chest. He hiccupped and rubbed his face in his hands in a desperate attempt to stop his tears. Yet, an ember of resolve, remnants of a dream still not buried, burned within him.

  He was only eight. He could still become strong.

  ____________________________ 

  “Is that all you can do, Audwin?”

  His older brother teased between thrusts and parries of their swords. The teenager’s lungs begged for air, but his eyes remained steady.

  “You haven’t gotten me yet.”

  Audwin feigned an overhead strike in order to kick his brother in the middle and gain advantage, but Benedictus had a bright intellect and saw through his strategy. Going along Audwin’s plan at first, he pretended to raise his sword only to aim it towards his younger brother’s raised foot, colliding his blade with it in a swift motion. In a matter of seconds, Benedictus charged and knocked Audwin’s sword from his hand. It fell with a large clank to the ground. Not enough. I am still not strong enough, He thought as his expression fell.

  He glanced at his father, who had briefly stopped by to watch the sparring match between the brothers. Audwin held his breath as he looked at the stern and disappointed face across the room. 7 years after that last testing day, baron Hartmann barely regarded Audwin and his sister’s presence. The eldest son, Benedictus, occupied all that was left of the aged lord’s energy. The distant memory left a bitter taste in his mouth.

  Audwin knew what his father wanted. Stability for the kingdom the land of Immers is part of. Acknowledgement of his merits by the king, the expansion of the state, or simply to make it strong and powerful. All those reasons spat out of the tenacious man’s mouth one time or another. He valued military strength for that exact reason, since providing armies to the king was the best way to get recognition as a baron. In the end, despite everything, the young lord admired his father’s goal. He longed to realize that dream alongside him and his brother, leading armies side by side with them, the sweet and rewarding feeling of honor overflowing his senses. And yet…

He cut his train of thought when Hartmann rose from his seat and left the sparring room without a word.

  His chances slipped away by each second. So many years went by, but he never won one match, never disarmed that swift, dexterous blade from his brother’s grasp. Audwin looked down in dejection, but Benedictus’s firm hands on his shoulder awoke him from his stupor.

  “Don’t worry. I am sure you will surpass me in no time. Just keep practicing.” He said with considerate eyes.

  “I’m not so sure that is possible anymore, Benet.” Audwin said with a sigh.

  “Nonsense! You still have time ahead of you. Regardless, I will be here to massage our father’s ego, and in the meantime, you can focus on bettering yourself.” He said in futile reassurance, despite Audwin appreciating his consideration. “While I am doing that, you can be present for Otilia.”

  Benedictus was right, he could not lose his focus from her. At least he had his mother back then when his father rejected him, but his little sister never had the chance to meet her, and was ignored by the baron since her birth. Audwin huffed as the memory ignited anger in his chest. Ever since Otilia was born, he promised he would give her company.

  “Why do you care so much about impressing him, anyway? It is me who must reach his expectations, after all. You know how the old man’s thoughts are ridiculous.”

  “Because…” Audwin paused. He recalled that day back at his first trainings. Laying on the ground out of breath, his father looming over him with a disapproving look. A flame of resentment rising within him, burning deep inside his chest, conviction brimming in his eyes. They remain burning until this day, the fire threatening to consume him whole.

  “He will only recognize the mistake he’s made when I show it to his face.”

  ____________________________ 

   “Have you heard? Master Audwin has been secretly sneaking out at night to train inside the forest”

  “Ah, you shall not worry about that. It has been so for the past four years.” The governess responded the curious maid with a dismissing motion of her hand.

  “Four years? In the middle of the woods? Does lord Hartmann not know about this? And it is not a place for a nobleman to go into, especially with the circes roaming in it.”

  “Do you still believe in those fairytales?”

  “You do not believe it, mistress?”

  The governess paused with a hesitant look.

  “Well, I admit. No sane soul goes to the circes’ territory.” She approached the maid with a firm look on her face.

  “But listen. Lord Audwin is not a sane soul. Not since he started training in secret. Something deep and… Obsessive, moves him. And it is not our business to meddle with our lord’s affairs.”

  The governess stayed inches close to the chambermaid’s face, and whispered in a hushed, alarmed tone.

  “May this be kept between us, and we shall not inform lord Hartmann about his son’s endeavors, or there shall be great consequences.”

  The servant, who is used to following orders without question, nodded earnestly, and they moved on from the conversation.

  She did not know that the governess has been told by the young noble himself to conceal his secret.

  ____________________________ 

  Audwin struck his sword against the tree trunk as hard as he could, hoping to form a bigger dent on it than the ones from four years ago. He remembered the marks his father left with his sword on the wood back at his childhood, when he gave a demonstration of brute strength at the corner of the forest. A cut deep and precise. Those were the standards the sons of baron Hartmann Imore had to strive for.

  And he would achieve that.

  With a powerful grunt, Audwin striked the final blow on the trunk.

  It barely went deeper than last time.

  Audwin stared at the thin mark gasping for breath, distraught. He trained so hard, for all those years, and yet his strength still barely surpassed his fifteen-year-old self.

  Why. Why am I so pathetic?

“You wish to be stronger, young gentleman? That is your final ambition?”

  Audwin was startled by a melodic and feminine voice coming from the woods. He turned around in shock, and the sight haunted him:

  From the dense trees and into the clearing emerged a short and slender figure, covered in a black dress with black robes, and long, ebony hair that came down below the waist. Her blue eyes radiated color in an unnatural fashion, entrancing him in a deep, compassionate gaze. The figure let a small smile.

  “Who are you?” – Audwin tried to contain the tremble within his voice.

  “Just a commoner picking fruits inside these woods. You are one of the baron Hartmann’s sons, I presume?” – she answered in an innocent manner.

  “Do not fool me, witch. I know precisely what you are. It is wise if you leave me alone if you wish to live.” Audwin pointed his sword in the direction of the creature.

  And she giggled wholeheartedly.

  “My my, I might have underestimated your intelligence.” The witch’s piercing eyes peered at him with glee. “And yet, you retort me with such vile words just because of some foul rumors about me. Where are your manners?” she mocked sadness.

  “Leave.”

  “Shouldn’t I be saying this to you? This is my territory, after all.”

  Without a proper counterargument, Audwin went silent, and the circe smirked. She hit the jackpot.

  The witch slowly trudged her bare feet towards the hesitant man.

  “I suppose the reason you invaded my territory to train in the middle of the night is because of a deep desire within your soul.” She closed the distance between them, and Audwin felt sweat dripping for his forehead. Somehow, her presence paralyzed him in fear.

  How much more pathetic could he get?

  “I know the baron’s fame around the land.” She continued. “His methods are rigorous, and his standards are high towards his heirs. He saw your below average strength, and deemed you unworthy of military and governmental affairs.”

  Audwin remained silent, sword unsheathed. His expression threatened to betray the fear within him, yet he remained steady and firm.

  “What a shame, I must say. If only your efforts to better yourself had paid off.” She glanced at the scratch on the tree.

  Audwin should not be immobile. He knew the danger he was under. His mind told him to run and never come back to the woods, but his feet remained planted in place. It was as if the circe had put a spell on him that prevented him from running. Were those creatures even capable of such magic? Or was his fear the spell that made him frozen in place?

  The circe inched closer and closer, until they were inches apart. Those vibrant blue eyes stared deep into his brown ones, her small smile never changing. If she came even closer, she would be able to ruffle his ash brown, wavy hair with a single exhale.

  “I know a way to make you stronger. No matter what others have told you about me, I have the solution you are looking for. However, it comes at a price.”

  Audwin took a shallow breath, and mustered up the courage to reply, in a faint voice.

  “All of this monologue in order to convince me to fall for your tricks? I’m afraid your efforts have proved unsuccessful.”

  Despite that, she grinned.

  “Oh, foolish nobleman, I do not wish to convince you of anything. On the contrary, I am quite happy with my living conditions now. I have no use in tricking unfortunate souls like you.”

  Audwin scoffed in disbelief, and the circe’s never-changing smile remained. She turned around and started strolling around him.

  “I am just telling you a fact. The other humans know the rumors of my power, yet few know I mostly work in favor of them. As long as they have the proper rewards to give me, I am capable of realizing any wish they so desire, all within a single concoction.”

  The witch looked at Audwin’s unmoving eyes with peace and joy. He could not fall for her foolish talk. Yet, the words echoed in his mind.

  If they have the right reward, any wish they so desire within a single concoction…

  No. He would not falter. He is capable of being strong on his own.

  Upon reading the young lord’s expression, the witch stopped her joyful stride around him.

  “Oh well. If you wish to remain in your methods, I shall waste no further time talking to you.” She turned around and started walking away from him, and Audwin finally felt relieved enough to lower his sword slightly.

  “Just remember, nobleman. I reside deep within the forest, across this clearing we stand.”

  Without any further word, she entered the dense part of the woods, and her silhouette disappeared.

  Audwin wasted no time and swiftly left the place the instant she was gone.

  ____________________________ 

  While Audwin was in his office studying, he easily drifted to the words the circe had said to him.

  Could she really be capable of making him stronger?

  If he really would not be able to acquire more strength than his physique was capable of, maybe…

  No. What was he thinking? He knew they were trickster creatures, she wants him to drink the potions she provides. Yet here he was falling for her tricks!

  Audwin was abruptly cut off from his thoughts when his brother entered the door in a hurry.

  “I came from a reunion with father. We’re going in a war against the province from northeast.”

  Audwin raised his head and his heart started beating faster. Could it be? Would he finally be able to fight? To prove himself?

  “In that case, I must prepare the convocations right away.” Audwin said.

  “About that, the reason I came in such a hurry is because… Father does not want to put you responsible for the other half of the army.”

  “… What?”

  “Just the usual foolishness of that old man. He believes putting you as their leader will cause failure to the king’s nation.”

  Audwin felt rage bubbling up inside his chest. “You cannot be serious.”

  “Sadly, this is precisely why I came to talk to you with such urgency.” His brother frowned in an apologetic tone. “I do not want to accept this either, Audwin. But as much as I want to go against father’s orders, he will still go to war with us. He would not let us go through such a plan, and it would lead us both to grave consequences and even chaos amongst our troops.”

  “Yes, I understand.” Audwin muttered under his breath with clenched teeth. “I have no other option then.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I will have a talk with father.”

  “Will it work, I wonder?”

  An idea sparked in Audwin’s mind.

  “If I fail to convince father, how about a sparring match between we two? It’s my last chance to prove it to him, if I win.”

  Benedictus put a hand on his chin in thought. This could work.

  “Alright, leave the matching arrangements and convincing our father to me.”

  Audwin’s eyes were piercing and determined. He would lead that war. And he would prove his father once and for all.

  “Just, if we do have to cross blades at the end, do not go easy on me.”

  His brother laughed proudly. “Leave it to me.”

  ____________________________

  The evening came and Audwin hastily strode in the halls. His father could not be serious. The young nobleman knew that the great lord Hartmann would prefer if his middle son matched his ideals of warrior, but he could still fight! What nonsense to not let him lead as per tradition? He knew he was not as fast, or not as strong, or not as intelligent, but he still had capabilities of his own. He did well at his studies, and did average at his training, but he could still lead an army. Then, why? Why would he be regarded as a mere foot soldier? Audwin huffed with the boiling frustration he felt, but he took yet another round of deep breaths to calm his mind. He needed to be as levelheaded as possible if he were to convince his father to give him a leading position at war.

  He felt someone tugging the back of his coat and looked behind him.

  Otilia clung to the fabric as her bright, round eyes stared pleadingly at her brother. The sight made all the previous anger he felt disappear.

  “Brother, can we play?” – she hugged her porcelain doll. Otilia loved to play house, and Audwin was often one of her most esteemed guests to her tea parties. Playing like that felt embarrassing, but he liked to indulge his sister in her plays, and very soon she would be all grown up and not interested in dolls anymore.

  He knelt and glanced at the young girl with sweet eyes.

  “Not now Otily, brother’s busy. But I promise that as soon as I’m free, we’ll play together. Alright?”

  The docile child nodded, despite her face falling. She was considerate and had a peaceful nature, so reasoning with her was quite easy.

  “Ah, ok. But I’ll wait for you!”

  He knocked on the door gently. Audwin chose that precise time because he knew his father had finished most of his tasks and was fairly on his best mood. The best mood being a less intolerant one.

  “Sir, may I come in?”

  The room went silent for a bit upon hearing Audwin’s voice, but Hartmann mumbled a deep “yes” without any objections. Great. That meant he had some sort of chance of reasoning with him. The door groaned as he opened it and the room echoed with Audwin’s steps. He stopped to face his father, who sat on his armchair, chin resting on the top of his hands.

  “What urgent matters bring you here?” he narrowed his eyes. Audwin breathed in.

  “I have heard about the news of war against the east province. I thought about a few strategies, and I was wondering if I could-“

  “Everything has already been accounted for and discussed with your brother and the rest of the nobility. The war plans are not to be changed.”

  “Then, if that is the case, maybe I-“

  “You are not going to lead this war, Audwin. Stay at the position I assign you to. Now leave.”

  Audwin’s composure started to fall.

  “Then, tell me, why should I not? I could help.”

  Hartmann stood up.

  “Why? You present me with your pitiful abilities, and you are asking why? I have slave soldiers who perform better than you, and most presumably will not die at this war, unlike yourself.”

  “But I know how to analyze! I may not have as much strength or speed, but I can elaborate a worthy strategy or, or something! Please, I-“

  Audwin was interrupted by a backhand slap, the force almost knocking him to the ground. He widened his eyes as pain throbbed at his left cheek.

  “You recoiled from this? Insolent. Can you not see how pathetic of a son you are? Weak, pleading, coward. You have no authority to question me. Your ‘strategies’ are of no value to me.”

  He looked down with furious eyes, strands of hair covering part of his face.

  “Now leave, if you know better. I will not hesitate to demonstrate what I do to those who disobey me.”

  Audwin stormed out of the room, looking at the patterns of the corridor floors, ignoring his sister’s room as he passed by it. Rage bubbling deep inside his chest.

  He left the manor, heading straight towards the stable. He picked his horse.

  And rode off towards the forest.

  ____________________________ 

  The horse galloped deep inside the forest, tall trees covered the moonlight, obscured by their dense foliage, casting the place in shadow. Looking straight in front of him, Audwin pressed on, dodging branches and twigs until he reached that same clearing from days before. Crossing it to the other side of the woods, the horse ran until they reached the base of a mountain, where caves were abundant. One single boulder covered in vines was planted in front of the rocky mountain, as big as a house, with a chimney and a wooden door. It must be the place of that circe.

  Audwin dismounted from his horse and approached the cave, knocking at the door. He sent a glance towards the satchel attached on his hip, it had to be enough. The door immediately opened, revealing the same entrancing woman from before.

  “Young nobleman! What a pleasure to see you here! Come inside!”

  “Not yet.” He opened his satchel, revealing a generous amount of money and a family heirloom inside. “First, I need to make sure this qualifies for that ‘reward’ you previously mentioned me.”

  The witch gave a brief glance at the goods before sending him a knowing smile.

  “It is more than enough. Now come.”

  The last thing Audwin heard before closing the door was the disgruntled neighs from his beloved horse companion.

   “I figured your wish. You want to be stronger, the greatest warrior of the kingdom. Maybe even the fiercest warrior on earth?”

  “The strongest, the fiercest, such words could describe what I wish. You already know that much. If I do not acquire this strength for a match tomorrow, I will not be able to lead the army alongside my brother.”

  The circe smirked.

  “I see, so that is why you came to me with such urgency” She grabbed the satchel of gold he previously gave her. “Yes… A price worth paying to achieve what you never managed to by your strength alone.”

  Audwin gulped the frustration that bubbled inside his throat.

  “Yes, a concoction for such a wish is easy to make.” The circe got up.

  She went to the caldron in front of her in the small room, which already had an unknown liquid inside. Whatever that substance was, it seemed to be the main part of the potion, because she only added a few unknown herbs and spices to the boiling liquid, mixing them with a huge spoon, which turning it into an unnatural blue hue. The substance condensed until it barely occupied the bottom of the caldron, and she easily tilted the heavy stone pot into a small rectangular glass bottle in her hands, not missing a single drop.

  As simple as that, the potion was finished. The witch tied the lid with a cork and a blue lace in to decorate it. It looked almost lovely. She handed it to Audwin who watched everything with his eyes widened in shock. Never had he seen something so out of the natural. He second-guessed his reasons to be there.

  “If your sparring match is at night, drink it in the afternoon. Your strength will come shortly after and you will be able to win the fight. Oh, and do wear some bigger clothes before you drink it, maybe borrow ones from your older brother.”

  Audwin held the bottle with the blue liquid in his trembling hands, not believing what he had just done.

  “Good luck in the war. It’s going to happen in a few days, right?”

  “Yes.”

  The witch’s calm smile widened slightly.

  “Lovely! Have a nice success.”

  “I hope I never see you again.” Audwin murmured, and left the strange house through the wooden door, closing it. He hid the bottle inside another pouch he carried, and trotted with his horse away from the dense forest.

  It was only after the horse’s sounds could not be heard anymore that the witch leaned against the doorframe.

  “How rude. I help him this much and this is how he says goodbye?” She said to herself in a mocking tone, not able to contain the giggles that came right after. Her smile stretched across her face, chest filling with pride upon another successful purchase of a desperate soul.

  “And I hope you soon know that this is not the last time you’ll hear of me.”

  ____________________________

  The day of the match had arrived. Audwin sat alone in his bedroom, door locked, the sparkling blue liquid of the bottle swirling in his hands. His heartbeat slammed against his ribcage. Every part of his mind advised him to not take the potion. To not drink it. This has been a mistake.

  Yet, he had no choice. He either drank it or he would lose the spar, not ever being able to win the respect of his father again.

  He had come this far, he would not back down now.

  Audwin removed the cork from the glass and smelled the contents inside it. The scent was sweet to an almost sickening point. His breath stopped for a moment, his heart slamming harder against his chest.

  And in a single, swift motion, he chugged the potion’s contents down.

  The taste was sweet like honey yet felt refreshing, but a bitter aftertaste made him cough violently. Audwin put the bottle on the nightstand and held his face in his hands, gasping for air. Whatever he had done, it was settled.

  The effects were almost instantaneous, for his head started throbbing so strongly against his skull he grabbed it between his hands. Not only did his throat burn, but the entirety of his body, like he had been set on fire.

  Suddenly, Audwin clenched his fists and gnashed his teeth as his bones crackled and his muscles stretched. His veins popped as he bit his arm to muffle his screams.

  In a matter of minutes, the disturbing shifting sounds stopped, and his pain subdued to a light ache.

  Audwin took deep breaths to calm himself before slowly getting up, not used to how his joints snapped after the sudden change. He looked to his arms and torso, noticing how more muscled they seemed. Not only that, his brother’s clothes which were so loose in him now fit him perfectly. He looked at the ground, noticing how much farther it seemed. It seems he had gotten taller as well.

  The potion had worked.

  Audwin breathed in, surprised at how instant everything was. Suddenly he felt stronger, fiercer, more than capable. And all it took was a family heirloom and a few amount of money. He took careful, stumbling steps towards the mirror, not yet used to his new body. He glanced at himself, and almost fell down in absolute shock.

  The person in front of him was unrecognizable. The thin, fragile frame was completely replaced by an athletic and trained body, to the point even his jaw seemed more angular. Audwin stared wide eyed at his reflection, and felt such an enormous amount of joy in his chest he felt like he would cry. This is it. That was the day he would win his father’s respect. He was sure of it now.

  When Audwin left the room, he was wearing armor from head to toe, with only his face at view. If he were using only his brother’s clothes, the changes would seem too abrupt and suspicious to everyone.

  He arrived at the sparring room with his brother already there, who looked at him in surprise.

  “I guessed this was supposed to be simple sword sparring, Why the sudden armored-warrior-stance now?” He said jokingly.

  “I thought we might take this more seriously, to convince him.” Audwin said, trying to contain the shock upon hearing himself speak. Even his voice sounded a bit deeper.

  “Well, in take case, I should put mine on as well. I said I’ll not go easy on you, after all.”

  After Benedictus got ready, Baron Hartmann arrived not long after, his confident attitude the same as ever. His footsteps echoed across the room as the lords and servants went silent, sitting across a cushioned seat that was placed to the side, at the right amount of distance from where the fight would happen. He raised his hand in a dismissive motion and the servants left in a hurry.

  Audwin took deep breaths. In and out, in and out. He could practically feel his new body shifting under his command, the grip of his hands tightening on the handle of the sword. He felt good, reinvigorated.

  He would win that match.

  Audwin and Benedictus positioned on opposites sides at the center, waiting for the command to start the sparring. In an instant, the world disappeared, leaving only Audwin and his father. Audwin stared deep in those condescending eyes, determination burning bright.

  “Begin.”

  Benedictus lunged forward in amazing speed, but Audwin stayed in place. He waited for his brother to get inches close to him until he evaded that sword’s thrust and lashed his blade against it. Benedictus recoiled in surprise, not expecting to lose his balance from the sheer strength of Audwin’s moves. They exchanged jabs and swings back and forth, each blow from his blade surpassing his brother’s and baron Hartmann’s expectations, who, for the first time in years, widened his eyes. The moves got more and more aggressive, fiercer as time passed, and Audwin thrived at his newfound strength.

  The match ended quickly with Audwin’s final blow knocking Benedictus’s sword so hard it flew across the room and pierced the wall with a crack. His brother fell on his knees, panting, gasping out of tiredness but also out of astonishment. He had done it. His little brother had won a match. He raised his head to see Audwin extending his hand towards him, a cheerful glee across his face. He could not help but smile in return, proud of his brother for finally proving their jerk of a father wrong, and taking his hand to get up. He knew he would do it.

  Both brothers stared at their father in expectation, who tried to return to his usual composure, despite the clear shock in his eyes. He got up and cleared his throat.

  “Ahem, the terms of this match that your brother had told me were, if you won it, you would lead the other half of the army, according to old rules.”

  He closed hies eyes and mustered the courage to look at his forsaken son.

  “Therefore, I shall hold my end of the promise. Meet me in a few hours for further discussions.”

  He got up from his chair much slower than usual, although his walk out was at a faster pace. Without any additional words, the man left.

  Audwin looked at his brother contently, a confident complexion on his face.

  “Well, you did it, little brother.” Benedictus said with a proud smile. He touched Audwin’s shoulder in reassurance.

  “See you tomorrow, then.”

  “Yeah.” Audwin let out a constrained smile, attempting to ignore the searing pain burning underneath his skin.

  Was it the fight? His muscles ached and tensed with each step towards his bedroom. He needed to prepare himself and dress appropriately for the meeting later, yet his clothes were probably unfitting for him now and he barely could sit straight. Audwin entered his room and removed his armor with hurry, gasping for breath. He stared at his hands as they sweated and trembled uncontrollably.

   Something was not right.

  It was not long before the pain increased to the point Audwin kneeled by the bedside, clutching the sheets. Desperate for a quick solution, he decided it was best he searched for that witch before he could not react anymore. He left his room in a hurry, passed through all concerned servants, until he reached the stable, where he took his horse and ran outside with as much force as he could, barely holding onto the horse’s reins as the burning sensation teared through his bones.

  ____________________________ 

  He entered the dense forest, passed through the thick bushes, and ended up at the same clearing. Startled by a mysterious force, the horse stopped abruptly, throwing Audwin out of it and onto the grass. He gasped and raised his head to find the animal galloping away from him. No. But he could not go after it now, he had to get up and reach that witch and demand her, plead her if he needed, to know what was going on and how to fix the unbearable pain.

  He barely had time to think when the flaring pain raised in intensity and he doubled over in agony. Sweat dripped from his forehead as he grunted and dug his fingers in the dirt. Quicker than he could process, a stinging sensation ruled over his body as his skin felt cramped and tight. He looked at his shaky hand, immediately regretting it when he saw what was happening, heart sinking to the bottom of his stomach. His fingers elongated and bent with loud cracks, the shifting of bones making him choke as the sensation slowly crept up his arms until it completely stabbed all his body. He screamed and looked to the ground in agony, not wanting to see what was happening to him. His breathing became labored and short, desperation clenching at his chest. He groaned and curled inside himself in a failed attempt to stop the deafening crack of his bones reforming and increasing in density, his muscles stretching and spasming. His spine felt like it was snaping inside his body and piercing through his sore skin. Audwin contained the tears welling up in his eyes as he clenched his teeth so hard, he thought he would break them.

  He never should have taken the potion. He knew the dangers from the beginning. He knew and he took it without a second thought. He did not know if his chest burned from the extending ribcage or from his anger at himself.

  By the time the searing pain subsided to a sore throb, Audwin was panting and covered in sweat, his hands holding a large, heavy portion of earth from the ground he was on.

  Kneeling, he attempted to stand up, but his weakened state made him stumble backwards in a loud thud. He thought an earthquake had happened at the exact same time. Why was everything so loud? Where was he? He could not see the familiar trees surrounding the clearing anymore. He hunched over and took shallow breaths, holding his forehead in his hands and searching for a familiar sight. There, knee level with him, were bushes. He looked closer. They were attached to small but thick trunks.

  His heart stopped for a second.

  He must be having a nightmare, supposing things.

  He kneeled by the bushes and touched one of them. Same texture as leaves. He snatched one from the ground and heard loud, cracking noises. Attached to it were roots.

  Those were trees.

  Audwin widened his eyes and shot up, dropping the tree with a deafening thud, resisting the vertigo that came over him when he realized just how high up he was, yet his feet were planted firmly on the ground.

  No. He must be having a hallucination.

  He took slow, shaky steps. They shook the earth like earthquakes.

  He must be in his room at that moment, having a lucid nightmare.

  He saw birds flying away with loud squawks. As small as fleas.

  This is not real. It’s not real. It is not real.

  The moonlight barely illuminated his path. He trudged aimlessly towards the forest until he reached the bottom of a mountain. There was a cave, and he went inside. He laid down with his bare body on the cold dirt.

  Maybe if he closed his eyes, he would wake up in his bedroom, and he would forget. Pretend that nightmare never happened.

  That night, the circe appeared to Audwin in a dream. The unmoving smile, icy blue eyes staring lovingly in his direction. Hatred burned inside his chest, yet he found himself paralyzed. The witch laughed.

  “Foolish human. Have you not done your homework? Circes thrive in mischief and trickery.”

  He tried to scream, to launch at her and demand to change back, but he found himself unable to move.

  “Yet I have not lied to you. Indeed, I gave you what you most wished for. You became the strongest individual in this earth. However, in return, you gave me your humanity.”

  The circe’s smile grew wider, and Audwin remained speechless, not making a single sound.

  “I appreciate the riches and jewels you gave me, though. I consider it a bonus gift to myself.” She said in irony.

  And without a word, she vanished, and the dream evaporated with her.

  When he opened his eyes, he still found his bare body laid down on the harsh rocky soil, inside the same dark, humid cave.

  ____________________________ 

  No one knows what happened to the second son of baron Hartmann. As far as witnesses know, he disappeared without a trace.

  Many theorize that the beast from deep within the woods ate him while he trained in one of his secret midnight sessions, as was told by that governess who had once promised secrecy.

  Maybe the monster of the forest, who was rumored to have terrorized countless villages and stolen their crops would one day disappear, never to be heard again or to install fear in others.

  But five years after the obscure legend of Immers, their feigned peace would come to a close, after the arrival of an eccentric foreigner at a village across the state.

  The echoes of a feminine laughter could still be heard deep inside those woods.

#coffeh writes #coffeh's writing #g/t #giant/tiny #sfw g/t #g/t writing #g/t story #g/t angst #no comfort only pain in this one :) #coffeh oc: audwin #coffeh oc: berk #coffeh oc: the circe #coffeh oc: benedictus #coffeh oc: otilia #coffeh oc: hartmann #yeah they will all be back #no the main character hasnt appeared yet #cant wait to show him to yall he's one of my favorites #coffeh oc: kylon #cause he's mentioned at the end #oc: audwin #oc: kylon #oc: the circe #oc: otilia #oc: benedictus #oc: hartmann #oc: berk

[autismmydearwatson]

please write that essay :> /nf

We all know Daddy Ham (as he was called backstage) as the main initiator of the plot, who haunts both the narrative and his own son. He is the ghost who reveals himself to his son to command that he avenge his foul and unnatural murder by King Claudius. This spurs a vengeful but all-too-reflective Hamlet down the self-destructive vortex of justice. He places a sword in his sons hand and tells him "just fuckin kebab him" but Hamlet can't just fuckin kebab his uncle, not right away. Hamlet needs to plan. Hamlet needs clues. That's why he is perceived as procrastinating: he's not a boy of direct action, he's a man of convoluted plots and cleverness, rather like Claudius himself.

So why does Hamlet listen to the guy? It's not just because he loves his father. In many ways, the time period in which the tragedy takes place affects Hamlets beliefs. In the 16th century, the people believed three things. Trust me, it's a surprise tool we'll use later.

The last wishes of a dead or dying relative were to be taken seriously as the grave

Murder is bad

Murder of a relative (known as "kinslaying") was WORSE.

Therefore,

Hamlet MUST obey the last wishes of his dead father and fuckin kebab his uncle BUT

Murder is bad, no matter how much both Hamlet and Daddy Ham want to do it, but MOST IMPORTANTLY

Claudius is Hamlets blood uncle. If Hamlet were to kill Claudius, he would bring the curse of Kinslayer upon himself.

So Prince Hamlet is caught between a rock and a hard place, but that's not the point, so break my heart for I must hold my tongue.

The point is: Daddy Ham was a cruel and fearsome and emotionally manipulative father and I'm going to prove it.

The ghost of Daddy Ham appears five times, twice to Marcellus and Barnardo before the story takes place, once to Marcellus, Bernardo, and Horatio, once to Hamlet, Horatio, and Marcellus, and once to Hamlet alone.

After seeing the ghost, Horatio and the Boyz report it to a suicidal Hamlet in the middle of his Transgender Depression Soliloquy. One of the first things Hamlet interrogates the Boyz on in order to identify the ghost was:

"What, looked he frowningly?"

"A countenance more

In sorrow than in anger."

"Pale or red?"

"Nay, very pale."

- dialogue between Hamlet and Horatio, Act 1, Scene 2

He asks if he was frowning. Seems a small detail, you say, but hear me, listen: whenever Hamlet DOES see his father's ghost, he is not joyful or happy. Instead, he is scared and driven with shakes and tears. Isn't it odd that he should feel this way upon seeing his father, when his fathers death (and Gertrudes infidelity) is the reason behind his melancholy?

Again: HAMLET FEARS HIS FATHER.

Evidence, in Act 1, Scene 4:

Enter Ghost

Horatio: Look, my lord, it comes!

Hamlet: Angels and ministers of grace defend us!

The Ghost beckons Hamlet to follow him, so they can speak in private. Horatio and Marcellus attempt to hold him back in fear of his sanity, but Hamlet is determined to hear what the apparition wants from him, and follows his father to a private place.

Now, what is easy to overlook is that Daddy Ham was a military man who was killed before his sins could be forgiven, which therefore condemns him to purgatory by day and wandering the mortal realm by night. This is part of why he is so desperate for vengeance.

Purgatory in the Catholic canon is not punishment for the damned, but purification for the sinners.

I am thy fathers spirit,

Doomed for a certain term to walk the night

And for the day confined to fast in fires,

Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature

Are burnt and purged away. But that I am forbid

To tell the secrets of my prison house,

I could a tale unfold whose lightest word

Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood,

Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres,

Thy knotted and combined locks to part

And each particular hair to stand on end,

Like quills upon the fearful porpentine.

- Daddy Ham to Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 5

Obviously, this hinting at the Horrors awaiting in the afterlife is frightening enough to Hamlet, who as we know is someone who is deeply afraid of what happens after death. But for what foul crimes is Daddy Ham confined? What did he DO? Being a great warrior in his time, as supported by both Horatio and Hamlet, we can assume things such as horrific war crimes or bloody sacrifices.

But what's more interesting are the lines immediately after this:

Ghost: List, list, O list!

If thou didst ever thy dear father love--

Hamlet: O God!

Ghost: Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder

"If you my son ever loved me, you must avenge my murder."

Dunno about you, but that sounds, I don't know, manipulative as FUCK.

ESPECIALLY to a kid who probably believes thoroughly that kinslaying is unforgivable, but is bound to obey the wishes of his dead father.

The next time Daddy Ham appears is shortly after Hamlet kills Polonius, mistaking him for Claudius, and is in the middle of slutshaming his mom.

Hamlet: A king of shreds and patches--

Enter Ghost

Save me and hover o'er me with your wings,

You heavenly guards!--What would your gracious figure?

Gertrude: Alas, he's mad!

Hamlet: Do you not come your tardy son to chide,

That, lapsed in time and passion, lets go by

The important acting of your dread command?

O, say!

Ghost: Do not forget. This visitation

Is but to sharpen thy almost blunted purpose.

Act 3, Scene 4

*This is the second time Hamlet has cried out for angels to protect him after being taken by surprise by his dad's ghost.

Gertrude: Whereon do you look?

Hamlet: On him, on him! Look you, how pale he glares!

His form and cause conjoined, preaching to stones

Would make them capable.

(To Ghost) Do not look upon me,

Lest with this piteous action you convert

My stern effects. Then what I have to do

Will want true color-- tears perchance for blood.

This is his father we're dealing with, who Hamlet has mourned for two months. Yes, Hamlet is someone who deeply fears death and everything in the afterlife, but case in point: no son should be afraid of his father.

The "tears perchance for blood" line is worrying as well: "Do not keep looking at me that way, or else I will cry instead of doing what you want."

In the next scene, Gertrude says:

To draw apart the body he hath killed.

O'er whom his very madness, like some ore

Among a mineral of metals base,

Shows itself pure. He weeps for what is done.

-Act 4, Scene 1

But does Hamlet cry for the bloody deed? Or is he crying because he's scared?

"But Jasper," you may say, "Hamlet is shown multiple times singing his fathers praises!"

So we do! But part of Hamlets tragedy is that we never really get to know Hamlet before he is grief-stricken and suicidal. Therefore all instances of Hamlet extolling Daddy Hams virtues are only seen after Daddy Ham is dead.

That it should come to this.

But two months dead--nay, not so much, not two.

So excellent a king, that was to this

Hyperion to a satyr. So loving to my mother

That he might not beteem the winds of heaven

Visit her face too roughly.

-Act 1, Scene 2

*note the emphasis on how kind Daddy Ham was to his wife, but no mention of kindness to Hamlet himself.

He was a man. Take him for all in all.

I shall not look upon his like again.

-Act 1, Scene 2

See what a grace is seated on his brow?

Hyperions curls, the front of Jove himself,

An eye like Mars to threaten and command,

A station like the herald Mercury

New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill--

A combination and a form indeed

Where every god did seem to set his seal

To give the world assurance of a man.

-Act 3, Scene 4

Why is the timing of these praises significant? The fact that Hamlet is making these remarks two months after his father's death means its possible that Hamlet, still in the early stages of grief, is trying to remember only the best parts of his father. It is a tactic I have unfortunately experienced firsthand. He is grieving, his father is dead, his mother remarried almost immediately, and his birthright taken out from under him: why dwell on the abuses he possibly endured when he could simply gloss over them by emphasizing what he liked most about his dad?

Case in point:

Daddy Ham is trapped in purgatory for crimes he committed while still living

That he has yet to redeem himself for.

He tells his son to avenge him, or else he never loved him

Hamlet is so afraid of his own dad that he almost cries upon his appearance.

Hamlet emphasizes his father's virtues and ignores the manipulative aspects to process his grief

Daddy Ham was abusive, thank you for reading

#sorry if this isnt as concise as it sounded in my head #long post #Shakespeare #Hamlet #jaspers prattling